"The way I am," Polly persisted, sweetly.
"See here, chile, is day why you been a-settin' up nights an'
keepin de light burnin'?"
"You mustn't say 'setting up;' you must say 'sitting up.' Hens
set----"
"So do I," interrupted Mandy; "I's doin' it NOW." For a time she
preserved an injured silence, then turned upon Polly vehemently.
"If I had to think ob all dat ere foolishness eber' time I open
my mouth, I'd done been tongue-tied afore I was born."
"I could teach you in no time," volunteered Polly, eagerly.
"I don't want to be teached," protested Mandy, doggedly. "Hast
Jones says I's too smart anyhow. Men don't like women knowin'
too much-- it skeers 'em. I's good enough for my old man, and I
ain't a-tryin' to get nobody else's," Mandy wound up flatly.
"But he'd like you all the better," persisted Polly, laughing.
"I don' WANT to be liked no better by NO nigger," snapped Mandy.
"I's a busy woman, I is." She made for the house, then curiosity
conquered her and she came back to Polly's side. "See here,
honey, whose been l'arnin' you all dem nonsense?"
"I learn from Mr. Douglas. I remember all the things he tells
me, and at night I write them down and say them over. Do you see
this, Mandy?" She took a small red book from her belt and put it
into Mandy's black chubby fists.
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