good es you kin,—hits jes fokes ain’ got nuf speeret in ’em ter heah whut dey says. Way back yonder time whin hants an’ bible fokes projeck’ wid one nuth’r, beastes an’ speerets confabs wid[Pg 28] fokes, jes like me an’ you talkin’ now! Yas, suh, an’ fokes lis’ns ter de confab dem sorter creeters talks too! Whar you speck ole man Balim wud er bin terday ef hit hadn’t er bin fur dat mule er his’n? But screech owels an’ jay birds an’ er heap mo’ ’sides chicken roosters is got speerets in ’em in dese days too. Some fokes calls ’em hants!”

[Pg 28]

The door opened and little Mary Van, who had caught the last word, tripped quickly to the old woman’s side and whispered in suppressed excitement: “Where’s the hants, Mammy Phyllis?”

“Nem’ine whar de hants is terday. I’m talkin’ ’bout de rooster telerfome. Yer see Peter’s rooster’s settin’ up in rooster heb’n keepin’ his eye out fur all de news. He nuv’r do go ter sleep reg’lar; sometime at[Pg 29] night he sorter nod er lit’le, but he nuv’r do git in bed, caze he feer’d Mist’r Sun wake up ’fo’ he do. Well, whin he heah ole man Sun gap loud, an’ turn hisself ov’r an’ scratch, he know he fixin’ ter git up, an’ dat minit he flap his wings an’ telerfome loud es he kin ‘de break er day is c-o-m-i-n’’ (imitating the rooster). Ole man Diminicker down yonder on yo’ gran’pa’s rice plantation, down on de aige er de oshun, is de fus ter git de news. He stir hissef erbout an’ flop his wings, an’ telerfome loud es he kin, ‘de break er day is c-o-m-i-n’.’ De rooster on de nex’ plantation gits de wurd an’ dey passes hit on tell our ole rooster gits hit way up hyah in de mountains. Den our ole Shanghi keeps de wurd er gwine, tell ev’ry chickin fum one side de country ter de uth’r knows day fixin’ ter break.”

[Pg 29]

[Pg 30]“Mammy, Mister Rooster wants some more biscuit.”

[Pg 30]

“I ’speck he do; did yer ev’r know er man dat wus satisfied wid what wus give him? Yas, Lawd! dat rooster’ll stan’ dar an’ peck vit’als long es you thows hit ter ’im, eb’n whin he feel hissef bustin’ wide op’n; he’ll stretch his neck ter git one mo’ bite whilst he’s dyin’.”

“Who’s dyin?”

“Nobody ain’t dyin’, caze dat rooster ain’ gwina git ernuf fum me an’ you ter do him no harm.”

“Make him telephone again.”

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