so’t maw’d ‘low me to go? You reckon if I’m right good, He’ll ‘low me to make a picture o’ th’ ocean some day, like the one we seed in that big house? You reckon if I tried right hard I could paint a picture o’ th’ mountain, yandah — an’ th’ sea — an’ — all the — all the — ships?”

The doctor laughed heartily and merrily. “Come, come. We must go home now to Cassandra and the baby. Paint? Of — of course you could paint! You could paint p — pictures enough to fill a house.”

“We don’t want no magic man, do we, Doctah Hoyle? I cried a heap after I seed myself in the big lookin’-glass down in Farington whar brothah David took me. I cried when hit war dark an’