“He didn’t hatt’r pull his kiv’r off, son, caze Jack call out his own name—can’t you tell er donkey whin you heahs him bray?”
At that moment a band and shouts of people were heard coming up the street.
“Lawsee! chillun! Less git down fum heah; I b’leef in m’ soul Mist’r Race Hoss done beat dis race sho’ nuf.”
X
MISTER BAD ’SIMMON TREE
“Look at that big old grape tree, Mammy Phyllis,” said Mary Van, as she ran beside the little boy gathering wild flowers in the woods back of the house.
“That’s not a grape tree, Mary Van—it’s a grape vine,” corrected Willis.