“Hush, now! Lawsee! I b’lieve I heahs er race hoss comin’ down de road now! You hears him, don’t yer?”
“Oom hoo!” sobbed the little boy.
“Oom hoo?”
“Yes, ma’m!”
“Well, dat’s de way ole Miss Race Hoss soun’ when she come er single-footin’ down de road, an’ seed ole Sis’ Cow layin’ ov’r in de cornder er de pastur’ chewin’ her cud, an’ talkin’ ter ole Sis’ Sow, an’ Sis’ Dog, an’ Sis’ Cat. She look’ in de pastur’, she do, an’ see Sis’ Cow’s little calf jes’ er jumpin’ an’ er kickin’ out his b’hime legs; so she holler she do:
“‘Law, Sis’ Cow, whatchu doin’ wid my little colt ov’r dar?’
“Sis’ Cow say, ‘Law, Miss Race Hoss, you sholy ain’t callin’ my po’ little calf yo’ colt?’
“Miss Race Hoss say, ‘Sis’ Cow I sho’ is s’prised you can’t tell er calf frum one er my fine colts! Jes’ look how he’s prancin’. I’m gwine jump ov’r dis fence, an’ prance ’long side him an’ let you see if we ain’t ’zackly like.’
“Wid dat, she tuck er sorter back-runnin’ start, an’ jump blip! right in de middle er de pastur’. Sis’ Cow’s little calf was so proud when Miss Race Hoss ’gun ter caper her fancy steps ’long side him, dat he clean furgit ’es ma, an’ try ter fancy step ’long side er Miss Race Hoss down de middle er de field.
“Po’ Sis’ Cow beller’ an’ beller’ fur Mister Cow ter come an’ run Miss Race Hoss off, but law, Mister Cow bizzy tendin’ ter ’es bizness an’ he don’t hear ole Sis’ Cow. Jes’ den, Sis’ Dog an’ Sis’ Sow an’ Sis’ Cat sorter whisper ’mongst deysefs. Pres’ntly dey all jumps up an’ starts ter shakin’ deyse’fs whensomever Miss Race Hoss git clost ter ’em. Fus’ thing yer knows, Miss Race Hoss stop’ her fancy steppin’ an’ holler, ‘How ’pon earth come dese fleas ter git on top er me?’ She jump’ an’ she roll’, she jump’ an’ she roll’, an’ I speck she’d bin er jumpin’ an’ er rollin’ plum tell now, ef dem fleas teeth had er bin strong nuf ter er bit thu Miss Race Hosses hide, but yer see wid all de bitin’ dey bin doin’, dar wasn’t one uv ’em dat got er good clinch on Miss Race Hoss. So Sis’ Sow’s fleas say dey gwine back home ter vit’als dey wus rais’d on, an’ Sis’ Dog’s fleas say dey wus gwine back whar de meat wus tender, an’ Sis’ Cat’s fleas say dey don’t see no use tryin’ ter git er livin’ off’n hoss hide when dar wus plenty er kitten meat dat would melt in yo’ mouf. So wid dat, all uv de fleas give er jump, an’ lands back on Sis’ Sow an’ Sis’ Dog an’ Sis’ Cat; an’, honey, dem fleas ain’t no sooner jumpt, dan Miss Race Hoss jump, too. She give er back-runnin’ start an’ wus ov’r dat fence ’fo’ you know’d it; an’ bless yo’ heart, she come mouty nigh ter jumpin’ on her own little colt dat had done foller’ her onbeknownst. De colt nev’r seed es ma mirate an’ car’y on so b’fo’, an’ he got so occipi’d watchin’ her dat he plum fergit ter mention he was dar. Howsomev’r, when Miss Race Hoss come er flyin’ ov’r dat fence she come so close ter de little colt dat whil’st he was er gittin’ outen de way, he trip’ es own sef an’ fell er sprawlin’ flat.