"Well, Burl, what is it?" kindly inquired his mistress.
"'Scuse me, Miss Jemimy, but I's come to tell you I's been thinkin'----" pausing; and as he still hesitated, his mistress said: "Yes, so you have; I knew as much already, not having heard a song from you since dinner-time. Out with it, then; I am ready to hear you."
"Well, Miss Jemimy, it's jes' dis. We's all pore mortal creeters, made of clay, you know; no tellin' who'll be took away fus', who'll be lef' behin'." Another pause.
"Nothing could be truer, Burl," rejoined his mistress; "and yet not always right pleasant to think of. But go on, and speak your mind freely."
"Well, Miss Jemimy, bein' sich pore mortal creeters as we is, dare's no tellin' who'll be took away fus', who'll be lef' behin'. 'Scuse me, ef you please."
"And you are thinking that you might be left behind," added his mistress.
"You've hit it 'zac'ly on de head, Miss Jemimy; dat's jes' de thing I's wantin' to say, but was afeered uf hurtin' feelin's. Hope you don't think hard uf me fur havin' sich thoughts. But bein', as I wus sayin', de pore mortal creeters we is, some pussons is boun' to drap off sooner dan oders, some boun' to be lef' behin'; an' dar's no tellin' who de whos will be. Sich things mus' happen, an' nobody's fault, you know."
"It is all just as you say, Burl," replied his mistress. "So go on without more ado, and tell me exactly what is in your mind, and no fear of hurting feelings."
"Thank you, Miss Jemimy, fur talkin' dat way; it makes me easy. So I'll go on an' tell it all, jes' as I's been thinkin' it. Eber sence late dis mornin' I's been sayin' to myse'f out yander in de corn-fiel': 'We's all pore mortal creeters made uf clay--no tellin' who'll be took 'way fus', who'll be lef behin'. Den s'posin',' ses I, 's'posin' ef my good missus an' sweet little marster might be took 'way fus', an' der ol' nigger lef' behin', what den? W'y, mebbe jes' dis: some white man I neber liked or neber knowed might come 'long a-sayin' to me: "You belongs to me now, I's paid my money fur you; you go plow in my fiel', go chop in my woods, go mow in my medder; I hain't bought yo' wife an' chil'en--no use fur dem; so jes' make up yo' min' to leabe 'em an' come 'long." Den Burlman Rennuls be very sorry he didn't take what his good mistus wanted so much to give him long time ago.' So I goes on thinkin' it ober an' ober eber go long, till ses I to myse'f, 'I'll go to Miss Jemimy dis bery night an' say to her: "Miss Jemimy," ses I, "we's all pore mortal creeters made uf clay, no tellin' who'll be took away fus', who'll be lef' behin';" an' my good missus will know what I mean.' So I's come an' sed it. But min' you, Miss Jemimy, min' you now, I'm 'tirely willin' to work fur you an' my little marster all my days--'d ruther do it. But sich a thing might happen dat you two might be took away fus', an' yo' ol' nigger lef' behin'. Den I'd a leetle ruther be free. I don't know, arter all, but freedom's a bery good thing to hab eben ef we hain't got l'arnin' to match it. Dat is, ef we kin hab it an' not let it make fools uf us--set us a-thinkin' we's got nuthin' to do but lay in de shade an' kick up our heels. A nigger needn't make sich a show uf his freedom as de red varmint uf his ruffle shirt an' blue coat; jes' tie it up in a snug little bundle to tote along wid him an' let folks know he has it, an' dat'll be 'nuff fur any use. So I's thinkin' I'll come an' say: 'Miss Jemimy,' ses I, 'bein' as you want so much to do it, w'y den, ef you please, jes' write it down on a piece uf paper how, in case you an' my little marster might be took away fus', you wants yo' ol' nigger to hab his freedom.' Den I'll sew it up in my b'ar-skin cap, to keep it till de time comes, ef de time mus' come, so I kin say to de fus' white man who comes 'long a-claimin' me, 'I yi, my larky,' pullin' out my free-papers. But, min' you now, Miss Jemimy, I don't want you to be a-thinkin' dat I'll be a-hopin' fur de time to come so I kin go rippin' an' tearin' 'bout de country, like some no-'count, raggetty, dirty free niggers I's seed afore now, who, beca'se dey could do what dey pleased, didn't please to do nuthin'. 'T ain't so. I's sed it afore, an' I'll say it ag'in, I'll do what I kin fur my good missus an' my sweet little marster--all a pore nigger kin fur white folks in dat way, an' won't neber stop a-doin' it; an' I mean to keep my word."