"And of course you did it, you old fool?"

"Marse Tom, I just grabbed her up to my breast and says, 'Oh, you
po' dear little motherless thing, you ain't got a fault in the
world, and you can do anything you want to, and tear the house
down, and yo' old black mammy won't say a word!'"

"Why, of course, of course--_I_ knew you'd spoil the child."

She brushed away her tears, and said with dignity:

"Spoil the child? spoil THAT child, Marse Tom? There can't ANYBODY
spoil her. She's the king bee of this post, and everybody pets her
and is her slave, and yet, as you know, your own self, she ain't
the least little bit spoiled." Then she eased her mind with this
retort: "Marse Tom, she makes you do anything she wants to, and
you can't deny it; so if she could be spoilt, she'd been spoilt
long ago, because you are the very WORST! Look at that pile of
cats in your chair, and you sitting on a candle-box, just as
patient; it's because they're her cats."

If Dorcas were a soldier, I could punish her for such large
frankness as that. I changed the subject, and made her resume her
illustrations. She had scored against me fairly, and I wasn't
going to cheapen her victory by disputing it. She proceeded to
offer this incident in evidence on her twin theory:

"Two weeks ago when she got her finger mashed open, she turned
pretty pale with the pain, but she never said a word. I took her
in my lap, and the surgeon sponged off the blood and took a needle