"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. 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?"

"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 yer 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, "givin' me all dat sass.
You're de sassies' chile marster's got. Nobody can't nuver larn yer no
manners, aller er sassin ole pussons. Jes keep on, an' yer'll see wat'll
happen ter yer; yer'll wake up some er deze mornins, an' yer won't have
no hyar on yer head. I knowed er little gal onct wat sassed her mudder,
an' de Lord he sent er angel in de night, he did, an' struck her plum'
bald-headed."