Both the girls started nervously, and Ella began to laugh.
"Missy Mara, you fergits some cake in de oben from de way it smell," and Aun' Sheba drew out cookies as black as herself instead of a delicate brown.
Mara looked at them ruefully, and then said, "I must make some more, that's all." "Wot's de matter wid you bofe, honeys?" the old woman asked kindly.
"Politics," Ella blurted out.
"Polytics! No won'er you'se bofe off de handle. Dere's been only two times wen I couldn't stan' Unc. nohow. De fust an' wust was wen he get polytics on de brain, an' belebed dat ole guv'ner Moses was gwine ter lead de culud people to a promis' lan'. I alus tole him dat his Moses 'ud lead him into a ditch, an' so he did. De secon' time was wen he got sot on, but you knows all 'bout dat. You'se bofe too deep fer me. How you git into polytics I doan see nohow."
"There, Aun' Sheba, don't you mind Ella's nonsense. We're no more into politics than you are."
"You'se inter sump'in den."
"Yes," said Ella, "we're still carrying on the war."
"Please don't talk so, Ella."
"Oh, Mara! I must have my nonsense. You've got the 'storied past'—that's how it's phrased, isn't it?—to sustain you, and I've only my nonsense."