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What I wonder is whar he got it. Yance ain't had a cent fur over a month, I know." "Struck a client, maybe. Well, let's get home before daylight. He'll be all right when he wakes up, except for a sort of beehive about the cranium." The gang slipped away through the early morning twilight. The next eye to gaze upon the miserable Goree was the orb of day.
But where shall we put him? He can't lie here." "Marse Hesden, does yer mind de loft ober de ole dinin'-room, whar we all used ter play ob a Sunday?" "Of course, I've got my tobacco bulked down there now," was the answer. "Dat's de place, Marse Hesden!" "But there's no way to get in there except by a ladder," said Hesden. "So much de better. You gits de ladder, an' I brings 'Liab."
I never seed yer befo' in my life, an' nebber wants ter see yer ag'in. Whar did yer com f'om anyhow? Whose nigger is yer? Er is yer some low-down free nigger dat doan b'long ter nobody an' doan own nobody? "'W'at fer you talk ter me like dat, honey? I's Ben, yo' Ben. Why doan you know yo' own man? "He put out his ahms fer ter draw her ter 'im, but she jes' gib one yell, an' stahted ter run.
Ef hit warn't fer thet, I'd kill ye whar ye stands." "Fer God's sake, Alexander!" The mountaineer's voice was shrill with excitement. "Kill me if ye likes but don't tarry. I come ter warn ye. Ther winder's ther only way out an' thar hain't no time ter lose." As if in corroboration, the first puff of brown smoke eddied through the open door.
I wuz gone a long time caus my Ole Boss took me way from Murry wen I wuz a small boy. I staid wid my muther til she died. I now live in one mile uv de house whar I wuz bawn. Mr. Hugh Wear sez I is 100 years old.
"An' what happened to the grizzly?" the old man queried. "Oh, a bullet hit him, that was all, and he took a header into the ravine below." "It did! An' whar did the bullet come from? Jist dropped down by accident at the right moment, I s'pose." Reynolds merely smiled at the prospector's words, and offered no explanation. "Modest, eh?" and Samson chuckled.
That man, the leader, he stopped me down on the bank o' the creek whar I war a-huntin' of the cow, an' he axed 'bout the roads out'n the Cove, an' I tole him thar war no way out 'ceptin' by the road he had jes' come, an' a path through a sorter cave or tunnel what the creek had washed out in the spur o' the mounting, ez could be travelled whenst the channel war dry or toler'ble low, an' he axed me ter show him that underground way."
"You are certainly very fortunate," answered Ann, "for the slave that has never been on the block can never know the full bitterness of slavery." "Wy, yer talkin' same ez white folks," said Uncle Bob. "Whar yer git all dem fine talkin's fum? ain't you er nigger same ez me?"
"I al'ays stick to plantin' yo' corn when the hickory leaf's as big as a squirrel's ear. If you don't, the luck's agin you." "An' whar thar's growin' corn thar's a sight o' hoein'," put in an alert, nervous-looking countryman. "If I lay my hoe down for a spell, the weeds git so big I can't find the crop."
You have to take the lantern presen'ly and go and tell 'em she's here." "Whar is I gwine? And who I gwi' tell?" asked Mr. Collins. "Peter Collins, you is the most unreasonable man I ever see in my life! You sho ain't goin' to worry the po' little thing and make her cry again, askin' all kinds of questions. You jest got to hunt up her folks.
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