n on her knees an' 'gun ter pray. Dis make de man restless;
look like he frettin'. Den he 'gun ter shake like he havin' chill.
Den he slip down out'n de cheer. Down he went on his all-fours. Den
his cloze drapped off, an' bless gracious! dar he wuz, a great big
black shaggy dog wid a short chain roun' his neck. Some un um flung a
chunk of fire at 'im, an' he run out howlin'.

"Dat wuz de last dey seed un 'im, suh. Dey flung his cloze in de fire,
an' dey make a blaze dat come plum out'n de top er de chimbley stack.
Dat what make me tell Hamp 'bout it, suh. He ax me fer ter marry 'im,
an' I wan't so mighty sho' dat he wan't de Ol' Boy."

"Well, that is queer, if true," said I, "but how about Mr. Conant's
crippled shoulder?"

"Oh, it's de trufe, suh. Warren Waters tol' me dat out'n his own mouf,
an' he wuz right dar. I dunno but what de gal wuz some er his kinnery.
I don't min' tellin' you dat 'bout Marse Paul, suh, but you mustn't let
on 'bout it, bekaze Marse Tumlin an' Miss Vallie des' ez tetchous 'bout
dat ez dey kin be. I'd never git der fergivunce ef dey know'd I was
settin' down here tellin' 'bout dat.

"You know how 'twaz in dem days. De folks what wuz de richest wuz de
wussest off when de army come home from battlin'. I done tol' you
'bout Marse Tumlin. He ain't had nothin' in de roun' worl' but a whole
passel er lan', an' me an' Miss Vallie. I don't count Hamp, bekaze
Hamp 'fuse ter blieve he's free twel he ramble 'roun' an' fin' out de
patterollers ain't gwine ter take 'im up. Dat how come I had ter sell
ginger-cakes an' chicken-pies dat time. De money I made at dat ain't
last long, bekaze Marse Tumlin he been use' ter rich vittles, an' he
went right downtown an' got a bottle er chow-chow, an' some olives, an'
some sardines, an' some cheese, an' you know yo'se'f, suh, dat money
ain't gwine ter las' when you buy dat kin' er doin's.

"Well, suh, we done mighty well whiles de money helt out, but 'tain't
court-week all de time, an' when dat de case, money got ter come fum
some'rs else 'sides sellin' cakes an' pies. Bimeby, Hamp he got work
at de liberty stable, whar dey hire out hosses an' board um. I call it
a hoss tavern, suh, but Hamp, he 'low it's a liberty stable. Anyhow,
he got work dar, an' dat sorter he'p out. Sometimes he'd growl bekaze
I tuck his money fer ter he'p out my white folks, but when he got right
mad I'd gi' Miss Vallie de wink, an' she'd say: 'Hampton, how'd you
like ter