In the glow of blazing palm logs, stoked by capering pickneys, the company, with some considerable jostling, become seated by degrees.
“Fo’ what we gwine to recebe, de Lord make us to be truly t’ankful,” Mr. Mouth’s low voice was lost amid the din. Bending to the decree of Providence, and trusting in God for the welfare of his house, he was resigned to follow the call of duty, by allowing his offspring such educational advantages and worldly polish that only a city can give.
“An’ so I heah you gwine to leab us!” the lady at his elbow exclaimed, helping herself to a claw of a crab.
“Fo’ de sake ob de chillen’s schoolin’,” Mr. Mouth made reply, blinking at the brisk lightning play through the foliage of the trees.
“Dey tell me de amount of licence dat go on ober dah,” she murmured, indicating with her claw the chequered horizon, “but de whole world needs revising, as de Missionary truly say!”
“Indeed, an’ dat’s de trute.”
“It made me cry,” a plump little woman declared, “when de Minister speak so serious on de scandal ob close dancing....”
“Fo’ one t’ing lead sh’o to de nex’!” Mr. Mouth obstrusely assented, turning his attention upon an old negress answering to the name of Mamma May, who was retailing how she had obtained the sunshade, beneath which, since noon, she had walked all the way to the party.
“Ah could not afford a parasol, so Ah just cut miself a lil green bush, an’ held it up ober my head,” she was crooning in gleeful triumph.