fact, I don't know jest how I did get 'im; I neber went a step out ob my way to pick 'im up. The Lord he sent him to me, I s'pose; an' I'm sure I wish he hadn't tort on't—I neber asked for no farders. I neber wanted none; an' I's sure sartin I'd be better off widout 'im."
"I don't know about that, Winny," said the laughing Alice. "But, Winny, what is he?"
"What is he? My farder? Why, an ole nigger, ob course. What else did yer tink he wuz? Look at me—do I look as though I 'longed to white folks?"
"No, no; you did not understand me, Winny. I meant what does he do for a living?"
"Bress us an' sabe us! he don't do no libin'. I haz to do de libin' for 'im; an' it's an awful sight o' libin' he takes too, I kin tell yer. Why, bress yer soul! dat are ole nigger, he'd eat a whole cabbidge an' a peck ob 'taters in a day, ebery day ob his black life, an' more too, if I'd let 'im. He aint got no conscience."
"But where does he live, Winny?"
"Oh! I's got a bunk for 'im out in de paster, an' he libs dar."
