ghost. I allus pray to de Lord dat He spar' me dat trouble an' not let
me see nary one. No good in folks plunderin' on dis earth atter dey
leave here de fus time. Go 'way, dog."

A spotted hound, lean and flop-eared was scratching industriously under
Aunt Carrie's chair. It was a still summer day and the flies droned
ceaselessly. A well nearby creaked as the dripping bucket was drawn to
the top by a granddaughter who had come in from the field to get a cool
drink. Aunt Carrie watched the girl for a moment and then went back to
her story.

"Effen my mammy or pappy ever runned away from Marster, I ain't heered
tell uv it, but Mammy said dat when slaves did run away, dey wuz cotched
an' whupped by de overseer. Effen a man or a 'oman kilt another one den
dey wuz branded wid er hot i'on. Er big S wuz put on dey face somewhars.
S stood fer 'slave, 'an' evvybody knowed dey wuz er mudderer. Marster
din't have no overseer; he overseed hisself.

"Why is George so white? 'Cause his marster wuz er white genemun named
Mister Jimmie Dunn. His mammy wuz er cullud 'oman name' Frances Mason
an' his marster wuz his paw. Yas mam, I see you is s'prised, but dat
happ'ned a lots in dem days. I hyeared tell of er white man what would
tell his sons ter 'go down ter dem nigger quarters an' git me mo'
slaves.' Yas mam, when George wuz borned ter his mamny, his pappy wuz er
white man an' he made George his overseer ez soon ez he wuz big e'nuf
ter boss de yuther slaves. I wish he wuz able to tell yer 'bout it, but
since he had dat las' stroke he ain't been able ter talk none."

Aunt Carrie took an old clay pipe from her apron pocket and filled it
with dry scraps of chewing tobacco. After lighting it she puffed quietly