you spavins when dey gits ter dancin’ an’ meddowtatin’ ’roun’ you an’ tryin’ ter meck sturrups in yo’ hyah.’ “Billy, I had meh hyah all tied up in twisses, but when de oberseer talk dat fashion, meh hyah riz up on meh haid so quick hit bus’ dem twisses. I mos’ had uh spavin, sho’ nuff. When meh bref cum back I say, ‘Befo’ de Lawd, Mr. Sharp, I promis’ not ter tell.’ Den he lemmy cum out. Well, Billy, ef’n you cud hab seed de colour de salt watah tu’n dem lubly pants, you’d uh wep’. Do you recommember uh ole white-eyed, pie-coloured hoss dat good ole Quakah, Mars Isaac Atkinson, had name Skeuball?” “’Cose I do. Mars Isaac use ter say witches made stirrups in he main, an’ sometimes rid him ober ter Fausley.” [Billy was that witch!] “Well, de colour ub dem pants ’mine me ub ole Skeuball; I kyant ’magin’ what de man dat made de muslin cud uh put in hit. An’ Billy, I kyant ondastan’ how cum Mr. Sharp run me in dat creek. I’m mo’n twice ez big ez you is, an’ you say when he cuss you, you cuss him back. ’Cose arfter what you spressify ter me, when he sass me I rite ’way ’cluded ter sass him. So I say, ‘You roscal yo’sef.’ Billy you no de consequation ub dat miration. I ’ten’ ter ax Mr. Sharp when he meck up wid me how cum hit dat Billy kin cuss him an’ I kyant ebin sass him.” “Juba, don’ tu’n fool ergin. Don’ say nuffin ter him nohow; hit will jes’ meck him mad ergin, an’ dat gre’t big man mite breck bof our necks. Da wuz uh checkeration in our composation de nite I tole you, fuh Mage Rudd tuck his broom an’ fairly swep’ me outin his sto’ fuh spillin’ mullasses on de sto’ flo’, an’ I wuz tu fusstified ter tell you de res’ ub what I did boutin Mr. Sharp. Well, Juba, de res’ is, when I wan’ ter cuss him I goes way up ter de top ub de hill ’hin’ de bawn. Den I looks all ’roun’ an’ ’roun’, an’ ef’n I don’ see Mr. Sharp no wha neah, I jes’ cuss, cuss, an’ cusses him; an’ dat way, hit do mo’ good dan yo’ way, kase you kin git mad ez you wan’ ter, spressify yo’sef jes’ ez yo’ wan’ ter, an’ hit don’ teck de colour outin yo’ pants.” “Well, Billy, I ain’ fogot de spilein’ ub dem pants, I tell you. I bin t’inkin’ ’bout breckin’ meh wud an’ tyin’ meh haid up’n uh hankcheah an’ tellin’ Mars Nickey de ve’y fus’ time he ax me how I feel. Den I’ll say, “Po’ly, Mars Nickey; ve’y po’ly eber sence Mr. Sharp run me in yo’ creek at de foot ub Haylan’ Branch mash an’ kep’ me stan’in’ in da mos’ all nite tramplin’ on yo’ oysters. Now, what do you t’ink, Billy, boutin dat?” “Ez you gwine ter tell Marster in de summah time er de wintah time?” “Dunno, Billy; I ain’ t’ink ’bout dat.” “Well, teck my ’vice an’ tell him in de summah time, kase boutin uh harf hour arfter you tell him, da will be tu pussons stan’in’ in de creek up ter deah moufs—one will be Mr. Sharp, tudda, Juba Viney.” “HIS BREF KINLETH COALS.”