"Breakfast, indeed!" said Lilly with an accent of scorn.
Still, she ate this meal with a becoming appetite, and after it was ended proposed that we should go and have a chat with Maum' Hepsey.
We found Maum' Hepsey in her cabin, sitting in a rickety old rocking-chair, a short black pipe in her mouth from which she was drawing vigorous whiffs of comfort. A slow fire was burning in the fireplace, and on it was a huge black kettle half filled with white Southern corn. This was "lye hominy" in course of preparation—the succulent lye hominy dear to every Southern heart.
"Lor', chillen!" said Maum' Hepsey, "it's too hot for you to be in here. Massy knows if I wazn't seasoned to it I'd drap in my tracks, dis fire is so pow'ful drawin'."
"Oh, never mind, maum'; we can sit in the door. We just came to talk to you about our troubles."
"Sakes alive! I thought your troubles waz about over, now dat you're gwine ter have a trip to Orleans."
"That's it," sighed Lil: "we're going off to that grand city, where I suppose the ladies wear silks and satins every day, and we've nothing to wear."
"Whar's de money for de cotton?" Maum' Hepsey demanded, her lower jaw dropping in such a surprised way that the black pipe fell out and barely escaped the lye hominy.
"A hundred dollars doesn't go very far," said Lil contemptuously.
"Well, chillen, in my young days dat waz pretty much of a sum—sho's yo' born it waz."