“De nex’ day atter de noo man had be’n sont away, Solomon wuz wukkin’ in de cotton-fiel’, en w’en he got ter de fence nex’ ter de woods, at de een’ er de row, who sh’d he see on de yuther side but ole Aun’ Peggy.  She beckon’ ter ’im,—­de oberseah wuz down on de yuther side er de fiel’,—­en sez she:—­

“‘W’y ain’ you done come en ‘po’ted ter me lack I tol’ you?’

“‘W’y, law!  Aun’ Peggy,’ sez Solomon, ‘dey ain’ nuffin ter ’po’t.  Mars Jeems went away de day atter we gun ‘im de goopher mixtry, en we ain’ seed hide ner hair un ’im sence, en co’se we doan know nuffin ’bout w’at ‘fec’ it had on ‘im.’

“’I doan keer nuffin ‘bout yo’ Mars Jeems now; w’at I wants ter know is w’at is be’n gwine on ‘mongs’ de niggers.  Has you be’n gittin’ ’long any better on de plantation?’

“‘No, Aun’ Peggy, we be’n gittin’ ’long wusser.  Mars Johnson is stric’er ‘n he eber wuz befo’, en de po’ niggers doan ha’dly git time ter draw dey bref, en dey ‘lows dey mought des ez well be dead ez alibe.’

“’ Uh huh!’ sez Aun’ Peggy, sez she, ‘I tol’ you dat ’uz monst’us pow’ful goopher, en its wuk doan ‘pear all at once.’

“‘Long ez we had dat noo nigger heah,’ Solomon went on, ‘he kep’ Mars Johnson busy pa’t er de time; but now he ‘s gone erway, I s’pose de res’ un us’ll ketch it wusser ‘n eber.’

“‘W’at’s gone wid de noo nigger?’ sez Aun’ Peggy, rale quick, battin’ her eyes en straight’nin’ up.

“’Ole Nick done sont ’im back ter Mars Dunkin, who had fotch ’im heah fer ter pay a gamblin’ debt ter Mars Jeems,’ sez Solomon, ’en I heahs Mars Dunkin has sol’ ’im ter a nigger-trader up in Patesville, w’at ’s gwine ter ship ‘im off wid a gang ter-morrer.’

“Ole Aun’ Peggy ‘peared ter git rale stirred up w’en Solomon tol’ ’er dat, en sez she, shakin’ her stick at ’im:—­

“‘W’y did n’ you come en tell me ‘bout dis noo nigger bein’ sol’ erway?  Did n’ you promus me, ef I ’d gib you dat goopher, you ’d come en ’po’t ter me ’bout all w’at wuz gwine on on dis plantation Co’se I could ‘a’ foun’ out fer myse’f, but I ‘pended on yo’ tellin’ me, en now by not doin’ it I’s feared you gwine spile my cunj’in’.  You come down ter my house ter-night en do w’at I tells you, er I’ll put a spell on you dat ‘ll make yo’ ha’r fall out so you’ll be bal’, en yo’ eyes drap out so you can’t see, en yo teef fall out so you can’t eat, en yo’ years grow up so you can’t heah.  Wen you is foolin’ wid a cunjuh ’oman lack me, you got ter min’ yo’ P’s en Q’s er dey’ll be trouble sho’ ‘nuff.’

“So co’se Solomon went down ter Aun’ Peggy’s dat night, en she gun ’im a roasted sweet’n’ ’tater.

“‘You take dis yer sweet’n’ ‘tater,’ sez she,—­’I done goophered it ’speshly fer dat noo nigger, so you better not eat it yo’se’f er you’ll wush you had n’,—­en slip off ter town, en fin’ dat strange man, en gib ‘im dis yer sweet’n’ ‘tater.  He mus’ eat it befo’ mawnin’, sho’, ef he doan wanter be sol’ erway ter Noo Orleens.’