for Sir John Blood was Marquis of Longacre, and she who was once
Theodora March was now Theodora, Marchioness of Longacre. Mrs.
Wodehouse was of the party, and so was Anne, now Mrs. William McBean,
and sweeter, prettier, and gentler than ever. Not so gentle was she,
however, that anybody dared to offer her any commiseration on account
of her long-legged lieutenant, for at the first hint of the kind she
showed fight so unmistakably, that even Theodora was fain to desist.
Anne esteemed William as the first man in the world. With a refined and
noble arrogance she conveyed to the world her pride and satisfaction
in being the choice of such a man--and from being the meekest and most
lamb-like of girls, developed into a person of considerable spirit,
fully determined to sustain the honor of being William McBean's
wife. She was not only openly and candidly and deeply in love with
her lieutenant, whose strong sense and firm character were but dimly
obscured by his red head and his hard features, but she loved the
whole clan of McBean, was a rampant Jacobite, and went in for tartans,
cairngorms, bag-pipes, Flora McDonald, Highland Mary, etc., with an
ardor truly American. Meanwhile, as Anne became more determinedly
Scotch, William McBean, who was a reading fellow, showed a strong
leaning toward America and republicanism. Thus they were supplied with
something to squabble about--lacking which, steady matrimony is apt to
become a little tedious, it is said.
The first evening after dinner, before the men had come up from the
dining-room, the ladies gathered around the drawing-room fire, and
about the piano. "Dear Theodora," said Mrs. Wodehouse, going up to her
and taking her hand, "How proud I am of you! When you went into dinner
on the Prince's arm, you never looked lovelier. Nobody would ever have
imagined that you had not been born a marchioness."
"Yes," said Theodora with a brilliant smile. "You see, here there are
only a few marchionesses, but with us we are all marchionesses in our
own esteem."
"Yes," replied Mrs. Wodehouse meditatively, "you American peeresses
certainly are--er--a--remarkable lot--all of you seem to have been born
in the purple, and every one I've seen yet is a red-hot Tory."
"_That_ I am," cried Theodora playfully, stamping her pretty foot. "I
believe in my Order, as Ouida calls it, the more because it's all new
and delightful."
"And a--your husband seems a charming man," continued Mrs. Wodehouse a
little timidly.
"Yes," said Theodora heartily. "We've agreed to let by-gones be
by-gones. He's thoroughly domesticated."
Just then occurred the little flutter that announces an irruption from
the lower regions. A number of men came in at once, the marquis and
William McBean among them. Six months of his American wife had aged the
marquis ten years. His hair was whitened and his once bold eyes had a
cowed and uneasy look.
The talk ran to hunting. The marquis said: "To-morrow the Marsh meadow
is to be drawn, and I can promise you as good sport as is to be found
in the country. There is an old red fox--"
"Dearest," cried Theodora, softly but reproachfully, from her sofa, "if
you go out to-morrow how are you to finish painting the front of my
satin gown which I am to wear at the hunt ball?"
Everybody had heard her. William McBean grinned delightedly, and
whispered to Anne, "Now the British lion's tail will be twisted."
The marquis's face grew three quarters of a yard long. He shifted
uneasily in his chair.
"My love, do you really want that gown?"
"Of course I do, darling."
"Then," said the miserable marquis, with a ghastly assumption of a
joke, "I'll have to give up the Marsh meadow to-morrow. But the next
day, Wednesday--"
"Oh--oh!" cried Theodora with coquettish playfulness, pinching his
ear, "don't you know you've got to take mamma up to town to do some
shopping? Forgetful man!"
"I really had forgotten," exclaimed the poor marquis, turning very red,
"I'm glad you reminded me, my dear."
"And Friday's the day you promised to take Hector to have his picture
taken. I couldn't think of trusting my precious poodle to a heartless
footman."
"Quite true," said the marquis, turning pale, "but Saturday, my pet--"
"Saturday!" exclaimed Theodora, "I have no end of things for you to do,
dearest. I want you to fetch Major Philibeg over from the barracks in
your trap, and Sunday you must go to church, you know, dear love."
"Certainly, my own," meekly responded the once redoubtable man who
had killed three wives. At this William McBean suddenly darted out
of the room, and was found half an hour afterward haw-hawing in the
smoking-room. The spectacle of the British lion with his tail between
his legs seemed to afford William rapturous amusement.
The Marsh meadow was drawn the next day, but the marquis, transformed
from a lion into a lamb, was not among the huntsmen. After performing
all of Theodora's errands, he was allowed, as a treat, a game of tennis
with the chaplain of the castle--for this young American marchioness
not only had her private chaplain, but would have had her private
archbishop if she could have had her way, so naturally did she take to
her privileged class. She "my loved" and "my deared" the marquis at
a great rate, but Hercules spinning flax was a picture of manliness
alongside of him. Anne's kind heart disposed her to take his part
somewhat, but William McBean, who chuckled incessantly at the state
of affairs, encouraged Theodora to lay on like Macduff. The marquis
was made to wear goloshes whenever he went out, his cigars were
docked, and at midnight, just as the fun grew fast and furious in the
smoking-room, Theodora's own footman would tap at the door, and the
marquis, with a feeble pretense of "coming back after a while" would
disappear. He never came back though. William McBean, who was the life
and soul of the smoking-room, would make this hypocritical promise of
the marquis's return an excuse for keeping up a rollicking good time
until unearthly hours of the morning, when the last cigar would be
smoked, the last story told, the last punch brewed.
Wherever Theodora moved she was accompanied by a suite, consisting of
the marquis, the chaplain, the footman, and the poodle--and of these,
the one most under her thumb was the once terrible Sir John Blood, whom
his own mother would scarcely have recognized, so wonderfully had his
American wife changed, or as Theodora expressed it, reformed him.
On the Sunday, a respectable contingent was mustered for service in the
castle chapel. The marquis complained of a cold, but was nevertheless
present at both morning and evening service, by the side of Theodora,
who had her poodle on the other side.
Toward twilight Mrs. Wodehouse peeped into the little morning room
used by Theodora. By the dusky light she saw her seated at the cottage
piano. She was playing chords softly, while the poor marquis, sitting
by her with his throat wrapped up in flannels was warbling in a hoarse
voice but with much piety:
"A consecrated cross I'd bear."
Mrs. Wodehouse raised her hands in a paroxysm of silent surprise.
"A consecrated cross he'd bear!" she exclaimed presently, in a whisper.
"Well he's got it--he's got an American wife!"
TUBAL THE FIDDLER.
"You ain' never hearn 'bout we-all's Tubal? I thought ev'ybody in de
State uv Virginny had done heah 'bout Tubal de fiddler."
Outside the cabin door the sun of May shone bright, beautiful,
intoxicating. The old negro held his ragged hat in his lap, and sat on
the corner of the bench that caught the full glare of the sun, unvexed
by the dappled shadows of the black-leaved poplars.
"Tubal he _wuz_ a fiddler, Gord A'mighty knows. Nobody never did know
how he learn ter play de fiddle. Hit mus' er come ter him natchel, like
de way de bees sing in clover time, 'kase one day ole marse gone ter
git he fiddle outen de case, an' 'twarn't d'yar! You jes' oughter heah
ole marse sw'ar! He allers could cuss an' sw'ar like a gentmun; an' ef
he didn't f'yar smoke, an' sizzle dat day dis nigger is a liar. All day
long ole marse he r'ar an' pitch. But when de han's come in at sundown,
Yaller Josh, de hade man, he brung Tubal 'long to'des de house. Josh
he hol' little Tubal by de collar, an' Tubal he walk 'long, playin'
de fiddle, an' he never stop. Josh he haul Tubal up 'fo' ole marse,
settin' on de po'ch, an' it tu'n out dat little coon Tubal had been
settin' 'hine de straw-stacks all day long learnin' ter play on ole
marse's fiddle! He had done tooken it! He had acshilly done tooken it!
'Fo' ole marse could git he bref ter bawl out, Tubal he say, "Marster,
please, sir; jes' listen, sir;" an' he strike up 'Forked Deer,' an he
play de same ez any morkin[1] singin'. Old marse he jes' set d'yar an'
st'yar at de boy. Den Tubal he teched up 'Snowbird on de Ashbank,'
an' he 'gin ter shuffle he foots on de po'ch, while ole marse he beat
de flo' wid he stick; but when Tubal come ter play 'Kiss me sweetly,'
he back-step all de time he playin' it; an' fust thing we all see
ole marse he jump up an' start ter footin' it, doin' de back-step,
double-shuffle, cut de pigeon wing, an' ev'ything--he an' Tubal jes'
dancin' a reg'lar breakdown twell de po'ch rattle."
[1] Mocking-bird.
"'Twuz a sight, I tell you, wid Tubal sawin' de bow, an' he an' ole
marse, bofe on 'em, whackin' de groun'. Den ole marse he tooken de
fiddle an' _he_ play, an Tubal _he_ dance, an' d'yar dey wuz!"
"Arter dat, ole marse buy Tubal a fiddle fer hisse'f, an' Tubal he
never do no mo' wuk, 'scusin' 'twas wid de fiddle an de bow. He never
wuk in de crap. He make 'tense he wait in de house; but Unc' Daniel,
dat wuz de dinin'-room servant, he say Tubal warn' no more use ter him
dan de fiddle wuz. In dem times, 'fo' de cullud folks wuz free an'
enlightenment, 'twarn' counted no sin fer ter play on de fiddle. Now
de niggers know de devil iz a fiddler, an', consequenchical, de chu'ch
members doan' play on nuttin', 'cep' 'tis de 'corjion. But ez fer
'ligion, Tubal he didn' have none. Oncet when ev'y nigger on de Shelter
plantation was seekin' 'cep' Tubal, ole marse he beller, "You kin all
git jes' ez much 'ligion ez you kin tote, but ef I cotch dat fiddlin'
Tubal seekin' an' cryin' an' prayin', I lay I'll wallop de Gorspel
outen him 'fo' he know it, genteel an' quick." An' he would, too But
Tubal warn't a seeker, er even a backslider. Den de white folks in de
county got ter sen'in' fer him ter play at de parties, an' ole marse he
gin him a ole jinny mule dat th'o' ev'ybody dat ever did try to ride
her. Tubal he sot on dat jinny mule jes' a hol'in' on by he knees,
wid he fiddle under he chin, an' he play 'Billy in de Lowgrounds' fer
life. Jinny didn' know what ter make er dat; so she ciphered it out,
an' say ter herse'f: 'Dis heah nigger mus' be Kun'l Boswell's Tubal.
Tain't wuff while ter wrastle wid dat nigger.' An' she didn'. Ole marse
he wuz a widower, an' he had done los' bofe he chillen, but he had two
gran'sons--Marse Jack Boswell an' Marse Page Carter--dat live at de
Shelter, an' wuz gwi' git all ole marse lan' an' niggers. I doan' know
how 'twuz, but Tubal an' all de black folks got de notion dat he wuz
gwi' b'long ter Marse Page when ole marse die an' de niggers wuz 'vided
out. Tubal sut'ny did love Marse Page, an' track him same like a dog.
Dey allers got in mischief toge'er; an' Marse Page take a whuppin' fer
hisse'f, but he allers try an' baig Tubal off.
"Ole marse he wuz mighty cur'us 'bout some things. He want jes' three
hunderd niggers--no mo' 'n' no less. Sometimes de black folks teck
ter dyin', an' he git down ter two hunderd an' ninety odd. Ole marse
he groan an' moan, an' say he c'yarn wuk de Shelter plantation wid
less'n three hunderd niggers, an' ef dey keep on dyin' in dis infernal
discontemptuous way, he gwi' be a bankrup'. Den, fust thing, de black
babies would come like de blackberries on de bushes, an' may be he have
three hunderd an' fifteen. Den ole marse would cuss twell you see de
brimstone in de a'r, an' say dat de Shelter place c'yarn' s'pport mo'
'n three hunderd niggers nohow, an' ef dey keep on gittin' born, de
owdacious niggers would ruin him.
"He wuz allers gwi' co'tin, but he never did. He say de plantation
want a mistis an' somebody ter look arter de two boys; but he couldn'
go co'tin' in summer, 'kase he had ter go to de Springs; an' in de
fall, wid de sellin' uv de craps, an' de fallowin' fer wheat, an' de
'lection, he didn' have no time; an' in de winter he had de rheumertiz;
an' he 'low dat co'tin' never did 'gree wid him in de spring uv de
year. Miss Patty Corbin she wait fer him fo'teen year, an' den she
sen' him word 'twuz den er never. Ole marse he sen her back word 'twuz
never, 'kase he didn't like ter be hurried in he 'rangements. So he
didn' never got married; an' when he die he jes' leave all he property
ter be 'vided out 'tween Marse Jack an' Marse Page, 'cep he lef' Marse
Page he silver watch. Ole marse tho't a sight er dat watch. He wouldn'
never let no watchmaker tech it, fer he feerd he mought spile it; an'
when it got wrong he jes' take a feather an' some lard an' grease it
hisse'f, an' den 'twuz all right ag'in.
"Well, all de black folks like Marse Page de bes', an' all on 'em want
ter 'long ter him. Marse Jack he mighty quarrelsome an' 'sputifyin'
'bout things, an' he say he want Tubal de fiddler. Tubal he fall down
on he knees 'fo' Marse Page an' baig dat Marse Page take him; but
Marse Page he had done ask fer Mam' Betsy--dat wuz de mammy uv bofe de
boys--an' Marse Jack say he 'titled ter Tubal. Marse Page he offer ter
buy Tubal right outen; but Marse Jack say no, Tubal wuz de bes' fiddler
in de county, an' _he_ want him. So Tubal had ter go wid Marse Jack;
but Tubal he say to we-all, mighty solemn like: 'Marse Jack think he
gwi' git a fust-class fiddler. I sw'ar I ain' never gwi' draw dat bow
ez long ez I is Marse Jack's nigger. I done sw'ar it, an' I done make a
cross in de ashes 'fo' I sw'ar.'
"Naix thing we heah, Marse Jack he gwi' move ter de upper country, whar
dey doan' have no oshters er crabs er nuttin' fer ter eat--an' sho'
'nuff 'twuz so.
"I never will furgit de day dey all lef'. Dey wuz wagons fur all de
women an' de chillen an' de sick folks an' de ole folks, an' de men dey
walk. Tubal wuz d'yar on de jinny mule, but he didn' have no fiddle.
Marse Page come ter tell 'em good-by. De black folks cry an' pray an'
sing, same like 'twuz a baptizin', 'twell Marse Page he tooken out he
white hankercher an' he cry too. Tubal he hol' on ter Marse Page, an'
ax Gord ter bless him, an' ax him if he 'member when dey useter go
fishin' toge'er, an' Marse Page t'yar he Sunday jacket, so Mam' Betsy
have ter give it ter Tubal--he allus like brass buttons--an' Marse Page
tell him he ain' never gwi' furgit he faithful Tubal, an' lars' thing
Tubal say ter we-all er-cryin' wuz, 'I ain' gwi' tech dat fiddle, I
ain' gwi' tech dat bow, ez long ez I b'long ter Marse Jack Boswell.'
An' he didn'.
"De years an' de years pass on. We done hear dat Marse Jack he try
ter make Tubal play when he got him up de country, but Tubal he doan'
play. Marse Jack den put him in de corn fiel', an' Tubal he han's jes'
es sof' ez Marse Jack's hisse'f; he have ter hoe de row, but he doan'
play de fiddle. Marse Jack he tell him ef he will play de fiddle he
kin hire out ter play at de parties, an' make a heap uv money. Tubal
he 'low steadfas' he ain' never gwi' play no mo'. But de niggers say
dat in de night-time Tubal he git up an' go 'way in de woods, whar he
had done hide de fiddle, an' he play twell mos' mornin'. De folks gwi'
'long thu' de woods moonlight nights hear de soun's floatin' by, an'
dey git skeered an' run, an' say 'tis evils 'broad; but nobody never
tole Marse Jack. He an' Marse Page didn' have nuttin' 'tall ter do wid
each ur'r arter dey fell out 'bout Tubal. Bofe on 'em got married, an'
Marse Page wife die soon, an' lef' him er little gal. She growed up
mighty pretty, wid gray eyes, sorter like partridge eyes, an' she wuz
slim an' slight. Marse Page he live on at de Shelter, but he warn't
like ole marse. He wuz sof' spoken, an' he read books, an he never talk
'bout goin' co'tin' no mo', an' he wuz de best marster in de county. He
wuz mighty fond o' Miss Letty, an' useter say, 'Dat little gray-eyed
gal _she_ got er sperrit.'
"Well, arter a while de war broke out at de Norf, an' Marse Page he
raise a cump'ny an' went ter de war. He sont Miss Letty off ter school,
an' de niggers jes' stay on de plantation an' work under de overseer.
But it didn't seem like nuttin' prosper no mo'. De craps warn' no
'count--de wheat allers had de rus' an' de corn warn' nuttin' but
nubbins, an' de line fence cotch fire an' bu'n up mos' all de fencin'
on de place, an' a storm come an' to' down mo'n half de house; an' when
Marse Page an' Miss Letty come back arter de war, de niggers wuz free,
an't' wasn' nuttin lef' but de lan'. But Marse Page wuz a gent'mun, an'
he couldn' live no way 'cep' de quality way, an' co'se he had ter borry
money fer ter do it; 'sides dat, he had done los' he right arm in de
war. So fer a year er two things wuz putty much like dey wuz 'fo' de
war; Miss Letty had her piany an' her hoss, an' marse he cigars an' he
silk stockin's an' sech.
"One de fust things dat happen arter de war wuz one day when Marse Page
wuz settin' on de po'ch in ole marse' cheer. He look up, an' d'yar,
stan'in' on de gravel parf, wuz a ole man on a jinny mule, an' he had
er fiddle under he arm, an' widout sayin' er word he 'gin ter tune up
dat fiddle, an' he start ter play 'Kiss me sweetly.' Marse Page he sot
right still, an' de tears rain down he face, an' den de nigger man he
hop off'n de jinny mule, an' he come up de steps, an' he say, 'Marse
Page, I is a free man now, an' I come fer ter be yo' nigger oncet mo'.'
"Marse Page he call out fer Miss Letty, an' she come flyin', an' fo'
her par could say a word she say, 'Why, it's Uncle Tubal.' She ain't
never seen Tubal, but she hearn 'bout him; and den he kiss her little
han', an' Marse Page had he liquor case fotch out, an' he an' Tubal
drink ter ole times, an' Tubal he f'yar make de fiddle talk. Arterward
Tubal he go right back in he ole house he had lived in ole marse' time.
Tubal didn't have no wife er chillen; he say he fiddle were all de wife
he want; an' he go back ter de ole ways. No mo' hoein' an' wukkin' for
Tubal; he jes' sot an' play de fiddle all day.
"Dis heah way went on fer a while, an' mout er gone on twell now, but
all de po' white trash dat Marse Page had intrusted wid de mortgage
on de Shelter 'speck him ter pay de money back, an' co'se Marse Page
didn't have it; ef he had had it, he wouldn' er borried de money nohow.
An', ef you will b'lieve dis nigger, dem low-down white folks make
Marse Page pay all he debts fur ez he could, an' de place wuz sol',
an' de black folks went off, an' Marse Page an' Miss Letty had ter go
an' live in de overseer's house. It didn't have but fo' rooms. Tubal
he went wid 'em, an' he wuk de bes' he kin, but Tubal warn' no wukker,
natchel. Marse Page couldn' do nuttin', 'kase he didn't have but one
arm, an' bimeby times got wuss an' wusser, an' hard an' harder, an'
Miss Letty--she had a fine eddication--she had ter go 'way an' teach
school, an' leave Tubal ter take keer uv Marse Page.
"Now Tubal he useter hoe in de g'yardin an' keep things goin', but
de onlies' way he could git money wuz by fiddlin'. Marse Page he do
widout all he could, but he wuz er gent'mun, an' he couldn' do widout
much, an' Miss Letty she sent him all she make. An' den one night he
wuz tooken sick an' had a stroke of paradise. He couldn' move, an'
he couldn' hardly talk, but he call Tubal ter de baidside, an' he
say, 'Remember, boy, not a word of this to your Miss Letty.' You see,
Marse Page didn' have no right arm, an' he couldn' wrote wid he lef',
an' Tubal had 'rections fum Miss Letty dat ev'y week he wuz ter git
somebody ter write ter her an' tell her 'bout Marse Page, an' she keep
on sen'in' him her money, but dat wouldn' been 'nough arter Marse Page
got he stroke of paradise, ef it hadn' been fer Tubal's fiddlin'. Now,
in dem times, dey wuz Yankees 'bout. Dey wuz two or three cump'nies
dat camp out at de river landin', an' Tubal useter go over ter de camp
an' play fer 'em, an' come back wid er greenback in he pocket. Marse
Page by dat time didn' know nuttin' hardly. He jes' lay d'yar an'
suffer an' groan. Out at de camp dey wuz a orficer--a cap'n--dat wuz
mighty gin'rous ter Tubal, an' Tubal ax him ef he write a letter fer
him ter Miss Letty. De cap'n 'gree, an' ev'y week Tubal go over an' git
dat cap'n ter write. He warn' so ole, an' he were a gent'mun as wuz a
gent'mun, ef he didn' have no niggers 'fo' de war, an' had ter have
low-down white folks ter black he boots an' bresh he close. All de time
Tubal wuz tellin' de cap'n what ter write, de cap'n wuz larfin' ter
hisse'f, an' pres'ny he look kinder pitiful. Tubal's letters wuz mighty
cur'us. Fust he tell de cap'n ter write dat all de quality in de county
come ev'y day ter 'quire arter Marse Page. 'Twuz a lie, an' Tubal say
so. 'Co'se dat's a lie, cap'n,' he say. 'Seem like de quality folks has
clean forgot how Marse Page useter live at de Shelter 'fo' de war, wid
thirty hosses in de stalls, an' cum'p'ny all de time, an' champagne
like water outen de spring. But I c'yarn let Miss Letty know dat.'
Den he tell him ter wrote Marse Page wuz so spry, an' he so intrusted
in her letters, an' didn' want no mo' uv her money; an' ev'ybody know
Marse Page 'ain' been able ter read hardly sence Miss Letty went away.
De cap'n wroten it all, an' he gin Tubal a greenback mos' ev'y time he
see him, an' sen' Marse Page some brandy like he been useter, an' tell
Tubal ef he want nuttin' ter come ter him.
"One night de cap'n wuz settin' in he tent readin', an' Tubal sneak in,
lookin' sorter queer. He say in a whisper: 'Cap'n, Marse Page is 'mos'
gone. He callin' fer Miss Letty, an' you mus' wrote Miss Letty fer me,
an' tell her, fer Gord A'mighty's sake, ter come home ez quick ez she
kin.' De cap'n he wroten it right away, an' he tole her all 'bout de
boats, an' how she wuz ter make corrections wid de k'yars, an' could
git here by Sad'day. An' Tubal he never lef' Marse Page night er day.
"Well, dat naix Friday night, when de boat stop at de landin', off step
Miss Letty: she had done make de corrections, an' got here 'fo' dey
speck her. 'Twarn't nobody at de wharf ter meet her, but de cap'n wuz
d'yar wid he orderly, an' when he see Miss Letty so pale an' pretty
an' distrussful, he went up to her an' injuced hisse'f, an' ax ef he
could be uv any resistance ter her. Miss Letty she toss her hade,
an' look him all over wid dem gray eyes o' hern; she didn't like no
sort o' Yankees, an' he had he uniform on; but he was so polite an'
respectious, an' he hol' he cap in he han' all de time, dat pres'ny
Miss Letty kinder softened. An' when he tole her he had done wroten
de letters for Tubal, an' he hope she doan' fin' her father ez bad ez
she 'spected ter fin' him, Miss Letty jes' broke down, an' cry fit ter
break her heart. De cap'n tu'n away, an' didn' notice her twell she
had got th'u' cryin', an' den he come back an' bow like a gent'mun,
an' tole her he mus' take keer on her home, dat he horse 'ain' never
had de honor uv kyar'in' a lady, but he know she ain' 'feerd, and kin
ride on he army saddle. Den Miss Letty smile a little bit, an' de
orderly--mighty po' white trash he were--brung up de hosses, an' de
cap'n swung Miss Letty on he own hoss--a scrimptious bay hoss with
black mane an' tail--an' de hoss fret a little bit; but Miss Letty she
sot him, an' de cap'n he smile, an' say she kin ride like a soldier.
Den he got on de orderly hoss, an' off dey went.
"'Twuz fo' miles ter de overseer's house, an' when de cap'n lef' her at
de do', he tell her de camp warn' mo'n harf mile away, an' ef she want
any help, he hope she would treat 'em like frien's 'stid uv enemies,
an' Miss Letty she promise she would.
"Marse Page didn't live a week arter Miss Letty got d'yar. She found
out dat de quality folks had sorter neglec' him, an' she was so proud
and haughtical she wouldn' sen' fer none on 'em; an' Tubal say he doan'
know what she would er done ef it hadn't been fur de cap'n. Co'se,
arter Marse Page done dade, all de folks pay him deir respec's, an'
heap on 'em come ter see ef dey couldn' do nuttin' fer him--arter he
wuz laid out. But Miss Letty say no, she thank 'em; dey couldn' do
nuttin' 'tall. De funeral wuz mons'ous big. Miss Letty she walk by
herse'f 'hine de coffin, an' Tubal he walk right 'hine Miss Letty. De
cap'n wuz d'yar too.