enged Marse
Chan to fight a duil, an' Marse Chan he excepted de challenge, an' dey
wuz gwine fight; but some on 'em tole 'im Marse Chan wan' gwine mek a
present o' him to his fam'ly, an' he got somebody to bre'k up de duil;
'twan' nuthin' dough, but he wuz 'fred to fight Marse Chan. An' purty
soon he lef' de comp'ny.

"Well, I got one o' de gent'mens to write Judy a letter for me, an' I
tole her all 'bout de fight, an' how Marse Chan knock Mr. Ronny over
fur speakin' discontemptuous o' Cun'l Chahmb'lin, an' I tole her how
Marse Chan wuz a-dyin' fur love o' Miss Anne. An' Judy she gits Miss
Anne to read de letter fur her. Den Miss Anne she tells her pa,
an'--you mind, Judy tells me all dis arfterwards, an' she say when
Cun'l Chahmb'lin hear 'bout it, he wuz settin' on de poach, an' he set
still a good while, an' den he sey to hisse'f:

"'Well, he carn' he'p bein' a Whig.'

"An' den he gits up an' walks up to Miss Anne an' looks at her right
hard; an' Miss Anne she hed done tu'n away her head an' wuz makin' out
she wuz fixin' a rose-bush 'g'inst de poach; an' when her pa kep'
lookin' at her, her face got jes' de color o' de roses on de bush, an'
pres'n'y her pa sez:

"'Anne!'

"An' she tu'ned 'roun', an' he sez:

"'Do yo' want 'im?'

"An' she sez, 'Yes,' an' put her head on he shoulder an' begin to cry;
an' he sez:

"'Well, I won' stan' between yo' no longer. Write to 'im an' say so.'

"We didn' know nuthin' 'bout dis den. We wuz a-fightin' an' a-fightin'
all dat time; an' come one day a letter to Marse Chan, an' I see 'im
start to read it in his tent, an' he face hit look so cu'ious, an' he
han's trembled so I couldn' mek out what wuz de matter wid 'im. An' he
fold' de letter up an' wen' out an' wen' 'way down 'hine de camp, an'
stayed dyah 'bout nigh an hour. Well, seh, I wuz on de lookout for 'im
when he come back, an', fo' Gord, ef he face didn' shine like a
angel's. I say to myse'f, 'Um'm! ef de glory o' Gord ain' done shine
on 'im!' An' what yo' 'spose 'twuz?

"He tuk me wid 'im dat evenin', an' he tell me he hed done git a
letter from Miss Anne, an' Marse Chan he eyes look like gre't big
stars, an' he face wuz jes' like 'twuz dat mawnin' when de sun riz up
over de low groun's, an' I see 'im stan'in' dyah wid de pistil in he
han', lookin' at it, an' not knowin' but what it mout be de lars'
time, an' he done mek up he mine not to shoot ole Cun'l Chahmb'lin fur
Miss Anne's sake, what writ 'im de letter.