de lumber fer ter buil' dat ole school'ouse w'at you er talkin' 'bout
pullin' down. De school'ouse wuz n' use' 'cep'n' in de daytime, en on
dark nights folks gwine 'long de road would hear quare soun's en see
quare things. Po' ole Tenie useter go down dere at night, en wander
'roun' de school'ouse; en de niggers all 'lowed she went fer ter talk
wid Sandy's sperrit. En one winter mawnin', w'en one er de boys went ter
school early fer ter start de fire, w'at should he fin' but po' ole
Tenie, layin' on de flo', stiff, en col', en dead. Dere did n' 'pear ter
be nuffin pertickler de matter wid her,--she had des grieve' herse'f ter
def fer her Sandy. Mars Marrabo didn' shed no tears. He thought Tenie
wuz crazy, en dey wa'n't no tellin' w'at she mought do nex'; en dey ain'
much room in dis worl' fer crazy w'ite folks, let 'lone a crazy nigger.
"Hit wa'n't long atter dat befo' Mars Marrabo sol' a piece er his track
er lan' ter Mars Dugal' McAdoo,--_my_ ole marster,--en dat 's how de
ole school'ouse happen to be on yo' place. Wen de wah broke out, de
school stop', en de ole school'ouse be'n stannin' empty ever sence,--dat
is, 'cep'n' fer de ha'nts. En folks sez dat de ole school'ouse, er any
yuther house w'at got any er dat lumber in it w'at wuz sawed out'n de
tree w'at Sandy wuz turnt inter, is gwine ter be ha'nted tel de las'
piece er plank is rotted en crumble' inter dus'."
Annie had listened to this gruesome narrative with strained attention.
"What a system it was," she exclaimed, when Julius had finished, "under
which such things were possible!"
"What things?" I asked, in amazement. "Are you seriously considering the
possibility of a man's being turned into a tree?"
"Oh, no," she replied quickly, "not that;" and then she murmured
absently, and with a dim look in her fine eyes, "Poor Tenie!"
We ordered the lumber, and returned home. That night, after we had gone
to bed, and my wife had to all appearances been sound asleep for half an
hour, she startled me out of an incipient doze by exclaiming suddenly,--
"John, I don't believe I want my new kitchen built out of the lumber in
that old schoolhouse."
"You wouldn't for a moment allow yourself," I replied, with some
asperity, "to be influenced by that absurdly impossible yarn which
Julius was spinning to-day?"
"I know the story is absurd," she replied dreamily, "and I am not so
silly as to believe it. But I don't think I should ever be able to take
any pleasure in that kitchen if it were built out of that lumber.
Besides, I think the kitchen would look better and last longer if the
lumber were all new."
Of course she had her way. I bought the new lumber, though not without
grumbling. A week or two later I was called away from home on business.
On my return, after an absence of several days, my wife remarked to
me,--
"John, there has been a split in the Sandy Run Colored Baptist Church,
on the temperance question. About half the members have come out from
the main body, and set up for themselves. Uncle Julius is one of the
seceders, and he came to me yesterday and asked if they might not hold
their meetings in the old schoolhouse for the present."
"I hope you didn't let the old rascal have it," I returned, with some
warmth. I had just received a bill for the new lumber I had bought.
"Well," she replied, "I couldn't refuse him the use of the house for so
good a purpose."
"And I'll venture to say," I continued, "that you subscribed something
toward the support of the new church?"
She did not attempt to deny it.
"What are they going to do about the ghost?" I asked, somewhat curious
to know how Julius would get around this obstacle.
"Oh," replied Annie, "Uncle Julius says that ghosts never disturb
religious worship, but that if Sandy's spirit _should_ happen to stray
into meeting by mistake, no doubt the preaching would do it good."
MARS JEEMS'S NIGHTMARE
We found old Julius very useful when we moved to our new residence. He
had a thorough knowledge of the neighborhood, was familiar with the
roads and the watercourses, knew the qualities of the various soils and
what they would produce, and where the best hunting and fishing were to
be had. He was a marvelous hand in the management of horses and dogs,
with whose mental processes he manifested a greater familiarity than
mere use would seem to account for, though it was doubtless due to the
simplicity of a life that had kept him close to nature. Toward my tract
of land and the things that were on it--the creeks, the swamps, the
hills, the meadows, the stones, the trees--he maintained a peculiar
personal attitude, that might be called predial rather than proprietary.
He had been accustomed, until long after middle life, to look upon
himself as the property of another. When this relation was no longer
possible, owing to the war, and to his master's death and the dispersion
of the family, he had been unable to break off entirely the mental
habits of a lifetime, but had attached himself to the old plantation, of
which he seemed to consider himself an appurtenance. We found him useful
in many ways and entertaining in others, and my wife and I took quite a
fancy to him.
Shortly after we became established in our home on the sand-hills,
Julius brought up to the house one day a colored boy of about seventeen,
whom he introduced as his grandson, and for whom he solicited
employment. I was not favorably impressed by the youth's
appearance,--quite the contrary, in fact; but mainly to please the old
man I hired Tom--his name was Tom--to help about the stables, weed the
garden, cut wood and bring water, and in general to make himself useful
about the outdoor work of the household.
My first impression of Tom proved to be correct. He turned out to be
very trifling, and I was much annoyed by his laziness, his carelessness,
and his apparent lack of any sense of responsibility. I kept him longer
than I should, on Julius's account, hoping that he might improve; but he
seemed to grow worse instead of better, and when I finally reached the
limit of my patience, I discharged him.
"I am sorry, Julius," I said to the old man; "I should have liked to
oblige you by keeping him; but I can't stand Tom any longer. He is
absolutely untrustworthy."
"Yas, suh," replied Julius, with a deep sigh and a long shake of the
head, "I knows he ain' much account, en dey ain' much 'pen'ence ter be
put on 'im. But I wuz hopin' dat you mought make some 'lowance fuh a'
ign'ant young nigger, suh, en gib 'im one mo' chance."
But I had hardened my heart. I had always been too easily imposed upon,
and had suffered too much from this weakness. I determined to be firm as
a rock in this instance.
"No, Julius," I rejoined decidedly, "it is impossible. I gave him more
than a fair trial, and he simply won't do."
When my wife and I set out for our drive in the cool of the
evening,--afternoon is "evening" in Southern parlance,--one of the
servants put into the rock-away two large earthenware jugs. Our drive
was to be down through the swamp to the mineral spring at the foot of
the sand-hills beyond. The water of this spring was strongly
impregnated with sulphur and iron, and, while not particularly agreeable
of smell or taste, was used by us, in moderation, for sanitary reasons.
When we reached the spring, we found a man engaged in cleaning it out.
In answer to an inquiry he said that if we would wait five or ten
minutes, his task would be finished and the spring in such condition
that we could fill our jugs. We might have driven on, and come back by
way of the spring, but there was a bad stretch of road beyond, and we
concluded to remain where we were until the spring should be ready. We
were in a cool and shady place. It was often necessary to wait awhile in
North Carolina; and our Northern energy had not been entirely proof
against the influences of climate and local custom.
While we sat there, a man came suddenly around a turn of the road ahead
of us. I recognized in him a neighbor with whom I had exchanged formal
calls. He was driving a horse, apparently a high-spirited creature,
possessing, so far as I could see at a glance, the marks of good temper
and good breeding; the gentleman, I had heard it suggested, was slightly
deficient in both. The horse was rearing and plunging, and the man was
beating him furiously with a buggy-whip. When he saw us, he flushed a
fiery red, and, as he passed, held the reins with one hand, at some risk
to his safety, lifted his hat, and bowed somewhat constrainedly as the
horse darted by us, still panting and snorting with fear.
"He looks as though he were ashamed of himself," I observed.
"I'm sure he ought to be," exclaimed my wife indignantly. "I think
there is no worse sin and no more disgraceful thing than cruelty."
"I quite agree with you," I assented.
"A man w'at 'buses his hoss is gwine ter be ha'd on de folks w'at wuks
fer 'im," remarked Julius. "Ef young Mistah McLean doan min', he'll hab
a bad dream one er dese days, des lack 'is grandaddy had way back
yander, long yeahs befo' de wah."
"What was it about Mr. McLean's dream, Julius?" I asked. The man had not
yet finished cleaning the spring, and we might as well put in time
listening to Julius as in any other way. We had found some of his
plantation tales quite interesting.
"Mars Jeems McLean," said Julius, "wuz de grandaddy er dis yer gent'eman
w'at is des gone by us beatin' his hoss. He had a big plantation en a
heap er niggers. Mars Jeems wuz a ha'd man, en monst'us stric' wid his
han's. Eber sence he growed up he nebber 'peared ter hab no feelin' fer
nobody. W'en his daddy, ole Mars John McLean, died, de plantation en
all de niggers fell ter young Mars Jeems. He had be'n bad 'nuff befo',
but it wa'n't long atterwa'ds 'tel he got so dey wuz no use in libbin'
at all ef you ha' ter lib roun' Mars Jeems. His niggers wuz bleedzd ter
slabe fum daylight ter da'k, w'iles yuther folks's did n' hafter wuk
'cep'n' fum sun ter sun; en dey did n' git no mo' ter eat dan dey
oughter, en dat de coa'ses' kin'. Dey wa'n't 'lowed ter sing, ner dance,
ner play de banjo w'en Mars Jeems wuz roun' de place; fer Mars Jeems say
he would n' hab no sech gwines-on,--said he bought his han's ter wuk, en
not ter play, en w'en night come dey mus' sleep en res', so dey 'd be
ready ter git up soon in de mawnin' en go ter dey wuk fresh en strong.
"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. En w'eneber any er de boys en gals 'ud 'mence ter git sweet on
one ernudder, he 'd sell one er de yuther un 'em, er sen' 'em way down
in Robeson County ter his yuther plantation, whar dey could n' nebber
see one ernudder.
"Ef any er de niggers eber complained, dey got fo'ty; so co'se dey did
n' many un 'em complain. But dey did n' lack it, des de same, en nobody
could n' blame 'em, fer dey had a ha'd time. Mars Jeems did n' make no
'lowance fer nachul bawn laz'ness, ner sickness, ner trouble in de min',
ner nuffin; he wuz des gwine ter git so much wuk outer eve'y han', er
know de reason w'y.
"Dey wuz one time de niggers 'lowed, fer a spell, dat Mars Jeems mought
git bettah. He tuk a lackin' ter Mars Marrabo McSwayne's oldes' gal,
Miss Libbie, en useter go ober dere eve'y day er eve'y ebenin', en folks
said dey wuz gwine ter git married sho'. But it 'pears dat Miss Libbie
heared 'bout de gwineson on Mars Jeems's plantation, en she des 'lowed
she could n' trus' herse'f wid no sech a man; dat he mought git so
useter 'busin' his niggers dat he 'd 'mence ter 'buse his wife atter he
got useter habbin' her roun' de house. So she 'clared she wuz n' gwine
ter hab nuffin mo' ter do wid young Mars Jeems.
"De niggers wuz all monst'us sorry w'en de match wuz bust' up, fer now
Mars Jeems got wusser 'n he wuz befo' he sta'ted sweethea'tin'. De time
he useter spen' co'tin' Miss Libbie he put in findin' fault wid de
niggers, en all his bad feelin's 'ca'se Miss Libbie th'owed 'im ober he
'peared ter try ter wuk off on de po' niggers.
"W'iles Mars Jeems wuz co'tin' Miss Libbie, two er de han's on de
plantation had got ter settin' a heap er sto' by one ernudder. One un
'em wuz name' Solomon, en de yuther wuz a 'oman w'at wukked in de fiel'
'long er 'im--I fe'git dat 'oman's name, but it doan 'mount ter much in
de tale nohow. Now, whuther 'ca'se Mars Jeems wuz so tuk up wid his own
junesey[2] dat he did n' paid no 'tention fer a w'ile ter w'at wuz gwine
on 'twix' Solomon en his junesey, er whuther his own co'tin' made 'im
kin' er easy on de co'tin' in de qua'ters, dey ain' no tellin'. But
dey's one thing sho', dat w'en Miss Libbie th'owed 'im ober, he foun'
out 'bout Solomon en de gal monst'us quick, en gun Solomon fo'ty, en
sont de gal down ter de Robeson County plantation, en tol' all de
niggers ef he ketch 'em at any mo' sech foolishness, he wuz gwine ter
skin 'em alibe en tan dey hides befo' dey ve'y eyes. Co'se he would n'
'a' done it, but he mought 'a' made things wusser 'n dey wuz. So you kin
'magine dey wa'n't much lub-makin' in de qua'ters fer a long time.
[Footnote 2: Sweetheart.]
"Mars Jeems useter go down ter de yuther plantation sometimes fer a week
er mo', en so he had ter hab a oberseah ter look atter his wuk w'iles he
'uz gone. Mars Jeems's oberseah wuz a po' w'ite man name' Nick
Johnson,--de niggers called 'im Mars Johnson ter his face, but behin'
his back dey useter call 'im Ole Nick, en de name suited 'im ter a T. He
wuz wusser 'n Mars Jeems ever da'ed ter be. Co'se de darkies did n' lack
de way Mars Jeems used 'em, but he wuz de marster, en had a right ter do
ez he please'; but dis yer Ole Nick wa'n't nuffin but a po' buckrah, en
all de niggers 'spised 'im ez much ez dey hated 'im, fer he did n' own
nobody, en wa'n't no bettah 'n a nigger, fer in dem days any 'spectable
pusson would ruther be a nigger dan a po' w'ite man.
"Now, atter Solomon's gal had be'n sont away, he kep' feelin' mo' en
mo' bad erbout it, 'tel fin'lly he 'lowed he wuz gwine ter see ef dey
could n' be sump'n done fer ter git 'er back, en ter make Mars Jeems
treat de darkies bettah. So he tuk a peck er co'n out'n de ba'n one
night, en went ober ter see ole Aun' Peggy, de free-nigger cunjuh 'oman
down by de Wim'l'ton Road.
"Aun' Peggy listen' ter 'is tale, en ax' him some queshtuns, en den tol'
'im she 'd wuk her roots, en see w'at dey 'd say 'bout it, en ter-morrer
night he sh'd come back ag'in en fetch ernudder peck er co'n, en den she
'd hab sump'n fer ter tell 'im.
"So Solomon went back de nex' night, en sho' 'nuff, Aun' Peggy tol' 'im
w'at ter do. She gun 'im some stuff w'at look' lack it be'n made by
poundin' up some roots en yarbs wid a pestle in a mo'tar.
"'Dis yer stuff,' sez she, 'is monst'us pow'ful kin' er goopher. You
take dis home, en gin it ter de cook, ef you kin trus' her, en tell her
fer ter put it in yo' marster's soup de fus' cloudy day he hab okra soup
fer dinnah. Min' you follers de d'rections.'
"'It ain' gwineter p'isen 'im, is it?' ax' Solomon, gittin' kin' er
skeered; fer Solomon wuz a good man, en did n' want ter do nobody no
rale ha'm.
"'Oh, no,' sez ole Aun' Peggy, 'it's gwine ter do 'im good, but he'll
hab a monst'us bad dream fus'. A mont' fum now you come down heah en
lemme know how de goopher is wukkin'. Fer I ain' done much er dis kin'
er cunj'in' er late yeahs, en I has ter kinder keep track un it ter see
dat it doan 'complish no mo' d'n I 'lows fer it ter do. En I has ter be
kinder keerful 'bout cunj'in' w'ite folks; so be sho' en lemme know,
w'ateber you do, des w'at is gwine on roun' de plantation.'
"So Solomon say all right, en tuk de goopher mixtry up ter de big house
en gun it ter de cook, en tol' her fer ter put it in Mars Jeems's soup
de fus' cloudy day she hab okra soup fer dinnah. It happen' dat de ve'y
nex' day wuz a cloudy day, en so de cook made okra soup fer Mars Jeems's
dinnah, en put de powder Solomon gun her inter de soup, en made de soup
rale good, so Mars Jeems eat a whole lot of it en 'peared ter enjoy it.
"De nex' mawnin' Mars Jeems tol' de oberseah he wuz gwine 'way on some
bizness, en den he wuz gwine ter his yuther plantation, down in Robeson
County, en he did n' 'spec' he 'd be back fer a mont' er so.
"But,' sezee, 'I wants you ter run dis yer plantation fer all it's wuth.
Dese yer niggers is gittin' monst'us triflin' en lazy en keerless, en
dey ain' no 'pen'ence ter be put in 'em. I wants dat stop', en w'iles I
'm gone erway I wants de 'spenses cut 'way down en a heap mo' wuk done.
Fac', I wants dis yer plantation ter make a reco'd dat'll show w'at
kinder oberseah you is.'
"Ole Nick did n' said nuffin but 'Yas, suh,' but de way he kinder grin'
ter hisse'f en show' his big yaller teef, en snap' de rawhide he useter
kyar roun' wid 'im, made col' chills run up and down de backbone er dem
niggers w'at heared Mars Jeems a-talkin'. En dat night dey wuz mo'nin'
en groanin' down in de qua'ters, fer de niggers all knowed w'at wuz
comin'.
"So, sho' 'nuff, Mars Jeems went erway nex' mawnin', en de trouble
begun. Mars Johnson sta'ted off de ve'y fus' day fer ter see w'at he
could hab ter show Mars Jeems w'en he come back. He made de tasks bigger
en de rashuns littler, en w'en de niggers had wukked all day, he 'd fin'
sump'n fer 'em ter do roun' de ba'n er som'ers atter da'k, fer ter keep
'em busy a' hour er so befo' dey went ter sleep.
"About th'ee er fo' days atter Mars Jeems went erway, young Mars Dunkin
McSwayne rode up ter de big house one day wid a nigger settin' behin'
'im in de buggy, tied ter de seat, en ax' ef Mars Jeems wuz home. Mars
Johnson wuz at de house, and he say no.
"'Well,' sez Mars Dunkin, sezee, 'I fotch dis nigger ober ter Mistah
McLean fer ter pay a bet I made wid 'im las' week w'en we wuz playin'
kya'ds te'gedder. I bet 'im a nigger man, en heah 's one I reckon'll
fill de bill. He wuz tuk up de yuther day fer a stray nigger, en he
could n' gib no 'count er hisse'f, en so he wuz sol' at oction, en I
bought 'im. He's kinder brash, but I knows yo' powers, Mistah Johnson,
en I reckon ef anybody kin make 'im toe de ma'k, you is de man.'
"Mars Johnson grin' one er dem grins w'at show' all his snaggle teef,
en make de niggers 'low he look lack de ole debbil, en sezee ter Mars
Dunkin:--
"'I reckon you kin trus' me, Mistah Dunkin, fer ter tame any nigger wuz
eber bawn. De nigger doan lib w'at I can't take down in 'bout fo' days.'
"Well, Ole Nick had 'is han's full long er dat noo nigger; en w'iles de
res' er de darkies wuz sorry fer de po' man, dey 'lowed he kep' Mars
Johnson so busy dat dey got along better 'n dey 'd 'a' done ef de noo
nigger had nebber come.
"De fus' thing dat happen', Mars Johnson sez ter dis yer noo man:--
"'W'at 's yo' name, Sambo?'
"'My name ain' Sambo,' 'spon' de noo nigger.
"'Did I ax you w'at yo' name wa'n't?' sez Mars Johnson. 'You wants ter
be pa'tic'lar how you talks ter me. Now, w'at is yo' name, en whar did
you come fum?'
"'I dunno my name,' sez de nigger, 'en I doan 'member whar I come fum.
My head is all kin' er mix' up.'
"'Yas,' sez Mars Johnson, 'I reckon I'll ha' ter gib you sump'n fer ter
cl'ar yo' head. At de same time, it'll l'arn you some manners, en atter
dis mebbe you'll say "suh" w'en you speaks ter me.'
"Well, Mars Johnson haul' off wid his rawhide en hit de noo nigger once.
De noo man look' at Mars Johnson fer a minute ez ef he did n' know w'at
ter make er dis yer kin' er l'arnin'. But w'en de oberseah raise' his
w'ip ter hit him ag'in, de noo nigger des haul' off en made fer Mars
Johnson, en ef some er de yuther niggers had n' stop' 'im, it 'peared ez
ef he mought 'a' made it wa'm fer Ole Nick dere fer a w'ile. But de
oberseah made de yuther niggers he'p tie de noo nigger up, en den gun
'im fo'ty, wid a dozen er so th'owed in fer good measure, fer Ole Nick
wuz nebber stingy wid dem kin' er rashuns. De nigger went on at a
tarrable rate, des lack a wil' man, but co'se he wuz bleedzd ter take
his med'cine, fer he wuz tied up en could n' he'p his-se'f.
"Mars Johnson lock' de noo nigger up in de ba'n, en did n' gib 'im
nuffin ter eat fer a day er so, 'tel he got 'im kin'er quiet' down, en
den he tu'nt 'im loose en put 'im ter wuk. De nigger 'lowed he wa'n't
useter wukkin', en would n' wuk, en Mars Johnson gun 'im anudder fo'ty
fer laziness en impidence, en let 'im fas' a day er so mo', en den put
'im ter wuk ag'in. De nigger went ter wuk, but did n' 'pear ter know how
ter han'le a hoe. It tuk des 'bout half de oberseah's time lookin' atter
'im, en dat po' nigger got mo' lashin's en cussin's en cuffin's dan any
fo' yuthers on de plantation. He did n' mix' wid ner talk much ter de
res' er de niggers, en could n' 'pear ter git it th'oo his min' dat he
wuz a slabe en had ter wuk en min' de w'ite folks, spite er de fac' dat
Ole Nick gun 'im a lesson eve'y day. En fin'lly Mars Johnson 'lowed dat
he could n' do nuffin wid 'im; dat ef he wuz his nigger, he 'd break his
sperrit er break 'is neck, one er de yuther. But co'se he wuz only sont
ober on trial, en ez he did n' gib sat'sfaction, en he had n' heared fum
Mars Jeems 'bout w'en he wuz comin' back; en ez he wuz feared he 'd git
mad some time er 'nuther en kill de nigger befo' he knowed it, he 'lowed
he 'd better sen' 'im back whar he come fum. So he tied 'im up en sont
'im back ter Mars Dunkin.
"Now, Mars Dunkin McSwayne wuz one er dese yer easy-gwine gent'emen w'at
did n' lack ter hab no trouble wid niggers er nobody e'se, en he knowed
ef Mars Ole Nick could n' git 'long wid dis nigger, nobody could. So he
tuk de nigger ter town dat same day, en sol' 'im ter a trader w'at wuz
gittin' up a gang er lackly niggers fer ter ship off on de steamboat ter
go down de ribber ter Wim'l'ton en fum dere ter Noo Orleens.
"De nex' day atter de noo man had be'n sont away, Solomon wuz wukkin' in
de cotton-fiel', en w'en he got ter de fence nex' ter de woods, at de
een' er de row, who sh'd he see on de yuther side but ole Aun' Peggy.
She beckon' ter 'im,--de oberseah wuz down on de yuther side er de
fiel',--en sez she:--
"'W'y ain' you done come en 'po'ted ter me lack I tol' you?'
"'W'y, law! Aun' Peggy,' sez Solomon, 'dey ain' nuffin ter 'po't. Mars
Jeems went away de day atter we gun 'im de goopher mixtry, en we ain'
seed hide ner hair un 'im sence, en co'se we doan know nuffin 'bout w'at
'fec' it had on 'im.'
"'I doan keer nuffin 'bout yo' Mars Jeems now; w'at I wants ter know is
w'at is be'n gwine on 'mongs' de niggers. Has you be'n gittin' 'long any
better on de plantation?'
"'No, Aun' Peggy, we be'n gittin' 'long wusser. Mars Johnson is stric'er
'n he eber wuz befo', en de po' niggers doan ha'dly git time ter draw
dey bref, en dey 'lows dey mought des ez well be dead ez alibe.'
"' Uh huh!' sez Aun' Peggy, sez she, 'I tol' you dat 'uz monst'us
pow'ful goopher, en its wuk doan 'pear all at once.'
"'Long ez we had dat noo nigger heah,' Solomon went on, 'he kep' Mars
Johnson busy pa't er de time; but now he 's gone erway, I s'pose de res'
un us'll ketch it wusser 'n eber.'
"'W'at's gone wid de noo nigger?' sez Aun' Peggy, rale quick, battin'
her eyes en straight'nin' up.
"'Ole Nick done sont 'im back ter Mars Dunkin, who had fotch 'im heah
fer ter pay a gamblin' debt ter Mars Jeems,' sez Solomon, 'en I heahs
Mars Dunkin has sol' 'im ter a nigger-trader up in Patesville, w'at 's
gwine ter ship 'im off wid a gang ter-morrer.'
"Ole Aun' Peggy 'peared ter git rale stirred up w'en Solomon tol' 'er
dat, en sez she, shakin' her stick at 'im:--
"'W'y did n' you come en tell me 'bout dis noo nigger bein' sol' erway?
Did n' you promus me, ef I 'd gib you dat goopher, you 'd come en 'po't
ter me 'bout all w'at wuz gwine on on dis plantation Co'se I could 'a'
foun' out fer myse'f, but I 'pended on yo' tellin' me, en now by not
doin' it I's feared you gwine spile my cunj'in'. You come down ter my
house ter-night en do w'at I tells you, er I'll put a spell on you dat
'll make yo' ha'r fall out so you'll be bal', en yo' eyes drap out so
you can't see, en yo teef fall out so you can't eat, en yo' years grow
up so you can't heah. Wen you is foolin' wid a cunjuh 'oman lack me, you
got ter min' yo' P's en Q's er dey'll be trouble sho' 'nuff.'
"So co'se Solomon went down ter Aun' Peggy's dat night, en she gun 'im a
roasted sweet'n' 'tater.
"'You take dis yer sweet'n' 'tater,' sez she,--'I done goophered it
'speshly fer dat noo nigger, so you better not eat it yo'se'f er you'll
wush you had n',--en slip off ter town, en fin' dat strange man, en gib
'im dis yer sweet'n' 'tater. He mus' eat it befo' mawnin', sho', ef he
doan wanter be sol' erway ter Noo Orleens.'
"'But s'posen de patteroles ketch me, Aun' Peggy, w'at I gwine ter do?'
sez Solomon.