“Mammy, I thought you said Mister Man cured him, so he was bigger and stronger than all of the rest?” Mary Van had a good memory but Phyllis was ever ready to answer the interruption.
“Aha, aha, you ’members dat does yer? An’ dat’s jes’ whut he wus—mo’ finer’n all uv ’em ’cep’n in dat weak place his hard haid make, whin he wus er lit’le bit’r tree. An’ er gal er boy”—she looked earnestly into each face—“kin be sassy an’ hard-haid’d whin dey’s lit’le, an’ whin dey gits grow’d up an’ ’gins ter rass’lin’ wid triberlations, de ve’y fus’ fight dey gits in, dat weak bad, hard-haided place gwine give way fus’, an’ dey’ll splinter all ter pieces jes’ like ’Simmon Tree done.”
“Can Bob Wind whip all the trees?”
“He sho’ kin, son, dat is, enny uv ’em dat’s so big’rty an’ hard-haid’d dey can’t lis’n ter nobody. I tell yer dar’s er plenty er Bob Win’s ter whoop all de biggerty hard-haids ’mongst de men fokes, too.”
“I bet there isn’t any Bob Wind that can whip my papa.”
“No, my Lawd, dat dey ain’t,” she laughed softly, then added: “Howcum you reck’n yo’ pa come ter be sich er big man?” she stopped to hear his answer.
“Cause he’s my papa,” defended the child.
“’Tain’t no sich er thing. Plenty fokes gots papa’s ’sides you. Hit’s ’caze he got de bignes’ ter mine whut his ole lady say ter him ev’y onct in erwhile. Come ’long, we ain’ gwine git er Lawd’s bit er dinn’r ef we doan git out er dese hyah woods.”