“‘I’ll take a thousan’ dollahs fer dat hoss,’ sez dis yer man, who had a big plantation down to’ds Wim’l’ton, whar he raise’ hosses fer ter race en ter sell.

“Well, Kunnel Pen’leton scratch’ ’is head, en wonder whar he wuz gwine ter raise a thousan’ dollahs; en he did n’ see des how he could do it, fer he owed ez much ez he could borry a’ready on de skyo’ity he could gib.  But he wuz des boun’ ter hab dat hoss, so sezee:—­

“‘I’ll gib you my note fer’ ‘leven hund’ed dollahs fer dat hoss.’

“De yuther man shuck ’is head, en sezee:—­

“‘Yo’ note, suh, is better ‘n gol’, I doan doubt; but I is made it a rule in my bizness not ter take no notes fum nobody.  Howsomeber, suh, ef you is kinder sho’t er fun’s, mos’ lackly we kin make some kin’ er bahg’in.  En w’iles we is talkin’, I mought ’s well say dat I needs ernudder good nigger down on my place.  Ef you is got a good one ter spar’, I mought trade wid you.’

“Now, Kunnel Pen’leton did n’ r’ally hab no niggers fer ter spar’, but he ’lowed ter hisse’f he wuz des bleedzd ter hab dat hoss, en so he sez, sezee:—­

“’Well, I doan lack ter, but I reckon I’ll haf ter.  You come out ter my plantation ter-morrer en look ober my niggers, en pick out de one you wants.’

“So sho’ ‘nuff nex’ day dis yer man come out ter Kunnel Pen’leton’s place en rid roun’ de plantation en glanshed at de niggers, en who sh’d he pick out fum ’em all but Sis’ Becky.

“’I needs a noo nigger ‘oman down ter my place,’ sezee, ’fer ter cook en wash, en so on; en dat young ’oman’ll des fill de bill.  You gimme her, en you kin hab Lightnin’ Bug.’”

“Now, Kunnel Pen’leton did n’ lack ter trade Sis’ Becky, ’ca’se she wuz nigh ‘bout de bes’ fiel’-han’ he had; en ‘sides, Mars Kunnel did n’ keer ter take de mammies ’way fum dey chillun w’iles de chillun wuz little.  But dis man say he want Becky, er e’se Kunnel Pen’leton could n’ hab de race hoss.

“‘Well,’ sez de kunnel, ’you kin hab de ‘oman.  But I doan lack ter sen’ her ‘way fum her baby.  W’at’ll you gimme fer dat nigger baby?’

“‘I doan want de baby,’ sez de yuther man.  ‘I ain’ got no use fer de baby.’

“‘I tell yer w’at I’ll do,’ ’lows Kunnel Pen’leton, ’I’ll th’ow dat pickaninny in fer good measure.’

“But de yuther man shuck his head.  ‘No,’ sezee, ’I’s much erbleedzd, but I doan raise niggers; I raises hosses, en I doan wanter be both’rin’ wid no nigger babies.  Nemmine de baby.  I’ll keep dat ’oman so busy she ‘ll fergit de baby; fer niggers is made ter wuk, en dey ain’ got no time fer no sich foolis’ness ez babies.’

“Kunnel Pen’leton did n’ wanter hu’t Becky’s feelin’s,—­fer Kunnel Pen’leton wuz a kin’-hea’ted man, en nebber lack’ ter make no trouble fer nobody,—­en so he tol’ Becky he wuz gwine sen’ her down ter Robeson County fer a day er so, ter he’p out his son-in-law in his wuk; en bein’ ez dis yuther man wuz gwine dat way, he had ax’ ’im ter take her ’long in his buggy.