Patricia rolled over on her back, stretching her wiry little frame out lazily.
"You come right 'long into dis yere house, Miss P'tricia!" Sarah rose commandingly.
"But what for?" Patricia questioned.
"What for? If you wasn't a white child, Miss P'tricia, I'd shore say you was onery. I's going be 'bliged to disport you to your pa, if you continues such disbehavior."
Patricia scrambled to her feet, and came slowly over to the edge of the lawn. Then, lifting her apron, she asked quietly: "Is my frock torn, Sarah, or isn't it?"
"You knows it is, Miss P'tricia!"
Patricia stretched out one slender leg. "Is my stocking torn, or isn't it?"
Sarah groaned.
Wheeling suddenly round, and still holding up her apron, Patricia demanded: "Is my frock dirty, or isn't it?"
"Miss P'tricia, you's shore possessed to-day!"