"Well, Sister Phelps, I've ransacked that-air cabin over, an' I b'lieve the n***** was crazy.  I says to Sister Damrell—didn't I, Sister Damrell?—s'I, he's crazy, s'I—them's the very words I said.  You all hearn me: he's crazy, s'I; everything shows it, s'I.  Look at that-air grindstone, s'I; want to tell _me_'t any cretur 't's in his right mind 's a goin' to scrabble all them crazy things onto a grindstone, s'I?  Here sich 'n' sich a person busted his heart; 'n' here so 'n' so pegged along for thirty-seven year, 'n' all that—natcherl son o' Louis somebody, 'n' sich everlast'n rubbage.  He's plumb crazy, s'I; it's what I says in the fust place, it's what I says in the middle, 'n' it's what I says last 'n' all the time—the n*****'s crazy—crazy 's Nebokoodneezer, s'I."

"An' look at that-air ladder made out'n rags, Sister Hotchkiss," says old Mrs. Damrell; "what in the name o' goodness _could_ he ever want of—"

"The very words I was a-sayin' no longer ago th'n this minute to Sister Utterback, 'n' she'll tell you so herself.  Sh-she, look at that-air rag ladder, sh-she; 'n' s'I, yes, _look_ at it, s'I—what _could_ he a-wanted of it, s'I.  Sh-she, Sister Hotchkiss, sh-she—"

"But how in the nation'd they ever _git_ that grindstone _in_ there, _anyway_? 'n' who dug that-air _hole_? 'n' who—"

"My very _words_, Brer Penrod!  I was a-sayin'—pass that-air sasser o' m'lasses, won't ye?—I was a-sayin' to Sister Dunlap, jist this minute, how _did_ they git that grindstone in there, s'I.  Without _help_, mind you—'thout _help_!  _that's_ wher 'tis.  Don't tell _me_, s'I; there _wuz_ help, s'I; 'n' ther' wuz a _plenty_ help, too, s'I; ther's ben a _dozen_ a-helpin' that n*****, 'n' I lay I'd skin every last n***** on this place but _I'd_ find out who done it, s'I; 'n' moreover, s'I—"

"A _dozen_ says you!—_forty_ couldn't a done every thing that's been done. Look at them case-knife saws and things, how tedious they've been made; look at that bed-leg sawed off with 'm, a week's work for six men; look at that n***** made out'n straw on the bed; and look at—"

"You may _well_ say it, Brer Hightower!  It's jist as I was a-sayin' to Brer Phelps, his own self.  S'e, what do _you_ think of it, Sister Hotchkiss, s'e? Think o' what, Brer Phelps, s'I?  Think o' that bed-leg sawed off that a way, s'e?  _think_ of it, s'I?  I lay it never sawed _itself_ off, s'I—somebody _sawed_ it, s'I; that's my opinion, take it or leave it, it mayn't be no 'count, s'I, but sich as 't is, it's my opinion, s'I, 'n' if any body k'n start a better one, s'I, let him _do_ it, s'I, that's all.  I says to Sister Dunlap, s'I—"

"Why, dog my cats, they must a ben a house-full o' n*****s in there every night for four weeks to a done all that work, Sister Phelps.  Look at that shirt—every last inch of it kivered over with secret African writ'n done with blood!  Must a ben a raft uv 'm at it right along, all the time, amost.  Why, I'd give two dollars to have it read to me; 'n' as for the n*****s that wrote it, I 'low I'd take 'n' lash 'm t'll—"