hates the white folks an' I hates the black folks on that side er the ribber. I hates ol' Bob Taylor, wif his teasin' skeeterish ways, an' I hates his stiff-backed cotton-topped gals. I hates that there fat Testy an' I hated her mammy bef o' her. I hates that ol' fool of a Pearly Gates, a layin' up in the bed lak a queen. An' I hates her ol' fool nigger husban', Si Johnson. I ain't seed this here young Spot Taylor but oncet lately an' I reckon he air as bus'in' open wif conceit as the res' er the mess. He ain't never had no manners ter speak on. I's got plenty er hate lef fer him, an' I's got some ter spar fer the lil' brat what air jes' come."
Aunt Peachy, with the cleverness of her type, divined at once that it annoyed Philip for her to speak of Rebecca in such terms. She leered at him impertinently, leaning over and scratching her ankle with the expression of a vindictive ape.
"Well, when Rebecca Taylor comes over to see me I hope you will mend your manners, old Mam' Peachy," laughed Betsy. "You mustn't scratch in her presence. She is a young lady from New York and it might shock her."
Aunt Peachy retorted in a shrill cackle:
"Yi! Yi! Not scratch befo' mill folks! Yi! Yi! I kin tell you-alls right here that
