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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Shut up, I tell you!" again cried Gilcrest. "I woan shet up. I will speak my min'!" "I'll cowhide you, you black witch!" shouted her master, threateningly. "Whip me? Ole Dilsey? 'Deed you woan! Ef you lays de weight ob a fingah on me, I'll t'ar you limb f'um limb!" She faced him, arms akimbo, eyes snapping, and defiance in every line of her tall figure and in every fold of her red turban.
Marse Hi's losin' his las' grain o' sense; but he bettah min' how he capers 'roun'. He's been pussecutin' thet bressed chile long 'nough all kaze she's true teh her 'fections, an' woan give in when he say she shan't hev thet nice, rosy-cheek, perlite young gemmin she's begaged to. Ole Dilsey's done kep' still long 'nough; it's time fer her teh lay down de law a bit.
Ole mars'r en ole miss kyant see en woan see, en dat lil chile w'at stan' up fer us in de 'stremity ob triberlation be lef wid no one ter do fer her. I berry ole en stiff in my jints en I cud die peaceful ef I know I free; but hit 'pears that de Lawd say ter me, 'Uncle Lusthah, stay right yere en look arter dat lil sick lam'. Den I mek you free w'en de right time come."
"Hit woan begin dis yere night," replied Chunk, soothingly and incautiously. "How you know?" she asked quickly, a sudden suspicion entering her mind. "Wat's ter begin?" answered Chunk, now on his guard. "De night am still, nobody roun'. I hang roun' a few nights twel I study out de bes' plan ter git away." "Has you been hangin' roun' nights, Chunk?" Zany asked solemnly. "How you talks, Zany!
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