"_Don't_ fret, honey. _Don't_ let Christmas find yon cryin'. I tell you what I say let's do. I ain't gwine gi'e you de banjo, not yit, caze, des as you say, I _mought_ die; but I tell you what I gwine do. I gwine take you in pardners in it wid me. She ain't _mine_ an' she ain't _yoze_, and yit she's _bofe of us's_. You see, boy? _She's ourn!_ An' when I wants ter play on 'er _I'll play_, an' when you wants 'er, why, you teck 'er--on'y be a _leetle_ bit keerful at fust, honey." "An' kin I ca'y 'er behine de cabin, whar you can't see how I'm a-holdin' 'er, an' play anyway I choose?" Old Tim winced a little at this, but he had not given grudgingly. "Cert'n'y," he answered. "Why not? Git up an' play 'er in de middle o' de night ef you want ter, on'y, of co'se, be keerful how you reach 'er down, so's you won't jolt 'er too sudden. An' now, boy, hand 'er heah an' lemme talk to yer a little bit." When little Tim lifted the banjo from the floor his face fairly beamed with joy, although in the darkness no one saw it, for the shaft of light had passed beyond him now. Handing the banjo to his grandfather, he slipped naturally back of it into his accustomed place in his arms. "Dis heah's a fus'-class thing ter work off bad tempers wid," the old man began, tightening the strings as he spoke. "Now ef one o' deze mule tempers ever take a-holt of yer in de foot, dat foot 'll be mighty ap' ter do some kickin'; an' ef it seizes a-holt o' yo' han', dat little fis' 'll be purty sho ter strike out an' do some damage; an' ef it jump onter yo' tongue, hit 'll mighty soon twis' it into sayin' bad language. But ef you'll teck hol' o' dis ole banjo des as quick as you feel de badness rise up in you, _an' play_, you'll scare de evil temper away so bad it _daresn't come back_. Ef it done settled _too strong_ in yo' tongue, run it off wid a song; an' ef yo' feet's git a kickin' spell on 'em, _dance it off_; an' ef you feel it in yo' han', des run fur de banjo an' play de sweetes' chune you know, an' fus' thing you know all yo' madness 'll be gone. "She 'ain't got no mouf, but she can talk ter you, all de same; an' she 'ain't got no head, but she can reason wid you. An' while ter look at 'er she's purty nigh all belly, she don't eat a crumb. Dey ain't a greedy bone in 'er. "An' I wants you ter ricollec' dat I done guv 'er to you--dat is, _yo' sheer_ [share] _in 'er_, caze she's _mine_ too, you know. I done guv you a even sheer in 'er, des _caze you an' me is gran'daddy an' gran'son_. "Dis heah way o' dyin' an' _leavin'_ prop'ty, hit mought suit white folks, but it don't become our complexioms, some way; an' de mo' I thought about havin' to die ter give de onlies' gran'son I got de onlies' _prop'ty_ I got, de _miser'bler I got_, tell I couldn't stan' it no mo'."