“Emma is too small to lick fast, enty, Mauma? Looks like lickin’ would stunt em worser.”
Maum Hannah laughed again, and all the children laughed too.
“Lickin’ don’ stunt chillen! No. Lickin’ loosens up dey hide, an’ makes ’em grow. Now, Emma’s small, but e hab sense. Since de nights is cool e sets by de fire an’ warms e feet on de pots. Dem same smutty pots I cooks de victuals in. I tell em to don’ do so! But Emma keeps right on. Dat smut leaves de pots to stick on Emma’s feets, den when Emma goes to bed de smut leaves e feets to stick on my clean sheets an’ quilts. It takes tight scrubbin’ to make ’em git off. Smut too loves cloth! Dat’s how come I lick Emma so much. I try fo’ make em hate smut same ez I hate sin. But Emma’s feets is so black e can’ see de smut on ’em.”
“Why you don’ git Emma some shoes, Mauma? Dey’ll keep her feets warm, better dan de pots.”
“No, honey. I ain’ got de heart to make po’ li’l’ Emma wear shoes. E too love to jump round an’ dance an’ shout. Shoes would hinder em. I’ll dis keep on lickin’ em till e knows better. I’ll break em f’om de pots soon ez I git time. I been too busy lately. All de chillen needs so much doctorin’. De womens run round too much, a-pleasurin’ deyselves, to hab good chillen dese days. Times is changed, honey. Womens ain’ quiet an’ steady like dey used to be. No.”
She sighed and pointed to the head of a little girl where a bit of wool was tied so tight right over the middle of her forehead that the poor child could hardly blink her eyes.
“I had to tie up Tingie’s palate lock dis mawnin’.” Tingie’s big eyes looked up solemnly, and Tingie’s sore throat gulped with a great effort to swallow. “Tingie hab de so’ t’roat, bad.”
“I’s feelin’ better now,” Tingie declared huskily.
“You’ll soon be well, honey,” Maum Hannah told her with a kind smile, and the child smiled back, sure that Maum Hannah knew.
“I needs some buzzard-claw mighty bad, Big Sue. I wish you’d tell Uncle Bill so. De babies is teethin’ so bad dis fall. I tried puttin’ a hog-teeth on a string roun’ dey neck, but hog-teeth is too weak to do any good. Do tell Uncle Bill to shoot me a few buzzards. De gal-chillen is teethin’ ’most hard as boy-chillen dis year. But boy-chillen is mighty scarce. De womens pleasure deyself too much to hab boy-chillen. Boy-chillen picks sober womens fo’ dey mammy. Dese gals buy so much trash out de sto’ to eat, dey breast-milk is weak as water. I tell ’em so, but dey don’ listen at me. No.”