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De corner's squar as de stone dat sots on it, an' is cut wid a pictur o' de king's crown." "Mason and Dixon's line they call it," interpreted Mrs. Custis. "Do you know Joe Johnson, Dave?" "Yes, Marster Phoebus, you bet I does. He's at Salisbury, he's at Vienna, he's up yer to Crotcher's Ferry, he's all ober de country, but he don't go to Delawaw any more in de daylight.
"Go now, Samson, to oblige Miss Vesty," Virgie said, "and I'll try to love you a little, black and bad as you are." "I'se afraid of Delawaw state," Samson repeated, laughing slowly. "Joe Johnson, dat I put dat head on, will git me whar he lives if I go dar, mebbe."
He was whipped dar, an' banished from de state on pain o' de gallows. But he lives jess on dis side o' de Delawaw line, so dey can't git him in Delawaw. He calls his place Johnson's Cross-roads: ole Patty Cannon lives dar, too. She's afraid to stay in Delawaw now." "Why, what is the occupation of those terrible people at present?" asked Mrs. Custis.
"If two of them are going," Virgie exclaimed, "one can drive Missy Custis and the other ride the mule." Samson shook his head. "Dey say a free nigger man gits cotched up in dat ar Delawaw state. Merrylin's good enough fur me. I likes de Merrylin light gals de best," looking at Virgie.
"You don't want to git among Joe Johnson's men, boss?" said the red-eyed negro; "dey bosses all dis country heah, on boff sides o' de state-line. All dat ain't in wid dem is afraid o' dem." "How fur is it from this road to Delaware, Dave?" asked Phoebus. "We're right off de corner-stone o' Delawaw state dis very minute. It's hardly a mile from whar we air.
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