he war gone, I war
lonesomer dan eber. But, one day, I jis' seed de gal dat took de rag off
de bush. Gundover had jis' brought her from de up-country. She war putty
as a picture!" he exclaimed, looking fondly at his wife, who still bore
traces of great beauty. "She had putty hair, putty eyes, putty mouth.
She war putty all over; an' she know'd how to put on style."

"O, Daniel," said Aunt Katie, half chidingly, "how you do talk."

"Why, it's true. I 'member when you war de puttiest gal in dese diggins;
when nobody could top your cotton."

"I don't," said Aunt Katie.

"Well, I do. Now, let me go on wid my story. De fust time I seed her, I
sez to myself, 'Dat's de gal for me, an' I means to hab her ef I kin git
her.' So I scraped 'quaintance wid her, and axed her ef she would hab me
ef our marsters would let us. I warn't 'fraid 'bout Marse Robert, but I
warn't quite shore 'bout Gundover. So when Marse Robert com'd home, I
axed him, an' he larf'd an' said, 'All right,' an' dat he would speak to
ole Gundover 'bout it. He didn't relish it bery much, but he didn't
like to 'fuse Marse Robert. He wouldn't sell her, for she tended his
dairy, an' war mighty handy 'bout de house. He said, I mought marry her
an' come to see her wheneber Marse Robert would gib me a pass. I wanted
him to sell her, but he wouldn't hear to it, so I had to put up wid what
I could git. Marse Robert war mighty good to me, but ole Gundover's wife
war de meanest woman dat I eber did see. She used to go out on de
plantation an' boss things like a man. Arter I war married, I had a
baby. It war de dearest, cutest little thing you eber did see; but, pore
thing, it got sick and died. It died 'bout three o'clock; and in de
mornin', Katie, habbin her cows to milk, lef her dead baby in de cabin.
When she com'd back from milkin' her thirty cows, an' went to look for
her pore little baby, some one had been to her cabin an' took'd de pore
chile away an' put it in de groun'. Pore Katie, she didn't eben hab a
chance to kiss her baby 'fore it war buried. Ole Gundover's wife has
been dead thirty years, an' she didn't die a day too soon. An' my little
baby has gone to glory, an' is wingin' wid the angels an' a lookin' out
for us. One ob de las' things ole Gundover's wife did 'fore she died war
to order a woman whipped 'cause she com'd to de field a little late when
her husband war sick, an' she had stopped to tend him. Dat mornin' she
war taken sick wid de fever, an' in