"Trip-a-trop-a-tronjes,
De-vorken-in-de-boonjes,
De-koejes-in-de-klaver,
De-Paarden-in-de-haver,
De-eenjes-in-de-waterplass,
So-pop! my-lil'-pick'ninny goes!"
As Mammy began the slow singsong, Sam began gently swinging the foot up and down on which sat the tiny, laughing Jule, and as the jingle went on, the foot swung faster and faster, until, as Mammy brought out the words, "So pop! my lil' pick'ninny goes!" Sam tossed the shrieking child into his lap, where she could only gasp with laughter, until able to catch her breath.
Then it was one crying tease for "Anudder trip! Anudder trip!" until six times had baby Jule been teetered on Sam's strong foot, and tossed into Sam's strong arms, Mammy meantime beating the measure with both feet as she trolled the song with its rapturous "pop!" for little Jule.
The sixth trip was ended as Corniel came leisurely over the grass.
"Mammy," he said, "Mars' Gran'son send word dat de capting and some udders will have supper to-morr' night on de green over by de summer-house. And he want you to make some porkapine marmalade, some melon puff, some peach tart, and some sorghum foam to eat on pandowdy with de salads."
Mammy immediately straightened up, put on a face of great importance, and began:
"I ain't fit fo' to try cookin' fancy tings fo' gret suppers, but—"
"Oh, very well," said Corniel, interrupting her, "Jinny can do it if you ain't able; Mars' said so."
But Mammy cried out, in a tone that made her soft voice seem very shrill:
"Go 'way, you C'neel, talkin' 'bout Jinny doin' my cook'ry. I'd like to be seein' de porkapine marm'lade she'd be makin'! And what do dat Jinny know 'bout whipped sorghum or melon puff, I should like to inquaire! Tote off, now, you C'neel, an' don't go talkin' 'bout dat Jinny doin' my fancy cook'ry any mor', but jus' you tell Mars' Gran'son I'll hev dat supper firs' class in eb'ry respeck."