“Of course you does. You tells him things to do in Sunday-school what the chillun like, an' you learns him to laugh and 'joy himself, an' a lot of things what nobody else could a-learned 'im.” “You mustn't say 'learned him,'” Polly corrected; “you must say 'taught him.' You can't 'learn' anybody anything. You can only 'teach' them.” “Lordy sakes! I didn't know dat.” She rolled her large eyes at her young instructress, and saw that Polly looked very serious. “She's gwine ter have anudder one a dem 'ticlar spells” thought Mandy, and she made ready to protest. “See here, ain't you nebber----” She was interrupted by a quick “Have you never” from Polly. “It dun make no difference what you say,” Mandy snapped, “so long as folks understands you.” She always grew restive under these ordeals; but Polly's firm controlled manner generally conquered. “Oh, yes, it does,” answered Polly. “I used to think it didn't; but it does. You have to say things in a certain way or folks look down on you.” “I's satisfied de way I be,” declared Mandy, as she plumped herself down on the garden bench and began to fidget with resentment. “The way I am,” Polly persisted, sweetly. “See here, chile, is day why you been a-settin' up nights an' keepin de light burnin'?” “You mustn't say 'setting up;' you must say 'sitting up.' Hens set----” “So do I,” interrupted Mandy; “I's doin' it NOW.” For a time she preserved an injured silence, then turned upon Polly vehemently. “If I had to think ob all dat ere foolishness eber' time I open my mouth, I'd done been tongue-tied afore I was born.” “I could teach you in no time,” volunteered Polly, eagerly. “I don't want to be teached,” protested Mandy, doggedly. “Hast Jones says I's too smart anyhow. Men don't like women knowin' too much--it skeers 'em. I's good enough for my old man, and I ain't a-tryin' to get nobody else's,” Mandy wound up flatly. “But he'd like you all the better,” persisted Polly, laughing. “I don' WANT to be liked no better by NO nigger,” snapped Mandy. “I's a busy woman, I is.” She made for the house, then curiosity conquered her and she came back to Polly's side. “See here, honey, whose been l'arnin' you all dem nonsense?” “I learn from Mr. Douglas. I remember all the things he tells me, and at night I write them down and say them over. Do you see this, Mandy?” She took a small red book from her belt and put it into Mandy's black chubby fists. “I see some writin', if dat's what you mean,” Mandy answered, helplessly. “These are my don'ts,” Polly confided, as she pointed enthusiastically to worn pages of finely written notes. “You'se WHAT, chile?” “The things I mustn't do or say.” “An' you'se been losin' yoah beauty sleep for dem tings?” Mandy looked incredulous. “I don't want Mr. John to feel ashamed of me,” she said with growing pride. “Well, you'd catch Mandy a-settin' up for----”