"La! chile, what yah gwine pester roun' de kitchen for ter-day?"
Susan had taught Frances the mysteries of cooking and was inordinately proud of her pupil's skill, but she wanted it practised when it suited her; and that afternoon had a vision of rest and mending.
"And," went on Frances, to finish now that the subject was broached, "I got those chickens right out the coop. Roxie says they are nice and fat. That Dominico now, how would it do to have it smothered?"
Susan wheeled on her. "You's gwine hab company to suppah?"
"Y—e—s!"
"An' yuh wants to hab smothered chicken an' floating island an' cake an' eberything else I'll ben' my po' back to cook?"
"Your smothered chicken is always so good!" wheedled Frances, who had managed Susan ever since she could talk.
"Why don' yuh say so den, jes say yuh's gwine hab company to suppah an' be done wid it."
"Well, we are," laughed Frances, "and I want everything good, like you always have it."
"Hm!"