“Good, chile! good, chile!” said the husband, approaching and attempting to kiss her as she stooped to replenish the open fire.
No sooner had his breath touched her face than she turned, with a stick of wood in one hand, and confronted him, while the smoke and flame leaped out in alarming proximity to her dress.
“See here now, yo’ Dan; yo’ been drinkin’ gin,” fixing her dark eyes reprovingly upon his silly face. “Dat’s de way yo’ been spendin’ yo’ money.”
“Mira Pipsie, yo’s de smartest woman in de whole worl’. Yo’s got ’em zackly, I reckon” (wriggling and curveting about the room and back to her side again). “I nebber boughtened me no finery o’ no kind; no new bonnet, nor nuffin. Yo’ buys what yo’ wants, an’ so does I.”
“Yes; but yo’ comes home an’ wants suppah, an’ it’s de cotton o’ my raisin’ as buys yo’ suppah.”
“Yah! yah! yah! I’s a lucky dog, shor!” and he executed a jig followed by a double shuffle, knocking his heels upon the bare floor with what vigor he could command, and at the same time improvising as follows:
“I’s de smartest little wife
Ebber seen in all yo’ life;
She marks her cotton-bag
Wid a little calico rag,
An’ gits de biggis’ price,
An’ as slick as any mice
She smiles, an’ bows, an’ flies aroun’,
An’ totes her cotton off to town.
Home she comes, an’ O my!
See de new bonnet! Oh, my eye!
Away to church she sing an’ pray,
Hallelujah! look dis way!
Dina Duncan’s in de shade,
Mira beats all on dress parade.
But jes’ see Dina’s bran new shawl!
Can’t heah no mo’ preachin’ af’er all.
Elder, I’m gone nex’ Sunday sho’,
Can’t wear dis here ole shawl o’ mine no mo’!”
Here the song abruptly terminated, for the “smartest little wife,” who was some inches taller than her husband, and by no means slender, took her liege lord by the damp, unstarched collar of his soiled blue shirt, and marching him to the door, seated him upon the step, saying in a low, decided, and well recognized tone, “Now yo’ jes’ set dar, yo’ drunk niggah, yo’, an’ don’t yo’ open dat big red mouf o’ yo’n no mo’ till I git some hominy to fill it up. I don’t want no niggah’s heels scratchin’ roun’ on my flo’. Ef yo’d buy bettah finery ’n dem ole trowsahs, an’ go to church, an’ let whiskey ’lone, yo’ cotton’d be some good. Ef I didn’t mark my cotton o’ my raisin’, an’ toat de money myself, I’d jes like t’ know whar yo’d git yo’ tea, an’ coffee, an’ flou’h, an’ all dem tings?”
With an admonitory shake of her finger, she entered the house, and resumed her culinary operations; but soon reappeared, bearing a gun and accoutrements, and sundry materials for polishing them; having first dexterously examined it, and found it without charge.
“Heah now, yo’ Pipsie; yo’ got sense ’nough t’ clean dis ’ere gun?” she asked. “Reckon you’ll be mighty proud o’ dis ’ere ‘finery,’ marchin’ up an’ down long o’ de res’, an’ de folks all lookin’ on.”