“Yassum, but yer got ter have sump’thin’ ter fix ’fo’ yer kin fix hit.”
“Mercy me,” I fretfully turned, “have that roast from yesterday,—it was scarcely touched.” Then again over the fire:
In dreams I see thee—
“Cose I kin heat de roas’, an’ put taters ’roun’ hit, an’—”
“Aunt Ellen,” an idea seized me, “you know that old black dress of mine you’ve been begging me for? Well, I’ll give it to you if you will arrange everything nicely and not ask me a thing.”
In dreams I see thee bend—
“All right, honey, I’ll do hit too, att’r I tells you dey ain’ no flour in de house.”
“That barrel of flour gone?”
“Good Lawd, Miss Sa’, how long you ’speck flour ter las’ an’ you all eatin’ like yer does?”
“Well order a sack, and I’ll see about another barrel when I go down town.”