A contrast, I can tell you, to our own little Jonesvillians, with their freckled white faces and their tow locks a hangin’ over their forwerds.
The hair of these little boys and girls wuzn’t hair, it wuz wool, and it curled tight round their black forwerds. And their clothes wuz airy and unpretentious in the extreme; some on ’em had only jest enough on to hide their nakedness, and some on ’em hadn’t enough.
THE COLORED CHILDREN.
But our boy’s place wuz beautiful. It looked like a picture of fairy land, as we see it bathed in the red western light. And though we felt that we might on closter inspection see some faults in it, we couldn’t seem to see any then.
It wuz a big house, sort o’ light grey in color, with a piazza a runnin’ clear round it, and up on the next story another piazza jest as big, reared up and runnin’ all round—a verandy they called it.
And both stories of the piazza wuz almost covered with beautiful blossomin’ vines, great big sweet roses, and lots of other fragrant posies that I didn’t know the name of, but liked their looks first rate.
There wuz a little rivulet a runnin’ along at one side of the front yard, and its pleasant gurglin’ sound seemed dretful sort o’ friendly and pleasant to us.