Sister Williams saw that she had overshot her mark. “Oh, hit’s all right, Sis’ Sneedon, hit’s all right. I jes’ spoke of it a-wunnerin’. What we women folks wants to do is to ban’ togethah to hol’ up de han’ of de pastah dat comes, whoms’ever he may be.”
“Dat’s hit, dat’s hit,” assented her companion; “an’ you kin ’pend on me thah, fu’ I’s a powahful han’ to uphol’ de ministah whoms’ever he is.”
“An’ you right too, fu’ dey’s de shepuds of de flock. Well, I mus’ be goin’—come ovah.”
“I’s a-comin’—come ag’in yo’se’f, good-bye.”
As soon as her visitor was gone, Sister Sneedon warmed over the greens and sat down to the enjoyment of them. She had just finished the last mouthful when her better half entered. He saw the empty plate and the green liquor. Evidently he was not pleased, for be it said that Brother Sneedon had himself a great tenderness for turnip greens.
“Wha’d you git dem greens?” he asked.
“Sistah Hannah Williams brung ’em ovah to me.”
“Sistah Hannah—who?” ejaculated he.
“Sis’ Williams, Sis’ Williams, you know Hannah Williams.”
“What! dat wolf in sheep’s clothin’ dat’s a-gwine erroun’ a-seekin’ who she may devowah, an’ you hyeah a-projickin’ wif huh, eatin’ de greens she gives you! How you know whut’s in dem greens?”