“Name er de Lawd, ef she ain’t er nigg’r, an’ she ain’ black, whut is she?” Zeek thoroughly enjoyed the little boy’s very evident discomfort.
“She’s my Mammy,—and she’s purty like my mama.” Willis was dangerously near tears, as he left Phyllis’s lap and made for Zeek. “I’ll hit you if you call my mammy a nigger.”
Mary Van had thrown an iron toy at him, whereupon Phyllis interfered.
“G’long an’ ’ten’ ter yer biznes’, Zeek,—I’m gwine call Miss Lucy ef you starts dese chillun ter cryin’.—Chillun, youall bring yer lit’le cheers yond’r an’ set hyah in front uv Mammy, an’ she’ll tell yer ’bout Miss Queen Bee an’ her fambly.”
“Mammy, what made Miss Queen Bee move out from her house just now?” Willis interposed.
“’Caze she wanter git erway f’um An’ Polly Parrit—she say she ti’ed An’ Polly pokin’ her nose in her biznes’.”
“Papa says she has to move ’cause her children take up all the room.” Willis gave this information with an air of knowing more on the subject.
“Dar now, yer hyah de preach’r, doan yer?” chuckling and looking with pride upon him.
“I speck you done outgrow’d dat confab Miss Queen Bee speak wid me too, ain’t yer?”
Willis did not entirely gather her meaning, but he replied: