"Wilt we goin' do now?" he asked. "A week gone, an' she ain't none better."
Peter knocked out his clay pipe on a flagstone, with three staccato little raps, thus gaining the attention of the circle.
"Ef yuh wants tuh listen tuh me," he remarked weightily, "I ad wise yer tuh sen' she tuh de w'ite folk' hospital."
His words were received with a surprise amounting to incredulity.
"Fuh Gawd sake, Daddy Peter!" an awed voice said at last. "Ain't yuh knows dey lets nigger die dey, so dey kin gib um tuh de student?"
But the old negro stood his ground.
"De student ain't gits um 'til he done dead. Ain't dat so? Den he can't hurt um none. Ain't dat so, too? An' I gots dis tuh say. One ob my w'ite folks is er nuss tuh de hospital; and dat lady is er pure angel wid de sick nigger. Ef I sick tuhmorruh I goin' tuh she; an' wut she say is good wid me. I wants dis carcase tek care ob w'ile he is alibe. W'en he done dead, I ain't keer."
"Yuh ain't keer whedder yuh is cut up an' scatter, 'stead of bein' bury in Gawd own grabe-yahd?" someone asked the iconoclast.
Under this direct attack, the old man weakened.
"Well, mebbe I ain't sayin' I jus' as lief,"
