Every Saturday at 12 o’clock the servants were allowed to quit work and haul the seine. The terrapins caught were brought to the mansion, with a goodly number of spot, hog and other fish; the rest of the fish the servants were allowed to market for pin-money. At such times Uncle David was always on deck with Anah.
For twenty-five years Anah did faithful work, and David loved him and talked to him as though he was a human being, and said, “Anah almos’ knew’d his A. B. C’s.” Like most mules, however, in his old age he got full of kinks, and would bite and kick anyone but David, who said, “He hab grow’d ’ceitful an’ ub cose I hab ter scole him.”
The old man was very credulous and as easily chaffed by his marster as Polonius was by Hamlet. For example: One day whilst Anah was kicking up and putting on airs and David was grumbling and saying, “He ain’ no good no how; I sut’ny am tired ub dis mule,” his Mars Jimmy walked past the cart and said, “I’m going to sell that worthless old mule and get you a nice little mare I can buy at a bargain. True she is hip-shot, spavined and very lazy, but will do for your work.”
David was perplexed and disconsolate and at bed-hour went to the stable. Anah was munching his oats, and David, little and bent, stood behind the mule, who switched his tail and laid back his ears as if to say, You are going to take away my oats. The old man’s eyes brimmed with tears; he had a big, kind heart, and his affection for the mule was really touching. Finally he said, “You recommember me all de time, don’ you, Anah? Don’ I al’ays feed you good an’ rub you an’ gib you uh sorf bed?” Then he walked into the stall, stroked the mule’s ear and said, “Jes’ ez sorf ez uh ’possum’s ear; you know I ain’ gwine ter let ’em sell you, Anah. Mars Jimmy kyant find an nerr mule in Talbot County like you. He ain’ gwine ter sell you, an’ ef’n he do, he got ter sell me wid you, dat he is! Well, da ain’ no tellin’; Mars Jimmy mout sell dis mule ter-morry, so I’m gwine ter sleep wid him dis night, fuh it mout be de po’ mule’s lars’ night heah. I’ll put some mo’ hay in de bottom ub de manger, an’ wid dese corn-cobs I’ll meck ub pillah, put meh coat on it, an’ den I’ll kivver mehsef wid hay. Lemmy see—no, I won’ teck meh shoes orf, kase I mout hab ter git up futto git him some oats.” His bed arranged, the old man said, “I heah Pawson Demby say dat our blessid Lawd an’ Sabior wuz bawn in ub stable, so hit sut’ny good ernuff fuh me.” Weary and sad, he leaned against the manger, said his prayers, and then he snuggled in the hay and sang his favorite hymn:
“What kind ub shoes you gwine ter wear?
Golden slippers!
What kind ub shoes you gwine ter wear?
Golden slippers I’m bound ter wear, dat outshines de glitter-in’ sun.
What kind ub crown you gwine ter wear?
Star-ry crown!