Alice gave a little grunt, if the expression be parliamentary.
“Makin’ ’ten’ she ’sleep now,” said Aunt Phœbe, casting knowing nods and winks at Mary.
“When she is awake, Aunt Phœbe, she is wide enough awake for you, isn’t she?”
“Lor’ bless you, honey, I b’lieve you; she cert’n’y do beat all.” And the floor trembled beneath the good old soul’s adipose chuckle. “She is a pretty chile, too, she is mum,” continued the old lady, assuming, with her arms akimbo, a critical attitude. Mary rose on her elbow to observe Alice’s countenance. Her lips began to twitch, slightly, under this double gaze.
“And I ain’t de onliest one as thinks so, neither,” added she, tossing back her head with a look of triumphant sagacity.
“Who is it? who is it?” And Mary rose and sat up in bed.
“Nebber mind, nebber mind!” replied she, with diplomatic reserve. “Nebber mind; Phœbe ain’t been livin’ in this world so long for nothin’. De ole nigger got eyes in her head, and she can see out’n ’em, too; you b’lieve she can, my honeys.”
“Oh, do tell me, that’s a good Aunt Phœbe!”
“Though she ain’t got no specs on her nose.” And the good soul threw herself back and gave vent to a very audible h’yah, h’yah, h’yah.
“Is—it—Uncle—Tom?” droned out Alice, in an almost inarticulate murmur.