and mourning to himself.  I didn't take notice nor let on.  I knowed what it was about.  He was thinking about his wife and his children, away up yonder, and he was low and homesick; because he hadn't ever been away from home before in his life; and I do believe he cared just as much for his people as white folks does for their'n.  It don't seem natural, but I reckon it's so.  He was often moaning and mourning that way nights, when he judged I was asleep, and saying, “Po' little 'Lizabeth! po' little Johnny! it's mighty hard; I spec' I ain't ever gwyne to see you no mo', no mo'!”  He was a mighty good nigger, Jim was. But this time I somehow got to talking to him about his wife and young ones; and by and by he says: “What makes me feel so bad dis time 'uz bekase I hear sumpn over yonder on de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er de time I treat my little 'Lizabeth so ornery.  She warn't on'y 'bout fo' year ole, en she tuck de sk'yarlet fever, en had a powful rough spell; but she got well, en one day she was a-stannin' aroun', en I says to her, I says: “'Shet de do'.' “She never done it; jis' stood dah, kiner smilin' up at me.  It make me mad; en I says agin, mighty loud, I says: “'Doan' you hear me?  Shet de do'!' “She jis stood de same way, kiner smilin' up.  I was a-bilin'!  I says: “'I lay I _make_ you mine!' “En wid dat I fetch' her a slap side de head dat sont her a-sprawlin'. Den I went into de yuther room, en 'uz gone 'bout ten minutes; en when I come back dah was dat do' a-stannin' open _yit_, en dat chile stannin' mos' right in it, a-lookin' down and mournin', en de tears runnin' down.  My, but I _wuz_ mad!  I was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis' den--it was a do' dat open innerds--jis' den, 'long come de wind en slam it to, behine de chile, ker-BLAM!--en my lan', de chile never move'!  My breff mos' hop outer me; en I feel so--so--I doan' know HOW I feel.  I crope out, all a-tremblin', en crope aroun' en open de do' easy en slow