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"Hit uz Dilsey," answered Chris and Riar in a breath; and Mammy, giving Dilsey a sharp slap, said, "Now yer come er prancin' in hyear ergin wid all kin' er news, an' I bet yer'll be sorry fur it. Yer know better'n dat. Yer know deze chil'en ain't got no bizness 'long o' specerlaters." In the meanwhile Dumps and Tot were crying over their disappointment. "Yer mean old thing!" sobbed Dumps.
"I ain't goin' ter min' yer, nuther; an' I sha'n't nuver go ter sleep no mo', an' let you go to prayer-meetin's; jes all time botherin' me, an' won't lemme see de specerlaters, nor nothin'." "Jes lis'en how yer talkin'," said Mammy, "given' me all dat sass. You're de sassies' chile marster's got. Nobody can't nuver larn yer no manners, allers er sassin ole pussons.
"De specerlaters is come," said Dilsey; "dey's right down yon'er on de crick banks back er de quarters." "Whar yer gwine?" asked Mammy. "Oh, Mammy, de specerlaters is come," said Dumps, "an' we're goin' down to the creek to see 'um." "No yer ain't, nuther," said Mammy. "Yer ain't er gwine er nyear dem specerlaters, er cotchin' uv measles an' hookin'-coffs an' sich, fum dem niggers.
"There's plenty of time, Uncle Bob; take a seat, then, if we are to have a talk;" and Major Waldron lit his cigar, and leaned back, while Uncle Bob seated himself on a low chair, and said: "Marster, I come ter ax yer wat'll yer take fur dat little boy yer bought fum de specerlaters?" "Ann's little boy?" asked his master; "why, I would not sell him at all.
Yer ain't gwine er nyear 'um; an' yer jes ez well fur ter tuck off dem bunnits an' ter set yerse'fs right back on de flo' an' go ter playin'. An' efn you little niggers don't tuck up dem quilt-pieces an' go ter patchin' uv 'em, I lay I'll hu't yer, mun! Who dat tell deze chil'en 'bout de specerlaters?"
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