I've laid me up er little money fum time ter time, wen I'd be
er doct'in uv hosses an' mules an' men'-in' cheers, an' all sich ez
dat; de folks dey pays me lib'ul; an', let erlone dat, I'm done mighty
well wid my taters an' goobers, er sellin' uv 'em ter de steamboat
han's, wat takes 'em ter de town, an' 'sposes uv 'em. So I'm got er
right smart chance uv money laid up, sar; an' now I wants ter buy me
er nigger, same ez white folks, fur ter wait on me an' bresh my coat
an' drive my kerridge; an' I 'lowed ef yer'd sell de little white
nigger, I'd buy 'im," and Uncle Bob chuckled and laughed.
"Why, Bob, I believe you are crazy," said his master, "or drunk."
"I ain't neder one, marster; but den I'm er jokin' too much, mo'n de
'lenity uv de cazhun inquires, an' now I'll splain de facks, sar."
And Uncle Rob related Ann's story to his master, and wound up by
saying:
"An' now, marster, my min', hit's made up. I wants ter buy de little
chap, an' give 'im ter his mammy, de one wat God give 'im to. Hit'll
go mighty hard wid me ter part fum all dat money, caze I ben years pun
top er years er layin' uv it up, an' hit's er mighty, cumfut ter me er
countin' an' er jinglin' uv it; but hit ain't doin' nobody no good er
buried in de groun', an' I don't special need it myse'f, caze you
gives me my cloes, an' my shoes, an' my eatin's, an' my backer, an' my
wisky, an' I ain't got no cazhun fur ter spen' it; an' let erlone dat,
I can't stay hyear fureber, er countin' an' er jinglin' dat money, wen
de angel soun' dat horn, de ole nigger he's got ter go; he's boun' fur
ter be dar! de money can't hol' 'im! De Lord, he ain't gwine ter say,
'Scuze dat nigger, caze he got money piled up; lef 'im erlone, fur ter
count dat gol' an' silver.
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