“My missis’ name was Miss Catherine and her husband named Abe Carr.

“I went to school a little bit—­mighty little.  I could read but I never could write.

“And I’m about to go blind in my old age.  I need help and I need it bad.  Chillun ain’t able to help me none ’cept give me a little bread and give me some medicine once in a while.  But I’m thankful to the Lord I can get outdoors.

“I don’t know what to think of this young race.  That baby there knows more than I do now, nearly.  Back there when I was born, I didn’t know nothin’.

“I know they said it was bad luck to bring a hoe or a ax in the house on your shoulder.  I heard the old folks tell dat—­sure did.

“And I was told dat on old Christmas night the cows gets down on their knees and gives thanks to the Lord.

“I ’member one song: 

  ‘I am climbin’ Jacob’s ladder
   I am climbin’ Jacob’s ladder
   I am climbin’ Jacob’s ladder
   For the work is almost done.

  ’Every round goes higher and higher
   Every round goes higher and higher
   Every round goes higher and higher
   For my work is almost done.

  ’Sister, now don’t you get worried
   Sister, now don’t you get worried
   Sister, now don’t you get worried
   For the work is almost done.’

My mother used to sing dat when she was spinnin’ and cardin’.  They’d spin and dye the thread with some kind of indigo.  Oh, I ’member dat all right.”

Interviewer:  Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed:  Liddie Aiken, Wheatley, Arkansas
Age:  62

“My mother was born in southwest Georgia close to the Alabama line.  Her mother come from Virginia.  She was sold with her mother and two little brothers.  Her mother had been sold and come in a wagon to southwest Georgia.  They was all field hands.  They cleaned out new ground.  They was afraid of hoop-snakes.  She said they look like a hoop rolling and whatever they stuck a horn or their tail in it died.  They killed trees.

“Mama said she druther plough than chop.  She was a big woman and they let her plough right along by her two little brothers, Henry and Will Keller.  Will et so many sweet potatoes they called him ‘Tater Keller.’  After he got grown we come out here.  Folks called him ‘Tate Keller.’  Henry died.  I recollect Uncle Tate.

“I was born close to Mobile, Alabama.  Mama was named Sarah Keller.  Grandma was called Mariah.  Banks Tillman sold her the first time.  Bill Keller bought them all the last time.  His wife was named Ada Keller.  They had a great big family but I forgot what they said about them.  Mack clem up in a persimmon tree one day and the old man hollered at him, ’Get out of that tree ‘fore you fall.’  ’Bout then the boy turned ’loose and fell.  It knocked the breath out him.  It didn’t kill him.  Three or four of Miss Ada’s children died with congestive chills.  Mama said the reason they had them chills they played down at the gin pond all the time.  It was shady and a pretty place and they was allowed to play in the pond.  Three or four of them died nearly in a heap.