' No, sar! But, marster, maybe in de
jedgmun' day, wen Ole Bob is er stan'in' fo' de Lord wid his knees er
trim'lin', an' de angel fotches out dat book er hisn, and' de Lord
tell 'im fur ter read wat he writ gins 'im, an' de angel he 'gin ter
read how de ole nigger drunk too much wisky, how he stoled
watermillions in de night, how he cussed, how he axed too much fur
doct'in' uv hosses, an' wen he wuz men'in' cheers, how he wouldn't
men' 'em strong, so's he'd git ter men' 'em ergin some time; an' den'
wen he read all dat an' shet de book, maybe de Lord he'll say, 'Well,
he's er pow'ful sinful nigger, but den he tuck his money, he did, an'
buy'd de little baby fur ter give 'im ter his mammy, an' I sha'n't be
too hard on' im.
"Maybe he'll say dat, an' den ergin maybe he won't. Maybe he'll punish
de ole nigger ter de full stent uv his 'greshuns; an' den, ergin,
maybe he'll let him off light; but dat ain't neder hyear nur dar.
What'll yer take fur de baby, caze my min' hit's made up?"
"And mine is too, Uncle Bob," said his master, rising, and grasping in
his the big black hand. "Mine is too. I will give Ann her freedom and
her baby, and the same amount of money that you give her; that will
take her to her husband's relatives, and she can die happy, knowing
that her baby will be taken care of.
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