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Updated: April 30, 2025
And as she flattened herself against the ground to blow the kindling pine, she added, between puffs, and without so much as a change of tone: "Don't go, please, ma'am, tell I git dis charcoal lit to start dese shirts to bile. I been tryin' to fix my mouf to ax you is you got air ole crêpe veil you could gimme to wear to chu'ch nex' Sunday please, ma'am?
We wo'ks out in de fiel', and dat's about all we knows fiel', chu'ch an' cabin. But I's mighty glad my Zach 's gittin' up in de worl'. He nevah were no great han' fu' wo'k. Hit kin' o' seemed to go agin his natur'. You know dey is folks lak dat." "Lots of 'em, lots of 'em," said Mr. Turner.
"Oh yes suh, yes suh, we has all de young convu'ts stan' a p'obation o' six months, fo' we teks 'em reg'lar inter de chu'ch. Now ef Jim will des' stan' strong in de faif " "Parker," said Mordaunt, "you're an old wretch, and I've got a mind to take every bit of that tobacco away from you. No. I'll tell you what I'll do."
"Do you think they'll ever be able to use swear words again?" Dirty O'Brien grinned till his discolored teeth parted the hair upon his face. "Say, I don't reckon to set myself up as a prophet at most things," he replied, "but I'd like to say right here, the fixin' of that all-fired chu'ch is jest about the limit fer the morals of this doggone city.
"Speakin' of churches that a-way: This yere Tom's been with me years. One day about two months ago, he fronts up to me an' says: "'I'se got to be mighty careful what I does now; I'se done j'ined. I gives my soul to heaven on high last night, an' wrops myse'f tight an' fast in bonds of savin' grace wid d' Presbyter'an chu'ch.
But the old man possessed a stubborn soul, not easily to be frightened. "Wot I says in de pulpit," he remarked, "I'll 'splain in de pulpit, an' you all ud better git 'long to de chu'ch, an' when de time fur de sarvice come, I'll be dar."
I had three chullun, but ain't none livin' now." Mississippi Federal Writers Slave Autobiographies "My name is Tom Wilson an' I'se eighty fo' years old. My mammy was name Ca'line an' my pappy was Jeff Wilson. Us lived right out on de old Jim Wilson place, right by New Zion Chu'ch. I lives thar now owns me a plot of groun' an' farms. "Well, us b'longed to Marse Jim an' Miss Nancy Wilson.
But dese heah yaller freckle niggers 'ain't got no principle to 'em. I done heerd dat all my life an' Silvy she done proved it. Time Wash an' me was married he was a man in good chu'ch standin' a reg'lar ordained sexton, at six dollars a month an' I done de sweepin' for him. Dat's huccome I happened to have dat green-handle sto'e broom. Dat's all I ever did git out o' his wages.
Now I want ye to beg fer mercy thet ye never showed thet ye wouldn't 'a' showed Steve... Purty good," he said, encouragingly. "Mebbe ye kin pray a leetle, seem' ez ye air a chu'ch member. Pray fer yer enemies, Eli; Uncl' Gabe says ye must love yer enemies. I know how ye loves me, 'n' I want yer to pray fer me. The Lawd mus' sot a powerful store by a good citizen like you.
"I used to be runnin' whisky." Then he chuckled softly. "Y'see, that chu'ch has got a hold on me. I'm feelin' that pious I can't bear the thought of runnin' whisky an' I can't bear the thought of other folk runnin' it. No, I'm quittin' that bizness. I'm jest goin' in fer straight buyin' and sellin' inside the law." Fyles was watching the man closely in the dim night light.
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