"I wudn't er tasted a moufful o' dis good truck ef I hadn't er node Hanner wuz ergwine ter git her shar. Jes er watchin me now lak a sparrer hawk er settin on er lim! Tank yer a fousun times, ole marser! Tank yu, too, sis Clarsy; tank eberybody in de whole wurld. Ole marsa," he continued, "mout I hab jes wun wurd wid yer?"
"Why, certainly, Joshua; what more can I do for you?" asked the old man.
The old negro put his hand to his face as if he were shielding his eyes, and asked sheepishly,
"Mars Jon, ef me und Hanner wus ter turn niggers ergin, jes lak slabery times, wud yer tuck us home—yu und Miss Alice?"
"I would not have you do that, Joshua; but whenever you like, you and Hannah can bring your belongings to the office and Alice and I will always be your friends. You shall never suffer any more for something to eat or wear as long as we live."
"Tank yer, ole marser, tank yu, a fousand times!" Joshua replied, as he brushed away great liquid beads that were chasing each other down his haggard cheeks. "Now I mus be ergwine, Mars Jon," and the old stiffened joints bore homeward a filled body and a full heart, as he sang in an untuned but sweet voice,
"Oh de way's so delightful when I sarves de Lord,
Oh de way's so delightful, journey on."
As the sun was going down the old Colonel looked across the field and saw Joshua and Hannah with great bundles upon their heads coming toward the mansion—coming back to the old home; coming back to be just as humble, just as faithful, just as watchful as in the happy old days; coming back to run errands if need be, with joints stiffened by hardships and old age, but with hearts so light and trustful; coming back like homing pigeons to roost under old master's wing in the dove cote. Was there ever such a people before? The sweetest experience in the domesticity of the South will vanish forever when the last old white woolly head is laid low, when the ghostly smile is given to old mistress from the death bed, and the last good-bye is said to "ole marser und ole missis" as the death film overlays the eye. "Tak keer ob yosefs, ole marser und ole missis, und meet me up yander." So thought the old master as with liquid eyes he looked upward to the vaulted sky.
"Seben weeks" the old negro weighted down by the ever accumulating burdens of life—its disappointments, its troubles—had with unsteady gait and frequent halts stepped off each rod and furlong twixt "my house und de sto, backards und forards, toting de jimmyjon und de happy-sak." "Fur seben weeks" the torrid sun with its blistering heat had scorched the old negro's head, and crisped the old negro's black skin until it was spotted. For seven weeks a vacuum deep and broad lay between the inner coatings of the famished stomach immeasurable and unfathomable. For seven weeks "Old Glory" waved its welcome at one end of the commissariat, and stark, pallid want walked out without a ration and flaunted its rags at the other. Poor old negro, but what worth is freedom without its pains and penalties; what worth is the huge commissariat without the freedmen, and what worth is the freedmen without the commissariat? Oh how happy the old negro in "de offis of ole marser." By fits and starts old Joshua would awake throughout the nights and call to Hannah, "Ole womun, duz yer kno whar yer is a roosting to night? Aint agwine to de crick fur catfish in de mornin. I kno whar my wittles is er cummin frum, bress de Lord. Cum rain ur shine, I haint nebber agwine hongry agin, no mo. Old marsa dun und said, ole nigger yer shall nebber want fur sumfing to eat und sumfing to ware no mo, und I nebber cotched ole Mars Jon in a lie yit. Has yu, Hanner?"
"No, dat I haint, nur Miss Alice nudder," replied Hannah. "I haint got no mo skeer erbout me, Joshaway, dan a billy gote. I kno's when Miss Alice flings a dumplin in de pot for hersef, she is agwine to fling wun in dare fur me too."