“Needn’t push so,” said Abraham Ulysses, rolling his eyes about in the most wonderful manner for a moment, and then fixing them solemnly on Mrs. Tutchy’s face.
“I war a-goin’ along, an’ da’ war a drum down da’—I’s goin’ to have a drum—”
“I’ll drum ye,” interrupted his mother, giving him a smart slap on the cheek. “Perceed on yo’ story widout no prelimnaries.”
“Yo’ jess stop dat now, Mary Ann Johnson. I ain’t tellin’ no story. I’s tellin’ the truff, ebery word of it, an’ yo’d better mine yo’ brack bisness, Mary Ann Johnson, and dat’s de fac’!”
“Lissen at dat ar sassy young nigger!” said Mary Ann Johnson, raising her hands and eyes. “Go on, I tell yo.”
Abraham Ulysses went on.
“Da war a drum an’ sojers—I’s goin’ to be a sojer, a sword sojer—and all de wite folks dey runned to see ’em, an’ I runned, too, but ’pears, tho’, I couldn’t git da’, an’ I see dis yere baby a-settin’ on a sled, an’ I sez to myself, ‘Bressed nippers! Abra’m ’Lysses, dat ar’s one of dem angel babies dat done come done from hebben Chrismasses, an’ dat ar’ sled she’s a-settin on, Santy Close’s goin’ to giv’ to yo’ sho’s yo’ bohn!’ an’ I took hole dat ar rope, an’ drug dat ar’ sled—”
“To our premises,” interrupted his mother, “an’ he cum a-runnin’ in, an’ a-shoutin’ ‘Hi! mam, here’s a little angel fer yo’! take her out de waggin quick, an’ giv’ de sled to me.’”
“But bress yo’ heart, honey, I knowed dat ar’ baby was mislaid de minute dese eyes beheld her, an’ I took de sweet thing in my arms an’ mollified her tears, an’ giv’ her some milk an’ soon she fell asleep.
“An’ I set up dis yere bressed night wid dat ar’ bressed chile, ’spectin’ ebery minute somebody’d come and require for her, an’ sho’ ’nuff, a perliceman makes his appearment early dis yere bressed mornin’ an’ tole me—how he foun’ out war de chile was de Lord ony knows—to fetch de pooty lammie here, an’ I done come tho’ Mr. Johnson is a-waitin fer his breakfis’, an’ de pork a-sizzlin’ in de pan dis yere bressed minute.”