"Dat ain't no work fur a gal w'at ain't bar' seventeen year ole; drivin' Marse Duplan's mules! W'at I gwine tell yo' pa?"
"Fu me, you kin tell 'im w'at you want. But you watch Nonomme. I done cook his rice an' set it 'side."
"Don't you bodda," replied Aunt Minty; "I got somepin heah fur my boy. I gwine 'ten' to him."
Lolotte had seen Aunt Minty put something out of sight when she came up, and made her produce it. It was a heavy fowl.
"Sence w'en you start raisin' Brahma chicken', you?" Lolotte asked mistrustfully.
"My, but you is a cu'ious somebody! Ev'ything w'at got fedders on its laigs is Brahma chicken wid you. Dis heah ole hen"—
"All de same, you don't got fur give dat chicken to eat to Nonomme. You don't got fur cook 'im in my house."
Aunt Minty, unheeding, turned to the house with blustering inquiry for her boy, while Lolotte drove away with great clatter.
She knew, notwithstanding her injunction, that the chicken would be cooked and eaten. Maybe she herself would partake of it when she came back, if hunger drove her too sharply.
"Nax' thing I'm goen be one rogue," she muttered; and the tears gathered and fell one by one upon her cheeks.