“What'll we play?” asked Frances, who had deliberately stepped in a mud puddle on the way, and splashed mud all over herself, “let's make mud pies.”
“Naw, we ain't a-going to make no mud pies,” objected Jimmy. “We can make mud pies all time when grown folks 'r' looking at you.”
“Le's's play sumpin' what we ain't never play, sence we 's born,” put in Billy.
“I hope grandmother won't miss me.” said Lina, “she 's reading a very interesting book.”
“Let's play Injun!” yelled Jimmy; “we ain't never play' Injun.”
This suggestion was received with howls of delight.
“My mama's got a box of red stuff that she puts on her face when she goes to the card parties. She never puts none on when she just goes to the Aid. I can run home and get the box to make us red like Injuns,” said Frances.
“My mother has a box of paint, too.”
“I ain't never see Aunt Minerva put no red stuff on her face,” remarked Billy, disappointedly.
“Miss Minerva, she don't never let the Major come to see her, nor go to no card parties is the reason,” explained the younger boy, “she just goes to the Aid where they ain't no men, and you don't hafter put no red on your face at the Aid. We'll let you have some of our paint, Billy. My mama's got 'bout a million diff'ent kinds.”