Part 11 (1/2)

You' gran'pa bought my mammy at Gen'l Nelson's sale, An' Deely she come out de same estate; An' blood is jes' like pra'r is--hit tain' gwine nuver fail; Hit 's sutney gwine to come out, soon or late.

When I wuz born, yo' gran'pa gi' me to young Ma.r.s.e Phil, To be his body-servant--like, you know; An' we growed up together like two stalks in a hill-- Bofe tarslin' an' den shootin' in de row.

Ma.r.s.e Phil wuz born in harves', an' I dat Christmas come; My mammy nussed bofe on we de same time; No matter what one got, suh, de oder gwine git some-- We wuz two fibe-cent pieces in one dime.

We cotch ole hyahs together, an' possums, him an' me; We fished dat mill-pon' over, night an' day; Rid horses to de water; treed c.o.o.ns up de same tree; An' when you see one, turr warn' fur away.

When Ma.r.s.e Phil went to College, 't wuz, ”Sam--Sam 's got to go.”

Ole Marster said, ”Dat boy 's a fool 'bout Sam.”

Ole Mistis jes' said, ”Dear, Phil wants him, an', you know--”

Dat ”_Dear_”--hit used to soothe him like a lamb.

So we all went to College---'way down to Williamsburg-- But 't warn' much l'arnin out o' books we got; Dem urrs warn' no mo' to him 'n a ole wormy lug; Yes, suh, we wuz de ve'y top-de-pot.

An' ef he didn' study dem Latins an' sich things, He wuz de popularetis all de while De ladies use' to call him, ”De angel widout wings”; An' when he come, I lay dee use' to smile.

Yo' see, he wuz ole Marster's only chile; an' den, He had a body-servant--at he will; An' wid dat big plantation; dee 'd all like to be brides; Dat is ef dee could have de groom, Ma.r.s.e Phil.

'T wuz dyah he met young Mistis--she wuz yo' ma, of co'se!

I disremembers now what mont' it wuz: One night, he comes, an' seys he, ”Sam, I needs new clo'es”; An' seys I, ”Ma.r.s.e Phil, yes, suh, so yo' does.”

Well, suh, he made de tailor meek ev'y thing bran' new; He would n' w'ar one st.i.tch he had on han'-- Jes' throwed 'em in de chip box, an' seys, ”Sam, dem 's fur you.”

Ma.r.s.e Phil, I tell yo', wuz a gentleman.

So Ma.r.s.e Phil co'tes de Mistis, an' Sam he co'tes de maid-- We always sot our traps upon one parf; An' when we tole ole Marster we bofe wuz gwine, he seyd, ”All right, we 'll have to kill de fatted calf.”

An' dat wuz what dee did, suh--de Prodigal wuz home; Dee put de ring an' robe upon yo' ma.

Den you wuz born, young Marster, an' den de storm hit come; An' den de darkness settled from afar.

De storm hit comed an' wrenchted de branches from de tree-- De war--you' pa--he 's sleep dyah on de hill; An' do I know, young Marster, de war hit sot us free?

I seys, ”Dat 's so; but tell me whar 's Ma.r.s.e Phil?”

”A dollar!”--thankee, Marster, you sutney is his son; You is his spitt an' image, I declar'!

What sey, young Marster? Yes, suh: you sey, ”It 's _five_--not one--”

Yo' favors, honey, bofe yo' pa an' ma!