You Pete! Ef yer opens dat ar drawer yer gwine cotch it sho’!
What’s in dar? Dat’s fer me ter know an’ you ter guess, mo’ ’special jes’ eroun’ Chris’mus.
Why kaint yer see? What’s dat? Ef Sandy Claws brungs de gif’s huccome I wants ter hide anyt’ing? See yhar, chile! Some dese days yo haid gwine ter bus’ clar open wid its sma’tness. Oh, go ’long off an’ ’muse yerse’f. Yer tongue hung in de middle an’ wags hese’f all ways ter wunst.
’Lisbeth Maude! Leave my wu’k basket ’lone, will yer? Yo tink dat look lak er doll dress, hey?
Yo’ jes’ better onhook dem eyes ob yourn f’um whar dey don’t b’long.
Ya-as. Dis Chris’mus Eve, sho’. Ya-as, Sandy Claws gwine come yere ef yer’s good. He ain’ gwine come whar de chilluns is bad an’ don’ min’ dey ma, an’ axes er lot ob fool questions.
Ma’y Bell! Quit teasin’ dat baby! Ain’t yer ’shame yerse’f? Yo ’spec’ Sandy Claws gwine brung anyt’ing to a leetle gal what—Abram Lincoln! Git outen dat cupboard! Quick, I say! My lan’! Ef I jes’ kin git er holt er yo’ fer five minutes I’m gwine mek yer dance! Yas sar! Yer better cla’r outen yhar!
Genevieve Blanch! Come yhar an’ wit dese chilluns an’ chuck ’em in baid! I’s plumb wore out, an’ ef dey axes any mo’ ob dere fool questions I gwine ter ex-plode! An’ den whar’ll Chris’mus be at?