"Bu's--ted de will! He wouldn't _ever_ treat him so! Take it back, you
mis'able imitation nigger dat I bore in sorrow en tribbilation."

Roxy's pet castle--an occasional dollar from Tom's pocket--was tumbling
to ruin before her eyes. She could not abide such a disaster as that;
she couldn't endure the thought of it. Her remark amused Chambers.

"Yah-yah-yah! Jes listen to dat! If I's imitation, what is you? Bofe of
us is imitation _white_--dat's what we is--en pow'ful good imitation,
too. Yah-yah-yah! We don't 'mount to noth'n as imitation _niggers_; en
as for--"

"Shet up yo' foolin', 'fo' I knock you side de head, en tell me 'bout de
will. Tell me 'tain't bu'sted--do, honey, en I'll never forgit you."

"Well, _'tain't_--'ca'se dey's a new one made, en Marse Tom's all right
ag'in. But what is you in sich a sweat 'bout it for, Mammy? 'Tain't
none o' your business I don't reckon."

"'Tain't none o' my business? Whose business is it den, I'd like to
know? Wuz I his mother tell he was fifteen years old, or wusn't I?--you
answer me dat. En you speck I could see him turned out po' and ornery on
de worl' en never care noth'n' 'bout it? I reckon if you'd ever be'n a
mother yo'self, Valet de Chambers, you wouldn't talk sich foolishness as
dat."

"Well, den, ole Marse forgive him en fixed up de will ag'in--do dat
satisfy you?"

Yes, she was satisfied now, and quite happy and sentimental over it. She