SCENE VIII.—A Veranda. -- ST. CLARE lounging on a sofa. -- MISS OPHELIA sewing.
Let me see if you can say your catechism; and if you can you may go and play. Did all mankind fall in Adam's first transgression?
Top. [Repeating very rapidly.]
Covenant being made with Adam not only for hisself but for his posterity, all mankind 'scending from him by ordinar transgression, sinned wid him, and fell in him, in that fust generation.
Stop! stop!! stop!!! Topsy. Why, how are you saying it?
Why, what 's the odds? I don't see but that it makes as good sense one way as the other.
St. Clare! now—how can I teach this child if you will take so? And now you 're laughing!
I 'm done. Proceed. Topsy! you careless hussy, mind yourself! Be sure you get everything in right end first. Now for it!
Into what state did the fall bring all mankind?
Fall brought all mankind into a state of sin and misery. Please ma'am—?
Dar 'ar state Kintuck? De Lor' knows dey has sin and misery 'nough dar!
Hush, hush, Topsy!
No personal reflections, Topsy!
Please, missis, can't I go play? Dar ar 'bout the generations was so curus! Never kin get it right nohow!
O, yes, coz, let her go. I want you to go up stairs and look at a new carpet I 've been buying for Eva's room. There, Tops, there 's some candy for you. Next time get the words straight.
Dar now, ye niggers! I 'se gittin' eddecated, I is; 'cause I b'longs to Miss Feely. I larns catechize every day, and you por trash don't. Laws, you 's runnin' wild all the while! What doos you know? Doos you know you 's all sinners? Wal, you is, everybody is. White folks is sinners, too—Miss Feely says so; but I 'spects niggers is the biggest ones; but, lor! ye an't any on ye up to me. I 's so awful wicked there can't nobody do nothin' with me. I used to keep old missis a swarin' at me half de time. I 'spects I 's the wickedest crittur in the world.
Ah! Den ye 'll go to torment one dese days, anyhow. Ye won't be quite so crank then.
No I shan't—I 's bound to go to heaven, I is.
No ye won't neither!
Shall too! Miss Feely 's bound to go thar, and they 'll have to let me come too; cors she 's so curus they won't nobody else know how to wait on her dar! Come, now, be still touching that thing of mine, or I 'll crack ye over!