One young girl in a gorgeously trimmed dress paraded up to the table several times, singing at the top of her voice.
"Look at that good-fo'-nothin' Lize Richa'ds," whispered Mom Beck's nearest neighbour, with a sniff.

"She done got a nickel changed into pennies so she could ma'ch up an' show herself five times." It was nearly sundown when they started home.

A tall coloured man, wearing a high silk hat and carrying a gold-headed cane, joined them on the way out.
"Howdy, Sistah Po'tah," he said, gravely shaking hands.

"That was a fine disco'se we had the pleasuah of listenin' to this evenin'." "'Deed it was, Brothah Fostah," she answered.

"How's all up yo' way ?" The Little Colonel, running on after a couple of white butterflies, paid no attention to the conversation until she heard her own name mentioned.
"Mistah Sherman came home last night, I heah." "Yes, but not to stay long, I'm afraid.