a-sweeping, here come Philip along, a-swinging his hammer and nail-box.
He put his hand in his pocket and pult out a candy cane I had seed him
a-eating on the night before,--one of these-here they fotch on at the
store for Christmas--and poked it at Dilsey. 'Have some,' he says, 'eat
it all, if you want.' Dilsey she put out her hand for it, and then she
tuck a hard look at it, and then at Philip, and says she's obleeged, but
she don't believe she wants any. Philip he shoved it ag'in' her face.
'Don't be afeared,' he says, 'I'd ruther you'd have it as anybody'.
Little Dilse she said no thanks, she wouldn't choose any (dag gone if
she haint the ladyest girl ever I heared talk!); and Philip axed her
what's the reason. But she just kep' a-sweeping, and wouldn't open her
mouth. Then Philip he grabbed her by the shoulder, and says, by Heck,
she's _got_ to tell. And Dilse she shuck him off proud-like, and says,
'Well, if you _bound_ to hear it, I don't crave to eat atter no boy that
don't never wash his years!' Then Philip he was b'iling (dad burn if I'd
take any such talk from any woman!), and he says, 'I bet they clean as
yourn!'; and Dilsey she frowned and spoke up solemn, 'I'd have you know,
Mister Philip Floyd, _my_ years gits washed every day I live!', and made
for the door. And Philip he seed me behind the post and give me as much
candy cane as I could bite off not to tell nobody what she said to him.
And for two days he sulled, and never come anigh her mornings, and
mended the back fence. Then when his bath night come, he turnt in and
pintly scrubbed the hide off his years, in and out, and went back to
mending the front fence next morning; and him and Dilse made up; and he
allus gives her new sticks of candy now; and don't you never let on I
told you, less'n you want to see me kilt!"

XXIV

THE BABE

_Monday._

On my way to the hospital this morning, I stopped at the weaving-house
to see more of the little girl who can work such wonders with Philip.
After careful scrutiny of, and conversation with the pretty, dignified
child at the loom, I understood something of her power. She has the look
of the ideal woman, suggesting many beautiful and elusive things, and
judging from her perfect manners, might have been reared in marble halls
instead of in a two-room log house on the head of Wace. She has
distinctly the look of race,--and her name, how it carries one back
through centuries of English history! If