“He say, ‘Dat’s a hunderd fer ter make de trade bindin’. Meet me in town ter-morrer, an’ I’ll pay you de rest.’
“Ol’ Mr. Gossett say, ‘But, Jedge, s’posin’ de nigger is dead now?’
“Ol’ Marster snap ’im short off: ‘A trade’s a trade. You stan’ by yone, an’ I’ll stan’ by mine.’
“Mr. Gossett say, ‘Oh, I’ll stan’ by mine, Jedge. De nigger is yone, ’live or dead.’
“It look like ter me,” continued Free Polly, shifting her position and talking in a less solemn tone, “dat A’on must ’a’ been playin’ possum. Kaze time he hear ol’ Mr. Gossett say dat, he open his eyes an’ riz up fum whar he wuz layin’ at. He walk sorter weak, but he wa’n’t hurted much. He got up an’ went whar dey had de Little Marster, an’ fum dat time on, de two stuck mighty close by one anudder. Whar you’d see one, you’d be mighty apt to see de udder. It was dat away all de time, fum Monday mornin’ twell Sat’day night.
“De Little Marster ’gun ter git well an’ strong. Some say he grow’d an’ got fatter. I can’t tell you ’bout dat. He allers look mighty pale an’ puny ter me, but dey ain’t no ’sputin’ dat he got ’roun’ on his crutches mo’ soopler. He wuz ez nimble on dem crutches ez a game rooster is on his legs.
DE SQUINCH OWL LIGHTED ON A’ON’S HAND
“’Twa’n’t long atter dat ’fo’ de niggers on de place wuz all fear’d er A’on. Dey seed all de creeturs a-follerin’ ’im ’bout, an’ dey got it spread ’roun’ dat he wuz a cunjer-man, one er deze yer hoodoo folks what puts spells on you. Den dey got it spread ’roun’ dat he want no nigger, kaze he don’t do like niggers. I didn’t blame ’em much fer bein’ skeer’d, kaze one day, des atter sundown, I happen to see A’on lookin’ up in de big pine out dar in de lot. I hear a squinch owl holler, an’ den I hear A’on say sump’n. Time he do dat I see de squinch owl drap fum de top er de pine an’ light right on A’on’s han’. De bird sot dar, he did, an’ pop his bill like a waggin whip, an’ den he up an’ flew’d away. He come right by my head, an’ it’s Lord’s trufe, he ain’t make no mo’ fuss dan a fedder floatin’ on de win’.
“I wuz sorter skeer’d, but I walk right up to A’on an’ say, ‘Man, who is you, an’ what is you?’