Marthy. Dey ant neither one ob um cry. Dat what worry me. Ef dey could bof brek rite down and have er good long cry, hit ud do um a power er good.
[A slight pause.
Cupid. I got um dar in time, please Gaud. He let dis ole nigger do dat much fer Mars George. He ax bout us all, Old Missus say, in de few minutes he had lef. He say he powerful glad we git dar.
Marthy. It's de Lord's will, 'nd hits rite, but hit pears like we don had little mo den our share ob de trouble. Dar de silber, hits ready. You pack it up to Mistus, and ax her can't I fix her little somethin' ter eat. I don't know what hits gwine ter be.
Cupid (brightening). Would she eat a piece ob nice young chicken?
Marthy. Go way, nigger, don't I know dar ant bin no chicken nor nothin' else fer Old Mistus ter eat on this place fer more dan a month; what you come round here talking bout chicken fer?
Cupid. Kin you keep you mouth shet bout somethin if I tells you?
Marthy (on her guard). Dat pens on what hits bout.
Cupid. I got a chicken, three fo on um, and some flour and some butter, too. I tell you mistus gwine get chicken ef dars chicken lef in dis world.
Marthy (suspicious). Whar did you get hit?