“Ernudder day one er de han’s, name’ ‘Dolphus, hitch’ de mule up, en dribe up here ter dis yer vimya’d,—­dat wuz w’en ole Mars Dugal’ own’ dis place.  Mars Dugal’ had kilt a yearlin’, en de naber w’ite folks all sont ober fer ter git some fraish beef, en Mars Jim had sont ’Dolphus fer some too.  Dey wuz a winepress in de ya’d whar ‘Dolphus lef’ de mule a-stan’in’, en right in front er de press dey wuz a tub er grape-juice, des pressed out, en a little ter one side a bairl erbout half full er wine w’at had be’n stan’in’ two er th’ee days, en had begun ter git sorter sha’p ter de tas’e.  Dey wuz a couple er bo’ds on top er dis yer bairl, wid a rock laid on ’em ter hol’ ’em down.  Ez I wuz a-sayin’, ‘Dolphus lef’ de mule stan’in’ in de ya’d, en went inter de smoke-house fer ter git de beef.  Bimeby, w’en he come out, he seed de mule a-stagg’rin’ ’bout de ya’d; en ‘fo’ ‘Dolphus could git dere ter fin’ out w’at wuz de matter, de mule fell right ober on his side, en laid dere des’ lack he was dead.

“All de niggers ’bout de house run out dere fer ter see w’at wuz de matter.  Some say de mule had de colic; some say one thing en some ernudder; ’tel bimeby one er de han’s seed de top wuz off’n de bairl, en run en looked in.

“‘Fo’ de Lawd!’ he say, ‘dat mule drunk! he be’n drinkin’ de wine.’  En sho’ ‘nuff, de mule had pas’ right by de tub er fraish grape-juice en push’ de kiver off’n de bairl, en drunk two er th’ee gallon er de wine w’at had been stan’in’ long ernough fer ter begin ter git sha’p.

“De darkies all made a great ’miration ‘bout de mule gittin’ drunk.  Dey never had n’ seed nuffin lack it in dey bawn days.  Dey po’d water ober de mule, en tried ter sober ’im up; but it wa’n’t no use, en ’Dolphus had ter take de beef home on his back, en leabe de mule dere, ’tel he slep’ off ’is spree.

“I doan ‘member whe’r I tol’ you er no, but w’en Primus disappear’ fum de plantation, he lef’ a wife behin’ ‘im,—­a monst’us good-lookin’ yaller gal, name’ Sally.  W’en Primus had be’n gone a mont’ er so, Sally ‘mence’ fer ter git lonesome, en tuk up wid ernudder young man name’ Dan, w’at b’long’ on de same plantation.  One day dis yer Dan tuk de noo mule out in de cotton-fiel’ fer ter plough, en w’en dey wuz gwine ’long de tu’n-row, who sh’d he meet but dis yer Sally.  Dan look’ ‘roun’ en he did n’ see de oberseah nowhar, so he stop’ a minute fer ter run on wid Sally.

“‘Hoddy, honey,’ sezee.  ‘How you feelin’ dis mawnin’?’

“‘Fus’ rate,’ ‘spon’ Sally.

“Dey wuz lookin’ at one ernudder, en dey did n’ naer one un ’em pay no ’tention ter de mule, who had turnt ’is head ‘roun’ en wuz lookin’ at Sally ez ha’d ez he could, en stretchin’ ‘is neck en raisin’ ’is years, en whinnyin’ kinder sof’ ter hisse’f.

“‘Yas, honey,’ ’lows Dan, ‘en you gwine ter feel fus’ rate long ez you sticks ter me.  Fer I’s a better man dan dat low-down runaway nigger Primus dat you be’n wastin’ yo’ time wid.’