"What a-matter, honey?" The question was in the caressing voice of the old Mammy.
"I was wishing," said Sally.
"What for?"
"For things I must wait long before getting."
"And you want 'em bad, honey?"
"Oh, dreadfully."
Mammy shook like a jelly-bag. "You look a-here," she said, "you jus' look a-here; jus' as shore as a lil young one have a clef in de middle ob her chin way down, she a-goin' fo' to get what she want'n. You mind now! I neber seen a lil pick'ninny, white or brack, have a split long de lower story ob her chin, but firs' or last she's gett'n' her own way. Doan't yo' fret now, but 'member what I tole you, and you's all right. And yo' lil chin is most split'n' in half. Lorr! it a mercy it hole togedder so long!"
Mammy went rolling along, still shaking with laughter, while away ran Sally for a peep into her fragment of a mirror.
"My chin is split along the middle way down low," she said, "and perhaps Mammy knows!"
She felt happy again when it came time to put the leaf up against the wall, get down the plates from the old dresser, mix the ash-cakes for supper, and set the rashers to sizzling.