Her speech, like her glance, would be brief, simple, direct.
"Tell me about the people here," he asked after a pause, in which he plucked idly at the red-topped orchard grass through which they were passing.

Behind them the six little negroes walked primly in single file, Mary Jo in the lead and a chocolate-coloured atom of two toddling at the tail of the procession.

From time to time shrill squeaks went up from the rear when a startled partridge whirred over the pasture or a bare brown foot came down on a toad or a grasshopper.
As she made no reply, he added in a more intimate tone, "I am Jonathan Gay, of Jordan's Journey, as I suppose you know." "The old gentleman's nephew ?" she said, while she drew slightly away from him.

"Mary Jo, did you tell Tobias's mammy that he was coming along ?" "Nawm, I ain done tole nobody caze dar ain nobody done ax me." "But I said that you were not to bring him without letting Mahaly know.
You remember what a whipping she gave him the last time he came!" At this a dismal howl burst from Tobias.

"I ain't-a-gwine-ter-git-a-whuppin'!" "Lawd, Miss Blossom, hit cyarn' hut Tobias ez hit ud hut de res'er us," replied Mary Jo, with fine philosophy, "case dar ain but two years er 'im ter whup." "I ain't-a-gwine-ter-git-a-whuppin'!" sang Tobias in a passionate refrain.
"Now that's just it," said Gay, feeling as though he should like to throttle the procession of piccaninnies.