“Whar was I born?  Why I was born on de plantation of a great man.  It was Marse Alec Stephens’ plantation ’bout a mile and a half from Crawfordville, in Taliaferro County.  Mary and Grandison Tilly was my Ma and Pa.  Ma was cook up at de big house and she died when I was jus’ a little gal.  Pa was a field hand, and he belonged to Marse Britt Tilly.

“Dere was four of us chillun:  me, and Mary, and Frances, and Mack,” she counted on the fingers of one hand.  “Marse Alec let Marse Jim Johnson have Mack for his bodyguard.  Frances, she wuked in de field, and Mary was de baby—­she was too little to wuk.  Me, I was 14 years old when de war was over.  I swept yards, toted water to de field, and played ’round de house and yard wid de rest of de chillun.

“De long, log houses what us lived in was called “shotgun” houses ’cause dey had three rooms, one behind de other in a row lak de barrel of a shotgun.  All de chillun slept in one end room and de grown folkses slept in de other end room.  De kitchen whar us cooked and et was de middle room.  Beds was made out of pine poles put together wid cords.  Dem wheat-straw mattresses was for grown folkses mostly ’cause nigh all de chillun slept on pallets.  How-some-ever, dere was some few slave chillun what had beds to sleep on.  Pillows!  Dem days us never knowed what pillows was.  Gals slept on one side of de room and boys on de other in de chilluns room.  Uncle Jim, he was de bed-maker, and he made up a heap of little beds lak what dey calls cots now.

“Becky and Stafford Stephens was my Grandma and Grandpa.  Marse Alec bought ’em in Old Virginny.  I don’t know what my Grandma done ’cause she died ’fore I was borned, but I ’members Grandpa Stafford well enough.  I can see him now.  He was a old man what slept on a trundle bed in the kitchen, and all he done was to set by de fire all day wid a switch in his hand and tend de chillun whilst dere mammies was at wuk.  Chillun minded better dem days dan dey does now.  Grandpa Stafford never had to holler at ’em but one time.  Dey knowed dey would git de switch next if dey didn’t behave.

“Now dere you is axin’ ‘bout dat somepin’ t’eat us had dem days!  Ida, ain’t dere a piece of watermelon in de ice box?” Georgia lifted the lid of a small ice box, got out a piece of melon, and began to smack her thick lips as she devoured it with an air of ineffable satisfaction.  When she had tilted the rind to swallow the last drop of pink juice, she indicated that she was fortified and ready to exercise her now well lubricated throat, by resuming her story: 

“Oh, yessum!  Marse Alec, had plenty for his slaves to eat.  Dere was meat, bread, collard greens, snap beans, ’taters, peas, all sorts of dried fruit, and just lots of milk and butter.  Marse Alec had 12 cows and dat’s whar I learned to love milk so good.  De same Uncle Jim what made our beds made our wooden bowls what dey kept filled wid bread and milk for de chillun all day.  You