"Wall," said Jasper, "this here is news. What air they goin' to do about it?"
"Kain't do nothin', I reckon. Dave would whup the preacher, but the gal he is a goin' to marry told him he shouldn't. Say, Jasper, I was on my way down to Smithfield, an' I didn't know but you mout want suthin' fotch from down thar."
"No, ain't a hurtin' fur nothin' at the present. Lemme see. Yes, I want you to give a order to the stone-cutter for a tombstone for mammy's grave."
"How big?"
"Oh, 'bout three feet by six."
"Reckon you'll want suthin' cut on the rock."
"Yes. Sot up mighty nigh all night a drawin' of it off. Got it right here." From his pocket he took a piece of paper and began to read: "'Old Black Mammy, come here nobody don't know when an' went home on the eighteenth of June, 1884. Her skin mout have been as dark as the night when thar ain't no moon an' no stars, but her soul is like the risin' of the sun when thar ain't a cloud in the sky.'" Mrs. Mayfield had turned to listen, and Jasper inquired of her: "Will that do, ma'm?"
"Yes, Uncle Jasper, it is very expressive."
"Wall, would you mind goin' over it an' fixin' it up for me?"
"I wouldn't change a word of it," she said, and he thanked her.