“What an awful liar you are, Sorrow!”
“‘Pon my sacred word and honour, Massa,” he said, “I stake my testament oat on it; does you tink dis here child now would swear to a lie? true as preachin’, Sar.”
“Go on,” said I, “I like to see a fellow go the whole animal while he is about it. How many did it take to kill her?”
“Well, Massa, she told me herself, on her def bed, she didn’t eat no more nor ten or a dozen hogs, but she didn’t blame dem, it was havin’ dere heads on did all the mischief. I was away when dey was cooked, or it wouldn’t a happened. I was down to Charleston Bank to draw six hundred dollars for her, and when I came back she sent for me. ‘Sorrow,’ sais she, ‘Plutarch has poisoned me.’
“‘Oh, de black villain’, sais I, ‘Missus, I will tye him to a tree and burn him.’
“‘No, no,’ she said, ‘I will return good for ebil. Send for Rev. Mr Hominy, and Mr Succatash, de Yankee oberseer, and tell my poor granny Chloe her ole missus is dyin’, and to come back, hot foot, and bring Plutarch, for my disgestion is all gone.’ Well, when Plutarch came she said, ‘Plue, my child, you have killed your missus by cooking de hogs wid dere heads on, but I won’t punish you, I is intendin’ to extinguish you by kindness among de plantation niggers. I will heap coals of fire on your head.’
“‘Dat’s right, Missus,’ sais I, ‘burn the villain up, but burn him with green wood so as to make slow fire, dat’s de ticket, Missus, it sarves him right.’
“Oh, if you eber heard yellin’, Massa, you’d a heard it den. Plue he trowed himself down on de ground, and he rolled and he kicked and he screamed like mad.
“‘Don’t make a noise, Plutarch,’ said she, ‘I can’t stand it. I isn’t a goin’ to put you to def. You shall lib. I will gib you a wife.’
“‘Oh, tankee, Missus,’ said he, ‘oh, I will pray for you night and day, when I ain’t at work or asleep, for eber and eber. Amen.’