“Yonder in Gritny,” came the reply; slow and apathetic.
“From your mother’s garden?”
“Ma ain’ got no time to play wid no garden; wid all dem chillun an’ dat hog she got to look to.”
“Then I suppose you bought them?” Mr. Amos persisted.
“Who goin’ buy tetch-me-not flow’rs, w’en dey got ’um growin’ wil’ like grass, all up an’ down de railroad track?”
“Well,” said Mr. Amos, “wherever they came from, they’re very lovely; and I suppose I must thank you for bringing them to me.”
Felo made no reply, but sat looking at the floor vacantly. His silence was unusual and Mr. Amos wondered at it. Felo was always ready for conversation. Was there anything the matter, Mr. Amos asked him.
After a slight hesitation, he answered in a subdued tone:
“Man, eat yo’ li’l foods, an’ don’ worry ’bout me.”