“I think there’s enough to pay the interest five or six months.”
“Den you’s all right. If he don’t die in six months, dat don’t make no diff’rence—Providence’ll provide. You’s gwyne to be safe—if you behaves.” She bent an austere eye on him and added, “En you is gwyne to behave—does you know dat?”
He laughed and said he was going to try, anyway. She did not unbend. She said gravely:
“Tryin’ ain’t de thing. You’s gwyne to do it. You ain’t gwyne to steal a pin—’ca’se it ain’t safe no mo’; en you ain’t gwyne into no bad comp’ny—not even once, you understand; en you ain’t gwyne to drink a drop—nary single drop; en you ain’t gwyne to gamble one single gamble—not one! Dis ain’t what you’s gwyne to try to do, it’s what you’s gwyne to do. En I’ll tell you how I knows it. Dis is how. I’s gwyne to foller along to Sent Louis my own self; en you’s gwyne to come to me every day o’ yo’ life, en I’ll look you over; en if you fails in one single one o’ dem things—jist one—I take my oath I’ll come straight down to dis town en tell de Jedge you’s a nigger en a slave—en prove it!” She paused to let her words sink home. Then she added, “Chambers, does you b’lieve me when I says dat?”
Tom was sober enough now. There was no levity in his voice when he answered:
“Yes, mother, I know, now, that I am reformed—and permanently. Permanently—and beyond the reach of any human temptation.”
“Den g’ long home en begin!”