or us and dat he was mighty proud of de way evvy
one of us had done 'haved ourselfs. He said dat de war was over now, and
us was free and could go anywhar us wanted to, but dat us didn't have to
go if us wanted to stay dar. He said he would pay us for our wuk and
take keer of us if us stayed or, if us wanted to wuk on shares, he would
'low us to wuk some land dat way. A few of dem Niggers drifted off, but
most of 'em stayed right dar 'til dey died."

A sad note had come into Robert's voice and he seemed to be almost
overcome by the sorrow aroused by his reminiscences. His daughter was
quick to perceive this and interrupted the conversation: "Please Lady,"
she said. "Pa's too feeble to talk any more today. Can't you let him
rest now and come back again in a day or two? Maybe he will be done
'membered things he couldn't call back today."

The front door was open when Robert's house was next visited, and a
young girl answered the knock. "Come in," she said. The little house was
as dilapidated in the interior as it was on the outside. Bright June
sunshine filtered through the many gaps in the roof arousing wonder as
to how the old man managed to remain inside this house during heavy
rains. The room was scrupulously clean and neat. In it was a very old
iron bed, a dresser that was minus its mirror, two chairs, and a table,
all very old and dilapidated. The girl laughed when she called attention
to a closet that was padlocked. "Dat's whar Grandpa keeps his rations,"
she said, and then volunteered the information: "He's gone next door to
stay wid Ma, whilst I clean up his house. He can't stand no dust, and
when I sweeps, I raises a dust." The girl explained a 12 inch square
aperture in the door, with a sliding board fastened on the inside by
saying: "Dat's Grandpa's peep-hole. He allus has to see who's dar 'fore
he unfastens his door."

Robert was sitting on the back porch and his daughter was ironing just
inside the door. Both seemed surprised and happy to see the interviewer
and the daughter placed a comfortable chair for her as far as the
dimensions of the small porch would permit from the heat of the charcoal
bucket and irons. Remembering that his earlier recollections had ended
with the close of the Civil War, Robert started telling about the days
"atter freedom had done come."

"Me, I stayed right on dar 'til atter Marster died. He was sick a long,
long time, and one morning Old Mist'ess, she called to me. 'Robert,' s