MARSE PHIL

Yes, yes, you is Marse Phil's son; you favor‘ m might'ly, too. We wuz like brothers, we wuz, me an’ him. You tried to fool d’ ole nigger, but, Marster,‘ twouldn’ do; Not do yo’ is done growed so tall an’ slim.

Hi! Lord! Ise knowed yo’, honey, sence long befo’ yo’ born — I mean, Ise knowed de family dat long; An’ dees been white folks, Marster — dee han‘ s white ez young corn — An’, ef dee want to, couldn’ do no wrong.

You’ gran'pa bought my mammy at Gen'l Nelson's sale, An’ Deely she come out de same estate; An’ blood is jes’ like pra'r is — hit tain’ gwine nuver fail; Hit‘ s sutney gwine to come out, soon or late.

When I wuz born, yo’ gran'pa gi’ me to young Marse Phil, To be his body-servant — like, you know; An’ we growed up together like two stalks in a hill — Bofe tarslin’ an’ den shootin’ in de row.

Marse Phil wuz born in harves’, an’ I dat Christmas come; My mammy nussed bofe on we de same time; No matter what one got, suh, de oder gwine git some — We wuz two fibe-cent pieces in one dime.

We cotch ole hyahs together, an’ possums, him an’ me; We fished dat mill-pon’ over, night an’ day; Rid horses to de water; treed coons up de same tree; An’ when you see one, turr warn’ fur away.

When Marse Phil went to College,‘ t wuz, “Sam — Sam‘ s got to go.” Ole Marster said, “Dat boy‘ s a fool‘ bout Sam.” Ole Mistis jes’ said, “Dear, Phil wants him, an’, you know —” Dat “Dear” — hit used to soothe him like a lamb.

So we all went to College — - ‘ way down to Williamsburg — But‘ t warn’ much l'arnin out o’ books we got; Dem urrs warn’ no mo’ to him‘ n a ole wormy lug; Yes, suh, we wuz de ve'y top-de-pot.

An’ ef he didn’ study dem Latins an’ sich things, He wuz de popularetis all de while De ladies use’ to call him, “De angel widout wings”; An’ when he come, I lay dee use’ to smile.

Yo’ see, he wuz ole Marster's only chile; an’ den, He had a body-servant — at he will; An’ wid dat big plantation; dee‘ d all like to be brides; Dat is ef dee could have de groom, Marse Phil.

‘ T wuz dyah he met young Mistis — she wuz yo’ ma, of co'se! I disremembers now what mont’ it wuz: One night, he comes, an’ seys he, “Sam, I needs new clo'es”; An’ seys I, “Marse Phil, yes, suh, so yo’ does.”

Well, suh, he made de tailor meek ev'y thing bran’ new; He would n’ w'ar one stitch he had on han’ — Jes’ throwed‘ em in de chip box, an’ seys, “Sam, dem‘ s fur you.” Marse Phil, I tell yo’, wuz a gentleman.

So Marse Phil co'tes de Mistis, an’ Sam he co'tes de maid — We always sot our traps upon one parf; An’ when we tole ole Marster we bofe wuz gwine, he seyd, “All right, we‘ ll have to kill de fatted calf.”

An’ dat wuz what dee did, suh — de Prodigal wuz home; Dee put de ring an’ robe upon yo’ ma. Den you wuz born, young Marster, an’ den de storm hit come; An’ den de darkness settled from afar.

De storm hit comed an’ wrenchted de branches from de tree — De war — you’ pa — he‘ s sleep dyah on de hill; An’ do I know, young Marster, de war hit sot us free? I seys, “Dat‘ s so; but tell me whar‘ s Marse Phil?”

“A dollar!” — thankee, Marster, you sutney is his son; You is his spitt an’ image, I declar’! What sey, young Marster? Yes, suh: you sey, “It‘ s five — not one —” Yo’ favors, honey, bofe yo’ pa an’ ma!