And Mammy’s look of dark suspicion faded as Jerusalem Artie recounted his brief and tragic adventure with Molly Cottontail.
“Yo-all’s a honey chile,” said Mammy, when he had concluded; “an we-all’s a-gwine right now an’ git a plumb fat chickun.”
The next day, as Mammy cleared away the remains of the Christmas dinner, she said: “Now, chile, yo’ c’n tote dese yere chickun bones out on de do’-step an’ gnaw ’em clean. An’, Jerus’lem Artie, yo’ pappy say yo’ c’n cut off de laigs o’ dem pants, an’ hab ’em fo’ yo’self.”
Robin’s Christmas[32]
When I was a little girl I used to look for Robin Redbreast perched in the holly on my Christmas cards, and nearly always he was there, fluttering about in the green, or singing a merry greeting from among the red berries. Nowadays I do not see him so often, but I have heard the story of how he came to be there. Listen, and you shall hear it, too.
First, you must know that the English Robin Redbreast (which is the one in my story) does not go South in the fall as our robin does. That is why the little English children sing:
The North wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will the robin do then, poor thing?
He’ll stay in the barn,