bout de
place dat was 'mos' white, she come in en see de chile layin' aroun', en
tuck en put her own chile's clo's on de queen's chile, en put de queen's
chile's clo'es on her own chile, en den lef' her own chile layin' aroun',
en tuck en toted de queen's chile home to de nigger quarter, en nobody
ever foun' it out, en her chile was de king bimeby, en sole de queen's
chile down de river one time when dey had to settle up de estate. Dah,
now--de preacher said it his own self, en it ain't no sin, 'ca'se white
folks done it. DEY done it--yes, DEY done it; en not on'y jis' common
white folks nuther, but de biggest quality dey is in de whole bilin'.
_Oh_, I's _so_ glad I 'member 'bout dat!"

She got lighthearted and happy, and went to the cradles, and spent what
was left of the night "practicing." She would give her own child a light
pat and say humbly, "Lay still, Marse Tom," then give the real Tom a pat
and say with severity, "Lay _still_, Chambers! Does you want me to take
somep'n _to_ you?"

As she progressed with her practice, she was surprised to see how
steadily and surely the awe which had kept her tongue reverent and her
manner humble toward her young master was transferring itself to her
speech and manner toward the usurper, and how similarly handy she was
becoming in transferring her motherly curtness of speech and
peremptoriness of manner to the unlucky heir of the ancient house of
Driscoll.

She took occasional rests from practicing, and absorbed herself in
calculating her chances.

"Dey'll sell dese niggers today fo' stealin' de money, den dey'll buy
some mo' dat don't now de chillen--so _dat's_ all right. When I takes de
chillen out to git de air, de minute I's roun' de corner I's gwine to
gaum dey mouths all roun' wid jam, den dey can't _nobody_ notice dey's
changed. Yes, I gwine ter do dat till I's safe, if it's a year.

"Dey ain't but one man dat I's afeard of, en dat's dat Pudd'nhead Wilson.
Dey calls him a pudd'nhead, en says he's a fool. My lan, dat man ain't
no mo' fool den I is! He's de smartes' man in dis town, lessn' it's
Jedge Driscoll or maybe Pem Howard. Blame dat man, he worries me wid dem
ornery glasses o' his'n; _I_ b'lieve he's a witch. But nemmine, I's gwine
to happen aroun' dah one o' dese days en let on dat I reckon he wants to
print a chillen's fingers ag'in; en if HE don't notice dey's changed, I
bound dey ain't nobody gwine to notice it, en den I's safe, sho'. But I
reckon