“I nerver know’d why Squire diden’ want your mar ter sell him ter hees own mammy.  It looked unnatchel.  Free Fanny, that’s hees mammy, wuz mity rich, en owned six colored peeple hersef.  Shee’s liven’ yet en the city, en when she dies Squire will get her money.

“Well, when yer par sed that, your mar sed: 

“‘I cuden’ sell them ef I wanter; you know that, Robert, en I don’ wanter.’

“Then your par, he spoke up sharp: 

“‘It’s nonsense, it’s wuss than nonsense fur the liven’ ter be so bound by the dead.  Sarcumstances are allers changen’.  I say you’ve got no rite ter think of everbody fo’ you duz me.  En its jes’ cum ter this pass, you’ve got ter chuse twixt them en me.  You’ve got ter sell ’em en sell this place en go with me, war I kin make the liven’ I wuz eddiketed for, or I’ll brake luse mysef, en go.  I can’t stan’ this life no longer.’

“Then your mar sed: 

“’I wud be miserbel, Robert, ef I broke my father’s will.  It would kill me, I do believe.  Besides, I wuden’ sell em, ef I diden’ have er cent ter buy er crust of braid with, even ef I wuzen’ boun’ by the will.  En ez fur sellen’ this place, war I wuz born’d en raze, I never spec’ ter.  I wan’er live en die rite here.  Besides, there’s Aunt Betsy.  She wud never consent ter go away fum here, en I cuden’ leave her by hersef.’

“Yer par git up then, en slam the do, ‘en I never heerd no mo’.  ’Twuz the fus’ out-en-out quarrel they ever had; but they had menny er one arfter that.  Pear-lak one led ter ernuther; en thar wuz nobody ter take hold en help.  Mis Betsy wud pitch in en say things that made ’em madder en madder.  Well, one mawnen’ early, Squire went ter the stable ter feed, en he sed Mars Robert dun took the horses en buggy, en er wagin fur hees trunk, en gorn.  Erbout dinner time the men cum bak with the buggy en wagin, but no Mars Robert.  Fum that day ter this he never cum bak.”

“Did he never write to mamma?” asked the child, her cheeks burning.

“I berleeve he did, unct; sent her sum money or sumfin’.  I heered Mis Betsy say, ‘Put it en bank fur your unborn’d chile,’ en your mar sed, ’I don’ want it; I have enuff.’

“Tempers iz er mity bad thing, honey,” continued Mam’ Sarah.  “Now, I don’ mean that nasty sperit that makes er dog snap hees teef at you, cors your mar en par never had no temper lak dat, chile.  Mo’ lak spile chillen, that dun had ther way so long they cuden’ give in, speshly your par.  If your par haden’ gorn so fur erway, your mar en him wud made up when you cum.  Chillens teeches fo’ks er heep.  But you see, honey, they never had no chance ter make up.  My ole man en me haz menny ups en downs.  Sumhow, when he gits sick, or I haz ter do sumfin’ fur him, I furgit erbout bein’ mad at him.

“Pear-lak, ter me, honey, en I’ve stidded on it er heep, the mo’ you do fur fo’ks the better you laks ’em.  ’Twud bin the same with your mar en your par, ef your par haden’ gorn so fur away.  When you marry, honey, you marry one of the nabor boys.”