"
"Leet de chil' alone, Zoe," said a superannuated old woman sitting in
the corner by the fire always smouldering on Zoe's hearth, and leaning
her white head on her cane. "You be berrer showin' her her duty in her
place dan be makin' her discontented."
"She doan' make me disconnected, Maum Susie," said Flor. "'F he's free,
w'at's he stayin' here for? Dar 's law for dat. Doan' want none o' yer
free niggers hangin' roun' dis yere. Chirrup!"
"Dar's a right smart chance ob 'em, dough, jus' now," said Aunt Zoe,
chuckling at first, and then breaking into the most boisterous of
laughs, "Seems like we's all ob us, ebery one, free as Sarp hisse'f.
Mas'r Linkum say so. Yah, ha, ha!"
"Linkum!" said Flor. "Who dat ar? Some o' yer poor w'ite trash? Mas'r
Henry doan' say so!"
"W'a' 's de matter wid dat ar boy Sarp, Zoe?" recommenced Flor, after a
pause. "Mus' hab wanted suffin,--powerful,--to lib in de swamp, hab de
dogs after him, an' a bullet troo de head mos' likely."
"Jus' dat. Wanted him freedom," said Zoe suddenly, with crackling
stress, her eyes getting angry in their fervor, as she went on.
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