Fac' is
Mars Marrabo prob'ly wouldn' a' done much ter 'im fer it 'ud be monst'us
po' 'couragement fer runaway niggers ter come back, ef dey gwineter git
killed w'en dey come. An' so Ben waited 'til night, an' den he went back
an' got some mo' clay an' eat it an' hid hisse'f in de woods ag'in.
"Well, hit wuz quare 'bout Ben, but he stayed roun' heah fer a mont,'
hidin' in de woods in de daytime, an' slippin' out nights an' gittin'
clay ter eat an' water f'om de crick yanker ter drink. De water in dat
crick wuz cl'ar in dem days, stidder bein' yallar lak it is now."
We had observed that the water, like that of most streams that take
their rise in swamps, had an amber tint to which the sand and clay
background of the bed of the stream imparted an even yellower hue.
"What did he do then, Julius?" asked my wife, who liked to hear the end
of a story.
"Well, Miss, he made up his min' den dat he wuz gwineter staht fer de
No'th ag'in. But wiles he b'en layin' roun' in de woods he had 'mence
ter feel monst'us lonesome, an' it 'peared ter him dat he jes' couldn'
go widout seein' Dasdy an' little Pete.
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