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"Thar war a big crowd at the Cross-Roads ter hear the speakin', an' a toler'ble gatherin' at Sycamore Gap. Everybody inquired partic'lar arter ye, an' whenst I tole 'em ye war tuk sick, an' couldn't be thar, an' I war 'lectioneerin' in yer place, they shuck han's, an' shuck han's.
I hae sic a regaird for yer son 'at afore I wad du onything to hairm him, I wad hae my twa han's chappit frae the shackle bane." "Surely, my dear Mr MacPhail," returned the lady in her most persuasive tones, and with her sweetest smile, "you cannot call it harming a poor idiot to restore him to the care of his own mother!" "That's as it turnt oot," rejoined Malcolm.
Folks dey give Christmas gifts same es de Lawd he give chillun dey des han's out w'at dey's got on dey han's, wid no stiddyin' 'bout de tase. Sakes er live! Ef'n de Lawd hadn't hed a plum sight ter git rid er, he 'ouldn't er sont Ca'line all dose driblets, fo' he'd done sont 'er a husban'." "Husban', huh!" exclaimed Ca'line, with a snort from the fireplace. "Husban' yo'se'f!
An' he kep' whisperin to her, an' callin' her name, an' coddlin' her; an' pres'n'y she took her han's down an' begin to laugh. "Well, dey 'peared to tek' a gre't fancy to each urr from dat time. Miss Anne she warn' nuthin' but a baby hardly, an' Marse Chan he wuz a good big boy 'bout mos' thirteen years ole, I reckon.
"Tooby sho de pa'm er my han's w'ite, honey," he quietly remarked, "en, w'en it come ter dat, dey wuz a time w'en all de w'ite folks 'uz black blacker dan me, kaze I done bin yer so long dat I bin sorter bleach out." The little boy laughed. He thought Uncle Remus was making him the victim of one of his jokes; but the youngster was never more mistaken. The old man was serious.
It's all ob de earth; it's all ob tings, nothin' but tings which de eyes can see and de han's can touch. De good Lord lift dar eyes from de earth widout takin' dat mos' dear!" But no one thought of old Aunt Sheba except as a faithful creature born to serve them in her humble way.
"Mars Jeems did n' 'low no co'tin' er juneseyin' roun' his plantation, said he wanted his niggers ter put dey min's on dey wuk, en not be wastin' dey time wid no sech foolis'ness. En he would n' let his han's git married, said he wuz n' raisin' niggers, but wuz raisin' cotton.
"Na, there's some cods' amo' them; but they're maistly haddicks'. I pikes them out afore they're sautit, an' biles them; an' syne I polish them i' my han's till they're rale bonny." "Can ye tell me onything about the mad laird, Phemy?" asked Malcolm, in his anxiety too abruptly.
The Colonel nodded, and Jake, thinking he could do nothing better than repeat all the particulars, went on: "She had a nice coffin from Palatka, an' Mandy Ann done fixed her rale nice, wid flowers in her han's, an' on her bosom, an', does you 'member givin' Mandy Ann a dollar when you's here afore?"
"But read the writin' on the bit o' pyper first, and mind you mind you give it back." He resigned the treasure, and turned his face away. "Blessed Mary!" came in the accent of Kildare, breaking the silence, "let me hould ut in me han's!" "Spell out the screeve," ordered the R.E. Reserve man imperiously.
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