Dey don't hang about him, but dey 'pears as if dey had grow'd about him by degrees; and if you notice, dey fits me in de same way.

Pity I can't wear his shoes, dey's so soft, and dey don't creak.

I hates boots and shoes all time creakin, its so like poor white folks when they get dressed up on Sunday.

I wonders often Miss Anna don't send me none of master's old ruffled shirts.

'Spose she thinks a servant oughtn't to wear 'em.