Our business at present is with Quashy and “Sooz’n.”
That sable and now united couple stand under the shade of a marble colonnade watching with open-mouthed interest the bustle of the street in which men and women of many nations—French, Italian, Spanish, English, and other—are passing to and fro on business or pleasure.
This huge, populous town was not only a new sight, but an almost new idea to the negroes, and they were lost alike in amusement and amazement.
“Hi!” exclaimed Quashy in his falsetto, “look, look dar, Sooz’n—das funny.”
He pointed to a little boy who, squatted like a toad on a horse’s back, was galloping to market with several skins of milk slung on either side of the saddle, so that there was no room for his legs.
“O Quash!” exclaimed the bride, “dar’s pumpkins for you. Look!”
They were indeed notable pumpkins—so large that five of them completely filled a wagon drawn by two oxen.
“But come, Sooz’n, da’ling,” said Quashy, starting as if he had just recollected something, “you said you was gwine to tell me suffin as would make my hair stan’ on end. It’ll be awrful strong if it doos dat, for my wool am stiff, an’ de curls pritty tight.”
“Yes, I comed here wid you a-purpose to tell you,” replied the bride, “an’ to ax your ’pinion. But let’s go ober to dat seat in de sun. I not like de shade.”
“Come along, den, Sooz’n. It’s all one to me where we goes, for your eyes dey make sunshine in de shade, an’ suffin as good as shade in de sunshine, ole gurl.”