Iola Leroy - Shadows Uplifted | Page 7

de groun' he
walked on. Well, women's mighty curious kind of folks anyhow. I
sometimes thinks de wuss you treats dem de better dey likes you."
"Well," said Tom, a little impatiently, "what's yer gwine to do? Is yer
gwine wid us, ef yer gits a chance?"
"Now, jes' you hole on till I gits a chance to tell yer why I'se gwine to
stay."
"Well, Uncle Daniel, let's hear it," said Robert.
"I was jes' gwine to tell yer when Tom put me out. Ole Marster died
when Marse Robert war two years ole, and his pore mother when he
war four. When he died, Miss Anna used to keep me 'bout her jes' like I
war her shadder. I used to nuss Marse Robert jes' de same as ef I were
his own fadder. I used to fix his milk, rock him to sleep, ride him on
my back, an' nothin' pleased him better'n fer Uncle Dan'el to ride him
piggy-back."
"Well, Uncle Daniel," said Robert, "what has that got to do with your

going with us and getting your freedom?"
"Now, jes' wait a bit, and don't frustrate my mine. I seed day arter day
Miss Anna war gettin' weaker and thinner, an' she looked so sweet and
talked so putty, I thinks to myself, 'you ain't long for dis worl'.' And she
said to me one day, 'Uncle Dan'el, when I'se gone, I want you to be
good to your Marster Robert.' An' she looked so pale and weak I war
almost ready to cry. I couldn't help it. She hed allers bin mighty good to
me. An' I beliebs in praisin' de bridge dat carries me ober. She said,
'Uncle Dan'el, I wish you war free. Ef I had my way you shouldn't
serve any one when I'm gone; but Mr. Thurston had eberything in his
power when he made his will. I war tied hand and foot, and I couldn't
help it.' In a little while she war gone--jis' faded away like a flower. I
belieb ef dere's a saint in glory, Miss Anna's dere."
"Oh, I don't take much stock in white folks' religion," said Robert,
laughing carelessly.
"The way," said Tom Anderson, "dat some of dese folks cut their cards
yere, I think dey'll be as sceece in hebben as hen's teeth. I think wen
some of dem preachers brings de Bible 'round an' tells us 'bout mindin
our marsters and not stealin' dere tings, dat dey preach to please de
white folks, an' dey frows coleness ober de meetin'."
"An' I," said Aunt Linda, "neber did belieb in dem Bible preachers. I
yered one ob dem sayin' wen he war dyin', it war all dark wid him. An'
de way he treated his house-girl, pore thing, I don't wonder dat it war
dark wid him."
"O, I guess," said Robert, "that the Bible is all right, but some of these
church folks don't get the right hang of it."
"May be dat's so," said Aunt Linda. "But I allers wanted to learn how to
read. I once had a book, and tried to make out what war in it, but ebery
time my mistus caught me wid a book in my hand, she used to whip my
fingers. An' I couldn't see ef it war good for white folks, why it warn't
good for cullud folks."

"Well," said Tom Anderson, "I belieb in de good ole-time religion. But
arter dese white folks is done fussin' and beatin' de cullud folks, I don't
want 'em to come talking religion to me. We used to hab on our place a
real Guinea man, an' once he made ole Marse mad, an' he had him
whipped. Old Marse war trying to break him in, but dat fellow war
spunk to de backbone, an' when he 'gin talkin' to him 'bout savin' his
soul an' gittin' to hebbin, he tole him ef he went to hebbin an' foun' he
war dare, he wouldn't go in. He wouldn't stay wid any such rascal as he
war."
"What became of him?" asked Robert.
"Oh, he died. But he had some quare notions 'bout religion. He thought
dat when he died he would go back to his ole country. He allers kep' his
ole Guinea name."
"What was it?"
"Potobombra. Do you know what he wanted Marster to do 'fore he
died?" continued Anderson.
"No."
"He wanted him to gib him his free papers."
"Did he do it?"
"Ob course he did. As de poor fellow war dying an' he couldn't sell him
in de oder world, he jis' wrote him de papers to yumor him. He didn't
want to go back to Africa a slave. He thought if he did, his people
would look down on him, an' he