“No, yo’ hain’t ebber tole we all, Daddy Mose.”
“An’ he couldn’ git shet uv hit twel dey burn up de cabin an’ de kivers?”
“Po’ creetur!—Um, um.”
“Yas, dey hatter burn up de cabin an’ de kivers,” repeated Daddy Mose, reflectively.
“Tell erbout hit, Daddy—tell erbout hit!” came in chorus.
“Well,” said Daddy Mose, “hit were ’bout dis way: ’Lish Stone wa’n’t much ’count no how, but he hab er mighty fine, peart ’oman, an’ dat how come Daddy Mose ’member hit ter dis day.
“‘Lish hadn’ been pleasin’ er Ole Marse in de way he been er gwine, an’ Ole Marse gib him one mighty straight talk ’fore he put de oberseer’s whup arter him, ’case one nigger is mighty hard on ernuther nigger, bond er free—you knows dat—an’ Ole Marse’s oberseers was allus niggers.
“‘Lish he wa’n’t no survigrous nigger, an’ he feel mighty sorry now ’bout de way he berhave hisse’f, an’ Ole Marse gib him so many chances, an’ he lack mighty well ter please Ole Marse now, an’ he mek hisse’f anxious waitin’ fur de time.
“Well, Dinah an’ Marthy ’ten’ ter de dairy den, an’ bimeby dey gin out dat some un des bardaciously stealin’ de cream off en de pans in de spring-house ever’ night. Nobody know who hit were ner whar dey kim fum, but hit go on, an’ dey git so bol’ dat dar wa’n’t hardly cream ernough fur de Big House coffee, let ’lone fur churnin’ an’ things, an’ Ole Miss she say she gwine mek ’em set er watch, fur Dinah an’ Marthy ’spected some er de fiel’ han’s an’ tole tales on ’em.
“Dar was allus war ’twixt de house niggers an’ de fiel’ han’s, lack de quality white folks an’ po’ buckra. Not dat Ole Marse would er let ’em fi’t—no, my Lord—’case we hatter be peaceable an’ Christiun ’roun’ Ole Marse. But de house niggers an’ de fiel’ han’s kinder swap words, quiet lack, when dey passes, an’ when Ole Miss sont fur er little fiel’ nigger ter foller arter de chillen er ter swing de pea-fowl bresh ober de table, um!—you think dat little nigger done gone up ter heaben!