he 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 Club-foot
Bill he was er gwine 'long one time--"

"Look er hyear, yer kinky-head nigger, whar's yer manners?" asked Mammy,
"'ruptin uv eld'ly pussons. "I'm de one w'at's 'struck'n dese chil'en,
done strucked dey mother fuss; I'll tell 'em w'at's becomin' fur 'em ter
know; I don't want 'em ter hyear nuf'n 'bout sich low cornfiel' niggers
ez Club-foot Bill.

"Yes, Miss Diddie, honey," said Mammy, resuming her story, "dar sholy is
Fraids; Mammy ain't gwine tell yer nuf'n', honey, w'at she dun know fur
er fack; so as I wuz er sayin', dis little Fraid wuz name Cheery, an'
she'd go all 'roun' eb'y mornin' an' tech up de grass an' blossoms an'
keep 'em fresh, fur she loved ter see chil'en happy, an' w'en dey
rolled ober on de grass, an' strung de blossoms, an' waded up an' down
de streams, an' peeped roun' de trees, Cheery'd clap 'er han's an'
laugh, an' dance roun' an' roun'; an' sometimes dar'd be little po'
white chil'en, an' little misfortnit niggers would go dar; an' w'en
she'd see de bright look in dey tired eyes, she'd fix things prettier 'n
eber.

"Now dar wuz er nudder little Fraid name Dreary; an' she wuz sad an'
gloomy, an' nebber dance, nor play, nor nuf'n; but would jes go off
poutin' like to herse'f. Well, one day she seed er