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A perplexed pucker contracted his forehead as he spoke softly to himself. "'Taint going to do no how! It sure ain't. She ain't got de right bran', no she ain't, and yo' cyant mate up no common stock wid a tho'oughbred and git any sort of a span. No siree, yo' cyant. My Lawd, what done possess Massa Neil fer ter 'vite her down hyer? She cyant 'struct an' guide our yo'ng mist'ess. Sho!
"Whar? whar the varmints cyant foller. Acrost the Mississippi into the Spanish wilderness." "And leave Kentucky?" I cried. "Davy," he answered sadly, "you kin cope with 'em. They tell me you're buildin' a mill up at McChesney's, and I reckon you're as cute as any of 'em. They beat me. I'm good for nothin' but shootin' and explorin'."
"Ef dere's spooks anywhere dey's dereaway," he muttered over his hoe; "but den, ki! dey woan 'fere wid dis yer niggah. What hab I'se got ter do wid de wah and de fighten an de jabbin'? De spooks cyant lay nuffin ter me eben ef ole marse an' de res' am a-fighten ter keep dere slabes, as folks say."
Lydia found the negress with her wraps on, glooming darkly, "Mis' Hollister, I'm gwine to leave," she announced briefly. Lydia felt for a chair. Mary had promised faithfully to stay through the winter, until after her confinement. "What's the matter, Mary?" "I cyant stay in no house wheah de lady says I drinks." "You will stay until until I am able to be about, won't you?"
He's got a mortgage on everything here but the houn's and the house cat, an' he's tryin' to see if he cyant kill me with his bug-juice an' save a suit in Chancery. I'm goin' to sen' off an' see if I cyant git another bran' of it, suh." Edward Conway was the type of the Southerner wrecked financially and morally by the war.
Goodloe left her. "I goes over to the little house the clerk points out, 'n' knocks. A right fat nigger woman, with her sleeves rolled up, comes to the door. "'What you want? she says. "'I want to see Miss Goodloe, I says. "'You cyant see her. She ain' seein' nobody, says the nigger woman, 'n' starts to shut the door. "'Wait a minute, aunty," I says.
Bud cyant tell you why, Mister Kingsley, to save his soul 'cept that he jes' thinks he's got to do it an' put me to the expense of bustin' crockery. "I stood it mighty nigh two years arter Bud and me was spliced, thinkin' maybe it war ther bed-bugs a-bitin' Bud, long towards the full of the moon.
The paying went on, after the uproarious laughter had subsided, and down the long row only the clinking of silver was heard, intermingled now and then with the shrill voice of some creature disputing with Kingsley about her account. Generally it ran thus: "It cyant be thet away. Sixty hours at five cents an hour wal, but didn't the chillun wuck no longer than that?
He wouldn't say nothin' fur a month he is quiet as a lam' an' works steady as a clock then all to once the fool spell 'ud hit him an' then some crockery 'ud have to be wasted. "They ain't no reason for it, Mister Kingsley Bud cyant sho' the rappin' of yo' finger fur havin' sech spells along towards the full of the moon.
"Cyant see her; I tell you she's mighty po'ly." "Well, cyant you go an' tell her that Mister Jud Cyarpenter is here an' 'ud like to kno' if he can be of any sarvice to her in orderin' her burial robe an' coffin, or takin' her last will an' testerment." With that he pushed himself in the doorway, rudely brushing the woman aside.
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