It pyears like I can't
nuber larn you no manners, nohow."
"Let de chile erlone, Sis Rachel," interposed Uncle Bob; "she ain't no
grown lady, an' I seed marster he'p'n uv her plate hisse'f; she nuber
eat none too much, consid'n hit wuz de Fourf uv July."
"Didn't I eat no shotes an' lambs, Uncle Bob?" asked Dumps, wiping her
eyes.
"I don't b'lieve yer did," said Uncle Bob. "I seed yer eat er squ'l or
two, an' er few fish, likely; an' dem, wid er sprinklin' uv roas'n
yurs an' cakes, wuz de mos' wat I seed yer eat."
"An' dat wuz too much," said Mammy, "right befo' de gemmuns."
But Dumps was comforted at Uncle Bob's moderate statement of the case,
and so Mammy's lecture lost much of its intended severity.
As they were driving through the grove before reaching the house it
was quite dark, and they heard an owl hooting in one of the trees.
"I see yer keep on sayin' yer sass," said Daddy Jake, addressing the
owl. "Ef'n I'd er done happen ter all you is 'bout'n hit, I'd let hit
erlone myse'f."
"What's he sayin'?" asked Diddie.
"Wy, don't yer hyear him, honey, er sayin',
'Who cooks fur you-oo-a?
Who cooks fur you-oo-a?
Ef you'll cook for my folks,
Den I'll cook fur y' all-l-lll?'
"Well, hit wuz 'long er dat very chune wat he los' his eyes, an' can't
see no mo' in de daytime; an' ev'n I wuz him, I'd let folks' cookin'
erlone.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161