"Come back, Johnny," called his mother, "and put away your patterns, and pick up your chips." She sat down to look over some blackberries, while Phrony Jane, finishing her egg-beating, and relieved from the disadvantage the noise had placed her under, resumed her talk as she set the table for tea.
"Must 'a ben mighty sca'ce times when der was famines 'round." She looked admiringly at a loaf of bread she was cutting into slices. "Not a mite o' bread 'n' butter, nor beefsteak, nor canned fruit, nor nothin'. Miss Lawton she tole us all 'bout how 'Lijah he went to a po'r woman, 'n' says he, 'Gi' me jus' a little speck o' bread,' 'n' says she, 'Bless yer heart, mas'r, I ain't got but jus' one handful o' co'n meal, 'n' jus' as soon as me 'n' de little chap eats dat up we's gwine to die, sho's you live!' But says he, 'Don't ye be skairt now, aunty; you go 'n' make some co'n-cake fer you uns, 'n' some fer me, 'n' you see ef tings don't hold out.' An' she did, 'n' every day dere was more co'n meal in de bar'l. Now you know, missus, dat was de Lord!"
Mrs. Dent assented.
"How d'you s'pose He done it?"
Phrony Jane looked as if she would like to know very much indeed.
"We can't tell, Phrony Jane. The Lord has His own way of doing wonders."
"'Twould be an awful handy way o' gittin' tings down to our house, whe' de bacon 'n' molasses is all out. But, missus"—Phrony Jane now came to help with the berries, and it was plain there was something more weighty on her mind than bacon and molasses—"d'you s'pose 'twould do to war a gingham dress to a lawn party?" Mrs. Dent laughed.
"Why, Phrony Jane, a lawn party has nothing to do with a lawn dress. It means a party in the open air—on the lawn. People who have pretty grounds often give lawn parties."
"You sho' o' dat, missus? I hearn dat Phylly Jackman tell how she's gwine to w'ar her lawn dress—all ruffles 'n' a over-skirt."
"Well, if you are anxious about it, Phrony Jane, you know I told you I'd give you my brown lawn. Do you think you can alter it in time if I help you?"