dear little things out doors and teach them how to scratch," suggested Rebecca, eagerly.
"Sho' you could!" delightedly. "Brer Johnson don't have no time ter give ter the chick'ns mo'n jes' ter mix up a lil' dough fer them time an' agin. The truf er the matter is, this way I has er goin' ter settin' an' hatchin' is right wearisome ter Brer Johnson. If he wa'n't a saint on yearth he'd a broke up my nes' long befo' this. He makes out it don't make no min' ter him when I gits a notion I'd like a settin' er aigs an' he goes an' fetches 'em fer me as meek as a lamb, but it kinder goes aginst his natur' ter have me so took up with a tu'nin' aigs an' sech when he's a-tryin' ter read the scripture ter me. He gits kinder recumciled when the chick'ns gits 'bout fryin' size. I ain't never been no hand ter hatch no chick'ns in late August er early September 'cause they's kinder mean months ter raise a family, but this time I got ter thinkin' how nice it would be if I could perjuce some fryin' size long 'bout Christmus."
"Oh, but Aunt Pearly Gates, you couldn't ever eat these precious little cute chicks! Why, it would be just like cannibals to do such a thing. They are pretty near your own flesh and blood."
The old negress smiled and shook her head.
