mad.  An’ dat evenin’ I’se tellin’ yo’ ‘bout, he wuz talkin’, an’ he mention’ Miss Anne’s name.  I see Marse Chan tu’n he eye ‘roun’ on ‘im an’ keep it on he face, and pres’n’y Mr. Ronny said he wuz gwine hev some fun dyah yit.  He didn’ mention her name dat time; but he said dey wuz all on ’em a parecel of stuck-up ‘risticrats, an’ her pa wan’ no gent’man anyway, an’—­I don’ know what he wuz gwine say (he nuver said it), fur ez he got dat far Marse Chan riz up an’ hit ‘im a crack, an’ he fall like he hed been hit wid a fence-rail.  He challenged Marse Chan to fight a duil, an’ Marse Chan he excepted de challenge, an’ dey wuz gwine fight; but some on ’em tole ‘im Marse Chan wan’ gwine mek a present o’ him to his fam’ly, an’ he got somebody to bre’k up de duil; ‘twan’ nuthin’ dough, but he wuz ’fred to fight Marse Chan.  An’ purty soon he lef’ de comp’ny.

“Well, I got one o’ de gent’mens to write Judy a letter for me, an’ I tole her all ‘bout de fight, an’ how Marse Chan knock Mr. Ronny over fur speakin’ discontemptuous o’ Cun’l Chahmb’lin, an’ I tole her how Marse Chan’ wuz a-dyin’ fur love o’ Miss Anne.  An’ Judy she gits Miss Anne to read de letter fur her.  Den Miss Anne she tells her pa, an’—­you mind, Judy tells me all dis arfterwards, an’ she say when Cun’l Chahmb’lin hear ’bout it, he wuz settin’ on de poach, an’ he set still a good while, an’ den he sey to hisse’f: 

“‘Well, he earn’ he’p bein’ a Whig.’

“An’ den he gits up an’ walks up to Miss Anne an’ looks at her right hard; an’ Miss Anne she hed done tu’n away her haid an’ wuz makin’ out she wuz fixin’ a rosebush ‘g’inst de poach; an’ when her pa kep’ lookin’ at her, her face got jes’ de color o’ de roses on de bush, and pres’n’y her pa sez: 

“‘Anne!’

“An’ she tu’ned roun’, an’ he sez: 

“‘Do yo’ want ‘im?’

“An’ she sez, ‘Yes,’ an’ put her head on he shoulder an’ begin to cry; an’ he sez: 

“‘Well, I won’ stan’ between yo’ no longer.  Write to ‘im an’ say so.’

“We didn’ know nuthin’ ‘bout dis den.  We wuz a-fightin’ an’ a-fightin’ all dat time; an’ come one day a letter to Marse Chan, an’ I see ‘im start to read it in his tent, an’ he face hit look so cu’ious, an’ he han’s trembled so I couldn’ mek out what wuz de matter wid ‘im.  An’ he fol’ de letter up an’ wen’ out an’ wen’ way down ‘hine de camp, an’ stayed dyah ’bout nigh an hour.  Well, seh, I wuz on de lookout for ‘im when he come back, an’, fo’ Gord, ef he face didn’ shine like a angel’s!  I say to myse’f, ’Um’m! ef de glory o’ Gord ain’ done shine on ‘im!’ An’ what yo’ ’spose ’twuz?

“He tuk me wid ‘im dat evenin’, an’ he tell me he hed done git a letter from Miss Anne, an’ Marse Chan he eyes look like gre’t big stars, an’ he face wuz jes’ like ‘twuz dat mawnin’ when de sun riz up over de low groun’, an’ I see ‘im stan’in’ dyah wid de pistil in he han’, lookin’ at it, an’ not knowin’ but what it mout be de lars’ time, an’ he done mek up he mine not to shoot ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin fur Miss Anne’s sake, what writ ’im de letter.