“What you want now?” Aunt Milly hovered over him like an angry hen. “Want ter borrow suppen, I boun' you; yo'-alls folks is de beatenes' people ter borrow I ever lived alongst.”
The boy seemed to have forgotten his errand in his admiration for the kitten.
“What you atter now?” snarled Aunt Milly, “eggs, flour, sugar, salt, pepper, flat-iron? Huh, we-all ain't keepin' er sto'.”
The boy looked up suddenly and drew his ideas together with a jerk. “Miss Dolly, she say sen 'er Mother Hubbub wrappin' dress, hangin' on de foot er her bed-post.”
“What?” gasped Aunt Milly, and, hearing the exclamation, Mrs. Barclay came to the door and paused to listen.
“Miss Dolly,” repeated the boy, “she say sen 'er 'er wrappin' dress off'n de foot-post er 'er bed; en, en, she say keep 'er two waffles hot en, en dry—not sobby—en ter git 'er dat fresh cream fer 'er coffee in 'er lill pitcher whut she lef' in de ice-box.”
“Dolly? Dolly?” cried Mrs. Barclay. “You are surely mistaken, Pete. Where did you see her?”
“Over 't we-all's house,” said the boy, grabbing the kitten which had slid from his momentarily inattentive fingers.
“Over 't yo'-all's house!” cried Milly, almost in a tone of horror, “en, en is her husban' wid 'er?”
The boy grinned contemptuously.