"Are you crazy?" the lady asked in all seriousness.
"I'm des ez crazy now ez I ever been; an' I tell you you des ez well ter come out'n dar."
"Who are you anyhow?"
"I'm Minervy Ann Perdue, at home an' abroad, an' in dish yer great town whar you can't git niggers ter cook fer you."
"Well, if you want me to come out of the kitchen, you will have to come in and do the cooking."
"Dat 'zackly what I'm gwine ter do!" exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann. She went into the kitchen, demanded an apron, and took entire charge. "I'm mighty glad I come 'fo' you got started," she said, "'kaze you got 'nuff fier in dis stove fer ter barbecue a hoss; an' you got it so hot in here dat it's a wonder you ain't bust a blood-vessel."
She removed all the vessels from the range, and opened the door of the furnace so that the fire might die down. And when it was nearly out—as I was told afterward—she replaced the vessels and proceeded to cook a dinner which, in all its characteristics, marked a red letter day in the household.
"She's the best cook in the country," said the lady, "and she's not polite."
"Polite! Well, if she was polite, she'd be a hypocrite, and if she was a hypocrite, she wouldn't be Aunt Minervy Ann."
The cook failed to come in the afternoon, and so Aunt Minervy Ann felt it her duty to remain over night. "Hamp'll vow I done run away wid somebody," she said, laughing, "but I don't keer what he think."