“I jumped up an’ run over de bank, an’ dyar, wid a whole lot o’ dead men, an’ some not dead yit, onder one o’ de guns wid de fleg still in he han’, an’ a bullet right th’oo he body, lay Marse Chan.  I tu’n ‘im over an’ call ’im, ‘Marse Chan!’ but ‘twan’ no use, he wuz done gone home, sho’ ‘nuff.  I pick’ ’im up in my arms wid de fleg still in he han’s, an’ toted ‘im back jes’ like I did dat day when he wuz a baby, an’ ole marster gin ’im to me in my arms, an’ sez he could trus’ me, an’ tell me to tek keer on ’im long ez he lived.  I kyar’d ’im ‘way off de battlefiel’ out de way o’ de balls, an’ I laid ’im down onder a big tree till I could git somebody to ketch de sorrel for me.  He wuz cotched arfter a while, an’ I hed some money, so I got some pine plank an’ made a coffin dat evenin’, an’ wrapt Marse Chan’s body up in de fleg, an’ put ‘im in de coffin; but I didn’ nail de top on strong, ’cause I knowed ole missis wan’ see ‘im; an’ I got a’ ambulance an’ set out for home dat night.  We reached dyar de nex’ evein’, arfter travellin’ all dat night an’ all nex’ day.

“Hit ‘peared like somethin’ hed tole ole missis we wuz comin’ so; for when we got home she wuz waitin’ for us—­done drest up in her best Sunday clo’es, an’ stan’n’ at de head o’ de big steps, an’ ole marster settin’ in his big cheer—­ez we druv up de hill to’ds de house, I drivin’ de ambulance an’ de sorrel leadin’ ’long behine wid de stirrups crost over de saddle.

“She come down to de gate to meet us.  We took de coffin out de ambulance an’ kyar’d it right into de big parlor wid de pictures in it, whar dey use’ to dance in ole times when Marse Chan wuz a schoolboy, an’ Miss Anne Chahmb’lin use’ to come over, an’ go wid ole missis into her charmber an’ tek her things off.  In dyar we laid de coffin on two o’ de cheers, an’ ole missis nuver said a wud; she jes’ looked so ole an’ white.

“When I had tell ’em all ’bout it, I tu’ned right ‘roun’ an’ rid over to Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s, ’cause I knowed dat wuz what Marse Chan he’d ‘a’ wanted me to do.  I didn’ tell nobody whar I wuz gwine, ‘cause yo’ know none on ’em hadn’ nuver speak to Miss Anne, not sence de duil, an’ dey didn’ know ’bout de letter.

“When I rid up in de yard, dyar wuz Miss Anne a-stan’in’ on de poach watchin’ me ez I rid up.  I tied my hoss to de fence, an’ walked up de parf.  She knowed by de way I walked dyar wuz somethin’ de motter, an’ she wuz mighty pale.  I drapt my cap down on de een’ o’ de steps an’ went up.  She nuver opened her mouf; jes’ stan’ right still an’ keep her eyes on my face.  Fust, I couldn’ speak; den I cotch my voice, an’ I say, ’Marse Chan, he done got he furlough.’

“Her face was mighty ashy, an’ she sort o’ shook, but she didn’ fall.  She tu’ned ‘roun’ an’ said, ‘Git me de ker’ige!’ Dat wuz all.

“When de ker’ige come ‘roun’, she hed put on her bonnet, an’ wuz ready.  Ez she got in, she sey to me, ‘Hev yo’ brought him home?’ an’ we drove ‘long, I ridin’ behine.