More wheels, and Aunt Mary and Lewis, with Ca'line much rumpled and asleep on the front seat, her shoes and stockings in her lap and her bare feet propped gracefully on the dashboard, had returned. Aunt Mary was much excited.
"What's all dis doin'? Who was all dem niggers I seen a-streakin' crost the fiel's? Buck Jourdan, ain't that you I see hidin' behine that tree? I thought I hearn the farm bell as we roun'ed the Pint, but Lewis lowed 'twas over to Miss Sary Clay's. Come here, Buck, an' he'p me out'n dis here waggin. You needn't think you kin hide from me, when I kin see the patch on yo' pants made outen the selfsame goods I gib yo' ma to make some waistes out'n, two years ago come next Febuway." Buck came sheepishily forward to help his old aunt out of the vehicle. "Nex' time you wan' ter hide from me you'd better make out to grow a leettle leaner, or fin' a tree what's made out to grow some wider so's you won't stick out beyant it. What you been doing, and who's been a-mashin' down ole Miss's grass, and what's my little Miss Molly baby a-doin' workin' herself to death ag'in to-day?"
Buck endeavored to explain his appearance, and told the story of the strike at Mrs. Clay's and how they were just passing through Mrs. Brown's yard when she had come out and invited them all to dinner. His story was so plausible and his voice so soft and manner so wheedling, that Professor Green, who overheard the conversation, was much amused, and had he not already got the incident from Judy might have believed Buck, so convincing were his words and manner. Not so Aunt Mary, who had partly raised the worthless Buck and knew better than anyone how he could use his silver tongue to lie as well as tell the truth, but preferred the former method.
"Now, look here, you Buck Jourdan, you ain't no count on Gawd's green yearth 'cep to play the banjo. What you been doin' hirin' yo'self out to Miss Sary Clay, jes' like you ain't never know'd that none of our fambly don' never work fer none er hern? Yo' ma befo' you an' yo' gran'ma befo' her done tried it. Meanin' no disrespect to the rest er the Carmichaels, der's the ole sayin', 'What kin you expec' from a hog but a grunt?' I knows 'thout goin' in my kitchen that Miss Molly done gib all you triflin' niggers my pot er cabbage an' the dog-bread I baked fer those houn's an' bird dogs what ain't no mo' count than you is, 'cept'n they can't play the banjo."