"Mammy," said Dumps, "s'posin you tell us a tale." Tot warmly seconded
the motion, and Mammy, who was never more delighted than when
astonishing the children with her wonderful stories, at once assumed a
meditative air. "Lem me see," said the old woman, scratching her head;
"I reckon I'll tell yer 'bout de wushin'-stone, ain't neber told yer
dat yit. I know yer've maybe hearn on it, leastways Milly has; but den
she mayn't have hearn de straight on it, fur 'taint eb'y nigger knows
it. Yer see, Milly, my mammy was er 'riginal Guinea nigger, an' she
knowed 'bout de wushin'-stone herse'f, an' she told me one Wednesday
night on de full er de moon, an' w'at I'm gwine ter tell yer is de
truff."

Having thus authenticated her story beyond a doubt, Mammy hugged Tot a
little closer and began:

"Once 'pon er time dar wuz a beautiful gyarden wid all kind er nice
blossoms, an' trees, an' brooks, an' things, whar all de little
chil'en usen ter go and play, an' in dis gyarden de grass wuz allers
green, de blossoms allers bright, and de streams allers clar, caze hit
b'longed to er little Fraid, named Cheery."

"A 'little Fraid,'" interrupted Diddie, contemptuously. "Why, Mammy,
there's no such a thing as a 'Fraid.'"

"Lord, Miss Diddie, 'deed dey is," said Dilsey, with her round eyes
stretched to their utmost; "I done seed 'em myse'f, an' our Clubfoot
Bill he was er gwine 'long one time--"

"Look er hyear, yer kinky-head nigger, whar's yer manners?" asked