plantation was all trompl'd in de groun' an' what was lef' was took fer
taxes."

"I forgits," remarked Uncle Sheba, his eyes growing heavy in his lack of
interest; "but ole Marse Wallingford mus' hab lef' de widder ob his son
someting."

"Now look heah, Unc., you'se haf asleep. You'se 'lowance too hebby dis
ebenin'. How you forgit when I tell you ober an' ober? You doan keer.
Dat's de foot de shoe's on. You know ole Marse Wallingford's plantation
was trompl'd in de groun' too--not a stick or stone lef' by Sherman's
sogers."

"Well, dey sole dere fine house on Meetin' Street, an' dat mus' a brought
a heap," protested Uncle Sheba, rousing himself a little.

"Mighty little arter de mor'giges an' taxes was paid. Didn't I help dem
pack up what dey tink dey could sabe, and see poah Missy Mara wrung her
han's as she gib up dis ting an' dat ting till at las' she cry right out,
'Mought as well gib up eberyting. Why don't dey kill us too, like dey did
all our folks?' You used to be so hot fer dat ole Guv'ner Moses and say he
was like de Moses in de Bible--dat he was raised up fer ter lead de culled
people to de promise' lan'. You vote fer him, an' hurrah fer him, an'
whar's yer promise' lan'? Little you know 'bout Scripter when you say he
secon' Moses. Don' want no more sich Moseses in dis town. Dey wouldn't
lebe a brick heah ef dey could take dem off. He'n his tribe got away wid
'bout all ole Missus' and young Missus' prop'ty in my 'pinion. Anyhow I
feels it in my bones dey's poah, an' I mus' try an' fin' out. Dey's so
proud dey'd starbe fore dey'd let on."