“Honey, Mist’r Wile Cat’s like er heap er slick fokes in de woel—he’ll wurk pow’ful good an’ squar’ long es he know fokes watchin’ ’im. All de beastes an’ creeturs come ter de tree—an’ I tell yer dar wus er Crismus gif’ fur all de good ones.”
“Mister Rattlesnake didn’t get any, did he?” asked Mary Van.
“Rattlesnake say Decemb’r too late fur him ter be settin’ up, an’ he say he’d ruth’r sleep dan go ter enny ole Crismus tree ennyhow.”
“Tishy Peafowl was too bad, too, wasn’t she, Mammy?” Mary Van remembered the bad ones.
“You slip up right dar, yas, mam, you is, fur Tishy done got ’ligion an’ jine de church.”
“Did her pretty feathers grow out again?”
“No, mam! sin done eat ’em out by de roots, but de Lawd hang er mouty prutty fe’th’r coll’r on de tree fur her, jes’ ter show Tish he know she tryin’.”
“And Tishy never was bad any more,” assisted Willis.
“Dat she wus, sin ketch’d up wid her er heap er times, but she recoleck ’bout de col’r, an’ fight de bes’ she kin, an’ de Lawd doan ax fur no mo’.”
“Was Jack Donkey too bad to come?”