“Why, Mammy, ’caus’ Mister Hoss Fly’s the biggest?” His eyes followed her, as she went to the kitchen door and exchanged her plate for one of blackberry dumpling.
“De bigges’ ain’ got nuthin’ ter do wid hit,” as she resumed her seat; “hit de fokes dey haster ’sociate wid, dat’s dang’us. Dey ain’ nuthin’ mo’ dangersum ter er fly’n yo’ ma,” she looked him straight in the eye. “She got all de wind’rs fas’n’d up so yer can’t shet er bline; an’ she got dat sticky pap’r you sets in ev’ytime yer goes in de kitchin; an’ she got dem pisnous flow’r boxes settin’ ev’ywhar; an’ she run ’roun’ all day atter one fly, hittin’ ’bout de house like de fly wus pis’n, sho’ nuf. Miss Lucy’s er sight, dat’s de trufe, an’ I doan blame Shoo Fly fur busin’ her.”
The soft dumpling rolled down her throat, and Willis swallowed in sympathy.
“Is Shoo Fly on the limb now?”
“Nor, he tak’n din’r wid me terday, an’ las’ night, he tak’n supp’r wid Miss Lucy,” she laughed aloud.
“Did Mama try to kill him?” anxiously.
“She sho’ did, son, but dis heah Shoo Fly got er haid er Miss Lucy las’ night,” still she laughed. “Yas, suh, Shoo Fly tell Hoss Fly he sho’ gwine perish ef he doan git er bite fum sumwhars.
“Hoss Fly ax ’im: ‘Is yer skeer’d ter go in Miss Lucy’s house fur vit’als?’
“Shoo Fly say, ‘I ain’ feerd er no Miss Lucy—I bin buttin’ m’ haid up ’ginst sum’in’ nuth’r in de wind’rs, tell m’ haid right full er bumps.’
“Hoss Fly say, ‘You ain’ got no sense, Shoo Fly,—’cose you can’t git in dat wire foolishness! De onlies’ way ter git in, is ter set up on de porch, an’ wait fur sum de fokes ter op’n de do’.’