"'Hoddy, Dasdy honey,' he said.
"'Huh!' she said, ''pears ter me you'er mighty fermilyer on sho't
acquaintance.'
"'Sho't acquaintance.' Why, doan' yer know me, Dasdy?'
"'No. I doan know yer f'om a skeercrow. I never seed yer befo' in my
life, an' nebber wants ter see yer ag'in. Whar did yer com f'om anyhow?
Whose nigger is yer? Er is yer some low-down free nigger dat doan b'long
ter nobody an' doan own nobody?'
"'W'at fer you talk ter me like dat, honey? I's Ben, yo' Ben. Why doan
you know yo' own man?'
"He put out his ahms fer ter draw her ter 'im, but she jes' gib one
yell, an' stahted ter run. Ben wuz so 'stonish' he didn' know w'at ter
do, an' he stood dere in de road 'til he heared somebody e'se comin',
w'en he dahted in de woods ag'in.
"Po' Ben wuz so 'sturbed in his min' dat he couldn' hahdly eat any clay
dat day. He couldn' make out w'at wuz de matter wid Dasdy but he 'lowed
maybe she'd heared he wuz dead er sump'n,' an' thought he wuz a ha'nt,
an' dat wuz w'y she had run away. So he watch' by de side er de road,
an' nex' mornin' who should come erlong but little Pete, wid a reed over
his shoulder, an' a go'd-full er bait, gwine fishin' in de crick.
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