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Updated: May 2, 2025
"I'se a-travelin', I'se a-travelin', From de cradle to de grave, De road am rough and sho' anuff, De heart, hit mus' be brave. "I'se a-wondrin', I'se a-wondrin', Wen de journey will be true; But I goes along wid sigh an' song An' a cheery word fer you." Kern Watson and his wife were gifted with those rich, mellow, African voices made so familiar in plantation songs and hymns.
"I hope, now," he exclaimed, alarmed, "ez that thar triflin' no-'count Thad Grimes ain't a-goin' ter let my filly lame herself, nor nothin', a-travelin' with her this dark night, ez seems ter be a night fur things ter happen on ennyhow. Oh, shucks! shucks!" he continued impatiently, "I jes' feels like thar ain't no use o' my tryin' ter live along."
"Goin' a-travelin'?" asked Joel, with a grin. "Not this morning." "I wish I had a hundred dollars!" continued Joel, surveying Harry sharply. "I'd make a journey out West. Say, Harry, did you ever have a hundred dollars in your pocket?" "Yes." "Maybe you've got it now?" "Where should I get it?" demanded Harry. "I do'no. Jest empty your pockets, and le'me see how much you've got."
"Fo' Gawd, Mass' William, less jess stop right yer! I 'clare, I'se jess wore to a plum frazzle, a-travelin' an' a-travelin'! Ef we gwine settle, why, less settle, thass all I say!" The driver of the wagon sat silent for a moment, his leg still hanging over the end of the seat, his chin in the hand of the arm which rested upon his other leg, propped up on the dashboard of the wagon.
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