“Tell a devil tale, Ellen.”
“Naw, I hain’t gwine tell you ’n’ Charlie no mo’ devil tales.”
“Please, Ellen, we’ll go to sleep in two minutes if you will.”
“Tell about Uncle ’Jah, the devil, and the dark of the moon.”
“I hain’t gwine tell hit—Miss ’Tishy say you git skeered an’ don’ go ter sleep, an’ I hain’t gwine tell ’em ter yo’ no mo’.”
“Oh, Ellen, yes, we will; they don’t scare us. We’ll get right in bed and listen, and by the time you are through we’ll be asleep. Mamma won’t care.”
“But she do keer; she say you mustn’t heah ’em no mo’. Dey gibs her de horrors.”
“Go on, Ellen. She was just afraid that we’d be scared in the night, but we are too big for that now. Go on about the devil and Uncle ’Jah.”
“Miss ’Tishy be mighty mad!”
“But we won’t tell her. Her mammy used to tell her those tales when she was little; she said so.”