Iola Leroy by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (books you need to read .txt) 📕

“I got here today,” said Robert, “but I expect to stay several days.”

“Well, I wants yer to meet my ole man, an’ talk ’bout ole times. Couldn’t yer come an’ stop wid me, or isn’t my house sniptious ’nuff?”

“Yes, thank you; but there is a young lady in town whom I think is my niece, my sister’s daughter, and I want to be with her all I can.”

“Your niece! Whar did you git any niece from?”

“Don’t you remember,” asked Robert, “that my mother had a little daughter, when Mrs. Johnson sold her? Well, I believe this young lady is that daughter’s child.”

“Laws a marcy!” exclaimed Aunt Linda, “yer don’t tell me so! Whar did yer ketch up wid her?”

“I met her first,” said Robert, “at the hospital here, when our poor Tom was dying; and when I was wounded at Five Forks she attended me in the field hospital there. She was just as good as gold.”

“Well, did I eber! You jis’ fotch dat chile to see me, ef she ain’t too fine. I’se pore, but I’se clean, an’ I ain’t forgot how ter git up good dinners. Now, I wants ter hab a good talk ’bout our feller-sarvants.”

“Yes, and I,” said Robert, “want to hear all about Uncle Daniel, and Jennie, and Uncle Ben Tunnel.”

“Well, I’se got lots an’ gobs ter tell yer. I’se kep’ track ob dem all. Aunt Katie died an’ went ter hebben in a blaze ob glory. Uncle Dan’el stayed on de place till Marse Robert com’d back. When de war war ober he war smashed all ter pieces. I did pity him from de bottom ob my heart. When he went ter de war he looked so brave an’ han’some; an’ wen he com’d back he looked orful. ’Fore he went he gib Uncle Dan’el a bag full ob money ter take kere ob. ’An wen he com’d back Uncle Dan’el gibed him ebery cent ob it. It warn’t ebery white pusson he could hab trusted wid it. ’Cause yer know, Bobby, money’s a mighty temptin’ thing. Dey tells me dat Marster Robert los’ a heap ob property by de war; but Marse Robert war always mighty good ter Uncle Dan’el and Aunt Katie. He war wid her wen she war dyin’ an’ she got holt his han’ an’ made him promise dat he would meet her in glory. I neber seed anybody so happy in my life. She singed an’ prayed ter de last. I tell you dis ole time religion is good ’nuff fer me. Mr. Robert didn’t stay yere long arter her, but I beliebs he went all right. But ’fore he went he looked out fer Uncle Dan’el. Did you see dat nice little cabin down dere wid de green shutters an’ nice little garden in front? Well, ’fore Marse Robert died he gib Uncle Dan’el dat place, an’ Miss Mary and de chillen looks arter him yet; an’ he libs jis’ as snug as a bug in a rug. I’se gwine ter axe him ter take supper wid you. He’ll be powerful glad ter see you.”

“Do you ever go to see old Miss?” asked Robert.

“Oh, yes; I goes ebery now and den. But she’s jis’ fell froo. Ole Johnson jis’ drunk hisself to death. He war de biggest guzzler I eber seed in my life. Why, dat man he drunk up ebery thing he could lay his han’s on. Sometimes he would go ’roun’ tryin’ to borrer money from pore cullud folks. ’Twas rale drefful de way dat pore feller did frow hisself away. But drink did it all. I tell you, Bobby, dat drink’s a drefful thing wen it gits de upper han’ ob you. You’d better steer clar ob it.”

“That’s so,” assented Robert.

“I know’d Miss Nancy’s fadder and mudder. Dey war mighty rich. Some ob de real big bugs. Marse Jim used to know dem, an’ come ober ter de plantation, an’ eat an’ drink wen he got ready, an’ stay as long as he choose. Ole Cousins used to have wine at dere table ebery day, an’ Marse Jim war mighty fon’ ob dat wine, an’ sometimes he would drink till he got quite boozy. Ole Cousins liked him bery well, till he foun’ out he wanted his darter, an’ den he didn’t want him fer rags nor patches. But Miss Nancy war mighty headstrong, an’ allers liked to hab her own way; an’ dis time she got it. But didn’t she step her foot inter it? Ole Johnson war mighty han’some, but when dat war said all war said. She run’d off an’ got married, but wen she got down she war too spunkey to axe her pa for anything. Wen you war wid her, yer know she only took big bugs. But wen de war com’d ’roun’ it tore her all ter pieces, an’ now she’s as pore as Job’s turkey. I feel’s right sorry fer her. Well, Robby, things is turned ’roun’ mighty quare. Ole Mistus war up den, an’ I war down; now, she’s down, an’ I’se up. But I pities her, ’cause she warn’t so bad arter all. De wuss thing she eber did war ta sell your mudder, an’ she wouldn’t hab done dat but she snatched de whip out ob her han’ an gib her a lickin’. Now I belieb in my heart she war ’fraid ob your mudder arter dat. But we women had ter keep ’em from whippin’ us, er dey’d all de time been libin’ on our bones. She had no man ter whip us ’cept dat ole drunken husband ob hern, an’ he war allers too drunk ter whip hisself. He jis’ wandered off, an’ I reckon he died in somebody’s pore-house. He warn’t no ’count nohow you fix it. Weneber I goes to town I carries her some garden sass, er a little milk an’ butter. An’ she’s mighty glad ter git it. I ain’t got nothin’ agin her. She neber struck