“You’se er sight, you is! Who on earth but you’d er thought er tryin’ ter make er dog think es tail was es head! Nev’ mind! Yer bett’r take keer dat he don’t play er wusser joke on you, like ole Sis’ Cow, an’ Sis’ Dog, an’ Sis’ Sow, an’ Sis’ Cat done ter ole Miss Race Hoss when she try ter pass off one er her jokes on dem!”
“Did they hurt Miss Race Hoss, Mammy?”
“Dey mos’ driv her crazy, dat’s what dey done!—but you wait tell I ties dis heah bow, an’ den we gwinter slip off up-stairs ’fo’ Bray wake up an’ ketch us.”
“All right, Mammy.”
Most elaborately Phyllis tied and patted the soiled blue bow.
“Now, den, Bray’s sho’ gwine hatt’r strain ’es mind ter fine out which een’ his head stays on! Jump up hyah in Mammy’s arms, so we kin run fas’ ’fo’ Bray wake up!”
Quite out of breath, Mammy reached the room up-stairs. Little Willis, interested only in the flight from Bray, did not realize the ruse she had played upon him until he found himself in his little crib bed. Open rebellion began.
“Boo hoo, boo hoo!”
“Ssho boy! You gwine wake Bray, an’ den he’s jes es sho’ es sho’ kin be ter play dat trick on us dat his Gran’ Mammy Dog play’d on ole Miss Race Hoss,” remonstrated Phyllis.
“Boo hoo, boo hoo, I don’t wanter—”