“‘W’at kine er collar dat nigger got roun’ his neck?’ er, ef dey knowed ’im, ‘Is yer stole any mo’ hams lately?’ er ‘W’at yer take fer yo’ neckliss, Dave?’ er some joke er ’nuther ’bout dat ham.

“Fus’ Dave did n’ mine it so much, caze he knowed he had n’ done nuffin.  But bimeby he got so he could n’ stan’ it no longer, en he ’d hide hisse’f in de bushes w’eneber he seed anybody comin’, en alluz kep’ hisse’f shet up in his cabin atter he come in fum wuk.

“It wuz monst’us hard on Dave, en bimeby, w’at wid dat ham eberlastin’ en etarnally draggin’ roun’ his neck, he ‘mence’ fer ter do en say quare things, en make de niggers wonder ef he wa’n’t gittin’ out’n his mine.  He got ter gwine roun’ talkin’ ter hisse’f, en singin’ corn-shuckin’ songs, en laffin’ fit ter kill ’bout nuffin.  En one day he tole one er de niggers he had ’skivered a noo way fer ter raise hams,—­gwine ter pick ’em off’n trees, en save de expense er smoke-’ouses by kyoin’ ’em in de sun.  En one day he up’n tole Mars Walker he got sump’n pertickler fer ter say ter ’im; en he tuk Mars Walker off ter one side, en tole ’im he wuz gwine ter show ‘im a place in de swamp whar dey wuz a whole trac’ er Ian’ covered wid ham-trees.

“Wen Mars Walker hearn Dave talkin’ dis kine er fool-talk, en w’en he seed how Dave wuz ‘mencin’ ter git behine in his wuk, en w’en he ax’ de niggers en dey tole ’im how Dave be’n gwine on, he ‘lowed he reckon’ he ‘d punish’ Dave ernuff, en it mou’t do mo’ harm dan good fer ter keep de ham on his neck any longer.  So he sont Dave down ter de blacksmif-shop en had de ham tuk off.  Dey wa’n’t much er de ham lef’ by dat time, fer de sun had melt all de fat, en de lean had all swivel’ up, so dey wa’n’t but th’ee er fo’ poun’s lef’.

“W’en de ham had be’n tuk off’n Dave, folks kinder stopped talkin’ ’bout ’im so much.  But de ham had be’n on his neck so long dat Dave had sorter got use’ ter it.  He look des lack he ‘d los’ sump’n fer a day er so atter de ham wuz tuk off, en didn’ ’pear ter know w’at ter do wid hisse’f; en fine’ly he up’n tuk’n tied a lighterd-knot ter a string, en hid it under de flo’ er his cabin, en w’en nobody wuz n’ lookin’ he ’d take it out en hang it roun’ his neck, en go off in de woods en holler en sing; en he allus tied it roun’ his neck w’en he went ter sleep.  Fac’, it ’peared lack Dave done gone clean out’n his mine.  En atter a w’ile he got one er de quarest notions you eber hearn tell un.  It wuz ’bout dat time dat I come back ter de plantation fer ter wuk,—­I had be’n out ter Mars Dugal’s yuther place on Beaver Crick for a mont’ er so.  I had hearn ’bout Dave en de bacon, en ’bout w’at wuz gwine on on de plantation; but I did n’ b’lieve w’at dey all say ’bout Dave, fer I knowed Dave wa’n’t dat kine er man.  One day atter I come back, me’n Dave wuz choppin’ cotton tergedder, w’en Dave lean’ on his hoe, en motion’ fer me ter come ober close ter ‘im; en den he retch’ ober en w’ispered ter me.