know nuffin ‘bout de goopher, en Mars Dugal’ did n’ see no ’casion fer ter tell ’im.  Long to’ds de fall, w’en de sap went down, Henry begin ter git ole ag’in same ez yuzhal, en his noo marster begin ter git skeered les’n he gwine ter lose his fifteen-hunder’-dollar nigger.  He sent fer a mighty fine doctor, but de med’cine did n’ ’pear ter do no good; de goopher had a good holt.  Henry tole de doctor ’bout de goopher, but de doctor des laff at ’im.

“One day in de winter Mars Dugal’ went ter town, en wuz santerin’ ’long de Main Street, when who should he meet but Henry’s noo marster.  Dey said ‘Hoddy,’ en Mars Dugal’ ax ’im ter hab a seegyar; en atter dey run on awhile ‘bout de craps en de weather, Mars Dugal’ ax ’im, sorter keerless, like ez ef he des thought of it,—­

“‘How you like de nigger I sole you las’ spring?’

“Henry’s marster shuck his head en knock de ashes off’n his seegyar.

“‘Spec’ I made a bad bahgin when I bought dat nigger.  Henry done good wuk all de summer, but sence de fall set in he ’pears ter be sorter pinin’ away.  Dey ain’ nuffin pertickler de matter wid ’im—­leastways de doctor say so—­’cep’n’ a tech er de rheumatiz; but his ha’r is all fell out, en ef he don’t pick up his strenk mighty soon, I spec’ I’m gwine ter lose ‘im.’

“Dey smoked on awhile, en bimeby ole mars say, ’Well, a bahgin ’s a bahgin, but you en me is good fren’s, en I doan wan’ ter see you lose all de money you paid fer dat nigger; en ef w’at you say is so, en I ain’t ‘sputin’ it, he ain’t wuf much now.  I ’spec’s you wukked him too ha’d dis summer, er e’se de swamps down here don’t agree wid de san’-hill nigger.  So you des lemme know, en ef he gits any wusser I’ll be willin’ ter gib yer five hund’ed dollars fer ’im, en take my chances on his livin’.’

“Sho ’nuff, when Henry begun ter draw up wid de rheumatiz en it look like he gwine ter die fer sho, his noo marster sen’ fer Mars Dugal’, en Mars Dugal’ gin him what he promus, en brung Henry home ag’in.  He tuk good keer uv ‘im dyoin’ er de winter,—­give ’im w’iskey ter rub his rheumatiz, en terbacker ter smoke, en all he want ter eat,—­’caze a nigger w’at he could make a thousan’ dollars a year off’n did n’ grow on eve’y huckleberry bush.

“Nex’ spring, w’en de sap ris en Henry’s ha’r commence’ ter sprout, Mars Dugal’ sole ‘im ag’in, down in Robeson County dis time; en he kep’ dat sellin’ business up fer five year er mo’.  Henry nebber say nuffin ’bout de goopher ter his noo marsters, ’caze he know he gwine ter be tuk good keer uv de nex’ winter, w’en Mars Dugal’ buy him back.  En Mars Dugal’ made ’nuff money off’n Henry ter buy anudder plantation ober on Beaver Crick.