totin' fiahwood fo' ol' Mis' dat day, an' I drap een de bushes; it
ain't no place fo' sensible niggahs when white folks grab shot-guns.
Doctor see me an' holler: 'Adam! git outer dem bushes, you ol' fool!
You my witness what dis hellion's done to my fowls!'

"Ol' Mis' Scarlett she s'anter ter de winder wid 'er gun sort o'
hangin' loose, an' holler: 'Adam! Come outer dem bushes 'fo' I
pickle yo' hide! You my witness ob dis ruffian trispassin' on my
prop'ty an' cussin' an' seducin' a ol' woman widout 'er consent,'
she says. 'Has I retched my age,' says ol' Mis' Scarlett, 'to have
his fowls ruinin' my gyardin', an' him whut's a dunghill rooster
himself flyin' ovah my fences unbeknownst?'

"'If there evah was a leather-hided ol' hen ripe foh roastin' on
Beelzebub's own griddle, it's you, you gallows ol' witch!' says
Doctor, shakin' 'is fist up at her.

"'Aha! I got a plain case!' says ol' Mis', grim-like. 'I'll have a
warrant out foh you dis day, Geddes, you owdacious villyum!'

"And she done it. Yas'm. An' dey done sont de shariff atter me for
witness, all two bofe o' dem."

"Well, and what did you do?" I asked, curiously. I was getting a
side-light on Great-Aunt Sophronisba.

"Me? I got on muh knees an' wrastled wid de speret," said Uncle
Adam. "I done tuck mah troubles to de Lawd, whichin He _'bleeged_
ter know I cyant deal wid ol' Mis' Scarlett an' de Doctor. Missis, I
prayed!"