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"De han's at de sawmill had des got de big log on de kerridge, en wuz start-in' up de saw, w'en dey seed a 'oman runnin' up de hill, all out er bref, cryin' en gwine on des lack she wuz plumb 'stracted.
You can't make dis yeh nigger think a winkin' fire-bug of a fly-by-night ship ain't a ha'nt." "Ha'nts," said Kipping mildly, "ha'nts is bad things for niggers, but they don't hurt white men." "Lemme tell you, you Kipping, it ain't gwine pay you to be disrespectable to de cook." Frank stuck his angry face in front of the mild man's. "Ef you think ha!"
"Oon marster be glad to see me?" he asked presently in pathetic simplicity. "You know we grewed up to-gerr? I been waitin' so long I 'feared dee 'mos' done forgit me. You reckon dee is?" he asked the woman, appealingly. "No, suh, dee ain' forgit you," she said, comfortingly. "I know dee ain'," he said, reassured. "Dat's what he tell me he ain' nuver gwine forgit me."
When Unc' Billy Possum and Mockah get their haids together, there sho'ly is gwine to be something doing." Bobby Coon had left Ol' Mistah Buzzard sitting on his favorite dead tree. Every few minutes Ol' Mistah Buzzard would chuckle. "Brer Coon is right smart, and Ah reckon Unc' Billy Possum is gwine to get a taste of his own medicine. Yes, Sah, Ah reckon he is!" said Ol' Mistah Buzzard.
Den he called fer de key ob de 'backer-barn, an' I tole him 'twan't nowheres 'bout de house good reason too, kase Nimbus allus do carry dat key in his breeches pocket, 'long wid his money an' terbacker. So he takes de axe an' goes up ter de barn, an' I goes 'long wid him ter see what he's gwine ter du.
Dere's enough wild animiles right yeah on dish year farm wild bulls, wild rams an' turkey gobblers, what pulls cats by dere tails. No, sah! honey lamb I ain't gwine t' no circus!" Flossie came back from her talk with Dinah, looking very disappointed. "What is the matter, dear?" asked her mother, noting the sorrowful look on the little girl's face.
Dawson Bobbs was Niggertown's conscience. It was best for Peter to take from this atmosphere what was dearest to him, and go at once. The brown man's thoughts came trailing back to the old negro parson hobbling at his side. He looked at the old man, hesitated a moment, then told him what was in his mind. Parson Ranson's face wrinkled into a grin. "You's gwine to git ma'ied?"
Well, sir, all de poor creturs dat de Abolitionists got off is cotched they're gwine to be sold, and thar's one young man thar, that had a good home and a good mistis, and him they 'suaded off, and now he's gwine to be sold South, whar he'll toil and sweat in de hot sun. Now, Mr.
Dey're gwine ter bu'n yo' new hospittle, ef somebody don' stop 'em." "Josh men you are throwing your lives away. It is a fever; it will wear off to-morrow, or to-night. They'll not burn the schoolhouses, nor the hospital they are not such fools, for they benefit the community; and they'll only kill the colored people who resist them.
H'yer it's gwine on two year only sence de s'rrender, an' I'se got tree ob 'em sartain!" The speaker was a colored man, standing before his log-house in the evening of a day in June. His wife was the only listener to the monologue. He had been examining a paper which was sealed and stamped with official formality, and which had started him upon the train of thought he had pursued.
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