“Hossifer?” she said. “Hossifer, he a mighty lovin’ dog! Bite? He ain’ bite nobody. Hossifer, he a lovin’-hearted dog.”
Elsie had come out of her gate, and she bent over the wagon with Daisy. “Oh, my!” she said wistfully. “I do wish we could have this baby to play with.”
“Couldn’t we?” Daisy asked of the baby’s grandmother. “Would you be willing to sell it to us?”
“No’m,” the coloured woman replied, though she manifested no surprise at the question. “No’m; my son-’law, he wouldn’ lem me sell no Willamilla.”
“Well, would you give it to us, then?”
“No’m. Can’ give Willamilla ’way.”
“Oh, my!” Daisy exclaimed. “I do wish we could have this baby to play with awhile, anyway.”
The woman appeared to consider this, and her processes of considering it interested the children. Her streaked eyes were unusually large and protuberant; she closed them, letting the cumbrous lids roll slowly down over them, and she swayed alarmingly as she did this, almost losing her balance, but she recovered herself, opened her eyes widely, and said:
“How long you want play with Willamilla, honey?”
“Oh!” Daisy cried. “Will you let us? Oh, all afternoon!”