Just the casing, you know.

Maybe it's a doah of mawning-glories they're going to pass through.

I recognize those flowahs twined all around it.

We made them a long time ago for the lamp-shades when the King's Daughtahs had an oystah suppah at the manse.
I made all those purple mawning-glories and Betty made the yellow ones." Glancing over his shoulder, he happened to spy a familiar face behind him, the kindly old black face of his uncle's cook.
"Howdy, Aunt Jane!" he exclaimed, with a friendly smile.

Then, in a stage whisper, he asked, "Aunt Jane, can you tell me?
Are those morning-glories artificial ?" The old woman wrinkled her face into a knot as she peered in the direction of the pulpit, toward which he nodded.