Look at
dese yere old han's, young mistis. Dey's wuked nigh on eighty yeah,
yit dey neber wuked fer mysef, dey neber wuked fer wife en chil'n.
Dat mo' quar dan spooks."
"I don't know but you are right," said the girl thoughtfully. "I
didn't know you felt so about being free. Aun' Jinkey never seemed
to trouble much about it."
"I'se 'feared Aun' Jinkey tink a heap on de leeks en inions ob
Egypt."
"Dar now, Uncle Lusthah, you po'ful good man, but you owns up you
doan know nufin' 'bout spooks, en I knows you doan know nufin' 'bout
freedom."
"Yes I does," replied Uncle Lusthah. "Ef de day come w'en I kin
stan' up en say fer sho, 'I own mysef, en God ony my Mars'r,' I kin
starbe ef dat He will. En dat' minds me, young mistis. IS we free?
Perkins growlin' roun' agin dis mawnin', en say we he'p 'bout de
horspital ter-day, but we all go ter wuk ter-morrer. I 'lowed he
orter talk ter us 'bout wages en he des larf en cuss me. Wat's gwine
ter be de end? Marse Scoville en de big Linkum gin'ral say we free,
en Perkins larf 'temptuous like.
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