"Ole Miss she use ter have eve'y stitch er her wool carded fo' her own
eyes," said Aunt Verbeny. "What wa'nt good enough fer her wuz good
enough fer de res', en we got hit. Ef'n de briars wouldn't come out'n it
soon ez she laid her han' on 'em, Ole Miss she turnt up her nose en
thowed de wool on ter de niggers' pile. Hit had ter be pisonous white
en sof fo' hit 'ud tech Ole Missusses skin. Noner yo' nappy stuff done
come near her."

Uncle Ish chuckled and hung his head on his breast.

"Doze wuz times!" he cried, "doze wuz times, en dese ain't times!"

Then he looked at Nicholas, who was watching the apples spinning in the
heat.

"De po' white trash ain' set foot inside my do'," he added, "en de
leetle gals ain' flirt roun' twell dar wa'nt no qualifyin' der legs f'om
der arms."

"I don't care!" said Eugenia, looking defiantly at Uncle Ish.

"Lor', chile, don't teck on dat way," remonstrated Aunt Verbeny. "You
ain't had no raisin' noways, en dar ain' been nobody ter brung you up
'cep'n yo' pa. Hit's de foolishness uv Miss Chris ez has overturnt de
hull place."

"She's a-settin' moughty prim now," continued Uncle Ish, his eyes on the
little girl. "She des' es prim es ef she wuz chiny en glass, but I'se
had my eye on 'er afo' dis. I'se done tote 'er in dese arms when she
wa'nt knee high ter Marse Tom's ole mule Jenny, en she ain't cut nairy
er caper dat I ain't 'sperienced hit."

"I don't care," retorted Eugenia.

"Ain't I done see her plump right out whar sis Delphy wuz a-wallopin'
her Jeetle nigger Jake, en holler out dat Jake ain' done lay ban's on
her pa's watermillion--'case she done steal 'em herse'f?"

"I don't care!" repeated Eugenia with tearful defiance.

"An' she ain' no mo' steal dat ar watermillion den I is," finished
Uncle Ish triumphantly.

"It was just a lie," said Bernard. "Eugie, you know where liars go."

"Des' ez straight ter de bad place ez dey kin walk," added Aunt Verbeny
severely. "Des' ez straight ez de Lord kin sen' 'em dar."

"It was a good lie," declared Nicholas, in manful defence of the weak.
"I don't believe she's goin' to be damned for a good lie and a little
one, too."

"Well, dar's lies en dar's lies," put in Delphy consolingly, "an' I 'low
dat dar's mo' in de manner uv lyin' den in de lie. Some lies is er long
ways sweeter ter de tas' den Gospel trufe. Abraham, he lied, en it ain't
discountenance him wid de Lord. Marse Tom, he lied when he wuz young, en
it spar'd 'im e