“Dat wus es fur es he got, befo’ de word upheaval wus outen his mouth, sho’ ’nuff, de upheaval did begun. I seed ’im stop so suddenly he kicked up behind, clap his hands on his stummick an’ try to bolt fur a locus’ thicket, but he c’uldn’t--he jes’ turned a complete summerset, athrowin’ up his immortal soul es he turned. Den I heurd a turrible commoshun in de congregashun, an’ I look erroun’, an’ eb’ry nigger dar wus in de same fix es Br’er Johnsing. Dey wus whoopin’, an’ barkin’, and layin’ out in eb’ry kinder way, an’ all on ’em bent on de same thing. An’ whut dey wus doin’ to dat groun’ wus a-plenty! Dey thought dey was pizened an’ wus gwineter die, an’ den sech s’archin’ prayers es went up to de throne ob grace, mixed in wid moans, an’ groans, an’ ice-cold lemmernade dat seem to think hit wus time ter rise erg’in and fetch eb’rything else frum de grabe along wid it. By dis time I wus so ’stounded I didn’t kno’ whut ter do. I look erroun’ an’ I seed dat me an’ ole Aunt Fat Ferreby wus de onlies’ ones dat wa’n’t tryin’ to turn inside out. She wus lookin’ mighty ashy erroun’ de gills, but she brace hers’f up an’ started out ter raise dat good ole hymn: ‘How firm a foundation’-- But she hadn’t more’n got to ‘foundahun’ befo, her foundation was shaken, I seed her gag an’ double up an’ start in on: ‘My risin’ soul leaps up to sing, A song of praise ter day.’ “’Bount dat time I felt a ’tickler kinder mizzry in my own innards, an’ de nex’ thing I disremember I had Sister Ferreby ’round’ de neck an’ we wus singin’ dat hymn tergedder. Lor’! hit wus awful. I’ve seed menny a sight, but I nurver expect erg’in ter see three hundred an’ sixty-five niggers throwin’ up at de same time. When sum’ on ’em got dey secon’ wind dey wanted to lynch me, but by de time dey got erroun’ to me wid a rope dey ’cided I wus too nigh dead to need killin’, and by dis time dey all had to ’zamperfly de truth ob de biblical sayin’ about de dog an’ de thing he would go back to. By dis time eb’ry doctor in de country wus dar, fetchin’ all de querrintine offercers, an’ pest-tents, an’ disenfec-tents, an’ preparin’ fer c’olera an’ fever. An’ den we foun’ out what ailed us.” “In the name of heaven, what was it?” I asked eagerly. The tears rolled down the old man’s cheeks as he feebly begged for another drop to enable him to finish his tale. Then he said: “Ain’t I dun tole you hundreds ob times it am de leetle mistakes we make in life dat turns de tide? Ain’t I? Wal, dat’s whut ruined me dat day, an’ terday I am a man widout offis an’ widout honor in my ole age. Dat mornin’, ’stead ob gwine down to de sto’ myse’f to get de poun’ ob tartar acid ter make up dat lemmernade wid, I saunt dat trifflin’ Jim Crow gran’son ob mine, an’ he got de names twisted, an’ ’stead ob fetchin’ me back tartar acid, he fotcht me back a poun’ ob tartar emetic, an’ I didn’t do a thing but make up dat lemmernade wid it!”