“John say, ‘I’m too bizzy ter fool wid Tishy.’
“Lilly coo sof’ an’ ax’, ‘Please, John.’
“John say, ‘All right.’
“Oh, I tell yer, John sing ev’rybody’s chune wid ’em. He so happy he can’ keep his mouf shet. Jes’ den he ’nounce dat Miss Tishy Peafowel gwine sing. Ev’rybody feel like shettin’ der eyes whin dat straggly fe’th’r Tishy walk up ter de pianny. She ’nounce, she do:
“‘I ain’ sot er chune sense I got well, but ef youall’s bleege ter hyah me, I’ll do m’ bes’.’
“Mussy gracious! de fokes hatt’r hole on ter der ye’rs,—”
“Why, Mammy?”
At that moment, the peafowl in Mary Van’s yard uttered a piercing screech.
“Dat’s de rees’n,” she answered. “Peafowel’s bin singin’ jes’ dat erway sense den. Whoopee, whin Tishy see fokes stoppin’ up der ye’rs, she fling herse’f ’roun’ an’ grab John Mockin’bird by de arm an’ walk clean out’n de meetin’ house.”
“Was her feath’rs dropping out, too?” reminded Mary Van.