"Why, lord a massy," said he, "Phillis, what do you call dis here? t'aint a shirt? at fust I thought 'twas one of Miss Janet's short night gowns you'd been a doing up for her."
Phillis smoked on, looking inquiringly into the distant hills.
"Phillis, you don't mean me to wear dis here to meetin? T'aint fit. Dese wristbands is made out o' cotton, and I b'lieves in my soul Aunt Peggy done dis stitchin widout any spectacles."
Phillis knocked the ashes out of her pipe, and puffed on.
"Look here, Phillis," said Bacchus, going to the door as fast as the uncertain condition of his pantaloons would allow him, "did you 'spose I was sich a fool as to wear dis to meetin to-day?"
"Yes, I did," said Phillis.
"Why, t'aint fit for a nigger to hoe corn in, its as big as a hay-stack."
"Have you tried it on?" asked Phillis.
"T'aint no use," said Bacchus, "I can tell by de looks."
"I'm sorry you don't like it," said Phillis.