"Whose son are you?" de Marster axed.
"Young Jane's," says Joe; "she 's daid."
A sperrit cudden 'a' growed mo' pale,
An', "By Gord!" I heerd him said.
He tuk de child 'long in de house,
Jes' 'count o' dat ar whim;
An', dat-time-out, you nuver see
Sich sto' as he sot by him.
An' Ashcake swung his cradle, too,
As clean as ever you see;
An' stuck as close ter ole Marster's heel
As de shader sticks to de tree.
'Twel one dark night, when de river was out,
De Marster an' Ashcake Joe
Was comin' home an' de skiff upsot,
An' bofe wo'd 'a' drowned, sho',
Excusin' dat Ashcake cotch'd ole Marst'r
An' gin him holt o' de boat,
An' saved him so; but 't was mo'n a week
B'fo' his body comed afloat.
An' de Marster buried dat nigger, suh,
In de white-folks' graveyard, sho!
An' he writ 'pon a white-folks' tombstone,
"Ashcake"—jes' "Ashcake" so.
An' de Marster he grieved so 'bouten dat thing,
It warn' long, suh, befo' he died;
An' he 's sleep, 'way down in Perginyer,
Not fur from young Ashcake's side.
ZEKYL'S INFIDELITY
Mistis, I r'al'y wish you 'd hole
A little conversation
Wid my old Zekyl 'bout his soul.
Dat nigger's sitiwation
Is mons'us serious, 'deed 'n' 't is,
'Skusin' he change dat co'se o' his.