'im," and Uncle Bob chuckled and laughed.

"Why, Bob, I believe you are crazy," said his master, "or drunk."

"I ain't neder one, marster; but den I'm er jokin' too much, mo'n de
'lenity uv de cazhun inquires, an' now I'll splain de facks, sar."

And Uncle Bob related Ann's story to his master, and wound up by saying:

"An' now, marster, my min', hit's made up. I wants ter buy de little
chap, an' give 'im ter his mammy, de one wat God give 'im to. Hit'll go
mighty hard wid me ter part fum all dat money, caze I ben years pun top
er years er layin' uv it up, an' hit's er mighty cumfut ter me er
countin' an' er jinglin' uv it; but hit ain't doin' nobody no good er
buried in de groun'; an' I don't special need it myse'f, caze you gives
me my cloes, an' my shoes, an' my eatin's, an' my backer, an' my wisky,
an' I ain't got no cazhun fur ter spen' it; an', let erlone dat, I can't
stay hyear fureber, er countin' an' er jinglin' dat money, caze wen de
angel soun' dat horn, de ole nigger he's got ter go; he's boun' fur ter
be dar! de money can't hol' 'im! De Lord, he ain't gwine ter say, 'Scuze
dat nigger, caze he got money piled up; lef 'im erlone, fur ter count
dat gol' an' silver.' No, sar! But, marster, maybe in de jedgemun' day,
wen Ole Bob is er stan'in' fo' de Lord wid his knees er trim'lin', an'
de angel fotches out dat book er hisn, an' de Lord tell 'im fur ter read
wat he writ gins 'im, an' de angel he 'gin ter read how de ole nigger
drunk too much wisky, how he stoled watermillions in de night, how he
cussed, how he axed too much fur doct'in' uv hosses, an' wen he wuz
men'in' cheers, how he wouldn't men' 'em strong, so's he'd git ter men'
'em ergin some time; an' den, wen he read all dat an' shet de book,
maybe de Lord he'll say, 'Well, he's er pow'ful sinful nigger, but den