Sis Nanny Goat 'spon,' she do: "I bin tryin' ter git out'n dis heah ole pastur', ov'r yond'r in Mist'r Man's ole lady's flower gyard'n," sez she, "but dat ole wall so hard I done wase m'time, an' I ain' got nuthin' ter show fur hit but dese heah bumps on m'haid." Sis Wile Lucy Goose say, sez she: "Law, Sis Nann Goat, ain' you got no mo' sense dan ter try ter projick wid Mist'r Man's doin's? All yer got ter do is ter flop yer wings an' give er hop, an' dar yer is, ov'r de fence mongst de flow'rs." "But I ain' got no wings ter flop wid," spon Sis Nanny Goat. "Dar now," sez Sis Wile Lucy Goose, "den you got ter keep on eatin' dis same ole grass tell you sprouts somethin' nuther ter fly wid." I reached out for a firmer clasp on Mammy's hand, now slipping from me, when kindly sleep, with its visions, forsook me and left me only the picture of the impotent bumps on Sis Nanny Goat's head. But I seemed to catch the faint echo of Mammy's voice saying: "Hit taint time you orter be cryin' fer, hit's sense."