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He seed de Lord er makin' folks, an' he 'lowed he'd make him some; so he got up his dut and his water, an' all his 'grejunces, an' he went ter wuck; an' wedder he cooked him too long, ur wedder he put in too much red clay fur de water wat he had, wy, I ain't nuber hyeard; but den I known de deb'l made 'im, caze I allers hyearn so; an', mo'n dat, I done seed 'em fo' now, an' dey got mighty dev'lish ways.
"De ark? naw, suh; my Mehaley she des done bake 'em in de cabin over yonder." He lifted his shrivelled hand and pointed, with a tremulous gesture, to a log hut showing among the distant trees. "What? are you a free man, Uncle?" "Free? Go 'way f'om yer! ain' you never hyearn tell er Marse Plunkett?" "Plunkett?" gravely repeated Bland, filling his canteen with cider.
"Den de Woodpecker he pass de kempulmence wid 'im, des same ez any udder gemmun; an' atter dey talk er wile, den de Blue Jay he up'n sez, 'I wuz jes er lookin' fur yer, sezee; 'I gwine ter hab er party termorrer night, an' I'd like fur yer ter come. All de birds'll be dar, Miss Robin in speshul, sezee. "An' wen de Woodpecker hyearn dat, he 'lowed he'd try ter git dar.
"I ain't got de time now," said the old man, "caze hyear's de wagin almos' at de do'; an', let erlone dat, I ain't nuber hyeard 'twus good luck ter be tellin' no tales on de Fourf uv July; but ef'n yer kin come ter my cabin some ebenin' wen yer's er airin' uv yerse'fs, den I'll tell yer jes wat I hyearn 'bout'n de owl, an 'struck yer in er many er thing wat yer don't know now."
I ain't right sho wat time hit wuz; but den I knows hit wuz some fightin' or nuther." "It was the 'Declination of Independence'," said Diddie. "It's in the little history; and it wasn't any fightin', it was a writin'; and there's the picture of it in the book: and all the men are sittin' roun', and one of 'em is writin'." "Yes, dat's jes wat I hyearn," said Uncle Bob.
"Dar now!" exclaimed Aunt Edy; "dem chil'en nuber is tierd er hyearn' dat tale; pyears like dey like hit mo' an' mo' eb'y time dey hyears hit;" and she laughed slyly, for she was the only one on the plantation who knew about "Po' Nancy Jane O," and she was pleased because it was such a favorite story with the children.
Now, like my ole marster, yer pa's gran'pa, wat riz me in ole Furginny, he's you chil'en's forecister; an' dis nigger wat I'm tellin' yer 'bout'n, he waz my fuss forecister; an' dats' de way dat I've allers hyearn dat he come ter be black, an' his hyar kinky; an' I b'lieves hit, too, caze er nigger's de sleepies'-headed critter dey is; an' den, 'sides dat' I've seed er heap er niggers in my time, but I ain't nuber seed dat nigger yit wat's wite, an' got straight hyar on his head.
"Dat's wat dey sez; an' I 'lowed I'd lay me in er few caze I've allers hyearn dat dem folks wat totes a buckeye in dey lef' britches pocket, an' den ernudder in de righthan' coat pocket, dat dey ain't gwine die no drunkards." "But if they would stop drinkin' whiskey they wouldn't die drunkards anyhow, would they, Uncle Bob?"
"I hyearn 'em say dat dey had de fuss' Defemation uv Ondepen'ence on de Fourf uv July, an' eber sence den de folks ben er habin' holerday an' barbecues on dat day." "What's er Defemation, Uncle Bob?" asked Dumps, who possessed an inquiring mind.
"I gun yer de tale jes like I hyearn it, an' I ain't er gwine ter make up nuffin', an' tell yer wat I dunno ter be de truff. Efn dar's any mo' ter it, den I ain't neber hyearn hit. I gun yer de tale jes like hit wuz gunt ter me, an' efn yer ain't satisfied wid hit, den I can't holp it." "But we are satisfied, Uncle Bob," said Diddie. "It was a very pretty tale, and we are much obliged to you."
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