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Don' talk ter me 'bout dese w'ite folks, I knows 'em, I does! Ef a nigger wants ter git down on his marrow-bones, an' eat dirt, an' call 'em 'marster, he's a good nigger, dere's room fer him. But I ain' no w'ite folks' nigger, I ain'. I don' call no man 'marster. I don' wan' nothin' but w'at I wo'k fer, but I wants all er dat.
"I can't just see them, miss, the lights is movin' so much, and the way the bed 'eaves, but, tell me, miss, is there a little silky one, hedged with w'ite? It was mother's favourite one of hall. I'd like to 'ave it in my 'and, miss." The nurse put it in her hand. She was only a young nurse and her face was wet with tears. "It's like 'avin' my mother's 'and, miss, it is," she murmured softly.
I wouldn' do nothin' 'g'inst de w'ite folks, suh, no, 'ndeed, I wouldn', suh!" Jerry's cries were drowned in a roar of rage and a volley of shots from the mob. Carteret, who had turned away with Ellis, did not even hear his servant's voice. Jerry's poor flag of truce, his explanations, his reliance upon his white friends, all failed him in the moment of supreme need.
He thought Tenie wuz crazy, en dey wa'n't no tellin' w'at she mought do nex'; en dey ain' much room in dis worl' fer crazy w'ite folks, let 'lone a crazy nigger. "Hit wa'n't long atter dat befo' Mars Marrabo sol' a piece er his track er lan' ter Mars Dugal' McAdoo, my ole marster, en dat 's how de ole school'ouse happen to be on yo' place.
Fer dey 're comin', sho'. I dremp' las' night dey wuz close ter han', and I hears de w'ite folks talkin' ter deyse'ves 'bout it. An' de time is comin' w'en de good Lawd gwine ter set his people free, an' it ain' gwine ter be long, nuther." Needham's prophecy proved true.
Mars Jim was stan'in' in front er Sandy Campbell's bar-room, up by de ole wagon-ya'd, w'en a po' w'ite man fum down on de Wim'l'ton Road come up ter 'im en ax' 'im, kinder keerless lack, ef he did n' wanter buy a mule. "'I dunno, says Mars Jim; 'it 'pen's on de mule, en on de price. Whar is de mule? "'Des 'roun' heah back er ole Tom McAllister's sto', says de po' w'ite man.
"Do I, Eunice? Do I look almost as handsome as Kate?" "You are 'andsomer sometimes, Miss Rose, to my taste. If Miss Kate 'ad red cheeks, now; but she's as w'ite sometimes as marble." "So she is; but some people admire that style. I suppose Mr. Stanford does eh, Eunice?" "I dare say he does, Miss." "Do you think Mr. Stanford handsome, Eunice?" carelessly. "Very 'andsome, Miss, and so pleasant.
"'Then, says Love, 'yo'd rather yo' tired daddy took care o' the chile after his hard day's work. "'Now yo're talkin', says Dinah. 'I shorely would. My daddy's strong. "The tears came into Love's eyes, she felt so down-hearted. 'Yo' daddy needs comfort, Dinah, she says, 'an' yo're big enough to give it to him, says she; 'an' look at the black smooches on my w'ite gown.
W'en I wuz young I us'ter b'long ter Marse Bob Smif, down in ole Missoura. I wuz bawn down dere. Wen I wuz a gal I wuz married ter a man named Jim. But Jim died, an' after dat I married a merlatter man named Sam Taylor. Sam wuz free-bawn, but his mammy and daddy died, an' de w'ite folks 'prenticed him ter my marster fer ter work fer 'im 'tel he wuz growed up.
When his wound was healed he was told that he was too old and awkward for the turpentine, and that they needed younger and more active men. "So w'en I got my laig kyo'ed up," said the old man, concluding his story, "I come back hyuh whar I wuz bo'n, suh, and whar my w'ite folks use' ter live, an' whar my frien's use' ter be.
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