ole man ain’ know nuttin ’bout dat house, ’cause hit bu’nt down.  I wonder whar he did come from?” she pursued, “an’ what he sho’ ‘nough name?  He sholy couldn’ been named ’Ole ‘Stracted,’ jes so; dat ain’ no name ‘tall.  Yit ef he ain’ ’stracted, ‘tain’ nobody is.  He ain’ even know he own name,” she continued, presently.  “Say he marster’ll know him when he come—­ain’ know de folks is free; say he marster gwi buy him back in de summer an’ kyar him home, an’ ’bout de money he gwine gi’ him.  Ef he got any money, I wonder he live down dyah in dat evil-sperit hole.”  And the woman glanced around with great complacency on the picture-pasted walls of her own by no means sumptuously furnished house.  “Money!” she repeated aloud, as she began to rake in the ashes, “He ain’ got nuttin.  I got to kyar him piece o’ dis bread now,” and she went off into a dream of what they would do when the big crop on their land should be all in, and the last payment made on the house; of what she would wear, and how she would dress the children, and the appearance she would make at meeting, not reflecting that the sum they had paid for the property had never, even with all their stinting, amounted in any one year to more than a few dollars over the rent charged for the place, and that the eight hundred dollars yet due on it was more than they could make at the present rate in a lifetime.

“Ef Ephum jes had a mule, or even somebody to help him,” she thought, “but he ain’ got nuttin.  De chil’n ain big ’nough to do nuttin but eat; he ‘ain’ not no brurrs, an’ he deddy took ‘way an’ sold down Souf de same time my ole marster whar dead buy him; dat’s what I al’ays heah ‘em say, an’ I know he’s dead long befo’ dis, ’cause I heah ’em say dese Virginia niggers earn stan’ hit long deah, hit so hot, hit frizzle ‘em up, an’ I reckon he die befo’ he ole marster, whar I heah say die of a broked heart torectly after dee teck he niggers an’ sell ’em befo’ he face.  I heah Aunt Dinah say dat, an’ dat he might’ly sot on he ole servants, spressaly on Ephum deddy, whar named Little Ephum, an’ whar used to wait on him.  Dis mus’ ‘a’ been a gret place dem days, ‘cordin’ to what dee say.”  She went on:  “Dee say he sutny live strong, wuz jes rich as cream, an’ weahed he blue coat an’ brass buttons, an’ lived in dat ole house whar was up whar de pines is now, an’ whar bu’nt down, like he owned de wull.  An’ now look at it; dat man own it all, an’ cuttin’ all de woods off it.  He don’t know nuttin ’bout black folks, ain’ nuver been fotch up wid ’em.  Who ever heah he name ‘fo’ he come heah an’ buy de place, an’ move in de overseer house, an’ charge we all eight hundred dollars for dis land, jes ‘cause it got little piece o’ bottom on it, an’ forty-eight dollars rent besides, wid he ole stingy wife whar oon’ even gi’ ’way buttermilk!” An expression of mingled disgust and contempt concluded the reflection.