"Lordy, Mister Tom, I nebber tell a lie in my life, sah!"
"Andy—Andy!"
The negro held his face straight for a moment and then broke into a laugh:
"Well, sah, I may has pré-var-i-cated some times, but dat ain't lyin'—why, all gemmens do dat."
"And look at this suit of clothes," Tom said severely, "that you've just swiped from Dad. You'd steal anything you can get your hands on!"
Andy turned away and spoke with deep grief
"Mister Tom, you sho do hurt my feelin's, sah—I nebber steal nuttin' in my life."
"I've known you to steal a palm-leaf fan in the dead of winter with snow on the ground."
Andy laughed uproariously:
"Why, man, dat ain't stealin! Who gwine ter want er palm-leaf fan wid snow on de groun'?—dat's des findin' things. You know dey calls me Hones' Andy. When dey ketch me wid de goods I nebber try ter lie outen it lak some fool niggers. I des laugh, 'fess right up, an' hit's all right. Dat's what make 'em call me Hones' Andy, cose I always knows dat honesty's de bes' policy—an' here you comes callin' me a thief—Lordee, Mister Tom, yer sho do hurt my feelin's!"