"'Hoddy, honey,' sezee. 'How you feelin' dis mawnin'?'
"'Fus' rate,' 'spon' Sally.
"Dey wuz lookin' at one ernudder, en dey did n' naer one un 'em pay no
'tention ter de mule, who had turnt 'is head 'roun' en wuz lookin' at
Sally ez ha'd ez he could, en stretchin' 'is neck en raisin' 'is years,
en whinnyin' kinder sof' ter hisse'f.
"'Yas, honey,' 'lows Dan, 'en you gwine ter feel fus' rate long ez you
sticks ter me. Fer I's a better man dan dat low-down runaway nigger
Primus dat you be'n wastin' yo' time wid.'
"Dan had let go de plough-handle, en had put his arm 'roun' Sally, en
wuz des gwine ter kiss her, w'en sump'n ketch' 'im by de scruff er de
neck en flung 'im 'way ober in de cotton-patch. W'en he pick' 'isse'f
up, Sally had gone kitin' down de tu'n-row, en de mule wuz stan'in' dere
lookin' ez ca'm en peaceful ez a Sunday mawnin'.
"Fus' Dan had 'lowed it wuz de oberseah w'at had cotch' 'im wastin' 'is
time. But dey wa'n't no oberseah in sight, so he 'cluded it must 'a'
be'n de mule. So he pitch' inter de mule en lammed 'im ez ha'd ez he
could. De mule tuk it all, en 'peared ter be ez 'umble ez a mule could
be; but w'en dey wuz makin' de turn at de een' er de row, one er de
plough-lines got under de mule's hin' leg.
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