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Chapter XXXII

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When I got there it was all still and Sunday-

like, and hot and sunshiny -- the ssssssssss

hands was gone to the fields; and ssssssssss

there was them kind of faint dronings ssssssssss

of bugs and flies in the air that makes ssssssssss

it seem so lonesome and like every- ssssssssss

body's dead and gone; and if a breeze ssssssssss

fans along and quivers the leaves, ssssssssss

it makes you feel mournful, because ssssssssss

you feel like it's spirits whispering ssssssssss

-- spirits that's been dead ever so ssssssssss

many years -- and you always think ssssssssss

they're talking about you. As a gen- ssssssssss

eral thing it makes a body wish he was ssssssssss

dead, too, and done with it all. ssssssssss

Phelps's was one of these little

one-horse cotton plantations; and ssssssssss

they all look alike. A rail fence round a two-acre yard; a stile, made out of

logs sawed off and up-ended, in steps, like barrels of a different length, to climb

over the fence with, and for the women to stand on when they are going to jump

onto a horse; some sickly grass-patches in the big yard, but mostly it was bare and

smooth, like an old hat with the nap rubbed off; big double log house for the

white folks -- hewed logs, with the chinks stopped up with mud or mortar, and

these mud-stripes been whitewashed some time or another; round-log kitchen,

with a big broad, open but roofed passage joining it to the house; log smoke-house

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