“The shanghai, do you mean, Hera?”
“Dat’s him. He so unnateral an’ so rawenous, he like to ’a’ gobbled up all dem young chicks. He’d ’a’ done it, too, ef I hadn’t took ’em out’n harm’s way an’ pit ’em into de garden, in de goozebewwy walk, ’tween de peas an’ de beans, whey nobody aine got no call to go dis season ob de yea’, w’en none ob dem fings is fit to yeat,” Hera explained.
“Well, I suppose you were right. You know your business best. You may go now,” Roma said.
Hera courtesied, and took the hand of little Dorcas to lead her away.
“Oh, no! no! Please don’t take her back! Let her stay with me!” pleaded Owlet.
“Oh, no, miss. Little colored gals aine comp’ny fo’ little w’ite ladies,” Hera replied, leading her child away.
“You are not possessed of common sense! Why ar’n’t they? What do you mean?” indignantly demanded Owlet.
“Tell her, Miss Yoma, p’ease, ma’am. She woane min’ me,” said Hera.
“I am not myself sure of what I ought to tell her,” said Miss Fronde, with a faint smile. “But, if you have no objection, Hera, you may leave Dorcas for a little while.”
“Oh, ’co’se I’s no ’jections, Miss Yoma, on’y I doane wan’ her to bodder yo’. Min’ yo’, Dorky, yo’ ’have yo’se’f fo’ de w’ite ladies, yo’ hear?”