An' ebry time you has one, son, you'll be one yeah older."
"Fine way to git gray-headed," said Sam.
At this moment a mighty crash resounded from the kitchen, down-stairs,
and Aunt Phillis descended the steps with great precipitation. Then Sam
heard her shouting, angrily:
"You, Bose! Oh, you _bettah_ git, you mean ole no-'count rascal! I do
'_spise_ a houn'-dog!"
Sam went on with his toilet, musing, the while, upon the probability of
his ever getting to be as old as Uncle "Afrikin Tommy," who was the
patriarch of the plantation, and popularly supposed to be "cluss onto"
two hundred years of age; and who was wont to aver that when _he_
arrived in that part of the country, when he was a boy, the squirrels
all had two tails apiece, and the Mississippi River was such a small
stream that people bridged it, on occasion, with a fence-rail. Thus
meditating upon the glorious possibilities of his future, Sam got ready
for breakfast, and went down. It was not until he had absorbed an
enormous quantity of fried pickled-pork and hot corn-cakes, and finally
with reluctance ceased to eat, that his mother told him what had caused
the noise a little while before,--how old Bose, the fox-hound, had with
felonious intent come into the kitchen, and surreptitiously "supped up"
the chicken-soup that had been prepared for Sam's birthday breakfast;
and further, how the said delinquent had added insult to injury, by
contemptuously smashing the bowl that he had emptied.
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