"It is the last place he would be likely to drop from," she returned; "but I'll call him up and talk with him. It is a pity for him to be moving off at his age."
So Uncle Ishmael was summoned up to the porch, and Miss Chris explained the error of his ways, but to no purpose.
"I ain' got no fault ter fine," he repeated over and over again, scratching his grizzled head. "I ain' got no fault ter fine wid you. You've been used me moughty well, en I'se pow'ful 'bleeged ter you—en Marse Tom, he's a gent'mun ef ever I seed one. I ain' go no fault ter fine."
The general lost his temper and started up.
"Then what do you mean by turning fool at your age?" he demanded angrily. "Haven't I given you a roof over your head all these years?"
"Dat's so, suh."
"And food to eat?"
"Dat's so."
"And never asked you to do a lick of work since you got the rheumatism?"
"Dat's es true es de Gospel."