Moved by the compliment, Aunt Rhody fell back and regarded the girl, with
her arms akimbo. "I d'clar, her eyes do des shoot fire," she exclaimed
admiringly. "I dunno whar de beaux done hid deyse'ves dese days; hit's a
wonner dey ain' des a-busin' dey sides ter git yer. Marse Dan, now, whynt
he come a-prancin' roun' dese yer parts?"
Mrs. Lightfoot looked at Betty and saw her colour rise. "That will do,
Rhody," she cautioned; "you will let the turkeys burn," but as they moved
toward the door, Betty herself paused and looked back.
"I gave your Christmas gift to Uncle Cupid, Aunt Rhody," she said; "he put
it under the joists in your cabin, so you mustn't look at it till morning."
"Lawd, chile, I'se done got Christmas gifts afo' now," replied Aunt Rhody,
ungratefully, "en I'se done got a pa'cel er no count ones, too. Folks dey
give Christmas gifts same es de Lawd he give chillun--dey des han's out
w'at dey's got on dey han's, wid no stiddyin' 'bout de tase. Sakes er live!
Ef'n de Lawd hadn't hed a plum sight ter git rid er, he 'ouldn't er sont
Ca'line all dose driblets, fo' he'd done sont 'er a husban'."
"Husban', huh!" exclaimed Ca'line, with a snort from the fireplace.
"Husban' yo'se'f! No mo' niggerisms fer me, ma'am!"
"Hold your tongue, Ca'line," said Mrs. Lightfoot, sternly; "and, Rhody, you
ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk so before your Miss Betty."
"Husban', huh!" repeated the indignant Ca'line, under her breath.
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