"Ole miss" wasted no time in threats--she simply cut the traces and there were Aun' Suke and the babies stranded. The negroes drew together on one side and master and mistress on the other. The faces of the latter were aglow with anger; on the countenances of the former were mingled perplexity and sullen defiance, but the old habit of deference still had its restraining influence. "Go and starve and leave us to starve, if you will," shouted Mr. Baron, "but you shall steal none of my property." Angry mutterings began among the negroes, and it were hard to say how the scene would have ended if old Uncle Lusthah had not suddenly appeared between the opposing parties, and held up his hand impressively. "I gib up my charnce ter be free," he began with simple dignity. "My body 'longs ter you yit, mars'r en misus; but not my speret. Out'n dat I gwine ter speak plain fer de fear ob man clean gone fum me. Mars'r, w'at I say ter you? Lak ole Pharo, you t'ink yo'sef bigger'n de Lawd. Ef you'd done spoke ter de hans en say 'des go home en dar de crops en shar' togeder' dey ud stayed en wucked fer you 'tented like, but you des talk lak ole Pharo. Now de people gwine en you kyant stop dem. We knowed 'bout de prokermation ob de gre't Linkum. We know we bin free dis long time. We al'ays know you no right ter keep us slabes. Dis yer God's worl'. Hit don't 'long ter you en misus. He ain't stoppin' ter 'suit you 'bout He doin's. Ef you s'mitted ter He will you'd a gwine 'long easy lak de crops grow in spring-time. Now hit des de same ez ef you plant de crops in de fall en'spect de Lawd ter turn de winter inter summer ter please you. I berry ole en had 'spearance. I'se prayed all de long night en de Lawd's gib me ter see inter de futer. Lak Moses I may never git in de promised lan' ob freedom, but hit dar en you kyant kep de people out'n hit. Ef you doan bend ter He will, you breaks. Wen all de han's gone en de fiel's is waste t'ink ober de trufe. De Lawd did'n mek dis yer worl' ter suit you en misus. P'raps He t'ink ez much ob dem po' souls dar (pointing at the negroes) ez ob yourn. Didn't I stan' wid dem w'at die ter mek us free? Der blood wateh dis hull lan' en I feels hit in my heart dat de Lawd'll brung up a crap dis lan' neber saw befo'. Please reckermember, mars'r en misus, de gre't wuck ob de Lawd gwine right along des ez ef you ain' dar." Then the old man turned to the negroes and in his loud, melodious voice concluded, "I gibs you one mo' 'zortation. You IS free, but ez I say so of'un you ain' free ter do foolishness. Tek yo' wibes en chil'un; dey yourn. Tek yo' clo'es; you arned urn en much mo', but you kyant tek de mules en de ker'age: dey mars'r's. Go en wuck lak men en wimmin fer hon'st wages en show you fit ter be free. Reckermember all I tole you so of'un. De Lawd go wid you en kep you in de way ob life everlas'in'."