“I got de sieve fo’ de hags, Bill, an’ I bring Breeze an’ Big Sue to hear you talk to de animals an’ de chickens. All two is got a fresh cold. Take ’em inside de stables first.”
Uncle Bill invited them to come look inside the stables. “I got ’em all clean, an’ full o’ de nicest pine straw beddin’ ever was. I’m too sorry. Dey wouldn’ help you’ cold, not a bit, but come look at ’em, anyhow.”
“Whe’s de run-at cow?” Big Sue asked.
Uncle Bill laughed at her fear. The run-at cow was in the pasture—she needn’t be scared. He wouldn’t let anything hurt her.
In the long row of stables, bars of sunlight shining through the cracks were blurred with dust raised by hens, roosters and little chickens, scratching vigorously in the crisp dry straw. The cocks were saying brave things, the hens sang contentedly as they looked for the grains of corn and oats hidden under wisps of fodder and hay and straw.
“Scratch, chillen, scratch,” Uncle Bill encouraged them. “De mules will come in to dinner befo’ long, den you-all’ll have to go home.”
“Make dem go home now,” Big Sue requested. “I wan’ see how you rules dem, so I kin rule Breeze.”
He hesitated. “It ain’ quite time yet. De mules don’ come in till noon.”
“We won’ be here den,” she persisted.
“How come you sends de chickens home when de mules come?” Breeze asked.