LeB. [not unkindly]. Here, you little imp, get up! What are you doing here? Who are you, anyway?
M.-M. [springing to her feet, then falling on her knees on the rug]. I ax you howdy, Mister Santa Claus! I hope you's feelin' pretty peart?
LeB. [to himself]. Oh, Mister Santa Claus, am I?
M.-M. [hurriedly]. I'ze name Mint—I'ze er white chile, Mister Santa Claus, an' I'ze name Miss Ann. I'ze er white chile sho's you bawn, Mister Santa Claus!
LeB. [laughing]. Oh, are you? And your name is Miss Ann?
M.-M. [with assurance]. Yes-sir. Law, Marse Santa Claus [laughs hysterically and rocks herself back and forth on her knees], I'ze mos' sho' dat I seed you clammin' down de chimbly jes' now! An' I has been settin' up all night jes' ter ax yer howdy, an' ter ax yer ter fotch me er gre't big wax doll lak whar in der show-winder, an' er cheer, an' er cradle, an' some cups an' sassers wid blue on de aidge lak whar ole Mis' had on de sugar-plantation whar me an' Mammy come f'um. An' dat stockin' whar I is done hung up, hit am pow'ful holey, I knows. But I ain't got no Mammy ter men' it, an' ef er gob er candy wuz in de toe-hole, an' er o'ange in de heel-hole,—oh, Mister Santa Claus, Marse Santa Claus, I is er white chile! Cross my heart, I is! [Bursts into tears, as LeBreton takes hold of the stocking and looks it over, trying hard to restrain his laughter.] Oh, Marse Santa Claus! [Wails.] You is knowed all de time dat I wuz lyin'! I ain't nuffin but er good-fer-nuffin li'l' black nigger whar is name Minty-Malviny.
LeB. [almost overcome with laughter]. Now I am surprised!
M.-M. An' I ain' fitten fer ter hev no C'ris'mus gif'.
LeB. Hush! [Takes off his light coat, pushes her down on the rug, and throws the coat over her.] Lie down and go to sleep. [With mock sternness.] If you're not asleep within two minutes, I'll—— [His threat ends in a growl.]