"I want my buggy to-night." Bob grinned.

"Sidebar?"

"Yes."

"New whip--new harness--little buggy mare--reckon?"

"I want 'em all."

Bob laughed loudly. "Oh, I know. You gwine to see Miss Phyllis dis
night, sho--yes, Lawd!" Bob dodged a kick from the toe of the boy's
boot--a playful kick that was not meant to land--and went into the barn
and came out again.

"Yes, an' I know somewhur else you gwine--you gwine to de war. Oh, I
know; yes, suh. Dere's a white man in town tryin' to git niggers to
'list wid him, an' he's got a nigger sojer what say he's a officer
hisself; yes, mon, a corpril. An' dis nigger's jes a-gwine through town
drawin' niggers right an' left. He talk to me, but I jes laugh at him,
an' say I gwine wid Ole Cap'n ur Young Cap'n, I don't keer which. An'
lemme tell you, Young Capn', ef you ur Ole Cap'n doan lemme go wid you,
I'se gwine wid dat nigger corpril an' dat white man what 'long to a
nigger regiment, an' I know you don't want me to bring no sech disgrace
on de fambly dat way--no, suh. He axe what you de cap'n of," Bob went
on, aiming at two birds with one stone now, "an' I say you de cap'n of
ever'body an' ever'ting dat come 'long--dat's what I say-an' he be cap'n
of you wid all yo' unyform and sich, I say, if you jest come out to de
fahm--yes, mon, dat he will sho."