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Horton read: "MY DEAR B'LOVED HUSBUN': Miss Marthy Jane takes my pen in han' ter let yer know I's well, an' our childun's well, an' all the black folks is tolerbul well 'cept Juno: her's got the polsy tolerbul bad. All the white folks 'bout yere is will 'cept mistis: her's got the dumps.
Horton saw that here was a romance in slave-life that the man and woman were in love with each other. "Well, if you can't pick cotton," he said to Alston, "what can you do?" "Mos' anything else, moster. I kin do ev'rything 'bout cawn; I kin split rails; I kin plough; I kin drive carriage." "Could you run a cotton-gin?" "Reckon so, moster: the black folks says it's tolerbul easy."
That day, to save the pickers' time, their bacon and corn pones were brought out to the field by wagon in wooden trays and buckets. There were three cotton-baskets filled with corn dodgers. Alston and Little Lizay sat not far apart while eating their dinners. "I reckon I's gittin' 'long tolerbul well ter-day," he said.
Yer's 'hin' the poo'es' gal in the fiel'." "I never pick no cotton 'fo' yistiddy, an' its tolerbul unhandy. Rickon I kin do better when I gits my han' in. I use ter could wuck fus'-rate in tobaccy." "Tobaccy won't save yer. We hain't got no use for niggers ef they can't come up ter the scratch on cotton.
I's tolerbul sho' he wouldn't 'low yer ter git twict es many licks, nohow. Mos' Hawton's tolerbul good ter his black folks, ain't he?" "Yes, tolerbul to the house-sarvants he's got in town; but he jist goes 'long mindin' his business thar', an' don't pay no 'tention sca'cely ter his plantation. He don't want us ter come 'plainin' ter him.
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