"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 you 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, "given' me all dat sass.
You're de sassies' chile marster's got. Nobody can't nuver larn yer no
manners, allers 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 hyear 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."

"You ain't none o' my mother," replied Dumps. "You're mos' black ez my
shoes; an' de Lord ain't er goin' ter pull all my hair off jes 'boutn
you."

"I gwine right down-sta'rs an' tell yer ma," said Mammy. "She don't
'low none o' you chil'en fur ter sass me, an' ter call me brack; she
nuver done it herse'f, wan she wuz little. I'se got ter be treated wid
'spec myse'f; ef I don't, den hit's time fur me ter quit min'en