“Dan had let go de plough-handle, en had put his arm ‘roun’ Sally, en wuz des gwine ter kiss her, w’en sump’n ketch’ ’im by de scruff er de neck en flung ’im ‘way ober in de cotton-patch.  W’en he pick’ ’isse’f up, Sally had gone kitin’ down de tu’n-row, en de mule wuz stan’in’ dere lookin’ ez ca’m en peaceful ez a Sunday mawnin’.

“Fus’ Dan had ‘lowed it wuz de oberseah w’at had cotch’ ‘im wastin’ ’is time.  But dey wa’n’t no oberseah in sight, so he ’cluded it must ‘a’ be’n de mule.  So he pitch’ inter de mule en lammed ’im ez ha’d ez he could.  De mule tuk it all, en ’peared ter be ez ’umble ez a mule could be; but w’en dey wuz makin’ de turn at de een’ er de row, one er de plough-lines got under de mule’s hin’ leg.  Dan retch’ down ter git de line out, sorter keerless like, w’en de mule haul’ off en kick him clean ober de fence inter a brier-patch on de yuther side.

“Dan wuz mighty so’ fum ’is woun’s en scratches, en wuz laid up fer two er th’ee days.  One night de noo mule got out’n de pastur’, en went down to de quarters.  Dan wuz layin’ dere on his pallet, w’en he heard sump’n bangin’ erway at de side er his cabin.  He raise’ up on one shoulder en look’ roun’, w’en w’at should he see but de noo mule’s head stickin’ in de winder, wid his lips drawed back over his toofs, grinnin’ en snappin’ at Dan des’ lack he wanter eat ‘im up.  Den de mule went roun’ ter de do’, en kick’ erway lack he wanter break de do’ down, ’tel bimeby somebody come ‘long en driv him back ter de pastur’.  W’en Sally come in a little later fum de big house, whar she ‘d be’n waitin’ on de w’ite folks, she foun’ po’ Dan nigh ’bout dead, he wuz so skeered.  She ’lowed Dan had had de nightmare; but w’en dey look’ at de do’, dey seed de marks er de mule’s huffs, so dey could n’ be no mistake ’bout w’at had happen’.

“Co’se de niggers tol’ dey marster ’bout de mule’s gwines-on.  Fust he did n’ pay no ‘tention ter it, but atter a w’ile he tol’ ’em ef dey did n’ stop dey foolis’ness, he gwine tie some un ’em up.  So atter dat dey did n’ say nuffin mo’ ter dey marster, but dey kep’ on noticin’ de mule’s quare ways des de same.

“’Long ‘bout de middle er de summer dey wuz a big camp-meetin’ broke out down on de Wim’l’ton Road, en nigh ‘bout all de po’ w’ite folks en free niggers in de settlement got ‘ligion, en lo en behol’! ‘mongs’ ’em wuz de cunjuh man w’at own’ de shote w’at cha’med Primus.

“Dis cunjuh man wuz a Guinea nigger, en befo’ he wuz sot free had use’ ter b’long ter a gent’eman down in Sampson County.  De cunjuh man say his daddy wuz a king, er a guv’ner, er some sorter w’at-you-may-call-’em ‘way ober yander in Affiky whar de niggers come fum, befo’ he was stoled erway en sol’ ter de spekilaters.  De cunjuh man had he’ped his marster out’n some trouble ernudder wid his goopher, en his marster had sot him free, en bought him a trac’ er land down on de Wim’l’ton Road.  He purten’ ter be a cow-doctor, but eve’ybody knowed w’at he r’al’y wuz.