e wid de tra la, la la la, la
la la part of dat old song you is heard, maybe many times.

"I see a spit-box over dere. By chance, have you got any 'bacco? Make me
more glib if I can chew and spit; then I 'members more and better de
things done past and gone.

"I was a slave of Mistress Jane. Her was a daughter of old Marster
William Brice. Her marry Henry Younge and mammy was give to Marse Henry
and Miss Jane.

"My pappy name Tony. Mammy name Sallie. You is seen her a many a day.
Marse Henry got kilt in de war. His tombstone and Mistress Jane's
tombstone am in Concord Cemetery. They left two chillun, Miss Kittie and
Miss Maggie. They both marry a Caldwell; same name but no kin. Miss
Kittie marry Marse Joe Caldwell and move to Texas. Miss Maggie marry
Marse Camel Caldwell and move to North Carolina.

"My pappy die durin' de war. After freedom, mammy marry a ugly, no
'count nigger name Mills Douglas. She had one child by him, name Janie.
My mammy name her dat out of memory and love for old mistress, in
slavery time. I run away from de home of my step-pappy and got work wid
Major Thomas Brice. I work for him 'til I become a full grown man and
come to be de driver of de four-hoss wagon.

"One day I see Marse Thomas a twistin' de ears on a fiddle and rosinin'
de bow. Then he pull dat bow 'cross de belly of dat fiddle. Sumpin' bust
loose in me and sing all thru my head and tingle in my fingers. I make
up my mind, right then and dere, to save and buy me a fiddle. I got one
dat Christmas, bless God! I learn and been playin' de fiddle ever since.
I pat one foot while I playin'. I kept on playin' and pattin' dat foot
for thirty years. I lose dat foot in a smash up wid a highway accident
but I play de old tunes on dat fiddle at night, dat foot seem to be dere
at de end of dat leg (indicating) and pats just de same. Sometime I
ketch myself lookin' down to see if it have come back and jined itself
up to dat leg, from de very charm of de music I makin' wid de fiddle and
de bow.

"I never was very popular wid my own color. They say behind my back, in
'76, dat I's a white folks nigger. I wear a red shirt then, drink red
liquor, play de fiddle at de 'lection box, and vote de white folks
ticket. Who I marry? I marry Ellen Watson, as pretty a ginger cake
nigger as ever fried a batter cake or rolled her arms up in a wash tub.
How I git her? I never git her; dat fiddle got her. I play for all de
white folks dances down at Cedar Shade