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Aunt Dilsey, I's grateful to you in my heart, honest I is, fur runnin' me 'way frum yore presence yere jes' a little w'ile ago. You never knowed it at the time I didn't s'picion it also neither but you done me a favor. 'Ca'se settin' out yonder in the stable all alone and ponderin' deep, all of a sudden somethin' jes' come right over me an' I knowed whut's been the matter wid me lately.
Does you know yo' old nigger mammy, honey? Well now, I kin lay down en die in peace, 'ca'se I'se seed " "Cut it short, Goddamn it, cut it short! What is it you want?" "You heah dat? Jes the same old Marse Tom, al'ays so gay and funnin' wid de ole mammy. I'uz jes as shore " "Cut it short, I tell you, and get along! What do you want?" This was a bitter disappointment.
An' de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she 'low', "Hallowe'en jes no Hallowe'en at all 'thout we got a jack-o'-lantern." An' li'l' black Mose he stop' a-grinnin', an' he scrooge' so far back in de corner he 'mos' scrooge frough de wall. But dat ain't no use, 'ca'se he ma say', "Mose, go on down to de pumpkin-patch an' fotch a pumpkin."
'Scuse me!" dat li'l' black Mose beg' an' plead', an' de ghostes ain't know whuther to eat him all up or not, 'ca'se he step on de boss ghostes's chest dat a-way.
"It ain' fittin' fer grapes, fer noo groun' nebber is." "I know it, but" "It ain' no yeathly good fer cotton, 'ca'se it's top low." "Perhaps so; but it will raise splendid corn." "I dunno," rejoined Julius deprecatorily. "It's so nigh de swamp dat de 'coons'll eat up all de cawn." "I think I'll risk it," I answered. "Well, suh," said Julius, "I wushes you much joy er yo' job.
"Whut yo' want to say unto me?" inquire li'l black Mose. "Ah want to tell yo'," say de ghost, "dat yo' ain't need yever be skeered of ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts." An' whin he say dat de ghost jes vanish away like de smoke in July. He ain't even linger round dat locality like de smoke in Yoctober. He jes dissipate outen de air, an' he gone intirely.
But 'less'n I is a liah, en 'less'n I ain' got good eyes, Jeff is gwine ter meet dat 'oman dis ebenin' 'long 'bout eight o'clock right down dere by de crick in de swamp 'bout half-way betwix' dis plantation en Mars' Marrabo Utley's. "Well, Chloe tol' Hannibal she did n' b'liebe a wo'd he said, en call' 'im a low-down nigger, who wuz tryin' ter slander Jeff 'ca'se he wuz mo' luckier 'n he wuz.
She said gravely: "Tryin' ain't de thing. You's gwine to do it. You ain't gwine to steal a pin 'ca'se it ain't safe no mo'; en you ain't gwine into no bad comp'ny not even once, you understand; en you ain't gwine to drink a drop nary a single drop; en you ain't gwine to gamble one single gamble not one!
Hit's dat little house a-hangin' on de side of de hill. Dey calls it 'Who'd 'a' Thought It, 'ca'se you nebber would 'a' thought of puttin' a house dere. Dat's right; lean on yer mammy. I'll git dem old cunjers outen you."
Being unhurt, he was resentful' "They ain't none o' yer feet, nohow," he grumbled, making a fresh start at less speed. "Oh, yes, Sol," said the old grandfather, enjoying the contretemps and the sentiment of revolt against Meddlesome's iron rule. "Everything belongs ter Meddlesome one way or another, 'ca'se she jes makes it hern. So take keer of yer feet for her sake."
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