Tell de trufe, I spec's Lady ter twis' up 'er tongue an' talk some day she work 'er mouf so knowin'! Dis heah cotton-seed ought ter be tooken out'n her trough, by rights. Ef I could feed her on bran an' good warm slops a while, de churn would purty soon 'spute her rights wid de tukkeys! A high-toned cow, proud as Lady is, ought ter reach white-folk's table somehow-ma-ruther.
You know dat I know dat yo' po' measly sky-colored milk sours up into mighty fine clabber ter feed yo'ng tukkeys wid you an' me, we knows dat, don't we? Hyah! Dar, now, we done turned de joke on all you yaller-creamers ain't we, Lady? Lordy! I wonder fo' gracious ef Lady nod her head to me accidental! Is you 'spondin' ter me, Lady?
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