Den Mars Nickey teck out his silk hankcheah, wipe he weepin’ eye, trem’lin mouf, an’ he say, “Sookey, teck uh seat!”
Jes’ think ub meh settin’ down befo’ Ole Mars! Den he teck uh pinch ub snuff, th’ow some on de flounces ub he shut, call Damon an’ say, “Bring me some peach an’ honey!”
Den he say: “I will ’struct Cap’n Stitchberry, de fus’ time de Margaret Jane sails fuh Balt’mo’, futto bring Saul home, but he kyant lib heah wid meh good an’ faithful serbents; he got ter lib at ‘Fausley,’ drap cawn, plough—be wuf sompin’. Kyant hab any mo’ boots. Tho’ Nancy wuz his mother, got ter weah shoes; I only gib de bes’ serbents boots!”
Muhtilda, I jes’ natchelly swep’ de flo’ wid meh curchysys, I feel so thankful. An’ when I lef’ I say: “Meh Marster, yo’ mo’ an’ mo’ like Mars Francis ev’y day; same brite eyes, like uh fish-hawk’s, but sorf an’ big!”
Den Ole Mars teck nubba pinch ub snuff, dust he shut flounces wid it, cut hissef on de leg wid he ridin’ whup an’ say: “Sookey, I change meh mine; when Saul cum back he kin wuck in de gyardin wid yo’ husban’, Stephen.”
When I wen’ out de do’ da wuz Cap’n Stitchberry stan’in’ befo’ de steps wid he haid orncover’d waitin’ fuh his orders fum Mars Nickey; Stephen wuz holdin’ Sylph, Marster’s favorite mare; Music, Jerry-Myah, Sweet-lips, Jefferson, Chimes, an’ all de res’ ub de houn’s (Ole Mars wudn’ let you call ’em dogs) wuz playin’ erroun’ Stephen, chunin’ up, an’ Sylph wuz almos’ crazy fuh Ole Mars ter git in de saddle—she jes’ scorn de yearth when she gallopin’ an’ cud almos’ jump ober de moon. Well, I felt ez prowd an’ happy ez Sylph an’ de houn’s did, kase, Muhtilda, ev’ything look’d lubly ter me. So I meck up meh mind I ain’ gwine ter scold Stephen any mo’—he did look so peart, holdin’ Sylph wid uh yaller wes’ Ole Marster jes’ gib him. But what meck me mos’ happy, I heahd de wabes moanin’, I luck at de ribber, an’ da wuz de Margaret Jane wid huh sails sot, jes’ prancin’. I knew’d what dat signify—so hit won’ be long befo’ Saul cum back.
Saul sing songs, play de hohn dat Little Billy gib him, wid locks an’ keys, dances, too. How-some-eber, hit’s jes’ what de qual’ty do; but da ain’ nuffin wichious erboutin Saul, an’ I sut’ny has miss him pow’ful. Da ain’ uh houn’ on dis place dat ain’ look sad sence Saul lef’. When dey cum home wid deah sore feet, ears an’ legs all scratch up, full ub briars, Saul, ’doutin Ole Mars habin’ ter tell him ev’y day, biles uh pot ub squaw-root, baves dem houn’s feet an’ legs, an’ you kin see dem settin’ ’roun’ waitin’ fuh deah turn.