Clotelle; or, the Colored Heroine, a tale of the Southern States; or, the President's Daughter by William Wells Brown
page 33 of 181 (18%)
page 33 of 181 (18%)
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in de town, and dat I's to be free!"
All eyes were immediately turned toward Sally Johnson, who was seated near Sam. "I 'specs I see somebody blush at dat remark," said Alfred. "Pass dem pancakes an' 'lasses up dis way, Mr. Alf., and none ob your 'sinuwashuns here," rejoined Sam. "Dat reminds me," said Agnes, "dat Dorcas Simpson is gwine to git married." "Who to, I want to know?" inquired Peter. "To one of Mr. Darby's field-hands," answered Agnes. "I should tink dat gal wouldn't frow herseff away in dat ar way," said Sally. "She's good lookin' 'nough to git a house-servant, and not hab to put up wid a field-nigger. "Yes," said Sam, "dat's a werry unsensible remark ob yourn, Miss Sally. I admires your judgment werry much, I 'sures you. Dar's plenty ob susceptible an' well-dressed house-serbants dat a gal ob her looks can git widout takin' up wid dem common darkies." The evening's entertainment concluded by Sam's relating a little of his own experience while with his first master, in old Kentucky. This master was a doctor, and had a large practice among his neighbors, doctoring both masters and slaves. When Sam was about fifteen years old, his master set him to grinding up ointment and making pills. |
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