“Oh, it’s you, Sis’ Williams; dat’s right, come in. I was jes’ settin’ hyeah sawtin’ my cyahpet rags, de mof do seem to pestah ’em so. Tek dis cheer”—industriously dusting one with her apron. “How you be’n sence I seen you las’?”
“Oh, jes’ sawt o’ so.”
“How’s Do’ an’ Ca’line?”
“Oh, Ca’line’s peart enough, but Do’s feelin’ kind o’ peekid.”
“Don’t you reckon she grow too fas’?”
“’Spec’ dat’s about hit; dat gal do sutny seem to run up lak a weed.”
“It don’t nevah do ’em no good to grow so fas’, hit seem to tek away all deir strengf.”
“Yes, ’m, it sholy do; gals ain’t whut dey used to be in yo’ an’ my day, nohow.”
“Lawd, no; dey’s ez puny ez white folks now.”