"
Angry mutterings began among the negroes, and it were hard to say
how the scene would have ended if old Uncle Lusthah had not suddenly
appeared between the opposing parties, and held up his hand
impressively.
"I gib up my charnce ter be free," he began with simple dignity. "My
body 'longs ter you yit, mars'r en misus; but not my speret. Out'n
dat I gwine ter speak plain fer de fear ob man clean gone fum me.
Mars'r, w'at I say ter you? Lak ole Pharo, you t'ink yo'sef bigger'n
de Lawd. Ef you'd done spoke ter de hans en say 'des go home en dar
de crops en shar' togeder' dey ud stayed en wucked fer you 'tented
like, but you des talk lak ole Pharo. Now de people gwine en you
kyant stop dem. We knowed 'bout de prokermation ob de gre't Linkum.
We know we bin free dis long time. We al'ays know you no right ter
keep us slabes. Dis yer God's worl'. Hit don't 'long ter you en
misus. He ain't stoppin' ter 'suit you 'bout He doin's. Ef you
s'mitted ter He will you'd a gwine 'long easy lak de crops grow in
spring-time.
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