oman is welcome to any man
she kin git f'om me. Dat's my principle. But dese heah yaller freckle
niggers 'ain't got no principle _to_ 'em. I done heerd dat all my
life--an' Silvy she done proved it. Time Wash an' me was married he was
a man in good chu'ch standin'--a reg'lar ordained sexton, at six
dollars a month--an' I done de sweepin' for him. Dat's huccome I
happened to have dat green-handle sto'e broom. Dat's all I ever did git
out o' his wages. Any day you'd pass Rose-o'-Sharon Chu'ch dem days you
could see him settin' up on de steps, like a gent'eman, an' I sho' did
take pride in him. An' now, dey tell me, Silvy she got him down to
shirt-sleeves--splittin' rails, wid his breeches gallused up wid twine,
while she sets in de cabin do' wid a pink caliker Mother Hubbard
wrapper on fannin' 'erse'f. An' on Saturdays, when he draw his pay,
you'll mos' gin'ally see 'em standin' together at de hat an' ribbon
show-case in de sto'e--he grinnin' for all he's worth. An' my belief is
he grins des to hide his mizry."

"You certainly were very good to do his sweeping for him." Tamar's
graphic picture of a rather strained situation was so humorous that it
was hard to take calmly. But her mistress tried to disguise her
amusement so far as possible. To her surprise, the question seemed to
restore the black woman to a fresh sense of her dignity in the
situation.

"Cert'ny I done it," she exclaimed, dramatically. "Cert'ny. You reckon
I'd live in de house wid a man dat 'd handle a broom? No, ma'am. Nex'
thing I'd look for him to sew. No, ma'am. But I started a-tellin' you
huccome I come to know dat Pompey an' Sis' Sophy-Sophia was legally
married wid a broom. One day he come over to my cabin, jes like I
commenced tellin' you, an' he s'lute me wid, 'Good-mornin', Sis' Tamar;
I come over to see ef you won't please, ma'am, loand Sister Sophy-Sophia
Sanders dat straw broom wha' you sweeps out de chu'ch-house wid, please,
ma'am?' An' I ricollec's de answer I made him. I laughed, an' I say,
'Well, Pompey,' I say, 'I don't know about loandin' out a chu'ch broom
to a sinner like you.' An' at dat he giggle, 'Well, we wants it to
play preacher--an' dat seems like a mighty suitable job for a chu'ch
broom.' An' of co'se wid dat I passed over de broom, wid my best
wushes to de bride; an' when he fetched it back, I ricollec', he
fetched me a piece o' de weddin'-cake--but it warn't no mo'n common
one-two-three-fo'-cup-cake wid about seventeen onfr