“Mr. Rabbit doesn’t like it much,” replied Mrs. Meadows, “but I tell him it is pretty good for children that were raised in a Looking-Glass.”
“It will do very well,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, “but you’ll hear nicer songs by the time you are as old as I am.”
“Dem ar white chillun done mighty well,” said Drusilla, “but I don’t like de way dat ar nigger gal hilt her head.”
“Do they have to stay in the looking-glass?” asked Buster John. “If they do I’m sorry for them.”
“I ain’t sorry fer dat black gal,” said Drusilla spitefully. “She too ugly ter suit me.”
“Whose fault is it but yours?” cried Chickamy Crany Crow.
“Yes, whose fault is it?” cried Tickle-My-Toes.
“Come, come!” cries Mrs. Meadows. “We want no trouble here.”
“We’ll not trouble her,” answered Tickle-My-Toes. “Old Rawhead-and-Bloody-Bones will do the troubling.”
“Now you all heah dat!” exclaimed Drusilla, in some alarm. “I ain’t pesterin’ nobody, an’ I ain’t doin’ nothin’ ’t all. Ef I can’t talk I des ez well quit livin’. I’m gwine home, I am, an’ ef I can’t fin’ de way, den I’ll know who’ll have ter answer fer it.”