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"You don't mean the slaves?" "Pomp nebber say dey nigger. Pomp say all black." "Don't talk so loudly," whispered Morgan, eagerly. "Pomp no want talk loud. Pomp go back 'leep." "No, no, pray look again and tell me, Pomp," I whispered. "Mass' Morgan talk sabbage. Want to flog Pomp." "No, no, he does not, and I want you to look and tell me."
Lor! dat enough to break all 'e dish in 'e house, and in 'e mill, too! I do wish ebbery plate we got was an Injin den you see fun! Can nebber like Injin; 'em so red, and so sabbage!" "Nebber talk of Injin, now," answered the indignant mother "better talk of plate. Dis make forty t'ousand dish you break, Mari', sin' you war' a young woman.
"How near you been to sabbage, Michael?" demanded Big Smash, her two large coal-black eyes seeming to open in a degree proportioned to her interest in the answer. "I wint as nigh as there was occasion, Smash, and that was nigher than the likes of yer husband there would be thinking of travelling. Maybe 'twas as far as from my plate here to yon door; maybe not quite so far.
They 're a dhirty set, and I wish to go no nearer." "What dey look like, in 'e dark?" inquired Little Smash "Awful as by daylight?" "It's not meself that stopped to admire 'em. Nick and I had our business forenent us, and when a man is hurried, it isn't r'asonable to suppose he can kape turning his head about to see sights." "What dey do wid Misser Woods? What sabbage want wid dominie?"
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