'cep' niggers. Arfter de war some one or nudder bought our place,
but his name done kind o' slipped me. I nuvver hearn on 'im befo'; I
think dey's half-strainers. I don' ax none on 'em no odds. I lives
down de road heah, a little piece, an' I jes' steps down of a evenin'
and looks arfter de graves."

"Well, where is Marse Chan?" I asked.

"Hi! don' you know? Marse Chan, he went in de army. I wuz wid 'im. Yo'
know he warn' gwine an' lef' Sam."

"Will you tell me all about it?" I said, dismounting.

Instantly, and as if by instinct, the darkey stepped forward and took
my bridle. I demurred a little; but with a bow that would have honored
old Sir Roger, he shortened the reins, and taking my horse from me,
led him along.

"Now tell me about Marse Chan," I said.

"Lawd, marster, hit's so long ago, I'd a'most forgit all about it, ef
I hedn' been wid him ever sence he wuz born. Ez 'tis, I remembers it
jes' like 'twuz yistiddy. Yo' know Marse Chan an' me--we wuz boys
togedder. I wuz older'n he wuz, jes' de same ez he wuz whiter'n me. I
wuz born plantin' corn time, de spring arfter big Jim an' de six
steers got washed away at de upper ford right down dyar b'low de
quarters ez he wuz a bringin' de Chris'mas things home; an' Marse
Chan, he warn' born tell mos' to der harves' arfter my sister Nancy
married Cun'l Chahmb'lin's Torm, 'bout eight years arfterwards.

"Well, when Marse Chan wuz born dey wuz de grettes' doin's at home you
ever did see. De folks all hed holiday, jes' like in de Chris'mas. Ole
marster (we didn' call 'im _ole_ marster tell arfter Marse Chan wuz
born--befo' dat he wuz jes' de marster, so)--well, ole marster, his
face fyar shine wid pleasure, an' all de folks wuz mighty glad, too,
'cause dey all loved ole marster, and aldo' dey did step aroun' right
peart when ole marster wuz lookin' at 'em, dyar warn' nyar han' on de
place but what, ef he wanted anythin', would walk up to de back poach,
an' say he warn' to see de marster. An' ev'ybody wuz talkin' 'bout de
young marster, an' de maids an' de wimmens 'bout de kitchen wuz sayin'
how 'twuz de purties' chile dey ever see; an' at dinner-time de mens
(all on 'em hed holiday) come roun' de poach an' ax how de missis an'
de young marster wuz, an' ole marster come out on de poach an' smile
wus'n a 'possum, an' sez, 'Thankee! Bofe doin' fust rate, boys;' an'
den he stepped back in de house, sort o' laughin' to hisse'f, an' in a
minute he come out ag'in wid de bab