LeB. [aside], I 'low white folks do have the lion's share, myself. [To her.] See here, Minty-Malviny—where's your Mammy—who owns you, anyway?
M.-M. Laws, Marse Henry, ain' got no Mammy. She brung me in f'um ole Mis's plantation, an' den she jes' up an' lef me.
LeB. Who takes care of you?
M.-M. [with dignity]. Takes cyah ob myse'f—don' need nobody to min' me.
LeB. Do you mean you earn your own living?
M.-M. Co'se I does! I runs a'rons fo' Mam' Dilcey—dat's you-all's cook—an' I does chores. An' Mam' Dilcey she treats me pretty good—dat is, mos'ly. [Rubs her ear reminiscently.]
LeB. Where do you sleep?
M.-M. Oh, mos' anywheres. [Sidles nearer to him.] I lak yo' hearf-rug fust-rate, Marse Henry.
LeB. Oh, you do? [Aside.] Part of the C'ris'mus gif', I suppose. [To her.] Well, Minty-Malviny, my sister, Mrs. Courvoisier, is here now. In a few weeks she will be going to her own home—a fine great house, with a big garden—more like your ole Mis's plantation, you know. How would you like to go and live with her, and wait on her, and help mind her baby?
M.-M. Dat do soun' mighty scrumptious! But—Marse Henry—— [looking at him shyly from the corners of her eyes] ef it's all er same to you—I'd er heap druther be yo'r li'l' nigger. [Suddenly turns and kneels at his feet.]