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"They didn't, damn them!" said Rupert, with sudden passion. "And he was worth the whole lot." "Dat what make I say what I gwine ter," said Matt, with some eagerness. "What I heerd about Marse Thomas make me think he must be er mighty fine gen'leman, an' one what'd be a good fren' to anyone. An' dishyer ve'y mawnin' I heerd sump'n mo' about him." Rupert raised himself upon his elbow.
Dem ole bridges might go down mos' any time. An' dishyer road up yere, it mighty hard to navigate foh er grea' big hebby contraption lak er threshin' machine en er engine. Mos' eve'y year he gits stuck. Las' year tuk er day en er ha'f to git him out. No'm; he's got de rights." "Yes, but, Unc' Zenas, that wheat mustn't be left go to waste." Aunt Dolcey spoke up.
"Hollyhocks are not in bloom," said Deb. "I use snapdragon for caps, too. Now she has on a red and gold cap. This is a currant-leaf shawl." "Do you name them?" asked Rand, poising a columbine upon the back of his hand. "Of course," answered Deb. "All people have names. That is Sapphira." Miranda advanced a flourishing zinnia. "Dishyer Miss Keren-Happuch Marse Job's daughter."
They all tried to be polite, and Russ grew quite friendly with one of the bellboys who brought them ice water. He asked that boy if he knew how to cut the pigeon wing, and the boy grinned very broadly. "I sure does!" he declared. "But if the boss heard of me doin' it around dishyer hotel, he'd bounce me." "Are you made of rubber?" asked Vi, who was standing by.
"Dishyer ain' nuthin'. Wait tell he gits one his still spells, whenas he doan' speak ter nobody an' doan' do no work. Why ain' we got no seed potaters? Marse Wes he took a contrairy spell an' he wouldn't dig 'em, an' he wouldn't let Zenas tech 'em needer. Me, I went out moonlight nights an' dug some to eat an' hid 'em in de cellar. Miss Annie, you doan' know nuffin' erbout de Dean temper yit."
"Who who did you hear it from?" demanded Rupert. Uncle Matt put his foot upon a rustic seat near and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee and making impressive gestures with his yellow-palmed old hand. "It was dishyer claimin' dat brung it about," he said; "dishyer claimin' an' 'demnification what's been a-settin' pow'fle heavy on my min' fur long 'nuff.
"About Uncle Tom!" he exclaimed. "You have heard something about Uncle Tom to-day?" "I foun' out whar he went, Marse Rupert," said Matt, much roused. "I foun' out whar he is dishyer ve'y instep. He's in Hamlin County, keepin' sto' an' post-office at Talbot's Cross-roads; an', frum what I heah, Marse Tom De Willoughby de mos' pop'larist gen'leman an' mos' looked up ter in de county."
But bimeby you gwine see him climm on his hawss an' ride up yondeh to whah de big steamboats comes in an' fotch dat li'l gal-child home; an' den: uck uh-h! look out, niggahs! dar ain't gwine be nuttin' on de top side dishyer yearth good ernough for li'l Missy. You watch what I done tol' you erbout dat, now!"
"Just overwork, I think, Chloe. Works all the time; in the office now, bent double over his desk." The darky shuffled restlessly on her flat feet. "Simlike to me he pester'd. I d'n know. Miss Sally, who else gwine eat dishyer cake tumorreh, Honey?" "I'm not expecting any company at all, Chloe. Father isn't really well enough to care to talk to people."
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