say no; he won't never think er seen a thing; but, bless yo' soul, suh,
she wa'n't nothin' but a school-gal, you may say, an' she ain't know no
mo' 'bout men folks dan what a weasel do. An den, right 'pon top er
dat, here come a nigger boy leadin' a bob-tail hoss. When I see dat, I
dez good ez know'd dat de wil' lan' done been swap off, bekaze Marse
Tumlin ain't got nothin' fer ter buy all dem things wid, an' I tell you
right now, suh, I wuz rank mad, kase what we want wid any ol' bob-tail
hoss? De sorghum mought do, an' de dram kin be put up wid, an' de
terbarker got some comfort in it, but what de name er goodness we gwine
ter do wid dat ol' hoss, when we ain't got hardly 'nuff vittles fer ter
feed ourse'f wid? Dat what I ax Miss Vallie, an' she say right
pine-blank she dunno.

"Well, suh, it's de Lord's trufe, I wuz dat mad I dunner what I say,
an' I wa'n't keerin' nudder, bekaze I know how we had ter pinch an'
squeeze fer ter git long in dis house. But I went 'bout gittin'
supper, an' bimeby, Hamp, he come, an' I told 'im 'bout de ol' bob-tail
hoss, an' he went out an' look at 'im. Atter while, here he come back
laughin', I say, 'You well ter laugh at dat ol' hoss.' He, 'low, 'I
ain't laughin' at de hoss. I'm laughin' at you. Gal, dat de finest
hoss what ever put foot on de groun' in dis town. Dat's Marse Paul
Conant's trottin' hoss. He'll fetch fi' hunder'd dollars any day.
What he doin' here?' I up an' tol' 'im all I know'd, an' he shuck his
head; he low, 'Gal, you lay low. Dey's sump'n n'er behime all dat.'

"What Hamp say sorter make me put on my studyin'-cap; but when you come
ter look at it, suh, dey wa'n't nothin' 'tall fer me ter study 'bout.
All I had ter do wuz ter try ter fin' out what wuz behime it, an' let
it go at dat. When Marse Tumlin come home ter supper, I know'd sump'n
wuz de matter wid 'im. I know'd it by his looks, suh. It's sorter wid
folks like 'tis wid chillun. Ef you keer 'sump'n 'bout um you'll watch
der motions, and ef you watch der motions dey don't hatter tell you
when sump'n de matter. He come in so easy, suh, dat Miss Vallie ain't
hear 'im, but I hear de do' screak, an' I know'd 'twuz him. We wuz
talkin' an' gwine on at a mighty rate, an' I know'd he done stop ter
lis'n.

"Miss Vallie, she low she 'speck somebody made 'im a present er dem ar
things. I say, 'Uh-uh, honey! don't you fool yo'se'f. Nobody ain't
gwine ter do dat. Our folks ain't no mo' like dey usete