“_Whoo-ee!_” she exclaimed. “I'm dat tired dat I can't skacely drag one foot 'fo' de yuther. Look like I bin on my feet mighty nigh a mont', dat it do, an' I'm dat stiff, I feel like some er my lim's gwine ter break in two. Dey ain't nothin' on dis plantation dat I ain't had my han's in, 'specially ef it's work. It's Crissy yere, an Crissy dar, de whole blessed time, an' I dun' ner what de lazy niggers'roun' yere would do ef Crissy wuz to take a notion ter peg out. Mistiss got old Charity in de kitchin' dar a-cookin' an' a-growlin', but when dey's any nice cookin' ter be done, Crissy got ter go an' do it. I wouldn't mind it so much,” Aunt Crissy went on, “ef dem yuther niggers'd do like dey tuck some intruss in what's gwine on, but you know yo'se'f, Brer Harbert, how no'count dey is.” “Ah, Lord! you nee'nt ter tell me, Sis Crissy, I know um; I know um all. An' yit dey'll all be scrougin' one ane'r 'fo' day arter termorrow mornin' fer ter see which gwine ter be de fus fer ter holler Chris'mas gif' at marster an' mistiss. Now you watch um! dey'll all be dar, an' dey ain't none un um skacely yearned der salt. I'm mighty nigh run down. Dis mornin' de stock in de lot wuz a hollerin' fer der feed, an' it wuz broad daylight at dat. Den dar wuz de milkin': hit wuz atter sun-up 'fo' dat Marthy Ann got ter de cow-pen. Dat gal blood kin ter you, Sis Crissy, but I done laid de law down; I done tole'er dat de nex' time she come creepin' out dat late, I wuz gwine to whirl in an' gi' 'er a frailin', an' I'm gwine to do it ef de Lord spar's me.” “Nummine'bout no kinnery, Brer Harbert,” said Aunt Crissy, with emphasis. “You des git you a brush an' wa'r dat gal out. She new han' wid de cows, but tooby sho' she kin git out 'fo' sun-up.” “I'm mighty glad,” Harbert remarked, glancing at the children, who were not at all interested in the “worriments” of those faithful negroes--“I'm mighty glad dat Chris'mas is so nigh. De corn done in de crib, de fodder in de barn, de cotton'n de gin-house, de hogs done kilt an' put up, an' ef Charity ain't might'ly behindhand de turkey done in de pot. Dat bein' de case, what mo' kin we ax, 'ceptin' we git down yere on de flo' an' ax a blessin'?” “Trufe, too!” exclaimed Aunt Crissy. “I ain't quollin', but dem niggers is so owdacious lazy dat dey keeps me pestered.” “Yasser!” continued Harbert, “de signs all look like deyer right. When I sets right flat down an' run it all over, hit make me feel so good dat I got a great mine fer ter hang up my sock right dar side er de chimbly-jam, an' set up yere an' watch fer ter see ole Sandy Claus come a-slidin' down. Ef his foot wuz ter slip, an' he wuz ter drap down on dat pot-rack dar, I lay he'd wake up de whole plantation. My sock ain't so mighty long in de leg,” Harbert went on, reflectively, “but she mighty big in de foot, an' ef ole Sandy Claus wuz ter take a notion fer ter fill'er plum up, she'd lighten his wallet might'ly.”