Viney.

"Hyeah, hyeah's de docyment dat meks you yo' own ooman. Tek it."

During all the time that it had been out for show that night the
people had looked upon it with a sort of awe, as if it was possessed
of some sort of miraculous power. Even now Viney did not take hold of
it, but shrunk away with a sort of gasp.

"No, Ben, you keep it. I can't tek keer o' no sich precious thing ez
dat. Put hit in yo' chist."

"Tek hit and feel of hit, anyhow, so's you'll know dat you's free."

She took it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. Ben suddenly
let go.

"Dah, now," he said; "you keep dat docyment. It's yo's. Keep hit undah
yo' own 'sponsibility."

"No, no, Ben!" she cried. "I jes' can't!"

"You mus'. Dat's de way to git used to bein' free. Whenevah you looks
at yo'se'f an' feels lak you ain' no diff'ent f'om whut you been you
tek dat papah out an' look at hit, an' say to yo'se'f, 'Dat means
freedom.'"

Carefully, reverently, silently Viney put the paper into her bosom.

"Now, de nex' t'ing fu' me to do is to set out to git one dem papahs