“Wot dat yo’ say ’bout yain, young marse?”
“I mean to say you must not think so.”
“Can’t help ob it, sah. Now take tudder day. I was stan’in’ up fo’ my mist’ess, a holdin’ o’ a hank o’ yarn, stretch out ober my han’s, w’en all ob a sudden de ole madam take de hank offen my yists, an’ she say, quiet as yo’ please, de ole mist’ess do:
“‘Dere’s yo’ marster, Marffy. Jaw de yockin-cha’ up to de fire fo’ him.’
“Well, I look youn’, but dere was nobody in de yoom but we two—de ole mist’ess an’ me. An’ she say ’gain:
“‘W’y doane yo’ min’ wot I tell yo’, Marffy, ’oman? Set a cha’ fo’ yo’ marster.’
“Well, sah, I felt icicles meltin’ all ober my skin an’ tricklin’ down my backbone. Use as I were to de ole madam’s queer ’lucinations, my ha’r riz dat time, an’ my teef chattered. I felt jus’ as if a ghose was dere, dough I couldn’ see him. But ole mist’ess look at me stern like, an’ I took an’ push de cha’ up to de fire, an’ ole mist’ess say:
“‘Set yo’ down dere, Everard. Dere, now! Put yo’ feet ter de fire—dat’s yight.’
“An’ den she began talkin’ ter him, an’ axin’ questions, an’ ’peared to fink he answered back, dough I heard no voice but hers, an’ likewise saw nobody but her. An’ p’esently, ’pears like he riz to leab, ’case she say, ole mist’ess did:
“‘W’ere yo’ goin’? Mus’ yo’ go? Oh, well, if yo’ hab all dat to do, of co’se you mus’, but come back soon as yo’ get frough.’