"It do look like one Brahma, Aunt Mint," remarked the small and weazened Jacques, as he watched the woman picking the lusty fowl.
"How ole is you?" was her quiet retort.
"I don' know, me."
"Den if you don't know dat much, you betta keep yo' mouf shet, boy."
Then silence fell, but for a monotonous chant which the woman droned as she worked. Jacques opened his lips once more.
"It do look like one o' Ma'me Duplan' Brahma, Aunt Mint."
"Yonda, whar I come f'om, befo' de wah"—
"Ole Kaintuck, Aunt Mint?"
"Ole Kaintuck."
"Dat ain't one country like dis yere, Aunt Mint?"