"Pres'ntly Miss Race Hoss low dat she see Sis' Sow comin' now, an' she seen her, too, fur hyah come Sis' Sow an' all her chilluns er runnin' ev'y which er way, wid mud all ov'r dey backs. Some uv 'em wus wet an' some uv 'em wus dry. Dey come er runnin' an' none uv 'em ain't nuv'r stop ter pass howdy wid Miss Race Hoss, 'caze dey smell de vit'als, an' dey ain't got nuff manners ter hide de pig in 'em. Dey come er rootin' an' er gruntin' all 'roun' b'hime folks an' b'fo' fokes, tell dey pass too close ter Sis' Cat's chilluns, fur dey sorter raise up dey backs an' bushy out dey tails, an' raise up dey paws, but Sis' Cat she sorter growl sof' an' dey passify deysefs an' sets still. Sis' Dog's chilluns wanter snap es dey come er trompin' on top er dey foots, but dey 'strains deysefs 'caze dey wus fuss class qual'ty dogs. "Brer Bar see Sis' Sow rootin' an' gruntin' her way ter de table, so he 'nounce fur 'em all ter come in ter de party. He sorter push Sis' Sow an' her chilluns off ter de buttermilk trauff. De uther folks dey sets down at de table an' acts like fuss class folks does, but Sis' Sow an' her pig chilluns ain't seed dey vit'als 'fo' all uv 'em try ter git in de trauff wid dey foots. Dey pushes an' tromps 'pon one 'nuther, an' squeals, an' eats loud _like you done terday_!" The brown eyes fell and an humble little voice said, "I ain't gointer do it no mo'." "De Lawd knows I'm glad to hear it. Well, Sis' Sow an' dem, quoil an' make so much fuss, tell de uther fokes can't pass no conversation er tall, tell pres'ntly Sis' Sow an' de pigs eat up all dey vit'als an' dey come gruntin' an' er rootin' fur mo'. Dey spy dem apples an' things on de table, an' 'fo' yer knows it, dem pig chillun wus 'pon top er dat table. "Wid dat, Brer Bar git so mad he slap 'em off fas' es dey gits on; but de fust un he slap' off fell right in 'mongst Sis' Cat's kittens. Whoopee! Dem kittin chillun fergits all 'bout manners an' 'gins scratchin' an' fightin' same es pigs. Sis' Dog's chilluns jes' nachelly cudn't stan' no sich er strain on dey manners es dat, an' 'fo' yer kin say 'Jack Robson,' de kittins an' de puppies an' de pigs wus er squealin', an' er barkin', an' er spittin', an' er growlin', tell you can't hear yo' ye'rs. Sis' Sow start ter runnin' down de road wid de pigs atter her, an' de puppies atter de pigs, an' de kittins atter de puppies. Wid dat de little calf git 'cited an' he start ter kickin' out his b'hime legs, which happen ter hit de lit'le colt, an' he r'ar' hissef back an' come down on de calf, an' bofe uv 'em take out down de road er holl'rin' an' er kickin', an' er twistin' deysefs _like you done terday_!" Again the brown eyes fell. "Atter all de chilluns done loss dey manners, dey ma's sets up lookin' at one nuther like dey loss dey las' frien'. Pres'ntly Miss Race Hoss say hit's all her fault, 'caze she had no biznes ter mix up qual'ty folks wid pig folks.