XI
BIG EYE BUZZARD
“Mammy, less go up to Jim Weed’s house, he’s going to give me one of his buzzard eggs.” Willis was halfway to the gate.
“Come back hyah, boy,—I ain’ gwine stirry er step fum dis hyah tree tell I churns dis milk fur Kitty, an’ ennyhow yond’r come comp’ny ter see yer,” she nodded towards Mary Van, who was tip-toeing to unfasten the gate.
“’Tain’t anybody but Mary Van, and she can go, too.”
“Where, Willis?” and the little girl ran past him to the joggling board[1] near Phyllis; “Put me up, Mammy!”
Phyllis dropped the churn top in place and went to the assistance of Mary Van. “Come on, son,” she called over her shoulder, “an’ let dem buzzard aigs hatch right whar dey is, ’caze de Lawd knows dey’s in de right nes’.”
“Jim Weed’s er nice boy,” resented Willis, refusing to come.
“He ain’ nuthin’ but po’ white trash.” She stood with her arms akimbo, waiting to lift him beside Mary Van. “Come on, an’ hole Ma’y Van’s han’ so bofe uv yer kin stay on de bo’rd whin yer joggles.”
“He’s not poor white trash,” exclaimed Willis hotly, “he’s got a pigeon house, and a dog house, and a bird house, and a—”