“‘Missus,’ sais I, ‘does you recollect de day when Zeno was drownded off de raft? Well, dat day Plutarch was lowed to visit next plantation, and dey bring him home mazin’ drunk—stupid as owl, his mout open and he couldn’t speak, and his eye open and he couldn’t see. Well, as you don’t low niggar to be flogged, Aunt Phillissy Ann and I lay our heads together, and we tought we’d punish him; so we ondressed him, and put him into same bed wid poor Zeno, and when he woke up in de mornin’ he was most frighten to def, and had de cold chills on him, and his eye stared out ob his head, and his teeth chattered like monkeys. He was so frighten, we had to burn lights for a week—he tought after dat he saw Zeno in bed wid him all de time. It’s werry dangerous, Missus, to sleep near cold people like Yankees and dead niggars.’
“‘Sorrow, you is a knave I believe,’ she said.
“‘Knave, knave, Missus,’ I sais, ‘I don’t know dat word.’
“‘Sorrow,’ said she, ‘I is a goin’ to take you wid me.’
“‘Tank you, Missus,’ said I, ‘oh! bless your heart, Missus.’”
“Sorrow,” said I, sternly, “do you ever intend to tell us how you are going to cook them clams, or do you mean to chat all day?”
“Jist in one minute, Massa, I is jist comin’ to it,” said he.
“‘Now,’ sais missus, ‘Sorrow, it’s werry genteel to travel wid one’s own cook; but it is werry ongenteel when de cook can’t do nuffin’ super-superior; for bad cooks is plenty eberywhere widout travellin’ wid ’em. It brings disgrace.’
“‘Exactly, Missus,’ sais I, ‘when you and me was up to de president’s plantation, his cook was makin’ plum pudden, he was. Now how in natur does you rimagine he did it? why, Missus, he actilly made it wid flour, de stupid tick-headed fool, instead ob de crumbs ob a six cent stale loaf, he did; and he nebber ‘pared de gredients de day afore, as he had aughten to do. It was nuffin’ but stick jaw—jist fit to feed turkeys and little niggeroons wid. Did you ebber hear de likes ob dat in all your bawn days, Missus; but den, Marm, de general was a berry poor cook hisself you know, and it stand to argument ob reason, where massa or missus don’t know nuffin’, de sarvant can’t neither. Dat is what all de gentlemen and ladies says dat wisit here, Marm: ‘What a lubly beautiful woman Miss Lunn is,’ dey say, ‘dere is so much ‘finement in her, and her table is de best in all Meriky.’
“‘What a fool you is, Uncle Sorrow,’ she say, and den she larf again; and when missus larf den I know she was pleased. ‘Well,’ sais she, ‘now mind you keep all your secrets to yourself when travellin’, and keep your eyes open wide, and see eberyting and say nuffin’.’