Doan’ we give no presen’s? Co’se we does. We s’lec’s all de things what we doan’ want, same as de white folks does, an’ we makes er pile ob ’em, den we makes a lis’ ob de names ob de people what we wants ter gib to,—’Lindy she does dat paht, ’ca’se she’s had schoolin’ an’ kin write grand,—den we blin’fol’s li’le John Andrew, an’ ’Lindy she calls out er name, an’ John Andrew grabs er gif’. Dat’s how come you ter git er pair of gallusses, an’ Daddy Bundy er long gingham ap’on las’ year.
I hopes de givin’ dis year will turn ter tu’key an’ cramberry, jes fer de sake ob ole times down home. I sure does get lonesome fer de ole place roun’ ’bout Chris’mas.
INCUBATOR CHICKENS
BY RUTH McENERY STUART
INCUBATOR CHICKENS
DEM inkybator chickens dat’s hatched by de clock
Wid a lamp for love, is lonesome stock;
Dey feeds in droves but dey envies de others
Dat scratches for grubs wid any ol’ mothers.
An’ dey ain’t by deyselves, po’ orphans, in dat—