“Nummine ’bout dem gyrt’r snakes,—I ain’ got start’d ter tellin’ ’bout Mist’r Rattlesnake yit. Come on hyah Ma’y Van, an’ set down on de grass, an’ Mammy gwine spread out her ap’on fur you ter set on, ’caze she hatt’r hole dis wiggly boy in her lap.”
“I want to see Willis’s snakes,” demurred the little girl.
Phyllis looked thoughtfully a moment, then throwing her hands up suddenly, “I wond’r is enybody got de news ’bout Mist’r Rattlesnake’s toofake? You ain’ heah nuthin’ is yer, Ma’y Van?”
Mary Van shook her head in the negative.
“Who you shakin’ dat haid at, gal?”
“No, ma’m,” quickly corrected the child.
“De las’ time de snake doct’r come by hyah, he wus huntin’ fur some yerbs ter put in Mist’r Rattlesnake’s toof,” continued the old woman in an interested tone. “Miss Eve, she tell de doct’r ter g’long an’ git de same kind er yerbs he give fur rattlesnake bite, dat Mist’r Rattlesnake jes’ got mad an’ bite his own se’f, an’ dat whut ail his toof.”
“Who made him mad?” Mary Van knelt on the edge of the apron.
“De Lawd make him mad whin He tell him he can’t git no mo’ free vit’als out’n Eden. De Lawd say, ‘Nor, suh, yer got ter wurk, an’ sweat, an’ crawl fur vit’als de res’ er yo’ life—an’ you an’ Miss Eve gwine fight one nuth’r tell one er yer gits kilt.’”
“When are they going to fight?” asked Willis eagerly.