Chapter III: Part 3

However inconsistent Felo’s ideas of theology might appear, there were three important purposes he endeavored to live up to with a sincerity that became him nobly. Three purposes he took great pleasure in making known at all times: “To hol’ a high head an’ keep a good name ’munks de cullud folks”; “to stick close to Mr. Amos, and look aft’ his welfare long’s he staid single”; and, “to hol’ cov’nan wid Gawd an’ serve Jesus long as I got my good sense.”

The first of these, interpreted by many of his unsympathetic friends as a sort of unseemly arrogance, which they called his “biggidy ways,” won for him the name of “w’ite-folks nigger.” While the second brought him the assurance of a permanent home, and fixed his standing as a member of the household, a sort of heir by annexation;—“joint arran’ de fam’ly,” as he called it. As he and Mr. Amos had been playmates from early childhood, his connection in reality was more like that of a faithful friend, than the position of a common servant without rights and privileges. And to keep faith with Mr. Amos and hold his confidence and lasting respect, was next to keeping his covenant with God.

When he came back to work the day after his visit to Susan’s cook shop, he was conscious of something having happened which might shake this feeling of trust; and the burdening thought troubled him sorely. Try as he would, he was unable to free himself of the haunting fact or invent a reasonable excuse to explain his somber mood, which he was certain would not escape Mr. Amos’s attention. Song, at all times an easy means for expressing the gladness or turbulence of his emotional soul, now deserted him completely. And when he tried to pray, his mind went groping about in a wilderness of mist and fog, unable to find a word or thought that would bring him any spiritual relief.

To elude Mr. Amos was out of the question; because it was an understood custom, that Felo must sit across the room and talk while Mr. Amos ate; giving a detailed account of his week-end trip across the river, with the doings and sayings of his colored friends, most of whom Mr. Amos knew from early childhood. It was always a delightful conference, and Mr. Amos encouraged it with genuine interest.

A quiet evening spent at home alone with Felo, he declared, was sure to be an evening of picturesque thought and spontaneous, refreshing entertainment. Because humble Felo had more to offer in the way of colorful, living literature, than one could ever expect to find at the colorless teas and elaborate dinner parties of many pseudo-literary white friends.

As Mr. Amos sat down to eat, Felo took his accustomed chair on the opposite side of the room near the door leading to the kitchen, where he would be in readiness during the progress of the meal. He sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor rug, staring into infinitude; his arms hanging aimlessly by the sides of his chair.

In the center of the table was a shallow dark green bowl filled with dainty, pink wild mimosa blossoms; the unusual color combination together with the acquisition of the rare little flowers, causing Mr. Amos to wonder in silent admiration. After a while he said to Felo:

“Were did you get the lovely ‘touch-me-nots,’ so late in the season?”

“Yonder in Gritny,” came the reply; slow and apathetic.

“From your mother’s garden?”

“Ma ain’ got no time to play wid no garden; wid all dem chillun an’ dat hog she got to look to.”

“Then I suppose you bought them?” Mr. Amos persisted.

“Who goin’ buy tetch-me-not flow’rs, w’en dey got ’um growin’ wil’ like grass, all up an’ down de railroad track?”

“Well,” said Mr. Amos, “wherever they came from, they’re very lovely; and I suppose I must thank you for bringing them to me.”

Felo made no reply, but sat looking at the floor vacantly. His silence was unusual and Mr. Amos wondered at it. Felo was always ready for conversation. Was there anything the matter, Mr. Amos asked him.

After a slight hesitation, he answered in a subdued tone:

“Man, eat yo’ li’l foods, an’ don’ worry ’bout me.”

Wondering at the polite indifference, Mr. Amos asked:

“What ails you, Felo, are you ill?”

Folding his arms slowly, he leaned forward on his knees and looked away from Mr. Amos as he spoke:

“Man, eat yo’ foods, for Gawd sake; an’ don’ ask so many inquis’tun queshtun. Git thoo so I kin wash dese dishes an’ go yonder to my room.”

“What’s the matter with you tonight?” Mr. Amos asked with a show of impatience. “Are you sick? Are you tired? Anything the matter at home?”

“Man, don’ plague me,” he answered appealingly. “Be still an’ don’ worry me. Do I look like anybody sick?”

“You look about as healthy as somebody dead and buried,” Mr. Amos answered, smiling playfully. “What happened to you that you look so forlorn and friendless?”

Attempting a bravado manner, he said:

“Nobody but de devil sont you hyuh to plague me tonight. My feelin’s is my feelin’s; an’ nothin’ ain’ goin’ change ’um. So ’tain no use talkin’ an’ try’n tell w’at make ’um so.”

“Alright, deacon,” Mr. Amos answered, with an air of feigned indifference. “If you think there’s nothing I can do to help you smooth out the kinks, whatever they are, so be it.”

Felo remained silent until Mr. Amos was about to leave the room. Seeing him start towards the stairway, he asked:

“You ain’ goin’ out tonight, is you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, y’oughta stay home some time an’ git yo’ night-res’.... All time runnin’ out in de night air an’ fros’, exposin’ yo’self like you does; wid de win’ searchin’ ’roun yo’ ankles an’ things, an’ blowin’ ’cross yo’ body an’ keep you lookin’ so puny.”

“How about yourself?” Mr. Amos asked him. “You don’t seem to be concerned about the night air and the wind when you go rambling about? I suppose being a deacon of the church, you have some special arrangement with God to temper the elements to your convenience?”

“Look. Leave dat be jes’ like it is,” he said abruptly, “I’m thinkin’ ’bout who got to look aft’ you w’en you git flat o’ yo’ back an’ can’ help yo’self no mo’. ’Tain nobody but Felo got to be plague’ wid you. Da’s de one thing make me cuncern yonder wid de future.... But de main thing I ax you,—befo’ you commence all dis heavy comasation,—is you goin’ out tonight?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Well, w’en I git thoo in de kitchen, I wan’ talk wid you confidenshun.”

Mr. Amos laughed good-naturedly, saying to him:

“I’ll be upstairs, ready to listen to your tale of rape or robbery, whichever it might be. But come with a different face than the one you wear now. I don’t want to have bad dreams tonight.”

With a heroic attempt to smile, he answered, as Mr. Amos walked away:

“Go ’head upstairs, for Gawd sake. You all time ready to play too much.”

After finishing all his chores in the kitchen, Felo went through the house, seeing that all the windows and doors were fastened, before he went upstairs. Going into the room where Mr. Amos was, he found him lying on the bed reading, with the cat asleep on his chest. The cat, like Mr. Amos, was one of Felo’s constant worries. He didn’t know which one of them was “de wusser.” It was a splendid excuse for him to expostulate.

“Y’awter put dat ole cat out-doahs. All two of you keep dis place lookin’ like a fatal rabbit-nes’, de way yo’ hair be fallin’ ove’ evvything. I kin shake dem blankets till my two arms be stiff, an’ de hair yet hanging’ to ’um. An’ de onles way to git y’all hair off des flo’-rugs,—I gotta git down on my knees an’ brush ’um wid a swiss-broom.”

Mr. Amos put his book aside and laughed heartily.

“Keep on!” Felo began again. “One dese nights you goin’ see dat same cat cut yo’ breath fum you; lay’n ’cross yo’ buzzum like dat.... An’ some dese w’ite-folks only goin’ be too glad to say ’twan nobody but nigger Felo did ’way wid you. An’ who you reckon goin’ be hyuh in de house to put it on de cat, aft’ dey done spread de news?... Nobody. Da’s who.”

Mr. Amos looked at him and asked quietly:

“Did you come up here to give a lecture on the cat? Or did you say you had something worrying you, and you wanted to talk about it?”

“I come up hyuh to look aft’ yo’ comfut,” he replied, taking a pillow from the opposite side of the bed and making ready to arrange it under Mr. Amos’s head.

“Hyuh; lemme slip dis pilluh und’ yo’ head; an’ leave dat ole cat slide down further on yo’ stummic, whah ’tain so dang’us.”

This little attention performed, Felo sat down in the rocking chair and began looking about the room, uncertain how to start his communication. After an awkward silence, he asked:

“You goin’ keep on readin’?”

“What have you got to say?” Mr. Amos questioned, without looking away from his book.

“Man, put yo’ book down, an’ be soshable,” he commanded. “You ain’ sattafy peepin’ up in books all day long, you gotta come hyuh at night-time strainin’ yo’ eyesight over agin?... W’a’s de matter, you don’ wan’ talk?”

“No; I want to listen,” said Mr. Amos, closing the book and putting it aside. “What have you to tell me?”

“I wan’ tell you ’bout a upsetment me an’ Lethe had las’ night,” he began apologetically. “I know Lethe done blabbed it all over Gritny by now; an’ I know she goin’ tell Miss Tilly; an’ Miss Tilly sho ain’ goin’ miss tell you soon’s she see you; so I wan’ tell you de whole thing so you know de straight tale w’en you hyeah it fum somebody else.”

Whereupon he gave a careful account of his visit to Aunt Susan’s cook shop; the members he met and talked with there; his misunderstanding with Lizzie, and his late visit to the church; where he learned that Lethe had gone home in a sullen frame of mind over some wilful misinformation communicated to her by the vengeful Lizzie. Leaving the church with the wake in full swing, he told how he went to Lethe’s house, to find that she had gone to bed. He knocked on the door and she got up and let him in; finding fault with him for coming so late; and asking why he hadn’t spent the night with the women he began the evening with so pleasantly at Susan’s.

“I say to ’uh: For Gawd sake, Lethe, don’ try an’ raise no humbug late in de night like dis. I ain’ come hyuh to make no squawble over any lie Lizzie Cole done hatched up jes’ for spite.

“I say: I come hyuh like I do evvy Sunday night; ’cause I wan’ see you, an’ ’cause I thinks somh’n ’bout you.... So dah whah I commence to undress myself, an’ went to bed, ’cause I was sleepy.”

“Went to bed!” Mr. Amos exclaimed in playful amazement. “In Lethe’s house?... I didn’t know that was part of the religious obligation of a deacon of the church on Sunday night?”

“Dah ’tis again,” Felo commented, looking thoroughly abashed. “Da’s de main reason I ain’ nev’ wan’ tell you nothin’ seecut. You all time wan’ twis’ things to make people look foolish.... Ain’ Lethe an’ me bin knowin’ each-another for a long time?... Ever sence she come yonder fum Tuckapaw Parish,—an’ oughta be un’stan’ w’at our feelin’s is by now?”

“Then I suppose Lethe is what your Bible calls a concubine. You remember Solomon had several hundred. But you must be careful not to have more than two or three in Gretna. The ways of the church have changed since Solomon’s day; and a deacon in Gretna is expected to hold a high head among his people.”

“Man, leave de Bible be; an’ quit reachin’ way back yonder in ainshen days to git somh’n to make game o’ people, an’ call ’um out dey name dat-a-way. Lethe alright. An’ I kin give ’uh de praise ’bove inny cullud ooman I know w’at ain’ got no husban’.”

“Then why don’t you do the decent thing and marry her?”

“Marry who?” He asked in open-eyed amazement. “You wan’ me marry Lethe wid de high temper she got,—an’ jealous-hearted like she is, too?... Man, you ain’ know w’at you say’n. You gotta see Lethe in a high passion like I seen ’uh las’ night, befo’ you fix it in yo’ min’ dat me an’ Lethe oughta marry each-another.”

Besides, Lethe was suspicious-minded; he went on enumerating. She was ready to believe anything anybody told her. She had a tongue that wagged at both ends and blabbed everything she knew. It’s bad for a nigger to be like that. But could she tell what happened without exposing herself too? Maybe she didn’t care about her reputation. But what would the white folks think of him when they heard it? How would he ever reinstate himself in the church if they brought him up before the moderator to make explanation? The elder and the deacon were supposed to be more sanctified than common members. But maybe Lethe wouldn’t say anything after all.... But what made her listen to that lying Lizzie, and ’cuse him of having other women? Did he ever miss one Sunday night with her since they fixed up the understanding between them?... But that’s the way with a jealous-hearted woman; you never know what she is going to do. And you just got to wrassle with them when they won’t listen to reason; and leave them to take their comings, no matter how cheap it makes you feel when everything is over.

“De mo’ I tried to talk easy an’ persuade ’uh she was wrong,” Felo continued, “de mo’ louder she answer back; searchin’ in ’uh min’ for nasty names to make me shame;—an’ me lay’n up in de bed strug’lin to git some sleep. All at once, I raise my voice an’ say to ’uh: ‘Lethe, for Gawd sake don’ be so shameless. Try an’ shut yo’ evil-thinkin’ fly-trap an’ lay down an’ ax Gawd to help you pray.’ She ain’ said a word; but I seen ’uh reach over to de pot-shelf an’ grab a skillet, an’ turn ’roun an’ commence to come ’cross de room. Dah whah I jumped out de bed, an’ was huntin’ on de flo’ for my pants, w’en she say: ‘Whah you think you goin’?’

“I say: Lethe, I ain’ come hyuh tonight to make no brawl wid no foolish ’ooman. I’m goin’ yonder to Sis’ Fanny house whah I b’long, an’ lay down wid a peaceful min’, an’ not be upset wid a shameless thing like you is.

“She say: ‘You goin’ home, is you?... Well, w’en you does go, I wan’ tell you ’tain’ nobody but me an’ Gawd be witness you goin’ ’way from hyuh cripple....’

“An’ dah whah she made at me wid de skillet, jes’ w’en I was pullin’ on one my pants laigs. I drapped de thing on de flo’, an’ grabbed hol’ the skillet an’ wrenched it out ’uh han’; w’en she come up at me full-fo’ce, like she wan’ scratch my face, either butt me,—dang’us-lookin’ as innybody you ever seen.

“I ain’ stop to consider ’bout w’at to do; but I up wid de skillet an’ plastud it ’cross ’uh face haphazzud. An’ de nex’ thing I knowed, I seen three teeth lay’n on de flo’, knocked clean out de front ’uh mouth....

“Did I felt ’shame’?” Felo answered, slightly disconcerted by Mr. Amos’s unexpected reproof. “Da’s another subjec’.

“De thing w’at worried me mo’n anything else, was how I could git home all dem five long blocks ’dout anybody seein’ me, aft’ I had re’lize I comed away widout no pants on;—slippin’ long de street in de moonlight wid blood all ove’ my und’shirt, runnin’ de risk o’ somebody comin’ up on me an’ takin’ me for a rogue done commit murder, befo’ day in de mawnin’.

“I knowed Lethe could take care ’uhself. An’ I knowed she had salt in de house; so I knowed soon she had stop de bleedin’ from de mouth, she be out o’ danger.

“So w’en I reached home an’ got in bed, I sho did wrassel wid my soul, an’ prayed hard to fall asleep. But Gawd mus’ bin vex wid me.... ’E helt de sleep back from me; an’ I ain’ had a single wink o’ sleep de whole night long.

“I tried to pray, but my min’ was upset wid all kind o’ confusion.... I ain’ never notice befo’ how cows an’ creeters an’ things could be such plumb nuisance in de night-time. Look like I could hyeah evvy rooster in evvybody hen-house, crowin’ an’ ’nouncin’ de crackin’ o’ day all over Gritny. An’ w’en de win’ blowed pass de house, I could heayh de a-ko like a mul’tude o’ dogs barkin’ an’ callin’ at one-’nother, miles futher away.... An’ between dat hog Ma Fanny got yonder in de yard, gruntin’ an’ goin’ on; an’ Miss Barb’ra cows nex’-do, keepin’ up such a mooin’ an’ a moanin’; it look like evvything was talkin’ ’bout some kin’ o’ tribulation an’ on-res’ful cundition....

“Even de mawkin-bird singin’ in de umbrella tree ’ginse de fence, ’is voice so loud an’ screechy, it soun’ like he findin’ fault wid de moon for shinin’ so bright. An’ I couldn’ help wishin’ de night air make ’im ketch de so’ th’oat; den I know he had to keep still.

“I say to myself: Dis ain’ doin’ no good; lay’n hyuh frettin’, an’ big day already come.... Lemme git up an’ dress an’ go walk out-do’as in de fresh air.

“So dah whah I put on my clo’se an’ went ’roun to Lethe house to see’f I could patch up de diffunce w’at comed up between us.

“I knocked on de do’ easy, but she ain’ answer. I knocked agin a li’l louder, an’ call to ’uh, an’ she still ain’ answer.... I say: Maybe she gone up de street to de doctor. I say: Lemme walk ’roun a li’l piece, an’ I come back later an’ maybe she be hyuh.

“So dah whah I went up de railroad track fur as de Chinee-men’s garden; an’ I watched ’um hoein’ an’ plantin’ till almos’ a whole hour had pass; den I start back. I walked slow, an’ picked a bunch o’ tetch-me-nots to bring to Lethe; growin’ so plennyful ’long-side de track, wid de night-jew on ’um, an’ lookin’ so pink an’ nice an’ sweet-smellin’.

“I got to de house an’ it was shet tight, but smoke was comin’ out de chimley. I say: Da’s a good sign. She home; an’ she ain’ dead.... I knocked on de do’, but she ain’ made no answer. I listen to see’f I could hyeah walkin’ in de room, but evvything was still. I knocked once mo’ an’ still she ain’ answer. Den I call to ’uh. I say: Lethe, dis Felo.... I’m on my way ’cross de river, an’ I come after my pants.

“Bimeby I could hyeah stirrin’ in de room; an’ nex’ thing I seen,—de window cracked open a li’l piece, an’ my pants fell down on de gal’ry flo’. An’ den de window shet tight, like nobody was in de house.

“I rolled de pants up in some newspaper I got to de Dago stan’; an’ crossed on de ferry-boat, an’ come hyuh to de castle to consult wid you ’bout w’at to do.... An’ now you got de whole story.”

“And the honor of hearing it well-told by the bold hero himself,” Mr. Amos commented, looking at him with an amused smile.

“Man, don’ laugh an’ make game dat way,” returned Felo, with quiet appeal. “Dis thing too much like a tawment to my soul to try an’ joke ’bout it.... How you reckon I’m goin’ feel if Lethe go blab de thing all over Gritny, an’ de members bring me up befo’ de church? ’Tain nothin’ to play wid. Dis subjec’ is _seerus_.”

“Then you’re not concerned a bit over the loss of Lethe’s teeth, are you?” Mr. Amos asked him.

“Lethe ain’ got to worry ’bout ’uh teeth,” Felo assured him. “She know she gotta look to me to pay de bill for fixin’ ’um. Lethe kin git new teeth; but who you think goin’ puvvide me wid a good reppatashun, after Lethe done spread de news, an’ my name bin walked on by a passul o’ mean-minded Gritny niggers?... W’ich one be de worse off den, me or Lethe?”

“Don’t you suppose Lethe values her good name as much as you do yours?” Mr. Amos argued with him. “If she exposes you, she exposes herself. No woman with pride will do a thing like that. She’ll lie to protect herself. And you’ll see that Lethe is no exception.”

Felo seemed greatly relieved, hearing this.

“Now, da’s de way I like to hyeah you talk,” he said. “Straighten de thing out for me. Tell me w’at I mus’ do.”

“Go to see Lethe tomorrow and have an understanding with her,” Mr. Amos suggested. “Tell her you’re sorry, and you want to set things right. Explain your position in the church, and make her see hers as well. And if she cares anything at all for you, she’ll certainly listen to reason.”

“Da’s suffishen,” Felo agreed, in a tone which seemed to tell that he was resolved to fulfill his duty. Then came an after-thought:

“But I sho Gawd hope dem missin’ teeth in de front ’uh mouth goin’ make ’uh feel ’shame’ ’bout ’uh looks, an’ keep ’uh from goin’ in de street till I git to see ’uh.”

“Start early in the morning,” Mr. Amos advised. “Take the day off, and finish up the job before you come back.”

A smile of appreciation lighted his face and his voice resumed its habitual cheerfulness.

“Man, you sho got a good head for somebody bin raised in Gritny. De onles diffunce twix’ you an’ me: you wise-minded from readin’ in books an’ things; an’ po’ me, I ain’ got nothin’ but mother-wit.... But I’m goin’ do jes’ like you say; an’ leave hyuh firs’ thing in de mawnin’, soon as I give you yo’ coffee.”

“And be sure to take the touch-me-nots with you to give to Lethe,” Mr. Amos reminded him, with a playful smile.

Getting up from his chair suddenly, he pretended to be greatly annoyed, and walked over to the bed-side to cover his embarrassment, saying:

“Man, git up from hyuh, wid dat ole cat, an’ lemme fix yo’ bed so you kin lay down an’ sleep an’ stop thinkin’ up a whole lot o’ humbug.... Come on; you done plague me enough for one night.... Lemme turn down de bed for you, so I kin go lay down an’ pray.”

Next morning Felo was away from the house before eight o’clock, on his way to Gretna to make peace with the belligerent Lethe. His mind was disturbed by many conflicting emotions when he tried to think how she would receive him.

As the ferry pulled in to the Gretna landing, his uneasiness became intense; for he recognized several of his colored friends on their way to the City to dispose of their various wares. The pontoon was crowded with _marchande_ women, with large flat baskets of vegetables balanced on their heads; the careful arrangement of the shining, dew-washed, maroon-colored beets, scarlet peppers, pale green lettuce, and the golden carrots with plume-like foliage, making the baskets from a distance appear like gigantic, colorful hats decked for a rustic festival.

In the crowd he recognized Lizzie and Chester, each with a basket of vegetables. If Lizzie had heard anything from Lethe, she would be sure to mention it. He was relieved when she spoke first.

“Hi! Mr. Felo,” she greeted him, as she came off the boat. “Y’awter staid longer to de wake Sunday night. We sho did give Aun’ Milly a good sen’-over. I staid till close on to fo’ clock in de mawnin’. An’ I wouldn’ a-lef’ den, but de coffee gived out.”

“You know if Lethe goin’ to de burryin’?” Felo inquired artfully.

“I ain’ seen Lethe since Sunday night, Mr. Felo. I pass by ’uh house dis mawnin’, but it look like nobody was home.”

This information reassured him. Lizzie knew nothing, therefore Lethe had not told her trouble abroad.

The boat bell rang, and Lizzie and Chester hurried on board, calling to Felo, they hoped to see him next Sunday. He waved good-by to them, passing on with a feeling of gratitude.

As he turned into the street where Lethe lived, he looked toward the house and saw a thin blue reek of smoke curling up from the dilapidated chimney. A mockingbird was sitting on the corner of the roof, singing; telling the heedless world of the prodigal beauty of the sunshine and the fleeting glory of the morning.

“Da’s a good sign,” Felo commented. “Nobody ain’ got no business bein’ down-casted w’en dumb critters kin feel de sperret o’ Gawd wakin’-up inside ’um, like dat bird yonder shoutin’ ’bout it.”

He looked at the old house and thought how different it seemed from the other night when he saw it in the silent moonlight. How inviting it looked, with the sunshine playing over the gallery and its rickety old posts, covered with flowering vines; a veritable basket of rampant wistaria and luxuriant honeysuckle.

He opened the gate and went around the side way, without calling. Lethe was in the back yard, feeding chickens; and she didn’t see him until he came where she was standing. She made no sign of recognition until he spoke.

“Lethe, you don’ wan’ tell me good-mawnin’?” He asked quietly. “If you feel like you don’ wan’ talk, I kin go back whah I come from.”

“Who invite you to come hyuh, any way?” She asked, indifferently.

“I ain’ had to wait for no inv’tation,” he answered curtly. “I come hyuh ’cause my min’ lead me to come hyuh. To see how you gittin’ ’long.... To bring you dis aw’inge-rine purzerve I made for you.” (Offering her a glass of home-made orange marmalade.)

She looked at him unmoved; without a show of surprise, resentment or just indignation; wondering what to say to him. Was he conscious of his meanness, she thought. If so, was she ready to forgive him, having had time to consider her unwarranted jealousy, provoked by Lizzie’s malicious gossip? But why did she doubt Felo when he tried to make her know that Lizzie lied. She knew he never showed any interest in other women as long as she had known him. And if he came specially to see her today, surely he would be ready to stand the expense of a few missing teeth. What was the loss of a few teeth compared with the loss of a friendly company-keeper like Felo?... And any way, wasn’t she the one who struck the first blow?...

Having deliberated with herself to her apparent satisfaction, she told him to put the glass of marmalade in the kitchen, “till I ketch me one dese chickens to make some soup.”

“You goin’ have comp’ny?” Felo asked. The thought of chicken seeming to indicate the approach of some festive occasion.

“W’at I wan’ do havin’ comp’ny, wid all dese teeth missin’ out de front o’ my mouth?” She replied sharply; wondering at his total lack of judgment. “People can’t eat chicken out dey own yard lessen dey gotta have comp’ny to eat wid ’um?”

“I ain’ findin’ fault wid you ’bout yo’ likin’s, Lethe,” he apologized. “I was thinkin’ ’bout you settin’ down by yo’self, eating lonesome; ’dout anybody to talk wid you, da’s all.”

Her frown seemed to deepen, and her voice assumed a tone of annoyance.

“Wa’t I want wid anybody comin’ hyuh to talk to me, all lavadated like I is; wid all dese teeth missin’ in de front o’ my mouth? You come hyuh to make game an’ crow over me, ’stid o’ beggin’ my pardner for de nasty trick you done played on me?... You ain’ think one li’l ole glass o’ aw’inge-rine purzerve kin make up for de wrong you done commit, is you? You mus’ be a fatal fool, if you do.”

Felo looked at her appealingly. He was ready to make any number of apologies, if she would only listen. As for the teeth, she “oughta know de one w’at broke ’um called on to put new ones in dey place; if ’e any kind o’ man w’at calls ’imself a man.”

“But some people waits a long time aft’ dey bin called on; makin’ up dey min’ ’bout de thing dey gotta do,” she told him. “An’ a toothless ooman ain’ need to have much patience w’en she look in de glass an’ see how ugly she be.”

“Lethe, for Gawd sake don’ talk so fas’,” he pleaded. “Go ketch yo’ chicken, like you say you wan’ do; den leave us set down an’ talk de thing over an’ un’stan’ one-’nother. ’Cause my min’ too upset ’bout de whole business; an’ I wan’ try an’ git straight befo’ I go ’way from hyuh today. Go ketch de chicken. I kin look to de stove an’ fix de pot o’ scaldin’ water an’ things ready for you, yonder in de kitchen.”

Whereupon he went into the house, Lethe’s silence being a sign of approval.

As he walked away, Lethe threw a handful of feed from the pan she held, and the chickens gathered about her and began pecking greedily. After looking them over carefully, she selected the one she wanted; stooped slowly and grabbed the unwary chicken by the neck. She took a tight grasp just below its head and began swinging it around vigorously. Two or three times it went around in a circle at arm’s length; when suddenly it was severed, the body of the chicken falling to the ground, the head remaining in her hand. The frightened hens ran off, squawking; and the roosters ran over where the bleeding victim lay kicking, pecking at it and making loud commotion. Lethe stood by and watched it until the last sign of life was gone; then stooped and picked it up and went into the house.

Felo was ready with the pot of scalding water, which he poured over the chicken when Lethe put it in the dishpan. After it cooled a bit, he began picking off the feathers; while Lethe busied herself with other preparations for the little meal for two. The time being propitious, Felo made ready to unburden himself, and began his explanation. His talk was free and persuasive, and Lethe listened, offering little or no dissenting comment. She could appreciate his feeling of pride, and assured him that she would be the “las’ person in dis worl’ to put bad mouth on him an’ roll any stone in his way.”

He told her he was glad that he had not been disappointed in her, and thanked her profusely. She was the right kind of a woman. He “always knowed she was’n no shoo-fly, picayune nigger; an’ knowed still better now, since he done had good chance to tes’ her senserra.” (Sincerity.)

While the chicken boiled they sat talking of Lizzie and Chester; Aunt Milly’s funeral, which was to take place that day; and many other things of mutual importance—Lethe getting up from time to time to add the necessary vegetables and seasoning to the chicken soup to “give it supshun.” She “stirred up a bowl o’ batter for pan-cakes,” which she fried in bacon grease; and as soon as she finished dripping a pot full of strong coffee, they sat down to eat.

It was a veritable feast to Felo, now the old relations were re-established between them; and he hated the thought of leaving. But he was obliged to be on duty when Mr. Amos came home in the evening. He wanted Lethe to go to Aunt Milly’s funeral for a “li’l pleasan’ change o’ mind”; but she said she “felt too ’shame’ to face a big crowd o’ people wid no teeth in her mouth”; that she would stay at home.

He told her good-by at the front gate, and started home feeling like he had a “whole nes’ full o’ butterflies turned loose in his stummick.”

Lizzie Cole was one of those ignorant, reckless children of Nature, utterly disregardful of the simplest rudiments of anything resembling law or religion; in consequence of which, she was unable to live at home with her God-fearing father and conventional step-mother. For a long time she had lived by herself, in a decrepit-looking two-room hut, far across the pasture in the East Green, away on the other side of the town.

The old shanty sat back in the yard, partly hidden from the road by a high, dilapidated picket fence and a hedge of giant cocklebur bushes; with two scraggy persimmon trees on one side by way of ornament.

If you happened to pass by on wash day, and saw the cocklebur bushes decorated with innumerable articles of clothing of every imaginable color, you soon learned their usefulness and lost sight of the unnecessary expense of a clothes-line. It also gave you a better understanding of Lizzie’s impatience with anyone who stupidly advised cutting the cocklebur bushes down as worthless weeds and dangerous breeding places for snakes and mosquitoes.

From time to time, Chester made “guests visits” to the retired hut; doing the cooking, washing, sewing and other domestic work; while Lizzie walked out selling blackberries and vegetables; or went gallivanting here and there in search of friendly entertainment.

To Lizzie’s cheerful way of thinking, there was no form of pleasure more enjoyable than a “good funeral.” The news of anybody’s dying always wakened up her spirits; and she “never missed goin’ to a wake or burrin’ if Gawd lef’ her strank to git there.”

It was just about sunset when Lizzie came back from Aunt Milly’s funeral. Chester was in the yard, washing, under the persimmon trees; and long before he saw her, he heard her coming across the pasture singing gaily. As she opened the gate and came in, she called to him good-naturedly:

“Leave dem ole tubs alone for tonight, Chester, an’ come-in-doahs; I wan’ tell you ’bout evvything w’at happened.”

He followed her into the house, eager to hear all she had to tell.

The room was dark, and he lit a candle and put it on the mantelpiece. A sickly fire was smoldering on the hearth; and after raking the coals together and starting it to burn well with a few shingles, he threw a large piece of wood across the andirons, and sat down on the floor.

The place was orderly; the floor, spotlessly clean. Near the window was a deal table with a few dishes and pans on it, and a wooden bucket of drinking water and a dipper. Across from the chimney in the “guest corner” of the room, was a low cot covered with a patch-work quilt, a trophy from one of Carmelite’s raffles; a gay masterpiece of bewildering design which she called the “fifty revalashuns of de forty-seven wonders.” The walls were covered with newspapers, ornamented here and there with gay-colored circus posters and magazine covers; and the mantelshelf, decorated with a towering pyramid of empty coffee, tomato and baking-powder cans, bright and shining as “any natchal silver on de w’ite-folks side-boa’d.”

While Chester was fixing the fire, Lizzie had gone into the adjoining room and taken off her shoes and exchanged her “good street clo’se” for a “sloven fit”; so her body, as well as her mind, might enjoy perfect freedom of movement throughout the evening conference.

“Now, I kin talk to my natchal comfut,” she said to Chester, coming into the room and drawing a stool before the fire and sitting down near him.

Chester was all attention, so there was little need for useless preliminaries. Looking at the fire meditatively Lizzie began her interesting soliloquy, her voice low and quiet.

“Nobody can’t say that ole Aunt Milly didn’t have a fine burryin’,” she told him.... “Look like people had come from every direction to sing over Aunt Milly just for ole time sake; and because she come from so far away.... Look like some people shed tears over Aunt Milly because she was gone; and some for the good she did.... And she never knowed one woman her own color, old or young, to have so many fine flowers at one time; flowers so natchal till they looked artificial....

“But de one thing goin’ keep my min’ rollin’ for a long time,” she continued, stressing every word with dramatic fervor, “was de soun’ o’ dat water gluggin’ in de coffin w’en dey let Aun’ Milly down in de grave.... De same way you hyeah it go glug-glug-glug w’en you hol’ a empty bottle und’ de water, an’ de soun’ keep on’ gluggin’ till de bottle be filled up.... Yas, Lawd.

“It sho was a soun’ dat made me cunsider w’at I want y’all do wid me w’en de time come for puttin’ me away.... An’ Chester, I want you look to it; you hyeah me?... You know dis lan’ is a swampy lan’; an’ it hol’s de water a long time; ’specially aft’ a heavy rain bin fall. An’ you kin bail de water out a grave much as you want, but you can’ keep it from seepin’ back in agin.... So you make ’um put me way up on a top shelf in dat big tomb ’long-side de back fence, yonder in de Gates o’ Mary, high an’ dry out de flood. ’Cause I sho don’ wan’ think ’bout bein’ drownded aft’ I done died in my bed natchal.... No Lawd, not me!”

“Sho mus’ bin made Aun’ Amy felt bad,” Chester commiserated.

“Who?” Lizzie exclaimed with sudden animation. “Aun’ Amy ain’ knowed a single thing w’at went on w’en dey put Aun’ Milly way.... She fell to sleep in de ca’idge on de way to de graveyard; an’ w’en dey reached de place, an’ wan’ try an’ make Aun’ Amy git out an’ walk to de grave-side, leadin’ de moaners; de po’ ole soul was so helpless drunk, dey had to leave ’uh settin’ up in de ca’idge in de road.... An’ she ain’ took no part in _none_ de excitement.”

Chester laughed heartily. “Lawd! I’m sho sorry I missed goin’ wid you,” he remarked. “But stop talkin’ ’bout dead people, Lizzie; an’ tell who else you seen yonder.”

“Chester, you ain’ expec’ me to tell you ’bout all dat mult’tude o’ niggers dey had to Aun’ Milly funeyun, is you?” Lizzie asked, playfully. “De main thing I got to tell you, is ’bout Sis’ Tempe. Me an’ her walked home together; an’ chile, w’at she had to say, sho got my min’ upset thinkin’ ’bout it.”

“W’at make you wan’ worry ’bout anything Sis’ Tempe tell you? Don’t you know Tempe ain’ bin right ever since Unc’ Peesah died? An’ her min’ comes and goes?” Chester reminded her.

“Da’s de very thing I’m comin’ to,” Lizzie answered. “Tempe simple-minded, I know. But if she keep on goin’ ’roun ’munks people an’ talkin’ like she talk to me today; ’tain goin’ be but _one_ po’ nigger land in jail befo’ de end o’ dis year be over; a’ dat nigger ain’ goin’ be nobody but Chester.”

“W’at thing dis is Tempe done mixed me up in?” Chester asked in dull amazement.

Lizzie told him how Tempe complained to her about everything going to ruin since Peesah died, leaving her with nobody to take care of the place. How the garden needed plowing, and nobody wanted to do it for her. How she thought of selling her mule and dump cart to Nat, because she had no money to keep them; and what money she got by selling them would buy food and clothes and all she needed.... That she knew somebody was burning a candle over her to keep bad luck in her way just for “envy-stripe”.... That she was sure of it; because she found red pepper and buzzard feathers and candle-sperm tracks on her front door steps, three Friday mornings hand-running....

But they couldn’t fool her. She knew who it was; and wasn’t afraid to tell, either.... It wasn’t nobody but the same sly nigger that lived next-door to her the time Peesah died so sudden.... Couldn’t be nobody else.... That’s why he moved away from next door.... To keep people from knowing anything about the needle.... But Gawd don’t sleep. And everything got to come out when God command you to speak your mind....

And Peesah had come to her in her sleep three times already. And she saw the needle in his hand plain as day. And he called out to her so loud, her sleep was broke for the rest of the night....

“She say she hyeah’d Unc’ Peesah call to ’uh:

“Tempe, take dis needle back!
Put it in de place whah de needle b’lonks.
Lissen w’at I tell you, an’ do w’at I say!”

“An’ dah whah she say she seen de needle in ’uh own han’; but Unc’ Peesah was gone clean out o’ sight.”

Chester looked about the room uneasily; and got up and closed the front door. Lizzie watched him, waiting for him to speak. He went over to the cot and sat down, looking at her questioningly.

“You think Tempe seen Peesah sperret sho’ ’nuff?” He asked her.

“Da’s de very thing I wan’ know myself,” she answered. “But ain’t you say Tempe min’ comes an’ goes?... Maybe ’tain’ nothin’ but Tempe ’maginashun make ’uh think she seen Unc’ Peesah sperret.”

“But ain’ she say she had de needle in ’uh own han’ aft’ he done lef’?” Chester reminded her.

“Da’s w’at she say,” Lizzie answered. “An’ if you wan’ b’lieve ’uh, it sho look like de needle p’intin’ to’ads you bein’ de lawful owner; Tempe nex’-do’ neighbor, de time Unc’ Peesah died. Don’t it?”

He couldn’t deny that Tempe had come to him for the needle and that he had given it to her. Lizzie knew that he had always been an obliging neighbor to Tempe, lending her anything she needed if he happened to have it.

The evening Uncle Peesah “took down wid de colic,” Tempe ran over to Chester to borrow a needle and thread to “sew up a salt-sack full o’ hot bran, to lay on Peesah stummick to ease de mizry.” Chester gave her the needle and thread and she went home with it. Late that night Uncle Peesah died; and Tempe told every one that his death was caused from eating cucumber salad and buttermilk. It was a reasonable excuse, and as nobody bothered about making any sort of examination to ascertain the real cause, Tempe felt perfectly secure. But Chester had his doubts. Tempe had long confided her troubles to him, and he knew how Peesah’s unfaithfulness had aroused her jealousy on numerous occasions; and how she had threatened to wreak vengeance, and “git even wid ’im for runnin’ wid yuther wimmins.” Therefore it was natural for Chester to suspect her of using the borrowed needle for a secret instrument of fatal despatch.

“But who you think goin’ pay any ’tenshun to Tempe ramblin’ talk ’bout who de needle b’lonks to?” Chester asked, after thoughtful consideration. “Nobody ain’ goin’ know w’at she mean.”

“Nobody ain’ goin’ know?” Lizzie demanded. “You better look ove’ yo’ min’, boy; an’ think on Felo an’ Soongy an’ ole treach’ous Gussie, an’ all dem yuther niggers dey had to Susan house Sunday, w’en you was tellin’ ’bout how Unc’ Peesah died.... You ain’ think you safe from suspicion wid all dem tongues waggin’; once dey done learned Tempe puttin’ de blame on you. Is you?”

“How you reckon I’m goin’ keep ’um from talkin’?” He appealed to her. “I ain’ see no way I kin stop ’um, if dey wan’ lissen at w’at a crazy ooman say.”

“Da’s de very thing you gotta consider,” Lizzie advised him. “You gotta go see Tempe, an’ talk to ’uh bol’ an’ brazen; an’ make ’uh un’stan she gotta keep still; lessen you give way de whole truth ’bout de thing; an’ bring ’uh up befo’ de law, an’ make ’um prove who de guilty one. Da’s w’at you gotta do.... An’ you better go dis very night; aft’ you done had a li’l somh’n to eat. So come on; lessus git somh’n ready right now. An’ you go yonder to Tempe house soon’s you git thoo.”

Chester got up, and placed two bricks at the front of the hearth, then raked out a small pile of coals between them. He filled a pot with water from the bucket on the table and put it over the bricks, to boil for coffee: Lizzie cut a few slices of salt pork which she took from a basket hanging from a rafter near the window; laid them in a skillet with some grease and sliced onions, and put it over the fire to fry. She cut some cheese, broke a loaf of twist-bread in several parts, put the bread and cheese on a plate, and placed it by the side of the hearth. When the coffee was made and the meat was fried, she filled a pan for Chester and one for herself, and they sat down before the fire and began eating.

Neither one seemed inclined to talk, feeling that conversation of any kind would cause delay; and Chester’s visit to Tempe had to be accomplished that night.

As soon as he finished drinking his coffee, Lizzie said to him: “Leave evvything be, jes like it is, an’ you go straight off. An’ be sho you make Tempe un’stan good, dat you know w’at you know.... An’ don’ talk too timmasun (timorous) either.”

Chester nodded assent; put on his hat and coat, and started off across the pasture, on his way to Tempe’s.

At every second street corner of the town, as a protection in time of fire, there were large underground wells, bricked-in and covered over with heavy boards. In time of drouth, when the supply of cistern water had to be economized for drinking purposes, the villagers used the well water for their cattle, truck gardens, and for washing clothes; but owing to the earthy, swampy taste of the water, it was unfit for drinking.

The floor-like tops of these wells were delightful gathering places for the colored children of the neighborhood on moonlight nights. Here they would congregate for their merry games and romping; the pleasant sound of their happy voices becoming a sort of evening service for the old folks who came out of doors to sit on the gutter-curb and doorsteps, eager to enjoy a bit of friendly gossip after a long day’s toil.

Tempe was sitting in the doorway of her house, in the glowing moonlight, smoking her pipe and listening to the singing children at the corner, when Chester came up to her.

“’Deevnin’, Sis’ Tempe,” he greeted her politely. “I was wond’rin if I was goin’ fin’ you at yo’ house. You know who dis is, don’t you?”

She looked at him quietly, making no sign of recognition.

“Dis me, Sis’ Tempe,” he said, taking a seat near her. “Dis Chester. Chester Frackshun, w’at use to live ’longside you, yonder ’cross de green.”

“I ain’ forgot who you is,” she told him, looking at him searchingly. “I ain’ forget nothin’.... An’ you ain’ need to tell me w’at you come after, either. Cause I’m sho goin’ give de thing back to de lawful owner, now you done come hyuh.”

Getting up to go into the house, she said to him: “Set hyuh on de do’-step till I come back.”

“Lemme come inside wid you, Sis’ Tempe,” Chester suggested, getting up to follow her. “I wan’ talk wid you on a li’l business.”

“Stay right whah you is till I come back, I tell you,” she commanded, looking at him fixedly for several seconds before going inside.

Chester sat down again and waited on the steps for her to return.

After a while she came back with a cup of salt in her hand, and stood mumbling some unintelligible words, as she sprinkled the salt across the threshold, in the form of a cross. Having finished, she said to him:

“De one dey call Chester kin come in, now. But w’at be fol’rin ’im, gotta stay out-do’s.”

He made no comment about the strange invitation, but got up and went inside.

The room was in semi-darkness; the only light being the reflected glow of a candle in the back room, and a narrow stream of moonlight coming through the open door at the front, falling across the well-scrubbed floor like a stripe of tarnished silver.

“Set hyuh whah I kin seen you,” Tempe said; placing a chair near the door where the moonlight would fall across him.

Chester took the offered seat, and Tempe sat down opposite, half-hidden in the shadow.

“You mus’ bin know I wan’ see you?” she asked. And without waiting for his reply, she went on speaking in a kind of ecstasy:

“Boy, de sperret o’ Gawd don’ never work in vain.

“An’ don’t you never try to b’lieve de sperret gives up.

“E knows ’is own strank; an’ ’e knows ’is time.

“An’ soon or later, ’e sho goin’ track you down, an’ all de wrong-doin’ you done commit in de dark, de sperret o’ Gawd goin’ drag it fo’th an’ shame you in de light o’ day!

“Yas, Jesus.... You hyeah me talkin’?”

“Yas. I hyeah you talkin’,” Chester answered abruptly. “But w’at you talkin’ ’bout, Sis’ Tempe, ain’ nothin’ cuncernin’ me. You better ’zamine yo’ own cawnshunce, an’ see w’at de sperret o’ Gawd goin’ bring to light to ’cuse you wid yo’ own-self.... An’ don’t you try to drag me in de thing either.... ’Cause you know w’at you know. An’ I know a heap mo’ on de subjec’ w’at you ain’ never thought over.... So dey got two’v us to git up an’ talk on de queshtun, w’en de time come for provin’ who got to stan’ de blame.... So you better cunsider long an’ careful, befo’ you go ’roun hyuh talkin’ so broadcas’.... You hyeah w’at I tell you?”

His tone was severe and emphatic; and she sat looking at him in subdued silence. He felt sorry for her, and wanted her to know that he was willing to help her any way he could.

“You ain’ got to be ’fraid o’ me, Sis’ Tempe,” he told her feelingly. “Don’t you know ’tain’ nobody but you an’ me kin tell anything ’bout de needle?... Put de thing out yo’ ’membunce, an’ stop worrin’ ’bout it. Talkin’ too much on de thing only goin’ make people mo’ suspicious; an’ dat ain’ goin’ help you none.”

Tempe contemplated his face in the moonlight for a few seconds before answering.

“But Peesah de one don’ wan’ lemme res’,” she faltered. “Evvy night, w’en I be sleepin’, ’e comes to me des like ’is natchal self, an’ tawments my po’ soul ’bout dat needle so, till I has to git up out de bed an’ walk ’roun’ de room, an’ try’n fin’ somh’n to do to ease my min’.”

Chester told her of several charms he was sure would help her. The old folks said they were the only protection against ghosts and spirits, and they couldn’t fail if you did them the right way.—A pan of water on the door-step in the moonlight: Death won’t cross water while the moon is shining on it.—A mirror placed by the side of the bed: Death don’t want to see himself in a looking-glass.—Leave a dog in the room when you go to bed; dogs can see spirits in the dark, and Death don’t like to hear a dog howl in the night-time.

Tempe said she had tried them all, and none of the charms had helped her.

He told her about putting nettles on the floor; scattered over the threshold and sprinkled around the bed: Death wouldn’t walk on “stingin’-nettles” in the house, because he had to walk on them in the graveyard. But the nettles had to be picked at midnight, when the heavy dew was on them.

Tempe told him she was glad to know the new charm, and would try it that night. She knew where some nettles were growing alongside Miss Collamore’s fence by the corner. Maybe white-folks’ nettles would be better. She would wait until midnight, and go pick them, and sprinkle them on the floor before she went to bed.

Chester assured her that the charm would work; and he felt pleased that he was able to give her something that would divert her attention from the mysterious needle, and the accusing thoughts that disturbed her mind. He wished her good luck, and arose to go; saying that he would pass by in the morning to hear what happened.