LeB. Good-morning, Minty-Malviny—Merry Christmas to you!
M.-M. [bobbing little courtesies to him]. Mawnin', Marse Henry—same to you, suh! [Looks at him with puzzled half-recognition, head on one side, like a bright little bird.]
LeB. [to himself, sitting near table]. She's nearly sharp enough to know me! [To her.] Minty-Malviny, what are all those things? Where did you get them?
M.-M. [diverted from her study, turns to the toys]. 'Deed, Marse Henry, I didn't took 'em f'um nobody. Ole Santa Claus done come down dis yer chimbly an' fotch 'em heself.
LeB. You don't say so! How do you know he did?
M.-M. Done saw him, Marse Henry.
LeB. You did? Did he scare you?
M.-M. Laws, no! I'ze erspectin' him, co'se, an' I jes' 'membered ma manners an' ax him howdy, an' he gib me all dese gran' C'ris'mus gif's.
LeB. All those for you, Minty-Malviny?
M.-M. [coming closer]. Yes, Marse Henry, I is some s'prised myse'f. I didn't s'pose no li'l' nigger could hab no such gran' C'ris'mus—I 'lowed 'twar on'y fer de white folks. [Squats near him, on the floor, hugging her knees.]