"It sho do," replied Clarissa with some force of expression.
"Pend erpon it woman, ef we culled genmen don't take holt of dis here plantashun, und de house, und de craps, us is all agwine to suck sorrer, shows you born."
"Dats de Lords truff" exclaimed Clarissa.
"Mr. Semo, he don't look arter nuffin, dat he don't," Ned continued, as he laid his musket on the ground to rub his back against the jamb of the chimney, "De hoppergrasses is avourin de craps, und de cotton is in de gras up to de tip ends, und de dratted, flop-yeared dorgs is jamby et up all de sheepses, und dere is dem hosses in de stable, a whinkering und a whinkering fur a moufful ob fodder, un de cattle beastes is er strayin erway inter de mash, und cum rane er shine, dare is ole Mars Jon asottin dare lak er ole settin turkey hen er callin Ned, Ned; lak dare want no freedum in de lan. Twant fur Miss Alice dat ole man und all tother fokeses on dis here plantashun wud be lak a passel ob gizzard shads, plum run down to nuffin."
"Now yu is a woicin it Ned," again exclaimed Clarissa, as she stitched the last feather in Ned's military cap.
"Dare aint but one way fur dat ole man to eber sucker hissef outen his misery und be spectable," said Ned.
"Und hows he agwine tu du dat Ned?" interrupted Clarissa.
"Don't hit stan ter reson dat ef ole Marse Jon wud jine de publikins und go erbout de kentry baccards and furrards a speechifyin fur de franksized woters, dat he wud git a offis? I don't blame ole marser fur fitin arter Mars Harry got kilt. I'd fout tu, fur my onliest boy, but whar Mars Jon dun rong wus kase he didn't stop Mars Harry fore he rid off to Manassy. Kase Mars Harry he didn't no no better und ole marster did, don't you see de pint, Clarsy?"
"I sho duz," again exclaimed Clarissa.