“Now, Chloe, jes’ yer hab done wid dat,” exclaimed Andy, turning sharply about. “Ol’ Satan an’ de lookin’ glass will done tell her dat fas’ enough widout yore help.”
“They will tell her the truth, Uncle Andy, you know that your own self,” replied Chloe nonchalantly.
“Purty is as purty does, honey; don’t disremember dat,” advised Andy, turning to Hilda; “don’t let nobody make you sassy of yer beauty, fer bime-bye, if de good Lord spares yer dat long, de wrinkles will done scare de beauty away. Den whar is yer?”
“Never scared no beauty away from Mis’ Emma,” asserted Chloe defiantly. “Wrinkles is coming to stay, but she is a beauty in spite of them.”
“’Kase mistess wan’t sassy ob her beauty, dat’s what I done jes’ say, Chloe; de strongholt is mine, not yourn,” and Andy laughed and coughed exultantly.
“Missus come of a pretty family,” interposed Kitty. “She couldn’t have been ugly if she had tried. When she an’ Mars Courtney was bride and groom, dey was de han’somest couple in de state, an’ her mother an’ grandmother were beauties in der day.”
“’Kase dey was Christians, an’ had der treasures laid up in heaven. Yes, Kitty, dey was good to de pore an’ ’flicted, and too busy helpin’ dem dat could not help demselves to be sassy about der beauty.”
“They was too good for dis yer world, dat’s certain,” responded Kitty.
“Deed was dey, an’ nebber done forgit dar manners to nobody. When I was de coachman, and used ter bring Selim to de block for young mistus—dat was dis Misus Courtney’s grandmother—honey,” he said, turning to Hilda, “an’ she done come sweepin’ down de piazzy steps, holdin’ de long train ob her habit ober her arm, an’ her pearl handled whip in her han’, an’ de long plumes in her hat bowin’ an’ noddin’, tell yer what, honey, she suttenly was purtier dan any picture.”
“So she was,” echoed Kitty. “I was young then, but I remember that she looked like Mis’ Emma.”