tea-pots.

Almost all that Mammy could say was,

"Lordy, Lordy, Honey, how you has growed!" Or, "Jes' to think of Mammy's
baby sech a big boy!"

Presently a shadow crossed her face. "Honey," she said, "You gittin' to
be sech a man now, you won't have no mo' use fur po' ole Mammy. Dar
won't be a thing fur her to do fur sech a big man-chile."

"Don't you believe that, for a minute, Mammy," was the quick reply. "I
was just wondering if you had forgotten how to make those good
ash-cakes."

"Now, jes' listen to de chile, makin' game o' his ole Mammy!" she
exclaimed. "Livin' so high wid all dem hifalutin' kings an' queens an'
sech, an' den comin' back here an' makin' ten' he wouldn' 'spise Mammy's
ash-cakes!"

"I'm in dead earnest, Mammy. Indeed, indeed and double deed, I am. Kings
and queens don't have anything on their tables half as good as one of
your ash-cakes, with a glass of cool butter-milk."

"Dat so, Honey?" she queried, with wonder. "Den you sho'ly shall have
some, right away. Mammy churn dis ve'y mornin', and dars a pitcher of
buttermilk coolin' in de spring dis minute. You des' make you'se'f at
home an' I'll step in de kitchen an' cook you a ash-cake in a jiffy.
Billy, you pick me some nice, big cabbage leaves to bake it in whilst
I'm mixin' de dough, an' den go an' git de butter-milk an' a pat o' dat