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Updated: May 1, 2025
"I'm sure I don't know. One o' Mr. Ware's?" "I should tink not, honey; not edzackly now. Dat ar mule b'longs ter me Nimbus! D'yer h'yer dat, 'Liab?" "No! Yer don't tell me? Bless de Lord, Nimbus, yer's a fortunit man. Yer fortin's made, Nimbus.
De 'backer growed on dis yer lan' an' cured wid coal made outen dem ar pines will be jes es yaller ez gold an' as fine ez silk, 'Liab.
I hain't got no ill-will gin Marse Desmit, not a mite only 'bout dat ar lickin, an' dat ain't nuffin now; but I ain't gwine ter war his name ner giv it ter my chillen ter mind 'em dat der daddy wuz jes anudder man's critter one time. I tell you I can't do hit, nohow; an' I won't, Bre'er 'Liab.
And please, Miss Mollie, don't think hard of 'Liab don't, Miss Mollie," he said humbly. "Why should I?" she asked in surprise. "You have acted nobly, though I cannot think you have done wisely. You are nervous now. You may think differently hereafter. If you do, you have only to say so. I will call Nimbus. Good-by!" She took her hat and gloves and went down the aisle.
Here we thick-headed dunces hez been up dar to-day a-takin' de oath an' makin' bleve we's full grown men, an' here's you, dat knows more nor a ten-acre lot full on us, a lyin' here an' habin' no chance at all." "But you want to get de barn full, and can't afford to spend any more time," protested 'Liab. "Nebber you min' 'bout de barn. Dat's Nimbus' business, an" he'll take keer on't.
An' dey'd been good names, too." "But you'd have bucked at it ef he had," said 'Liab, good-naturedly. "No I wouldn't, 'Liab. I hain't got nuffin 'gin ole Mahrs'r. He war good enough ter me good 'nuff. I only hate what made him 'Old Mahs'r, an' dat I does hate. Oh, my God, how I does hate it, Liab! I hates de berry groun' dat a slave's wukked on! I do, I swar!
"But, Nimbus " said he, hesitatingly. "Yis, 'Liab, I hears ye." "Couldn't we hab a church here?" "Now yer's talkin'," exclaimed Nimbus. "Swar ter God, it's quare I nebber tink ob dat, now. An' you de minister? Now yer is talkin', shuah! Why de debble I nebber tink ob dat afo'? Yer see dem big pines dar, straight ez a arrer an' nigh 'bout de same size from top ter bottom?
I'd swar at ye ef yer wuz in de pulpit an' dat come ober me, jes at de fust. Yer knows Nimbus better ner dat. Now see heah, 'Liab Hill, yer's gwine ter go an' be registered termorrer, jes ez sure ez termorrer comes.
"Hi! you take keer dar, Cousin Nimbus," said Berry, hopping out of the way of the falling board with an antic gesture. "Fust you know, yer hurt yer han' actin' dat er way. What YOU gwine ter do 'bout dis yer matter, Uncle 'Liab?" he continued, turning to the preacher. The man addressed was still gazing on the threatening letter.
But where shall we put him? He can't lie here." "Marse Hesden, does yer mind de loft ober de ole dinin'-room, whar we all used ter play ob a Sunday?" "Of course, I've got my tobacco bulked down there now," was the answer. "Dat's de place, Marse Hesden!" "But there's no way to get in there except by a ladder," said Hesden. "So much de better. You gits de ladder, an' I brings 'Liab."
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