“Co’se,” said Uncle Remus, addressing himself to Miss Theodosia, “you ain’t bin to Putmon, en you dunner whar de Brad Slaughter place en Harmony Grove is, but Mars John en Miss Sally, dey bin dar a time er two, en dey knows how de lan’ lays.  Well, den, it ’uz right long in dere whar Mars Jeems lived, en whar he live now.  When de war come long he wuz livin’ dere longer Ole Miss en Miss Sally.  Ole Miss ’uz his ma, en Miss Sally dar ’uz his sister.  De war come des like I tell you, en marters sorter rock along same like dey allers did.  Hit didn’t strike me dat dey wuz enny war gwine on, en ef I hadn’t sorter miss de nabers, en seed fokes gwine outer de way fer ter ax de news, I’d a ’lowed ter myse’f dat de war wuz ’way off ’mong some yuther country.  But all dis time de fuss wuz gwine on, en Mars Jeems, he wuz des eatchin’ fer ter put in.  Ole Miss en Miss Sally, dey tuck on so he didn’t git off de fus’ year, but bimeby news come down dat times wuz gittin’ putty hot, en Mars Jeems he got up, he did, en say he gotter go, en go he did.  He got a overseer fer ter look atter de place, en he went en jined de army.  En he ’uz a fighter, too, mon, Mars Jeems wuz.  Many’s en many’s de time,” continued the old man, reflectively, “dat I hatter take’n bresh dat boy on a counter his ‘buzin’ en beatin’ dem yuther boys.  He went off dar fer ter fight, en he fit.  Ole Miss useter call me up Sunday en read w’at de papers say ’bout Mars Jeems, en it ho’p ’er up might’ly.  I kin see ’er des like it ’uz yistiddy.

“‘Remus,’ sez she, ’dish yer’s w’at de papers say ‘bout my baby,’ en den she’d read out twel she couldn’t read fer cryin’.  Hit went on dis way year in en year out, en dem wuz lonesome times, sho’s you bawn, Miss Doshy—­lonesome times, sho.  Hit got hotter en hotter in de war, en lonesomer en mo’ lonesomer at home, en bimeby ‘long come de conscrip’ man, en he des everlas’nly scoop up Mars Jeems’s overseer.  W’en dis come ’bout, ole Miss, she sont atter me en say, sez she: 

“‘Remus, I ain’t got nobody fer ter look arter de place but you,’ sez she, en den I up’n say, sez I: 

“’Mistiss, you kin des ‘pen’ on de ole nigger.’

“I wuz ole den, Miss Doshy—­let lone w’at I is now; en you better b’leeve I bossed dem han’s.  I had dem niggers up en in de fiel’ long ‘fo’ day, en de way dey did wuk wuz a caution.  Ef dey didn’t earn der vittles dat season den I ain’t name Remus.  But dey wuz tuk keer un.  Dey had plenty er cloze en plenty er grub, en dey wuz de fattes’ niggers in de settlement.

“Bimeby one day, Ole Miss, she call me up en say de Yankees done gone en tuck Atlanty—­dish yer ve’y town; den present’y I year dey wuz a marchin’ on down todes Putmon, en, lo en behol’s! one day, de fus news I know’d, Mars Jeems he rid up wid a whole gang er men.  He des stop long nuff fer ter change hosses en snatch a mouffle er sump’n ter eat, but ‘fo’ he rid off, he call me up en say, sez he: