Chapter VI: Part 6

The words didn’t carry a very cheerful greeting; but the melody was a lovely one; thought Mr. Amos, as he stood listening, waiting until Felo would finish the verse.

“I kin leave at break of day,
You will find but empty clay,—
Lawd, I wonder w’at they’ll say
W’en I’m gone...?”

“What a strange allurement death and wakes and funerals seem to hold out to him; when at heart he is really of a happy disposition,” Mr. Amos commented, as Felo ended his song and changed to a soft murmuring hum.

Mr. Amos stood looking about the room, waiting for Felo to sing again. Suddenly he became conscious of the odor of pineapple. Wondering where it came from, he soon discovered a large pineapple towering out of the punch bowl on the corner cupboard, and another one standing on a tray on the side table.

“Well, what do you call this?” He asked Felo, not knowing how to regard the unusual decoration.

Felo came in from the kitchen, smiling, wanting to know if everything wasn’t “sattafactual.”

Everything was fine. He was thoroughly pleased; Mr. Amos told him. “But will you kindly tell me why you bought these pineapples and put them in here after this fashion?”

Felo looked at the pineapples thoughtfully, his face assuming a puzzled expression. What was the matter with them? They were nice and fresh.... He never let nobody sell him no cheap rotten fruits.... These pineapples were fine ripe pineapples.... And nobody couldn’t buy no better pineapples for two-bits a piece....

“But you know I never eat pineapples,” Mr. Amos informed him placidly.

“Dah bless Gawd!” Felo exclaimed, abashed; rolling his eyes impressively from one pineapple to the other. “You know, I clean forgot you ain’ never eat pineapple,” he tried to explain. “Gawd knows.” He apologized with deep feeling. “De thing sho did slip my membunce, jus’ like I tell you.”

“And that’s the reason why you bought two pineapples instead of one?” Mr. Amos asked, teasingly.

“You ain’ try’n to raise no complaint ’bout fo’-bits, is you?” Felo went on. “But you know, de things look so nice an’ temptin’ w’en I seen ’um on de Dago stan’ dis mawnin’; I thought on w’at I hyeah’d you say,—how dis place smell so mouldy.... So I say: I’m goin’ buy dese pair o’ pineapples an’ put ’um in de room hyuh; an’ I know dey goin’ sho out-stink a billy-goat.... An’ I bet you ain’ smell no miljew scent up in hyuh now. Is you?”

Mr. Amos complimented him on his novel method of disinfecting, but said he preferred to smell the tempting scent that came floating in from the pots.

Felo rolled his eyes appreciatively, saying:

“Well, hurry up an’ set to de table, an’ lemme bring you yo’ li’l foods befo’ yo’ appatite fo’sake you. Evvything ready. So come on an’ eat. An’ maybe I kin go ’way from hyuh soon, w’en I git thoo waitin’ on you.”

Further urging was unnecessary. Mr. Amos knew by the regaling odors coming from the kitchen, that the evening meal would consist of much more than the meager “coffee and bread” which Felo promised in the morning. Having revoked his threat, in spite of the many duties accomplished that day, Felo had exerted himself in preparing a truly noble dinner.

Not satisfied with the simple luxury of eggplant stuffed with shrimp and tomato, seasoned with onion, thyme, parsley and red pepper, macerated with milk and butter, Felo had added the epicurean garnish of rolled toast and grated sapsago cheese. The yam potatoes, crowned with an aureole of golden-brown marshmallows, looked like an arrangement of autumn leaves mottled with sunshine; and Mr. Amos found himself wondering if it were not a bowl of delectable vegetables masquerading as a delicious dessert. The pork chops were smothered in a rich tomato gravy flavored with cloves and lemon peel; a tempting ragout, which Felo assured Mr. Amos, as he placed before him a plate of hot biscuits just out of the oven, “sho will make you rear back an’ smack yo’ lips manful, after you done sopped some o’ dese light biscuits in dis good ole-time Creyall gravy.”

Knowing that Felo at all times looked for more active proof than simple words of praise in appreciation of his culinary efforts, Mr. Amos endeavored to “perish” and “destroy” as much as was humanly possible. Because Felo was most pleased when he saw people “eat good”; and “et like dey bin use to good eatin’.” Feeling that “a dinner table full o’ empty plates an’ dishes was cert’ny mo’ convincin’ den a whole lot o’ col’ overs settin’ up in de ’frigerator.”

When Mr. Amos finished his coffee, he went upstairs to lie down, leaving Felo to “scuffle wid his pots an’ make quick tracks for Gritny.” It was not long before the kitchen boomed with the happy chorus of “De ole sheep done knowed de road”; every now and then a broken cadence floating off through the house like the sound of jubilation:

“My brother, ain’t you got yo’ counts all sealed?
De young lambs mus’ find de way.
You better git ’um ready ’fore you leave dis field;
De young lambs mus’ find de way.”

It was a pleasant sound, and Mr. Amos delayed reading his book as long as the singing continued. As soon as there was silence in the kitchen, he knew that Felo was dressing, and that it would not be long until he was on his way across the river to Gussie’s wake.

If there were two particular forms of divertissement equally cherished by every dweller of the East Green and thereabouts, perhaps the one holding second place would be the fine funeral following a nice wake. Granting this, it was easy to understand why Gussie’s obsequies seemed to offer something of more than ordinary importance. Being a white man, and an outcast among his own color; and a man without religion, and therefore counted a lost soul among his church-going colored companions; they were deeply concerned about how he would be “put away with any right kind of form and fashion.” ... Who could they get to preach his funeral if the colored elder didn’t want to come?... Maybe Aunt Fisky would get the white folks to bring the priest to say prayers and swing smoke over Gussie and sprinkle him with holy water?...

Conjectural comment was at its height when Felo arrived. And curious to know the full particulars, like all the other members present, he asked Aunt Fisky if she had done anything regarding the funeral ceremonies. She told him quietly that she didn’t want any priest or revyun of any kind to come up in her house.... She wasn’t no hypocrite.... Everybody in Gritny knew that Gussie never was no church member.... And now that Gussie was ’ceased, there wasn’t no use for any elder to stand up and preach about his sinful ways.... It couldn’t help Gussie none. And what good would it do anybody else?... They ain’t got to tell Gawd about it; ’cause Gawd already knowed what Gussie was. So He didn’t have to listen to a whole lot o’ random.... And besides, she didn’t believe in rakin’-up people’s wrong-doin’ after they gone. The members could sing over Gussie much as they pleased. And the man from the Peefus Lodge could say the Ow Father and read something out his book. And that’s all she cared about.... And she was goin’ to see that they did it, too.... Gussie had dragged on long enough with a whole lot o’ racket and confusion. So she made up her mind that she was goin’ to see him go ’way from this earth quiet and respectable.... She wasn’t goin’ to find no fault ’bout havin’ a brass band; ’cause she knowed Gussie always liked music and was _too_ proud to walk behind a purrade. So, if people cared anything at all about her and Gussie feelin’s, she cert’ny would look to see them respect her wishes in this lonesome interprise....

Felo said he would tell everyone present, and promised to see that her wishes would be obeyed. He went over to talk to Carmelite, where she was sitting in a corner, looking very dejected. She shook hands with him and listened silently as he repeated what Aunt Fisky had told him.

“An’ you sho kin count on me, Mr. Felo, to help you make dese niggers do de right thing,” Carmelite assured him feelingly.

“You goin’ set up all night?” Felo asked her.

“Sho Gawd is,” she declared with fervor. “Bad as I feel; I’m goin’ stay right hyuh, an’ fix de coffee an’ do all I kin, befo’ I go home to my house.”

“W’a’s de matter?” Felo asked wonderingly. “You ain’ sick, is you?”

No; she wasn’t ’zacly sick; Carmelite told him. She was jus’ feelin’ down-casted.... Sittin’ there an’ lookin’ at Gussie, an’ callin’ back to her mind what took place to her house last night.... Gussie eatin’ up all her duck-egg cake with nobody but himself, yonder in her kitchen.... And hyuh a whole crowd o’ people come to eat crackers and coffee over Gussie; and he layin there on the table and ain’t knowin’ a thing ’bout what was goin’ on....

“An’ lookin’ so natchal, too. Widout any puttin’-on a-tall,” came Frozine’s sympathetic comment.

“Ain’t it true,” agreed Mozella. “For a man bin cut half-in-two like he is, Gussie sho do look natchal.”

“An’ ain’ he got a nice pale color?” remarked Soongy.

“Sho is,” declared Nookie. “I ain’ never took notice till now, how pale Gussie complexion.”

“Look like Death done bleached his skin mo’ lighter,” Carmelite reflected pensively.

“An’ Gussie sho look like somebody diffunt, layin’ up there strouded in dem purrade clo’se he got on,” said Pinkey, taking a seat along-side of Carmelite.

At sight of Aunt Fisky coming in from the back room, all comment ceased for a while. She came over where the women were sitting, and gave Carmelite a pan full of orange leaves, asking her to pin them on the sheet “droped” over the table where Gussie was lying. Carmelite and several of the women got down on their knees and began pinning the orange leaves on the sheet, making a border in the form of a cross all around the bier.

At length, a low mournful humming began to tremble in the room as the women went on with their work in the dim weird light from the flickering candles, standing in bottles on the mantelpiece and on the table at Gussie’s head and feet.

Before long the old house was vibrating to the rolling sound of

“Didn’t my Lawd deliver Daniel,
And why not every man...?”

Their voices pulsating with unusual fervor and their minds thrilled with the import of the words:

“O de wind blows east, an’ de wind blows west;
It blows like a Judgment Day;
An’ ev’ry poor soul that never did pray
’ll be glad to pray dat day.”

One by one the neighbors continued to come in, each one bringing along from home a chair to sit on; knowing that Aunt Fisky would not be able to accommodate them, and that the crowd would increase as the night went on.

Felo began looking about eagerly to see if Lethe had come. What kept her so late? He asked himself.... He would run around to her house to see what was the matter.... Now was a good time. The singing was at its height.... Nobody would miss him....

Felo lost no time, but hurried on across the Green and down the street to Lethe’s house. As he opened the gate, he was surprised to find her sitting on the gallery steps, leaning against the post in the darkness.

“W’at you doin’, settin’ out hyuh in de jew all alone?” He asked abruptly. “Who you waitin’ for? Settin’ out hyuh in de dark, wid dis chill air blowin’ ’cross yo’ shoulders, an’ nothin’ on to puhteck you from de night dampness?”

“I’m waitin’ hyuh for Lizzie Cole to come,” Lethe answered, quietly.

“Settin’ out hyuh on-cuncerned, waitin’ for ole loud-mouth Lizzie; an’ Aun’ Fisky an’ evvybody waitin’ yonder for you to come to Gussie wake; an’ had to git me to come see w’at keepin’ you?” He complained. “W’at kind o’ game dis is you play’n, inny-way?” He demanded with mock seriousness. “You ain’ inten’ to go to de wake tonight?”

“I gotta wait hyuh till Lizzie come wid dem chickens, befo’ I kin go,” Lethe answered calmly.

“W’at chickens you talkin’ ’bout?” He asked impatiently. “I don’ know nothin’ ’bout any chickens.... Ole crazy Lizzie ain’ thinkin’ ’bout bringin’ no chickens to Gussie wake, is she?... An’ you ain’ wan’ play fool an’ uphol’ ’uh in ’uh devilment?”

“Felo, for Gawd sake set down, an’ don’ talk so hasty,” Lethe told him with annoyance. “Lizzie comin’ hyuh to bring de chickens she wan’ me keep for ’uh till she come back from sugar-grindin’, yonder whah she goin’ to Lafoosh plantation.”

“W’en she goin’?” Felo asked, sitting down beside Lethe on the step.

“Dey got a whole crowd o’ wimmins goin’ in de mawnin’; an’ I spec’ Lizzie goin’ ’long wid’ um’ on de Morgan train.”

“An’ she had to wait till dis late in de night to go ketch chickens an’ fetch ’um hyuh to bother you wid ’um?... W’at make ole lazy Chester couldn’ brought ’um hyuh in de day-time?”

“Chester gone away,” Lethe informed him.

“Who? Chester gone sugar-grindin’!” Felo exclaimed, laughing with great amusement. “Lizzie Cole better hurry an’ go yonder an’ look after Chester, befo’ some dem green country niggers sasharate de po’ boy body an’ soul, w’en he workin’ munks de mens, cuttin’ sugar cane in de big open fiel’.”

“W’at make you all time wan’ be so scoffish?” Lethe asked him. “Chester ain’ big enough to take care himself?... Chester ain’ simple.... An’ you ain’ need to worry ’bout Chester. ’Cause Chester ain’ gone to no country to cut no sugar cane.... Whah Chester gone ain’ nobody business. So try’n keep still, an’ don’ be talkin’ all ove’ yo’ mouth till you know somh’n ’bout people mo’ better’n guessin’ an’ supposin’.”

“But no!” Felo faltered; surprised at her unexpected defensive attitude. “Since w’en you done come to be mixed up in Chester business so, you gotta set to me like dis?”

“Felo, is you a plumb fool all by yo’-self?” Lethe asked him quietly. “W’at I wan’ do, havin’ any traffic wid chillun like Chester?... You ain’ got to come hyuh an’ ’cuse me, suspicious like dat....”

“Chillun, man, or boy; or w’atsome-ever you wan’ call it,” he interrupted sullenly. “But look like y’all two mus’ be got some kind o’ secut un’stannin’ wid each-another; w’en you so quick to take up de queshtun, an’ ack like you know somh’n you don’ wan’ tell ’bout.... But da’s alright,” he went on, with an aggrieved air. “You ain’ compel to lemme know w’at goin’ on.... W’en you got Chester right hyuh so conveenyun all de time; an’ I’m way yonder ’cross de river, countin’ on evvything bein’ straight, an’ trus’in all things is fair an’ square.... You ain’ compel to tell me nothin’, if da’s de way yo’ mind lead you....”

“Felo, for Gawd sake, shet yo’ mouth an’ keep still,” Lethe told him; getting up from the steps and starting to go into the house. “Hyuh come Lizzie, now.... So come in-doors, if you wan’ find out ’bout Chester.... Leave Lizzie tell you ’bout him. She ain’ goin’ hol’ nothin’ back from you.... Hyuh she is, now. Go ’head inside; an’ don’ look so hateful.”

Lizzie arrived with a great bunch of squawking chickens in each hand. Seeing the gate closed, and unable to help herself, she called out boisterously:

“Whah y’all done lef’ yo’ manners, you can’t come hyuh an’ open dis gate an’ lemme in? You wan’ leave me stay out hyuh all night helpless? Wid all dis mighty roocus dese crazy chickens raisin’ right hyuh in front Lethe door?... Come open dis gate, for Gawd sake. Befo’ some dese inquiztun w’ite folks run up hyuh an’ try to ’res’ Lizzie for robbin’ people hen-roos’ after hours like dis is.... Stop yo’ grinnin’, an’ come hyuh an’ gimme a han’,” she commanded.

Felo hurried to open the gate and let her in, and Lethe led the way to the back yard; both of them laughing heartily at Lizzie’s amusing speech and the antics she performed as she deposited the squawking chickens on the ground. Felo helped her untie the strings from their feet, and after they were put away for the night and Lethe saw that the chicken house door was made fast, the party went into the kitchen and sat down to talk.

After scanning the room inquisitively, Lizzie got up and helped herself to a dipper of water from the bucket standing on the table; then kicked off her shoes and made herself ready to enjoy any form of entertainment the night would offer. Seeing that she was in a loquacious humor, Lethe encouraged her to talk of Chester; knowing how curious Felo was to learn something of his whereabouts. At the mention of his name, Felo asked if Chester was going to the wake.

“No,” Lizzie answered quietly; then added with a grandiloquent air, that Mr. Frackshun was trav’lin’.

“To Lafourche?” Felo inquired.

“No. To furren parts,” Lizzie told him, enigmatically.

“To the sugar-grindin’?” Felo persisted.

No. Mr. Frackshun didn’t care nothin’ ’bout playin’ in a cane field; Lizzie informed him facetiously. Mr. Frackshun said he found cuttin’ cane too bitterly against the constitution.... ’Tain’ everybody kin stand it like wimmins bin use to it.... An’ innyway, Mr. Frackshun said he was afraid of his feets gittin’ fros’-bitten, cold mawnin’s like they had in the country.... And a cane-knife was such a dang’us-lookin’ weepon, Mr. Frackshun said he couldn’t see how he was goin’ to git use to totin’ one....

What was Lizzie tryin’ to make out of Chester? Felo asked her reprovingly. Since when did Chester come to be so high-up and particular that he could pick and choose the kind of work he wanted to do, when niggers in Gritny was glad to do any kind of work that come to their hand, tight as money was this time of the year?... Was she satisfied to listen to Chester’s crazy talk, and leave him stay home playin’ weak and timmasun, layin’ up on her all winter long doin’ nothin’? While she was scufflin’ yonder in the frosty cane-field, workin’ her poor fool-self to death till way after Christmas, when the grindin’ was over?... Lizzie must think Chester was some kind of jew’lry had to be locked up in the house to keep people from runnin’ off with....

“But you know de ole house so rickety an’ lavadated, Mr. Felo, da’s de very reason I sont Chester ’way from hyuh,” Lizzie told him with impressive seriousness. “My li’l ole shanty ain’ no safe place to hide nothin’ w’en dese Gritny w’ite folks commences plund’in an’ searchin’.... An’ jus’ like you say,—Chester so simple an’ timmasun,—Lizzie ain’ feel like she wan’ take no chances.... So da’s how come she make de jew’lry take a depahter.” (Departure.)

“Lawd! Lizzie, you sho is a circus,” exclaimed Lethe, laughing heartily.

Felo looked puzzled and annoyed, and scowled at Lethe, wondering at her amusement. What did Lizzie mean? He asked her impatiently. Did she think he came there to waste time and listen to a whole lot of riddles and humbug?... He wasn’t no chillun.... If she wanted to talk, why didn’t she talk plain and natchal; and not try to talk a mouth full of mystery nobody wasn’t able to ’lucidate....

“Dey ain’ got no myst’ry ’bout Chester goin’ ’way from hyuh, Mr. Felo,” Lizzie explained quietly. “I _sont_ de boy ’way from hyuh; an’ I know de place whah he gone to. An’ dey ain’ nobody else but Lizzie Cole to be helt ’sponsible for de boy welfare, w’en de time come for givin’ ’count on Chester Frackshun disa’pyunce out o’ Gritny.... So sen’ ’um to me, w’en dey wan’ ax queshtun an’ find out somh’n.... I ain’t ’fraid to face ’um.”

“Who dat you got to face ’bout Chester goin’ away?” Felo asked quickly.

“All dem parties an’ parties settin’ up in de cou’t-house, try’n to play smart,” Lizzie answered.

“W’at thing dis Chester done commit, you gotta worry ’bout people in de cou’t-house callin’ on you?” Felo asked with eager surprise.

“’Tain’ nothin’ Chester did,—’zac’ly speakin’,” Lizzie went on to explain. It was the things the white folks might come to do if they heard that Chester was under suspicion.... Because he had already runned up on danger two times: with all these niggers blabbin’ about the way ole Unc’ Peesah died. And about the needle Tempe got from Chester the night before the old man passed out. Then come Unc’ Nat, spreadin’ the news that Chester was the one that left the well open at the corner the night Tempe got drownded, makin’ it look like the boy wanted to get her out of the way to stop any more talk about the fatal needle.... Who? No indeed.... She wasn’t goin’ to leave a poor simple motherless boy like Chester stay home alone when she went to the sugar-grindin’, so the white folks could come and land him up in jail; when he was just natchally innocent and helpless.... ’Specially when that man lookin’ after the light on the Morgan road, had come to her the mawnin’ after Gussie was runned over; inquirin’ what time it was when Chester come home the night before; and if he seen the switch light burnin’ when he went ’cross the Green.... Tryin’ to make it look like Chester had somh’n to do with bein’ mixed-up in how Gussie come to be runned over by a switch engine....

“Lawd, Lizzie! Go ’way from hyuh,” Lethe exclaimed aghast. “You ain’ never tol’ me dat befo’.”

“W’at you said to de man?” Felo asked, greatly concerned.

“I say: Who you mean, Chester Frackshun?... I say: Dis de place he live; but he ain’ bin home hyuh for over a week.... I say: Chester yonder ’cross de lake, workin’ in a saw mill on Blind River. An’ I know he ain’ seen no kind o’ switch light yonder in dat swampy lonesome country.”

“An’ Chester was already gone away?” Felo wanted to know.

“Who?” Lizzie laughed, pleased with the remembrance of her little stratagem. Chester was right there in the kitchen, down on his knees, she went on to relate; close enough for the man to hear the sound of the scrubbin’-brush swishin’ up an’ down the kitchen flo’, right behind where she was standin’ in the door-way.

“But soon as de man shet de gate an’ went away, I say: Chester, put dat scrubbin’-brush an’ bucket out yo’ han’s, an’ git up from hyuh an’ pack yo’ clo’se quick as you kin git ’um together.... You gotta go ’way from hyuh tonight,—an’ not a _word_ from you.... Hyuh come another death done layed at you do’. So you ain’ got a thing to do, but hurry ’way from dis place, an’ stay ’way from hyuh till all dis commotion pass over an’ times come to be natchal again.... ’Cause you know, I’m goin’ yonder to Lafoosh to de grindin’; an’ you ain’ got strank enough to fight all dese Gritny w’ite folks w’en dey commence pickin’ on you, an’ Lizzie ain’ hyuh to puhteck you.... So git together all yo’ few l’il scat’rin rags; ’cause I wan’ see you leave dis house tonight, soon’s it git dark....”

“An’ you made ’im go ’way?” Felo interrupted.

“Who? Chester ain’ no fool,” she answered. “Chester know too good, how he gotta listen w’en Lizzie lay down de law an’ preach ’im somh’n cuncernin’ of ’is welfare.... Yas indeed, he went away,” she continued. “Went away wid ’is li’l bundle und’ ’is arm, quick as I could git yonder to de boat landin’ on de Basin, an’ make ’rangements wid de man on de charcoal lugger to take Chester ’long wid ’im to do de cookin’ on de trip over.”

“So da’s w’at Chester goin’ do now? Go back to cookin’ on de charcoal luggers for de winter?” Felo inquired.

“I ain’ told you Chester was goin’ stay on no charcoal lugger all winter,” Lizzie informed him sharply.

“Den whah Chester gone?” Felo demanded.

“To furren parts,” Lizzie replied with tantalizing artfulness.

Felo looked at her with a scowl of displeasure, feeling that she meant to withhold something important from him. What made her act so tight-mouth, and try to keep things so secret? He asked with impatience. Did she have to hide things like that from close friends like him and Lethe?... Didn’t she know that both of them would be ready to stand by Chester if he got into any trouble with the white folks?... What ailed her, anyway?

Mr. Felo had to excuse her, Lizzie informed him politely; but she just natchally couldn’t trust no ’ceitful niggers, any more than she could trust some of the white folks.... ’Specially white folks like some of them shoo-fly offsprings they had sittin’ up in the court house....

“But who is you, in de name o’ Gawd?” Lethe asked in a surprised voice, looking at her quietly and speaking very slowly. “Settin’ hyuh talkin’ ’bout niggers bein’ ’ceitful,—wid all dis mighty ’thawity to criticize yo’ own color?... _You_ ain’ ’ceitful, is you?... Scandalizin’ w’ite folks you done growed up wid; w’en you oughta be proud to give ’um respec’ for all de ’sistance you got from ’um in de needed time.... Gawd knows, Lizzie, you sho oughta be shame to make little o’ yo’ Gritny people like dat.”

“Leave Lizzie ’lone, an’ quit talkin’, Lethe; an’ le’s go yonder to Gussie wake whah things is peaceful,” Felo suggested with sudden abruptness. “Lizzie ain’ bin use to nothin’, no-how; an’ da’s w’at make her so scawnful ’bout de w’ite folks. She jus’ like de res’ o’ dese po’ ignun niggers, ain’ got no inher’tunce.”

What kind of inheritance did some of the white folks sittin’ up in the court house have? Lizzie wanted to know. Did Mr. Felo ever take notice how many of the people holdin’ high office in the court house, ain’t been connected with nothin’ but cows, one generation to another?... Who?... She could look back long as she knowed, and could tell about the time when their gramma and grampa went grassin’ ’long-side the railroad track with a wheel-barrow.... And the many times she seen their parents pushin’ cows to the pasture back and forth.... And right now, she could call the name of _plenty_ of them drawin’ pay from the court house, what was makin’ extra change, sellin’ cream cheese and buttermilk from the cows they had in their yard.... And was that kind o’ practice-habit the thing Mr. Felo wanted to call inheritance?... Who? She asked him, laughing with great amusement.... A grass sickle, cows, and some cream cheese moulds wasn’t nothin’ she could see to make people set up and put on airs like folks what comed from a family of ’ridginy people....

“But w’at all dis hist’ry got to do wid Chester goin’ away from Gritny?” Felo asked with eager curiosity.

It had plenty to do with it; Lizzie assured him. She was sharp enough to know what would happen if people kept on talkin’ about Chester and Tempe and the needle and the fatal switch engine; tryin’ to make him answer for somethin’ when he wasn’t guilty.... No indeed. She wasn’t goin’ to take no fool chances with court-house people she knowed so good.... White folks what always bin used to somh’n, never was hard on niggers; even way back in Reb’-time days. And anybody ever bin had any traffic with them could tell you the same thing.... And Mr. Felo could ask his Ma Fanny, and find out for himself she wasn’t tellin’ no lie. ’Cause all the people along the coast knowed the hist’ry about the Derbignys and the Garderes and the De Gruy family, and some them yuther plantation people what always had somh’n; and how they was good to their cullud folks.... Even today....

“But who wan’ put inny pennunce in shoo-fly people an’ off-springs?” She asked indignantly. “No indeed, Lawd! Not Lizzie Cole.... No matter if her father is a preacher o’ de gospel, an’ tries to make her b’lieve she gotta love her neighbor like she love herself.... Who? Mr. Felo think she goin’ study ’bout givin’ people love an’ trus’, w’en she look back an’ ain’ see nothin’ behin’ ’um but a ginneration o’ cattle an’ cows?” ...

“An’ you ain’ goin’ leave none yo’ own color know whah Chester gone to?” Felo asked.

No. Lizzie answered positively. She had passed her hand ’cross her mouth, and wasn’t goin’ to say nothin’ to _nobody_ till she came back from the grindin’ after Christmas, with a pocket full of money.... Then she would bring Chester back to the castle yonder ’cross the pasture, and spread joy for all the hongry niggers in the East Green.... But now that she had the boy out of danger, she was goin’ to Lafoosh to have a good time, with Scilla and Nookie and Carmelite and Pinkey, and all the other wimmins that said they were goin’.... Soongy said she was countin’ on goin’, if she could fix it so Dink could stay at Aunt Fisky’s house till she come back.... Now that Gussie was gone, Dink would be a good help to Aunt Fisky; runnin’ to the groc’ry and washin’ dishes and ’tendin’ to her ducks and things. ’Cause Soongy cert’ny had raised Dink handy and nice.

“But none y’all ain’ goin’ to Gussie funeyul tomorrow?” Lethe asked her dubiously.

“Who?” Lizzie exclaimed, greatly surprised at the question. “You ain’ think Lizzie goin’ run to de country careless, an’ leave a fine brass ban’ behind her, like dey say dey goin’ have tootin’ music in front o’ Gussie, is you?... No indeed.... Lizzie too crazy ’bout music to go ’way from hyuh till after dey done put Gussie away an’ all de purrade over. Den she kin git on de train wid happy membunce o’ Gussie, an’ go to de grindin’ well pleased.”

If the band of music was the only thing leadin’ Lizzie to stay over to go to the funeral, she ought to be more decent and not tell it; Felo reprimanded, batting his eyelids crossly. If she didn’t want to give any respect to Gussie, she ought to stay at home, and not play hypocrite so brazen before a whole crowd of people, right in front of Aunt Fisky’s face.

She never did care nothin’ for ole no-nation Gussie; Lizzie told him frankly. And she didn’t have respect to study about. But a brass band was a diffunt queshtun.... _Goin’_ to the funeral wasn’t the main part she had to consider. It was comin’ back, dancin’ to the music, all the way from the graveyard to the Gritny ferry-boat.... Who?... That was enough to make her don’t care if she missed forty Morgan trains goin’ to the grindin’.... Everybody knowed how all them Gritny niggers would come skippin’ and prancin’ up Main Street, when they heard that brass band commence soundin’ them teasin’ blues.... And if they just started playin’ “O Didn’t He Ramble,”—she cert’ny knowed there wasn’t _nothin’_ goin’ to keep her from shakin’ her fool-self to a fraz’lin finish....

“Lethe!” Felo exclaimed, exasperated; rolling his eyes ominously. “You sit hyuh quiet, an’ listen at dis Hell-bound ooman talk like dat, an’ ain’ say nothin’ to ’uh?... Git up from hyuh an’ come on, if you goin’ wid me to Gussie wake tonight. An’ leave Lizzie hyuh to do like de devil lead ’uh to do.... ’Cause I done los’ all patience wid ’uh. An’ I know Gawd ain’ goin’ bother wid ’uh.... So come on!”

“You goin’ to de wake?” Lethe asked her, getting up and reaching for her shawl, hanging on a nail behind the door.

“No,” Lizzie answered, smiling placidly. “You go ’head an’ take yo’ pleasure wid Mr. Felo, yonder munks de Chrishtuns. I’m goin’ stay hyuh for a li’l w’ile an’ make me some weak coffee, if you don’ mind.... But I’ll sho meet you tomorrow, dancin’ in de road, comin’ back; befo’ I take de train in de evenin’ for Lafoosh plantation.”

Lethe told her to make herself at home, and started for the front door with Felo following her, his eyes fixed on Lizzie with a glowering look.

“Good night, Mr. Felo,” she called to him in a derisive tone. “An’ I hope Gawd take care o’ yo’ th’oat w’en you singin’ over Gussie so bol’ an’ manful, yonder munks de Chrishtuns.”

On reaching home in the evening, Mr. Amos was somewhat surprised to find all the windows and doors open and lights burning in all the rooms, seeming to anticipate the arrival of some friendly guest. The table was set for one person, and the pots on the kitchen stove gave evidence that everything was ready for the evening meal; but Felo was not in sight. Going to the kitchen door, Mr. Amos found him in the back yard, quietly hoeing his little hill of snap-beans, growing along the side fence; so intent upon his gardening that he was not aware of being watched until Mr. Amos spoke; inquiring what all the illuminations meant, and if he were expecting anybody.

“Nobody but you,” Felo told him placidly. “Lessen somebody comin’ hyuh unbeknownce.”

“Then, why all the lights?” Mr. Amos faltered.

“Man, go inside an’ set to de table; an’ don’ be so hard to please,” Felo went on. “W’at dey is wrong, you can’ come home now an’ den, an’ fin’ de house lookin’ like things givin’ you welcome, aft’ a hard day struggle?... If dis yo’ resident, an’ de place whah you look to find yo’ peace an’ comfut; I ain’ see how you gotta think ’bout makin’ a whole lot o’ extra show for out-side people, an’ don’ wan’ make none for yo’-own self.... ’Specially w’en you cunsider you ain’ got so long to enjoy yo’ life; an’ dey ain’ nobody to ’preshate de place no better’n you an’ me.... Go set down, for Gawd sake. An’ don’ try to make me feel any wusser’n I feel already.... Disappointed like I bin today wid people I sho thought I could count on....”

What could have happened to bring on a mood like this? Mr. Amos wondered. Did anything go wrong at the wake or the funeral? “I thought you would come home bubbling over with news, and couldn’t wait to tell what you saw,” he said to Felo, as he came in from the yard and began making ready to serve dinner.

He didn’t feel like talkin’, Felo answered. He had to look after them snap-beans, and twist them around the cane-reed poles he brought from home; before the wind broke all the runners and fixed them so they wouldn’t make no beans; after all the bother he had with them, waterin’ and ’tendin’ them like he did every evenin’....

“So set down an’ eat, an’ don’ plague me,” he said, appealingly. “Evvything hyuh on de table for you. An’ if you want somh’n, I’ll be right hyuh in de yard, an’ you kin call me.... Da’s alright?” He asked hesitatingly.

“Go on,” Mr. Amos told him with an amused smile. “Maybe the fresh air will revive you; and later on you’ll be more sociable.”

He didn’t need no fresh air to revive his feelin’s; Felo argued with himself as he worked with his beans. Wasn’t he out in the fresh air nearly all day? But that didn’t keep him from gittin’ down-casted. Even with music playin’, and the Peefus members marchin’ back and forth around Gussie’s tomb, callin’ out to the devil and beatin’ him off with their battle axes. And with the people singin’ and talkin’ and goin’ on like they did.... Excitement ain’t had nothin’ to do with his feelin’s bein’ upset. It was what people did to him that made him feel troubled in his mind.... Just like Mr. Amos thinkin’ he wasn’t sociable. Somebody onsociable was ’most as bad as somebody what wasn’t no Chrishtun.... He went on ruminating.

What make Mr. Amos think he ain’t sociable, after he done come back from Gritny plumb disgusted with evvything; glad to git home where he could look over his mind peaceful, when he was doin’ his cookin’ and tryin’ to make things look nice and invitin’ to please nobody but him.... That wasn’t no way to talk to an ole-time fellow-servant, just because he ain’t ready to stretch his eyes and grin the minute somebody look at him.... It sho was disencouragin’.... Couldn’t Mr. Amos keep patience, and wait till he got through twistin’ them snap-beans? And finished up evvything in the kitchen, so he could talk to him free and light-minded, after both of them went upstairs?

It sho was strange, for people what was raised together, and played with each-another from the days of their younger youth, not to be able to ’zern anybody condition when they seen them lookin’ like somh’n heavy was layin’ on their mind....

“De man ain’ know me yet; an’ hyuh I bin servin’ ’im thoo evvy kind o’ close quarters all dese many years? Lawd, Lawd! Hyuh somh’n else done comed up povokin’,” he went on cogitating aloud; hurrying through his work to get upstairs, where he knew he would find Mr. Amos in his room, lying down, reading.

Hearing Felo’s habitual goat-like sniff with which he playfully announced his arrival, Mr. Amos turned and saw him leaning against the door frame, waiting to be invited to have a seat. Knowing Felo’s propensity for all kinds of “good stimalashun,” and wanting to see him in a pleasant frame of mind, Mr. Amos gave him the keys of the armoire, and told him to get the bottle of Scotch whiskey he would find on the shelf, and help himself to a comforting drink.

Felo brought the bottle and two glasses and put them on the washstand, and sat down, looking at the bottle without speaking.

“Don’t you want a drink?” Mr. Amos asked in surprise. “Lord knows you look like you need one.”

“How long you bin had dis bottle o’ w’iskey?” Felo asked with quiet artfulness.

“About two weeks.”

... “Is you know de bottle open, an’ some de licker gone from out it?” Felo asked, with a knowing side glance at Mr. Amos.

“Yes. I opened it,” he told him. “What about it?”

“So da’s de way you does now,—drinks yo’ licker _secut_!” Felo accused him playfully. “You sho is a nasty ’ceitful w’ite man,” he went on, resuming something of his natural humor. “Done got you a nice full bottle o’ w’iskey settin’ up in yo’ cubbud, locked up; an’ ain’ say a word to nobody,—an’ me right hyuh in de same house wid you; an’ comes up hyuh to yo’ room on de sly, an’ drinks to yo’ ease; an’ den got de cheek to tell me ’bout bein’ onsociable!... Man, you oughta go ’way from hyuh.”

Mr. Amos put his book aside and laughed with hearty enjoyment at the playful reprimand. He knew by the familiar attitude that Felo was himself again. It was not the familiarity of disrespect or impudence; but a wholesome, child-like familiarity born of simple trust and friendly understanding; a delightful freedom of manner and speech never indulged in before any unsympathetic outsider, but reserved for the exclusive entertainment of his “ole-time buzzum friend,” whom he knew would never misinterpret the intention.

“Then you don’t want a drink, I suppose? Since you feel that you’ve been slighted,” Mr. Amos said to him.

“Who?” Felo answered, reaching for the bottle and taking out the cork with a flourish. “Don’t you know I bin too well-raise to refuse? ’Specially good licker like dis bottle look to be?... An’ I’m goin’ fill up dis glass my own-self, too,” he went on muttering softly. “’Cause you jus’ natchally tetches a bottle too light w’en you eechin’ out licker to people. An’ you know I don’ b’lieve in bein’ skimson ’bout no kind o’ stimalashun.”

Having filled the glasses, he gave one to Mr. Amos, then lifting his own and sniffing with energy, he said:

“Peace an’ happiness to yo’ heart, an’ Gawd keep de castle well-puhvided.”

“That’s a very nice long-sighted wish,” Mr. Amos told him, smiling. “Here’s to your good health, and a whole lot of excitement when you go home Sunday.”

“Look! Leave dat be right whah it is,” Felo answered abruptly. He didn’t want to hear tell nothin’ about any Sunday.... Who wanted to talk about lookin’ for any excitement, when everybody was gone away to the sugar-grindin’, and nobody he cared about was left in Gritny to stir up somh’n anyways interestin’?... He didn’t have nothin’ particular to go home for Sunday. Ma Fanny could get some of Liza’s lazy chillun to worry over totin’ slop for that hog.... And anyway, he was disgusted with totin’ slop like he did every Gawd-blessed Sunday of the world; and ain’t got nothin’ for it except people criticizin’.... They didn’t have nobody he cared to see in Gritny. He was goin’ to stay home and go to church in the evenin’, yonder to Holly Grove, ’cross the New Basin.... Wondering at this sudden disinterest in things at home, Mr. Amos suggested that Lethe might be pleased to see him on Sunday.

Who? Felo answered with a tone of evident disappointment. Lethe wasn’t no diffunt from the rest of them crazy wimmins bin raised on a plantation.... You can take a nigger out the country, but you sho Gawd can’t take the country out a nigger.... He went on with vehemence. Lethe wasn’t satisfied with havin’ a good place to work at Miss Tillie house; comin’ home soon every evenin’, with half a day off on Sunday, when the two of them could be together nice and friendly; there she had to leave ole wild Lizzie Cole put devilment in her head and make her onrestful,—goin’ yonder to the sugar-grindin’ like all them other cheap Gritny niggers what think more about money than they do about manners and behavior....

“An’ ain’ tol’ me a word ’bout w’at she was inten’ to do, till de las’ minute,” he went on.

Now that the cheering drink had loosened his tongue, Mr. Amos knew that he would continue to talk freely, and it was wise to offer no interruption. Of course, goin’ to Gussie’s funeral with Lizzie Cole for her partner couldn’t be helped; Felo went on to relate. Because all the wimmins had to keep separate from the mens and march to they-self; so Lethe was _compelled_ to walk ’long-side of Lizzie, when Lizzie just natchally forced herself on her.... But how Lethe ain’ come to change her mind and break away from Lizzie comin’ back, was somh’n he couldn’t understand, no matter how hard he thought on it.... Stickin’ close to Lizzie like she did, and the two of them comin’ up the big road, dancin’ and shakin’ their reckless bodies to the ratty music the band was playin’; the same as if they were yonder on the flatform to Mr. Snider honky-tonk, back of Gritny.... “And mad like I was, there I couldn’t say a thing to her; ’count o’ bein’ in de purrude wid de Peefus uniform on, an’ all de ’couterments in my hand an’ ’cross my shoulder....”

“And did you get to see her after the funeral was over?” Mr. Amos encouraged him.

“Who?... Maybe you ain’ think I didn’t set to her strong w’en I got back to her house, aft’ I left de crowd at de ferry-landin’,” Felo boasted.

What he said to her sho was goin’ to hold her for a long time; the way he sasharated her feelin’s for leavin’ ole strumpet Lizzie lead her astray, and makin’ her expose herself before all Gritny like she did.... No indeed. He didn’t bit his tongue; when he knowed that the sperret o’ Gawd had called on him to chastise Lethe, and make her re’lize what was her fittin’ tahminashun....

“And did Lethe stand for all your severity and offer no resistance, or try to make an explanation of any kind?” Mr. Amos asked him.

“Da’s de very subjec’ I’m comin’ to now,” Felo continued. “She look like she ain’ _care_ to answer back; jus keepin’ still, an’ goin’ roun’ de room, straight’nin’ up, an’ fixin’ some her clo’se w’at was piled up on de bed.

“I say to myself: Da’s a good sign. She ain’ try’n to start no wrangle, like she always do. She mus’ be thinkin’ ’bout w’at I say to her; an’ she goin’ profit by it.

“So aft’ I had talk all I wan’ talk, an’ tol’ her I was goin’ count on seein’ her nex’ Sunday; she come to de front gate wid me nice an’ frien’ly; an’ I lef’ her lookin’ like she was please’; an’ went roun’ to Ma Fanny house to see how things was gittin’ on, befo’ I start back ’cross de river.

“Evvything had come to look so encouragin’, I never would bin thought ’bout nothin’ diffunt; an’ my ’tenshun was leadin’ me to hurry up an’ git hyuh to fix things for you quick as I could. But it mus’ bin de sperret o’ Gawd met me on de road, an’ tol’ me to go by de Morgan station....

“W’en de nex’ thing I knowed: Hyuh was Lethe, wid a bundle o’ clo’se un’ her arm; stannin’ in line at de railroad station, munks a mul’tude o’ wimmins, waitin’ to git on de train goin’ yonder to Lafoosh sugar-grindin’.... Wid Lizzie Cole right ’longside her, grinnin’ at me like a fatal devil straight out o’ Hell.”

“And what did you do?” asked Mr. Amos, laughing with keen amusement at the awkwardness of the situation and Felo’s naïve revealment of righteous disappointment.

“W’at you expec’ me to do, w’en de train was jus’ ’bout to pull out from de station?” He asked fretfully. “You ain’ think I’m goin’ jump on an’ go ’long wid her, is you?”

“And Lethe never told you anything about wanting to go to the grinding?” Mr. Amos inquired.

“What Lethe wan’ go to any grindin’ for, w’en she makin’ good money at Miss Tillie house? An’ got a nice place to live in, decen’ an’ high-minded? An’ got me to lend her ’sistance inny time she lookin’ for a willin’ han’?” ... Felo argued with growing resentment. “Lethe ain’ never had no grindin’ to study ’bout, till dat wil’ Hellian Lizzie come ’long an’ got her worked up ove’ it.... An’ for nothin’ mo’ den to spite me, an’ git me onsatafied; ’cause she knowed dat nex’ to my church, Lethe was de secon’ big injoyment to make me count on comin’ over to Gritny evvy Sunday.... But w’at I got to count on now? De way things done come to be mixed up, an’ Lethe done gone away?”

There was a note of loneliness in his voice, and his face assumed an expression of utter bereavement. Mr. Amos regarded him in silence, amused by his quaint philosophy, at the same time conscious of a feeling of genuine sympathy.

“To look at you now,” he said to him cheerfully, “anyone would think that Lethe was dead and buried, and you didn’t have a friend left in the world. Aren’t there some other worthwhile people in Gretna you can go to see?... There, take your glass, and have a drink to a new pleasure next Sunday.”

Felo looked at the bottle, trying to smile. He wasn’t worrin’ about seein’ no Gritny people, he answered with polite indifference. Nearly everybody what had any life in them, and counted for somh’n with the colored folks, was gone to the country. And all the other ondecent mixtry they had roamin’ around town, he didn’t care to have no traffic with.... But maybe he would look over his mind, and go to see Aunt Susan and Tom. Because he got word that Susan was goin’ to give a molasses candy pullin’, to raise a little money for ole Unc’ Foteen. So maybe he would consider goin’ up the coast, and help out the best way he could.... Every little nickel did some good in the time of need. And the poor ole man didn’t have so long to live, no-how.... And then he was sure Unc’ Nat would be there to give Susan a hand. You could always look to find Unc’ Nat any place where they was passin’ around the plate, takin’ up collection for somebody in trouble.... And any way, he wouldn’t mind seein’ Unc’ Nat, Sunday. ’Cause Unc’ Nat was one what never fail to make somebody laugh when they be feelin’ down-casted and onsatafied....

“Well then, fill your glass, and let us drink to a big jubilation at Susan’s next Sunday,” Mr. Amos told him. “And then, go to bed and rest yourself, and try to forget your disappointment. You know, we both need plenty of sleep and rest if we expect to keep young and always look beautiful.”

“Man, quit yo’ humbug, for Gawd sake,” Felo answered, with a broad smile, as he filled a glass for Mr. Amos and handed it to him.

Then he poured a glass for himself and drank it down with a sounding gulp, and looked at Mr. Amos, saying:

“Who ever tol’ you, you was beautiful?... You know good as I know, dat Miss Ellen, either Ma Fanny, ain’ never rocked either one us on dey lap no time, an’ say: Go to sleep my pretty baby.”