“Is dere ere a man ‘bout could lift dis yere basket ter de house for us?” she asked, looking helplessly up to the hamper, “kase Daniel dere has instructions from de Missus neber to leave de hosses less’n dere ain’t no way to help it.”
“Well, I guess dere is,” chuckled a familiar voice behind her back, and Mammy turned to discover Joe close beside her.
“Well, I klar, you heah!” she exclaimed. “Why, it seems like de whole county turn out to welcome dese yere little Bennetts. Seems, too, like some of us goin’ to be in de way sure ‘nuff.”
“Howsomever, some on us don’ take up so much room as oders,” grunted Joe, surmising, and quite correctly, too, that Mammy considered his presence on the scene something wholly unnecessary and undesirable. “I’se heah to help wid de trunks, Mammy,” he then added; “what you heah to help wid?”
Mammy, scorning the insinuation, turned to Mary Duff as they walked up the path.
“You know, Honey, de Lord ain’t lef’ no choice ter most on us as ter what size we’ll be, but pears like you’d better be a fat ole Mammy like me, than such a ole bag o’ bones as Joe yonder.”
But Joe by that time was depositing his basket in the hall-way of the cottage, and was fortunately quite beyond the fire of this personal attack. Mary Duff was naturally much amused at the real but harmless jealousy of these old coloured folk, and realised for perhaps the five hundredth time what children we all are, be race and nationality what they may.