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diff --git a/old/64770-0.txt b/old/64770-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4504029..0000000 --- a/old/64770-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4988 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann, by Joel -Chandler Harris - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann - -Author: Joel Chandler Harris - -Illustrator: A. B. Frost - -Release Date: March 09, 2021 [eBook #64770] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHRONICLES OF AUNT MINERVY -ANN *** -Transcriber’s Note: This book contains outdated racial stereotypes and -words that are now considered highly offensive. - - - - -THE CHRONICLES OF AUNT MINERVY ANN - -[Illustration: “I ain’t fergot dat ar ’possum.”] - - - - - THE CHRONICLES OF - AUNT MINERVY ANN - - BY - JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS - - ILLUSTRATED BY - A. B. FROST - - CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS - NEW YORK 1899 - - COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY - CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS - - TROW DIRECTORY - PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY - NEW YORK - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - I. An Evening with the Ku-Klux 1 - - II. “When Jess went a-fiddlin’” 34 - - III. How Aunt Minervy Ann Ran Away and Ran Back Again 70 - - IV. How She Joined the Georgia Legislature 97 - - V. How She Went Into Business 119 - - VI. How She and Major Perdue Frailed Out the Gossett Boys 139 - - VII. Major Perdue’s Bargain 157 - - VIII. The Case of Mary Ellen 182 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - “I ain’t fergot dat ar ’possum” _Frontispiece_ - - FACING PAGE - - “Well, he can’t lead _me_” 6 - - He wore a blue army overcoat and a stove-pipe hat 8 - - “Sholy you-all ain’t gwine put dat in de paper, is you?” 10 - - Inquired what day the paper came out 14 - - “I was on the lookout,” the Major explained 18 - - In the third he placed only powder 26 - - We administered to his hurts the best we could 30 - - “I’d a heap rather you’d pull your shot-gun on me than your pen” 32 - - The Committee of Public Comfort 72 - - Buying cotton on his own account 76 - - “Miss Vallie!” 78 - - “I saw him fling his hand to his shoulder and hold it there” 80 - - “Dat ar grape jelly on de right han’ side” 82 - - “‘Conant!’ here and ‘Conant’ dar” 84 - - “Drapt down on de groun’ dar an’ holler an’ cry” 90 - - “Oh, my shoulder!” 122 - - “Marse Tumlin never did pass a nigger on de road” 124 - - “We made twelve pies ef we made one” 126 - - “I gi’ Miss Vallie de money” 128 - - “Ef here ain’t ol’ Minervy Ann wid pies!” 130 - - “You see dat nigger ’oman?” 132 - - “An’ he sot dar, suh, wid his haid ’twix’ his han’s fer I dunner - how long” 134 - - “You’ll settle dis wid me” 136 - - “Dat money ain’t gwine ter las’ when you buy dat kin’ er doin’s” 160 - - Trimmin’ up de Ol’ Mules 162 - - “She wuz cryin’—settin’ dar cryin’” 164 - - “Here come a nigger boy leadin’ a bob-tail hoss” 166 - - “He been axin’ me lots ’bout Miss Vallie” 172 - - “Marse Tumlin ’low he’ll take anything what he can chaw, sop, - er drink” 176 - - “I hatter stop an’ pass de time er day” 178 - - “Hunt up an’ down fer dat ar Tom Perryman” 180 - - - - -THE CHRONICLES OF AUNT MINERVY ANN - - - - -I - -AN EVENING WITH THE KU-KLUX - - -The happiest, the most vivid, and certainly the most critical period of -a man’s life is combined in the years that stretch between sixteen and -twenty-two. His responsibilities do not sit heavily on him, he has hardly -begun to realize them, and yet he has begun to see and feel, to observe -and absorb; he is for once and for the last time an interested, and yet -an irresponsible, spectator of the passing show. - -This period I had passed very pleasantly, if not profitably, at -Halcyondale in Middle Georgia, directly after the great war, and the town -and the people there had a place apart, in my mind. When, therefore, some -ten years after leaving there, I received a cordial invitation to attend -the county fair, which had been organized by some of the enterprising -spirits of the town and county, among whom were Paul Conant and his -father-in-law, Major Tumlin Perdue, it was natural that the fact should -revive old memories. - -The most persistent of these memories were those which clustered around -Major Perdue, his daughter Vallie, and his brother-in-law, Colonel -Bolivar Blasengame, and Aunt Minervy Ann Perdue. Curiously enough, my -recollection of this negro woman was the most persistent of all. Her -individuality seemed to stand out more vitally than the rest. She was -what is called “a character,” and something more besides. The truth is, -I should have missed a good deal if I had never known Aunt Minervy Ann -Perdue, who, as she described herself, was “Affikin fum ’way back yander -’fo’ de flood, an’ fum de word go”—a fact which seriously interferes with -the somewhat complacent theory that Ham, son of Noah, was the original -negro. - -It is a fact that Aunt Minervy Ann’s great-grandmother, who lived to be -a hundred and twenty years old, had an eagle tattooed on her breast, the -mark of royalty. The brother of this princess, Qua, who died in Augusta -at the age of one hundred years, had two eagles tattooed on his breast. -This, taken in connection with his name, which means The Eagle, shows -that he was either the ruler of his tribe or the heir apparent. The -prince and princess were very small, compared with the average African, -but the records kept by a member of the Clopton family show that during -the Revolution Qua performed some wonderful feats, and went through some -strange adventures in behalf of liberty. He was in his element when war -was at its hottest—and it has never been hotter in any age or time, or -in any part of the world, savage or civilized, than it was then in the -section of Georgia now comprised in the counties of Burke, Columbia, -Richmond, and Elbert. - -However, that has nothing to do with Aunt Minervy Ann Perdue; but her -relationship to Qua and to the royal family of his tribe, remote though -it was, accounted for the most prominent traits of her character, -and many contradictory elements of her strong and sharply defined -individuality. She had a bad temper, and was both fierce and fearless -when it was aroused; but it was accompanied by a heart as tender and -a devotion as unselfish as any mortal ever possessed or displayed. -Her temper was more widely advertised than her tenderness, and her -independence more clearly in evidence than her unselfish devotion, except -to those who knew her well or intimately. - -And so it happened that Aunt Minervy Ann, after freedom gave her the -privilege of showing her extraordinary qualities of self-sacrifice, -walked about in the midst of the suspicion and distrust of her own race, -and was followed by the misapprehensions and misconceptions of many of -the whites. She knew the situation and laughed at it, and if she wasn’t -proud of it her attitude belied her. - -It was at the moment of transition from the old conditions to the new -that I had known Aunt Minervy Ann and the persons in whom she was so -profoundly interested, and she and they, as I have said, had a place -apart in my memory and experience. I also remembered Hamp, Aunt Minervy -Ann’s husband, and the queer contrast between the two. It was mainly -on account of Hamp, perhaps, that Aunt Minervy Ann was led to take -such a friendly interest in the somewhat lonely youth who was editor, -compositor, and pressman of Halcyondale’s ambitious weekly newspaper in -the days following the collapse of the confederacy. - -When a slave, Hamp had belonged to an estate which was in the hands of -the Court of Ordinary (or, as it was then called, the Inferior Court), to -be administered in the interest of minor heirs. This was not a fortunate -thing for the negroes, of which there were above one hundred and fifty. -Men, women, and children were hired out, some far and some near. They -came back home at Christmastime, enjoyed a week’s frolic, and were -then hired out again, perhaps to new employers. But whether to new or -old, it is certain that hired hands in those days did not receive the -consideration that men gave to their own negroes. - -This experience told heavily on Hamp’s mind. It made him reserved, -suspicious, and antagonistic. He had few pleasant memories to fall back -on, and these were of the days of his early youth, when he used to trot -around holding to his old master’s coat-tails—the kind old master who had -finally been sent to the insane asylum. Hamp never got over the idea (he -had heard some of the older negroes talking about it) that his old master -had been judged to be crazy simply because he was unusually kind to his -negroes, especially the little ones. Hamp’s after-experience seemed to -prove this, for he received small share of kindness, as well as scrimped -rations, from the majority of those who hired him. - -It was a very good thing for Hamp that he married Aunt Minervy Ann, -otherwise he would have become a wanderer and a vagabond when freedom -came. It was a fate he didn’t miss a hair’s breadth; he “broke loose,” -as he described it, and went off, but finally came back and tried in vain -to persuade Aunt Minervy Ann to leave Major Perdue. He finally settled -down, but acquired no very friendly feelings toward the white race. - -He joined the secret political societies, strangely called “Union -Leagues,” and aided in disseminating the belief that the whites were -only awaiting a favorable opportunity to re-enslave his race. He was -only repeating what the carpet-baggers had told him. Perhaps he believed -the statement, perhaps not. At any rate, he repeated it fervently and -frequently, and soon came to be the recognized leader of the negroes in -the county of which Halcyondale was the capital. That is to say, the -leader of all except one. At church one Sunday night some of the brethren -congratulated Aunt Minervy Ann on the fact that Hamp was now the leader -of the colored people in that region. - -“What colored people?” snapped Aunt Minervy Ann. - -“We-all,” responded a deacon, emphatically. - -“Well, he can’t lead _me_, I’ll tell you dat right now!” exclaimed Aunt -Minervy Ann. - -[Illustration: “Well, he can’t lead _me_.”] - -Anyhow, when the time came to elect members of the Legislature (the -constitutional convention had already been held), Hamp was chosen to be -the candidate of the negro Republicans. A white man wanted to run, but -the negroes said they preferred their own color, and they had their way. -They had their way at the polls, too, for, as nearly all the whites who -would have voted had served in the Confederate army, they were at that -time disfranchised. - -So Hamp was elected overwhelmingly, “worl’ widout een’,” as he put it, -and the effect it had on him was a perfect illustration of one aspect of -human nature. Before and during the election (which lasted three days) -Hamp had been going around puffed up with importance. He wore a blue army -overcoat and a stove-pipe hat, and went about smoking a big cigar. When -the election was over, and he was declared the choice of the county, he -collapsed. His dignity all disappeared. His air of self-importance and -confidence deserted him. His responsibilities seemed to weigh him down. - -He had once “rolled” in the little printing-office where the machinery -consisted of a No. 2 Washington hand-press, a wooden imposing-stone, -three stands for the cases, a rickety table for “wetting down” the paper, -and a tub in which to wash the forms. This office chanced to be my -headquarters, and the day after the election I was somewhat surprised -to see Hamp saunter in. So was Major Tumlin Perdue, who was reading the -exchanges. - -“He’s come to demand a retraction,” remarked the Major, “and you’ll have -to set him right. He’s no longer plain Hamp; he’s the Hon. Hamp—what’s -your other name?” turning to the negro. - -“Hamp Tumlin my fergiven name, suh. I thought ’Nervy Ann tol’ you dat.” - -“Why, who named you after me?” inquired the Major, somewhat angrily. - -“Me an’ ’Nervy Ann fix it up, suh. She say it’s about de purtiest name in -town.” - -The Major melted a little, but his bristles rose again, as it were. - -“Look here, Hamp!” he exclaimed in a tone that nobody ever forgot or -misinterpreted; “don’t you go and stick Perdue onto it. I won’t stand -that!” - -“No, suh!” responded Hamp. “I started ter do it, but ’Nervy Ann say -she ain’t gwine ter have de Perdue name bandied about up dar whar de -Legislature’s at.” - -[Illustration: He wore a blue army overcoat and a stove-pipe hat.] - -Again the Major thawed, and though he looked long at Hamp it was with -friendly eyes. He seemed to be studying the negro—“sizing him up,” as -the saying is. For a newly elected member of the Legislature, Hamp -seemed to take a great deal of interest in the old duties he once -performed about the office. He went first to the box in which the -“roller” was kept, and felt of its surface carefully. - -“You’ll hatter have a bran new roller ’fo’ de mont’s out,” he said, “an’ -I won’t be here to he’p you make it.” - -Then he went to the roller-frame, turned the handle, and looked at the -wooden cylinders. “Dey don’t look atter it like I use ter, suh; an’ dish -yer frame monst’us shackly.” - -From there he passed to the forms where the advertisements remained -standing. He passed his thumb over the type and looked at it critically. -“Dey er mighty skeer’d dey’ll git all de ink off,” was his comment. Do -what he would, Hamp couldn’t hide his embarrassment. - -Meanwhile, Major Perdue scratched off a few lines in pencil. “I wish -you’d get this in Tuesday’s paper,” he said. Then he read: “The Hon. -Hampton Tumlin, recently elected a member of the Legislature, paid us a -pop-call last Saturday. We are always pleased to meet our distinguished -fellow-townsman and representative. We trust Hon. Hampton Tumlin will -call again when the Ku-Klux are in.” - -“Why, certainly,” said I, humoring the joke. - -“Sholy you-all ain’t gwine put dat in de paper, is you?” inquired Hamp, -in amazement. - -“Of course,” replied the Major; “why not?” - -“Kaze, ef you does, I’m a ruint nigger. Ef ’Nervy Ann hear talk ’bout -my name an’ entitlements bein’ in de paper, she’ll quit me sho. Uh-uh! -I’m gwine ’way fum here!” With that Hamp bowed and disappeared. The -Major chuckled over his little joke, but soon returned to his newspaper. -For a quarter of an hour there was absolute quiet in the room, and, as -it seemed, in the entire building, which was a brick structure of two -stories, the stairway being in the centre. The hallway was, perhaps, -seventy-five feet long, and on each side, at regular intervals, there -were four rooms, making eight in all, and, with one exception, variously -occupied as lawyers’ offices or sleeping apartments, the exception being -the printing-office in which Major Perdue and I were sitting. This was at -the extreme rear of the hallway. - -[Illustration: “Sholy you-all ain’t gwine put dat in de paper, is you?”] - -I had frequently been struck by the acoustic properties of this hallway. -A conversation carried on in ordinary tones in the printing-office could -hardly be heard in the adjoining room. Transferred to the front rooms, -however, or even to the sidewalk facing the entrance to the stairway, -the lightest tone was magnified in volume. A German professor of music, -who for a time occupied the apartment opposite the printing-office, -was so harassed by the thunderous sounds of laughter and conversation -rolling back upon him that he tried to remedy the matter by nailing two -thicknesses of bagging along the floor from the stairway to the rear -window. This was, indeed, something of a help, but when the German left, -being of an economical turn of mind, he took his bagging away with him, -and once more the hallway was torn and rent, as you may say, with the -lightest whisper. - -Thus it happened that, while the Major and I were sitting enjoying an -extraordinary season of calm, suddenly there came a thundering sound -from the stairway. A troop of horse could hardly have made a greater -uproar, and yet I knew that fewer than half a dozen people were ascending -the steps. Some one stumbled and caught himself, and the multiplied -and magnified reverberations were as loud as if the roof had caved in, -carrying the better part of the structure with it. Some one laughed at -the misstep, and the sound came to our ears with the deafening effect -of an explosion. The party filed with a dull roar into one of the front -rooms, the office of a harum-scarum young lawyer who had more empty -bottles behind his door than he had ever had briefs on his desk. - -“Well, the great Gemini!” exclaimed Major Perdue, “how do you manage to -stand that sort of thing?” - -I shrugged my shoulders and laughed, and was about to begin anew a very -old tirade against caves and halls of thunder, when the Major raised a -warning hand. Some one was saying—— - -“He hangs out right on ol’ Major Perdue’s lot. He’s got a wife there.” - -“By jing!” exclaimed another voice; “is that so? Well, I don’t wanter git -mixed up wi’ the Major. He may be wobbly on his legs, but I don’t wanter -be the one to run up ag’in ’im.” - -The Major pursed up his lips and looked at the ceiling, his attitude -being one of rapt attention. - -“Shucks!” cried another; “by the time the ol’ cock gits his bellyful of -dram, thunder wouldn’t roust ’im.” - -A shrewd, foxy, almost sinister expression came over the Major’s rosy -face as he glanced at me. His left hand went to his goatee, an invariable -signal of deep feeling, such as anger, grief, or serious trouble. Another -voice broke in here, a voice that we both knew to be that of Larry -Pulliam, a big Kentuckian who had refugeed to Halcyondale during the war. - -“Blast it all!” exclaimed Larry Pulliam, “I hope the Major will come out. -Me an’ him hain’t never butted heads yit, an’ it’s gittin’ high time. Ef -he comes out, you fellers jest go ahead with your rat-killin’. _I_’ll -’ten’ to him.” - -“Why, you’d make two of him, Pulliam,” said the young lawyer. - -“Oh, I’ll not hurt ’im; that is, not _much_—jest enough to let ’im know -I’m livin’ in the same village,” replied Mr. Pulliam. The voice of the -town bull could not have had a more terrifying sound. - -Glancing at the Major, I saw that he had entirely recovered his -equanimity. More than that, a smile of sweet satisfaction and contentment -settled on his rosy face, and stayed there. - -“I wouldn’t take a hundred dollars for that last remark,” whispered the -Major. “That chap’s been a-raisin’ his hackle at me ever since he’s -been here, and every time I try to get him to make a flutter he’s off -and gone. Of course it wouldn’t do for me to push a row on him just dry -so. But now——” The Major laughed softly, rubbed his hands together, and -seemed to be as happy as a child with a new toy. - -“My son,” said he after awhile, “ain’t there some way of finding -out who the other fellows are? Ain’t you got some word you want Seab -Griffin”—this was the young lawyer—“to spell for you?” - -Spelling was the Major’s weakness. He was a well-educated man, and could -write vigorous English, but only a few days before he had asked me how -many _f_’s there are in _graphic_. - -“Let’s see,” he went on, rubbing the top of his head. “Do you spell -_Byzantium_ with two _y_’s, or with two _i_’s, or with one _y_ and one -_i_? It’ll make Seab feel right good to be asked that before company, and -he certainly needs to feel good if he’s going with that crowd.” - -So, with a manuscript copy in my hand, I went hurriedly down the hall and -put the important question. Mr. Griffin was all politeness, but not quite -sure of the facts in the case. But he searched in his books of reference, -including the Geographical Gazette, until finally he was able to give me -the information I was supposed to stand in need of. - -While he was searching, Mr. Pulliam turned to me and inquired what day -the paper came out. When told that the date was Tuesday, he smiled and -nodded his head mysteriously. - -“That’s good,” he declared; “you’ll be in time to ketch the news.” - -[Illustration: Inquired what day the paper came out.] - -“What news?” I inquired. - -“Well, ef you don’t hear about it before to-morrer night, jest inquire of -Major Perdue. He’ll tell you all about it.” - -Mr. Pulliam’s tone was so supercilious that I was afraid the Major would -lose his temper and come raging down the hallway. But he did nothing -of the kind. When I returned he was fairly beaming, and seemed to be -perfectly happy. The Major took down the names in his note-book—I have -forgotten all except those of Buck Sanford and Larry Pulliam; they were -all from the country except Larry Pulliam and the young lawyer. - -After my visit to the room, the men spoke in lower tones, but every word -came back to us as distinctly as before. - -“The feed of the horses won’t cost us a cent,” remarked young Sanford. -“Tom Gresham said he’d ’ten’ to that. They’re in the stable right now. -And we’re to have supper in Tom’s back room, have a little game of ante, -and along about twelve or one we’ll sa’nter down and yank that darned -nigger from betwixt his blankets, ef he’s got any, and leave him to cool -off at the cross-roads. Won’t you go ’long, Seab, and see it well done?” - -“I’ll go and see if the supper’s well done, and I’ll take a shy at your -ante,” replied Mr. Griffin. “But when it comes to the balance of the -programme—well, I’m a lawyer, you know, and you couldn’t expect me to -witness the affair. I might have to take your cases and prove an alibi, -you know, and I couldn’t conscientiously do that if I was on hand at the -time.” - -“The Ku-Klux don’t have to have alibis,” suggested Larry Pulliam. - -“Perhaps not, still—” Apparently Mr. Griffin disposed of the matter with -a gesture. - -When all the details of their plan had been carefully arranged, the -amateur Ku-Klux went filing out, the noise they made dying away like the -echoes of a storm. - -Major Perdue leaned his head against the back of his chair, closed his -eyes, and sat there so quietly that I thought he was asleep. But this was -a mistake. Suddenly he began to laugh, and he laughed until the tears ran -down his face. It was laughter that was contagious, and presently I found -myself joining in without knowing why. This started the Major afresh, and -we both laughed until exhaustion came to our aid. - -“O Lord!” cried the Major, panting, “I haven’t had as much fun since the -war, and a long time before. That blamed Pulliam is going to walk into a -trap of his own setting. Now you jest watch how he goes out ag’in.” - -“But I’ll not be there,” I suggested. - -“Oh, yes!” exclaimed the Major, “you can’t afford to miss it. It’ll be -the finest piece of news your paper ever had. You’ll go to supper with -me—” He paused. “No, I’ll go home, send Valentine to her Aunt Emmy’s, get -Blasengame to come around, and we’ll have supper about nine. That’ll fix -it. Some of them chaps might have an eye on my house, and I don’t want -’em to see anybody but me go in there. Now, if you don’t come at nine, -I’ll send Blasengame after you.” - -“I shall be glad to come, Major. I was simply fishing for an invitation.” - -“_That_ fish is always on your hook, and you know it,” the Major insisted. - -As it was arranged, so it fell out. At nine, I lifted and dropped the -knocker on the Major’s front door. It opened so promptly that I was -somewhat taken by surprise, but in a moment the hand of my host was on my -arm, and he pulled me inside unceremoniously. - -“I was on the lookout,” the Major explained. “Minervy Ann has fixed to -have waffles, and she’s crazy about havin’ ’em just right. If she waits -too long to make ’em, the batter’ll spoil; and if she puts ’em on before -everybody’s ready, they won’t be good. That’s what she says. Here he is, -you old Hessian!” the Major cried, as Minervy Ann peeped in from the -dining-room. “Now slap that supper together and let’s get at it.” - -“I’m mighty glad you come, suh,” said Aunt Minervy Ann, with a courtesy -and a smile, and then she disappeared. In an incredibly short time -supper was announced, and though Aunt Minervy has since informed me -confidentially that the Perdues were having a hard time of it at that -period, I’ll do her the justice to say that the supper she furnished -forth was as good as any to be had in that town—waffles, beat biscuit, -fried chicken, buttermilk, and coffee that could not be surpassed. - -“How about the biscuit, Minervy Ann?” inquired Colonel Blasengame, who -was the Major’s brother-in-law, and therefore one of the family. - -“I turned de dough on de block twelve times, an’ hit it a hundred an -forty-sev’m licks,” replied Aunt Minervy Ann. - -“I’m afeard you hit it one lick too many,” said Colonel Blasengame, -winking at me. - -[Illustration: “I was on the lookout,” the Major explained.] - -“Well, suh, I been hittin’ dat away a mighty long time,” Aunt Minervy -Ann explained, “and I ain’t never hear no complaints.” - -“Oh, I’m not complainin’, Minervy Ann.” Colonel Blasengame waved his -hand. “I’m mighty glad you did hit the dough a lick too many. If you -hadn’t, the biscuit would ’a’ melted in my mouth, and I believe I’d -rather chew on ’em to get the taste.” - -“He des runnin’ on, suh,” said Aunt Minervy Ann to me. “Marse Bolivar -know mighty well dat he got ter go ’way fum de Nunited State fer ter git -any better biscuits dan what I kin bake.” - -Then there was a long pause, which was broken by an attempt on the part -of Major Perdue to give Aunt Minervy Ann an inkling of the events likely -to happen during the night. She seemed to be both hard of hearing and -dull of understanding when the subject was broached; or she may have -suspected the Major was joking or trying to “run a rig” on her. Her -questions and comments, however, were very characteristic. - -“I dunner what dey want wid Hamp,” she said. “Ef dey know’d how no-count -he is, dey’d let ’im ’lone. What dey want wid ’im?” - -“Well, two or three of the country boys and maybe some of the town chaps -are going to call on him between midnight and day. They want to take him -out to the cross-roads. Hadn’t you better fix ’em up a little snack? Hamp -won’t want anything, but the boys will feel a little hungry after the job -is over.” - -“Nobody ain’t never tell me dat de Legislatur’ wuz like de Free Masons, -whar dey have ter ride a billy goat an’ go down in a dry well wid de -chains a-clankin’. I done tol’ Hamp dat he better not fool wid white -folks’ doin’s.” - -“Only the colored members have to be initiated,” explained the Major, -solemnly. - -“What does dey do wid um?” inquired Aunt Minervy Ann. - -“Well,” replied the Major, “they take ’em out to the nearest cross-roads, -put ropes around their necks, run the ropes over limbs, and pull away as -if they were drawing water from a well.” - -“What dey do dat fer?” asked Aunt Minervy Ann, apparently still oblivious -to the meaning of it all. - -“They want to see which’ll break first, the ropes or the necks,” the -Major explained. - -“Ef dey takes Hamp out,” remarked Aunt Minervy Ann, tentatively—feeling -her way, as it were—“what time will he come back?” - -“You’ve heard about the Resurrection Morn, haven’t you, Minervy Ann?” -There was a pious twang in the Major’s voice as he pronounced the words. - -“I hear de preacher say sump’n ’bout it,” replied Aunt Minervy Ann. - -“Well,” said the Major, “along about that time Hamp will return. I hope -his record is good enough to give him wings.” - -“Shuh! Marse Tumlin! you-all des fool’in’ me. I don’t keer—Hamp ain’t -gwine wid um. I tell you dat right now.” - -“Oh, he may not want to go,” persisted the Major, “but he’ll go all the -same if they get their hands on him.” - -“My life er me!” exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann, bristling up, “does you-all -’speck I’m gwine ter let um take Hamp out dat away? De fus’ man come ter -my door, less’n it’s one er you-all, I’m gwine ter fling a pan er hot -embers in his face ef de Lord’ll gi’ me de strenk. An’ ef dat don’t do no -good, I’ll scald um wid b’ilin’ water. You hear dat, don’t you?” - -“Minervy Ann,” said the Major, sweetly, “have you ever heard of the -Ku-Klux?” - -“Yasser, I is!” she exclaimed with startling emphasis. She stopped -still and gazed hard at the Major. In response, he merely shrugged his -shoulders and raised his right hand with a swift gesture that told the -whole story. - -“Name er God! Marse Tumlin, is you an’ Marse Bolivar and dish yer young -genterman gwine ter set down here flat-footed and let dem Kukluckers -scarify Hamp?” - -“Why should _we_ do anything? You’ve got everything arranged. You’re -going to singe ’em with hot embers, and you’re going to take their hides -off with scalding water. What more do you want?” The Major spoke with an -air of benign resignation. - -Aunt Minervy Ann shook her head vigorously. “Ef dey er de Kukluckers, -fire won’t do um no harm. Dey totes der haids in der han’s.” - -“Their heads in their hands?” cried Colonel Blasengame, excitedly. - -“Dat what dey say, suh,” replied Aunt Minervy Ann. - -Colonel Blasengame looked at his watch. “Tumlin, I’ll have to ask you -to excuse me to-night,” he said. “I—well, the fact is, I have a mighty -important engagement up town. I’m obliged to fill it.” He turned to Aunt -Minervy Ann: “Did I understand you to say the Ku-Klux carry their heads -in their hands?” - -“Dat what folks tell me. I hear my own color sesso,” replied Aunt Minervy -Ann. - -“I’d be glad to stay with you, Tumlin,” the Colonel declared; “but—well, -under the circumstances, I think I’d better fill that engagement. Justice -to my family demands it.” - -“Well,” responded Major Perdue, “if you are going, I reckon we’d just as -well go, too.” - -“Huh!” exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann, “ef gwine’s de word, dey can’t nobody -beat me gittin’ way fum here. Dey may beat me comin’ back, I ain’t -’sputin’ dat; but dey can’t beat me gwine ’way. I’m ol’, but I got mighty -nigh ez much go in me ez a quarter-hoss.” - -Colonel Blasengame leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling. “It -seems to me, Tumlin, we might compromise on this. Suppose we get Hamp to -come in here. Minervy Ann can stay out there in the kitchen and throw a -rock against the back door when the Ku-Klux come.” - -Aunt Minervy Ann fairly gasped. “_Who? Me?_ I’ll die fust. I’ll t’ar dat -do’ down; I’ll holler twel ev’ybody in de neighborhood come a-runnin’. Ef -you don’t b’lieve me, you des try me. I’ll paw up dat back-yard.” - -Major Perdue went to the back door and called Hamp, but there was no -answer. He called him a second time, with the same result. - -“Well,” said the Major, “they’ve stolen a march on us. They’ve come and -carried him off while we were talking.” - -“No, suh, dey ain’t, needer. I know right whar he is, an’ I’m gwine -atter ’im. He’s right ’cross de street dar, colloguin’ wid dat ol’ Ceely -Ensign. Dat’s right whar he is.” - -“Old! Why, Celia is young,” remarked the Major. “They say she’s the best -cook in town.” - -Aunt Minervy Ann whipped out of the room and was gone some little time. -When she returned, she had Hamp with her, and I noticed that both were -laboring under excitement which they strove in vain to suppress. - -“Here I is, suh,” said Hamp. “’Nervy Ann say you call me.” - -“How is Celia to-night?” Colonel Blasengame inquired, suavely. - -This inquiry, so suddenly and unexpectedly put, seemed to disconcert -Hamp. He shuffled his feet and put his hand to his face. I noticed a -blue welt over his eye, which was not there when he visited me in the -afternoon. - -“Well, suh, I ’speck she’s tolerbul.” - -“_Is she? Is she? Ah-h-h!_” cried Aunt Minervy Ann. - -“She must be pretty well,” said the Major. “I see she’s hit you a clip -over the left eye.” - -“Dat’s some er ’Nervy Ann’s doin’s, suh,” replied Hamp, somewhat -disconsolately. - -“Den what you git in de way fer?” snapped Aunt Minervy Ann. - -“Marse Tumlin, dat ar ’oman ain’t done nothin’ in de roun’ worl’. She say -she want me to buy some hime books fer de church when I went to Atlanty, -an’ I went over dar atter de money.” - -“_I himed ’er an’ I churched ’er!_” exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann. - -“Here de money right here,” said Hamp, pulling a small roll of -shinplasters out of his pocket; “an’ whiles we settin’ dar countin’ de -money, ’Nervy Ann come in dar an’ frail dat ’oman out.” - -“Ain’t you hear dat nigger holler, Marse Tumlin?” inquired Minervy Ann. -She was in high good-humor now. “Look like ter me dey could a-heerd ’er -blate in de nex’ county ef dey’d been a-lis’nin’. ’Twuz same ez a picnic, -suh, an’ I’m gwine ’cross dar ’fo’ long an’ pay my party call.” - -Then she began to laugh, and pretty soon went through the whole episode -for our edification, dwelling with unction on that part where the -unfortunate victim of her jealousy had called her “Miss ’Nervy.” The more -she laughed the more serious Hamp became. - -At the proper time he was told of the visitation that was to be made by -the Ku-Klux, and this information seemed to perplex and worry him no -little. But his face lit up with genuine thankfulness when the programme -for the occasion was announced to him. He and Minervy Ann were to remain -in the house and not show their heads until the Major or the Colonel or -their guest came to the back door and drummed on it lightly with the -fingers. - -[Illustration: In the third he placed only powder.] - -Then the arms—three shot-guns—were brought out, and I noticed with some -degree of surprise, that as the Major and the Colonel began to handle -these, their spirits rose perceptibly. The Major hummed a tune and the -Colonel whistled softly as they oiled the locks and tried the triggers. -The Major, in coming home, had purchased four pounds of mustard-seed -shot, and with this he proceeded to load two of the guns. In the third -he placed only powder. This harmless weapon was intended for me, while -the others were to be handled by Major Perdue and Colonel Blasengame. I -learned afterward that the arrangement was made solely for my benefit. -The Major and the Colonel were afraid that a young hand might become -excited and fire too high at close range, in which event mustard-seed -shot would be as dangerous as the larger variety. - -At twelve o’clock I noticed that both Hamp and Aunt Minervy were growing -restless. - -“You hear dat clock, don’t you, Marse Tumlin?” said Minervy as the chimes -died away. “Ef you don’t min’, de Kukluckers’ll be a-stickin’ der haids -in de back do’.” - -But the Major and the Colonel were playing a rubber of seven-up (or -high-low-Jack) and paid no attention. It was a quarter after twelve when -the game was concluded and the players pushed their chairs back from the -table. - -“Ef you don’t fin’ um in de yard waitin’ fer you, I’ll be fooled -might’ly,” remarked Aunt Minervy Ann. - -“Go and see if they’re out there,” said the Major. - -“_Me_, Marse Tumlin? _Me?_ I wouldn’t go out dat do’ not for ham.” - -The Major took out his watch. “They’ll eat and drink until twelve or a -little after, and then they’ll get ready to start. Then they’ll have -another drink all ’round, and finally they’ll take another. It’ll be a -quarter to one or after when they get in the grove in the far end of the -lot. But we’ll go out now and see how the land lays. By the time they get -here, our eyes will be used to the darkness.” - -The light was carried to a front room, and we groped our way out at the -back door the best we could. The night was dark, but the stars were -shining. I noticed that the belt and sword of Orion had drifted above -the tree-tops in the east, following the Pleiades. In a little while the -darkness seemed to grow less dense, and I could make out the outlines of -trees twenty feet away. - -Behind one of these trees, near the outhouse in which Hamp and Aunt -Minervy lived, I was to take my stand, while the Major and the Colonel -were to go farther into the wood-lot so as to greet the would-be Ku-Klux -as they made their retreat, of which Major Perdue had not the slightest -doubt. - -“You stand here,” said the Major in a whisper. “We’ll go to the far-end -of the lot where they’re likely to come in. They’ll pass us all right -enough, but as soon as you see one of ’em, up with the gun an’ lam -aloose, an’ before they can get away give ’em the other barrel. Then -you’ll hear from us.” - -Major Perdue and Colonel Blasengame disappeared in the darkness, leaving -me, as it were, on the inner picket line. I found the situation somewhat -ticklish, as the saying is. There was not the slightest danger, and I -knew it, but if you ever have occasion to stand out in the dark, waiting -for something to happen, you’ll find there’s a certain degree of suspense -attached to it. And the loneliness and silence of the night will take a -shape almost tangible. The stirring of the half-dead leaves, the chirping -of a belated cricket, simply emphasized the loneliness and made the -silence more profound. At intervals, all nature seemed to heave a deep -sigh, and address itself to slumber again. - -In the house I heard the muffled sound of the clock chime one, but -whether it was striking the half-hour or the hour I could not tell. -Then I heard the stealthy tread of feet. Someone stumbled over a stick -of timber, and the noise was followed by a smothered exclamation and a -confused murmur of voices. As the story-writers say, I knew that the -hour had come. I could hear whisperings, and then I saw a tall shadow -steal from behind Aunt Minervy’s house, and heard it rap gently on the -door. I raised the gun, pulled the hammer back, and let drive. A stream -of fire shot from the gun, accompanied by a report that tore the silence -to atoms. I heard a sharp exclamation of surprise, then the noise of -running feet, and off went the other barrel. In a moment the Major and -the Colonel opened on the fugitives. I heard a loud cry of pain from one, -and, in the midst of it all, the mustard-seed shot rattled on the plank -fence like hominy-snow on a tin roof. - -The next instant I heard someone running back in my direction, as if -for dear life. He knew the place apparently, for he tried to go through -the orchard, but just before he reached the orchard fence, he uttered a -half-strangled cry of terror, and then I heard him fall as heavily as if -he had dropped from the top of the house. - -It was impossible to imagine what had happened, and it was not until we -had investigated the matter that the cause of the trouble was discovered. -A wire clothes-line, stretched across the yard, had caught the would-be -Ku-Klux under the chin, his legs flew from under him, and he had a fall, -from the effects of which he was long in recovering. He was a young man -about town, very well connected, who had gone into the affair in a spirit -of mischief. We carried him into the house, and administered to his hurts -the best we could; Aunt Minervy Ann, be it said to her credit, being more -active in this direction than any of us. - -[Illustration: We administered to his hurts the best we could.] - -On the Tuesday following, the county paper contained the news in a form -that remains to this day unique. It is hardly necessary to say that it -was from the pen of Major Tumlin Perdue. - -“Last Saturday afternoon our local editor was informed by a prominent -citizen that if he would apply to Major Perdue he would be put in -possession of a very interesting piece of news. Acting upon this hint, -ye local yesterday went to Major Perdue, who, being in high good-humor, -wrote out the following with his own hand: - -“‘Late Saturday night, while engaged with a party of friends in searching -for a stray dog on my premises, I was surprised to see four or five -men climb over my back fence and proceed toward my residence. As my -most intimate friends do not visit me by climbing over my back fence, I -immediately deployed my party in such a manner as to make the best of -a threatening situation. The skirmish opened at my kitchen-door, with -two rounds from a howitzer. This demoralized the enemy, who promptly -retreated the way they came. One of them, the leader of the attacking -party, carried away with him two loads of mustard-seed shot, delivered in -the general neighborhood and region of the coat-tails, which, being on -a level with the horizon, afforded as fair a target as could be had in -the dark. I understand on good authority that Mr. Larry Pulliam, one of -our leading and deservedly popular citizens, has had as much as a quart -of mustard-seed shot picked from his carcass. Though hit in a vulnerable -spot, the wound is not mortal.—T. PERDUE.’” - -I did my best to have Mr. Pulliam’s name suppressed, but the Major would -not have it so. - -“No, sir,” he insisted; “the man has insulted me behind my back, and he’s -got to cut wood or put down the axe.” - -Naturally this free and easy card created quite a sensation in -Halcyondale and the country round about. People knew what it would mean -if Major Perdue’s name had been used in such an off-hand manner by Mr. -Pulliam, and they naturally supposed that a fracas would be the outcome. -Public expectation was on tiptoe, and yet the whole town seemed to take -the Major’s card humorously. Some of the older citizens laughed until -they could hardly sit up, and even Mr. Pulliam’s friends caught the -infection. Indeed, it is said that Mr. Pulliam, himself, after the first -shock of surprise was over, paid the Major’s audacious humor the tribute -of a hearty laugh. When Mr. Pulliam appeared in public, among the first -men he saw was Major Perdue. This was natural, for the Major made it a -point to be on hand. He was not a ruffler, but he thought it was his duty -to give Mr. Pulliam a fair opportunity to wreak vengeance on him. If the -boys about town imagined that a row was to be the result of this first -meeting, they were mistaken. Mr. Pulliam looked at the Major and then -began to laugh. - -[Illustration: “I’d a heap rather you’d pull your shot-gun on me than -your pen.”] - -“Major Perdue,” he said, “I’d a heap rather you’d pull your shot-gun on -me than your pen.” - -And that ended the matter. - - - - -II - -“WHEN JESS WENT A-FIDDLIN’” - - -The foregoing recital is unquestionably a long and tame preface to the -statement that, after thinking the matter over I concluded to accept the -official invitation to the fair—“The Middle Georgia Exposition” it was -called—if nothing occurred to prevent. With this conclusion I dismissed -the matter from my mind for the time being, and would probably have -thought of it no more until the moment arrived to make a final decision, -if the matter had not been called somewhat sharply to my attention. - -Sitting on the veranda one day, ruminating over other people’s troubles, -I heard an unfamiliar voice calling, “You-all got any bitin’ dogs here?” -The voice failed to match the serenity of the suburban scene. Its tone -was pitched a trifle too high for the surroundings. - -But before I could make any reply the gate was flung open, and the -new-comer, who was no other than Aunt Minervy Ann, flirted in and began -to climb the terraces. My recognition of her was not immediate, partly -because it had been long since I saw her and partly because she wore her -Sunday toggery, in which, following the oriental tastes of her race, the -reds and yellows were emphasized with startling effect. She began to talk -by the time she was half-way between the house and gate, and it was owing -to this special and particular volubility that I was able to recognize -her. - -“Huh!” she exclaimed, “hit’s des like clim’in’ up sta’rs. Folks what -live here bleeze ter b’long ter de Sons er Tempunce.” There was a -relish about this reference to the difficulties of three terraces that -at once identified Aunt Minervy Ann. More than that, one of the most -conspicuous features of the country town where she lived was a large -brick building, covering half a block, across the top of which stretched -a sign—“Temperance Hall”—in letters that could be read half a mile away. - -Aunt Minervy Ann received a greeting that seemed to please her, whereupon -she explained that an excursion had come to Atlanta from her town, and -she had seized the opportunity to pay me a visit. “I tol’ um,” said she, -“dat dey could stay up in town dar an’ hang ’roun’ de kyar-shed ef dey -wanter, but here’s what wuz gwine ter come out an’ see whar you live at, -an’ fin’ out fer Marse Tumlin ef you comin’ down ter de fa’r.” - -She was informed that, though she was welcome, she would get small -pleasure from her visit. The cook had failed to make her appearance, -and the lady of the house was at that moment in the kitchen and in a -very fretful state of mind, not because she had to cook, but because she -had about reached the point where she could place no dependence in the -sisterhood of colored cooks. - -“Is she in de kitchen now?” Aunt Minervy’s tone was a curious mixture of -amusement and indignation. “I started not ter come, but I had a call, I -sho’ did; sump’n tol’ me dat you mought need me out here.” With that, she -went into the house, slamming the screen-door after her, and untying her -bonnet as she went. - -Now, the lady of the house had heard of Aunt Minervy Ann, but had never -met her, and I was afraid that the characteristics of my old-time friend -would be misunderstood and misinterpreted. The lady in question knew -nothing of the negro race until long after emancipation, and she had -not been able to form a very favorable opinion of its representatives. -Therefore, I hastened after Aunt Minervy Ann, hoping to tone down by -explanation whatever bad impression she might create. She paused at the -screen-door that barred the entrance to the kitchen, and, for an instant, -surveyed the scene within. Then she cried out: - -“You des ez well ter come out’n dat kitchen! You ain’t got no mo’ bizness -in dar dan a new-born baby.” - -Aunt Minervy Ann’s voice was so loud and absolute that the lady gazed at -her in mute astonishment. “You des es well ter come out!” she insisted. - -“Are you crazy?” the lady asked, in all seriousness. - -“I’m des ez crazy now ez I ever been; an’ I tell you you des ez well ter -come out’n dar.” - -“Who are you anyhow?” - -“I’m Minervy Ann Perdue, at home an’ abroad, an’ in dish yer great town -whar you can’t git niggers ter cook fer you.” - -“Well, if you want me to come out of the kitchen, you will have to come -in and do the cooking.” - -“Dat ’zackly what I’m gwine ter do!” exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann. She went -into the kitchen, demanded an apron, and took entire charge. “I’m mighty -glad I come ’fo’ you got started,” she said, “’kaze you got ’nuff fier -in dis stove fer ter barbecue a hoss; an’ you got it so hot in here dat -it’s a wonder you ain’t bust a blood-vessel.” - -She removed all the vessels from the range, and opened the door of the -furnace so that the fire might die down. And when it was nearly out—as -I was told afterward—she replaced the vessels and proceeded to cook a -dinner which, in all its characteristics, marked a red letter day in the -household. - -“She’s the best cook in the country,” said the lady, “and she’s not very -polite.” - -“Not very hypocritical, you mean; well if she was a hypocrite, she -wouldn’t be Aunt Minervy Ann.” - -The cook failed to come in the afternoon, and so Aunt Minervy Ann felt -it her duty to remain over night. “Hamp’ll vow I done run away wid -somebody,” she said, laughing, “but I don’t keer what he think.” - -After supper, which was as good as the dinner had been, Aunt Minervy Ann -came out on the veranda and sat on the steps. After some conversation, -she placed the lady of the house on the witness-stand. - -“Mistiss, wharbouts in Georgy wuz you born at?” - -“I wasn’t born in Georgia; I was born in Lansingburgh, New York.” - -“I know’d it!” Aunt Minervy turned to me and nodded her head with energy. -“I know’d it right pine blank!” - -“You knew what?” the presiding genius of the household inquired with some -curiosity. - -“I know’d ’m dat you wuz a Northron lady.” - -“I don’t see how you knew it,” I remarked. - -“Well, suh, she talk like we-all do, an’ she got mighty much de same -ways. But when I went out dar dis mornin’ an’ holler at ’er in de -kitchen, I know’d by de way she turn ’roun’ on me dat she ain’t been -brung up wid niggers. Ef she’d ’a’ been a Southron lady, she’d ’a’ -laughed an’ said, ‘Come in here an’ cook dis dinner yo’se’f, you ole -vilyun,’ er she’d ’a’ come out an’ crackt me over de head with dat i’on -spoon what she had in her han’.” - -I could perceive a vast amount of acuteness in the observation, but I -said nothing, and, after a considerable pause, Aunt Minervy Ann remarked: - -“Dey er lots er mighty good folks up dar”—indicating the North—“some -I’ve seed wid my own eyes an’ de yuthers I’ve heern talk un. Mighty fine -folks, an’ dey say dey mighty sorry fer de niggers. But I’ll tell um -all anywhar, any day, dat I’d lots druther dey’d be good ter me dan ter -be sorry fer me. You know dat ar white lady what Marse Tom Chippendale -married? Her pa come down here ter he’p de niggers, an’ he done it de -best he kin, but Marse Tom’s wife can’t b’ar de sight un um. She won’t -let um go in her kitchen, she won’t let um go in her house, an’ she don’t -want um nowhars ’roun’. She’s mighty sorry fer ’m, but she don’t like um. -I don’t blame ’er much myse’f, bekaze it look like dat de niggers what -been growin’ up sence freedom is des tryin’ der han’ fer ter see how no -’count dey kin be. Dey’ll git better—dey er bleeze ter git better, ’kaze -dey can’t git no wuss.” - -Here came another pause, which continued until Aunt Minervy Ann, turning -her head toward me, asked if I knew the lady that Jesse Towers married; -and before I had time to reply with certainty, she went on: - -“No, suh, you des can’t know ’er. She ain’t come dar twel sev’mty, an’ -I mos’ know you ain’t see ’er dat time you went down home de las’ time, -’kaze she wa’n’t gwine out dat year. Well, she wuz a Northron lady. I -come mighty nigh tellin’ you ’bout ’er when you wuz livin’ dar, but fus’ -one thing an’ den anudder jumped in de way; er maybe ’Twuz too new ter be -goshup’d ’roun’ right den. But de way she come ter be dar an’ de way it -all turn out beats any er dem tales what de ol’ folks use ter tell we -childun. I may not know all de ins an’ outs, but what I does know I knows -mighty well, ’kaze de young ’oman tol’ me herse’f right out ’er own mouf. - -“Fus’ an’ fo’mus’, dar wuz ol’ Gabe Towers. He wuz dar whence you wuz -dar, an’ long time ’fo’ dat. You know’d him, sho’, ’kaze he wuz one er -dem kinder men what sticks out fum de res’ like a waggin’ tongue. Not dat -he wuz any better’n anybody else, but he had dem kinder ways what make -folks talk ’bout ’im an’ ’pen’ on ’im. I dunner ’zackly what de ways wuz, -but I knows dat whatsomever ol’ Gabe Towers say an’ do, folks ’d nod der -head an’ say an’ do de same. An’ me ’long er de res’. He had dem kinder -ways ’bout ’im, an’ ’twa’n’t no use talkin’.” - -In these few words, Aunt Minervy conjured up in my mind the memory of one -of the most remarkable men I had ever known. He was tall, with iron-gray -hair. His eyes were black and brilliant, his nose slightly curved, and -his chin firm without heaviness. To this day Gabriel Towers stands out -in my admiration foremost among all the men I have ever known. He might -have been a great statesman; he would have been great in anything to -which he turned his hand. But he contented himself with instructing -smaller men, who were merely politicians, and with sowing and reaping on -his plantation. More than one senator went to him for ideas with which to -make a reputation. - -His will seemed to dominate everybody with whom he came in contact, not -violently, but serenely and surely, and as a matter of course. Whether -this was due to his age—he was sixty-eight when I knew him, having been -born in the closing year of the eighteenth century—or to his moral power, -or to his personal magnetism, it is hardly worth while to inquire. Major -Perdue said that the secret of his influence was common-sense, and this -is perhaps as good an explanation as any. The immortality of Socrates -and Plato should be enough to convince us that common-sense is almost as -inspiring as the gift of prophecy. To interpret Aunt Minervy Ann in this -way is merely to give a correct report of what occurred on the veranda, -for explanation of this kind was necessary to give the lady of the house -something like a familiar interest in the recital. - -“Yes, suh,” Aunt Minervy Ann went on, “he had dem kinder ways ’bout ’im, -an’ whatsomever he say you can’t shoo it off like you would a hen on de -gyarden fence. Dar ’twuz an’ dar it stayed. - -“Well, de time come when ol’ Marse Gabe had a gran’son, an’ he name ’im -Jesse in ’cordance wid de Bible. Jesse grow’d an’ grow’d twel he got ter -be a right smart chunk uv a boy, but he wa’n’t no mo’ like de Towerses -dan he wuz like de Chippendales, which he wa’n’t no kin to. He tuck atter -his ma, an’ who his ma tuck atter I’ll never tell you, ’kaze Bill Henry -Towers married ’er way off yander somers. She wuz purty but puny, yit -puny ez she wuz she could play de peanner by de hour, an’ play it mo’ -samer de man what make it. - -“Well, suh, Jesse tuck atter his ma in looks, but ’stidder playin’ de -peanner, he l’arnt how ter play de fiddle, an’ by de time he wuz twelve -year ol’, he could make it talk. Hit’s de fatal trufe, suh; he could make -it talk. You hear folks playin’ de fiddle, an’ you know what dey doin’; -you kin hear de strings a-plunkin’ an’ you kin hear de bow raspin’ on -um on ’count de rozzum, but when Jesse Towers swiped de bow cross his -fiddle, ’twa’n’t no fiddle—’twuz human; I ain’t tellin’ you no lie, suh, -’twuz human. Dat chile could make yo’ heart ache; he could fetch yo’ sins -up befo’ you. Don’t tell me! many an’ many a night when I hear Jesse -Towers playin’, I could shet my eyes an’ hear my childun cryin’, dem -what been dead an’ buried long time ago. Don’t make no diffunce ’bout de -chune, reel, jig, er promenade, de human cryin’ wuz behime all un um. - -“Bimeby, Jesse got so dat he didn’t keer nothin’ ’tall ’bout books. It -uz fiddle, fiddle, all day long, an’ half de night ef dey’d let ’im. Den -folks ’gun ter talk. No need ter tell you what all dey say. De worl’ -over, fum what I kin hear, dey got de idee dat a fiddle is a free pass -ter whar ole Scratch live at. Well, suh, Jesse got so he’d run away fum -school an’ go off in de woods an’ play his fiddle. Hamp use ter come ’pon -’im when he haulin’ wood, an’ he say dat fiddle ain’t soun’ no mo’ like -de fiddles what you hear in common dan a flute soun’ like a bass drum. - -“Now you know yo’se’f, suh, dat dis kinder doin’s ain’t gwine ter suit -Marse Gabe Towers. Time he hear un it, he put his foot down on fiddler, -an’ fiddle, an’ fiddlin’. Ez you may say, he sot down on de fiddle an’ -smash it. Dis happen when Jesse wuz sixteen year ol’, an’ by dat time he -wuz mo’ in love wid de fiddle dan what he wuz wid his gran’daddy. An’ so -dar ’twuz. He ain’t look like it, but Jesse wuz about ez high strung ez -his fiddle wuz, an’ when his gran’daddy laid de law down, he sol’ out his -pony an’ buggy an’ made his disappearance fum dem parts. - -“Well, suh, ’twa’n’t so mighty often you’d hear sassy talk ’bout Marse -Gabe Towers, but you could hear it den. Folks is allers onreasonable wid -dem dey like de bes’; you know dat yo’se’f, suh. Marse Gabe ain’t make -no ’lowance fer Jesse, an’ folks ain’t make none fer Marse Gabe. Marse -Tumlin wuz dat riled wid de man dat dey come mighty nigh havin’ a fallin’ -out. Dey had a splutter ’bout de time when sump’n n’er had happen, an’ -atter dey wrangle a little, Marse Tumlin sot de date by sayin’ dat ’twuz -‘a year ’fo’ de day when Jess went a-fiddlin’.’ Dat sayin’ kindled de -fier, suh, an’ it spread fur an’ wide. Marse Tom Chippendale say dat -folks what never is hear tell er de Towerses went ’roun’ talkin’ ’bout -‘de time when Jess went a-fiddlin’.’” - -Aunt Minervy Ann chuckled over this, probably because she regarded it as -a sort of victory for Major Tumlin Perdue. She went on: - -“Yes, suh, ’twuz a by-word wid de childun. No matter what happen, er when -it happen, er ef ’tain’t happen, ’twuz ’fo’ er atter ‘de day when Jess -went a-fiddlin’.’ Hit look like dat Marse Gabe sorter drapt a notch or -two in folks’ min’s. Yit he helt his head dez ez high. He bleeze ter hol’ -it high, ’kaze he had in ’im de blood uv bofe de Tumlins an’ de Perdues; -I dunner how much, but ’nuff fer ter keep his head up. - -“I ain’t no almanac, suh, but I never is ter fergit de year when Jess -went a-fiddlin. ’Twuz sixty, ’kaze de nex’ year de war ’gun ter bile, -an’ ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ it biled over. Yes, suh! dar wuz de war come on -an Jess done gone. Dey banged aloose, dey did, dem on der side, an’ we -on our’n, an’ dey kep’ on a bangin’ twel we-all can’t bang no mo’. An’ -den de war hushed up, an’ freedom come, an’ still nobody ain’t hear tell -er Jesse. Den you come down dar, suh, an’ stay what time you did; still -nobody ain’t hear tell er Jesse. He mought er writ ter his ma, but ef he -did, she kep’ it mighty close. Marse Gabe ain’t los’ no flesh ’bout it, -an’ ef he los’ any sleep on account er Jess, he ain’t never brag ’bout it. - -“Well, suh, it went on dis away twel, ten year atter Jess went -a-fiddlin’, his wife come home. Yes, suh! His wife! Well! I wuz stan’in’ -right in de hall talkin’ wid Miss Fanny—dat’s Jesse’s ma—when she come, -an’ when de news broke on me you could ’a’ knockt me down wid a permeter -fan. De house-gal show’d ’er in de parler, an’ den come atter Miss -Fanny. Miss Fanny she went in dar, an’ I stayed outside talkin’ wid de -house-gal. De gal say, ‘Aunt Minervy Ann, dey sho’ is sump’n n’er de -matter wid dat white lady. She white ez any er de dead, an’ she can’t git -’er breff good.’ ’Bout dat time, I hear somebody cry out in de parler, -an’ den I hear sump’n fall. De house-gal cotch holt er me an’ ’gun ter -whimper. I shuck ’er off, I did, an’ went right straight in de parler, -an’ dar wuz Miss Fanny layin’ face fo’mus’ on a sofy wid a letter in ’er -han’ an’ de white lady sprawled out on de flo’. - -“Well, suh, you can’t skeer me wid trouble ’kaze I done see too much; so -I shuck Miss Fanny by de arm an’ ax ’er what de matter, an’ she cry out, -‘Jesse’s dead an’ his wife come home.’ She uz plum heart-broke, suh, an’ -I ’speck I wuz blubberin’ some myse’f when Marse Gabe walkt in, but I wuz -tryin’ ter work wid de white lady on de flo’. ’Twix’ Marse Gabe an’ Miss -Fanny, ’twuz sho’ly a tryin’ time. When one er dem hard an’ uppity men -lose der grip on deyse’f, dey turn loose ever’thing, an’ dat wuz de way -wid Marse Gabe. When dat de case, sump’n n’er got ter be done, an’ it got -ter be done mighty quick.” - -Aunt Minervy Ann paused here and rubbed her hands together -contemplatively, as if trying to restore the scene more completely to her -memory. - -“You know how loud I kin talk, suh, when I’m min’ ter. Well, I talk loud -den an’ dar. I ’low, ‘What you-all doin’? Is you gwine ter let Marse -Jesse’s wife lay here an’ die des ’kaze he dead? Ef you is, I’ll des go -whar I b’longs at!’ Dis kinder fotch um ’roun’, an’ ’twa’n’t no time ’fo’ -we had de white lady in de bed whar Jesse use ter sleep at, an’ soon’s we -got ’er cuddled down in it, she come ’roun’. But she wuz in a mighty bad -fix. She wanter git up an’ go off, an’ ’twuz all I could do fer ter keep -’er in bed. She done like she wuz plum distracted. Dey wa’n’t skacely a -minnit fer long hours, an’ dey wuz mighty long uns, suh, dat she wa’n’t -moanin’ an’ sayin’ dat she wa’n’t gwine ter stay, an’ she hope de Lord’d -fergive ’er. I tell you, suh, ’twuz tarryfyin’. I shuck nex’ day des like -folks do when dey er honin’ atter dram. - -“You may ax me how come I ter stay dar,” Aunt Minervy Ann suggested with -a laugh. “Well, suh, ’twa’n’t none er my doin’s. I ’speck dey mus’ be -sump’n wrong ’bout me, ’kaze no matter how rough I talk ner how ugly I -look, sick folks an’ childun alters takes up wid me. When I go whar dey -is, it’s mighty hard fer ter git ’way fum um. So, when I say ter Jesse’s -wife, ‘Keep still, honey, an’ I’ll go home an’ not pester you,’ she sot -up in bed an’ say ef I gwine she gwine too. I say, ‘Nummine ’bout me, -honey, you lay down dar an’ don’t talk too much.’ She ’low, ‘Le’ me talk -ter you an’ tell you all ’bout it.’ But I shuck my head an’ say dat ef -she don’t hush up an’ keep still I’m gwine right home. - -“I had ter do ’er des like she wuz a baby, suh. She wa’n’t so mighty -purty, but she had purty ways, ’stracted ez she wuz, an’ de biggest black -eyes you mos’ ever seed, an’ black curly ha’r cut short kinder, like our -folks use ter w’ar der’n. Den de house-gal fotched some tea an’ toas’, -an’ dis holp ’er up mightly, an’ atter dat I sont ter Marse Gabe fer some -dram, an’ de gal fotched de decanter fum de side-bode. Bein’, ez you may -say, de nurse, I tuck an’ tas’e er de dram fer ter make sho’ dat nobody -ain’t put nothin’ in it. An’, sho’ ’nuff, dey ain’t.” - -Aunt Minervy Ann paused and smacked her lips. “Atter she got de vittles -an’ de dram, she sorter drap off ter sleep, but ’twuz a mighty flighty -kinder sleep. She’d wake wid a jump des ’zackly like babies does, an’ den -she’d moan an’ worry twel she dozed off ag’in. I nodded, suh, bekaze you -can’t set me down in a cheer, night er day, but what I’ll nod, but in -betwix’ an’ betweens I kin hear Marse Gabe Towers walkin’ up an’ down in -de liberry; walk, walk; walk, walk, up an’ down. I ’speck ef I’d ’a’ been -one er de nervious an’ flighty kin’ dey’d ’a’ had to tote me out er dat -house de nex’ day; but me! I des kep’ on a-noddin’. - -“Bimeby, I hear sump’n come swishin’ ’long, an’ in walkt Miss Fanny. I -tell you now, suh, ef I’d a met ’er comin’ down de road, I’d ’a’ made -a break fer de bushes, she look so much like you know sperrets oughter -look—an’ Marse Jesse’s wife wuz layin’ dar wid ’er eyes wide open. She -sorter swunk back in de bed when she see Miss Fanny, an’ cry out, ‘Oh, -I’m mighty sorry fer ter trouble you; I’m gwine ’way in de mornin’.’ -Miss Fanny went ter de bed an’ knelt down ’side it, an’ ’low, ‘No, you -ain’t gwine no whar but right in dis house. Yo’ place is here, wid his -mudder an’ his gran’fadder.’ Wid dat, Marse Jesse’s wife put her face in -de piller an’ moan an’ cry, twel I hatter ax Miss Fanny fer ter please, -ma’m, go git some res’. - -“Well, suh, I stayed dar dat night an’ part er de nex’ day, an’ by dat -time all un um wuz kinder quieted down, but dey wuz mighty res’less in -de min’, ’speshually Marse Jesse’s wife, which her name wuz Miss Sadie. -It seem like dat Marse Jesse wuz livin’ at a town up dar in de fur -North whar dey wuz a big lake, an’ he went out wid one er dem ’scursion -parties, an’ a storm come up an’ shuck de boat ter pieces. Dat what -make I say what I does. I don’t min’ gwine on ’scursions on de groun’, -but when it come ter water—well, suh, I ain’t gwine ter trus’ myse’f -on water twel I kin walk on it an’ not wet my foots. Marse Jesse wuz -de Captain uv a music-ban’ up dar, an’ de papers fum dar had some long -pieces ’bout ’im, an’ de paper at home had a piece ’bout ’im. It say he -wuz one er de mos’ renounced music-makers what yever had been, an’ dat -when it come ter dat kinder doin’s he wuz a puffick prodigal. I ’member -de words, suh, bekaze I made Hamp read de piece out loud mo’ dan once. - -“Miss Sadie, she got mo’ calmer atter while, an’ ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ Marse -Gabe an’ Miss Fanny wuz bofe mighty tuck up wid ’er. Dey much’d ’er up -an’ made a heap un ’er, an’ she fa’rly hung on dem. I done tol’ you she -ain’t purty, but dey wuz sump’n ’bout ’er better dan purtiness. It mought -er been ’er eyes, en den ag’in mought er been de way er de gal; but -whatsomever ’twuz, hit made you think ’bout ’er at odd times durin’ de -day, an’ des ’fo’ you go ter sleep at night. - -“Eve’ything went swimmin’ along des ez natchul ez a duck floatin’ on de -mill-pon’. Dey wa’n’t skacely a day but what I seed Miss Sadie. Ef I -ain’t go ter Marse Gabe’s house she’d be sho’ ter come ter mine. Dat uz -atter Hamp wuz ’lected ter de legislatur, suh. He ’low dat a member er de -ingener’l ensembly ain’t got no bizness livin’ in a kitchen, but I say -he ain’t a whit better den dan he wuz befo’. So be, I done been cross ’im -so much dat I tell ’im ter git de house an’ I’d live in it ef ’twa’n’t -too fur fum Miss Vallie an’ Marse Tumlin. Well, he had it built on de -outskyirts, not a big jump fum Miss Vallie an’ betwix’ de town an’ Marse -Gabe Towers’s. When you come down ter de fa’r, you mus’ come see me. Me -an’ Hamp’ll treat you right; we sholy will. - -“Well, suh, in dem days dey wa’n’t so many niggers willin’ ter do an’ be -done by, an’ on account er dat, ef Miss Vallie wa’n’t hollin’ fer ’Nervy -Ann, Miss Fanny er Miss Sadie wuz, an’ when I wa’n’t at one place, you -might know I’d be at de yuther one. It went on dis away, an’ went on twel -one day got so much like an’er dat you can’t tell Monday fum Friday. -An’ it went on an’ went on twel bimeby I wuz bleeze ter say sump’n ter -Hamp. You take notice, suh, an’ when you see de sun shinin’ nice an’ warm -an’ de win’ blowin’ so saft an’ cool dat you wanter go in a-washin’ in -it—when you see dis an’ feel dat away, _Watch out! Watch out_, I tell -you! Dat des de time when de harrycane gwine ter come up out’n de middle -er de swamp an’ t’ar things ter tatters. Same way when folks gitting on -so nice dat dey don’t know dey er gittin’ on. - -“De fus’ news I know’d Miss Sadie wuz bringin’ little bundles ter my -house ’twix’ sundown an’ dark. She’d ’low, ‘Aunt Minervy Ann, I’ll des -put dis in de cornder here; I may want it some time.’ Nex’ day it’d be -de same doin’s over ag’in. ‘Aunt Minervy Ann, please take keer er dis; I -may want it some time.’ Well, it went on dis away fum day ter day, but -I ain’t pay no ’tention. Ef any ’spicion cross my min’ it wuz dat maybe -Miss Sadie puttin’ dem things dar fer ter ’sprise me Chris’mus by tellin’ -me dey wuz fer me. But one day she come ter my house, an’ sot down an’ -put her han’s over her face like she got de headache er sump’n. - -“Wellum”—Aunt Minervy Ann, with real tact, now began to address herself -to the lady of the house—“Wellum, she sot dar so long dat bimeby I ax ’er -what de matter is. She ain’t say nothin’; she ain’t make no motion. I -’low ter myse’f dat she don’t wanter be pestered, so I let ’er ’lone an’ -went on ’bout my business. But, bless you! de nex’ time I look at ’er she -wuz settin’ des dat away wid ’er han’s over her face. She sot so still -dat it sorter make me feel quare, an’ I went, I did, an’ cotch holt er -her han’s sorter playful-like. Wellum, de way dey felt made me flinch. -All I could say wuz, ‘Lord ’a’ mercy!’ She tuck her han’s down, she did, -an’ look at me an’ smile kinder faint-like. She ’low, ‘Wuz my han’s -col’, Aunt Minervy Ann?’ I look at ’er an’ grunt, ‘Huh! dey won’t be no -colder when youer dead.’ She ain’t say nothin’, an’ terreckly I ’low, -‘What de name er goodness is de matter wid you, Miss Sadie?’ She say, -‘Nothin’ much. I’m gwine ter stay here ter-night, an’ ter-morrer mornin’ -I’m gwine ’way.’ I ax ’er, ‘How come dat? What is dey done to you?’ She -say, ‘Nothin’ ’tall.’ I ’low, ‘Does Marse Gabe an’ Miss Fanny know you -gwine?’ She say, ‘No; I can’t tell um.’ - -“Wellum, I flopt down on a cheer; yessum, I sho’ did. My min’ wuz gwine -like a whirligig an’ my head wuz swimmin’. I des sot dar an’ look at -’er. Bimeby she up an’ say, pickin’ all de time at her frock, ‘I know’d -sump’n wuz gwine ter happen. Dat de reason I been bringin’ dem bundles -here. In dem ar bundles you’ll fin’ all de things I fotch here. I ain’t -got nothin’ dey give me ’cep’n dish yer black dress I got on. I’d ’a’ -fotch my ol’ trunk, but I dunner what dey done wid it. Hamp’ll hatter buy -me one an’ pay for it hisse’f, ’kaze I ain’t got a cent er money.’ Dem -de ve’y words she say. I ’low, ‘Sump’n must ’a’ happen den.’ She nodded, -an’ bimeby she say, ‘Mr. Towers comin’ home ter-night. Dey done got a -telegraph fum ’im.’ - -“I stood up in de flo’, I did, an’ ax ’er, ‘Which Mr. Towers?’ She say, -‘Mr. Jesse Towers.’ I ’low, ‘He done dead.’ She say, ‘No, he ain’t; ef he -wuz he done come ter life; dey done got a telegraph fum ’im, I tell you.’ -‘Is _dat_ de reason you gwine ’way?’ I des holla’d it at ’er. She draw’d -a long breff an’ say, ‘Yes, dat’s de reason.’ - -“I tell you right now, ma’m, I didn’t know ef I wuz stannin’ on my head -er floatin’ in de a’r. I wuz plum outdone. But dar she sot des es cool ez -a curcumber wid de dew on it. I went out de do’, I did, an’ walk ’roun’ -de house once ter de right an’ twice ter de lef’ bekaze de ol’ folks use -ter tell me dat ef you wuz bewitched, dat ’ud take de spell away. I ain’t -tellin’ you no lie, ma’m—fer de longes’ kinder minnit I didn’t no mo’ -b’lieve dat Miss Sadie wuz settin’ dar in my house tellin’ me dat kinder -rigamarole, dan I b’lieve I’m flyin’ right now. Dat bein’ de case, I -bleeze ter fall back on bewitchments, an’ so I walk ’roun’ de house. But -when I went back in, dar she wuz, settin’ in a cheer an’ lookin’ up at de -rafters. - -“Wellum, I went in an’ drapt down in a cheer an’ lookt at ’er. Bimeby, -I say, ‘Miss Sadie, does you mean ter set dar an’ tell me youer gwine -’way ’kaze yo’ husban’ comin’ home?’ She flung her arms behime ’er -head, she did, an’ say, ‘I ain’t none er his wife; I des been playin’ -off!’ De way she look an’ de way she say it wuz ’nuff fer me. I wuz -pairlized; yessum, I wuz dumfounder’d. Ef anybody had des but totch me -wid de tip er der finger, I’d ’a’ fell off’n dat cheer an’ never stirred -atter I hit de flo’. Ever’thing ’bout de house lookt quare. Miss Vallie -had a lookin’-glass one time wid de pictur’ uv a church at de bottom. -When de glass got broke, she gimme de pictur’, an’ I sot it up on de -mantel-shelf. I never know’d ’fo’ dat night dat de steeple er der church -wuz crooked. But dar ’twuz. Mo’ dan dat I cotch myse’f feelin’ er my -fingers fer ter see ef ’twuz me an’ ef I wuz dar. - -“Talk ’bout _dreams_! dey wa’n’t no dream could beat dat, I don’t keer -how twisted it mought be. An’ den, ma’m, she sot back dar an’ tol’ me de -whole tale ’bout how she come ter be dar. I’ll never tell it like she -did; dey ain’t nobody in de wide worl’ kin do dat. But it seem like she -an’ Marse Jesse wuz stayin’ in de same neighborhoods, er stayin’ at de -same place, he a-fiddlin’ an’ she a-knockin’ on de peanner er de harp, I -fergit which. Anyhow, dey seed a heap er one an’er. Bofe un um had come -dar fum way off yan’, an’ ain’t got nobody but deyse’f fer ter ’pen’ on, -an’ dat kinder flung um togedder. I ’speck dey must er swapt talk ’bout -love an’ marryin’—you know yo’se’f, ma’m, dat dat’s de way young folks -is. Howsomever dat may be, Marse Jesse, des ter tease ’er, sot down one -day an’ writ a long letter ter his wife. Tooby sho’ he ain’t got no wife, -but he des make out he got one, an’ dat letter he lef’ layin’ ’roun’ whar -Miss Sadie kin see it. ’Twa’n’t in no envelyup, ner nothin’, an’ you know -mighty well, ma’m, dat when a ’oman, young er ol’, see dat kinder letter -layin’ ’roun’ she’d die ef she don’t read it. Fum de way Miss Sadie talk, -dat letter must ’a’ stirred up a coolness ’twix’ um, kaze de mornin’ when -he wuz gwine on dat ’scursion, Marse Jesse pass by de place whar she wuz -settin’ at an’ flung de letter in her lap an’ say, ‘What’s in dar wuz fer -you.’ - -“Wellum, wid dat he wuz gone, an’ de fus’ news Miss Sadie know’d de -papers wuz full er de names er dem what got drownded in de boat, an’ -Marse Jesse head de roll, ’kaze he wuz de mos’ pop’lous music-maker in -de whole settlement. Den dar wuz de gal an’ de letter. I wish I could -tell dis part like she tol’ me settin’ dar in my house. You’ll never git -it straight in yo’ head less’n you’d ’a’ been dar an’ hear de way she -tol’ it. Nigger ez I is, I know mighty well dat a white ’oman ain’t got -no business parmin’ ’erse’f off ez a man’s wife. But de way she tol’ it -tuck all de rough aidges off’n it. She wuz dar in dat big town, wuss’n -a wilderness, ez you may say, by ’erse’f, nobody ’penin’ on ’er an’ -nobody ter ’pen’ on, tired down an’ plum wo’ out, an’ wid all dem kinder -longin’s what you know yo’se’f, ma’am, all wimmen bleeze ter have, ef dey -er white er ef dey er black. - -“Yit she ain’t never tol’ nobody dat she wuz Marse Jesse’s wife. She des -han’ de letter what she’d kep’ ter Miss Fanny, an’ fell down on de flo’ -in a dead faint, an’ she say dat ef it hadn’t but ’a’ been fer me, she’d -a got out er de bed dat fust night an’ went ’way fum dar; an’ I know -dat’s so, too, bekaze she wuz ranklin’ fer ter git up fum dar. But at de -time I put all dat down ter de credit er de deleeriums, an’ made ’er stay -in bed. - -“Wellum, ef I know’d all de books in de worl’ by heart, I couldn’t tell -you how I felt atter she done tol’ me dat tale. She sot back dar des ez -calm ez a baby. Bimeby she say, ‘I’m glad I tol’ you; I feel better dan -I felt in a mighty long time.’ It look like, ma’am, dat a load done been -lift fum ’er min’. Now I know’d pine blank dat sump’n gotter be done, -’kaze de train’d be in at midnight, an’ den when Marse Jesse come dey’d -be a tarrifyin’ time at Gabe Towers’s. Atter while I up an’ ax ’er, -‘Miss Sadie, did you reely love Marse Jesse?’ She say, ‘Yes, I did’—des -so. I ax ’er, ‘Does you love ’im now?’ She say, ‘Yes, I does—an’ I love -dem ar people up dar at de house; dat de reason I’m gwine ’way.’ She talk -right out; she done come to de p’int whar she ain’t got nothin’ ter hide. - -“I say, ‘Well, Miss Sadie, dem folks up at de house, dey loves you.’ -She sorter flincht at dis. I ’low, ‘Dey been mighty good ter you. What -you done, you done done, an’ dat can’t be holp, but what you ain’t gone -an’ done, dat kin be holp; an’ what you oughter do, dat oughtn’t ter be -holp.’ I see ’er clinch ’er han’s an’ den I riz fum de cheer.” Suiting -the action to the word, Aunt Minervy Ann rose from the step where she had -been sitting, and moved toward the lady of the house. - -“I riz, I did, an’ tuck my stan’ befo’ ’er. I ’low, ‘You say you love -Marse Jesse, an’ you say you love his folks. Well, den ef you got any -blood in you, ef you got any heart in yo’ body, ef you got any feelin’ -fer anybody in de roun’ worl’ ’cep’n’ yo’ naked se’f, you’ll go up dar -ter dat house an’ tell Gabe Towers dat you want ter see ’im, an’ you’ll -tell Fanny Towers dat you want ter see her, an’ you’ll stan’ up befo’ um -an’ tell um de tale you tol’ ter me, word fer word. Ef you’ll do dat, an’ -you hatter come back here, _come! come!_ Bless God! _come!_ an’ me an’ -Hamp’ll rake an’ scrape up ’nuff money fer ter kyar you whar you gwine. -An’ don’t you be a’skeer’d er Gabe Towers. Me an’ Marse Tumlin ain’t -a-skeer’d un ’im. I’m gwine wid you, an’ ef he say one word out de way, -you des come ter de do’ an’ call me, an’ ef I don’t preach his funer’l, -it’ll be bekaze de Lord’ll strike me dumb!’ _An’ she went!_” - -Aunt Minervy paused. She had wrought the miracle of summoning to life one -of the crises through which she had passed with others. It was not the -words she used. There was nothing in them to stir the heart or quicken -the pulse. Her power lay in the tones of her voice, whereby she was able -to recall the passion of a moment that had long spent itself; in the -fluent and responsive attitudes; in gesticulation that told far more than -her words did. The light from the vestibule lamp shone full upon her and -upon the lady whom she unconsciously selected to play the part of the -young woman whose story she was telling. The illusion was perfect. We -were in Aunt Minervy Ann’s house, Miss Sadie was sitting helpless and -hopeless before her—the whole scene was vivid and complete. She paused; -her arm, which had been outstretched and rigid for an instant, slowly -fell to her side, and—the illusion was gone; but while it lasted, it was -as real as any sudden and extraordinary experience can be. - -Aunt Minervy Ann resumed her seat, with a chuckle, apparently ashamed -that she had been betrayed into such a display of energy and emotion, -saying, “Yessum, she sho’ went.” - -“I don’t wonder at it,” remarked the lady of the house, with a long-drawn -sigh of relief. - -Aunt Minervy Ann laughed again, rather sheepishly, and then, after -rubbing her hands together, took up the thread of the narrative, this -time directing her words to me: “All de way ter de house, suh, she ain’t -say two words. She had holt er my han’, but she ain’t walk like she uz -weak. She went along ez peart ez I did. When we got dar, some er de -niggers wuz out in de flower gyarden an’ out in de big grove callin’ ’er; -an’ dey call so loud dat I hatter put um down. ‘Hush up!’ I say, ‘an’ go -on ’bout yo’ business! Can’t yo’ Miss Sadie take a walk widout a whole -passel er you niggers a-hollerin’ yo’ heads off?’ One un um make answer, -‘Miss Fanny huntin’ fer ’er.’ She sorter grip my han’ at dat, but I say, -‘She de one you wanter see—her an’ Gabe Towers.’ - -“We went up on de po’ch, an’ dar wuz Miss Fanny an’ likewise Marse Gabe. -I know’d what dey wanted; dey wanted ter talk wid ’er ’bout Marse Jesse. -She clum de steps fus’ an’ I clum atter her. She cotch ’er breff hard -when she fus’ hit de steps, an’ den it come over me like a flash how deep -an’ big her trouble wuz, an’ I tell you right now, ef dat had ’a’ been -Miss Vallie gwine up dar, I b’lieve I’d ’a’ flew at ol’ Gabe Towers an’ -to’ ’im lim’ fum lim’ ’fo’ anybody could ’a’ pull me off. Hit’s de trufe! -You may laugh, but I sho’ would ’a’ done it. I had it in me. Miss Fanny -seed sump’n wuz wrong, de minnit de light fell on de gal’s face. She say, -‘Why, Sadie, darlin’, what de matter wid you?’—des so—an’ made ez ef ter -put ’er arms ’roun’ ’er; but Miss Sadie swunk back. Miss Fanny sorter -swell up. She say, ‘Oh, ef I’ve hurt yo’ feelin’s ter-day—_ter-day_ uv -all de days—please, please fergi’ me!’ Well, suh, I dunner whar all dis -gwine ter lead ter, an’ I put in, ‘She des wanter have a talk wid you an’ -Marse Gabe, Miss Fanny; an’ ef ter-day is one er de days her feelin’s -oughtn’ter be hurted, take keer dat you don’t do it. Kyar ’er in de -parler dar, Miss Fanny.’ I ’speck you’ll think I wuz takin’ a mighty -heap on myse’f, fer a nigger ’oman,” remarked Aunt Minervy Ann, smoothing -the wrinkles out of her lap, “but I wuz des ez much at home in dat house -ez I wuz in my own, an’ des ez free wid um ez I wuz wid my own folks. -Miss Fanny look skeer’d, an’ Marse Gabe foller’d atter, rubbin’ a little -mole he had on de top er his head. When he wus worried er aggervated, he -allers rub dat mole. - -“Well, suh, dey went in, dey did, an’ I shot de do’ an’ tuck up my stan’ -close by, ready fer to go in when Miss Sadie call me. I had myse’f keyed -up ter de p’int whar I’d ’a’ tol’ Marse Gabe sump’n ’bout his own fambly -connection; you know dey ain’t nobody but what got i’on rust on some er -der cloze. But dey stayed in dar an’ stayed, twel I ’gun ter git oneasy. -All kinder quare idees run th’oo my head. Atter while some un pull de -do’ open, an’ hol’ it dat away, an’ I hear Marse Gabe say, wid a trimble -an’ ketch in his th’oat, ‘Don’t talk so, chil’. Ef you done wrong, you -ain’t hurt nobody but yo’se’f, an’ it oughtn’ter hurt you. You been a -mighty big blessin’ ter me, an’ ter Fanny here, an’ I wouldn’t ’a’ missed -knowin’ you, not fer nothin’. Wid dat, he come out cle’rin up his th’oat -an’ blowin’ his nose twel it soun’ like a dinner-horn. His eye fell on -me, an’ he ’low, ‘Look like you er allers on han’ when dey’s trouble.’ I -made answer, ‘Well, Marse Gabe, dey might be wusser ones ’roun’ dan me.’ -He look at me right hard an’ say, ‘Dey ain’t no better, Minervy Ann.’ -Well, suh, little mo’ an’ I’d ’a’ broke down, it come so sudden. I had -ter gulp hard an’ quick, I tell you. He say, ‘Minervy Ann, go back dar -an’ tell de house-gal ter wake up de carriage-driver ef he’s ’sleep, an’ -tell ’im to go meet Jesse at de train. An’ he mus’ tell Jesse dat we’d -’a’ all come, but his ma ain’t feelin’ so well.’ I say, ‘I’ll go wake -’im up myse’f, suh.’ I look in de parler an’ say, ‘Miss Sadie, does you -need me right now?’ She ’low, ‘No, not right now; I’ll stay twel—twel Mr. -Towers come.’ Miss Fanny wuz settin’ dar holdin’ Miss Sadie’s han’. - -“I’ll never tell you how dey patcht it up in dar, but I made a long -guess. Fus’ an’ fo’mus’, dey wuz right down fon’ er Miss Sadie, an’ den -ef she run off time Marse Jesse put his foot in de town dey’d be a big -scandal; an’ so dey fix it up dat ef she wuz bleeze ter go, ’twuz better -to go a mont’ er two atter Marse Jesse come back. Folks may like you -mighty well, but dey allers got one eye on der own consarns. Dat de way I -put it down. - -“Well, suh, de wuss job wuz lef’ fer de las’, ’kaze dar wuz Marse Jesse. -Sump’n tol’ me dat he oughter know what been gwine on ’fo’ he got in de -house, ’kaze den he won’t be aggervated inter sayin’ an’ doin’ sump’n he -oughtn’ter. So when de carriage wuz ready, I got in an’ went down ter -de depot; an’ when Marse Jesse got off de train, I wuz de fus’ one he -laid eyes on. I’d ’a’ never know’d ’im in de worl’, but he know’d me. -He holler out, ‘Ef dar ain’t Aunt Minervy Ann! Bless yo’ ol’ soul! how -you come on anyhow?’ He come mighty nigh huggin’ me, he wuz so glad ter -see me. He wuz big ez a skinned hoss an’ strong ez a mule. He say, ‘Ef I -had you in my min’ once, Aunt Minervy Ann, I had you in dar ten thousan’ -times.’ - -“Whiles de carriage rollin’ ’long an’ grindin’ de san’ I try ter gi’ ’im -a kinder inkling er what been gwine on, but ’twuz all a joke wid ’im. I -wuz fear’d I mought go at ’im de wrong way, but I can’t do no better. -I say, ‘Marse Jesse, yo’ wife been waitin’ here fer you a long time.’ -He laugh an’ ’low, ‘Oh, yes! did she bring de childun?’ I say, ‘Shucks, -Marse Jesse! Dey’s a lady in deep trouble at Marse Gabe’s house, an’ I -don’t want you ter go dar jokin’. She’s a monst’us fine lady, too.’ Dis -kinder steady ’im, an’ he say, ‘All right, Aunt Minervy Ann; I’ll behave -myse’f des like a Sunday-school scholar. I won’t say bad words an’ I -won’t talk loud.’ He had his fiddle-case in his lap, an’ he drummed on it -like he keepin’ time ter some chune in his min’. - -“Well, suh, we got dar in de due time, an’ ’twuz a great meetin’ ’twixt -Marse Jesse an’ his folks. Dey des swarmed on ’im, ez you may say, an’ -while dis gwine on, I went in de parler whar Miss Sadie wuz. She wuz -pale, tooby sha’, but she had done firm’d ’erse’f. She wuz standin’ by de -fier-place, lookin’ down, but she lookt up when she hear de do’ open, an’ -den she say, ‘I’m mighty glad it’s you, Aunt Minervy Ann; I want you ter -stay in here.’ I ’low, ‘I’ll stay, honey, ef you say stay.’ Den she tuck -’er stand by me an’ cotch holt er my arm wid bofe ’er han’s an’ kinder -leant ag’in me. - -“Bimeby, here come Marse Jesse. Trouble wuz in his eye when he open de -do’, but when he saw de gal, his face lit up des like when you strike a -match in a closet. He say, ‘Why, Miss Sadie! You dunner how glad I is ter -see you. I been huntin’ all over de country fer you.’ He make ez ef ter -shake han’s, but she draw’d back. Dis cut ’im. He say: ‘What de matter? -Who you in mournin’ fer?’ She ’low, ‘Fer myse’f.’ Wid dat she wuz gwine -on ter tel ’im ’bout what she had done, but he wouldn’t have it dat -way. He say, ‘When I come back ter life, atter I wuz drownded, I ’gun -ter hunt fer you des ez soon’s I got out’n de hospittle. I wuz huntin’ -fer you ter tell you dat I love you. I’d ’a’ tol’ you dat den, an’ I -tell you dat now.’ She grip my arm mighty hard at dat. Marse Jesse went -on mightly. He tell ’er dat she ain’t done nobody no harm, dat she wuz -welcome ter his name ef he’d ’a’ been dead, an’ mo’ welcome now dat he -wuz livin’. She try ter put in a word here an’ dar, but he won’t have it. -Stan’in’ up dar he wuz ol’ Gabe Towers over ag’in; ’twuz de fus’ time I -know’d he faver’d ’im. - -“He tol’ ’er ’bout how he wrenched a do’ off’n one er de rooms in de -boat, an’ how he floated on dat twel he got so col’ an’ num’ dat he can’t -hol’ on no longer, an’ how he turn loose an’ don’t know nothin’ twel -he wake up in some yuther town; an’ how, atter he git well, he had de -plooisy an’ lay dar a mont’ er two, an’ den he ’gun ter hunt fer her. He -went ’way up dar ter Hampsher whar she come fum, but she ain’t dar, an’ -den he come home; an’ won’t she be good ’nuff ter set down an’ listen at -’im? - -“Well, suh, dey wuz mo’ in Marse Jesse dan I had any idee. He wuz a rank -talker, sho’. I see ’er face warmin’ up, an’ I say, ‘Miss Sadie, I ’speck -I better be gwine.’ Marse Jesse say, ‘You ain’t in my way, Aunt Minervy -Ann; I done foun’ my sweetheart, an’ I ain’t gwine ter lose ’er no mo’, -you kin des bet on dat.’ She ain’t say nothin’ an’ I know’d purty well -dat eve’ything wuz all skew vee.” - -“I hope they married,” remarked the lady of the house, after waiting -a moment for Aunt Minervy Ann to resume. There was just a shade of -suspicion in her tone. - -“Oh, dey married, all right ’nuff,” said Aunt Minervy Ann, laughing. - -“Didn’t it create a good deal of talk?” the lady asked, suspicion still -in her voice. - -“Talk? No, ma’m! De man what dey git de license fum wuz Miss Fanny’s -br’er, Gus Featherstone, an’ de man what married um wuz Marse Gabe’s -bro’er, John Towers. Dey wa’n’t nobody ter do no talkin’. De nex’ mornin’ -me an Miss Sadie an’ Marse Jesse got in de carriage an’ drove out ter -John Towers’s place whar he runnin’ a church, an’ ’twuz all done an’ over -wid mos’ quick ez a nigger kin swaller a dram.” - -“What do you think of it?” I asked the lady of the house. - -“Why, it is almost like a story in a book.” - -“Does dey put dat kinder doin’s in books?” asked Aunt Minervy Ann, with -some solicitude. - -“Certainly,” replied the lady. - -“Wid all de turmile, an’ trouble, an’ tribulation—an’ all de worry an’ -aggervation? Well, Hamp wanted me ter l’arn how ter read, but I thank my -stars dat I can’t read no books. Dey’s ’nuff er all dat right whar we -live at widout huntin’ it up in books.” - -After this just observation, it was time to put out the lights. - - - - -III - -HOW AUNT MINERVY ANN RAN AWAY AND RAN BACK AGAIN - - -In the matter of attending the fair at Halcyondale, Aunt Minervy Ann’s -hospitable wishes jumped with my own desires, and it was not difficult -to give her a hard and fast promise in the matter; nor did it take the -edge off my desires to entertain a suspicion, verified long afterward, -that Aunt Minervy Ann’s anxiety was based on a hope, expressed by Major -Perdue, that the fair would be properly handled in the Atlanta papers. - -The directors of the fair were represented at the little railway station, -at Halcyondale, by a committee, and into the hands of this committee -fell every man, woman, and child that stepped from the passing trains. -It mattered little what the business of these incoming travellers was; -whether they came to visit the fair or to attend to their own private -affairs. They were seized, bag and baggage, by the committee and borne -triumphantly to the hotel, or to a boarding-place, or to some private -house. The members of the committee had a duty to perform, and they -performed it with an energy and a thoroughness that was amazing if not -altogether satisfactory. As I remember, this vigorous body was called the -Committee on Public Comfort, and most heroically did it live up to its -name and its duties. - -These things I learned by observation and not by experience, for before -the train on which I was a passenger had cleared the suburbs of Atlanta, -I caught a glimpse of Major Tumlin Perdue, who had long been a prominent -citizen of Halcyondale. He had changed but little during the ten years. -His hair was whiter, and he was a trifle thinner, but his complexion -was still rosy and his manners as buoyant as ever. I doubted whether -he would know me again, though he had been very friendly with me in -the old days, seeming to know by instinct just when and how to drop a -word of encouragement and appreciation, and so I forbore to renew the -acquaintance. The Major could be boisterous enough in those times when -in the humor, but when at his best he had more ways like those of a -woman (and a noble and tender-hearted woman at that) than any man I had -ever known. He had a woman’s tact, intuition, and sympathy; and these -qualities were so exquisitely developed in him that they lifted him high -in the estimation of a young man who was living away from his mother, and -who was somewhat lonely on that account. - -Presently, the Major came along the aisle for a drink of water. As he -was in the act of drinking, his eyes met mine, and he recognized me -instantly. He swallowed the water with a gulp. - -“Why, bless my soul!” he exclaimed, greeting me with the simple -cordiality that springs from an affectionate nature. “Why, I wouldn’t -take ten dollars for this! I was thinking about you this very day. Don’t -you remember the night we went out to ku-klux the Ku-klux, and the chap -that mighty nigh broke his neck running into a wire clothes-line? I saw -him to-day. He would hardly speak to me,” the Major went on, laughing -heartily. “He’s never got over that night’s business. I thought about -you, and I started to hunt you up; but you know how it is in Atlanta. -Folks ain’t got time to eat, much less to tell you where anybody lives. A -man that’s too busy is bound to worry, and worry will kill him every bit -and grain as quick as John Barleycorn. Business is bound to be the ruin -of this country, and if you don’t live to see it, your children will.” - -[Illustration: The Committee of Public Comfort.] - -Thus the Major talked, blending wisdom with impracticable ideas in the -most delightful way. He seemed to be highly pleased when he found that I -was to spend a week at Halcyondale, attending the fair and renewing old -friendships. - -“Then you belong to me!” he exclaimed. “It’s no use,” he went on, shaking -his head when I would have protested against imposing on his good-nature; -“you needn’t say a word. The tavern is stuffed full of people, and even -if it wasn’t, you’d go to my house. If you ain’t been ruined by living in -Atlanta, it’ll seem like home to you. Dang it all! I’ll _make_ it seem -like home to you anyhow.” - -Now, the affectation of hospitality is one of the commonest hypocrisies -in life, and, to a thoughtful man, one of the most sinister; but the -Major’s hospitality was genuine. It was brought over from the times -before the war, and had stood the test of age and long usage, and, most -trying of all, the test of poverty. “If you were welcome when I was well -off, how much more welcome you’ll be now that I am poor!” This was not -said by the Major, but by one of his contemporaries. The phrase fitted a -whole generation of noble men and women, and I thank Heaven that it was -true at one time even if it is not true now. - -When the train, with much clinking and clanking and hissing, came to a -standstill at Halcyondale, the Major hustled me off on the side opposite -the station, and so I escaped the ordeal of resisting the efforts of -the Committee on Public Comfort to convey me to a lodging not of my own -selection. The Major’s buggy was in waiting, with a negro driver, who got -out to make room for me. He bowed very politely, calling me by name. - -“You remember Hamp, I reckon,” said the Major. “He was a member of the -Legislature when you lived here.” - -Certainly I remembered Hamp, who was Aunt Minervy Ann’s husband. I -inquired about her, and Hamp, who had swung up to the trunk-rack as the -buggy moved off, replied that she was at home and as well as she could be. - -“Yes,” said the Major, “she’s at my house. You may _see_ somebody else -besides Minervy Ann, but you won’t _hear_ anybody else. She owns the -whole place and the people on it. I had a Boston man to dinner some time -ago, one of Conant’s friends—you remember Paul Conant, don’t you?—and -I stirred Minervy Ann up just to see what the man would say. We had a -terrible quarrel, and the man never did know it was all in fun. He said -they never would have such a lack of discipline among the servants in -Boston. I told him I would give him any reasonable amount if he would go -out and discipline Minervy Ann, just to show me how it was done. It would -have been better than a circus. You heard her, didn’t you, Hamp?” - -Hamp chuckled good-naturedly. “Yasser, I did, an’ it make col’ chills run -over me ter hear how Minervy Ann went on. She cert’n’y did try herse’f -dat day.” - -The Major smiled a little proudly as I thought, slapped the horse—a -bob-tailed black—with the left rein, and we went skimming along the -level, sandy street at a three-minute gait. In a short while we were at -the Major’s house, where I received a warm welcome from his daughter, -whom I had known when she was a school-girl. She was now Mrs. Paul -Conant, and even more beautiful as a matron than she had been as a girl. -I had also known her husband, who had begun his business career in the -town a year or two before I left, and even at that time he was one of the -most prominent and promising young business men in the town. - -He had served in the army the last year of the war, and the service -did him a world of good, physically and mentally. His faculties were -broadened and enlarged. Contact with all sorts and conditions of men -gave him ample knowledge of his kind, and yet he kept in touch with the -finer issues of life. He was ripened and not hardened. - -The surrender had no such crushing effects on him as it had on older men. -It left him youth, and where youth is there must be hope and energy. -He returned home, remained a few weeks, sold a couple of horses he had -picked up in the track of Sherman’s army, and then went into the office -of a cotton factor in Savannah, giving his services for the knowledge and -experience he desired to gain. In a very short time he learned all the -secrets of sampling and grading the great staple. He might have remained -in the office at a salary, for his aptness had made him useful, but he -preferred to return to Halcyondale, where he engaged in buying cotton -on his own account. There was just enough risk in this to stimulate his -energies, and not enough to lead to serious speculation. - -To this business he added others as his capital grew, and he was soon the -most prosperous man in the town. He had formed the stock company under -whose auspices the county fair was held, and was president of the board -of directors. - -[Illustration: Buying cotton on his own account.] - -Aunt Minervy Ann was very much in evidence, for she acted as cook, nurse, -and house-girl. The first glimpse I had of her, she had a bucket of -water in her right hand and Conant’s baby—a bouncing boy—on her left arm. -Just then Major Perdue hustled me off to my room, thus postponing, as I -thought, the greeting I had for Aunt Minervy Ann. But presently I heard -her coming upstairs talking to herself. - -“Ef dey gwine ter have folks puttin’ up wid um, dey better tell me in de -due time, so I can fix up fer um. Dey ain’t been no fresh water in deze -rooms sence dat baby wuz born’d.” - -She went on to the end of the hall and looked in each of the rooms. -Then, with an exclamation I failed to catch, she knocked at my door, -which was promptly opened. As she saw me a broad smile flashed over her -good-natured face. - -“I ’low’d ’twuz you,” she said, “an’ I’m mighty glad you come.” She -started to pour the water from can to pitcher, when suddenly she stayed -her hand. With the exclamation, “Well, ef dis don’t bang my time!” she -went to the head of the stairs and cried out: “Miss Vallie! Miss Vallie! -you don’t want no town folks stuck in dish yer back room, does you?” - -“Why, certainly not!” cried the lady. “What could father have been -thinking of?” - -“Shoo! he like all de men folks,” responded Aunt Minervy Ann. - -With that she seized my valise with one hand, and, carrying the can of -water in the other, escorted me to one of the front rooms. It was an -improvement on the back room only because it had more windows to admit -the air and light. I put in a word for the Major, which I hoped would be -carried to the ears of the daughter. - -“The Major gave me that room because he wanted to treat me as if I were -one of the home folks. Now you’ve brought me here, and I’ll feel as -uncomfortable as if I were company, sure enough.” - -“Dey’s sump’n in dat, I ’speck,” replied Aunt Minervy Ann, laughing; -“but, lawsy, massy! you done been in dis house too much ter talk -dat-a-way. When kin folks come home, we allus gin um de bes’ dey is fer -de fus’ week er so. Atter dat dey kin rustle ’roun’ fer deyse’f.” - -It is hardly necessary to say that Aunt Minervy Ann took very good care -that I should want for none of those little attentions that sharpen the -appreciation of a guest; and, in her case, obtrusiveness was not a fault, -for her intentions shone clearly and unmistakably through it all. - -[Illustration: “Miss Vallie!”] - -Major Perdue had the art of entertainment at his fingers’ ends, which, -though it is very simple, not one man in a hundred learns. It is the -knack of leaving the guest to his own devices without seeming to do so. -Most fortunate in his gifts is the host who knows how to temper his -attentions! - -In his efforts to get the fair under way, Paul Conant found it impossible -to come to dinner, but sent his apologies. - -“You’ll think it is a mighty small concern when you see it,” said the -Major, “but it takes all that Paul can do to keep it from getting into a -tangle. He has to be here, there, and everywhere, and there hasn’t been -a minute for a week or more but what forty people were hollering at him -at once, and forty more pulling and hauling him about. If he wasn’t a -steam-engine, he couldn’t hold out half an hour.” - -“Well, he’ll soon straighten matters out,” said I, “and then they’ll stay -so.” - -“That’s so,” remarked the Major; “but when that’s done, he’ll have to -rush around from post to pillar to keep ’em straight.” - -“Did he seem to be greatly worried?” Valentine asked. - -“No-o-o-o,” replied the Major, slowly and hesitatingly, “but I’m afear’d -his shoulder has begun to trouble him again.” He leaned back in his -chair and looked at the ceiling, apparently lost in thought. - -“Why should you think that, father?” - -“Once or twice, whilst he was rustling about I saw him fling his hand to -his shoulder and hold it there, and I’m mightily afear’d it’s hurting -him.” The Major drew a deep sigh as he spoke, and silence fell on all. -It was brief, but it was long enough for one to know that an unpleasant -subject had been touched on—that there was something more behind it all -than a pain in Conant’s shoulder. Aunt Minervy Ann, who was equal to -every emergency, created a diversion with the baby, and the Major soon -pulled himself together. - -Paul Conant came home to supper, and in the sitting-room, before the meal -was announced, I observed that the Major was as solicitous about him as a -mother is of her baby. His eyes were constantly on his son-in-law, and if -the latter showed any sign of worry, or frowned as if in pain, a shadow -would pass over the Major’s genial face. - -[Illustration: “I saw him fling his hand to his shoulder and hold it -there.”] - -This intense solicitude was something out of the usual order, and I -wondered what was behind it. But the next day it was forgotten, nor -was it remembered until Aunt Minervy Ann reminded me of it. I had -been faithful in my attendance on the fair, had listened patiently -to the speeches, and had then tried to refresh my benumbed faculties -with such fare as could be found on the grounds—barbecue, pickles, and -ginger-cakes. But the occasion had been too much for me, and so, about -two o’clock in the afternoon, I decided to return to my quarters at Major -Perdue’s home and rest my weary limbs. The very thought of the quiet and -cool house was refreshing, and so, without waiting for a conveyance, I -set out on foot, going through the woods in preference to the public -highway, thereby cutting the distance short by nearly a mile. - -A great many others had taken advantage of the short-cut through the -woods, so that I had no lack of company. Among them I noticed Aunt -Minervy and her husband, Hamp, the latter carrying the Conant baby, -which, having had enough of the pomps and vanities of this life for the -time being, was now fast asleep. I soon came up with the trio, and we -went along home together. - -“You toughed it out mighty well, suh,” remarked Aunt Minervy Ann, after -some talk about the various attractions of the fair. “Up dar in Atlanty -deze kinder doin’s would be laughed at, I ’speck, but hit’s de bes’ -we-all kin do. Me an’ Miss Vallie had some truck dar, speshually dat -ar grape jelly on de right han’ side. Ef dat jelly don’t git de blue -ribbon er sump’n better, hit’ll be bakaze dem ar jedgment men ain’t got -no sense—I don’t keer who dey is. Ain’t you see dat ar quilt hangin’ up -dar wid a pattern in it like a well-whorl, only de middle er de whorl -was shape like de mornin’ star? Dat ar quilt is older dan what you is, -suh—lots older. Me an’ Mistiss made dat quilt long ’fo’ Miss Vallie wuz -born, an’ dish yer baby’ll tell you she ain’t no chicken. Ef dey’s any -purtier quilt on dat hill dey had it hid ter-day; dey ain’t brung it out -whar folks kin look at it. I dunno much, but I knows dat much.” - -We reached the house after awhile, and I lost no time in stretching -myself out on a lounge that sat invitingly in the hall behind the -stairway. It was not the coolest place in the world; but, really, when -one is fagged out, it is unnecessary to try to find all the comforts -of life in one spot. Sleep fell on me unawares, and when I awoke, Aunt -Minervy Ann was sitting near the head of the lounge fanning me. Such -courtesy was surprising, as well as pleasing, but I chid her for taking -so much trouble, for I had slept nearly two hours. But she made light of -it, saying she had nothing else to do, the baby being in his cradle and -sleeping like a log. - -[Illustration: “Dat ar grape jelly on de right han’ side.”] - -Then, to enjoy a smoke, I drew a rocking-chair into the back porch, and -proceeded to fill my pipe with what I regarded as a very good brand of -tobacco, offering some to Aunt Minervy Ann. She soon found her pipe—clay -bowl and reed stem—cleaned it out carefully and filled it from my pouch. - -“It look mighty pale, suh,” she remarked. “I ’speck dey steam it ’fo’ dey -mash it up.” She seated herself on the top step, lit her pipe, took a few -whiffs, and then shook her head. “’Tain’t nigh rank ’nuff for me, suh. -Hit tas’e like you er dreamin’ ’bout smokin’ an’ know all de time ’tain’t -nothin’ but a dream.” She knocked the tobacco out, and then refilled the -pipe with the crumbs and cutting from the end of a plug. This she smoked -with an air of supreme satisfaction. - -“I ’speck you got de idee dat I better be seein’ ’bout supper, stidder -settin’ up here lookin’ biggity. But ’tain’t no use, suh. Marse Tumlin -and Miss Vallie never is ter come home dis day less’n dey bring Marse -Paul wid um. I done hear um sesso. An’ I know mighty well, deyer gwine -ter come back late, bekaze Paul Conant’s one er dem kinder folks what go -twel dey can’t go, an’ when dey git down dey make motions like dey gwine. -Dey puts me in mind uv a lizard’s tail, suh. Knock it off, an’ it’ll hop -’bout an’ work an’ wiggle plum twel de sun go down.” - -I suggested that the illustration was somewhat inapt (though not in -those words), for the reason that Paul Conant’s energy was not expended -blindly. But I found that Aunt Minervy knew what she was saying. - -“I ain’t talkin’ ’bout his own business, suh, bekaze dey ain’t nobody -beat ’im at dat. No, suh; I’m talkin’ ’bout dem ar doin’s out dar at de -fair groun’s. He’s a-workin’ at dat lots harder dan he has ter work fer -hisse’f. Maybe you tuck notice uv de way dem yuther folks done out dar, -suh. Dey stood ’round wid dey mouf open, an’ de ribbon pinned on der -coats, an’ when sump’n had ter be done, dey’d call out fer Conant. It -’uz ‘Conant!’ here an’ ‘Conant!’ dar, an’ ef Conant wuz out er hearin’ -de whole shebang had ter stop right still an’ wait twel Conant kin be -dragged up. I watched um p’intedly, suh, an’ it’s des like I tell you.” - -Aunt Minervy Ann’s characterization of the directors was so acute and so -unexpected that I laughed—not at what she said, but at the vivid picture -of a lot of helpless men standing about, full of dignity, and yet waiting -for young Conant to tell them what to do. - -[Illustration: “‘Conant!’ here and ‘Conant!’ dar.”] - -“You may laugh, suh,” Aunt Minervy Ann went on with a little frown, -“but I’m tellin’ you de Lord’s trufe. I kep’ my eyes on um, an’ ’twuz -dat-a-way fum soon dis mornin’ ’twel I got mad an’ come home. You kin -ax Hamp, suh, an’ he’ll tell you de same. I reckon you heer’d Marse -Tumlin las’ night at de table ax Marse Paul ef his shoulder hurted ’im. -I know you did, suh, bekaze I tuck notice how you looked, an’ I tried -ter shake de baby up so he’d cry, but dat wuz one er de times, suh, when -he wouldn’t be shuck up. Any udder time dat chil’ would er laid back an’ -blated twel you’d hafter put yo’ fingers in yo’ years. I wuz mad wid ’im, -suh, but I wuz bleedz ter laugh. Chillun mighty funny. When you don’t -want um ter cry, dey’ll holler der heads off, an’ when you want um ter -cry, dey’ll laugh in yo’ face. I bet you dey’s a blue place on dat baby’s -arm whar I pinched ’im, but he didn’t no mo’ min’ it dan nothin’.” - -“Well,” said I, “there was something peculiar in the way all of you -looked and acted when the Major asked about Mr. Conant’s shoulder. It was -a very simple question.” - -“Ah, Lord!” exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann, raising her right hand on high, -“dey better ax ’bout dat shoulder. Yesser! ev’y day an’ ev’y night, an’ -in betwixt times.” - -“Is Mr. Conant troubled with rheumatism?” I inquired. - -“Rheumatiz! bless yo’ soul, honey! Ef ’twuz rheumatiz dey wouldn’t be no -Paul Conant ’round dis house, ner no Conant baby.” - -Here is something decidedly interesting, I thought, but held my peace, -knowing that whatever it was would be more quickly disclosed if there -were any disclosure to make. - -“Ain’t you never hear ’bout it, suh? Well dat bangs me! An’ you right up -dar in Atlanty, too! No, suh; you must er been in Savanny, bekaze ’twuz -de town talk in Atlanty. Anyhow, wharsomever you wuz er might er been, -dey ain’t no rheumatiz de matter wid Marse Paul Conant’s shoulder-blade. -I know dat much, an’ I know it mighty well, bekaze I wuz right here in -dis house, an’ nowhars else ’cep’n ’roun’ de lot an’ up town an’ back. - -“Well, den, suh, ef you ain’t never hear ’bout dat, I most know you ain’t -never hear tell er how I run’d off, and how I run’d back, bekaze nobody -ain’t never talk ’bout dat—leas’ways, not as I knows un.” - -I declared to Aunt Minervy Ann that I never heard a whisper of it. She -leaned back against the railing of the steps and drew a long whiff from -her pipe. - -“’Tain’t no use ter tell you, suh, how times wuz right atter de war. -You wuz right in um, an’ ef you don’t know, it’s bekaze you didn’t look -’roun’ an’ see um. I hear um say, suh, dat niggers wuz po’ when dey come -free. Dey wuz, suh; dey wuz rank pizen po’; but dey never wuz in dis -worl’ a nigger ez po’ ez some er our white folks wuz. You may shake yo’ -haid, suh, but I’m givin’ you de straight gov’nment trufe. Niggers is use -ter bein’ po’, an’ dey never wuz dat po’ dat dey can’t scuffle ’roun’ an’ -make out somehow. Dey er been po’ so long dey er usen ter it. But white -folks what been rich! I hope de Lord’ll call me home ’fo’ I see again -what I done saw in dem days. I know in reason, suh, dat I seed mo’ er de -trouble dan what you did, kaze you couldn’t go in at de back gates like -me; an’ what trouble folks does have dey allers keep it somers betwix’ de -bedroom an’ de back gate. - -“De Perdues wa’n’t no wuss off dan nobody else. Marse Tumlin had dish yer -house an’ lot, an’ de plantation, an’ some lan’ way off yander. But all -de hosses an’ mules an’ cattle been tuck off, an’ de niggers all gone. -Ef he’d er stayed on de plantation, de niggers would ’a’ been dar yit, -but stay he wouldn’t, an’ stay he didn’t, an’ so dar he wuz. - -“Do sump’n? What he gwine do? Fo’ de big turmoil he done some lawin’ an’ -a heap er farmin’. Leas’ways my ol’ Mistiss done de farmin’, an’ Marse -Tumlin, he done de lawin’. He had ’im a office here in town, an’ on set -days he’d come in an’ look arter de cases what he had. But how anybody -gwine ter do any lawin’ dat-a-way? Marse Tumlin ain’t keerin’ whedder he -git one case er none. He ain’t bleedze ter do no lawin’. An’ den ’pon -top er dat he went off whar dey battlin’, an’ dar he stayed, an’ when he -come back, look like de kinder lawin’ what he use ter do done gone outer -fashion. Ef he hadn’t er been holp out, suh, I dunner what’d ’a’ come un -’im. An’ ’twa’n’t only Marse Tumlin. Dey wuz a whole passel un um, too -young ter die an’ too ol’ ter win money in dem kinder times. Ef you ain’t -ol’ ’nuff ter ’member dem times, suh, you kin thank de Lord, kaze dey sho -did look like tetotal ruination. - -“Now, you know yo’se’f, suh, dat you can’t eat a house an’ lot an’ live -dar too; an’ you can’t eat lan’ des dry so less’n you got a mighty -appetite fer dirt. Whyn’t he sell de lan’? You oughter be de las’ one -ter ax me dat, suh. Who gwine buy it? Dem what ain’t got lan’ ain’t had -no money, an’ dem what had money sholy lived a mighty long ways fum here. -Day in an’ day out, suh, I wuz de wuss pester’d nigger you ever laid eyes -on. I ain’t know what ter do. - -“An’ den ’pon top er dat, dar wuz Hamp, my ol’ man. When freedom come -out, he tuck de notion dat we better go off some’rs an’ change de name -what we got so dey can’t put us back in slave’y. Night an’ day it fair -rankle in his min’, an’ he kep’ groanin’ an’ growlin’ ’bout it twel I -got stirred up. I oughtn’t ter tell it, suh, but hit’s de Lord’s trufe. -I got mad, I did, an’ I tol’ Hamp I’d go. An’ den I wa’n’t doin’ no good -stayin’ here. ’Twuz des one mo’ mouf ter feed, an’ mo’ dan one, countin’ -Hamp. So, bimeby, one day, when I wuz sorter fretted, I tol’ Hamp ter go -on out dar in de country, whar his daddy live at, an’ I’d meet ’im dar -’fo’ night. - -“When de time come, I went in de house an’ hunt fer Miss Vallie. She ’uz -settin’ in de parlor by de winder, but behime de curtain like, so nobody -can’t see ’er. She ’uz settin’ dar wid ’er han’s crossed on ’er lap, an’ -she look so little, an’ pale, an’ weak, dat I come mighty nigh gwine -right back in de kitchen. But she seed me too quick. Den I up’n tell ’er -dat I’m gwine out in de country, ter whar Hamp daddy live at. She look at -me right hard an’ say, ‘When you comin’ back, Aunt Minervy Ann?’ I ’low, -‘I’m comin’ back des ez soon ez I kin make my ’rangements, honey.’ She -say, ‘Well, I hope you’ll have a good time while you er gone.’ I ’low, -‘Thanky, ma’m.’ Wid dat I went an’ got my bundle an’ put opt fum dar—an’ -I ain’t look back nudder, bekaze I had a mighty weakness in de knees, an’ -a mighty risin’ in my th’oat. - -“I went on down de road, an’ ef anybody had so much ez said _boo_ ter me, -I’d ’a’ turned right ’roun’ an’ gone back home. I went on, I did, twel -I come ter de mile branch. I see somebody crossin’ on de log, an’ when -I come up wid um, who should it ’a’ been but Marse Tumlin. An’ he had -_one chicken_! He had been out ter de plantation—sev’m mile ef its fifty -yards—an’ here he wuz comin’ back wid one chicken—an’ him a walkin’, him -dat use ter ride ’roun’ in his carriage! Walkin’ an’ totin’ one little -chicken! Man, suh! I don’t never want ter feel again like I felt den. -Whedder ’twuz de chicken, er what, I never did see Marse Tumlin Perdue -look ez ol’ an’ ez weasly ez he did den. He look at me an’ sorter laugh -like I done cotch ’im doin’ sump’n he ain’t got no business ter do. But -dey wa’n’t no laugh in me; no, suh, not by a jugful. - -[Illustration: “Drapt down on de groun’ dar an’ holler an’ cry.”] - -“He say, ‘Hello, Minervy Ann! whar _you_ gwine?’ I ’low, I did, ‘I’m des -gwine out yander whar Hamp kinnery live at.’ - -“He sorter pull his goatee, an’ look down at de dus’ on his shoes—an’ -dey wuz fair kiver’d wid it—an’ den he say, ‘Well, Minervy Ann, I wish -you mighty well. You sho is done a mighty good part by me an’ mine. Ef -yo’ Miss Mary wuz ’live she’d know what ter say—I don’t, ’cep’ dis’—he -straighten up an’ stretch out his han’—‘’cep’ dis: whenever you want ter -come back home, you’ll fin’ de do’ open. Ef you come at night, des knock. -We’ll know yo’ knock.’ - -“You ain’t never seed no fool nigger ’oman cut up, is you? Well, ef you -does see one, suh, I hope ter goodness ’twon’t be me! Marse Tumlin ain’t -no mo’n got de words out’n his mouf, suh, ’fo’ I tuck de bundle what I -had in my han’, an’ flung it fur ez I could send it. - -“Marse Tumlin look at me hard, an’ den he say, ‘Dam ef I don’t b’lieve -youer crazy!’ Time he say it, I ’low, ‘_I don’t keer er dam ef I is!_’ - -“Yasser! I say it sho, an’ den I drapt down on de groun’ dar an’ holler -an’ cry like somebody wuz beatin’ de life out’n me. Marse Tumlin stood -dar pullin’ at his goatee all dat time, an’ bimeby I got up. I wa’n’t -feelin’ much better, but I done had my cry an’ dat’s sump’n. I got up, I -did, an’ start back de way I come. - -“Marse Tumlin say, ‘Whar you gwine, Minervy Ann? I ’low, ‘I’m gwine back -home—dat’s whar I’m gwine!’ He say, ‘Pick up yo’ bundle.’ Wid dat I turn -’roun’ on him an’ ’low, ‘I ain’t gwine ter do it! Ef it hadn’t er been -fer dat ar muslin dress in dar, what Miss Vallie make over an’ gi’ me, -I’d been at home right dis minute.’ - -“He ’low, ‘What dat got ter do wid it, Minervy Ann?’ I make answer, -‘Bekaze ol’ Satan make me want ter put it on an’ sho’ off ’fo’ dem -country niggers out dar whar Hamp’s folks live at.’ Wid dat I start back -home, but Marse Tumlin holler at me—‘Minervy Ann, take dis chicken.’ I -tuck it, I did, an’ made off up de road. Bimeby I sorter flung my eye -’roun’, an’, bless gracious! dar wuz Marse Tumlin comin’ ’long totin’ -my bundle. Well, suh, it flewed all over me like fier. I got so mad wid -myse’f dat I could ’a’ bit a piece out’n my own flesh. - -“I waited in de road twel he come up, an’ den I snatched de bundle out er -his han’. I ’low, ‘I ain’t gwine ter have you totin’ none er my bundles -in de public road—no, ner no chickens, needer.’ He say, ‘Well, don’t -fling it ’way, Minervy Ann. De time may come when yo’ Miss Vallie’ll need -dat ar muslin dress.’ - -“When we got back home I went in de kitchen, an’ fix ter clean an’ kill -de chicken. I ’speck Marse Tumlin must ’a’ tol’ Miss Vallie ’bout it, -bekaze ’twan’t long ’fo’ I hear her runnin’ ’long de plank walk ter de -kitchen. She whipt in de do’ she did, an’ grab me an’ cry like I done riz -fum de dead. Well, suh, niggers ain’t got no sense, you kin take um de -world over. No sooner is Miss Vallie start ter cry dan I chuned up, an’ -dar we had it. - -“’Bout dat time, Marse Tumlin, he come out—men folks is allers gwine -some’rs dey got no business. He ’low, ‘What you’all blubberin’ ’bout?’ -I make answer, ‘We er cryin’ over dese two chickens.’ He ax, ‘What two -chickens?’ I ’low, ‘I’m cryin’ over dis un, kaze it’s so little, an’ Miss -Vallie cryin’ over de one what you ain’t brung.’ He say, ‘Well, I be -dang!’ an’ wid dat he went back in de house. - -“An’ den, atter supper, such ez ’twuz, here come Hamp, an’ he say he -come ter lay de law down. I ’speck I like my ol’ man ’bout ez good ez -any udder ’oman what’s lawfully married, but ef I didn’t put a flea in -Hamp year dat night you may shoot me dead. Ef he’d ’a’ waited a day er -two, hit might er been diffunt; but, manlike, he had ter come at de wrong -time, an’ he ain’t open his mouf ’fo’ I wuz fightin’ mad. Ol’ Miss allers -use ter tell me I wuz a bad nigger when I got my dander up, but I never -did look at myse’f dat-a-way twel dat night. - -“Well, Hamp he come an’ stood in de do’, but I ain’t say nothin’. Den he -come in de kitchen, an’ stan’ ’roun’, but still I ain’t say nothin’. Den -he sot down next de chimbley, but all dat time I ain’t say nothin’. He -look right pitiful, suh, an’ ef I hadn’t been mad, I’d ’a’ been sorry fer -’im. But I ain’t say nothin’. - -“Bimeby, he ’low, ‘’Nervy’—he allers call me ’Nervy—‘’Nervy, whyn’t you -go whar you say you gwine?’ I flung myse’f ’roun’ at ’im an’ say, ‘Bekaze -I ain’t choosen ter go—dar you got it!’ He ’low, ‘Well, you start ter -go, kaze I seed you!’ I say, ‘Yes, an’ I start ter come back, an’ you’d -’a’ seed dat ef you’d ’a’ looked right close.’ He ’low, ‘’Nervy, don’t -you know dem folks in yander’ll think you b’long to um?’ I say, ‘I does. -Ain’t I free? Can’t I b’long to um ef I wanter? I’d like ter see de one -ter hender me. What dey done ter you? An’ what’s I done ter you dat you -want ter drag me ’way fum my white folks? You go drag you’se’f—you can’t -drag _me_.’ He ’low, ‘Dey done begin ter call you a white-folks nigger, -an’ dey say you gwine back on yo’ own color.’” - -Aunt Minervy Ann paused here to laugh. “Mad ez I wuz, suh, de minnit -Hamp said dat I know’d I had ter change my chune. I ’low, ‘I know right -pine-blank who tol’ you dat. ’Twan’t nobody in de roun’ worl’ but ol’ -Cely Ensign, an’ she ain’t tell you dat in comp’ny, needer. She tol’ you -whar nobody can’t hear ’er but you. Don’t you fret! des ez soon ez I -git thoo wid supper, I’m gwine ’roun’ dar an’ drag ’er out an’ gi’ ’er -de wuss frailin’ any nigger ever got sence de overseers quit bizness. I -ain’t fergot dat ar’ possum you toted off ter her house.’ - -“Well, suh, I had ’im! He caved in. He ’low, ‘’Twan’t no ’possum; ’twan’t -nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ but a late watermillion.’ I holler, ‘_Ah-yi! -watermillion!_ Well, den, ef you want ter drag anybody off fum der white -folks, go an’ drag ol’ Cely Ensign—bekaze you can’t drag me.’ - -“We jowered right smart, but I had Hamp in a cornder. He went off an’ -stayed maybe a mont’, an’ den he come back, an’ atter ’while he got -’lected ter de legislature. He done mighty well, suh. He got nine dollars -a day, an’ ev’y Sat’dy night he’d fetch de bigges’ part uv it home. -’Twuz mighty handy, too, suh, kaze ef hadn’t been fer dat legislatur’ -money I dunner what me and Miss Vallie an’ Marse Tumlin would ’a’ done. - -“Dat wuz ’bout de time, suh, dat de town boys wanter ku-kluck Hamp, an’ -you an’ Marse Tumlin went out an’ ku-klucked dem. Hamp ain’t never forgot -it, suh. He’d walk fum here to Atlanty fer you ef ’twould do you any -good. He don’t say much, but I know how he feel. I hear ’im calling me -now, suh.” - -“You haven’t told me about Paul Conant,” I suggested. - -“I’ll tell you, suh, ’fo’ you go.” - -In half a minute I heard Aunt Minervy Ann quarrelling and laughing at -Hamp in the same breath. - - - - -IV - -HOW SHE JOINED THE GEORGIA LEGISLATURE - - -The second day of the fair, I saw more of Paul Conant. He insisted on -taking charge of me, and, in his buggy, we visited every part of the -fair-grounds, which had been laid out on a most liberal scale. When -dinner-time came I was glad enough to excuse myself and hurry back to the -refreshing shade of Major Perdue’s veranda. There I found Aunt Minervy -Ann swinging the baby in a hammock. - -“I ’low’d maybe you’d git tired an’ come back, suh; an’ so I des let -dinner sorter simmer whiles I got dish yer baby ter sleep. I dunner how -you all does in Atlanty, but down here we has soon dinner. Dem what -wanter kin have two meals a day, but dem what does sho ’nuff work better -eat three. Me! I want three, whedder I works er not.” - -The baby stirred, and Aunt Minervy paused. At that moment a group of men, -wearing badges, passed by, evidently officials of the fair going to -dinner. They were evidently engaged in a very earnest discussion. - -“I’m for Conant,” said one, with considerable emphasis. - -“Oh, so am I,” assented another. “When Jim told me this morning that he -was a candidate for the Legislature, I told him flat and plain that I was -for Paul Conant.” - -“That’s right,” remarked a third. “We want a man there with some business -sense, and Conant’s the man.” - -Aunt Minervy Ann laughed. “Ef de Legislatur’ up dar in Atlanty is like it -wuz when I b’long’d ter it, dey can’t drag Marse Paul in dar; no, suh! -dey can’t drag him in dar.” - -Amazement must have shown in my face, for Aunt Minervy Ann immediately -became solemn. “Ain’t you never hear tell ’bout my j’inin’ de -Legislatur’? You may look an’ you may laugh, but dat don’t wipe out de -trufe. Dey wuz a time when I jined de Legislatur’ an’ when I b’long’d ter -de gang same ez Hamp did. You don’t ’spute but what Hamp b’long’d ter de -Legislatur’, suh?” asked Aunt Minervy Ann, anxious to make out the title -of her own membership. No, I didn’t dispute Hamp’s credentials. He had -been elected and he had served. - -“I know’d you couldn’t ’spute dat, suh,” Aunt Minervy Ann went on, -“’kaze you wuz down dar when dey choosen’d ’im, an’ you wuz dar when dem -ar white folks come mighty nigh ku-kluckin’ ’im; you wuz right dar wid -Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar. I never is ter fergit dat, suh, ner Hamp -nudder; an’ ef you don’t b’lieve it, you des sen’ us word you want us. Ef -we git de word at midnight we’ll git up, an’ ef de railroad track is tore -up we’ll git a waggin, an’ ef we can’t git a waggin, we’ll walk, but what -we’ll come.” - -“Well,” said I, “tell us about your joining the Legislature.” - -“I may be long in tellin’ it, suh, but ’tain’t no long tale,” replied -Aunt Minervy Ann. “Atter Hamp come up here an’ tuck his seat—dat what dey -call it den, ef dey don’t call it dat now—well, atter he come up an’ been -here some little time, I tuck notice dat he ’gun ter hol’ his head mighty -high; a little too high fer ter suit me. He want me ter go up dar wid ’im -an’ stay dar, ’kaze he sorter skittish ’bout comin’ home when dem country -boys mought be hangin’ ’roun’ de depot. But I up an’ tol’ ’im flat an’ -plain dat I wa’n’t gwine ter leave Miss Vallie an’ let er’ git usen ter -strange niggers. I tol’ ’im he mought go an’ stay ef he want ter, but de -fus’ week he miss comin’ home, I wuz gwine atter ’im, an’ ef I fotch ’im -home he won’t go back in a hurry; I tol’ ’im dat, flat an’ plain. - -“Well, suh, he done mighty well; I’ll say dat fer ’im. He want too many -clean shirts an’ collars fer ter suit me, but he say he bleeze ter have -um dar whar he at, an’ I ain’t make no complaint ’bout dat; but I took -notice dat he wuz sorter offish wid Marse Tumlin. Mo’ dan dat, I tuck -notice dat needer Marse Tumlin ner Marse Bolivar so much ez look at ’im -when dey pass ’im by. I know’d by dat dat sump’n wuz up. - -“Now, Hamp ain’t had no reg’lar time fer comin’ home. Sometimes he’d come -We’n’sday, an’ den ag’in he’d come Friday. I ax ’im why he ain’t stay de -week out an’ ’ten’ ter his work like he oughter. He say he gettin’ des -much pay when he at home loafin’ ’roun’ ez he do when he up yer. Well, -suh, dat ’stonish me. You know yo’se’f, suh, dat when folks is gittin’ -pay fer dat what dey ain’t doin’, dey’s boun’ ter be swindlin’ gwine on -some’rs, ef not wuss, an’ dat what I tol’ ’im. He laugh an’ say dat’s on -account er politics an’ de erpublican party, an’ I make answer dat ef -dat de case, dey er bofe rank an’ rotten; desso. - -“We went on fum one thing ter an’er, twel bimeby I ax ’im what dey is -’twixt ’im an’ Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar. Hamp say dey ain’t nothin’ -’ceppin’ dat dey done ax ’im fer ter do sump’n dat ain’t in ’cordance -wid erpublican pencerpuls, an’ he bleeze ter effuse um. Well, suh, dis -kinder riled me. I know’d right pine-blank dat Hamp ain’t know no mo’ -’bout erpublican pencerpuls dan I is, an’ I wouldn’t a-know’d um ef I’d a -met um in de road wid der name painted on um; so I ax ’im what erpublican -pencerpuls hender’d ’im fum doin’ what Marse Tumlin ax ’im ter do. He -sot dar an’ hummed an’ haw’d, an’ squirm’d in his cheer, an’ chaw’d on -de een’ er his segyar. I wait long ’nuff, an’ den I ax ’im ag’in. Well, -suh, dat’s been twenty years ago, an’ he ain’t never tol’ me yit what dem -erpublican pencerpuls wuz. I ain’t flingin’ off on um, suh. I ’speck dey -wuz a bairlful er dem erpublican pencerpuls, an’ maybe all good uns, but -I know’d mighty well dat dey ain’t hender dat nigger man fum doin’ what -Marse Tumlin ax ’im ter do. - -“So de nex’ chance I git, I up’n ax Marse Tumlin what de matter wuz -’twix’ him an’ Hamp. He say ’twa’n’t nothin’ much, ’cep’ dat Hamp -had done come up here in Atlanta an’ sol’ hisse’f out to a passel er -kyarpit-baggers what ain’t no intruss down here but ter git han’s on all -de money in sight. I say, ‘He may ’a’ gi’ hisse’f ’way, Marse Tumlin, but -he sho’ ain’t sell hisse’f, ’kaze I ain’t seen one er de money.’ Marse -Tumlin ’low, ‘Well, anyhow, it don’t make much diffunce, Minervy Ann. Dem -kyarpit-baggers up dar, dey pat ’im on de back an’ tell ’im he des ez -good ez what dey is. I had de idee, Minervy Ann,’ he say, ‘dat Hamp wuz -lots better dan what dey is, but he ain’t; he des ’bout good ez dey is.’ - -“Marse Tumlin do like he don’t wanter talk ’bout it, but dat ain’t nigh -satchify me. I say, ‘Marse Tumlin, what did you want Hamp ter do?’ He -drum on de arm er de cheer wid his fingers, an’ sorter study. Den he say, -‘Bein’ it’s all done an’ over wid, I don’t min’ tellin’ you all about it. -Does you know who’s a-runnin’ dis county now?’ I had a kinder idee, but I -say, ‘Who, Marse Tumlin?’ He ’low, ‘Mahlon Botts an’ his br’er Mose; dey -er runnin’ de county, an’ dey er ruinin’ it.’ - -“Den he ax me ef I know de Bottses. Know um! I’d been a-knowin’ um sence -de year one, an’ dey wuz de ve’y drugs an’ offscourin’s er creation. I -ax Marse Tumlin how come dey ter have holt er de county, an’ he say dey -make out dey wuz good erpublicans, des ter make de niggers vote um in -office—so dey kin make money an’ plunder de county. Den I ax ’im what he -want Hamp ter do. He say all he want Hamp ter do wuz ter he’p ’im git er -whatyoumaycallum—yasser, dat’s it, a bill; dat’s de ve’y word he say—he -want Hamp ter he’p ’im git a bill th’oo de Legislatur’; an’ den he went -on an’ tell me a long rigamarolious ’bout what ’twuz, but I’ll never tell -you in de roun’ worl’.” - -[The proceedings of the Georgia Legislature reported in the Atlanta _New -Era_, of November 10, 1869, show that the measure in question was a local -bill to revive the polling-places in the militia districts of the county -represented by the Hon. Hampton Tumlin, and to regulate elections so that -there could be no repeating. This verification of Aunt Minervy Ann’s -statement was made long ago after she told the story, and purely out of -curiosity. The discussions shed an illuminating light over her narrative, -but it is impossible to reproduce them here, even in brief.] - -“He tol’ me dat, suh, an’ den he le’nt back in de cheer, an’ kinder -hummed a chune. An’ me—I stood up dar by de fireplace an’ studied. Right -den an’ dar I made up my min’ ter one thing, an’ I ain’t never change -it, needer; I made up my min’ dat ef we wuz all gwine ter be free an’ -live in de same neighborhoods—dat ef we wuz gwine ter do dat, whatsomever -wuz good fer de white folks bleeze ter be good fer de niggers, an’ -whatsomever wuz good fer Marse Tumlin an’ Miss Vallie wuz des ez good fer -me an’ Hamp. - -“I ’low, ‘Marse Tumlin, when you gwine up dar whar Hamp at?’ He say, ‘Oh, -I dunno; I’m tired er de infernal place,’ desso. Den he look at me right -hard. ‘What make you ax?’ sez he. I ’low, ‘’Kaze ef youer gwine right -soon, I’m gwine wid you.’ He laugh an’ say, ‘What de dickunce you gwine -up dar fer?’ I ’low, ‘I gwine up dar fer ter jine de Legislatur’. I ain’t -here tell dat dem what jines hatter be baptize in runnin’ water, an’ ef -dey ain’t, den I’ll jine long wid Hamp.’ Marse Tumlin say, ‘You reckin -Hamp would be glad fer to see you, Minervy Ann?’ I ’low, ‘He better had -be, ef he know what good fer ’im.’ Marse Tumlin say, ‘Ef I wuz you, -Minervy Ann, I wouldn’t go up dar spyin’ atter Hamp. He’ll like you none -de better fer it. De las’ time I wuz up dar, Hamp wuz havin’ a mighty -good time. Ef you know what’s good fer you, Minervy Ann, you won’t go up -dar a-doggin’ atter Hamp.’ - -“Well, suh, right at dat time I had de idee dat Marse Tumlin wuz prankin’ -an’ projeckin’; you know how he runs on; but he wa’n’t no mo’ prankin’ -dan what I am right now. (Nummine! I’ll git back ter Hamp terreckly.) -I laugh an’ say, ‘I ain’t gwine ter dog atter Hamp, Marse Tumlin; I -des wanter go up dar an’ see how he gittin’ on, an’ fin’ out how folks -does when dey sets up dar in de Legislatur’. An’ ef you’ll put dat ar -whatshisname—bill; dat’s right, suh; bill wuz de word—ef you’ll put dat -ar bill in yo’ pocket, I’ll see what Hamp kin do wid it.’ Marse Tumlin -’low, ‘’Tain’t no use fer ter see Hamp, Minervy Ann. He done tol’ me he -can’t do nothin’. I lef’ de bill wid ’im.’ - -“I say, ‘Marse Tumlin, you dunner nothin’ ’tall ’bout Hamp. He must er -change mighty sence dey ’fo’ yistidy if he erfuse ter do what I tell ’im -ter do. Ef dat de case, I’ll go up dar an’ frail ’im out an’ come on back -home an’ ten’ ter my work.’ - -“Marse Tumlin look at me wid his eyes half shot an’ kinder laugh way down -in his stomach. He ’low, ‘Minervy Ann, I been livin’ a long time, an’ I -been knowin’ a heap er folks, but you er de bangin’est nigger I ever is -see. Free ez you is, I wouldn’t take two thousan’ dollars fer you, cash -money. I’ll git Bolivar, an’ we’ll go up dar on de mornin’ train. Vallie -kin stay wid er aunt. ’Tain’t gwine ter hurt you ter go; I want you ter -see some things fer yo’se’f.’ - -“Well, suh, sho’ ’nuff, de nex’ mornin’ me an’ Marse Tumlin an’ Marse -Bolivar, we got on de train, an’ put out, an’ ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ we wuz -pullin’ in under de kyar-shed. Dat ’uz de fus’ time I ever is been ter -dis town, an’ de racket an’ de turmoil kinder tarrify me, but when I see -’t’er folks gwine ’long ’tendin’ ter der bizness, ’twa’n’t no time ’fo’ I -tuck heart, ’kaze dar wuz Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar right at me, an’ -dey wuz bowin’ an’ shakin’ han’s wid mos’ eve’ybody dat come ’long. Dey -wuz two mighty pop’lous white men, suh; you know dat yo’se’f. - -“I ’speck de train must ’a’ got in ’fo’ de Legislatur’ sot down, ’kaze -when we went th’oo a narrer street an’ turn inter de one what dey call -Decatur, whar dey carry on all de devilment, I hear Marse Tumlin say dat -we wuz ’bout a hour too soon. Right atter dat Marse Bolivar say, ‘Tumlin, -dat ar nigger man ’cross dar wid de gals is got a mighty familious look -ter me; I done been seed ’im somewhar, sho’.’ Marse Tumlin say, ‘Dat’s -a fac’; I used ter know dat man some’rs.’ Well, suh, I lookt de way dey -wuz a-lookin’, an’ dar wuz Hamp! Yassar! Hamp! Hamp an’ two mulatter -gals. An’ I wish you could ’a’ seed um; I des wish you could! Dar wuz -Hamp all diked out in his Sunday cloze which I tol’ ’im p’intedly not -ter w’ar while he workin’ in de Legislatur’. He had a segyar in his mouf -mos’ ez big an’ ez long ez a waggin-spoke, an’ dar he wuz a-bowin’ an’ -scrapin’, an’ scrapin’ an’ gigglin’, an’ de mulatter gals wuz gigglin’ -an’ snickerin’ an’ squealin’—I _declaire_, Mr. Tumlin! you oughter be -_’shame_ er yo’se’f; oh, youer too _b-a-a-a-d_!’” - -With powers of mimicry unequalled, Aunt Minervy Ann illustrated the -bowing and scraping of Hamp, and reproduced the shrill but not unmusical -voices of the mulatto girls. - -“I tell you de trufe, suh, whiles you could count ten you might ’a’ pusht -me over wid a straw, an’ den, suh, my dander ’gun ter rise. I must ’a’ -show’d it in my looks, ’kaze Marse Tumlin laid his han’ on my shoulder -an’ say, ‘Don’t kick up no racket, Minervy Ann; you got Hamp right whar -you want ’im. You know what we come fer.’ Well, suh, I hatter stan’ dar -an’ swaller right hard a time er two, ’kaze I ain’t got no use fer -mulatters; to make um, you got ter spile good white blood an’ good nigger -blood, an’ when dey er made dey got in um all dat’s mean an’ low down -on bofe sides, an’ ef dey yever is ter be saved, dey’ll all hatter be -baptize twice han’ runnin’—once fer de white dat’s in um, and once fer de -black. De Bible mayn’t sesso, but common-sense’ll tell you dat much. - -“Well, suh, I stood dar some little time watchin’ Hamp’s motions, an’ he -wuz makin’ sech a big fool er hisse’f dat I des come mighty nigh laughin’ -out loud, but all dat time Marse Tumlin had de idee dat I wuz mad, an’ -when I start to’rds Hamp, wid my pairsol grabbed in de middle, he ’low, -‘Min’ yo’ eye, Minervy Ann.’ I walk up, I did, an’ punch Hamp in de back -wid de pairsol. Ef I’d ’a’ hit ’im on de head wid a pile-driver, he -couldn’t ’a’ been mo’ dum’founder’d. He look like he wuz gwine th’oo’ de -sidewalk. I say, ‘When you git time, I’d like ter have a little chat wid -you.’ He ’low, ‘Why, why’—an’ wid dat he stuck de lit een’ er his segyar -in his mouf. Well, suh, you may b’lieve you done seed splutterin’ an’ -splatterin’, but you ain’t never seed none like dat. He made a motion, -Hamp did, like he wanter make me ’painted wid de mulatter gals, but I -say, ‘When you git time fum yo’ Legislatur’, I got a sesso fer you ter -hear.’ - -“Wid dat, suh, I turn ’roun’ an’ cross de street an’ foller on atter -Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar. I ain’t mo’n git ’cross, ’fo’ here come -Hamp. He ’low, ‘Why, honey, whyn’t you tell me you wuz comin’? When’d you -come?’ I say, ‘Oh, I’m _honey_, is I? Well, maybe you’ll fin’ a bee in de -comb.’ He ’low, ‘Whyn’t you tell me you wuz comin’ so I kin meet you at -de train?’ I say, ‘I wanter see what kinder fambly you got in dis town. -An’ I seed it! I seed it!’ - -“Well, suh, I ’speck I’d ’a’ got mad ag’in, but ’bout dat time we cotch -up wid Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar. Marse Tumlin turn ’roun’, he did, -an’ holler out, ‘Well, ef here ain’t Minervy Ann! What you doin’ up here, -an’ how did you lef’ yo’ Miss Vallie?’ He shuck han’s des like he ain’t -see me befo’ in a mont’, an’ Marse Bolivar done de same. I humor’d um, -suh, but I ain’t know what dey wuz up ter fer long atterwards. Dey don’t -want Hamp ter know dat I come ’long wid um. Den dey went on, an’ me an’ -Hamp went ter whar he stay at. - -“When I got ’im off by hisse’f, suh, he sot in ter tellin’ me how come -’im ter be wid dem ar gals, an’ he want me ter know um, an’ he know -mighty well I’d like um—you know how men-folks does, suh. But dey -wa’n’t na’er minit in no day dat yever broke when Hamp kin fool me, -an’ he know’d it. But I let ’im run on. Bimeby, when he get tired er -splanifyin’, I ’low, ‘What dat paper what Marse Tumlin ax you ter put in -de Legislatur’?’ He say, ‘How you know ’bout dat?’ I ’low, ‘I hear Marse -Tumlin tellin’ Miss Vallie ’bout it, an’ I hear Miss Vallie wonder an’ -wonder what de matter wid you.’ - -“I fotch Miss Vallie in, suh, bekaze Hamp think dey ain’t nobody in de -worl’ like Miss Vallie. One time, des ’fo’ de big turmoil, when Marse -Tumlin hire Hamp fum de Myrick ’state, he fell sick, an’ Miss Vallie (she -wa’n’t nothin’ but a school-gal den) she got sorry fer ’im ’kaze he wuz -a hired nigger, an’ she’d fill a basket wid things fum de white folks’ -table an’ tote um to ’im. Mo’ dan dat, she’d set dar whiles he’s eatin’ -an’ ax ’bout his folks. Atter dat, suh, de groun’ whar Miss Vallie walk -wuz better’n any yuther groun’ ter Hamp. So when I call her name up, Hamp -ain’t say nothin’ fer long time. - -“Den he shuck his head an’ say dey ain’t no use talkin’, he des can’t -put dat ar paper in de Legislatur’. He say ef he wuz ter, ’twon’t do no -good, ’kaze all de erpublicans would jump on it, an’ den dey’d jump on -him ter boot. I ’low, ‘Whar you reckon I’ll be whiles all dat jumpin’ -gwine on?’ He say, ‘You’ll be on de outside, an’ ef you wuz on de inside, -dey’d hike you out.’ ‘An’ who’d do de hikin’?’ sez I. ‘De surgeon er de -armies,’ sez he. ‘White er black?’ sez I. ‘Yaller,’ sez Hamp. I ’low, -‘Good ’nuff; we’ll see which un’ll be hiked.’ An’ I told Hamp right den -an’ dar, dat ef he erfuse ter put dat paper in, I’ll do it myse’f. - -“Well, suh, whiles we settin’ dar talkin’, dey come a-rappin’ at de do’ -an’ in walk a big bushy-head mulatter, an’ I ain’t tellin’ you no lie, he -de mos’ venomous-lookin’ creetur you ever laid yo’ eyes on. His ha’r wuz -all spread out like a scourin’ mop, an’ he had a grin on ’im ez big ez -dat gate dar. Hamp call ’im Arion Alperiar Ridley.” - -At this point I was compelled to come to the rescue of Aunt Minervy -Ann’s memory. The stateman’s real name was Aaron Alpeora Bradley, and -he was one of the most corrupt creatures of that corrupt era. He had a -superficial education that only added to the density of his ignorance, -but it gave him considerable influence with the negro members of the -Legislature. Aunt Minervy Ann accepted the correction with alacrity. - -“I fergot his name, suh, but I ain’t never fergit him. He so mean-lookin’ -he make de col’ chills run over me. He wuz a low-country mulatter, an’ -you know how dey talk. Eve’y time he look at me, he’d bow, an’ de mo’ he -bowed de mo’ I ’spized ’im. He call Hamp ‘Mistooah Tummalin,’ an’ eve’y -time he say sump’n’, he’d gi’ one er dem venomous grins. I declar’ ter -gracious, suh, I oughtn’t ter talk ’bout dat man dis way, but de way he -look wuz scan’lous. I done fergive ’im for dat long time ’go on ’count er -what he done; but when I hear white folks ’busin’ ’im in dat day an’ time -I know’d dey had mighty good groun’, bekaze dey ain’t no human kin look -like dat man an’ not be mean at bottom. - -“Well, suh, Hamp, he up’n tol’ dis yer Alpory er Alpiry (whatsomever his -name mought be) what I come ter town fer, an’ Alpory, he say, ‘Mistooah -Tummalin, you kyarn’t do it. Hit would-er ruin you in de-er party, suh—er -ruin you.’ I kinder fired up at dat. I ’low, ‘How come he can’t do it? -Ain’t he free?’ Ol’ Alpory, he grin an’ he talk, he talk an’ he grin, but -he ain’t budge me. At de offstart I say ef Hamp don’t put dat paper in -de Legislatur’, I’ll put it in myse’f, an’ at de windin’ up I still say -dat ef he don’t put Marse Tumlin’s paper in de Legislatur’, den I’ll be -de one ter do it. Ol’ Alpory say, ‘You-er is got no marster, ma’am.’ Den -I snapt ’im up an’ cut ’im off short; I say, ‘I got one ef I want one. -Ain’t I free?’ Den he went on wid a whole passel er stuff dat I can’t -make head er tail un, ner him needer, fer dat matter, twel bimeby I say, -‘Oh, hush up an’ go on whar you gwine.’ - -“Hamp look so broke up at dis dat I wuz kinder sorry I say it, but dat’s -de only way ter deal wid dem kind er folks, suh. Ol’ Alpory wuz des -famishin’, suh, fer some un ter b’lieve he’s a big Ike; dat ’uz all de -matter wid ’im an’ I know’d it. So he quit his jawin’ when I snapped ’im -up, an’ he sot dar some time lookin’ like a cow does when her cud don’t -rise. Bimeby he ax Hamp fer ter let ’im see de paper what I want ’im ter -put in de Legislatur’. He tuck it, he did, an’ look at it sideways an’ -upside down, an’ eve’ywhichaway. Ez ef dat wa’n’t ’nuff, he took off his -goggles an’ wiped um an’ put um on ag’in, an’ read de paper all over -ag’in, noddin’ his head an’ movin’ his mouf, an’ grinnin’. - -“Atter he got th’oo, he fol’ de paper up an’ han’ it back ter Hamp. He -say he can’t see no harm in it ter save his life, an’ he ’low dat ef -Hamp’ll put it in at one een’ er de Legislatur’, he’ll put it in at de -t’er een’. Dey call one part a house, but nobody ain’t never tell me why -dey call a wranglin’ gang er men a house. Dey des might ez well call um a -hoss an’ buggy; eve’y bit an’ grain. Well, suh, de house wuz de part what -Hamp b’longs ter, an’ de ’t’er part wuz whar ol’ Alpory b’long’d at, an’ -by de time dey wuz ready fer ter set in dar dey had e’en ’bout ’greed fer -put de paper in at bofe een’s. - -“I went ’long wid Hamp, suh, an’ he show’d me de way ter de gall’ry, an’ -I sot up dar an’ look down on um, an’ wonder why all un um, white an’ -black, wa’n’t at home yearnin’ der livin’ ’stidder bein’ in dat place -a-wranglin’ an’ callin’ names, an’ howlin’ an’ wavin’ der arms an’ han’s. -Dey wuz a big fat white man settin’ up in de pulpit, an’ he kep’ on -a-maulin’ it wid a mallet. I dunner what his name wuz, but I hear one big -buck nigger call ’im Mr. Cheer. Marse Tumlin tol’ me atterwards dat de -man wuz de speaker, but all de res’ done lots mo’ speakin’ dan what he -did; all un um ’cep’ Hamp. - -“Yasser; all un um ’cep’ Hamp, an’ he sot dar so still dat ’twa’n’t long -’fo’ I ’gun ter git shame un him. He sot dar an’ fumble wid some papers, -an’ helt his head down, an’ look like he skeer’d. I watch ’im, suh, twel -I got so res’less in de min’ I can’t set still. Bimeby I got up an’ went -down ter de front do’; I wuz gwine ter make my way in dar whar Hamp wuz -at, an’ kinder fetch ’im out’n his dreams, ef so be he wuz dreamin’. An’ -I’d a gone in, but a nigger man at de do’ barred de way. He say, ‘Who you -want ter see?’ I ’low, ‘I wanter see Hamp Tumlin, dat’s who.’ He say, -‘Does you mean de Honnerbul Hampton Tumlin?’ I ’low, ‘Yes, I does ef you -wanter put it dat away. _Go in dar an’ tell ’im dat de Honnerbul Minervy -Ann Perdue is out here waitin’ fer ’im, an’ he better come quick ef he -know what good fer ’im._’ - -“Wid dat, suh, I hear somebody laugh, an’ look up an’ dar wuz Marse -Tumlin standin’ not fur fum de do’ talkin’ wid an’er white man. He ’low, -‘Scott, dis is Minervy Ann. She got mo’ sense an’ grit dan half de white -folks you meet.’ Well, suh, de man come up, he did, an’ shuck han’s an’ -say he mighty glad ter see me. I never is ter fergit his name on ’count -er what happen afterwards. ’Bout dat time Hamp come out an’ Marse Tumlin -an’ de ’t’er man draw’d off up de hall. - -“I say, ‘Hamp, why in de name er goodness ain’t you ’ten’ ter yo’ -bizness? What you waitin’ fer? Is you skeer’d?’ He vow an’ declair’ dat -he des waitin’ a chance fer ter put de paper in. I tol’ ’im dat de way -ter git a chance wuz ter make one, an’ wid dat he went on in, an’ I went -back in de gall’ry. Well, suh, ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ Hamp put in de paper. -A man at de foot er de pulpit read it off, an’ den a white man settin’ -not fur fum Hamp jump up an’ say he want sump’n done wid it, I dunner -what. Hamp say sump’n back at ’im, an’ den de white man say he sorry fer -ter see de honnerbul gemman gwine back on de erpublican party. Den Mose -Bently—I know’d Mose mighty well—he riz an’ say ef de erpublican party -is got ter be led ’roun’ by men like de one what des tuck his seat, it’s -high time fer honest folks ter turn der backs on it. - -“Well, suh, when Mose say dat, I clap my han’s, I did, an’ holla ‘Good! -good! now you got it!’ I couldn’t he’p it fer ter save my life. De man -in de pulpit maul de planks wid de mallet like he tryin’ ter split um, -an’ he ’low dat ef folks in de gall’ry don’t keep still, he’ll have um -cle’r’d out. I holla back at ’im, ‘You better some er dat gang down dar -cle’r’d out!’ Quick ez a flash, suh, dat ar Mr. Scott what been talkin’ -wid Marse Tumlin jump up an’ ’low, ‘I secon’s de motion!’ De man in de -pulpit say, ‘What motion does de gemman fum Floyd secon’?’ Den Mr. Scott -fling his head back an’ low, ‘De Honnerbul Minervy Ann Perdue done move -dat de flo’ be cle’r’d ’stidder de gall’ry. I secon’s de motion.’ - -“Den fum dat he went on an’ ’buze de erpublican party, speshually dat ar -man what had de ’spute wid Hamp. Mr. Scott say dey got so little sense -dat dey go ag’in a paper put in by one er der own party. He say he ain’t -keer nothin’ ’tall ’bout de paper hisse’f, but he des wanter show um up -fer what dey wuz. - -“He totch’d um, suh, ez you may say, on de raw, an’ when he git th’oo -he say, ‘Now, I hope de cheer will deal wid de motion of de Honnerbul -Minervy Ann Perdue.’ Mr. Scott say, ‘She settin’ up dar in de gall’ry an’ -she got des ez much right ter set on dis flo’ ez nineteen out er twenty -er dem settin’ here.’ De man in de pulpit look at me right hard, an’ den -he ’gun ter laugh. I say, ‘You nee’n ter worry yo’se’f ’bout me. You -better ’ten’ ter dem ar half-drunk niggers an’ po’ white trash down dar. -I wouldn’t set wid ’em ef I never did fin’ a place fer ter set at.’ - -“Wid dat, suh, I pickt up my pairsol an’ make my way out, but ez I went I -hear um whoopin’ an’ hollerin’.” - -“Well, they didn’t pass the bill, did they?” I asked. - -“What? dat paper er Marse Tumlin’s? Bless yo’ soul, suh, dey run’d over -one an’er tryin’ ter pass it. Mr. Scott fit it like he fightin’ fire, -an’ make out he wuz terribly ag’in it, but dat des make um wuss. Hamp -say dat inginer’lly dem ar laws has ter wait an’ hang fire; but dey tuck -up dat un, an’ shove it th’oo. Dey tuck mo’ time in de ’t’er een’ er de -Legislatur’, whar ol’ Alpory wuz at, but it went th’oo when it start. -I hope dey don’t have no sech gwines-on now, suh. Ef dey does de whole -county can’t drag Paul Conant in dar. I’ll jine um myse’f, ’fo’ I’ll let -’im git in dat kind er crowd.” - - - - -V - -HOW SHE WENT INTO BUSINESS - - -Aunt Minervy Ann’s picturesque reminiscences were sufficiently amusing -to whet my appetite for more. The county fair, which was the occasion of -my visit to Halcyondale, was still dragging its slow length along, but -it had lost its interest for me. The displays in the various departments -were as attractive as ever to those who saw them for the first time, -but it seemed to me that all my old acquaintances, or their wives and -daughters, had something on exhibition, and nothing must do but I must -go around and admire it. A little of this goes far, and, as I had been -through the various departments a dozen times over, I concluded that it -would be more comfortable to remain away from the grounds altogether, -making more room for those who desired to see the judges deliver the -prizes, or who were anxious to witness the trotting matches and running -races. - -Therefore, when Major Tumlin Perdue (whose guest I was) and his -daughter, Mrs. Conant, made an early start for the fair grounds, on the -fourth day, I excused myself, on the plea of having some letters to -write. The excuse was readily accepted, especially by Major Perdue, who -expressed a very strong hope that I would do the fair justice in the -Atlanta newspapers. - -“If you can put in a word about Paul Conant, I’d be glad if you’d do it,” -the Major added. “He’s come mighty near working himself down to get the -blamed thing a-going. If it wasn’t on account of Paul, me and Valentine -wouldn’t go any closer to the fair grounds than we are right now. But we -think maybe we can help Paul, and if we can’t do that, we hope to keep -him from running his legs off. He ain’t well a bit. Vallie says he didn’t -sleep more than two hours last night for the pains in his shoulder.” - -“It seems to be an old trouble,” I suggested. - -“Yes, it’s an old trouble,” replied the Major. Then he looked over the -tree-tops and sighed. - -Here was the same air of mystery that I had observed when I first came, -and I remembered that Aunt Minervy Ann had begun to tell me about it when -she became entangled in her reminiscences. Therefore, when they were -all gone, and Aunt Minervy Ann had cleaned up the house and coaxed the -Conant baby to sleep (which was no hard thing to do, he was such a fat -and good-humored little rascal), I ventured to remind the old negress -that she had neglected to tell me why the Major and his daughter were so -mysteriously solicitous about Paul Conant’s shoulder. - -“Well, de goodness knows!” Aunt Minervy Ann exclaimed, with well-affected -surprise; “ain’t I done tell you ’bout dat? I sho’ wuz dreamin’, den, -bekaze I had it right on de tip-eend er my tongue. I dunno what got de -matter wid me deze days, less’n I’m gettin’ ol’ an’ light-headed. Well, -suh! an’ I ain’t tol’ you ’bout dat!” - -She paused, as if reflecting, but continued to rock the baby’s cradle -gently, moving it slower and slower, until, finally, she ceased to move -it altogether. The baby merely gave a self-satisfied sigh, and settled -into the profound and healthy sleep of infancy. Then Aunt Minervy Ann -went out on the back porch, and seated herself on the top step. I -followed, and found the rocking-chair I had occupied on a former occasion. - -“I’ll set here, suh, twel Hamp gits back wid de carriage, an’ den I’ll -see ’bout gittin’ dinner, an’ he better make ’as’e, too, bekaze I ain’t -got no time ter set here an’ lis’n at dat baby, whiles he projickin’ out -dar at dem grounds. I kin wait, suh, but I can’t wait all day.” - -“Major Perdue said that Mr. Conant’s shoulder was very painful last -night,” I suggested. - -“Dat what Miss Vallie say, suh. She say dey wuz up an’ down wid ’im -mighty nigh all night long. I don’t blame um, suh, but, dey ain’t no -use talkin’, grown folks kin be waited on twey dey er sp’iled same ez -chilluns. I’d cut my tongue out, suh, ’fo’ I’d say it ter anybody else, -but I done got ter b’lievin’ dat Marse Paul Conant grunts an’ groans many -a time des bekaze he wants somebody fer ter worry wid ’im an’ honey ’im -up. I may be doin’ ’im wrong, suh, but I done get a sneakin’ notion dat -he’s one er deze yer kinder men-folks what likes to be much’d an’ petted. -An’ dey’ll do it, suh—dey’ll much ’im night er day, hot er col’. Des let -’im say, ‘Oh, my shoulder!’ an’ bofe un um’ll try ter outdo de udder in -takin’ keer un ’im. - -[Illustration: “Oh, my shoulder!”] - -“Marse Tumlin is got mo’ ways like a ’oman dan any man I ever is laid -eyes on. It’s de Lord’s trufe. He ain’t fussy like de common run er -wimmen, but his han’ is des ez light an’ his heart des ez saft ez any -’oman dat ever breave de breff er life, let er breave whence an’ whar she -mought. I look at ’im sometimes, an’ I des nat’ally tease myse’f ter -know how dat man kin stan’ up an’ shoot anybody like I done see ’im do. -Hit’s de same way wid Marse Bolivar Blasengame—you know him, I spec. Dey -married sisters, suh, an’ dey allers been monstus thick. Dem two wuz big -dogs ’roun’ here, suh, ’fo’ de war. Ef you ain’t never seed um in dem -days, you never is ter know how folks looked up to um an’ give way to um. - -“But dey ain’t put on no airs, suh. Dey des do like de quality all do. -’Tain’t money dat makes de quality; hit’s dat ar kinder breedin’ what’ll -make de finest folks stop an’ shake han’s wid a nigger des ez quick ez -dey would wid de king er Rooshy—ef dey got any king dar. Long ’fo’ de -turmoil, suh, endurin’ er de farmin’ days, ’twuz des dat-a-way. When he -’uz at his richest, Marse Tumlin never did pass a nigger on de road, no -matter how lonesome an’ ragged he look, widout stoppin’ an’ axin’ who he -b’long ter, an’ what he name, an’ how he gittin’ on. An’ he allers gi’ um -sump’n, maybe a piece er terbacker, er maybe a thrip. I know, suh; I done -hear my color talk, an’ dey talks it down ter dis ve’y day. Dey ain’t -never been a time in dat man’s life when he ain’t think mo’ er somebody -else dan what he think er hisse’f. Dat’s what I call de quality, suh. -’Tain’t money; ’tain’t land; ’tain’t fine duds; ’tain’t nothin’ ’tall -like dat. I tell you, suh, dem what want ter be de quality is got ter -have a long line er big graveyards behime um, an’ dem graveyards is -got ter be full er folks what use ter know how ter treat yuther folks. -Well, suh, Marse Tumlin is got um behime him, an’ dey retch fum here ter -Ferginny an’ furder. An’ on dat account, he ain’t ’shame’ to show nobody -dat he love um, an’ he ain’t afear’d ter tell nobody dat he hate um. - -“I bet you right now, suh, ef you wuz ter ax Miss Vallie ef she ever see -’er pa mad, she’d look at you like she ain’t know what you talkin’ ’bout. -Fum de time she has been born, suh, down ter dis ve’y day, she ain’t -never hear a cross word come from his mouf. She’s seed ’im frownin’ an’ -she’s seed ’im frettin’, but she ain’t never hear no cross word. An’ dat -what make I say what I does. ’Tain’t nobody but de quality dat kin show -der breedin’ right in der own fambly.” - -“Why, I’ve heard that the Major has something of a temper,” I remarked. - -[Illustration: “Marse Tumlin never did pass a nigger on de road.”] - -“_Temper!_” exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann, holding up both hands; “temper, I -hear you say! Well, suh, dat ain’t no name fer it. I done seed bad men, -but Marse Tumlin is de wuss man when he git his dander up dat I yever -come ’cross in all my born days. De fust time I seed ’im mad, suh, wuz -right atter de folks come home fum der fightin’ and battlin’. It make me -open my eyes. I been livin’ wid ’im all dem years, an’ I never is know -how servigrous dat man is. - -“An’ de funny part wuz, suh, dat he got mad ’bout a ole nigger ’oman.” -Aunt Minervy Ann paused to indulge in a very hearty laugh. “Yasser, all -’bout a ole nigger ’oman. In dem times we all had ter scuffle ’roun’ -right smart fer ter git vittles ter eat, let ’lone cloze ter w’ar. Miss -Vallie wuz w’arin’ a frock what her mammy had when she wuz a gal. An’ de -clof wuz right good an’ look’ mighty well on ’er. Ez fer me, I dunner -whedder I had on any frock—ef I did ’twuz ’bout ter drap off’n me. ’Long -’bout dat time, court-week wuz comin’ on, de fust court-week we had sence -de folks come home fum battlin’. Dey wuz a great miration ’bout it, -bekaze dey say ev’ybody gwine ter come an’ see de lawyers rastle. - -“Well, suh, it come ’cross my min’ dat ef I kin bake some ginger-cakes -an’ make some chicken-pies, maybe I kin pick up a little money. De dime -an’ thrip species had all done gone, but dey wuz oodles er shinplasters -floatin’ ’roun’ ef you had sump’n fer ter git um wid. I dunner whar in -de worl’ we got ’nuff flour an’ ’lasses fer ter make de cakes. I know I -got one chicken, an’ Hamp he went off one night and borried two mo’. I -ain’t ax ’im whar he borry um, suh, bekaze ’twan’t none er my business. -We made de cakes, an’ den we made de pies. Ef you ain’t know how ter make -um, suh, you’d be ’stonished ter know how fur dem ar chickens went. We -made twelve pies ef we made one. Yasser! ez sho’ ez I’m settin’ here. We -strung um out—a wing here, a piece er de back dar, an’ a neck yonner. -Twelve pies, suh, an’ nuff chicken lef’ over fer ter gi’ Miss Vallie a -right smart bait; an’ de Lord knows she need it, an’ need it bad. - -“Well, suh, I make de ginger-cakes de week ’fo’ court, bekaze it he’ps a -ginger-cake ef you bake ’im an’ den shet ’im up in a tight box whar he -kin sweat, an’ Monday we sot in ter bake de pies. I make de dough wid my -own han’s, an’ I lef’ Miss Vallie fer ter bake um, wid Hamp ter keep de -fire gwine. De word wuz dat ’bout half-pas’ ten Hamp wuz ter fetch me all -de pies dey had ready, an’ den go back fer de yuthers. - -[Illustration: “We made twelve pies ef we made one.”] - -“I ain’t say nothin’ ’bout de balance er de cakes; bekaze I ’low’d ter -myse’f dat I had ’nuff. I had many ez I kin tote widout gittin’ tired, -an’ I ain’t no baby when it comes ter totin’ cakes. Well, suh, I been -livin’ a mighty long time, but I ain’t never see folks wid such a cravin’ -fer ginger-cakes. Fum de word go dey wuz greedy fer ’m. Hit mought er -been ’kaze dey wuz des natchally hongry, en den ag’in hit mought er been -bekaze de cakes call up ol’ times; but no matter ’bout dat, suh, dey des -showered de shinplasters down on me. ’Twa’n’t de country folks doin’ -de most er de buyin’ at fust. It ’uz de town boys an’ de clerks in de -stores; an’ mos’ ’fo’ I know’d it de cakes wuz all gone, an’ Hamp ain’t -come wid de pies. - -“I would ’a’ waited, suh, but dey kep’ callin’ fer cakes so ravenous dat -bimeby I crumpled my shinplasters up in a wad an’ tuck my basket an’ went -polin’ home fer ter hurry Hamp up. He wuz des gittin’ ready ter start -when I got dar. I gi’ Miss Vallie de money—you kin count it up yourse’f, -suh; ’twuz fer fo’ dozen ginger-cakes at a thrip a-piece—an’ tol’ her -ter sen’ Hamp atter some mo’ flour an’ ’lasses ’fo’ night, ’kaze de -ginger-cakes half-gone an’ court-week ain’t skacely open up. Hamp, he -tuck de pies an’ de cakes, an’ I got me one er de low cheers out’n de -kitchen, ’kaze I done tired er settin’ on de een’ uv a box. - -“I ’speck you know right whar I sot at, suh; ’twuz dar by dat big -chany-tree front er Sanford’s sto’. Hit sho’ wuz a mighty tree. De win’ -done blow’d up an’ blew’d it down, but de stump stan’in’ dar sproutin’ -right now. Well, suh, right under de shadder er dat tree, on de outer -aidge er de sidewalk, I tuck my stan’, an’ I ain’t been dar long ’fo’ de -folks ’gun ter swarm atter my cakes, an’ den when dey seed my pies—well! -hit look like dey fair dribble at de mouf. - -“I sol’ um all ’cep’ one, an’ ef I’d ’a’ sol’ dat un, I don’t ’speck -dey’d ’a’ been any trouble; but you know what a fool a nigger kin be, -suh, speshually a nigger ’oman. I tuck a notion in my min’ dat I done so -pow’ful well, I’d save dat pie fer Marse Tumlin an’ Miss Vallie. So ev’y -time somebody’s come ’long an’ want ter buy de pie, I’d up an’ say it -done sold. - -“Bimeby, who should come ’long but dat ar Salem Birch! He dead now, but -I ’speck you done hear talk un ’im, bekaze he made matters mighty hot in -deze parts twel—twel—well, suh, twel he ’gun ter hone atter dat pie, ez -you may say.” Aunt Minervy Ann paused and rubbed her hands together, as -if reflecting. Then she shook her head and laughed somewhat doubtfully. - -[Illustration: “I gi’ Miss Vallie de money.”] - -“What dey want ter name ’im Salem fer, I’ll never tell you. Hit’s a -Bible name, an’ mo’ dan dat, hit’s a church name. You know it yo’se’f, -suh, bekaze dey’s a Salem church not mo’n sev’m mile fum whar we settin’ -at right now. _Salem_ Birch! Hit bangs my time how some folks kin go -on—an’ I ain’t nothin’ but a nigger. Dey’s mo’ chillun ruint by der -names, suh, dan any udder way. I done notice it. Name one un um a Bible -name, an’ look like he bleedze ter go wrong. Name one un um atter some -high an’ mighty man, an’ dey grows up wid des ’bout much sense ez a -gate-post. I done watch um, suh. - -“I ’speck dis yer Salem Birch would ’a’ been a right good man but fer dat -ar Bible name. Dat ruint ’im. I don’t b’lieve dey’s a man in de worl’ -what kin walk straight under dat name less’n he done been called fer ter -be a preacher, an’ Salem Birch ain’t had no sech call up ter dat time. -Dat much I know. - -“Well, suh, dar sot de pie, an’ dar wuz de ginger-cakes, ol’ timers, -big ter look at, but light ter handle. Eve’ybody want de pie, but my -min’ done made up. Some bought cakes stidder de pie, an’ some des wipe -der mouf an’ go on. But, bimeby, here come Salem Birch, six feet high, -an’ his hat sot on de side er his haid like he done bought de whole -town. I know’d de minnit I laid eyes on ’im dat he had dram in ’im, an’ -dat he wuz up ter some devilment. Him an’ his bre’r, Bill-Tom, suh, -had tarryfied de whole county. Dey wuz constant a-fightin’, an’ ef dey -couldn’t git nobody else ter fight, dey’d fight ’mongst deyse’f. Yassir! -dem ar Birches had done whip der own daddy. - -“An’ yit, suh, dis yer Salem wa’n’t no bad-lookin’ man. He had long curly -ha’r, an’ he wuz constant a-laughin’. Ef de fac’ troof wuz ter come out, -I ’speck he had more devilment in ’im dan downright meanness; an’ he wuz -mean nuff, de Lord knows. But, be sech as it mought, bimeby here he come, -sorter half tip-toein’, like some folks do when dey feel der dram an’ -dunner how ter show it. He stop right front er me, suh, an’ time his eye -fell on me he sung out: - -“‘_Whoopee! Ef here ain’t ol’ Minervy Ann! Wid pies! An’ cakes! Come on, -boys! Have some pies! An’ cakes!_’ - -[Illustration: “Ef here ain’t ol’ Minervy Ann wid pies!”] - -“Well, suh, you mought er heer’d ’im a mile. He holler des like de -She’ff do when he stick his haid out’n de court-house winder an’ call -somebody in ter court—des dat ve’y way. He say, ‘How much you take fer -yo’ chicken-pie?’ I ’low, ‘Hit done sol’, suh.’ He say, ‘I’ll gi’ you a -quarter fer dat pie.’ I ’low, ‘De pie done sol’, suh.’ By dat time dey -wuz a right smart clump er folks come up fer see what Salem Birch wuz -holl’in’ ’bout, an’ you know yo’se’f, suh, how a half-drunk man’ll do -when dey’s a crowd lis’nin’ at him. - -“He say, ‘Who done bought dat pie?’ I ’low, ‘Marse Tumlin Perdue.’ He -sorter draw’d hisse’f up, he did, an’ say, ‘Ain’t I des ez good ez Tumlin -Perdue?’ I ’low, ‘I ain’t know nothin’ ter de contrary, suh, but ef you -is, you got ter be a monstus good man.’ He say, ‘I is! I’m de bes’ man in -de county.’ I ’low, ‘Dat may be, suh; I ain’t ’sputin’ it.’ By dat time -I ’gun ter feel de Ol’ Boy kinder ranklin’ in my gizzard. He say, ‘Why -can’t I git dat pie?’ I ’low, ‘Bekaze it done sol’, suh.’ He say, ‘Fer -cash?’ I ’low, ‘No, suh; but Marse Tumlin’s word is lots better’n some -folks’ money.’ - -“Well, suh, I know’d ’fo’ I open my mouf dat I ought’n ter say dat, but -I couldn’t he’p it fer ter save my neck. He say, ‘Well, blast yo’ black -hide, my money’s better’n anybody’s money!’ Wid dat he flung down a -shinplaster quarter an’ retch fer de pie. By de time he grabbed it, I -grabbed it, an’ he pulled an’ I pulled. I dunner whedder ’twuz de strenk -in me er de dram in ’im, but in de pullin’, de box what de pie wuz on -turnt over, an’ my cheer turnt over, an’ down come Salem Birch right -spang on top er me. - -“I tell you now, suh, dis skeer’d me. ’Twuz mo’ dan I bargain fer. Right -at de minnit, I had de idee dat de man had jumped on me an’ wuz gwine -ter kill me—you know how some folks is ’bout niggers. So I des give one -squall—— - -“‘_Marse Tumlin! Run here, Marse Tumlin! He killin’ me! Oh, Marse -Tumlin!_’ - -“Well, suh, dey tell me dat squall wuz so inhuman it made de country -hosses break loose fum de racks. One white lady at de tavern hear it, an’ -she had ter be put ter bed. Bless yo’ soul, honey! don’t never say you -done hear anybody blate twel you hear ol’ Minervy Ann—an’ de Lord knows I -hope you won’t never hear me. - -“Dey ain’t no use talkin’, suh, hit ’larmed de town. Eve’ybody broke an’ -run to’rds de place whar de fuss come fum. Salem Birch got up des ez -quick ez he kin, an’ I wuz up des ez quick ez he wuz, an’ by dat time my -temper done run my skeer off, an’ I des blazed out at him. What I say -I’ll never tell you, bekaze I wuz so mad I ain’t never hear myse’f talk. -Some say I called ’im dis an’ some say I called ’im dat, but whatsomever -’twuz, hit wa’n’t no nice name—I kin promise you dat. - -[Illustration: “You see dat nigger ’oman?”] - -“’Twus ’nuff ter rise his dander, an’ he draw’d back his arm fer ter hit -me, but des ’bout dat time Marse Tumlin shoved ’im back. Marse Tumlin -’low, ‘You dirty dog! You sneakin’, nasty houn’! is dis de way you does -yo’ fightin’?’ - -“Well, suh, dis kinder skeer me ag’in, kaze I hear talk dat Salem Birch -went ’bout wid dirks an’ pistols on ’im, ready fer ter use um. He look -at Marse Tumlin, an’ his face got whiter an’ whiter, an’ he draw’d his -breff, deep an’ long. - -“Marse Tumlin ’low, ‘You see dat nigger ’oman? Well, ef she wuz blacker -dan de hinges er hell’—he say dem ve’y words, suh—‘ef she wuz blacker dan -de hinges er hell, she’d be whiter dan you er any er yo’ thievin’ gang.’ -An’ den, suh—I ’clar’ I’m mos’ shame ter tell you—Marse Tumlin rise up on -his tip-toes an’ spit in de man’s face. Yasser! Right spang in his face. -You may well look ’stonish’d, suh. But ef you’d ’a’ seed de way Marse -Tumlin looked you’d know why Salem Birch ain’t raise his han’ ’cep’ ter -wipe his face. Ef dey ever wuz blood an’ killin’ in anybody’s eyes, hit -wuz in Marse Tumlin’s right dat minnit. He stan’ dar while you kin count -ten, an’ den he snap his thumb an’ turn on his heel, an’ dat ar Salem -Birch tuck’n walk ’cross de public squar’ an’ sot down on de court-house -steps, an’ he sot dar, suh, wid his haid ’twix’ his han’s fer I dunner -how long. - -“Well, suh, I know in reason dat de een’ er dat business ain’t come. You -know how our white folks is; you kin spit in one man’s face an’ he not -take it up, but some er his kinnery er his frien’s is sho ter take it -up. So I say ter myse’f, ‘Look here, nigger ’oman, you better keep yo’ -mouf shot an’ bofe eyes open, kaze dey gwine ter be hot times in deze -diggin’s.’ When I come ter look at um, suh, my ginger-cakes wa’n’t hurt, -an’ de chicken-pie wuz safe an’ soun’ ’cep’ dat er little er de gravy had -sorter run out. When I git thoo brushin’ an’ cleanin’ um, I look up, I -did, an’ dar wuz Marse Bolivar Blasengame walkin’ up an’ down right close -at me. You oughter know ’im, suh, him an’ Marse Tumlin married sisters, -an’ dey wuz ez thick ez two peas in a pod. So I ’low, ‘Won’t you have a -ginger-cake, Marse Bolivar? I’d offer you de pie, but I’m savin’ dat fer -Miss Vallie.’ He say he don’t b’lieve his appetite run ter cakes an’ pies -right dat minnit. Dat make me eye ’im, suh, an’ he look like he mighty -glum ’bout sump’n. He des walk up an’ down, up an’ down, wid his han’s in -his pockets. It come back ter me atterwards, but I ain’t pay no ’tention -den, dat de folks all ’roun’ town wuz kinder ’spectin’ anudder fuss. Dey -wuz all standin’ in clumps here an’ dar, some in de middle er de street, -an’ some on de sidewalks, but dey wa’n’t nobody close ter me ’cep’ Marse -Bolivar. Look like dey wuz givin’ us elbow room. - -[Illustration: “An’ he sot dar, suh, wid his haid ’twix’ his han’s fer I -dunner how long.”] - -“De bigges’ clump er folks, suh, wuz down at de public well, at de fur -side er de squar’, an’ I notice dey kep’ movin’, now dis way, an’ now -dat, sorter swayin’ like some un wuz shovin’ um ’bout an’ pushin’ um -’roun’. An’ dat des de way it wuz, ’kaze ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ somebody -broke loose fum um an’ come runnin’ to’rds whar I wuz settin’ at. - -“I know’d in a minnit, suh, dat wuz Bill-Tom Birch. He wuz holdin’ his -han’ on his wes’cut pocket fer ter keep his watch fum fallin’ out. He -come runnin’ up, suh, an’ he wuz so mad he wuz cryin’. His face wuz -workin’ des like it hurted ’im. He holler at me. ‘Is you de——?’ I won’t -name de name what he call me, suh. But I know ef he’d ’a’ been a nigger -I’d ’a’ got up fum dar an’ brained ’im. I ain’t say nothin’. I des sot -dar an’ look at ’im. - -“Well, suh, he jerk a cowhide fum under his cloze—he had it run down his -britches leg, an’ say, ‘I’ll show you how you _erfuse_ ter sell pies when -a gemman want ter buy um.’ I dunner what I’d ’a’ done, suh, ef he’d ’a’ -hit me, but he ain’t hit me. Marse Bolivar walk right ’twix’ us an’ ’low, -‘You’ll settle dis wid me, right here an’ now.’ Wid dat, Bill-Tom Birch -step back an’ say, ‘Colonel, does you take it up?’ Marse Bolivar ’low, -‘Dat’s what I’m here fer.’ Bill-Tom Birch step back a little furder and -make as ef ter draw his pistol, but his han’ ain’t got ter his pocket -’fo’ _bang!_ went Marse Bolivar’s gun, an’ down went Bill-Tom Birch, des -like somebody tripped ’im up. - -“I know mighty well, suh, dat I ain’t no hard-hearted nigger—anybody what -know me will tell you dat—but when dat man drapt, I ain’t keer no mo’ dan -ef he’d ’a’ been a mad dog. Dat’s de Lord’s trufe, ef I ever tol’ it. I -ain’t know wharbouts de ball hit ’im, an’ I wa’n’t keerin’. Marse Bolivar -ain’t move out’n he tracks. He stood dar, he did, an’ bresh de cap off’n -de bairl what shot, an’ fix it fer ter shoot ag’in. ’Twuz one er deze yer -ervolvers, suh, what move up a notch er two when you pull de trigger. - -[Illustration: “You’ll settle dis wid me.”] - -“Well, suh, time de pistol went off, folks come runnin’ fum eve’ywhars. -Salem Birch, he come runnin’ ’cross de public squar’, bekaze he had de -idee dat sump’n done happen. Marse Bolivar, he see Salem Birch a-comin’, -an’ he walk out fum de crowd ter meet ’im. Dat make me feel sorter -quare, kaze hit look like he wuz gwine ter shoot de man down. But Salem -Birch seed ’im, an’ he stop an’ say, ‘Colonel, what de name er God is de -matter?’ Marse Bolivar make answer, ‘Salem, I had ter shoot yo’ bre’r.’ -Salem Birch say, ‘Is he dead?’ Marse Bolivar ’spon’, ‘He ain’t nigh dead. -I put de ball ’twix’ de hip an’ de knee-j’int. He’ll be up in a week.’ -Salem Birch say, ‘Colonel, I thank you fer dat. Will you shake han’s?’ -Marse Bolivar say dey ain’t nothin’ suit ’im better, bekaze he ain’t got -a thing ag’in’ de Birches. - -“An’ ’twuz des like Marse Bolivar say. Bill-Tom Birch wuz wuss skeer’d -dan hurt, an’ ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ he wuz well. Salem Birch, he went off -ter Texas, an’ dem what been dar an’ come back, say dat he’s one er -deze yer ervival preachers, gwine ’bout doin’ good an’ takin’ up big -collections. Dat what dey say, an’ I hope it’s des dat way. I don’t -begrudge nobody de money dey makes preachin’ ter sinners, bekaze hit’s -des natchally w’arin’ ter de flesh.” - -At this juncture Aunt Minervy Ann called to Hamp and informed him, in -autocratic tones, that it was time to cut wood with which to cook dinner. - -“I don’t keer ef you is been ter de legislatur’,” she added, “you better -cut dat wood, an’ cut it quick.” - -I suggested that she had started to tell me about Paul Conant’s shoulder, -but had neglected to do so. - -“Ain’t I tell you ’bout dat? Well, ef dat don’t bang my time! Hamp, you -hear dat? You better go an’ make ’rangements fer ter have me put in de -as’lum, bekaze I sho’ I’s gittin’ light-headed. Well, suh, dat beats all! -But I’ll tell you ’bout it ’fo’ you go back.” - -Then Aunt Minervy Ann went to see about dinner. - - - - -VI - -HOW SHE AND MAJOR PERDUE FRAILED OUT THE GOSSETT BOYS - - -During the progress of the fair, there was some discussion of financial -matters in Major Perdue’s family. As I remember, someone had given Paul -Conant a check which was thrown out by the Atlanta bank on which it was -drawn. The sum was not a considerable one, but it was sufficiently large -to attract Aunt Minervy Ann’s attention. - -“I ’speck dey got mo’ banks in Atlanty dan what we-all got down here,” -she remarked, the next time I had an opportunity to talk with her. She -laughed so heartily as she made the remark that I regarded her with some -astonishment. “You may look, suh, but I ain’t crazy. When I hear anybody -say ‘bank’ it allers puts me in min’ er de time when me an’ Marse Tumlin -frailed out de Gossett boys.” - -“Frailed out the Gossett boys?” I exclaimed. - -“Yasser, frailed is de word.” - -“But what has that to do with a bank?” I inquired. - -“Hit got all ter do wid it, suh,” she replied. We were in the -sitting-room, and Aunt Minervy Ann sank down on a footstool and rested -one arm on the lounge. “Right atter freedom dey wa’n’t nothin’ like no -bank down whar we live at; you know dat yo’se’f, suh. Folks say dat banks -kin run widout money, but ’fo’ you start um, dey got ter have money, er -sump’n dat look like money. An’ atter freedom dey wa’n’t no money ’roun’ -here ’cep’ dat kin’ what nobody ain’t hankerin’ atter. - -“But bimeby it ’gun ter dribble in fum some’rs; fus’ dem ar little -shinplasters, an’ den de bigger money come ’long. It kep’ on dribblin’ -in an’ dribblin’ in twel atter while you could git a dollar here an’ dar -by workin’ yo’ han’s off, er spraining’ yo’ gizzard to git it. Bimeby de -news got norated ’roun’ dat ol’ Joshaway Gossett gwine ter start a bank. -Yasser! ol’ Joshaway Gossett. Dat make folks open der eyes an’ shake der -head. I ’member de time, suh, when ol’ Joshaway wuz runnin’ a blacksmith -shop out in de country. Den he sot in ter make waggins. Atter dat, he -come ter be overseer fer Marse Bolivar Blasengame, but all de time he -wuz overseein’ he wuz runnin’ de blacksmith shop an’ de waggin fact’ry. - -“When de war come on, suh, dey say dat ol’ Joshaway tuck all de money -what he been savin’ an’ change it inter gol’; de natchul stuff. An’ he -had a pile un it. He kep’ dat up all endurin’ er de turmoil, and by de -time freedom come out he had mo’ er de natchul stuff dan what Cyarter -had oats. Dat what folks say, suh, an’ when eve’ybody talk one way you -may know dey ain’t fur fum de trufe. Anyhow, de word went ’roun’ dat ol’ -Joshaway gwine ter start a bank. Folks wa’n’t ’stonished ’kaze he had -money, but bekaze he gwine ter start a bank, an’ he not much mo’ dan -knowin’ B fum bullfoot. Some snicker, some laugh, an’ some make fun er -ol’ Joshaway, but Marse Tumlin say dat ef he know how ter shave a note, -he bleeze ter know how ter run a bank. I ain’t never see nobody shave a -note, suh, but dat ’zackly what Marse Tumlin say. - -“But ol’ Joshaway, he ain’t a-keerin’ what folks say. He start de bank, -an’ he kep’ it up twel de time I’m gwine tell you ’bout. He bought ’im -a big strong safe, an’ he had it walled up in de back er de bank, an’ -dar ’twuz. Don’t make no diffunce what folks say ’bout ol’ Joshaway, dey -can’t say he ain’t honest. He gwine ter have what’s his’n, an’ he want -yuther folks fer ter have what’s der’n. When dat de case, ’tain’t no -trouble ter git folks ter trus’ you. Dey put der money in ol’ Joshaway’s -bank, whar he kin take keer un it, bekaze dey know’d he wa’n’t gwine ter -run off wid it. - -“Well, suh, de bank wuz runnin’ ’long des like ’twuz on skids, an’ de -skids greased. Ol’ Joshaway ain’t move ter town, but he hired ’im a -clerk, an’ de clerk stayed in de bank night an’ day, an’ I hear folks say -de town wuz better’n bigger on ’count er ol’ Joshaway’s bank. I dunner -how dey make dat out, ’kaze de bank wa’n’t much bigger dan de kitchen -back dar. Anyhow, dar she wuz, and dar she stayed fer a time an’ a time. - -“But one day Marse Tumlin Perdue tuck de notion dat he got ter borry some -money. He seed yuther folks gwine in dar an’ borryin’ fum ol’ Joshaway, -an’ he know he got des ez much bizness fer ter borry ez what dey is. Mo’ -dan dat, when he had plenty er money an’ niggers, he done ol’ Joshaway -many a good turn. I know’d dat myse’f, suh, an’ ’tain’t no hearsay; I -done seed it wid my own eyes. On de day I’m talkin’ ’bout, Miss Vallie -sont me up town fer ter ax Marse Tumlin kin he spar’ two dollars—dat wuz -befo’ Miss Vallie wuz married; ’bout a mont’ befo’, an’ she wuz makin’ -up her weddin’ fixin’s. - -“’Twa’n’t no trouble ter fin’ Marse Tumlin. He wuz settin’ in de shade -wid a passel er men. He seed me, he did, an’ he come ter meet me. When -I tell ’im what Miss Vallie want, he kinder scratch his head an’ look -sollum. He studied a minit, an’ den he tell me ter come go ’long wid -’im. He cut ’cross de squar’ an’ went right ter ol’ Joshaway’s bank, me -a-follerin’ right at his heels. He went in, he did, an’ ’low, ‘Hello, -Joshaway!’ Ol’ Joshaway, he say, ‘Howdy, Maje?’ He wuz settin’ in dar -behime a counter what had wire palin’s on top un it, an’ he look fer all -de worl’ like some ongodly creetur what dey put in a cage for ter keep -’im fum doin’ devilment. - -“Marse Tumlin ’low, ‘Joshaway, I want ter borry a hunderd dollars for a -mont’ er so.’ Ol’ Joshaway kinder change his cud er terbacker fum one -side ter de yuther, an’ cle’r up his th’oat. He say, ‘Maje, right dis -minit, I ain’t got fifty dollars in de bank.’ Nigger ez I is, I know’d -dat wuz a lie, an’ I couldn’t help fum gruntin’ ef I wuz gwine to be kilt -fer it. At dat ol’ Joshaway look up. Marse Tumlin stood dar drummin’ on -de counter. Bimeby ol’ Joshaway say, ’Spoze’n I had it, Maje, who you -gwine git fer yo’ skyority?’ des so. Marse Tumlin ’low, ‘Fer my what?” -‘Fer yo’ skyority,’ sez ol’ Joshaway. I up an’ say, ‘Des lissen at dat!’ -Marse Tumlin ’low, ‘Who went yo’ skyority when I use ter loan you money?’ -‘Times is done change, Maje,’ sez ol’ Joshaway. Marse Tumlin flirted de -little gate open, an’ went ’roun’ in dar so quick it made my head swim. -He say, ‘_I_ ain’t change!’ an’ wid dat, he took ol’ Joshaway by de -coat-collar an’ cuff’d ’im ’roun’ considerbul. He ain’t hurt ol’ Joshaway -much, but he call ’im some names dat white folks don’t fling at one an’er -widout dey’s gwine ter be blood-lettin’ in de neighborhoods. - -“Den Marse Tumlin come out fum behime de counter, an’ stood in de do’ an’ -look up town. By dat time I wuz done out on de sidewalk, ’kaze I don’t -want no pistol-hole in my hide. When it come ter fa’r fis’ an’ skull, er -a knock-down an’ drag-out scuffle, I’m wid you; I’m right dar; but deze -yer guns an’ pistols what flash an’ bang an’ put out yo’ lights—an’ maybe -yo’ liver—when it come ter dem, I lots druther be on t’er side de fence. -Well, suh, I fully ’spected ol’ Joshaway to walk out atter Marse Tumlin -wid de double-bairl gun what I seed behime de counter; an’ Marse Tumlin -’spected it, too, ’kaze he walk up an’ down befo’ de bank, an’ eve’y once -in a while he’d jerk his wescut down in front like he tryin’ ter t’ar de -bindin’ off. Bimeby I see Marse Bolivar Blasengame git up fum whar he -settin’ at, an’ here he come, swingin’ his gol’-head cane, an’ sa’nt’in’ -’long like he gwine on a promenade. - -“I know’d by dat, suh, dat Marse Bolivar been watchin’ Marse Tumlin’s -motions, an’ he seed dat trouble er some kind wuz on han’. He walk up, he -did, an’ atter he cut his eye at Marse Tumlin, he turn ter me an’ laugh -ter hisse’f—he had de purtiest front teef you mos’ ever is see, suh—an’ -he ’low, ‘Well, dang my buttons, ef here ain’t ol’ Minervy Ann, de -warhoss fum Wauhoo! Wharsomever dey’s trouble, dar’s de ol’ warhoss fum -Wauhoo.’ Wid dat, he lock arms wid Marse Tumlin, an’ dey march off down -de street, me a-follerin’. You ain’t kin fin’ two men like dem anywhar -an’ eve’ywhar. Dey wa’n’t no blood-kin—dey married sisters—but dey wuz -lots closer dan br’ers. Hit one an’ you’d hurt de yuther, an’ den ef you -wa’n’t ready ter git in a scuffle wid two wil’-cats, you better leave -town twel dey cool off. - -“Well, suh, dey ain’t took many steps ’fo’ dey wuz laughin’ an’ jokin’ -des like two boys. Ez we went up de street Marse Tumlin drapt in a sto’ -er two an’ tol’ um dat ol’ Joshaway Gossett vow’d dat he ain’t got fifty -cash dollars in de bank. Dish yer money news is de kin’ what spreads, an’ -don’t you fergit it. It spread dat day des like powder ketchin’ fire an’ -’twa’n’t no time ’fo’ you could see folks runnin’ ’cross de squar’ des -like dey er rabbit-huntin’, an’ by dinner-time dey wa’n’t no bank dar no -mo’ dan a rabbit. Folks say dat ol’ Joshaway try mighty hard ter ’splain -matters, but dem what had der money in dar say dey’d take de spondulix -fus’ an’ listen ter de ’splainin’ atterwards. ’Long to’rds de noon-hour -ol’ Joshaway hatter fling up his han’s. All de ready money done gone, an’ -folks at de do’ hollin’ fer dat what dey put in dar. I dunner how he ever -got ’way fum dar, ’kaze dey wuz men in dat crowd ripe ter kill ’im; but -he sneaked out an’ went home, an’ lef’ some un else fer ter win’ up de -shebang. - -“De bank wuz des ez good ez any bank, an’ folks got back all dey put in -dar des ez soon ez dey’d let ol’ Joshaway show his head in town; but he -drapt dat kinder bizness an’ went back ter farmin’ an’ note-shavin’. -An’ all bekaze he want skyority fer Marse Tumlin, which his word des ez -good ez his bon’. He mought not er had de money when de clock struck de -minit, but what diffunce do dat make when you know a man’s des ez good ez -gol’? Huh! no wonder dey broke ol’ Joshaway down!” - -Aunt Minervy Ann’s indignation was a fine thing to behold. Her scorn -of the man who wanted Major Perdue to put up security for his note was -as keen and as bitter as it had been the day the episode occurred. She -paused at this point as if her narrative had come to an end. Therefore, I -put in a suggestion. - -“Was this what you call frailing out the Gossett boys?” - -“No, suh,” she protested, with a laugh; “all deze yer gwines-on ’bout dat -ar bank wuz des de ’casion un it. You bleeze ter know dem Gossett boys, -suh. Dey had sorter cool down by de time you come here, but dey wuz still -ripe fer any devilment dat come ’long. Dar wuz Rube an’ Sam an’ John -Henry, an’ a’er one un um wuz big ez a hoss. Dey use ter come ter town -eve’y Chuseday an’ Sat’day, an’ by dinner-time dey’d be a-whoopin’ an’ -hollin’ in de streets, an’ a-struttin’ ’roun’ mashin’ folks’ hats down on -der eyes. Not all de folks, but some un um. An’ all fer fun; dat what dey -say. - -“Tooby sho’, dey had a spite ag’in Marse Tumlin and Marse Bolivar atter -de bank busted. Dey show’d it by gwine des so fur; dey’d fling out der -hints; but dey kep’ on de safe side, ’kaze Marse Tumlin wa’n’t de man fer -ter go ’roun’ huntin’ a fuss, ner needer wuz Marse Bolivar; but fetch a -fuss an’ lay it in der laps, ez you may say, an’ dey’d play wid it an’ -dandle it, an’ keep it fum ketchin’ col’. Dey sho’ would, suh. When dem -Gossett boys’d come ter town, Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar would des -set’ ’roun’ watchin’ um, des waitin’ twel dey cross de dead-line. But it -seem like dey know des how fur ter go, an’ right whar ter stop. - -“Well, suh, it went on dis away fer I dunner how long, but bimeby, one -day, our ol’ cow got out, an’ ’stidder hangin’ ’roun’ an’ eatin’ de grass -in de streets like any yuther cow would ’a’ done, she made a straight -shoot fer de plantation whar she come fum. - -“Miss Vallie tol’ Marse Tumlin ’bout it, an’ he say he gwine atter her. -Den some er de niggers in de nex’ lot tol’ me dat de cow wuz out an’ -gone, an’ I put out atter her, too, not knowin’ dat Marse Tumlin wuz -gwine. He went de front street an’ I went de back way. Ef de town wuz -big ez de streets is long, we’d have a mighty city down here; you know -dat yo’se’f, suh. De place whar de back street jines in wid de big road -is mighty nigh a mile fum de tempunce hall, an’ when I got dar, dar wuz -Marse Tumlin polin’ ’long. I holler an’ ax ’im whar he gwine. He say he -gwine atter a glass er milk. Den he ax me whar I gwine. I say I’m gwine -atter dat ol’ frame dat nigh-sighted folks call a cow. He ’low dat he’d -be mighty thankful ef de nex’ time I tuck a notion fer ter turn de cow -out I’d tell ’im befo’han’ so he kin run ’roun’ an’ head ’er off an’ -drive ’er back. He wuz constant a-runnin’ on dat away. He’d crack his -joke, suh, ef he dyin’. - -“We went trudgin’ ’long twel we come ’pon de big hill dat leads down ter -de town branch. You know de place, suh. De hill mighty steep, an’ on bofe -sides er de road der’s a hedge er Cherrykee roses; some folks calls um -Chickasaw; but Chicky er Cherry, dar dey wuz, growin’ so thick a rabbit -can’t hardly squeeze thoo um. On one side dey wuz growin’ right on de -aidge uv a big gully, an’ at one place de groun’ wuz kinder caved in, an’ -de briar vines wuz swayin’ over it. - -“Well, suh, des ez we got on de hill-top, I hear a buggy rattlin’ an’ -den I hear laughin’ an’ cussin’. I lookt ’roun’, I did, an’ dar wuz de -Gossett boys, two in de buggy an’ one ridin’ hossback; an’ all un um full -er dram. I could tell dat by de way dey wuz gwine on. You could hear um a -mile, cussin’ one an’er fer eve’ything dey kin think un an’ den laughin’ -’bout it. Sump’n tol’ me dey wuz gwine ter be a rumpus, bekaze three ter -one wuz too good a chance for de Gossett boys ter let go by. I dunner -what make me do it, but when we got down de hill a little piece, I stoop -down, I did, an’ got me a good size rock. - -“Terreckly here dey come. Dey kinder quiet down when dey see me an’ Marse -Tumlin. Dey driv up, dey did, an’ driv on by, an’ dis make me b’lieve dat -dey wuz gwine on ’bout der bizness an’ let we-all go on ’bout our’n, but -dat idee wa’n’t in der head. Dey driv by, dey did, an’ den dey pulled -up. We walkt on, an’ Marse Tumlin lookt at um mighty hard. Rube, he was -drivin’, an’ ez we come up even wid um, he ’low, ‘Major Perdue, I hear -tell dat you slap my pa’s face not so mighty long ago.’ Marse Tumlin say, -‘I did, an’ my han’ ain’t clean yit.’ He helt it out so dey kin see fer -deyse’f. ‘I b’lieve,’ sez Rube, ‘I’ll take a closer look at it.’ Wid dat -he lipt out er de buggy, an’ by de time he hit de groun’, Marse Tumlin -had knockt ’im a-windin’ wid his curly-hick’ry walkin’-cane. By dat -time, John Henry had jumpt out’n de buggy, an’ he went at Marse Tumlin -wid a dirk-knife. He kep’ de cane off’n his head by dodgin’, but Marse -Tumlin hit a back lick an’ knock de knife out’n his han’ an’ den dey -clincht. Den Rube got up, an’ start to’rds um on de run. - -“Well, suh, I wuz skeer’d an’ mad bofe. I seed sump’n had ter be done, -an’ dat mighty quick; so I tuck atter Rube, cotch ’m by de ellybows, -shoved ’im ahead faster dan he wuz gwine, an’ steer’d ’im right to’rds -de caved-in place in de brier-bushes. He tried mighty hard ter stop, but -he wuz gwine down hill, an’ I had de Ol’ Boy in me. I got ’im close ter -de place, suh, an’ den I gi’ ’m a shove, an’ inter de briers he went, -head over heels. All dis time I had de rock in my han’. By de time I turn -’roun’ I see Sam a-comin’. When de rumpus start up, his hoss shied an’ -made a break down de hill wid ’im, but he slew’d ’im ’roun’, an’ jumped -off, an’ here he come back, his face red, his hat off, an’ ol’ Nick -hisse’f lookin’ out’n his eyes. I know’d mighty well I can’t steer him -inter no brier-bush, an’ so when he run by me I let ’im have de rock in -de burr er de year. ’Twa’n’t no light lick, suh; I wuz plum venomous by -den; an’ he went down des like a beef does when you knock ’im in de head -wid a ax.” - -Aunt Minervy Ann, all unconscious of her attitudes and gestures, had -risen from the floor, and now stood in the middle of the room, tall, -towering, and defiant. - -“Den I run ter whar Marse Tumlin an’ John Henry Gossett had been -scufflin’; but by de time I got dar John Henry squalled out dat he had -’nuff; an’ he wa’n’t tellin’ no lie, suh, fer Marse Tumlin had ketched -his cane up short, an’ he used it on dat man’s face des like you see -folks do wid ice-picks. He like to ’a’ ruint ’im. But when he holla dat -he got ’nuff, Marse Tumlin let ’im up. He let ’im up, he did, an’ sorter -step back. By dat time Rube wuz a-climbin’ out’n de briers, an’ Sam wuz -makin’ motions like he comin’-to. Marse Tumlin say, ‘Lemme tell you -cowardly rascals one thing. De nex’ time a’er one un you bat his eye at -me, I’m gwine ter put a hole right spang th’oo you. Ef you don’t b’lieve -it, you kin start ter battin’ um right now.’ Wid dat, he draw’d out his -ervolver an’ kinder played wid it. Rube say, ‘We’ll drap it, Major; we -des had a little too much licker. But I’ll not drap it wid dat nigger -dar. I’ll pay her fer dis day’s work, an’ I’ll pay ’er well.’ - -“Well, suh, de way he say it set me on fire. I stept out in de middle er -de road, an’ ’low, ‘_Blast yo’ rotten heart, ef you’ll des walk out here -I’ll whip you in a fa’r fight. Fight me wid yo’ naked han’s an’ I’ll eat -you up, ef I hatter pizen myse’f ter do it._’” - -Once more Aunt Minervy Ann brought the whole scene mysteriously before -me. Her eyes gleamed ferociously, her body swayed, and her outstretched -arm trembled with the emotion she had resummoned from the past. We were -on the spot. The red hill-side, the hedges of Cherokee roses, Major -Perdue grim and erect, Sam Gossett struggling to his feet, John Henry -wiping his beaten face, Rube astounded at the unwonted violence of a -negro woman, the buggy swerved to one side by the horse searching for -grass—all these things came into view and slowly faded away. Aunt Minervy -Ann, suddenly recollecting herself, laughed sheepishly. - -“I ain’t tellin’ you no lie, suh, dat ar Rube Gossett stood dar like de -little boy dat de calf run over. He mought er had sump’n ugly ter say, -but Marse Tumlin put in. He ’low, ‘Don’t you fool yo’se’f ’bout dis -nigger ’oman. When you hit her you hits me. Befo’ you put yo’ han’ on ’er -you come an’ spit in my face. You’ll fin’ dat lots de cheapes’ way er -gittin’ de dose what I got fer dem what hurts Minervy Ann.’ - -“Well, suh, dis make me feel so funny dat a little mo’ an’ I’d a got ter -whimperin’, but I happen ter look ’roun’, an’ dar wuz our ol’ cow lookin’ -at me over a low place in de briers. She done got in de fiel’ by a gap -back up de road, an’ dar she wuz a-lookin’ at us like she sorry. Wid me, -suh, de diffunce ’twixt laughin’ an’ cryin’ ain’t thicker dan a fly’s -wing, an’ when I see dat ol’ cow lookin’ like she ready ter cry, I wuz -bleeze to laugh. Marse Tumlin look at me right hard, but I say, ‘Marse -Tumlin, ol’ June lis’nin’ at us,’ an’ den _he_ laughed. - -“Dem Gossett boys brush deyse’f off good ez dey kin an’ den dey put out -fer home. Soon ez dey git out er sight, Marse Tumlin started in ter -projickin’. He walk all ’roun’ me a time er two, an’ den he blow out his -breff like folks does when dey er kinder tired. He look at me, an’ say, -‘_Well, I be dam!_’ ‘Dat would ’a’ been de word,’ sez I, ‘ef ol’ Minervy -Ann hadn’t ’a’ been here dis day an’ hour.’ He shuck his head slow. ‘You -hit de mark dat time,’ sez he; ‘ef you hadn’t ’a’ been here, Minervy -Ann, dem boys would sholy ’a’ smasht me; but ef I hadn’t ’a’ been here, -I reely b’lieve you’d ’a’ frailed out de whole gang. You had two whipt, -Minervy Ann, an’ you wuz hankerin’ fer de yuther one. I’ll hatter sw’ar -ter de facts ’fo’ anybody’ll b’lieve um.’ I ’low ‘’Tain’t no use ter tell -nobody, Marse Tumlin. Folks think I’m bad ’nuff now.’ - -“But, _shoo!_ Marse Tumlin would ’a’ mighty nigh died ef he couldn’t tell -’bout dat day’s work. I ain’t min’ dat so much, but it got so dat when de -Gossetts come ter town an’ start ter prankin’, de town boys ’ud call um -by name, an’ holla an’ say, ‘You better watch out dar! Minervy Ann Perdue -comin’ ’roun’ de cornder!’ Dat wuz so errytatin’, suh, dat it kyo’d um. -Dey drapt der dram-drinkin’ an’ spreein’, an’ now dey er high in Horeb -Church. Dey don’t like me, suh, an’ no wonder; but ef dey kin git ter -hev’m widout likin’ me, I’d be glad ter see um go. - -“Well, suh, I call de ol’ cow, an’ she foller long on ’er side er de -briers, an’ when she got whar de gap wuz, she curl ’er tail over ’er back -an’ put out fer home, des for all de worl’ like she glad ’kaze me an’ -Marse Tumlin frailed out de Gossett boys. - -“I say, ‘Marse Tumlin, I’m a member er de church an’ I don’t b’lieve in -fightin’, but ef we hadn’t er fit wid dem Gossetts we’d ’a’ never foun’ -dat ol’ cow in de roun’ worl’.’ He ’low, ‘An’ ef we hadn’t er fit wid um, -Minervy Ann, I’d ’a’ never know’d who ter take wid me fer ter keep de -boogerman fum gittin’ me.’ - -“Dat night, suh, Marse Bolivar Blasengame come rappin’ at my do’. Hamp -wuz done gone ter bed, an’ I wuz fixin’ ter go. Marse Bolivar come in, he -did, an’ shuck han’s wid me like he ain’t seed me sence de big war. Den -he sot down over ag’in’ me an’ look at me, an’ make me tell ’im all ’bout -de rumpus. Well, suh, he got ter laughin’, an’ he laughed twel he can’t -hardly set in de cheer. He say, ‘Minervy Ann, ef dem folks say a word ter -hurt yo’ feelin’s, don’t tell Tumlin. Des come a-runnin’ ter me. He done -had his han’s on um, an’ now I want ter git mine on um.’ - -“Dat ’uz de way wid Marse Bolivar. He wa’n’t no great han’ ter git in a -row, but he wuz mighty hard ter git out’n one when he got in. When he -start out he stop on de step an’ say, ‘Minervy Ann, I didn’t know you wuz -sech a rank fighter.’ ‘I’m a Perdue,’ sez I. Wid dat he got ter laughin’, -an’ fur ez I kin hear ’im he wuz still a-laughin’. He b’longed ter a -mighty fine fambly, suh; you know dat yo’se’f.” - - - - -VII - -MAJOR PERDUE’S BARGAIN - - -When next I had an opportunity to talk with Aunt Minervy Ann, she -indulged in a hearty laugh before saying a word, and it was some time -before she found her voice. - -“What is so funny to-day?” I inquired. - -“Me, suh—nothin’ tall ’bout me, an’ ’tain’t only ter-day, nudder. Hit’s -eve’y day sence I been big ’nuff fer to see myse’f in de spring branch. I -laughed den, an’ I laugh now eve’y time I see myse’f in my min’—ef I’ got -any min’. I wuz talkin’ ter Hamp las’ night an’ tellin’ ’im how I start -in ter tell you sump’n ’bout Marse Paul Conant’ shoulder, an’ den eend up -by tellin’ you eve’ything else I know but dat. - -“Hamp ’low, he did, ‘Dat ain’t nothin’, bekaze when I ax you ter marry -me, you start in an’ tell me ’bout a nigger gal’ cross dar in Jasper -County, which she make promise fer ter marry a man an’ she crossed her -heart; an’ den when de time come she stood up an’ marry ’im an’ fin’ out -’tain’t de same man, but somebody what she ain’t never see’ befo’.’ - -“I ’speck dat’s so, suh, bekaze dey wuz sump’n like dat happen in Jasper -County. You know de Waters fambly—dey kep’ race-hosses. Well, suh, ’twuz -right on der plantation. Warren Waters tol’ me ’bout dat hisse’f. He wuz -de hoss-trainer, an’ he ’uz right dar on de groun’. When de gal done -married, she look up an’ holler, ‘You ain’t my husban’, bekaze I ain’t -make no promise fer ter marry you.’ De man he laugh, an’ say, ‘Don’t need -no promise atter you done married.’ - -“Well, suh, dey say dat gal wuz skeer’d—skeer’d fer true. She sot an’ -look in de fire. De man sot an’ look at ’er. She try ter slip out de do’, -an’ he slipped wid ’er. She walked to’rds de big house, an’ he walkt wid -’er. She come back, an’ he come wid ’er. She run an’ he run wid ’er. She -cry an’ he laugh at ’er. She dunner what to do. Bimeby she tuck a notion -dat de man mought be de Ol’ Boy hisse’f, an’ she drapped down on her -knees an’ ’gun ter pray. Dis make de man restless; look like he frettin’. -Den he ’gun ter shake like he havin’ chill. Den he slip down out’n de -cheer. Den he got on his all-fours. Den his cloze drapped off, an’ bless -gracious! dar he wuz, a great big black shaggy dog wid a short chain -roun’ his neck. Some un um flung a chunk of fire at ’im, an’ he run out -howlin’. - -“Dat wuz de last dey seed un ’im, suh. Dey flung his cloze in de fire, -an’ dey make a blaze dat come plum out’n de top er de chimbley stack. Dat -what make me tell Hamp ’bout it, suh. He ax me fer ter marry ’im, an’ I -wan’t so mighty sho’ dat he wan’t de Ol’ Boy.” - -“Well, that is queer, if true,” said I, “but how about Mr. Conant’s -crippled shoulder?” - -“Oh, it’s de trufe, suh. Warren Waters tol’ me dat out’n his own mouf, -an’ he wuz right dar. I dunno but what de gal wuz some er his kinnery. I -don’t min’ tellin’ you dat ’bout Marse Paul, suh, but you mustn’t let on -’bout it, bekaze Marse Tumlin an’ Miss Vallie des’ ez tetchous ’bout dat -ez dey kin be. I’d never git der fergivunce ef dey know’d I was settin’ -down here tellin’ ’bout dat. - -“You know how ’twuz in dem days. De folks what wuz de richest wuz de -wussest off when de army come home from battlin’. I done tol’ you ’bout -Marse Tumlin. He ain’t had nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ but a whole passel -er lan’, an’ me an’ Miss Vallie. I don’t count Hamp, bekaze Hamp ’fuse -ter b’lieve he’s free twel he ramble ’roun’ an’ fin’ out de patterollers -ain’t gwine ter take ’im up. Dat how come I had ter sell ginger-cakes an’ -chicken-pies dat time. De money I made at dat ain’t last long, bekaze -Marse Tumlin he been use’ ter rich vittles, an’ he went right down-town -an’ got a bottle er chow-chow, an’ some olives, an’ some sardines, an’ -some cheese, an’ you know yo’se’f, suh, dat money ain’t gwine ter las’ -when you buy dat kin’ er doin’s. - -“Well, suh, we done mighty well whiles de money helt out, but ’tain’t -court-week all de time, an’ when dat de case, money got ter come fum -some’rs else ’sides sellin’ cakes an’ pies. Bimeby, Hamp he got work at -de liberty stable, whar dey hire out hosses an’ board um. I call it a -hoss tavern, suh, but Hamp, he ’low its a liberty stable. Anyhow, he got -work dar, an’ dat sorter he’p out. Sometimes he’d growl bekaze I tuck his -money fer ter he’p out my white folks, but when he got right mad I’d gi’ -Miss Vallie de wink, an’ she’d say: ‘Hampton, how’d you like ter have a -little dram ter-night? You look like youer tired.’ I could a-hugged ’er -fer de way she done it, she ’uz dat cute. An’ den Hamp, he’d grin an’ -’low, ‘I ain’t honin’ fer it, Miss Vallie, but ’twon’t do me no harm, -an’ it may do me good.’ - -[Illustration: “Dat money ain’t gwine ter las’ when you buy dat kin’ er -doin’s.”] - -“An’ den, suh, he’d set down, an’ atter he got sorter warmed up wid -de dram, he’d kinder roll his eye and ’low, ‘Miss Vallie, she is a -fine white ’oman!’ Well, suh, ’tain’t long ’fo’ we had dat nigger man -trained—done trained, bless yo’ soul! One day Miss Vallie had ter -go ’cross town, an’ she went by de liberty stable whar Hamp wuz at, -leastways, he seed ’er some’rs; an’ he come home dat night lookin’ like -he wuz feelin’ bad. He ’fuse ter talk. Bimeby, atter he had his supper, -he say, ‘I seed Miss Vallie down-town ter-day. She wuz wid Miss Irene, -an’ dat ’ar frock she had on look mighty shabby.’ I ’low, ‘Well, it de -bes’ she got. She ain’t got money like de Chippendales, an’ Miss Irene -don’t keer how folks’ cloze look. She too much quality fer dat.’ Hamp -say, ‘Whyn’t you take some er yo’ money an’ make Miss Vallie git er nice -frock?’ I ’low, ‘Whar I got any money? Hamp he hit his pocket an’ say, -‘You got it right here.’ - -“An’ sho’ ’nuff, suh, dat nigger man had a roll er money—mos’ twenty -dollars. Some hoss drovers had come ’long an’ Hamp made dat money by -trimmin’ up de ol’ mules dey had an’ makin’ um look young. He’s got de -art er dat, suh, an’ dey paid ’im well. Dar wuz de money, but how wuz I -gwine ter git it in Miss Vallie’s han’? I kin buy vittles an’ she not -know whar dey come fum, but when it come ter buyin’ frocks—well, suh, -hit stumped me. Dey wan’t but one way ter do it, an’ I done it. I make -like I wuz mad. I tuck de money an’ went in de house dar whar Miss Vallie -wuz sewin’ an’ mendin’. I went stompin’ in, I did, an’ when I got in I -started my tune. - -“I ’low, ‘Ef de Perdues gwine ter go scandalizin’ deyse’f by trottin’ -down town in broad daylight wid all kinder frocks on der back, I’m gwine -’way fum here; an’ I dun’ner but what I’ll go anyhow. ’Tain’t bekaze -dey’s any lack er money, fer here de money right here.’ Wid dat I slammed -it down on de table. ‘Dar! take dat an’ git you a frock dat’ll make you -look like sump’n when you git outside er dis house. An’ whiles you er -gittin’, git sump’n for ter put on yo’ head!’” - -[Illustration: Trimmin’ Up de Ol’ Mules.] - -Whether it was by reason of a certain dramatic faculty inherent in her -race that she was able to summon emotions at will, or whether it was -mere unconscious reproduction, I am not prepared to say. But certain it -is that, in voice and gesture, in tone and attitude, and in a certain -passionate earnestness of expression, Aunt Minervy Ann built up the -whole scene before my eyes with such power that I seemed to have been -present when it occurred. I felt as if she had conveyed me bodily into -the room to become a witness of the episode. She went on, still with a -frown on her face and a certain violence of tone and manner: - -“I whipped ’roun’ de room a time er two, pickin’ up de cheers an’ -slammin’ um down ag’in, an’ knockin’ things ’roun’ like I wuz mad. -Miss Vallie put her sewin’ down an’ lay her han’ on de money. She -’low, ‘What’s dis, Aunt Minervy Ann?’ I say, ‘Hit’s money, dat what -’tis—nothin’ but nasty, stinkin’ money! I wish dey wan’t none in de worl’ -less’n I had a bairlful.’ She sorter fumble at de money wid ’er fingers. -You dunno, suh, how white an’ purty an’ weak her han’ look ter me dat -night. She ’low, ‘Aunt Minervy Ann, I can’t take dis.’ I blaze’ out at -’er, ‘You don’t haf’ter take it; you done got it! An’ ef you don’t keep -it, I’ll rake up eve’y rag an’ scrap I got an’ leave dis place. Now, you -des’ try me!’” - -Again Aunt Minervy Ann summoned to her aid the passion of a moment that -had passed away, and again I had the queer experience of seeming to -witness the whole scene. She continued: - -“Wid dat, I whipt out er de room an’ out er de house an’ went an’ sot -down out dar in my house whar Hamp was at. Hamp, he ’low, ‘What she say?’ -I say, ‘She ain’t had time ter say nothin’—I come ’way fum dar.’ He ’low, -‘You ain’t brung dat money back, is you?’ I say: ‘Does you think I’m a -start naked fool?’ He ’low: ’Kaze ef you is, I’ll put it right spang in -de fire here.’ - -“Well, suh, I sot dar some little time, but eve’ything wuz so still in -de house, bein’s Marse Tumlin done gone down town, dat I crope back -an’ crope in fer ter see what Miss Vallie doin’. Well, suh, she wuz -cryin’—settin’ dar cryin’. I ’low, ‘Honey, is I say anything fer ter hurt -yo’ feelin’s?’ She blubber’ out, ‘You know you ain’t!’ an’ den she cry -good-fashion. - -“Des ’bout dat time, who should come in but Marse Tumlin. He look at -Miss Vallie an’ den he look at me. He say, ‘Valentine, what de matter?’ -I say, ‘It’s me! I’m de one! I made ’er cry. I done sump’n ter hurt ’er -feelin’s.’ She ’low, ‘’Tain’t so, an’ you know it. I’m des cryin’ bekaze -you too good ter me.’ - -[Illustration: “She wuz cryin’—settin’ dar cryin’.”] - -“Well, suh, I had ter git out er dar fer ter keep fum chokin’. Marse -Tumlin foller me out, an’ right here on de porch, he ’low, ‘Minervy Ann, -nex’ time don’t be so dam good to ’er.’ I wuz doin’ some snifflin’ myse’f -’bout dat time, an’ I ain’t keerin’ what I say, so I stop an’ flung back -at ’im, ‘_I’ll be des ez dam good ter ’er ez I please—I’m free!_’ Well, -suh, stidder hittin’ me, Marse Tumlin bust out laughin’, an’ long atter -dat he’d laugh eve’y time he look at me, des like sump’n wuz ticklin’ ’im -mighty nigh ter death. - -“I ’speck he must er tol’ ’bout dat cussin’ part, bekaze folks ’roun’ -here done got de idee dat I’m a sassy an’ bad-tempered ’oman. Ef I had -ter work fer my livin’, suh, I boun’ you I’d be a long time findin’ -a place. Atter dat, Hamp, he got in de Legislatur’, an’ it sho wuz a -money-makin’ place. Den we had eve’ything we wanted, an’ mo’ too, but -bimeby de Legislatur’ gun out, an’ den dar we wuz, flat ez flounders, -an’ de white folks don’t want ter hire Hamp des kaze he been ter de -Legislatur’; but he got back in de liberty stable atter so long a time. -Yit ’twan’t what you may call livin’. - -“All dat time, I hear Marse Tumlin talkin’ ter Miss Vallie ’bout what -he call his wil’ lan’. He say he got two thousan’ acres down dar in de -wire-grass, an’ ef he kin sell it, he be mighty glad ter do so. Well, -suh, one day, long to’rds night, a two-hoss waggin driv’ in at de side -gate an’ come in de back-yard. Ol’ Ben Sadler wuz drivin’, an’ he ’low, -‘Heyo, Minervy Ann, whar you want deze goods drapped at?’ I say, ‘Hello -yo’se’f, ef you wanter hello. What you got dar, an’ who do it b’long -ter?’ He ’low, ‘Hit’s goods fer Major Tumlin Perdue, an’ whar does you -want um drapped at?’ Well, suh, I ain’t know what ter say, but I run’d -an’ ax’d Miss Vallie, an’ she say put um out anywheres ’roun’ dar, kaze -she dunner nothin’ ’bout um. So ol’ Ben Sadler, he put um out, an’ when -I come ter look at um, dey wuz a bairl er sump’n, an’ a kaig er sump’n, -an’ a box er sump’n. De bairl shuck like it mought be ’lasses, an’ de -kaig shuck like it mought be dram, an’ de box hefted like it mought be -terbarker. An’, sho’ ’nuff, dat what dey wuz—a bairl er sorghum syr’p, -an’ a kaig er peach brandy, an’ a box er plug terbarker. - -[Illustration: “Here come a nigger boy leadin’ a bob-tail hoss.”] - -“I say right den, an’ Miss Vallie’ll tell you de same, dat Marse Tumlin -done gone an’ swap off all his wil’ lan’, but Miss Vallie, she say no; he -won’t never think er sech a thing; but, bless yo’ soul, suh, she wan’t -nothin’ but a school-gal, you may say, an’ she ain’t know no mo’ ’bout -men folks dan what a weasel do. An den, right ’pon top er dat, here come -a nigger boy leadin’ a bob-tail hoss. When I see dat, I dez good ez -know’d dat de wil’ lan’ done been swap off, bekaze Marse Tumlin ain’t -got nothin’ fer ter buy all dem things wid, an’ I tell you right now, -suh, I wuz rank mad, kaze what we want wid any ol’ bob-tail hoss? De -sorghum mought do, an’ de dram kin be put up wid, an’ de terbarker got -some comfort in it, but what de name er goodness we gwine ter do wid dat -ol’ hoss, when we ain’t got hardly ’nuff vittles fer ter feed ourse’f -wid? Dat what I ax Miss Vallie, an’ she say right pine-blank she dunno. - -“Well, suh, it’s de Lord’s trufe, I wuz dat mad I dunner what I say, an’ -I want keerin’ nudder, bekaze I know how we had ter pinch an’ squeeze fer -ter git ’long in dis house. But I went ’bout gittin’ supper, an’ bimeby, -Hamp, he come, an’ I tol’ ’im ’bout de ol’ bob-tail hoss, an’ he went out -an’ look at ’im. Atter while, here he come back laughin’. I say, ‘You -well ter laugh at dat ol’ hoss.’ He ’low, ‘I ain’t laughin’ at de hoss. -I’m laughin’ at you. Gal, dat de finest hoss what ever put foot on de -groun’ in dis town. Dat’s Marse Paul Conant’s trottin’ hoss. He’ll fetch -fi’ hunder’d dollars any day. What he doin’ here?’ I up an’ tol’ ’im all -I know’d, an’ he shuck his head; he ’low, ‘Gal, you lay low. Dey’s sump’n -n’er behime all dat.’ - -“What Hamp say sorter make me put on my studyin’-cap; but when you come -ter look at it, suh, dey wan’t nothin’ ’tall fer me ter study ’bout. All -I had ter do wuz ter try ter fin’ out what wuz behime it, an’ let it go -at dat. When Marse Tumlin come home ter supper, I know’d sump’n wuz de -matter wid ’im. I know’d it by his looks, suh. It’s sorter wid folks like -’tis wid chillun. Ef you keer sump’n ’bout um you’ll watch der motions, -and ef you watch der motions dey don’t hatter tell you when sump’n de -matter. He come in so easy, suh, dat Miss Vallie ain’t hear ’im, but I -hear de do’ screak, an’ I know’d ’twuz him. We wuz talkin’ an’ gwine on -at a mighty rate, an’ I know’d he done stop ter lisn’. - -“Miss Vallie, she ’low she ’speck somebody made ’im a present er dem ar -things. I say, ‘Uh-uh, honey! don’t you fool yo’se’f. Nobody ain’t gwine -ter do dat. Our folks ain’t no mo’ like dey useter wuz, dan crabapples is -like plums. Dey done come ter dat pass dat whatsomever dey gits der han’s -on dey ’fuse ter turn it loose. All un um, ’cep’ Marse Tumlin Perdue. Dey -ain’t no tellin’ what he gun fer all dat trash. _Trash!_ Hit’s wuss’n -trash! I wish you’d go out dar an’ look at dat ol’ bob-tail hoss. Why dat -ol’ hoss wuz stove up long ’fo’ de war. By rights he ought ter be in de -bone-yard dis ve’y minnit. He won’t be here two whole days ’fo’ you’ll -see de buzzards lined up out dar on de back fence waitin’, an’ dey won’t -hatter wait long nudder. Ef dey sen’ any corn here fer ter feed dat bag -er bones wid, I’ll parch it an’ eat it myse’f ’fo’ he shill have it. Ef -anybody ’speck I’m gwine ter ’ten’ ter dat ol’ frame, deyer ’speckin’ wid -de wrong specks. I tell you dat right now.’ - -“All dis time Marse Tumlin wuz stan’in’ out in de hall lis’nin’. Miss -Vallie talk mighty sweet ’bout it. She say, ‘Ef dey ain’t nobody else ter -’ten’ de hoss, reckin I kin do it.’ I ’low, ‘My life er me, honey! de -nex’ news you know you’ll be hirin’ out ter de liberty stable.’ - -“Well, suh, my talk ’gun ter git so hot dat Marse Tumlin des had ter make -a fuss. He fumbled wid de do’ knob, an’ den come walkin’ down de hall, -an’ by dat time I wuz in de dinin’-room. I walk mighty light, bekaze ef -he say anything I want ter hear it. You can’t call it eave-drappin’, suh; -hit look ter me dat ’twuz ez much my business ez ’twuz dern, an’ I ain’t -never got dat idee out’n my head down ter dis day. - -“But Marse Tumlin ain’t say nothin’, ’cep’ fer ter ax Miss Vallie ef she -feelin’ well, an’ how eve’ything wuz, but de minnit I hear ’im open his -mouf I know’d he had trouble on his min’. I can’t tell you how I know’d -it, suh, but dar ’twuz. Look like he tried to hide it, bekaze he tol’ a -whole lot of funny tales ’bout folks, an’ ’twan’t long befo’ he had Miss -Vallie laughin’ fit ter kill. But he ain’t fool me, suh. - -“Bimeby, Miss Vallie, she come in de dinin’-room fer ter look atter -settin’ de table, bekaze fum a little gal she allers like ter have de -dishes fix des so. She wuz sorter hummin’ a chune, like she ain’t want’ -ter talk, but I ain’t let dat stan’ in my way. - -“I ’low, ‘I wish eve’ybody wuz like dat Mr. Paul Conant. I bet you right -now he been down town dar all day makin’ money han’ over fist, des ez -fast ez he can rake it in. I know it, kaze I does his washin’ and cleans -up his room fer ’im.’ - -“Miss Vallie say, ‘Well, what uv it? Money don’t make ’im no better’n -anybody else.’ I ’low, ‘Hit don’t make ’im no wuss; an’ den, ’sides dat, -he ain’t gwine ter let nobody swindle ’im.’ - -“By dat time, I hatter go out an’ fetch supper in, an’ ’tain’t take me -no time, bekaze I wuz des’ achin’ fer ter hear how Marse Tumlin come by -dem ar contraptions an’ contrivances. An’ I stayed in dar ter wait on de -table, which it ain’t need no waitin’ on. - -“Atter while, I ’low, ‘Marse Tumlin, I like ter forgot ter tell you—yo’ -things done come.’ He say, ‘What things, Minervy Ann?’ I ’low, ‘Dem ar -contraptions, an’ dat ar bob-tail hoss. He look mighty lean an’ hongry, -de hoss do, but Hamp he say dat’s bekaze he’s a high-bred hoss. He say -dem ar high-bred hosses won’t take on no fat, no matter how much you feed -um.’ - -“Marse Tumlin sorter drum on de table. Atter while he ’low, ‘Dey done -come, is dey, Minervy Ann?’ I say, ‘Yasser, dey er here right now. Hamp -puts it down dat dat ar hoss one er de gayliest creatur’s what ever make -a track in dis town.’ - -“Well, suh, ’tain’t no use ter tell you what else wuz said, kaze ’twan’t -much. I seed dat Marse Tumlin want gwine ter talk ’bout it, on account er -bein’ ’fear’d he’d hurt Miss Vallie’s feelin’s ef he tol’ ’er dat he done -swap off all dat wil’ lan’ fer dem ar things an’ dat ar bob-tail hoss. -Dat what he done. Yasser! I hear ’im sesso atterwards. He swap it off ter -Marse Paul Conant. - -“I thank my Lord it come out all right, but it come mighty nigh bein’ de -ruination er de fambly.” - -“How was that?” I inquired. - -“Dat what I’m gwine ter tell you, suh. Right atter supper dat night, -Marse Tumlin say he got ter go down town fer ter see a man on some -business, an’ he ax me ef I won’t stay in de house dar wid Miss Vallie. -’Twa’n’t no trouble ter me, bekaze I’d ’a’ been on de place anyhow, an’ -so when I got de kitchen cleaned up an’ de things put away, I went back -in de house whar Miss Vallie wuz at. Marse Tumlin wuz done gone. - -“Miss Vallie, she sot at de table doin’ some kind er rufflin’, an’ I sot -back ag’in de wall in one er dem ar high-back cheers. What we said I’ll -never tell you, suh, bekaze I’m one er deze kinder folks what ain’t no -sooner set down an’ git still dan dey goes ter noddin’. Dat’s me. Set -me down in a cheer, high-back er low-back, an’ I’m done gone! I kin set -here on de step an’ keep des ez wide-’wake ez a skeer’d rabbit, but set -me down in a cheer—well, suh, I’d like ter see anybody keep me ’wake when -dat’s de case. - -“Dar I sot in dat ar high-back cheer, Miss Vallie rufflin’ an’ flutin’ -sump’n, an’ tryin’ ter make me talk, an’ my head rollin’ ’roun’ like -my neck done broke. Bimeby, _blam! blam!_ come on de do’. We got one -er dem ar jinglin’ bells now, suh, but in dem times we had a knocker, -an’ it soun’ like de roof fallin’ in. I like ter jumped out’n my skin. -Miss Vallie drapped her conflutements an’ ’low, ‘What in de worl’! Aunt -Minervy Ann, go ter de do’.’ - -[Illustration: “He been axin’ me lots ’bout Miss Vallie.”] - -“Well, suh, I went, but I ain’t had no heart in it, bekaze I ain’t know -who it mought be, an’ whar dey come fum, an’ what dey want. But I went. -’Twuz me er Miss Vallie, an’ I want gwine ter let dat chile go, not dat -time er night, dough ’twa’n’t so mighty late. - -“I open de do’ on de crack, I did, an’ ’low, ‘Who dat?’ Somebody make -answer, ‘Is de Major in, Aunt Minervy Ann?’ an’ I know’d right den it -wuz Marse Paul Conant. An’ it come over me dat he had sump’n ter do wid -sendin’ er dem contraptions, mo’ ’speshually dat ar bob-tail hoss. An’ -den, too, suh, lots quicker’n I kin tell it, hit come over me dat he been -axin’ me lots ’bout Miss Vallie. All come ’cross my min’, suh, whiles I -pullin’ de do’ open. - -“I ’low, I did, ‘No, suh; Marse Tumlin gone down town fer ter look atter -some business, but he sho ter come back terreckly. Won’t you come in, -suh, an’ wait fer ’im?’ He sorter flung his head back an’ laugh, saft -like, an’ say, ‘I don’t keer ef I do, Aunt Minervy Ann.’ - -“I ’low, ‘Walk right in de parlor, suh, an’ I’ll make a light mos’ ’fo’ -you kin turn ’roun’.’ He come in, he did, an’ I lit de lamp, an’ time I -lit ’er she ’gun ter smoke. Well, suh, he tuck dat lamp, run de wick up -an’ down a time er two, an’ dar she wuz, bright ez day. - -“When I went back in de room whar Miss Vallie wuz at, she wuz stan’in’ -dar lookin’ skeer’d. She say, ‘Who dat?’ I ’low, ‘Hit’s Marse Paul -Conant, dat’s who ’tis.’ She say, ‘What he want?’ I ’low, ‘Nothin’ much; -he does come a-courtin’. Better jump up an’ not keep ’im waitin’.’ - -“Well, suh, you could ’a’ knock’d ’er down wid a fedder. She stood dar -wid ’er han’ on ’er th’oat takin’ short breffs, des like a little bird -does when it flies in de winder an’ dunner how ter fly out ag’in. - -“Bimeby, she say, ‘Aunt Minervy Ann, you ought ter be ’shame or yo’se’f! -I know dat man when I see ’im, an’ dat’s all.’ I ’low, ‘Honey, you know -mighty well he ain’t come callin’. But he wanter see Marse Tumlin, an’ -dey ain’t nothin’ fer ter hender you fum gwine in dar an’ makin’ ’im feel -at home while’s he waitin’.’ She sorter study awhile, an’ den she blush -up. She say, ‘I dunno whedder I ought ter.’ - -“Well, suh, dat settled it. I know’d by de way she look an’ talk dat she -don’t need no mo’ ’swadin’. I say, ‘All right, honey, do ez you please; -but it’s yo’ house; you er de mist’iss; an’ it’ll look mighty funny ef -dat young man got ter set in dar by hisse’f an’ look at de wall whiles -he waitin’ fer Marse Tumlin. I dunner what he’ll say, kaze I ain’t never -hear ’im talk ’bout nobody; but I know mighty well he’ll do a heap er -thinkin’.’ - -“Des like I tell you, suh—she skipped ’roun’ dar, an’ flung on ’er Sunday -frock, shuck out ’er curls, an’ sorter fumble’ ’roun’ wid some ribbons, -an’ dar she wuz, lookin’ des ez fine ez a fiddle, ef not finer. Den she -swep’ inter de parlor, an’, you mayn’t b’lieve it, suh, but she mighty -nigh tuck de man’s breff ’way. Mon, she wuz purty, an’ she ain’t do no -mo’ like deze eve’y-day gals dan nothin’. When she start ’way fum me, -she wuz a gal. By de time she walk up de hall an’ sweep in dat parlor, -she wuz a grown ’oman. De blush what she had on at fust stayed wid ’er -an’ look like ’twuz er natchual color, an’ her eyes shine, suh, like -she had fire in um. I peeped at ’er, suh, fum behime de curtains in de -settin’-room, an’ I know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. It’s de Lord’s trufe, -suh, ef de men folks could tote derse’f like de wimmen, an’ do one way -whiles dey feelin’ annuder way, dey wouldn’t be no livin’ in de worl’. -You take a school gal, suh, an’ she kin fool de smartest man what ever -trod shoe leather. He may talk wid ’er all day an’ half de night, an’ he -never is ter fin’ out what she thinkin’ ’bout. Sometimes de gals fools -deyse’f, suh, but dat’s mighty seldom. - -“I dunner what all dey say, kaze I ain’t been in dar so mighty long -’fo’ I wuz noddin’, but I did hear Marse Paul say he des drapt in fer -’pollygize ’bout a little joke he played on Marse Tumlin. Miss Vallie ax -what wuz de joke, an’ he ’low dat Marse Tumlin wuz banterin’ folks fer -ter buy his wil’ lan’; an’ Marse Paul ax ’im what he take fer it, an’ -Marse Tumlin ’low he’ll take anything what he can chaw, sop, er drink. -Dem wuz de words—chaw, sop, er drink. Wid dat, Marse Paul say he’d gi’ -’im a box er terbarker, a bairl er syr’p, an’ a kaig er peach brandy an’ -th’ow in his buggy-hoss fer good medjer. Marse Tumlin say ‘done’ an’ dey -shuck han’s on it. Dat what Marse Paul tol’ Miss Vallie, an he ’low he -des done it fer fun, kaze he done looked inter dat wil’ lan’, an’ he ’low -she’s wuff a pile er money. - -[Illustration: “Marse Tumlin ’low he’ll take anything what he can chaw, -sop, er drink.”] - -“Well, suh, ’bout dat time, I ’gun ter nod, an’ de fus news I know’d Miss -Vallie wuz whackin’ ’way on de peanner, an’ it look like ter me she wuz -des tryin’ ’erse’f. By dat time, dey wuz gettin’ right chummy, an’ so I -des curl up on de flo’, an’ dream dat de peanner chunes wuz comin’ out’n -a bairl des like ’lasses. - -“When I waked up, Marse Paul Conant done gone, an’ Marse Tumlin ain’t -come, an’ Miss Vallie wuz settin’ dar in de parlor lookin’ up at de -ceilin’ like she got some mighty long thoughts. Her color wuz still up. I -look at ’er an’ laugh, an’ she made a mouf at me, an’ I say ter myse’f, -‘Hey! sump’n de matter here, sho,’ but I say out loud, ‘Marse Paul Conant -sho gwine ter ax me ef you ain’t had a dram.’ She laugh an’ say, ‘What -answer you gwine ter make?’ I ’low, ‘I’ll bow an’ say, “No, suh; I’m de -one dat drinks all de dram fer de fambly.”’ - -“Well, suh, dat chile sot in ter laughin’, an’ she laugh an’ laugh twel -she went inter highsterics. She wuz keyed up too high, ez you mought say, -an’ dat’s de way she come down ag’in. Bimeby, Marse Tumlin come, an’ Miss -Vallie, she tol’ ’m ’bout how Marse Paul done been dar; an’ he sot dar, -he did, an’ hummed an’ haw’d, an’ done so funny dat, bimeby, I ’low, -‘Well, folks, I’ll hatter tell you good-night,’ an’ wid dat I went out.” - -At this point Aunt Minervy leaned forward, clasped her hands over her -knees, and shook her head. When she took up the thread of her narrative, -if it can be called such, the tone of her voice was more subdued, almost -confidential, in fact. - -“Nex’ mornin’ wuz my wash-day, suh, an’ ’bout ten o’clock, when I got -ready, dey want no bluin’ in de house an’ mighty little soap. I hunted -high an’ I hunted low, but no bluin’ kin I fin’. An’ dat make me mad, -bekaze ef I hatter go down town atter de bluin’, my wash-day’ll be broke -inter. But ’tain’t no good fer ter git mad, bekaze I wuz bleeze ter go -atter de bluin’. So I tighten up my head-hankcher, an’ flung a cape on my -shoulders an’ put out. - -“I ’speck you know how ’tis, suh. You can’t go down town but what you’ll -see nigger wimmen stan’in’ out in de front yards lookin’ over de palin’s. -Dey all know’d me an’ I know’d dem, an’ de las’ blessed one un um hatter -hail me ez I go by, an’ I hatter stop an’ pass de time er day, kaze ef -I’d ’a’ whipt on by, dey’d ’a’ said I wuz gwine back bofe on my church -an’ on my color. I dunner how long dey kep’ me, but time I got ter -Proctor’s sto’, I know’d I’d been on de way too long. - -[Illustration: “I hatter stop an’ pass de time er day.”] - -“I notice a crowd er men out dar, some settin’ an’ some stan’in’, but I -run’d in, I did, an’ de young man what do de clerkin’, he foller me in -an’ ax what I want. I say I want a dime’s wuff er bluin’, an’ fer ter -please, suh, wrop it up des ez quick ez he kin. I tuck notice dat while -he wuz gittin’ it out’n de box, he sorter stop like he lis’nin’ an’ den -ag’in, whiles he had it in de scoop des ready fer ter drap it in de -scales, he helt his han’ an’ wait. Den I know’d he wuz lis’nin’. - -“Dat makes me lis’n, an’ den I hear Marse Tumlin talkin’, an’ time I hear -’im I know’d he wuz errytated. Twa’n’t bekaze he wuz talkin’ loud, suh, -but ’twuz bekaze he wuz talkin’ level. When he talk loud, he feelin’ -good. When he talk low, an’ one word soun’ same ez anudder, den somebody -better git out’n his way. I lef’ de counter an’ step ter de do’ fer ter -see what de matter wuz betwix’ um. - -“Well, suh, dar wuz Marse Tumlin stan’in’ dar close ter Tom Perryman. -Marse Tumlin ’low, ‘Maybe de law done ’pinted you my gyardeen. How you -know I been swindled?’ Tom Perryman say, ‘Bekaze I hear you say he bought -yo’ wil’ lan’ fer a little er nothin’. He’ll swindle you ef you trade wid -’im, an’ you done trade wid ’im.’ Marse Tumlin, ’low, ‘Is Paul Conant -ever swindle _you_?’ Tom Perryman say, ‘No, he ain’t, an’ ef he wuz ter -I’d give ’im a kickin’.’ Marse Tumlin ’low, ‘Well, you know you is a -swindler, an’ nobody ain’t kick you. How come dat?’ Tom Perryman say, ‘Ef -you say I’m a swindler, you’re a liar.’ - -“Well, suh, de man ain’t no sooner say dat dan _bang!_ went Marse -Tumlin’s pistol, an’ des ez it banged Marse Paul Conant run ’twix’ um, -an’ de ball went right spang th’oo de collar-bone an’ sorter sideways -th’oo de p’int er de shoulder-blade. Marse Tumlin drapt his pistol an’ -cotch ’im ez he fell an’ knelt down dar by ’im, an’ all de time dat ar -Tom Perryman wuz stan’in’ right over um wid his pistol in his han’. I -squall out, I did, ‘Whyn’t some er you white men take dat man pistol ’way -fum ’im? Don’t you see what he fixin’ ter do?’ - -“I run’d at ’im, an’ he sorter flung back wid his arm, an’ when he done -dat somebody grab ’im fum behime. All dat time Marse Tumlin wuz axin’ -Marse Paul Conant ef he hurt much. I hear ’im say, ‘I wouldn’t ’a’ done -it fer de worl’, Conant—not fer de worl’.’ Den de doctor, he come up, an’ -Marse Tumlin, he pester de man twel he hear ’im say, ‘Don’t worry, Major; -dis boy’ll live ter be a older man dan you ever will.’ Den Marse Tumlin -got his pistol an’ hunt up an’ down fer dat ar Tom Perryman, but he done -gone. I seed ’im when he got on his hoss. - -[Illustration: “Hunt up an’ down fer dat ar Tom Perryman.”] - -“I say to Marse Tumlin, ‘Ain’t you des ez well ter fetch Marse Paul -Conant home whar we all kin take keer uv ’im?’ He ’low, ‘Dat’s a _fack_. -Go home an’ tell yo’ Miss Vallie fer ter have de big room fixed up time -we git dar wid ’im.’ I say, ‘Humph! I’ll fix it myse’f; I know’d I ain’t -gwine ter let Miss Vallie do it.’ - -“Well, suh, ’tain’t no use fer ter tell yer de rest. Dar’s dat ar baby in -dar, an’ what mo’ sign does you want ter show you dat it all turned out -des like one er dem ol’-time tales?” - - - - -VIII - -THE CASE OF MARY ELLEN - - -It came to pass in due time that Atlanta, following the example of -Halcyondale, organized a fair. It was called the Piedmont Exposition, -and, as might be supposed, Aunt Minervy Ann was among those attracted -to the city by the event. She came to see whether the fair was a bigger -one than that held at Halcyondale. Naturally enough she made my house -her headquarters, and her coming was fortunately timed, for the cook, -taking advantage of the heavily increased demand for kitchen servants, -caused by the pressure of strangers in the city, had informed us that -if we wanted her services we could either double her wages or dispense -with her entirely. It was a very cunningly prepared plan, for there was -company in the house, friends from middle Georgia, who had come to spend -a week while the exposition was going on, and there would have been no -alternative if Aunt Minervy Ann, her Sunday hat sitting high on her -head, had not walked in the door. - -“I hope all er you-all is well,” she remarked. “Ef you ain’t been -frettin’ an’ naggin’ one an’er den my nose done been knocked out er -j’int, kaze I know sump’n ’bleeze ter be de matter.” - -The truth is, the lady of the house was blazing mad with the cook, and -I was somewhat put out myself, for the ultimatum of the servant meant -robbery. Aunt Minervy Ann was soon in possession of the facts. At first -she was properly indignant, but in a moment she began to laugh. - -“Des come out on de back porch wid me, please’m. All I ax you is ter -keep yo’ face straight, and don’t say a word less’n I ax you sump’n’.” -She flung her hat and satchel in a corner and sallied out. “I don’t -blame cooks fer wantin’ ter quit when dey’s so much gwine on up town,” -she remarked, in a loud voice, as she went out at the back door. “Dey -stan’ by a stove hot wedder er col’, an’ dey ain’t got time ter go ter -buryin’s. But me! I don’t min’ de work; I’m ol’ an’ tough. Why, de well -ain’t so mighty fur fum de steps, an’ dar’s de wood-cellar right dar. How -much you pay yo’ cooks, ma’am?” - -“What wages have you been getting?” asked the lady of the house. - -“Wellum, down dar whar I come fum dey been payin’ me four dollars a -mont’—dat de reason I come up here. Ef you gi’ me six I’ll stay an’ you -won’t begrudge me de money. Tu’n me loose in de kitchen an’ I’m at home, -ma’am—plum’ at home.” - -The lady seemed to be hesitating, and the silence in the kitchen was -oppressive. - -“I’ll decide to-day,” she remarked. “Our cook is a good one, but she has -been thinking of resting awhile. If she goes, you shall have the place.” - -“Den she ain’t gone?” cried Aunt Minervy Ann. “Well, I don’t want de -place less’n she goes. I ain’t gwine ter run my color out’n no job ef I -kin he’p it. We got ’nuff ter contend wid des dry so.” Then she turned -and looked in the kitchen. “Ain’t dat Julie Myrick?” she asked. - -“How you know me?” cried the cook. “I b’lieve in my soul dat’s Miss -’Nervy Ann Perdue!” - -With that Aunt Minervy Ann went into the kitchen, and the two old -acquaintances exchanged reminiscences for a quarter of an hour. -After awhile she came back in the sitting-room, stared at us with a -half-indignant, half-quizzical expression on her face, and then suddenly -collapsed, falling on the floor near a couch, and laughing as only an -old-time negro can laugh. Then she sat bolt upright, and indignation, -feigned or real, swept the smiles from her countenance, as if they had -been suddenly wiped out with a sponge. - -“You know what you got in dat kitchen dar? You ain’t got nothin’ in de -worl’ in dar but a Injun merlatter; dat zackly what you got. I know’d -her daddy and I know’d her mammy. Ol’ one-legged Billy Myrick wuz her -daddy, an’ he wuz one part white an’ one part nigger, an’ one part Injun. -Don’t tell me ’bout dem kind er tribes. Dey ain’t no good in um. Hamp’ll -tell you dat hisse’f, an’ he b’longed ter de Myrick ’state. Merlatter is -bad ’nuff by itse’f, but when you put Injun wid it—well, you may hunt -high an’ you may hunt low, but you can’t git no wuss mixtry dan dat. I -tell you right now,” Aunt Minervy Ann went on, “I never did see but one -merlatter dat wuz wuff a pinch er snuff, an’ she wuz so nigh white dat de -ol’ boy hisse’f couldn’t ’a’ tol’ de difffunce. Seem like you must ’a’ -knowed Mary Ellen Tatum, suh?” she suggested, appealing to my memory. - -I had heard the name somehow and somewhere, but it was as vague in my -recollection as a dream. - -“Maybe you didn’t know ’er, suh, but she was born an’ bred down whar I -cum fum. Dat’s so! She wuz done gone fum dar when you come. Wuz ol’ Fed -Tatum dead? Yasser! ol’ Fed died de year dey quit der battlin’, an’ ’twuz -de year atter dat when you come; an’ you sho did look puny, suh, ter what -you does now. Well, ol’ Fed Tatum, he wuz one er deze yer quare creeturs. -He made money han’ over fist, an’ he had a sight er niggers. He had a -place sorter close ter town, but he didn’t stay on it; an’ he had a house -not fur fum Marse Bolivar Blasengame, but he’d des go out ter his place -endurin’ er de day, an’ den he’d come back, git his vittles, an’ walk ter -de tavern an’ dar he’d take a cheer an’ go off by hisse’f, an’ set wid -his chin in his coat collar, an’ look at his foots an’ make his thum’s -turn somersets over one an’er. Ef you wanted ter talk wid ol’ Fed Tatum, -you’d hafter go whar he wuz settin’ at an’ do all de talkin’ yo’se’f. -He’d des set back dar an’ grunt an’ maybe not know who you wuz. But when -he come huntin’ you up, you better watch out. Dey say dey ain’t nobody -ever is make a trade wid ol’ Fed but what dey come out at de little een’ -er de horn. - -“Well, ol’ Fed had a nigger ’oman keepin’ house fer ’im, an’ doin’ de -cookin’ and washin’. I say ‘nigger,’ suh, but she wuz mighty nigh white. -She wuz Mary Ellen’s mammy, an’ Mary Ellen wuz des white ez anybody, -I don’t keer whar dey cum fum, an’ she wuz purty fum de word go. Dey -wa’n’t never no time, suh, atter Mary Ellen wuz born dat she wa’n’t de -purtiest gal in dat town. I des natchully ’spises merlatters, but dey wuz -sump’n ’bout Mary Ellen dat allers made a lump come in my goozle. I tuck -ter dat chile, suh, de minnit I laid my eyes on ’er. She made me think -’bout folks I done forgot ef I ever know’d um, an’ des de sight un ’er -made me think ’bout dem ol’ time chunes what mighty nigh break yo’ heart -when you hear um played right. Dat wuz Mary Ellen up an’ down. - -“Well, suh, when Mary Ellen got so she could trot ’roun’, old Fed Tatum -sorter woke up. He stayed at home mo’, and when de sun wuz shinin’ you -might see ’im any time setting in his peazzer wid Mary Ellen playin’ -roun’, er walkin’ out in de back yard wid Mary Ellen trottin’ at his -heels. I’m telling you de start-naked trufe—by de time dat chile wuz -six-year ol’ she could read; yasser! read out’n a book, an’ read good. I -seed her do it wid my own eyes, an’ heer’d ’er wid my own years. ’Tain’t -none er dish yer readin’ an’ stoppin’ like you hear de school chillun -gwine on; no, suh! ’Twuz de natchual readin’ right ’long. An’ by de time -she wuz eight, dey wa’n’t no words in no book in dat town but what she -could take an’ chaw um same as lawyers in de cote-house. Mo’ dan dat, -suh, she could take a pencil, an’ draw yo’ likeness right ’fo’ yo’ face. - -“’Long ’bout dat time she struck up wid little Sally Blasengame, an’ when -dem two got tergedder dar wuz de pick er de town ez fer ez de chillun -went. I don’t say it, suh, bekaze Marse Bolivar was Marse Tumlin’s -br’er-in-law—dey married sisters—but his little gal Sally wuz ez fine -ez split silk. Mary Ellen had black hair an’ big black eyes, an’ Sally -had yaller hair an’ big blue eyes. Atter dey come ter know one an’er dey -wa’n’t a day but what dem two chillun wuz playin’ tergedder. How many an’ -many is de times I seed um gwine ’long wid der arms ’roun’ one an’er! - -“Well, one day atter dey been playin’ tergedder a right smart whet Marse -Bolivar ’gun ter make inquirements ’bout Mary Ellen, an’ when he foun’ -out who an’ what she wuz, he went out whar dey at an’ tol’ her she better -go home. I wuz right dar in de back yard when he said de word. Mary Ellen -stood an’ looked at ’im, an’ den she picked up her bonnet an’ marched -out’n de yard holdin’ her head up; she wuz twelve year ol’ by den. - -“Sally seed Mary Ellen go out, an’ she turn ’roun’ on her daddy, her -face ez white ez a sheet. Den her whole frame ’gun ter shake. She ’low, -‘I been lovin’ you all dis time, an’ I didn’t know you could be so mean -an’ low-life.’ She flung at ’im de fust words dat pop in her min’. - -“Marse Bolivar say, ‘Why, honey! Why, precious!’ an’ start ter put his -arm ’roun’ ’er. She flung fum ’im, she did, an’ cry out, ‘Don’t you never -say dem words ter me no mo’ ez long ez you live, an’ don’t you never -tetch me no mo’.’ Den she seed me, an’ she come runnin’ des like she wuz -skeer’d. She holler, ‘Take me ’way! take me ’way! Don’t let ’im tetch -me!’ Talk ’bout temper—talk ’bout venom! All dem Blasengames had it, an’ -when you hurt de feelin’s er dat kind er folks dey are hurted sho ’nuff. -Marse Bolivar couldn’t ’a’ looked no wuss ef somebody had ’a’ spit in -his face while his han’s tied. You talk ’bout people lovin’ der chillun, -but you dunner nothin’ ’tall ’bout it twel you see Marse Bolivar lovin’ -Sally. Why, de very groun’ she walkt on wuz diffunt ter him fum any udder -groun’. He wuz ready ter die fer ’er forty times a day, an’ yit here she -wuz wid her feelin’s hurt so bad dat she won’t let ’im put his han’s on -’er. An’ he ain’t try; he had sense ’nuff fer dat. He des walk ’roun’ and -kick up de gravel wid de heel er his boots. But Sally, she had ’er face -hid in my frock, an’ she ain’t so much ez look at ’im. Bimeby he went in -de house, but he ain’t stay dar long. He come out an’ look at Sally, an’ -try ter make ’er talk, but she erfuse ter say a word, an’ atter while he -went on up-town. - -“Ef dey ever wuz hard-headed folks, suh, dat wuz de tribe. He went -up-town, but he ain’t stay long, an’ when he come back he foun’ Sally -in de house cryin’ an’ gwine on. She won’t tell what de matter, an’ she -won’t let nobody do nothin’ fer ’er. Now, ef she’d ’a’ been mine, suh, -I’d ’a’ frailed ’er out den an’ dar, an’ I’d ’a’ kep’ on frailin’ ’er out -twel she’d ’a’ vowed dat she never know’d no gal name Mary Ellen. Dat’s -me! But Marse Bolivar ain’t look at it dat away, an’ de man what never -knuckle ter no human bein’, rich er po’, high er low, had ter knuckle ter -dat chile, an’ she wa’n’t much bigger dan yo’ two fists. - -“So bimeby he say, ‘Honey, I’m gwine atter Mary Ellen, ef dat’s her name, -an’ she can stay here all day an’ all night, too, fer what I keer.’ - -“Sally ’low, ‘She sha’n’t come here! she sha’n’t! I don’t want nobody ter -come here dat’s got ter git der feelin’s hurted eve’y time dey come.’ - -“Right dar, suh, is whar my han’ would ’a’ come down hard; but Marse -Bolivar, he knuckle. He say, ‘Well, honey, you’ll hafter fergive me dis -time. I’ll go fetch ’er ef she’ll come, an’ ef she won’t ’tain’t my -fault.’ - -“So out he went. I dunner how he coaxed Mary Ellen, but she say he tol’ -’er dat Sally wuz feelin’ mighty bad, an’ wuz ’bleeze ter see ’er; an’ -Mary Ellen, havin’ mo’ heart dan min’, come right along. An’ Marse -Bolivar wuz happy fer ter see Sally happy. - -“Dis wuz long ’fo’ de battlin’, suh, but even dat fur back dey wuz -talkin’ ’bout war. Ol’ Fed Tatum wuz a mighty long-headed man, an’ he -know’d mighty well dat ef Mary Ellen stayed dar whar she wuz at, she -won’t have no mo’ show dan a chicken wid its head wrung off. So he fixed -’er up an’ packed ’er off up dar whar de Northrons is at. He’d ’a’ sont -her mammy wid ’er, but she say no; she’d be in de way; folks would -’spicion what de matter wuz; an’ so she shet her mouf an’ stayed. Ef Mary -Ellen had ’a’ been my chile, suh, I’d ’a’ gone wid ’er ef I had ter claw -my way wid my naked han’s thoo forty miles er brick wall. But her mammy -was diffunt; she stayed an’ pined. - -“Now, ef anybody want pinin’ done dey’ll hafter go ter somebody else -’sides ol’ Minervy Ann Perdue. When you see me pinin’, suh, you may know -my tongue done cut out an’ my han’s pairlized. Ef Mary Ellen had ’a’ been -my chile dey’d ’a’ been murder done, suh. I’d ’a’ cotch ol’ Fed Tatum -by what little hair he had an’ I’d ’a’ ruint ’im; an’ ez ’twuz, I come -mighty nigh havin’ a fight wid ’im. An’ ef I had—_ef I had_——” - -Aunt Minervy Ann was on her feet. Her right arm was raised high in the -air, and her eyes blazed with passion. It was not a glimpse of temper -she gave us, but a fleeting portrayal of mother-love at white heat. She -had been carried away by her memory, and had carried us away with her; -but she caught herself, as it were, in the act, laughed, and sat down -again by the sofa, caressing it with both arms. Presently she resumed her -narrative, addressing herself this time to the lady of the house. It was -a stroke of rare tact that had its effect. - -“Wellum, Mary Ellen wa’n’t my chile, an’ ol’ Fed Tatum sont ’er off -up dar ’mongst de Northrons; an’ ’bout de time de two sides ’gun der -battlin’ he sol’ some lan’ an’ sont her ’nuff money ter las’ ’er twel she -got all de larnin’ she want. Den de war come, an’ nobody ain’t hear no -mo’ ’bout Mary Ellen. Dey fit an’ dey fout, an’ dey fout an’ dey fit, an’ -den, bimeby, dey quit, an’ fer long days nobody didn’t know whedder ter -walk backerds er go forruds. - -“Ol’ Fed Tatum wuz one er dem kinder folks, ma’am, what you been seein’ -an’ knowin’ so long dat you kinder git de idee dey er gwine ter stay des -like dey is; but one day ol’ Fed Tatum fetch’d a grunt an’ went ter bed, -an’ de nex’ day he fetch’d a groan an’ died. He sho did. An’ den when dey -come ter look into what he had, dey foun’ dat he ain’t got nothin’ he kin -call his own but a little cabin in one een’ er town, an’ dis went ter -Mary Ellen’s mammy. - -“I tell you now, ma’am, dat ’oman tried me. She wuz long an’ lank an’ -slabsided, an’ she went ’bout wid ’er mouf shet, an’ ’er cloze lookin’ -like somebody had flung um at ’er. I like ter hear folks talk, myself, -an’ ef dey can’t do nothin’ else I like ter see um show dey temper. But -dat ’oman, she des walk ’roun’ an’ not open her mouf fum mornin’ twel -night, less’n you ax ’er sump’n. I tried ter git her ter talk ’bout Mary -Ellen, but she ain’t know no mo’ ’bout Mary Ellen dan a rabbit. - -“I dunner but what we’d ’a’ got in a fuss, ma’am, kaze dat ’oman sho -did try me, but ’long ’bout dat time Marse Bolivar’s gal tuck sick, an’ -’twa’n’t long ’fo’ she died. ’Twuz a mighty pity, too, kaze dat chile -would ’a’ made a fine ’oman—none better. ’Long todes de las’ she got -ter gwine on ’bout Mary Ellen. Look like she could see Mary Ellen in de -fever-dreams, an’ she’d laugh an’ go on des like she useter when she wuz -a little bit er gal. - -“Wellum, when dat chile died Marse Bolivar come mighty nigh losin’ ’is -min’. He ain’t make no fuss ’bout it, but he des fell back on hisse’f an’ -walk de flo’ night atter night, an’ moan an’ groan when he think nobody -ain’t lis’nin’. An’ den, atter so long a time, here come a letter fum -Mary Ellen, an’ dat broke ’im all up. I tell you right now, ma’am, Marse -Bolivar had a hard fight wid trouble. I don’t keer what folks may say; -dey may tell you he’s a hard man, ready ter fight an’ quick ter kill. -He’s all dat, an’ maybe mo’; but I know what I know. - -“Wellum, de days went an’ de days come. Bimeby I hear some er de niggers -say dat Mary Ellen done come back. I laid off ter go an’ see de chile; -but one day I wuz gwine ’long de street an’ I met a white lady. She say, -‘Ain’t dat Aunt Minervy Ann?’ I ’low, ‘Yessum, dis is de remnants.’ -Wid dat, ma’am, she grab me ’roun’ de neck an’ hug me, an’ bu’st out -a-cryin’, an’ ’twa’n’t nobody in de worl’ but Mary Ellen. - -“Purty! I never has foun’ out, ma’am, how any human can be ez purty ez -Mary Ellen. Her skin wuz white ez milk an’ her eyes shine like stars. I’d -’a’ never know’d her in de worl’. But dar she wuz, cryin’ one minnit an’ -laughin’ de nex’. An’ she wuz in trouble too. She had a telegraph in her -han’ tellin’ ’er dat one er her ol’ schoolmates gwine on ter Flurridy -wuz gwine ter stop over one train des ter see Mary Ellen. Hit seem like -dat up dar whar she been stayin’ at she ain’t never tell nobody but what -she wuz white, an’ de human wa’n’t born dat could tell de diffunce. So -dar ’twuz. Here wuz de Northron lady comin’ fer ter see Mary Ellen, an’ -what wuz Mary Ellen gwine ter do?—whar wuz she gwine ter take de Northron -lady? Dar wuz de ramshackle cabin, an’ dar wuz my kitchen. You may think -’twuz funny, ma’am——” - -“But I don’t,” said the lady of the house, abruptly and unexpectedly; “I -don’t think it was funny at all.” - -Aunt Minervy Ann looked at me and lifted her chin triumphantly, as she -resumed: “No’m, ’twa’n’t funny. Mary Ellen wuz proud an’ high-strung; -you could read dat in de way she walk an’ eve’y motion she make, an’ dat -ar telegraph dat de Northron lady sont ’er fum Atlanty kinder run ’er in -a corner. She dunner what ter do, ner which way ter turn. Look at it -yo’se’f, ma’am, an’ see whar she wuz. - -“She laughed, ma’am, but she wuz in trouble, an’ I’m sech a big fool dat -I’m allers in trouble ’long wid dem what I like. Take de tape-line ter -der trouble an’ den ter mine, an’ you’ll fin’ dat dey medjer ’bout de -same. Mary Ellen laugh an’ say, ‘Dey’s two things I kin do; I kin leave -town, er I kin go down dar ter de cabin an’ kill myse’f.’ Oh, she wuz in -a corner, ma’am—don’t you doubt it. - -“Right den an’ dar sump’n pop in my head. I ’low, ‘Is you been ter call -on Marse Bolivar Blasengame?’ She say ‘No, I ain’t, Aunt Minervy Ann. I -started ter go, but I’m afear’d ter.’ I ’low, ‘Well, I’m gwine dar right -now; come go wid me.’ - -“So we went dar, and I left Mary Ellen on de back porch, an’ I went in de -house. Marse Bolivar wuz settin’ down, gwine over some papers, an’ Mis’ -Em’ly wuz darnin’ an’ patchin’. - -“I say, ‘Marse Bolivar, dey’s a gal out here dat I thought maybe you an’ -Mis’ Em’ly would be glad ter see?” - -“He ’low, ‘Dang you’ hide, Minervy Ann! You like ter make me jump out’n -my skin. Who is de gal?’ - -“I say, ‘I wanter see ef you know ’er.’ Wid dat I went back an’ fotch -Mary Ellen in. Well, dey didn’t know ’er, ma’am, na’er one un um; an’ I -dunner how it all happened, but de fust thing I know Mary Ellen fell on -’er knees, by a lounge what sot under de place whar Miss Sally’s pictur’ -wuz hangin’ at. She fell on her knees, Mary Ellen did, and ’low, ‘She’d -know who I is,’ an’ wid dat she bust aloose an’ went ter cryin’ des like -’er heart wuz done broke in two. - -“Marse Bolivar stood dar an’ wait twel Mary Ellen cool off, an’ quiet -down. Mis’ Em’ly, ma’am, is one er dem ar primity, dried-up wimmen, -which, ef dey ain’t fightin’ you wid bofe han’s, er huggin’ you wid bofe -arms, ain’t sayin’ nothin’ ’tall. An’ ef Mis’ Em’ly ain’t sayin’ nothin’ -you can’t put de key in de Bible an’ fin’ no tex’ dat’ll tell you what -she got in ’er min’. But she wuz darnin’, an’ I see ’er wipe one eye on -de leg er de sock, an’ den present’y she wipe t’er eye. - -“Wellum, Marse Bolivar stood dar an’ look at Mary Ellen, an’ when she riz -fum her knees an’ stood dar, her head hangin’ down, still a-cryin’, but -mo’ quieter, he went close up an’ ’low, ‘I know you, Mary Ellen, an’ I’m -mighty glad ter see you. Dat ar letter what you writ me, I got it yit, -an’ I’m gwine ter keep it whiles I live.’ - -“He talk right husky, ma’am, an’ I ’gun ter feel husky myse’f; an’ den -I know’d dat ef I didn’t change de tune, I’d be boo-hooin’ right dar -’fo’ all un um wid needer ’casion nor ’skuce. I went up ter Mary Ellen -an’ cotch ’er by de shoulder and say, ‘Shucks, gal! Dat train’ll be here -terreckly, an’ den what you gwine ter do?’ - -“’Twuz a hint ez broad ez a horse-blanket, ma’am, but Mary Ellen never -tuck it. She des stood dar an’ look at me. An’ ’bout dat time Marse -Bolivar he ketch’d holt er my shoulder an’ whirlt me ’roun’, an’ ’low, -‘What de matter, Minervy Ann? Talk it right out!’ - -“Wellum, I let you know I tol’ ’im; I des laid it off! I tol’ des how -’twuz; how Mary Ellen been sont up dar by ol’ Fed Tatum, an’ how, on de -’count er no fault er her’n de Northron folks tuck ’er ter be a white -gal; an’ how one er de gals what went ter school wid ’er wuz gwine ter -come ter see ’er an’ stay ’twixt trains. Den I ’low, ‘Whar is Mary Ellen -gwine ter see ’er? In dat ar mud-shack whar her ma live at? In de big -road? In de woods? In de hoss-lot?” - -The whole scene from beginning to end had been enacted by Aunt Minervy -Ann. In the empty spaces of the room she had placed the colonel, his -wife, and Mary Ellen, and they seemed to be before us, and not only -before us, but the passionate earnestness with which she laid the case of -Mary Ellen before the colonel made them live and move under our very eyes. - -“_In de big road? In de woods? In de hoss-lot?_” - -And when she paused for the reply of the colonel, the look of expectation -on her face was as keen and as eager as it could have been on the day and -the occasion when she was pleading for Mary Ellen. The spell was broken -by the lady of the house, who leaned forward eagerly as if expecting the -colonel himself to reply. Perhaps Aunt Minervy Ann misunderstood the -movement. She paused a moment as if dazed, and then sank by the sofa with -a foolish laugh. - -“I know you all put me down ter be a fool,” she said, “an’ I ’speck I is.” - -“Nonsense!” cried the lady of the house, sharply. “What did the colonel -reply?” - -Aunt Minervy remained silent a little while, picking at one of the -fringes of the sofa. She was evidently trying to reassemble in her mind -the incidents and surroundings of her narrative. Presently she began -again, in a tone subdued and confidential: - -“Marse Bolivar look at me right hard, den he look at Mary Ellen, an’ den -he pull at de tip-een’ er his year. Wellum, I fair helt my breff; I say -ter myse’f, ‘Man, whyn’t you look at poor Miss Sally’s pictur’? I wuz -feared a fly might light on ’im an’ change his min’. But, look at de -pictur’ he did, an’ dat settled it. - -“He ’low, ‘Set down, Mary Ellen; you look tired. Minervy Ann, fetch ’er a -drink er water.’ Wellum, you may well b’lieve dat I flied up an’ flew’d -’roun’ an’ fotch dat water. Den he ’low, ‘Minervy Ann, go in dar an’ -straighten out dat parlor; fling open de blinds an’ do ’bout in dar!’” - -Again Aunt Minervy Ann arose from her reclining position by the sofa and -stood in the floor; again, by a wave of her hand, she brought the scene -before our eyes. - -“I stood dar, I did, an’ look at dat man. I ’low, ‘Marse Bolivar, less’n -it’s Marse Tumlin, youer de bes’ man dat God A’mighty ever breathe de -breath er life inter!’ He rub his han’ over his face an’ say, ‘Dang yo’ -ol’ hide! go on an’ hush up! Fum de time I fust know’d you, you been -gittin’ me an’ Tumlin in hot water.’ - -“I flung back at ’im, ‘_’Tain’t never scald you! ’Tain’t never been too -deep fer you!_’ He straighten hisse’f up an’ helt his head back an’ -laugh. He ’low, ‘Dang it all, Minervy Ann! Dey er times when I want it -bofe hot an’ deep. You go an’ scuffle ’roun’ in dat parlor, an’ don’t you -let yo’ Mis’ Em’ly do a han’s-turn in dar.’ - -“Wellum, dat uz ’bout de upshot un it. De Northron lady wuz name Miss -Wilbur, er Willard, I disremember which, but she was a mighty nice white -gal. Marse Bolivar an’ Hamp wuz bofe at de train ter meet ’er, an’ Marse -Bolivar fotch ’er right ter de house, an’ show’d ’er in de parlor. Atter -while, Mary Ellen went in dar, an’ ’twuz a mighty meetin’ ’twix um. Dey -chattered same ez a flock er blackbirds on a windy day; an’ atter so long -a time Marse Bolivar went in dar. ’Twa’n’t long ’fo’ he got ter tellin’ -tales, an’ de Northron lady laugh so she kin hardly set on de cheer. Den -he open de pianner, an’ ax de white lady ter play, but she vow she can’t -play atter he been hearin’ Mary Ellen. Den he say, ‘Won’t you play me a -chune, Mary Ellen? Sump’n ol’ timey?’ - -“Dat gal went ter de pianner, ma’am, an’ sot dar wid her han’s over her -face like she prayin’, an’ den she laid her han’s on de keys an’ started -a chune des like yo’ hear in yo’ dreams. It got a little louder, an’ -den present’y you could hear ’er singin’. I never did know whar’bouts -her voice slipped inter dat chune; but dar ’twuz, an’ it fit in wid de -pianner des like a flute does. - -“Wellum, it tuck me back, way back dar in de ol’ days, an’ den brung me -down ter later times, fer many a moonlight night did I hear Miss Sally -an’ Mary Ellen sing dat song when dey wuz chillun. Den atter dat de -Northron lady plump herse’f down at de pianner, an’ she sho did shake dat -ol’ shebang up. ’Twuz dish yer highfalutin’ music what sprung up sence de -war, an’ it sho sound like war ter me, drums a-rattlin’, guns a-shootin’, -an’ forty-levm brass horns all tootin’ a diffunt chune. - -“When train-time come, ma’am, de Northron lady ax Mary Ellen ef she won’t -go ter de train wid ’er. But Marse Bolivar spoke up an’ say dat Mary -Ellen been feelin’ bad all de mornin’, an’ she hatter skuzen ’er. He went -wid de lady hisse’f, an’ when he come back Mary Ellen tol’ ’im she never -would fergit what he done fer her dat day, an’ say she gwine ter pay ’im -back some day. - -“What did the neighbors say about it?” the lady of the house asked, in -her practical way. - -“Dat what pestered me all de time, ma’am,” Aunt Minervy Ann replied. “I -ax Marse Bolivar, ‘What de folks gwine ter say when dey hear ’bout dis -come off?’ He stuck his thum’s in de armholes er his wescut, an’ ’low, -‘Dat what I wanter know, an’ I wanter know so bad, Minervy Ann, dat ef -you hear anybody talkin’ loose talk ’bout it, des come runnin’ ter me -while it’s hot. Now don’t you fail.’ - -“But Marse Bolivar ain’t wait fer me ter hear what folks say. He went -polin’ up town de nex’ day, an’ tol’ ’bout it in eve’y sto’ on de street, -an’ de las’ man in town vow’d ’twuz de ve’y thing ter do. An’ dat ain’t -all, ma’am! De folks dar raise a lot er money fer Mary Ellen, an’ de way -dat chile went on when Marse Bolivar put it in ’er han’ an’ tol’ er whar -it come fum wuz pitiful ter see. - -“Dat’s de way ’tis, ma’am; ketch um in de humor an’ eve’ybody’s -good; ketch um out’n de humor an’ dey er all mean—I know dat by my -own feelin’s. Ef a fly had lit on Marse Bolivar’s face dat day, Mary -Ellen would ’a’ had ter face ’er trouble by ’er own ’lone self. Ef -some sour-minded man had gone up town an’ told how Marse Bolivar wuz -en’tainin’ nigger gals an’ a Yankee ’oman in his parlor, dey’d all been -down on ’im. An’ den——” - -“What, then?” the lady of the house asked, as Aunt Minervy Ann paused. - -“Dey’d ’a’ been weepin’ an’ whailin’ in de settlement sho. Ain’t it so, -suh?” - -It was natural, after Aunt Minervy Ann had narrated the particulars -of this episode, that her statements should dwell in my memory, and -sally forth and engage my mind when it should have been concerned with -other duties. One of these duties was to examine each day the principal -newspapers of New England in search of topics for editorial comment. - -An eye trained to this business, as any exchange editor can tell you, -will pick out at a glance a familiar name or suggestive phrase, no matter -what its surroundings nor how obscurely it may be printed. Therefore, one -day, weeks after Aunt Minervy Ann’s recital, when I opened the _Boston -Transcript_ at its editorial page, it was inevitable that the first thing -to catch my eye was the familiar name of “Mary Ellen Tatum.” It was -printed in type of the kind called nonpareil, but I would have seen it -no sooner nor more certainly if it had been printed in letters reaching -half across the page. - -Mary Ellen Tatum! The name occurred in a three-line preface to the -translation of an art note from a Paris newspaper. This note described, -with genuine French enthusiasm, the deep impression that had been made on -artists and art circles in Paris by a portrait painted by a gifted young -American artist, Mlle. Marie Helen Tatum. It is needless to transcribe -the eulogy—I have it in my scrapbook. It was a glowing tribute to a piece -of work that had created a sensation, and closed with the announcement -that another genius had “arrived.” - -The comments of the Boston editor, following the sketch, declared that -the friends of Miss Mary Ellen Tatum in Boston, where she spent her early -years and where she was educated, were proud of her remarkable success, -and predicted for her a glorious career as an artist. - -I had no more than cut this piece from the newspaper when the door-bell -rang, and as there happened to be no one in the house to answer it at -the moment, I went to the door myself, the clipping still in my hand, -and there before my eyes was Colonel Bolivar Blasengame, his fine face -beaming with good-nature. He had come at a moment when I most desired to -see him, and I greeted him cordially. - -“I see now,” said the colonel,“why it is I can never catch you in your -office in town; you do your work at home. Well, that’s lots better than -workin’ where any and everybody can come in on you. I thought I’d find -you out here enjoying your _otium cum digitalis_, as old Tuck Bonner used -to say; but instead of that you’re waist-deep in newspapers.” - -I assured the colonel that there were some people in the world whom I -would be glad to see, no matter how busy I might be. - -“I know the feeling,” replied Colonel Blasengame; “but you’ll be cussing -me as sure as the world, for I haven’t a grain of business to see you -about. But I hear Tumlin and old Aunt Minervy Ann talking about you so -constantly that I thought I’d come out and say howdye, if no more.” - -“Well, you’ll have to say more than that this time,” I remarked; “I was -just thinking, when you rang the door-bell, that I would give something -pretty to see you.” - -“Now, is that reely so?” cried the colonel. “Then I’m twice glad—once -because I took a notion to come, and once again because you’re glad. You -used to fight so shy of me when you lived among us that I was afraid I -wouldn’t get on wi’ you; but I’m sorter offish myself.” - -“Colonel,” said I, “did you ever know Mary Ellen Tatum?” - -He rubbed his face and forehead with his hand, and regarded me with a -slight frown, and a smile that seemed to mean anything except pleasure. - -“Will you allow me to ask you why you put such a question to me?” - -“Why, certainly, Colonel; read that.” I placed the clipping from the -_Transcript_ in his hand. He held it off at arm’s length and tried to -decipher it, but the print was too fine. Placing it on his knee, he -searched in his pockets until he found his spectacles, and then he read -the article through carefully—not once, but twice. - -Then smoothing the clipping out on his knee, he looked at me inquiringly. - -“Do you know Mary Ellen?” he asked. I did not, and said so. “Did you ever -hear of her before?” - -“Why, yes,” I replied. “Aunt Minervy Ann told me some very interesting -things about her, and I wanted to ask you if they were true.” - -The colonel jumped to his feet with a laugh. “Plague on old Minervy -Ann!” he exclaimed. “Why, I came out here purposely to tell you about -Mary Ellen. This thing,” indicating the clipping, “is away behind the -time with its news. The picture it tells about is at my house this very -minute, and another one in the bargain. The first chance you get, come -down home and look at ’em. If you don’t open your eyes I’ll never sign -my name S. B. Blasengame again.” He walked up and down the room in a -restless way. “What do you reckon that gyurl did?” he asked, stopping -before me and stretching out his right arm. “Why, she sent a man with -the pictures—a right nice fellow he was, too. He said it cost a pile of -money to git ’em through the custom-house at New York; he had to hang -around there a week. When I asked him for his bill he raised his hands -and laughed. Everything was paid.” - -The colonel continued to walk up and down the room. He was always -restless when anything interested him, unless it happened to be a matter -of life and death, and then he was calmness itself. - -“Did Aunt Minervy Ann—blame her old hide!—I wanted to tell you the -whole story myself—did she tell you about a letter Mary Ellen wrote me -when”—the colonel paused and cleared his throat—“about a letter Mary -Ellen wrote me in the seventies?” - -“She did,” I replied. - -“Well, here’s the letter,” he said, after fumbling in his big pocketbook. -“It’s not a matter to be showing around, but you seem almost like one of -the family, and you’ll know better how to appreciate the pictures when -you read that.” - -He turned and went out of the room into the hallway and then to the -veranda, where I heard his firm and measured step pacing back and forth. -The letter was not a very long one, but there was something in it—a vague -undertone of loneliness, a muffled cry for sympathy, which, as I knew all -the facts of the case, almost took my breath away. - -The letter was dated “Boston, September 8th, 1878,” and was as follows: - - “COLONEL BLASENGAME—Two days ago the home paper came to me - bringing the news of the great loss which has come to your - household, and to me. I feel most keenly that a letter from me - is an unwarranted intrusion, but I must speak out my thoughts - to someone. Miss Sallie was almost the only friend I had when - she and I were children together—almost the only person that - I ever cared for. I loved her while she lived, and I shall - cherish her memory to the day of my death. - - “You do not know me, and you will not recognize the name signed - to this. It is better, far better that this should be so. It - is enough for you to know that a stranger in a strange land - will lie awake many and many a long night, weeping for the dear - young lady who is dead. - - “MARY ELLEN TATUM.” - -What has become of Mary Ellen? the reader may ask. I have asked the same -question hundreds of times and received no reply to it. So far as we -provincials are concerned, she has disappeared utterly from the face of -the earth. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHRONICLES OF AUNT MINERVY -ANN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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