"D-d-d-de way folks talks, look like death an' terror is des a-layin' roun' loose in de cidy. Dee tell me dat ef yer des nachelly blows out yer light ter go ter bed, dat dis heah some'h'n' what stan' fur wick, hit'll des keep a-sizzin' an' a-sizzin' out, des like sperityal steam; an' hit's clair pizen!"
"That is true, mammy. But, you see, we won't blow it out. We'll know better."
"Does yer snuff it out wid snuffers, baby, ur des fling it on de flo' an' tromp yer foots on it?"
"Neither, mammy. The gas comes in through pipes built into the houses, and is turned on and off with a valve, somewhat as we let water out of the refrigerator."
"Um-hm! Well done! Of co'se! On'y, in place o' water what put out de light, hit's in'ardly filled wid some'h'n' what favor a blaze."
"Exactly."
Mammy reflected a moment. "But de grime-stone gotter stay berhime, is she? An' is we gwine leave all de gyard'n tools an' implemers ter de 'Onerble Mr. Citified?"
"No, mammy; none of the appurtenances of the homestead are mortgaged. We must sell them. We need money, you know."
"What is de impertinences o' de homestid, baby? You forgits I ain't on'erstan' book words."
"Those things intended for family use, mammy. There are the carriage-horses, the cows, the chickens—"