The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann

by Joel Chandler Harris

“Here I is, suh,” said Hamp. “’Nervy Ann say you call me.”

“How is Celia to-night?” Colonel Blasengame inquired, suavely.

This inquiry, so suddenly and unexpectedly put, seemed to disconcert Hamp. He shuffled his feet and put his hand to his face. I noticed a blue welt over his eye, which was not there when he visited me in the afternoon.

“Well, suh, I ’speck she’s tolerbul.”

“Is she? Is she? Ah-h-h!” cried Aunt Minervy Ann.

“She must be pretty well,” said the Major. “I see she’s hit you a clip over the left eye.”

“Dat’s some er ’Nervy Ann’s doin’s, suh,” replied Hamp, somewhat disconsolately.

“Den what you git in de way fer?” snapped Aunt Minervy Ann.

“Marse Tumlin, dat ar ’oman ain’t done nothin’ in de roun’ worl’. She say she want me to buy some hime books fer de church when I went to Atlanty, an’ I went over dar atter de money.”