I went in and says to an old negress, "Aunty, I would like for you
to do a little washing for me." The old creature was glad to get it,
as I agreed to pay her what it was worth. Her name was Aunt Daphne,
and if she had been a politician, she would have been a success. I do
not remember of a more fluent "conversationalist" in my life. Her tongue
seemed to be on a balance, and both ends were trying to out-talk the
other--but she was a good woman. Her husband was named Uncle Zack,
and was the exact counterpart of Aunt Daphne. He always sat in the
chimney corner, his feet in the ashes, and generally fast asleep.
I am certain I never saw an uglier or more baboonish face in my life,
but Uncle Zack was a good Christian, and I would sometimes wake him up
to hear him talk Christian.
He said that when he "fessed 'ligin, de debil come dare one nite, and say,
'Zack, come go wid me,' and den de debil tek me to hell, and jes stretch
a wire across hell, and hang me up jes same like a side of bacon, through
the tongue. Well, dar I hang like de bacon, and de grease kept droppin'
down, and would blaze up all 'round me. I jes stay dar and burn; and
after while de debil come 'round wid his gun, and say, 'Zack, I gwine to
shoot you,' and jes as he raise de gun, I jes jerk loose from dat wire,
and I jes fly to heben.
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