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Updated: June 5, 2025
Yassir, when I heerd from Miss Sally I done comed here to tek cyar ob her." "How is your mistress?" I asked. "She po'ly, Marse Dave," said Lindy, and paused for adequate words. I took note of this darky who, faithful to a family, had come hither to share her mistress's exile and obscurity. Lindy was spare, energetic, forceful and, I imagined, a discreet guardian indeed for the unfortunate.
We-uns haven't had breakfast yet, so we-uns are feeling po'ly," replied Unc' Billy with a grin. A sudden thought popped into Peter's head. "Unc' Billy," cried Peter excitedly, "are you a Carnivora?" Unc' poked his head a little farther out and put his hand behind his ear as if he were a little hard of hearing. "What's that, Bre'r Rabbit? Am I a what?" he demanded.
Buggone mus' sleep mos' ob de time let him sleep peac' ble in his own house, but de Scripter say, 'Wake dem dat sleepest, an' we say it's time Mr. Buggone woke up. Any cullud pusson dat kin snore so po'ful as Mr. Buggone needn't say he weakly an' po'ly. Hafe de poah he put in his snore ud lif' 'im right along in all good works, week days an' Sundays. But I'se los' faith in 'im.
"How is he?" asked Little Joe Otter. "Po'ly, he sho'ly is po'ly," replied Unc' Billy Possum, shaking his head soberly. Then Unc' Billy told Billy Mink and Little Joe Otter how Reddy Fox was so stiff and sore and sick that he couldn't get anything to eat for himself, and how old Granny Fox had lost a chicken which she had caught for him.
"I'm jes po'ly, thank God," replied Uncle Bob, in the answer invariably given by Southern slaves to the query "How are you?" No matter if they were fat as seals, and had never had a day's sickness in their lives, the answer was always the same "I'm po'ly, thank God." "Well, Uncle Bob, what is it now?" asked Major Waldron. "The little negroes been bothering your splits again?"
"Dem wuz good ole times, marster de bes' Sam ever see! Dey wuz, in fac'! Niggers didn' hed nothin' 't all to do jes' hed to 'ten' to de feedin', an' cleanin' de hosses, an' doin' what de marster tell 'em to do; an' when dey wuz sick, dey had things sont 'em out de house, an' de same doctor come to see 'em whar 'ten' to de white folks when dey wuz po'ly. Dyar warn' no trouble nor nothin'.
"She's middlin' po'ly, same's ever; got great rings under her eyes and her heart's dat heaby makes abody cry ter look at 'er. But she ain't sick, jes' griebin' herse'f to death. Ain't yer gwineter stop and see 'er? May be I kin git ye in de back way." "Not now not here. Bring her to Uncle George's house to-morrow about noon, and I will be there.
One ob yo' men, Mistah Sam Truax, am done took sick, an' he done sent me fo'yo'." "Truax ill? Why, I saw him a couple of hours ago, and he looked as healthy as a man could look," Jack replied, in astonishment. "I reckon, sah, he's mighty po'ly now, sah," replied the mulatto. "He done gib me money fo' to hiah a cab an' take yo' to him. Will yo' please to come, sah?" "Yes," agreed Jack.
"Now see yere, honey, I'se got my blin' side, I know, but it ain't toward you. I watch ober you too many yeahs not to know wen you po'ly. You'se gwine beyon' you strengt, too. Why can't you get some one ter he'p you an' den we go along swimmin'?" "Well, I'll see. I reckon I'll be better soon, and I don't care to do more than can be done in a quiet way."
V.V. was not so jokey at the supper-table as formerly, and looked po'ly, in fine, and no wonder, the heat and all, and the way he let Hazens and Epsteins roust him out of bed in the middle of his sleep. Kern deplored the doctor's thinness, and hardly less, in her secret heart, his strange indifference to his personal appearance. She observed to her mommer that she never see a gempman go so shabby.
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