SISTER TAYLOR. Lum, Elder Simms been huntin’ you—he’s gone on down ’bout de barn. (She gestures) LUM BOGER. I reckon I’ll overtake him. (Exit left.) SISTER THOMAS. I better go put dese greens on. My husband will kill me if he don’t find no supper ready. Here come Mrs. Blunt. She oughter feel like a penny’s worth of have-mercy wid all dis stink behind her daughter. SISTER TAYLOR. Chile, some folks don’t keer. They don’t raise they chillun; they drags ’em up. God knows if dat Daisy wuz mine, I’d throw her down an’ put a hundred lashes on her back wid a plow-line. Here she come in de store Sat’day night (Acts coy and coquettish, burlesques DAISY’S walk) a wringing and a twisting! (Enter MRS. BLUNT, left.) MRS. BLUNT. How y’all sisters? SISTER THOMAS. Very well, Miz Blunt, how you? MRS. BLUNT. Oh, so-so. MRS. TAYLOR. I’m kickin’, but not high. MRS. BLUNT. Well, thank God you still on prayin’ ground an’ in a Bible country. Me, I ain’t so many today. De niggers got my Daisy’s name all mixed up in dis mess. MRS. TAYLOR. You musn’t mind dat, Sister Blunt. People jus’ _will_ talk. They’s talkin’ in New York an’ they’s talkin’in Georgy an’ they’s talkin’in Italy. SISTER THOMAS. Chile, if you talk folkses talk, they’ll have you in de graveyard or in Chattahoochee one. You can’t pay no ’tention to talk. MRS. BLUNT. Well, I know one thing. De man or women, chick or child, grizzly or gray, that tells me to my face anything wrong ’bout _my_ chile, I’m goin’to take _my_ fist (Rolls up right sleeve and gestures with right fist) and knock they teeth down they throat. (She looks ferocious) ’Case y’all know I raised my Daisy right round my feet till I let her go up north last year wid them white folks. I’d ruther her to be in de white folks’ kitchen than walkin’de streets like some of dese girls round here. If I do say so, I done raised a lady. She can’t help it if all dese mens get stuck on her. MRS. TAYLOR. You’se tellin’de truth, Sister Blunt. That’s whut I always say: Don’t confidence dese niggers. Do, they’ll sho put you in de street. MRS. THOMAS. Naw indeed, never syndicate wid niggers. Do, they will distriminate you. They’ll be an _anybody_. You goin’to de trial, ain’t you? MRS. BLUNT. Just as sho as you snore. An’ they better leave Daisy’s name outa dis, too. I done told her and told her to come straight home from her work. Naw, she had to stop by dat store and skin her gums back wid dem trashy niggers. She better not leave them white folks today to come traipsin’over here scornin’ her name all up wid dis nigger mess. Do, I’ll kill her. No daughter of mine ain’t goin’to do as she please, long as she live under de sound of my voice. (She crosses to right.) MRS. THOMAS. That’s right, Sister Blunt. I glory in yo’ spunk. Lord, I better go put on my supper. (As MRS. BLUNT exits, right, REV. CHILDERS enters left with DAVE and DEACON LINDSAY and SISTER LEWIS. Very hostile glances from SISTERS THOMAS and TAYLOR toward the others.)