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Updated: May 15, 2025
But, pshuh! my ole mist'ess showed me mo' d'n dem niggers 'll l'arn in a thousan' years! I 's fetch' my gran'son' Jerry up ter be 'umble, an' keep in 'is place. An' I tells dese other niggers dat ef dey'd do de same, an' not crowd de w'ite folks, dey'd git ernuff ter eat, an' live out deir days in peace an' comfo't. But dey don' min' me dey don' min' me!"
Dat's de kin' wot fetch two dollars a bar'l." "Brudder Gran'son," said 'Bijah, solemnly, "is you min' runnin on takin' Mahs'r Morrises apples inter town an' sellin' em?" "Well, he gits de money, don't he?" answered the other, "and if I don't sell his apples 'taint no use sellin' none. Dem udder little nubbins roun' heah won't fetch no two dollars a bar'l."
Guy Little has been tellin' me the same sort of thing." "There ain't much to tell," answered Blenham. "That is, that a man couldn't guess without bein' told. He's your gran'son; even with a scrap on between you an' him, still blood is thicker'n water an' some day, maybe, you'll pass on to him all you got. Leastways, there's a chance, an' also he oughta fit pretty snug in a girl's eye.
But dat gran'son ob mine is smart as a steel trap. I specs he'll be a preacher." Salters looked admiringly at his grandson, who sat grinning in the corner, munching a pear he had brought from the table. "Yes," said Aunt Linda, "his fadder war killed by the Secesh, one night, comin' home from a politic meetin', an' his pore mudder died a few weeks arter, an' we mean to make a man ob him."
"Squair! squair!" interposed an officious old colleague, taking him by the elbow, "jes' quiet down now; ye air a-cussin' yer own gran'son." "So be! so be!" cried the old man, in a frenzy of rage. "Damn 'em all all the Kittredge tribe!" He gasped for breath; his lips still moved speechlessly as he fell back in his chair.
"Marse Scoville daid, shot of'n he hoss long way f'um yere," replied Aun' Jinkey sorrowfully. "He kyant harm you ner you 'im no mo', ner Chunk neider." "Why the devil didn't you let us know Chunk was here las' night?" "He my gran'son," was the simple reply. "Well he isn't Zany's grandson! Now I know w'at she was snoopin' round nights fer, en Mrs. Baron'll know, too, 'fore I'm five minutes older."
"Those Temple hounds," he muttered, staring at Guy Little who stared butlerishly back, "are leeches, parasites, cursed bloodsuckers and hangers-on. They think I'm goin' to take this boy in an' give him all I got; they think they see a chance to marry him into their rotten crowd an' slip one over on me this way! That simperin', gigglin' fool of a girl try an' hook my gran'son!
Morris' fields, when Brother 'Bijah came along and sat upon the fence. "Brudder Gran'son," said he, when the ploughman had reached the end of the furrow and was preparing to turn, "jes' you let your hoss res' a minnit till I tells you a par'ble." "Wot par'ble?" said Grandison, in a tone of unconcern, but stopping his horse, all the same. "Why, dis one!" said 'Bijah.
"If the Lord has a grievance agen me for settin' too much o' my heart on the old Pass By, He've a-took out o' me all the satisfaction He's likely to get. 'Tisn' like the man that built a new Jericho an' set up the foundations thereof 'pon his first-born an' the gates 'pon his youngest. The cases don't tally; for my son an' gran'son went down together in th' old boat, an' I got nobody left."
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