“Down dere mammy done her cookin’ outa doors, wid a big oven.  Yo gits yo fiah goin’ jes so under de oven, den you shovels some fiah up on top de oven fo to get you bakin jes right.  Dey wuz big black kettles wid hooks an dey run up an down like on pulleys ovah de oven stove.  Den dere wuz de col’house.  No ‘lectric ice box lak now, but a house under groun’ wheah things wuz kept jest as col’ as a ice box.  No’em don’t ’member jes how it were fix inside.”

“Yas’em we comes back to Louieville.  Yes’em mah chillen goes to school, lak ah nevah did.  Culled teachers in de culled school.  Yes’em mah chillen went far as dey could take ’em.”

“Medicin?  My ol’ mammy were great fo herb doctorin’ an I holds by dat too a good deal, yas’em.  Now-a-days you gets a rusty nail in yo foot an has lockjaw.  But ah member mammy—­she put soot mix wid bacon fryin’s on mah foot when ah run a big nail inter it, an mah foot get well as nice!”

“Long time ago ah cum heah to see mammy, Ah got a terrible misery.  Ah wuz asleep a dreamin bout it, an a sayin, “Mammy yo reckon axel grease goin’ to he’p it?” Den ah wake up an go to her wheahs she’s sleepin an say it.

“What fo axel grease gointo hep?—­an I tol her, an she say:—­

“Axel grease put on hot, wid red flannel goin’to tak it away chile.”

Ah were an ol’ woman mahse’f den—­bout fifty, but mammy she climb outa bed an go out in de yard where deys an ol’ wagon, an she scrapes dat axel off, an heat it up an put it on wid red flannel.  Den ah got easy!  Ah sho was thankful when dat grease an flannel got to wukin on me!

“You try it sometime when you gets one o’ dem col’ miseries in de winter time.  But go ‘long!  Folks is too sma’t nowadays to use dem good ol’ medicines.  Dey jes’ calls de Doctor an he come an cut ’em wide open fo de ’pendycitus—­he sho do!  Yas’em ah has de doctor, ef ah needs him.  Ah has de rheumatism, no pain—­ah jes gets stiffer, an’ stiffer right along.”

Mah sight sho am poor now.  Ah cain’t wuk no mo.  Ah done ironin aftah ah quit cookin—­washin an ironin, ah likes a nice wash an iron the bes fo wuk.  But lasyear mah eyes done give out on me, an dey tell me not to worry dey gointo give me a pension.  De man goes to a heap o’ wuk to get dem papers fix jes right.”

“Yes ’em, I’se de on’y one o’ mammy’s chillen livin.  Mah, gran’ma on pappy’s side, she live to be one hundred and ten yeah’s ol—­powerful ol eve’ybody say.  She were part Indian, gran’ ma were, an dat made her to be ol.”

“Yes’em, mos’ I evah earn were five dollars a week.  Ah gets twenty dollars now, an pays eight dollars fo rent.  We is got no mo’—­ah figgers—­a wukin fo ourself den what we’d have wuz we slaves, fo dey gives you a log house, an clothes, an yo eats all yo want to, an when you buys things, maybe you doesn’t make enough to git you what you needs, wukin sun-up to sun down.  No’ em ’course ah isn’t wukin now when you gits be de hour—­wukin people does now; but ah don’t know nothin ’but that way o’doin.”