“’Tain’t, it’s a tree, isn’t it, Mammy?”
“It’s a vine,” he emphasized with a shake of her arm.
“Make him stop, he’s knocking my flowers.”
“Dey ain’t no use youall ’sputin’ ’bout Miss Wile Grape. Bofe uv yer’s got hit right. She uster be Miss Wile Grape Vine ’fo’ she take an’ marry ole man Holl’r Tree. Now she call herse’f Miss Grape Vine Tree.”
“Where’s Old Man Holl’r Tree?”
“Yond’rs him,—standin’ b’hime Miss Wile Grape. Dey’s er heap er men fokes hidin’ b’hime der ole ladies in dis worl’, too! Yas, suh! an’ dey’s er heap uv ’ooman fokes dat act jes’ like Miss Wile Grape done whin Mist’r Wise Oak tell her long time ergo ter stop keepin’ comp’ny wid Holl’r Tree. Mist’r Wise Oak tell her Holl’r Tree ain’ fit’n fur nuthin’ but ter hide possums in.
“She say, ‘I doan keer ef he can’t do nuthin’, I kin make er livin’ fur bofe uv us, but I’m jes’ bleeg ter have sumbody ter lean on.’
“He say, ‘Doan git er long s’ fas’, Wile Grape; lay low fur er while, an’ ’twon’ be long ’fo’ young Johnnie Live Oak’ll reach out an’ ax you ter lean on him.’
“She say, ‘No, I ain’ gwine ’ginst Holl’r Tree jes’ ’caze he’s gettin’ ole an’ ball.’
“Miss Crab Apple tell her, ‘Dat’s right, grab yer fus’ chance, ’caze yer ain’ gwina git no mo’.’ Dat hu’t po’ lit’le Wile Grape’s feelin’s, an’ she sorter wilt an’ creep on de groun’ tell Miss Bizzy Bee come an’ tell her Holl’r Tree say ef she doan come on, he gwine tumble ter pieces. Den she lif’ up her haid an’ git Bob Win’ ter take her up ter Holl’r Tree, an’ she bin dar ev’r sense, tryin’ ter hide his ole ugly se’f; an’ de wurser he look, de mo’ purty leaves an’ grapes she try ter kiv’r ov’r him.”