“Why, mamma knows it already—if it’s true,” said Buster John scornfully.
“She’d run me off’n de place ef she know’d I wuz runnin’ on ’bout ol’ times right here ’fo’ you all. La! niggers is fools, mo’ speshually when dey er wimmen folks.”
“I reckon she’s about right,” said Rambler, yawning and stretching himself.
“What kinder cu’us fuss is dat dog makin’?” asked Jemimy, seeing Aaron and the children laughing. “I ain’t never see no dog make fuss like dat. You all better watch dat dog. He so ol’, dey ain’t no tellin’ when he’ll go ravin’.”
“You told mamma she was going to the big woods,” said Buster John, by way of a reminder.
“She wa’n’t yo’ ma den!” remarked Jemimy. “I say, ‘You ain’t gwine atter no flowers. You er gwine over yon’er in de big woods.’ She ax me what she gwine over dar fer. I say, ‘You er gwine dar kaze you speck you’ll strike up wid dat ar Dave Henry Wyche.’ Man, suh! She blush up twel it look like you kin see plum thoo her ears, dey got so red. Atter while she ax me who tol’ me dat, an’ I say, ‘How come my eyeballs ain’t big nuff fer me ter tell myse’f?’
“We rid ’long, an’ rid ’long, an’ den bimeby she low dat Mr. Wyche des ez good ez anybody else, ef he ain’t got ez much prop’ty ez some er de res’. I say, ‘I ain’t’ sputin’ dat, but how come you call ’im Mr. Wyche now, when you been callin’ ’im Dave Henry yever since he toted yo’ school bucket when you wa’n’t knee-high to a goslin’?’ Den she say it’s kaze dey done got older dan what dey useter wuz.
“We rid on, an’ rid on, an’ bimeby we come ter whar de big poplar grows dar in de woods. Right dar she w’o’d de filly, an’ tol’ me ter jump down, kaze right dar whar she gwine ter git some wil’ flowers. I hilt de hoss, I did, an’ she lipt down same ez a bird off’n de bush, an’ den she tuck de basket an’ went sa’nterin’ ’roun’.