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But w'en he got dere, Marse Dugal' had fetched up ole Doctor Leach fum down on Rockfish, 'en another young doctor fum town, en' dey looked at Skundus's eyes en' felt of his wris' en' pulled out his tongue, en' hit 'im in de chis', en' put dey yeahs ter his side fer ter heah 'is heart beat; en' den dey up'n made Skundus tell how he felt w'en 'e went ter sleep en' how he felt w'en 'e woke up.
So one day I comes in dah whar de big officers was, in de parlor, an' I drops a kurtchy, so, an' I up an' tole 'em 'bout my Henry, dey a-listenin' to my troubles jist de same as if I was white folks; an' I says, 'What I come for is beca'se if he got away and got up Norf whar you gemmen comes from, you might 'a' seen him, maybe, an' could tell me so as I could fine him ag'in; he was very little, an' he had a sk-yar on his lef' wris' an' at de top of his forehead. Den dey look mournful, an' de Gen'l says, 'How long sence you los' him? an' I say, 'Thirteen year.
You know dat red-head freckled-face yaller gal dat use to sew for Mis' Ann Powers always wear a sailor hat wid a waist on her no thicker'n my wris' an' a hitch in her walk eve'y time she pass a man? Dat's de gal. She stole Wash f'om me an' she's welcome to 'im. Any 'oman is welcome to any man she kin git f'om me. Dat's my principle.
Well, dat was her word. I don't ever forgit it, beca'se she said it so much, an' beca'se she said it one day when my little Henry tore his wris' awful, and most busted 'is head, right up at de top of his forehead, an' de niggers didn't fly aroun' fas' enough to 'tend to him.
De pan drop' on de flo' an' I grab his lef' han' an' shove back his sleeve jist so, as I's doin' to you an' den I goes for his forehead an' push de hair back so, an' 'Boy! I says, 'if you an't my Henry, what is you doin' wid dis welt on yo' wris' an' dat sk-yar on yo' forehead? De Lord God ob heaven be praise', I got my own ag'in! "Oh no' Misto C , I hain't had no trouble. An' no JOY!"
"You see dat big white scar on Marse Wes' lef' wris'? When he struck me I mahk him dere wid my hot flatiron. Am' no man eveh gwine lif' his hand to Dolcey, no matter who." A shrewd question came to Annie: "Aunt Dolcey, did he ever strike you again?" "No, ma'am, no 'ndeedy, he didn'. Wil' Marse Wes may be, but he ain' no crazy man. It's dat ole debbil in his nature, Miss Annie, honey.
So one day I comes in dah whar de big officers was, in de parlor, an' I drops a kurtchy, so, an' I up an' tole 'em 'bout my Henry, dey a-listenin' to my troubles jist de same as if I was white folks; an' I says, 'What I come for is beca'se if he got away and got up Norf whar you gemmen comes from, you might 'a' seen him, maybe, an' could tell me so as I could fine him ag'in; he was very little, an' he had a sk-yar on his lef' wris' an' at de top of his forehead. Den dey look mournful, an' de Gen'l says, 'How long sence you los' him? an' I say, 'Thirteen year. Den de Gen'l say, 'He wouldn't be little no mo' now he's a man!
Well, dat was her word. I don't ever forgit it, beca'se she said it so much, an' beca'se she said it one day when my little Henry tore his wris' awful, and most busted 'is head, right up at de top of his forehead, an' de niggers didn't fly aroun' fas' enough to 'tend to him.
"Why don't you defend yourself?" "You don' know Mis' Braboy, suh; you don' know dat 'oman," he replied, with a shake of the head. "Some er dese yer w'ite women is monst'us strong in de wris'." "Well, Mr. Braboy, it 's what you might have expected when you turned your back on your own people and married a white woman.
Miss Cornelia were struck in de wris'. It mortified an' after 'while she died from it. "I know I aint tol' de sho' 'nough reason Mr. John Gully got killed. Maybe de time done come for de truf to be tol'. Hope won't nobody think hard o' me for tellin': "Mr. John Gully had a bar-room an' a clerk. Walter were kotch wid 'er ag'in. Dat Frid'y night he come a-struttin' into de bar-room. Mr.
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