"How long? About a hundred years, Neb--just one hundred and seven, I
believe; to be accurate."
"And how long a Clawbonny family, at 'e same time, Masser Mile?"
"Upon my word, Neb, your pedigree is a little confused, and I cannot
answer quite as certainly. Eighty or ninety, though, I should think,
at least; and, possibly a hundred, too. Let me see--you called old
Pompey your grand-father; did you not, Neb?"
"Sart'in--berry good grandfader, too, Masser Mile. Ole Pomp a
won'erful black!"
"Oh! I say nothing touching the quality--I dare say he was as good as
another. Well, I think that I have heard old Pompey's grandfather was
an imported Guinea, and that he was purchased by my great-grandfather
about the year 1700."
"Dat just as good as gospel! Who want to make up lie about poor debble
of nigger? Well, den, Masser Mile, in all dem 1700 year, did he ebber
hear of a Clawbonny that want to be a free nigger? Tell me dat, once,
an' I hab an answer."
"You have asked me more than I can answer, boy; for, I am not in the
secret of your own wishes, much less in those of all your ancestors."
Neb pulled off his tarpaulin, scratched his wool, rolled his black
eyes at me, as if he enjoyed the manner in which he had puzzled me;
after which he set off on a tumbling excursion, in the road, going
like a wheel on his hands and feet, showing his teeth like rows of
pearls, and concluding the whole with roar the third, that sounded as
if the hills and valleys were laughing, in the very fatness of their
fertility.
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