erlast'n rubbage.
He's plumb crazy, s'I; it's what I says in the fust place, it's what I
says in the middle, 'n' it's what I says last 'n' all the time--the
nigger's crazy--crazy 's Nebokoodneezer, s'I."

"An' look at that-air ladder made out'n rags, Sister Hotchkiss," says
old Mrs. Damrell; "what in the name o' goodness _could_ he ever want
of--"

"The very words I was a-sayin' no longer ago th'n this minute to
Sister Utterback, 'n' she'll tell you so herself. Sh-she, look at
that-air rag ladder, sh-she; 'n' s'I, yes, look at it, s'I--what
_could_ he 'a' wanted of it, s'I. Sh-she, Sister Hotchkiss, sh-she--"

"But how in the nation'd they ever _git_ that grindstone _in_ there,
_anyway?_ 'n' who dug that-air _hole?_ 'n' who--"

"My very _words_, Brer Penrod! I was a-sayin'--pass that-air sasser o'
m'lasses, won't ye?--I was a-sayin' to Sister Dunlap, jist this
minute, how _did_ they git that grindstone in there? s'I. Without
_help,_ mind you--'thout _help! Thar's_ where 'tis. Don't tell _me,_
s'I; there _wuz_ help, s'I; 'n' ther' wuz a _plenty_ help, too, s'I;
ther's ben a _dozen_ a-helpin' that nigger, 'n' I lay I'd skin every
last nigger on this place but _I'd_ find out who done it, s'I;
moreover, s'I--"

"A _dozen_ says you!--_forty_ couldn't 'a' done everything that's been
done. Look at them case-knife saws and things, how tedious they've
been made; look at that bed-leg sawed off with 'm, a week's work for
six men: look at that nigger made out'n straw on the bed; and look
at--"

"You may _well_ say it, Brer Hightower! It's jist as I was a-sayin' to
Brer Phelps, his own self. S'e, what do _you_ think of it, Sister
Hotchkiss? s'e. Think o' what, Brer Phelps? s'I. Think o' that bed-leg
sawed off that a way? s'e? _Think_ of it? s'I. I lay it never sawed
_itself_ off, s'I--somebody _sawed_ it, s'I; that's my opinion, take
it or leave it, it mayn't be no 'count, s'I, but sich as 't is, it's
my opinion, s'I, 'n' if anybody k'n start a better one, s'I, let him
_do_ it, s'I, that's all. I says to Sister Dunlap, s'I--"

"Why, dog my cats, they must 'a' ben a house-full o' niggers in there
every night for four weeks to 'a' done all that work, Sister Phelps.
Look at that shirt--every last inch of it kivered over with secret
African writ'n done with blood! Must 'a' ben a raft uv 'm at it right
along, all the time, amost. Why, I'd give two dollars to have it read
to me; 'n' as for the niggers that wrote it, I 'low I'd ta