“You Rose,” said Mrs. Slang, addressing a female slave, “quiet that child!”
Rose walked it, and sang to it; but it did not hush.
“You Rose! if you do not quiet that child, I lay I make you.”
“I is tried, ma’am,” said Rose, “an’ he wouldn’t get hushed.”
(Child cries louder.)
“Fetch him here to me, you good for nothing hussy you. What’s the matter with him?” reaching out her arms to receive him.
“I dun know ma’am.”
“Nhei—nhun—nho—nha’am!” (mocking and grinning at Rose.)
As Rose delivered the child, she gave visible signs of dodging, just as the child left her arms; and, that she might not be disappointed, Mrs. Slang gave her a box: in which there seemed to be no anger mixed at all; and which Rose received as a matter of course, without even changing countenance under it.
“Da den!” said Mrs. Slang, “come elong e muddy (mother.) Did nassy Yosey, (Rose,) pague muddy thweety chilluns? (children)” pressing the child to her bosom, and rocking it backward and forward tenderly. “Muddins will whippy ole nassy Yosey. Ah! you old uggy Yosey,” (knocking at Rose playfully.) “Da den; muddy did wippy bad Yosey.”