“Bredduh,” said she, “ent you ’membuh dat een June munt’ een de same year w’en us cut down dat new groun’ ’cross Caw Caw Swamp, en’ de same time w’en Sistuh Frayjuh him had two twin, ent you ’membuh dat de pastuh renite me to dis juntlemun?”
“I yent know nutt’n’ ’bout’um,” said the traitor, “nebbuh shum sence I bawn, ent know ’e name, needuhso ’e farruh, needuhso ’e murruh. Mo’ den one punkin-skin nigguh lib een dis wull’. Yalluh nigguh’ t’ick on de groun’ same as yalluh-hammuh’ t’ick on de tree, en’, as fuh dis nigguh—nebbuh shum sence I bawn.”
“Mistuh Jestuss,” said Julia, ruefully, “I come to ketch my juntlemun, en’ my juntlemun lie. I gone en’ fetch my bredduh Sam, en’ my bredduh Sam lie. I gone en’ fetch de stuhstiffikit, en’ de stuhstiffikit lie. Now, I will ’tarrygate my locus pastuh, en’ I know berry well him ent gwine lie. Pa Sancho,” said she, turning to the sleek divine, “ent you ’membuh, suh, w’en Sistuh Frayjuh him had two twin?”
“Oh yaas, my sistuh, I ’membuh dat, ’cause dat same time Nickuhdemus Wineglass’ niece Joe, w’ich ’e had by ’e fus’ lady, git ’e foot ketch een de ottuh trap on Mistuh Fishpun’ place, en’ de doctuh haffuh cut off ’e right han’ feet close to ’e knee.”
“Well, suh, ent you ’membuh w’en you renite me to dis same juntlemun?”
“My sistuh,” said he, slowly and deliberately, “you see, dis is a berry onrabblin’ t’ing fuh yo’ pastuh fuh ’xamin’ ’e min’ ’bout. You know, all dese common eb’ryday kind’uh nigguh’ kin talk all dese gwinin’ en’ gwinin’, but de preechuh is de Lawd’ renointed, en’, w’en him open he mout’, e’ gots to quizzit ’e min’ berry close, ’speshly w’en ’e talk wid ’ooman, ’cause ’ooman so ’ceitful, ef you ent min’, him will fool de two eye’ out yo’ head; en’, fuh dictate now ’bout dis juntlemun, I mos’ kinduh t’ink I ’membuh leetle kinduh sump’n’, ’bout de time w’en I marry you to a kinduh punkin-skin juntlemun, en’ w’en I fus’ see dis juntlemun, I mos’ t’ink ’e look leetle like yo’ juntlemun, but w’en I come to saa’ch’um close en’ peruse’um puhtickluh, I mos’ kinduh t’ink maybe dis ent yo’ juntlemun.”
“Please Gawd,” said Julia despairingly, “I gone en try fuh ketch my juntlemun en’ I fetch’um yuh, en’ him lie. Den I gone en’ ketch my bredduh en’ fetch’um yuh, en’ him lie. Den I gone en’ ketch de stuhstuffikit en’ fetch’um yuh, en’ him lie; en’, fin’lly at las’, I ketch de locus pastuh en ’fetch’um yuh, en’, ’fo’ de Lawd, him lie. Now, I gwine home en’ fetch de six bridegroom’ w’at bin to dis wedd’n’ w’en I marry dis juntlemun—w’ich my sistuh Amy bin one uh de bridegroom’—en’ I know berry well dem will crucify dat dis is my juntlemun.”
At last accounts, the Justice was still awaiting their coming.
A GULLAH’S TALE OF WOE
From the clay chimney of a negro cabin in the lower part of Hampton County the blue smoke curled and floated away in graceful rings. Within, the flames crackled cheerily in the generous fireplace, and a woman, surrounded by half a dozen children, was preparing the evening meal. The building was of logs, with moss and clay plastered into the crevices, and the roof which covered it was of clapboards. An humble dwelling it was, but big enough and warm enough to shelter old Scipio Wineglass and his family, and it represented—together with the few acres of land surrounding it—the net earnings of twenty-seven years of toil “sence freedum fus’ come een.”