“Well, ef yer ’bleege ter pass er wurd wid ’im, holl’r up de chimbly—he settin’ up dar lis’nin’ ter see ef you’se er good boy.”
“No, I want to go downstairs and see my mama!” and he kicked violently against the door.
Instead of coercing him, Phyllis took her seat by the fire, and placing her elbows upon her knees, spoke with her face towards the chimney: “Suh?” pausing a moment to listen; “yas, suh—yas, suh, dat’s Willis, but he ain’ no bad chile,—yas, suh, dat’s him kickin’ ’gainst de do’, but he jes’ playin’ foot ball wid hit—nor, suh, Willis ain’ bad, he’s de bes’ boy in dis town.”
Immediately both children were climbing into her lap asking and answering their own questions. “Lawdy mussy ’pon me! Set down like fokes—whut’s dem lit’le cheers fur?” They, however, seated themselves upon the rug, and pulled her down with them so as to be more convenient for further chimney discourse.
“Mammy, did he say he was going to bring my drum, an’ billy goat wagon, an’—”
“An’ my dolly with long hair that can talk, an’ my—”
“He say,” she interrupted quietly, “he gwine bring yer all dem things you done writ erbout, ef yer be’s good chillun. De speshul news he giv’ me den, is ’bout de beastes; an’ creeters’ Crismus tree. He say Tall Pine gwine be de Crismus tree, an’ Mist’r Race Hoss gwine read out de names on de pres’nts.”
“Mammy, can Mist’r Race Hoss climb up Tall Pine Tree?”
“Whut he hatt’r clime hit fur? Ain’t Mist’r Wile Cat dar ter scale de tree an’ ain’ Doct’r Peckerwood settin’ up dar wid his doct’r sissors, jes’ waitin’ ter clip de strings?”
“But Mister Wild Cat might eat up Doctor Peckerwood,” said Mary Van, distrustfully.