Down through the spine of the lane was a watercourse. Fish--blue, gold,
crimson--whirled languidly in it. And from the watercourse sounds
came. Busy buttering the soft part that was not exposed to the sun, of
the banana leaf into which she was to spread the cornmeal and spice and
molasses and then tightly fold to make the _conkee_, April was quick to
hear it. The kids squabbling again.
She put down the platter and made for the watercourse. Zenona, the
nanny goat, scampered away at her rustling approach.
"Alfie, wha' is it?" she cried, running up.
"He hit my Crump," said Zink Diggs, bivouacked on the fringe of the
land, a switch twirling in her hand.
"It ent!" the boy retorted, crying.
"Who tell he fo' hit my Crump?"
"He han' too fast."
"Are dat so?" said April, boiling with rage. "Hey, a big neygah uman
like yo' hit a little boy like dis. Yo' ort to be ashamed o' yo' dutty
self." She clasped the boy against her knees. He was slyly eying,
through a shiny mist, Crump's mother with the rod in her hand.
"Evah sence yo' bin in dis gap yo' been pickin' 'pon me. Why yo' don'
le' me an' me chirrun alone, ni?"
"Well, why yo' don't tell dem not to extafay wit' mine, den, no? Tell
dem de little watah-mout' runts, not to come on my hedge-row an' pick
an' mo' o' my tam'rin's. Oi'll set poison fo' dem, too. Why yo' don't
feed dem? Why yo' don't giv' dem a good stiff ball o' cookoo so dat dey
won't hav' to teef my tamarin's? Pack o' starved-out runts!"
"Who is any starved-out runt?"
"Yo'! Who yo' t'ink Oi is talkin' to, but yo'?"
"Yo' nasty t'ing yo'!"
"Yo' murrah!"
"Bad-minded wretch!"
"Call me all de bad-minded wretch yo' like but Oi betcha yo' don't hit
mah!"
"Oi' don't hav' to low-rate myself fi' suit any field han' neygah uman
like yo'."
"Hey," laughed Zink Diggs, her arms akimbo, "hey, anybody hear she
talkin' would 'a' t'ink she is the Queen of England!"
"Come, Alfie, le' we go an' leave de wretch!"