She changed the subject by asking Uncle Isaac how far guinea fowls could count. He said they could count five. She’d always thought that too, but lately she’d left five eggs in her guinea nest and they wouldn’t lay in it again.
“Did you put you’ hand in de nest when you took de eggs out?” Uncle Isaac asked. “Guineas kin smell. If dey smell you’ hand, dey’ll change dey nest.” Big Sue looked hard at Breeze. She had cautioned him about that and he declared he had been careful to take the eggs out with a long-handled spoon.
“Leave six eggs in de nest, Big Sue. I know a guinea can’ count to more dan six.”
“No, I gwine lick Breeze, dat’s wha’ I’m gwine do. He took dem eggs out wid his hand, and I know it.”
“No, daughter, no! You’s too hard-hearted!” He looked at her with twinkling eyes. “You treat em too bad. I’m sorry for em. An’ Bill’s gwine crazy if you don’ marry em! You ought not to plague we so!”
“Who? Me?”
“Sho’! You. Po’ Bill’s mighty nigh ruint his mouth tryin’ to be stylish an’ wear teeth on Sundays to please you.”
She giggled, then she squalled. “Do hush, Uncle! You know I got a livin’ husband right yonder to Wilmington.”
“Silas don’ count. Not now. When a man’s gone seven years, e don’ count. I’d risk dat.”
“Shucks!” Her tone was scornful. “It’ll take a younger man dan you or Uncle Bill to git me. You can put dat in you’ pipe an’ smoke it too.”