"Dey better not tell me no sech lies. Law, Missy, you is gwine ter beat me all holler wen onst you gits de hang ob de work. You little white han's gib fancy teches dat ain't in my big black han'. Arter all, tain't de han's; it's de min'. Dere's my darter Mis Watson. Neber could larn her much mo'n plain cookin'. Dere's a knack at dese tings dat's bawn in one. It's wot you granpa used ter call genus, an' you allus hab it, eben when you was a chile an' want ter muss in de kitchen."
Thus full of reminiscence and philosophy eminently satisfactory to her own mind, Aun' Sheba taught her apt and eager pupil the secrets of her craft. Mara was up with the dawn on the following day, and achieved fair success. Other lessons followed, and it was not very long before the girl passed beyond the imitative stage and began to reason upon the principles involved in her work and then to experiment.
One day an old customer said to Aun' Sheba: "There's a new hand at the bellows."
"Dunno not'n 'bout bellus. Ain't de cakes right?"
"Well, then, you've got some new receipts."
"Like a'nuff I hab," said the vender warily. "De pint am, howsumeber, isn't de cakes good?"
"Yes, they seem better every day, but they are not the same every day. I reckon some one's coaching you."
"Law sakes, Massa, wo't you mean by coachin' me?"
"Do you make the cakes?" was asked pointblank.
"Now, Massa, you's gittin' too cur'us. Wot de Scripter say? Ask no questions fer conscience' sake."