“Tain’t no use, Polly; dey jess as well let Marse Charles alone. He is a keener, he is, umgh—umgh! Dey ain’t gwine to git nothin’ out o’ him, ef you b’lieve Dick, dey ain’t, mun.” And the old worthy’s sides shook with laughter. “Dey has been tetchin’ her up pretty lively dis mornin’, dat’s a fac’, and dey wet Dick’s whistle for him, dey did, ef you b’lieve me, and more’n once, too. Well,
‘Christmas comes but once a year,
Den every nigger git his shear.’
“Hurry up, gal! hurry up!”
“Don’t come round me, boy, wid your ‘hurry up, hurry up.’ Don’t you see I’se hurryin’ up all I kin hurry up already? I b’lieve you is drunk, anyhow!”
“Pretty close to it, thank de Lord.
‘Christmas comes but once a year,
Every nigger—’”
“I tell you git out o’ dis kitchen, and mind you don’t fall and break dat dish, wid your ‘Christmas comes but once a year.’ Go ’long, boy. Dat ham’s seven years old, and you jess let it fall!”
“Hi!” thought Uncle Dick, as he entered the dining-room. “What’s he doin’ at de table?”