“Well, I do.  Now, let me go on wid my story.  De fust time I seed her, I sez to myself, ‘Dat’s de gal for me, an’ I means to hab her ef I kin git her.’  So I scraped ’quaintance wid her, and axed her ef she would hab me ef our marsters would let us.  I warn’t ’fraid ’bout Marse Robert, but I warn’t quite shore ’bout Gundover.  So when Marse Robert com’d home, I axed him, an’ he larf’d an’ said, ‘All right,’ an’ dat he would speak to ole Gundover ’bout it.  He didn’t relish it bery much, but he didn’t like to ’fuse Marse Robert.  He wouldn’t sell her, for she tended his dairy, an’ war mighty handy ’bout de house.  He said, I mought marry her an’ come to see her wheneber Marse Robert would gib me a pass.  I wanted him to sell her, but he wouldn’t hear to it, so I had to put up wid what I could git.  Marse Robert war mighty good to me, but ole Gundover’s wife war de meanest woman dat I eber did see.  She used to go out on de plantation an’ boss things like a man.  Arter I war married, I had a baby.  It war de dearest, cutest little thing you eber did see; but, pore thing, it got sick and died.  It died ’bout three o’clock; and in de mornin’, Katie, habbin her cows to milk, lef her dead baby in de cabin.  When she com’d back from milkin’ her thirty cows, an’ went to look for her pore little baby, some one had been to her cabin an’ took’d de pore chile away an’ put it in de groun’.  Pore Katie, she didn’t eben hab a chance to kiss her baby ’fore it war buried.  Ole Gundover’s wife has been dead thirty years, an’ she didn’t die a day too soon.  An’ my little baby has gone to glory, an’ is wingin’ wid the angels an’ a lookin’ out for us.  One ob de las’ things ole Gundover’s wife did ’fore she died war to order a woman whipped ’cause she com’d to de field a little late when her husband war sick, an’ she had stopped to tend him.  Dat mornin’ she war taken sick wid de fever, an’ in a few days she war gone out like de snuff ob a candle.  She lef’ several sons, an’ I specs she would almos’ turn ober in her grave ef she know’d she had ten culled granchillen somewhar down in de lower kentry.”

“Isn’t it funny,” said Robert, “how these white folks look down on colored people, an’ then mix up with them?”

“Marster war away when Miss ‘Liza treated my Katie so mean, an’ when I tole him ‘bout it, he war tearin’ mad, an’ went ober an’ saw ole Gundover, an’ foun’ out he war hard up for money, an’ he bought Katie and brought her home to lib wid me, and we’s been a libin in clover eber sence.  Marster Robert has been mighty good to me.  He stood by me in my troubles, an’ now his trouble’s come, I’m a gwine to stan’ by him.  I used to think Gundover’s wife war jealous ob my Katie.  She war so much puttier.  Gundover’s wife couldn’t tech my Katie wid a ten foot pole.”

“But, Aunt Katie, you have had your trials,” said Robert, now that Daniel had finished his story; “don’t you feel bitter towards these people who are fighting to keep you in slavery?”