“Sweet mama Venus!” cried a tall raw-bony boy, gazing after her longingly.

“If angels come like that, lemme go to heaven—and if they don’t, lemme be lost to glory!” Jap exclaimed.

“Shut up, Jap! What you know ’bout women?” asked Uncle Dan, leaning forward on his cane to interrupt the comments. “Here you-all is, ain’t knee-high to ducks yit, an’ talkin’ ’bout womens! Shut up, all o’ you! Nary one o’ you’s past sebenteen, but when I were yo’ age—Hee! Hee! You-all want to know what they called me when I were yo’ age?” The old man warmed to his tale. “Dey called me de ‘stud nigger’! Yes, dey did! On ’count o’ de kind o’ slavery-time work I was doin’—I were breedin’ babies fo’ to sell!”

“Another lie!” said Jap.

“No, ’tain’t, boy! You listen here to what I’s gwine tell you. I were de onliest real healthy nigger buck ma white folks had on de plantation, an’ dese was ole po’ white folks what can’t ’ford to buy many slaves, so dey figures to raise a heap o’ darky babies an’ sell ’em later on—dat’s why dey made me de breeder.... Hee! Hee! . . . An’ I sho breeded a gang o’ pickaninnies, too! But I were young then, jest like you-all is, an’ I ain’t had a pint o’ sense—laying wid de womens all night, ever’ night.”

“Yes, we believe you,” drawled Jimmy.

“An’ it warn’t no time befo’ little yaller chillens an’ black chillens an’ red chillens an’ all kinds o’ chillens was runnin’ round de yard eatin’ out o’ de hog-pen an’ a-callin’ me pappy. . . . An’ here I is today gwine on ninety-three year ole an’ I done outlived ’em all. Dat is, I done outlived all I ever were able to keep track on after de war, ’cause we darkies sho scattered once we was free! Yes, sah! But befo’ de fightin’ ended I done been pappy to forty-nine chillens—an’ thirty-three of ’em were boys!”