“Early de nex’ mornin’ de bossman uv de place come to me an’ say, ‘Ef you’ll git outen dis town des as fas’ as you kin hustle, we’ll let you go. A gem’man lef’ er ticket home fer you. Take it an’ git!’
“Dat sho’ was sweet music to my ears. I wuz ready to go right den. I went out de do’ an’ almos’ skip to de depot.
“Thank Gawd dat de ole nigger’s back home ergin. Dat’s where he’s goin’ ter stay. Dem niggers what want to go to de White House ’ceptions kin go, but give me my ole fryin’ pan, er big fat ’possum, a peck uv taters an’ er pint uv gravy. Dat’s what suits dis nigger. I ain’t hankerin’ arter shakin’ nobudy’s han’.”
Preparing for the Guest.
AND THE SIGNS FAILED NOT
“Shhoo, shhoo, shhoo, you good-for-nothing thing, we don’t want any company to-day,” shouted the large, ruddy-faced lady of the Parks Big House, to a handsome, red and black game cock that jumped upon the walk in front of the porch, flapped his glossy wings and started to crow.
“Who you reckon’s comin’ here dis time uv de week, an’ we so busy, Miss Jule?” asked old Matt Miller, the family servant, as she came around the corner of the house, from the kitchen, on her way to the well, carrying two water buckets, with her sleeves rolled to her elbows, showing a pair of lithe, black arms, well muscled and hard.