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Updated: June 28, 2025
"So Hannibal slipped 'way fum de qua'ters one Sunday en hid in de co'n up close ter de big house, 'tel he see Chloe gwine down de road. He waylaid her, en sezee: "'Hoddy, Chloe? "'I ain't got no time fer ter fool wid fiel'-han's, sez Chloe, tossin' her head; 'W'at you want wid me, Hot-Foot? "'I wants ter know how you en Jeff is gittin' 'long. "'I 'lows dat's none er yo' bizness, nigger.
"Oh, de sassafras tassel, an' de young shoot o' de co'n, An' de young gal er-singing in de loom, Dey's somefin' 'licious in 'em f'om de day 'at dey is bo'n, An' dis darky's sort o' took er likin' to 'm.
Huldy tellin' me I ought to be ashamed of myse'f, in bed while my po' old pappy 'at hain't ploughed a row of his own for years is a-gittin' my co'n outen the weeds." The father stood, a chidden culprit. The boy had worked himself up to the desired point. "You jest do hit to put a shame on me. Now, Pap, you take that mule "
And so on that particular June morning, when Pap had put up the mule, clambered down the short-cut footway from The Bench to the old house, stopping several times to shake his head again and murmur to himself "Whut you gwine do? There's them chaps; there's Huldy. Mustn't plough his co'n; mustn't take over air cow. Whut you gwine do?"
Again he laughed, soundlessly. "If ye go into hit so expensive, ye gotter have the plant to do a big business, 'n where'd ye get that? 'N ye'd have to get mo' co'n 'n you 'n me c'n make ourselves, 'n that'd mean ye gotter buy hit, or rent mo' lan' 'n hire niggers to work hit, 'n how'd ye pay fo' that?" Bud listened gloomily, chewing the side of his finger.
Celia entered, carrying the breakfast on a tray. "Curt's Zouaves have stolen ev'y pig, but I found bacon and po'k in the cellar," she said, smilingly. "Oh, dear! the flo' is in such a mess of plaster! Will you sit on the aidge of the bed, Miss Lynden, and he'p my cousin eat this hot co'n pone?"
Steer ain't got no right ter come roun' er eatin' up de co'n." "But w'y doan you go on, man? Mars Jasper'll git arter you." "I's gwine. Allus suthin' ter make er man work his j'ints," he moved off toward the door, and turning just before going out, said to Peters: "Yere come Miss Lou now." The girl came in singing, but seeing Peters, hushed, and turned to go out.
I was bo'n there in a log cabin, it was made of logs, and it was chinked with clay and rock. My Mammy, was raised from a baby by her master, Rueben Dale. He was a good ole Master, and was alway's good to my Mammy. Master Dale owned a big farm and had big fields of co'n an' tobacco, and we raised everything we had to eat. Ole master Dale was a good ole baptist, had lots of good ole time relig'n.
"No, I haven't seen anybody." "Well, yere comes Massa Ted; now I mus' jes' be spry 'bout gettin' my co'n brade done." Hopalong shuffled away, and Patty turned to see Uncle Ted coming towards her. "Hello, Patty-girl," he cried, "you're up be times." "Yes," said Patty, "and so are you. Oh, Uncle Teddy, isn't the sea gorgeous? I do love it so, and I'm so glad I'm here!"
Her head was bare, her thick hair was loosely coiled, and her brown arms were naked almost to the shoulder. At the stable a young mountaineer was overhauling his riding-gear. "Air you goin' to ride the hoss to-day, Jas?" she asked, querulously. "That's jes whut I was aimin' to do. I'm a-goin' to town." "Well, I 'lowed I was goin' to mill to-day. The co'n is 'mos' gone."
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