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Updated: May 25, 2025
But on its being repeated to Sister Pease, she resented it with Christian indignation, sniffed and remarked that "Ef Wi'yum choosed to pick out one o' de onregenerate an' hang huh ez a millstone erroun' his neck, it wasn't none o' huh bus'ness what happened to him w'en dey pulled up de tares f'om de wheat."
"Well, hit wuz quare 'bout Ben, but he stayed roun' heah fer a mont, hidin' in de woods in de daytime, an' slippin' out nights an' gittin' clay ter eat an' water f'om de crick yanker ter drink. De water in dat crick wuz cl'ar in dem days, stidder bein' yallar lak it is now."
Praised be de name ob de Lawd. He gib me Sal again. De little Chile dat I nussed, dat I raised up in God's 'ligion. Mistah Cantah, save her, suh, f'om dat wicked life o' sin. De Lawd Jesus'll rewa'd you, suh. Dis ole woman'll wuk fo' you twell de flesh drops off'n her fingers, suh." And had he not held her, she would have gone down on her knees on the stone flagging before him.
Yes, I's popped de question, an' she says 'Yes, an' long 'bout a yeah f'om now you kin all 'spec' a' invitation." This was a formal announcement. A shout arose from the happy-go-lucky people, who sorrowed alike in each other's sorrows, and joyed in each other's joys. They sat down at a table, and their health was drunk in cups of cider and persimmon beer.
The sport outside ceased, the gaps at the shed's farther end were darkened by small forms that came darting like rabbits into their burrows, eighteen small hats came off, and the eighteen boys came softly forward and took their seats. Such discipline! "Sir," said Bonaventure, "think you 'tis arising, f'om the strickness of the teacher? 'Tis f'om the goodness of the chil'run!
Despite himself, he became aware of the refrain, and before he knew it he was going over the familiar words with her: "Oh, chicken-pie an 'pepper, oh! Chicken-pie is good, I know; So is wattehmillion, too; So is rabbit in a stew; So is dumplin's, b'iled with squab; So is cawn, b'iled on de cob; So is chine an' turkey breast; So is aigs des f'om de nest." Gordon Lee rose unsteadily.
"Dat white man and his folks, my ol' daddy said, fifty yeah ago, dey wu'k secret all over the Souf, from Tenn'ssee ter Louisian'. Dat was fifty yeah ago, but my ol' daddy say when he was a piccaninny, dis heah thing got out somehow an' de white folks down Souf dey cotch dis white man f'om de Norf, an' done hang him, an' dey done hang and burn a heap o' niggers all over de Souf.
"I got your message, Aunt Mehitable. Don't you know me?" "Is dat you, Marse Gabriel? I made sho' you wan' gwineter let nuttin' stop you f'om comin'." "Don't I always come when you send for me?" "You sutney do, suh. Dat's de gospel trufe you sutney do."
The canary fluted on, and from beyond the mulberry trees there floated the droning voice of an aged negress, in tatters and a red bandanna turban, who persuasively offered strawberries to the silent houses. "I'se got sw-eet straw-ber'-ies! I'se got swe-e-t str-aw-ber'-ies! Yes'm, I'se got sw-e-et straw-ber'ies des f'om de coun-try!"
George had been lost in the maze of dripping linen. "Go'way f'om dar, you fool nigger, mussin' up my wash! Keep yo' black haid off'er dem sheets, I tell ye, 'fo' I smack ye! "Well, fer de lan's sakes, Marse George. What ye come down yere fer? Here lemme git dat basket outer yo' way No, dem hands ain't fit fer nobody to shake My! but I's mighty glad ter see ye!
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