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Updated: July 11, 2025
Frank Woods two weeks ago last Thursday night?" I asked. The boy was trembling. He rolled frightened eyes toward Jackson who was glaring at him. Finally he broke into a wail. "Oh! Pappy Jackson, da's all Ah knows. He tell me he go to de bah an' ef'n anybuddy ask whah he go dat night to sen' em in dah." "Just tell me what you know, George!" I said, motioning the angry Jackson away.
We don't wanter tuh disturb yuh, an' we'll go up de sho' er bit. Dat fish he taste mighty fine, I reckons, mister, an' we sho' be powful glad tug git 'im, dat's so. Hyah, yuh lazy good-for-nothin' brack niggah, pick up some ob dat fiah an' tote it up yander whah de p'int juts out. Dat look good enuff fur dis chile.
"All I says is, dat I started whah I come fum wid dat cat an' I 'specks to lan' up whah I 's gwine to wid dat same cat in dat same cage. Bein' as you 's got dem chillun en dat wife, I calls yo' 'tenshun to dat fac', suh." The chauffeur, a case-hardened pirate, laughed. "All right, lady," said he, genially.
"No'm, all dah 'cep' de cloak she tuck on de machine. Reckon she out in de honey-sucker bower whah dey sot together Sunday evenin'. Reckon Marie Madeleine gone dah. I'll go see." "Ah, fearlezz boy, yes! Make quick!" This time both women pushed, single file, all the way to the garden door. There they strained their sight down the path, beyond him, but the bower was quite dark.
Dey was a little sickly nigger wench 'bout ten year ole dat 'uz good to me, en hadn't no mammy, po' thing, en I loved her en she loved me; en she come out whah I 'uz workin' en she had a roasted tater, en tried to slip it to me robbin' herself, you see, 'ca'se she knowed de overseer didn't give me enough to eat en he ketched her at it, en giver her a lick acrost de back wid his stick, which 'uz as thick as a broom handle, en she drop' screamin' on de groun', en squirmin' en wallerin' aroun' in de dust like a spider dat's got crippled.
It ain't fitten fer a ole nigger 'ooman to be prayin' erroun' whah white folks is. You kain't seem to let out good an' free; 'n ef I kain't let out good an' free, 'pears like I don't git no hol' on salvation. We all po' weak sinners, Miss Ma'y Ellen." "Yes, I know, Lucy."
"Yes, that's what they do." "Mars Tom, ain't de blessin' o' de Lord de mos' valuable thing dey is?" "Yes, it is." "Don't de preacher stan' up in de pulpit en call it down on de people?" "Yes." "Whah do it come from?" "From heaven." "Yassir! you's jes' right, 'deed you is, honey it come from heaven, en dat's a foreign country. NOW, den! do dey put a tax on dat blessin'?" "No, they don't."
I 'ain't nevah read anotheh book except the Bible and Mistah Shakespeah's poems, an' Mistah Pluta'ch's Lives of Great Men. I know them by hea't. I don't know whe' she got them o' whe' she came from. She was different from othah mountain women. I've been No'th six weeks, and I've tried ha'd to find a place whah I could fit in, but th' ain't none. Men must be trained fuh wo'k; I ain't trained.
'Spec he whah he oughtn't ter be." Mr. Colfax spied the stooping figure of Eliphalet. "Do you work here?" he demanded. "I callate." "What?" "I callate to," responded Mr. Hopper again, without rising. "Please find Mr. Hood," directed Mr. Colfax, with a wave of his cane, "and say that Miss Carvel is here "
But" he burst out again with a sudden long wail "ah jes' doan see how ahm goin' tuh keep on livin in a worl' whah dey ain't no Hannah!" His grief gathered force as he gave it rein. He hurled himself down on the ground again and tore at the grasses with his thin black hands. "Oh, ah want, ah want, ah want tuh heah mah Hannah laff again!" he cried, frenziedly.
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