My chile? Lord, no, she ’s none o’ mine;
  She ’s des one I have tried
To put in place of Anna Jane—
  My little one what died.

Dat ’s long ago; no one but me
  Knows even where she lies:
But in her place I ’ve always kept
  A borrowed chile, her size.

As soon as it outgrows my chile,
  I lets it go, right straight—...