"'Spose you does fin' out, what kin you do? You gwine ter buy back de big
house fer dem?"

"I'se not de one ter talk big 'bout what I'se gwine ter do," replied Aun'
Sheba, nodding her head portentously as she knocked the ashes from her
pipe, and prepared for the remaining tasks of the evening.

Her husband's self-interest took alarm at once, and he began to hitch
uneasily on his chair. At last he broke out: "Now look heah, Aun' Sheba,
you'se got suffin on you' min' 'bout dem white folks--"

"Dem white folks! Who you talkin' 'bout?"

"Well, dey ain't none o' our flesh an' blood, and de Bible say shuah dat
dey dat don' pervide fer dere own flesh an' blood am wuss dan a inferdel."

"Den I reckon you'se an inferdel, Mister Buggone," retorted Aun' Sheba,
severely.

"I'se not," retorted her husband, assuming much solemnity, "I'se a 'umble
an' 'flicted sarbent ob de Lawd, an' it's my duty to 'monstrate wid you. I
know what's on you' min'. You'se gwine ter do fer dem white folks when you
got all you kin do now."

"Mister Buggone, don' you call Miss Mara white folks no mo'."

"Well, ain't she white folks? Didn't I slabe fer her granpar yeahs an'
yeahs, an' wat I got ter show fer 't?"

"You got no stripes on you back, an' you'd had plenty ter show ef you'd