me: he's crazy, s'I; everything shows it, s'I.  Look at that-air grindstone, s'I; want to tell _me_'t any cretur 't's in his right mind 's a goin' to scrabble all them crazy things onto a grindstone, s'I?  Here sich 'n' sich a person busted his heart; 'n' here so 'n' so pegged along for thirty-seven year, 'n' all that--natcherl son o' Louis somebody, 'n' sich everlast'n rubbage.  He's plumb crazy, s'I; it's what I says in the fust place, it's what I says in the middle, 'n' it's what I says last 'n' all the time--the nigger's crazy--crazy 's Nebokoodneezer, s'I.” “An' look at that-air ladder made out'n rags, Sister Hotchkiss,” says old Mrs. Damrell; “what in the name o' goodness _could_ he ever want of--” “The very words I was a-sayin' no longer ago th'n this minute to Sister Utterback, 'n' she'll tell you so herself.  Sh-she, look at that-air rag ladder, sh-she; 'n' s'I, yes, _look_ at it, s'I--what _could_ he a-wanted of it, s'I.  Sh-she, Sister Hotchkiss, sh-she--” “But how in the nation'd they ever _git_ that grindstone _in_ there, _anyway_? 'n' who dug that-air _hole_? 'n' who--” “My very _words_, Brer Penrod!  I was a-sayin'--pass that-air sasser o' m'lasses, won't ye?--I was a-sayin' to Sister Dunlap, jist this minute, how _did_ they git that grindstone in there, s'I.  Without _help_, mind you--'thout _help_!  _that's_ wher 'tis.  Don't tell _me_, s'I; there _wuz_ help, s'I; 'n' ther' wuz a _plenty_ help, too, s'I; ther's ben a _dozen_ a-helpin' that nigger, 'n' I lay I'd skin every last nigger on this place but _I'd_ find out who done it, s'I; 'n' moreover, s'I--” “A _dozen_ says you!--_forty_ couldn't a done every thing that's been done. Look at them case-knife saws and things, how tedious they've been made; look at that bed-leg sawed off with 'm, a week's work for six men; look at that nigger made out'n straw on the bed; and look at--” “You may _well_ say it, Brer Hightower!  It's jist as I was a-sayin' to Brer Phelps, his own self.  S'e, what do _yo