The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann

by Joel Chandler Harris

“Marse Tumlin look at me hard, an’ den he say, ‘Dam ef I don’t b’lieve youer crazy!’ Time he say it, I ’low, ‘I don’t keer er dam ef I is!’

“Yasser! I say it sho, an’ den I drapt down on de groun’ dar an’ holler an’ cry like somebody wuz beatin’ de life out’n me. Marse Tumlin stood dar pullin’ at his goatee all dat time, an’ bimeby I got up. I wa’n’t feelin’ much better, but I done had my cry an’ dat’s sump’n. I got up, I did, an’ start back de way I come.

“Marse Tumlin say, ‘Whar you gwine, Minervy Ann? I ’low, ‘I’m gwine back home—dat’s whar I’m gwine!’ He say, ‘Pick up yo’ bundle.’ Wid dat I turn ’roun’ on him an’ ’low, ‘I ain’t gwine ter do it! Ef it hadn’t er been fer dat ar muslin dress in dar, what Miss Vallie make over an’ gi’ me, I’d been at home right dis minute.’

“He ’low, ‘What dat got ter do wid it, Minervy Ann?’ I make answer, ‘Bekaze ol’ Satan make me want ter put it on an’ sho’ off ’fo’ dem country niggers out dar whar Hamp’s folks live at.’ Wid dat I start back home, but Marse Tumlin holler at me—‘Minervy Ann, take dis chicken.’ I tuck it, I did, an’ made off up de road. Bimeby I sorter flung my eye ’roun’, an’, bless gracious! dar wuz Marse Tumlin comin’ ’long totin’ my bundle. Well, suh, it flewed all over me like fier. I got so mad wid myse’f dat I could ’a’ bit a piece out’n my own flesh.

“I waited in de road twel he come up, an’ den I snatched de bundle out er his han’. I ’low, ‘I ain’t gwine ter have you totin’ none er my bundles in de public road—no, ner no chickens, needer.’ He say, ‘Well, don’t fling it ’way, Minervy Ann. De time may come when yo’ Miss Vallie’ll need dat ar muslin dress.’

“When we got back home I went in de kitchen, an’ fix ter clean an’ kill de chicken. I ’speck Marse Tumlin must ’a’ tol’ Miss Vallie ’bout it, bekaze ’twan’t long ’fo’ I hear her runnin’ ’long de plank walk ter de kitchen. She whipt in de do’ she did, an’ grab me an’ cry like I done riz fum de dead. Well, suh, niggers ain’t got no sense, you kin take um de world over. No sooner is Miss Vallie start ter cry dan I chuned up, an’ dar we had it.

“’Bout dat time, Marse Tumlin, he come out—men folks is allers gwine some’rs dey got no business. He ’low, ‘What you’all blubberin’ ’bout?’ I make answer, ‘We er cryin’ over dese two chickens.’ He ax, ‘What two chickens?’ I ’low, ‘I’m cryin’ over dis un, kaze it’s so little, an’ Miss Vallie cryin’ over de one what you ain’t brung.’ He say, ‘Well, I be dang!’ an’ wid dat he went back in de house.

“An’ den, atter supper, such ez ’twuz, here come Hamp, an’ he say he come ter lay de law down. I ’speck I like my ol’ man ’bout ez good ez any udder ’oman what’s lawfully married, but ef I didn’t put a flea in Hamp year dat night you may shoot me dead. Ef he’d ’a’ waited a day er two, hit might er been diffunt; but, manlike, he had ter come at de wrong time, an’ he ain’t open his mouf ’fo’ I wuz fightin’ mad. Ol’ Miss allers use ter tell me I wuz a bad nigger when I got my dander up, but I never did look at myse’f dat-a-way twel dat night.

“Well, Hamp he come an’ stood in de do’, but I ain’t say nothin’. Den he come in de kitchen, an’ stan’ ’roun’, but still I ain’t say nothin’. Den he sot down next de chimbley, but all dat time I ain’t say nothin’. He look right pitiful, suh, an’ ef I hadn’t been mad, I’d ’a’ been sorry fer ’im. But I ain’t say nothin’.

“Bimeby, he ’low, ‘’Nervy’—he allers call me ’Nervy—‘’Nervy, whyn’t you go whar you say you gwine?’ I flung myse’f ’roun’ at ’im an’ say, ‘Bekaze I ain’t choosen ter go—dar you got it!’ He ’low, ‘Well, you start ter go, kaze I seed you!’ I say, ‘Yes, an’ I start ter come back, an’ you’d ’a’ seed dat ef you’d ’a’ looked right close.’ He ’low, ‘’Nervy, don’t you know dem folks in yander’ll think you b’long to um?’ I say, ‘I does. Ain’t I free? Can’t I b’long to um ef I wanter? I’d like ter see de one ter hender me. What dey done ter you? An’ what’s I done ter you dat you want ter drag me ’way fum my white folks? You go drag you’se’f—you can’t drag me.’ He ’low, ‘Dey done begin ter call you a white-folks nigger, an’ dey say you gwine back on yo’ own color.’”