Chloe's pies; they're the right sort,' says I."

"Pity, now, Tom couldn't," said Aunt Chloe, on whose benevolent
heart the idea of Tom's benighted condition seemed to make a strong
impression. "Ye oughter just ask him here to dinner, some o' these
times, Mas'r George," she added; "it would look quite pretty of ye.
Ye know, Mas'r George, ye oughtenter feel 'bove nobody, on 'count yer
privileges, 'cause all our privileges is gi'n to us; we ought al'ays to
'member that," said Aunt Chloe, looking quite serious.

"Well, I mean to ask Tom here, some day next week," said George; "and
you do your prettiest, Aunt Chloe, and we'll make him stare. Won't we
make him eat so he won't get over it for a fortnight?"

"Yes, yes--sartin," said Aunt Chloe, delighted "you'll see. Lor! to
think of some of our dinners! Yer mind dat ar great chicken pie I made
when we guv de dinner to General Knox? I and Missis, we come pretty near
quarrelling about dat ar crust. What does get into ladies sometimes,
I don't know; but, sometimes, when a body has de heaviest kind o'
'sponsibility on 'em, as ye may say, and is all kinder _'seris'_
and taken up, dey takes dat ar time to be hangin' round and kinder
interferin'! Now, Missis, she wanted me to do dis way, and she wanted
me to do dat way; and, finally, I got kinder sarcy, and, says I, 'Now,
Missis, do jist look at dem beautiful white hands o' yourn with long
fingers, and all a sparkling with rings, like my white lilies when de
dew 's on 'em; and look at my great black stumpin hands. Now, don't ye
think dat de Lord must have meant _me_ to make de pie-crust, and you to
stay in de parlor? Dar! I was jist so sarcy, Mas'r George."

"And what did mother say?" said George.