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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Why, you an' me's too heaby for one hoss, you know, an' you said you hab on'y one." "Das true," returned Quashy, entangling the knot with another. "Well, nebber mind," said Susan, with a little nod of assurance. "I's put it all right. I'll stole one." "Sooz'n!" exclaimed her lover, with inexpressible solemnity, "you'll do nuffin ob de sort. I b'longs to a good man now, so I knows better dan dat.
"But um so heaby, Mass' George, and poor Pomp drefful hot an' tire." "Dreadful lazy you mean," I cried, angrily. "Come, sir." "Now, Mass' George cross again, and goin' break poor lil nigger heart," he whimpered. "Stuff! Sham! Lay hold of that head." "Break um back den, carry dat great heaby thing." "It will not. You didn't think it heavy when you dragged it along with the axe."
"I hab de rheumatiz," Uncle Sheba remarked in the way of explanation. "Now, Unc., dat ar rheumatiz is like de scapegoat in de Bible. You loads it up with all you sins. We all hope dat wen you got so sot on dat you'd turn ober a new leaf. How you stan' it sittin' roun' all day I doan see, no how. I'se gettin' so heaby an' logy an' oncomf'ble dat I'se gwine ter take in washin' de rest ob de month."
"Neither," I said. "It must be carried home." "What, dat great heaby head?" "Yes." "What, all de way fro' de tree?" "Yes." "No, no, Mass' George, um too heaby. Dat kill a poor nigger all dead, oh!" "Nonsense! It is not so heavy as all that." "Oh, yes; um drefful heaby. Frow um in." "But I want my father to see it, and Morgan would like to." "Eh? I see."
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