d his mistress.

"'Scuse me, Miss Jemimy, but I's come to tell you I's been thinkin'----"
pausing; and as he still hesitated, his mistress said: "Yes, so you
have; I knew as much already, not having heard a song from you since
dinner-time. Out with it, then; I am ready to hear you."

"Well, Miss Jemimy, it's jes' dis. We's all pore mortal creeters, made
of clay, you know; no tellin' who'll be took away fus', who'll be lef'
behin'." Another pause.

"Nothing could be truer, Burl," rejoined his mistress; "and yet not
always right pleasant to think of. But go on, and speak your mind
freely."

"Well, Miss Jemimy, bein' sich pore mortal creeters as we is, dare's no
tellin' who'll be took away fus', who'll be lef' behin'. 'Scuse me, ef
you please."

"And you are thinking that you might be left behind," added his
mistress.

"You've hit it 'zac'ly on de head, Miss Jemimy; dat's jes' de thing I's
wantin' to say, but was afeered uf hurtin' feelin's. Hope you don't
think hard uf me fur havin' sich thoughts. But bein', as I wus sayin',
de pore mortal creeters we is, some pussons is boun' to drap off sooner
dan oders, some boun' to be lef' behin'; an' dar's no tellin' who de
whos will be. Sich things mus' happen, an' nobody's fault, you know."

"It is all just as you say, Burl," replied his mistress. "So go on
without more ado, and tell me exactly what is in your mind, and no fear
of hurting feelings."

"Thank you, Miss Jemimy, fur talkin' dat way; it makes me easy. So I'll
go on an' tell it all, jes' as I's been thinkin' it. Eber sence late dis
mornin' I's been sayin' to myse'f out yander in de corn-fiel': 'We's all
pore mortal creeters made uf clay--no tellin' who'll be took 'way fus',
who'll be lef behin'. Den s'posin',' ses I, 's'posin' ef my good missus
an' sweet little marster might be took 'way fus', an' der ol' nigger
lef' behin', what den? W'y, mebbe jes' dis: some white man I neber liked
or neber knowed might come 'long a-sayin' to me: "You belongs to me now,
I's paid my money fur you; you go plow in my fiel', go chop in my woods,
go mow in my medder; I hain't bought yo' wife an' chil'en--no use fur
dem; so jes' make up yo' min' to leabe 'em an' come 'long." Den Burlman
Rennuls be very sorry he didn't take what his good mistus wanted so much
to give him long time ago.' So I goes on thinkin' it ober an' ober eber
go long, till ses I to myse'f, 'I'll go to Miss Jemimy dis bery night
an' say to her: "Miss Jemimy," se