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No, ah counts is by dose twins ah raised. One uv em lives in dis heah place right heah. Ah aint much count now. Sometime mah laig gets so big ah jes had tuh sloop mah foot erlong." "I was born in 1859 close to Natchez, Mississippi. Chief Sims was my grandpa. He was Indian, full blood. His wife was a Choctaw Indian. Grandpa was a small red Indian.
"Not if there'll be a chance at big game," declared the hunter. "I'm with you, Professor Henderson." "Yo' suah can't git erlong widout me, I s'pose?" queried the darkey, in some uncertainty. "I'se mighty busy right yere jes' now." "And you'll be busy if we go to Alaska, Wash!" cried Jack. "Hurrah! I am willing to start to-morrow, Professor."
But dey ha' ter be monst'us keerful, er e'se somebody would 'a' seed 'em, en dat would 'a' spile' de whole thing; so Tenie alluz turnt Sandy back in de mawnin' early, befo' anybody wuz a-stirrin'. "But Sandy did n' git erlong widout his trials en tribberlations.
"I ain't want to go," say' li'l' black Mose. "Go on erlong wid yo'," say' he ma, right commandin'. "I ain't want to go," say' Mose ag'in. "Why ain't yo' want to go?" he ma ask'. "'Case I 's afraid ob de ghosts," say' li'l' black Mose, an' dat de particular truth an' no mistake. "Dey ain't no ghosts," say' de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, right peart.
So whin Hallowe'en come erlong, dat lil' black Mose he jes mek' up he mind he ain't gwine outen he shack at all. He cogitate' he gwine stay right snug in de shack wid he pa an' he ma, 'ca'se de rain-doves tek notice dat de ghosts are philanderin' roun' de country, 'ca'se dey mourn out, "Oo-oo-o-o-o!" an' de owls dey mourn out, "Whut-whoo-o-o-o!" and de wind mourn out, "You-you-o-o-o!"
I passin' de time er day 'long some udder cullud fellers, an' tellin' wha' kind ob a 'coon dawg Bijah war, an' how he ain't know nuffin no way 'ceptin' 'coons. Suddint I see dat ar dawg kin' er wink he eye, an' raise up an' sniff de yair, an' den lite out licketty cut down erlong. Dey ain't nuffin on de road 'ceptin' jes a cullud gal, an' she a-turnin' inter de sto'.
Ez he come erlong back, he tuk a nigh-cut 'cross de cottonfiel's en 'long by de aidge er de Min'al Spring Swamp, so ez ter git shet er de patteroles w'at rid up en down de big road fer ter keep de darkies fum runnin' roun' nights. Primus was sa'nt'rin' 'long, studyin' 'bout de good time he 'd had wid de gals, w'en, ez he wuz gwine by a fence co'nder, w'at sh'd he heah but sump'n grunt.
Sukey'll finish up heah." "All right, Sukey." Peggy relinquished the task to the black, and started for the door, saying in a tone that Clifford might hear: "I will be out presently to see how thee gets along." "Ef I doan git erlong any fas'er dan you all dese dishes gwine ter be heah twel Chrismus," grumbled the darkey. "An' some-body's muss'd my floah."
ONCE 'pon a time dey was a li'l black boy whut he name was Mose. An' whin he come erlong to be 'bout knee-high to a mewel, he 'gin to git powerful 'fraid ob ghosts, 'ca'se dey's a grabeyard in de hollow, an' a buryin'-ground on de hill, an' a cemuntary in betwixt an' between, an' dey ain't nuffin' but trees nowhar in de clearin' by de shanty an' down de hollow whar de pumpkin-patch am.
He 'low he gwine be no trouble at all ef he jes been let wait twell he ma she gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed, too. So he ma she say: "Git erlong wid yo'! Whut you skeered ob whin dey ain't no ghosts?" An' li'l black Mose he scrooge, an' he twist, an' he pucker up he mouf, an' he rub he eyes, an' prisintly he say right low: "I ain't skeered ob ghosts whut am, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."
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