The River's Children: An Idyl of the Mississippi

by Ruth McEnery Stuart

"You an' me we 's growin' ole, Isrul—ain't dat so?"

"Yas, Hannah."

"An' we ain't got long to stay heah, hey, Isrul?"

"Yas, ol' 'oman—can't dispute dat."

"An'"—hesitatingly. "You knows what 's on my mind, Isrul!"

"Hit 's on my mind, too, Hannah. You don't need to 'spress yo'se'f. Hit 's on my mind, day an' night."

"What's on yo' mind, Isrul?"

The old man began stirring the bowl of his pipe absently.

"'Bout we gittin' ol', Hannah, an' maybe some day we'll drap off an' leave Marse Harol's chile all by she se'f, like de chillen in de wilderness.

"What mek you mek me say it, Hannah? You knows what 'sponsibility Gord done laid on we two. Ain't we done talked it over a hond'ed times 'fo' now?"