“Trufe, too!” exclaimed Aunt Crissy. “I ain’t quollin’, but dem niggers is so owdacious lazy dat dey keeps me pestered.”
“Yasser!” continued Harbert, “de signs all look like deyer right. When I sets right flat down an’ run it all over, hit make me feel so good dat I got a great mine fer ter hang up my sock right dar side er de chimbly-jam, an’ set up yere an’ watch fer ter see ole Sandy Claus come a-slidin’ down. Ef his foot wuz ter slip, an’ he wuz ter drap down on dat pot-rack dar, I lay he’d wake up de whole plantation. My sock ain’t so mighty long in de leg,” Harbert went on, reflectively, “but she mighty big in de foot, an’ ef ole Sandy Claus wuz ter take a notion fer ter fill’er plum up, she’d lighten his wallet might’ly.”
“Did you ever hang up your stockings, Harbert?” asked Willie.
“Why, tooby sho’ honey,” replied the negro, laughing. “I bin hang um up way back yander ’fo’ you wuz born’d. An’ I used ter git goodies in um, too. Lord! dem wuz times, sho’ nuff. I used ter git goodies in um dem days, but now I speck I wouldn’t git so much ez a piece er ’lasses candy. But, nummine’bout dat! I’ll des take en hang um up dis night, an’ I’ll be mighty glad ef I git a slishe er cracklin’ bread. Dat kinder bread good nuff for me, ’specially when it right fresh.”
“Man, don’t talk!” exclaimed Aunt Crissy. “Look like I kin in about tas’e it now!”
“Aunt Crissy, are you going to hang up your stockings?” asked Wattie.
“Bless yo’ soul, honey! I mos’ got in de notion un it. Ef ’twan’t dat I’m a sleepin’ up in old Granny Chaney house fer ter sorter keep’er comp’ny, I speck I would hang um up. But dey tells me dat ’twon’t do no good ef you hang up yo’ stockin’s in some un else house. ‘Sides dat, ole Granny Chaney so restless dat she’d in about skeer old Sandy Claus off ef he ’uz to start ter come. I’m a tellin’ you de trufe, Brer Harbert, dat ole creetur done got so dat she don’t skacely close’er eyes fer sleep de whole blessed night. She take so many naps endurin’ ’er de day, dat when night come she des ez wakeful ez dat ole black cat what stay up dar at de barn.”
“Dat ole’oman gittin’ ole, mon,” said Har-bert. “She wuz done grown an’ had chillun when I wuz little baby. She lots older dan what I is, an’ I ain’t no chicken myse’f. I speck ef she ’uz ter go back an’ count up ’er Chris-’mases, she done seed mighty nigh ez many ez what ole Sandy Claus is.”
“Well,” said Aunt Crissy, changing the subject, “I ain’t gwine hang up no stockin’, kaze I speck dat whatsomever ole Sandy Claus got fer me, he’ll drap it som’rs in de big house, an’ when I holler at marster an’ mistiss in de morn-in’, dey’ll fetch it out.”
“Dat’s so,” said Harbert. “Yit I got a mighty good notion fer ter hang up mine an’ take de resk. But I’d a heap ruther git sumpin’ dat’s too big fer ter go in um.”