"Why, yes, Aunt Polly, and love you too; if your face is dark I am sure your heart is fair."
"Well, I doesn't know 'bout dat, chile; once 'twas far, but I tink all de white man done made it black as my face."
"Oh no, I can't believe that, Aunt Polly," I replied.
"Wal, I always hab said dat if dey would cut my finger and cut a white woman's, dey would find de blood ob de very same color," and the old woman laughed exultingly.
"Yes, but, Aunt Polly, if you were to go before a magistrate with a case to be decided, he would give it against you, no matter how just were your claims."
"To be sartin, de white folks allers gwine to do every ting in favor ob dar own color."
"But, Aunt Polly," interposed I, "there is a God above, who disregards color."
"Sure dare is, and dar we will all ob us git our dues, and den de white folks will roast in de flames ob old Nick."
I saw, from a furtive flash of her eye, that all the malignity and revenge of her outraged nature were becoming excited, and I endeavored to change the conversation.