Kate Chopin

“ Jacques, go down de lane an’ ax Aunt Minty if she comes set wid Nonomme w’ile I go drive dem mule’ to de landin’.”
Lolotte had evidently determined to undertake her father’s work. Nothing could dissuade her; neither the children’s astonishment nor Aunt Minty’s scathing disapproval. The fat black negress came laboring into the yard just as Lolotte mounted upon the wagon.
“Git down f’om dah, chile! Is you plumb crazy?” she exclaimed.
“No, I ain’t crazy; I’m hungry, Aunt Minty. We all hungry. Somebody got fur work in dis fam’ly.” ”

“ Is I got one picayune in de house fu trade wid, me?”
“Papa,” piped the young Jacques, “w’at dat I yeard you drive in de yard, w’ile go?”
“Dat’s it! W’en Lolotte wouldn’ been talken’ so fas’, I could tole you ‘bout dat job I got fu to-morrow. Dat was Joe Duplan’s team of mule’ an’ wagon, wid t’ree bale’ of cotton, w’at you yaird. I got to go soon in de mo’nin’ wid dat load to de landin’. An’ a man mus’ eat w’at got to work; dat’s sho.”
Lolotte’s bare brown feet made no sound upon the rough boards as she entered the room where Nonomme lay sick and sleeping. ”

“ When he thought to eat, it was in some humble negro cabin that he stopped to ask for food, which was never denied him. His grief had clothed him with a dignity that imposed respect.
One morning very early he appeared before the planter with a disheveled and hunted look.
“M’sieur Duplan,” he said, holding his hat in his hand and looking away into vacancy, “I been try ev’thing. I been try settin’ down still on de sto’ gall’ry. I been walk, I been run; ‘t ain’ no use. Dey got al’ays some’in’ w’at push me. I go fishin’, an’ it’s some’in w’at push me worser ‘an ever. ”