Chapter IV: Part 4

Whenebber I tho’t ub po’ Saul meh hyart got sick; ’pears ter me ’twuz sick all de time. So I wa’k up an’ down de gyarden prayin’ sorf ter mehsef, thinkin’ an’ thinkin’, so I ’cluded ter see Ole Mars, an’ bine meh haid up’n uh hankcheah an’ wen’ ter see Ole Mars erboutin Saul. He wuz gwine fox huntin’, wuz settin’ in de hall, Damon wuz puttin’ on he spuhs, when I wa’k in, made uh curchysy an’ cummenc’ ter cry an’ limp. Ole Mars lif’ up he hainsome face an’ say:

“Well, Sookey, what’s de matter?”

So I bine meh haid up’n uh hankcheah an’ wen’ ter see Ole Mars boutin
Saul.
]

I say, “I heahd fum Saul; it meck me so ’stressed an’ po’ly, Marster. He say he so rejected an’ lonesom’, dat his hyart mos’ breck. He wan’ ter cum home.”

Den Marster cuss an’ say: “Wha de scan’lus scoun’l at?”

An’ I say wid meh hankcheah ter meh eyes, “Balt’mo’.”

Den Ole Marster say: “Sookey, Saul’s muvva Nancy (yo’ sistah) wuz uh splendid ’ooman; nuss’d yo’ Miss Marg’retta when she had de scarlet fevah. Saul wuz uh baby, an’ she mos’ fogot Saul, she wuz so faithful ter yo’ Miss Marg’retta.”

Den I say: “’Zac’ly so, precisely, Marster!”

Den he say: “Nancy kotch de fevah an’ died; yo’ Miss Marg’retta wuz so ’stracted she mos’ ’dopted dat chile—tech him ter read an’ rite.” Den Mars Nickey cuss ergin an’ say: “Eddication mecks niggahs bad!”

Den I say: “So hit do, Marster, so hit do; fuh hit sut’ny meck Saul bad. Fuh he wuz riz so careful. Miss Marg’retta ebin bo’t him uh nanny-goat fuh uh wet nuss, an’ dey got so fon’ one nerr dat when Saul wud tottle outin de quartah de goat wud ’mejately nanny, twinkle huh little tail jes’ like uh aspine leaf, run up ter de chile, an’ he wud set un’er dat goat, nuss huh hissef, an’ pat he han’s on de goat’s sides. It mecks me think ub yo’ son Mars Francis what died. I nuss him tell he so big he hab teef. When he wuz horngry he wud run up ter me same ez uh little lam’, pat meh bresses when he nussin’, same ez Saul did de goat’s sides, an’ sometimes when he feel sassy—mos’ got ernuff (jes’ playin’ wid de milk)—he wud bite me. An’ many uh time I had ter smack him hyard; an’ den his brite eyes, brite ez uh fish-hawk’s, but big an’ sorf, wud fill up wid teahs. Den he wud git in meh lap, pat meh ole face an’ say, ‘Mammy! Mammy!’ play wid an’ put he fingah froo meh earring, jes’ ez gentle an’ lubbin ez uh cherrypin er serrypin. My! he little fingah jes’ ez smoobe ez de inside ub uh oyster shell. Den I sing, ‘Git on bode, little chillun.’ Den he go ter sleep, an’ he bref on meh cheek jes’ ez sorf ez de down on uh goslin’.” Den I say, “Mars Nickey, he wuz de ve’y spit ub you!”

Den Mars Nickey teck out his silk hankcheah, wipe he weepin’ eye, trem’lin mouf, an’ he say, “Sookey, teck uh seat!”

Jes’ think ub meh settin’ down befo’ Ole Mars! Den he teck uh pinch ub snuff, th’ow some on de flounces ub he shut, call Damon an’ say, “Bring me some peach an’ honey!”

Den he say: “I will ’struct Cap’n Stitchberry, de fus’ time de Margaret Jane sails fuh Balt’mo’, futto bring Saul home, but he kyant lib heah wid meh good an’ faithful serbents; he got ter lib at ‘Fausley,’ drap cawn, plough—be wuf sompin’. Kyant hab any mo’ boots. Tho’ Nancy wuz his mother, got ter weah shoes; I only gib de bes’ serbents boots!”

Muhtilda, I jes’ natchelly swep’ de flo’ wid meh curchysys, I feel so thankful. An’ when I lef’ I say: “Meh Marster, yo’ mo’ an’ mo’ like Mars Francis ev’y day; same brite eyes, like uh fish-hawk’s, but sorf an’ big!”

Den Ole Mars teck nubba pinch ub snuff, dust he shut flounces wid it, cut hissef on de leg wid he ridin’ whup an’ say: “Sookey, I change meh mine; when Saul cum back he kin wuck in de gyardin wid yo’ husban’, Stephen.”

When I wen’ out de do’ da wuz Cap’n Stitchberry stan’in’ befo’ de steps wid he haid orncover’d waitin’ fuh his orders fum Mars Nickey; Stephen wuz holdin’ Sylph, Marster’s favorite mare; Music, Jerry-Myah, Sweet-lips, Jefferson, Chimes, an’ all de res’ ub de houn’s (Ole Mars wudn’ let you call ’em dogs) wuz playin’ erroun’ Stephen, chunin’ up, an’ Sylph wuz almos’ crazy fuh Ole Mars ter git in de saddle—she jes’ scorn de yearth when she gallopin’ an’ cud almos’ jump ober de moon. Well, I felt ez prowd an’ happy ez Sylph an’ de houn’s did, kase, Muhtilda, ev’ything look’d lubly ter me. So I meck up meh mind I ain’ gwine ter scold Stephen any mo’—he did look so peart, holdin’ Sylph wid uh yaller wes’ Ole Marster jes’ gib him. But what meck me mos’ happy, I heahd de wabes moanin’, I luck at de ribber, an’ da wuz de Margaret Jane wid huh sails sot, jes’ prancin’. I knew’d what dat signify—so hit won’ be long befo’ Saul cum back.

Saul sing songs, play de hohn dat Little Billy gib him, wid locks an’ keys, dances, too. How-some-eber, hit’s jes’ what de qual’ty do; but da ain’ nuffin wichious erboutin Saul, an’ I sut’ny has miss him pow’ful. Da ain’ uh houn’ on dis place dat ain’ look sad sence Saul lef’. When dey cum home wid deah sore feet, ears an’ legs all scratch up, full ub briars, Saul, ’doutin Ole Mars habin’ ter tell him ev’y day, biles uh pot ub squaw-root, baves dem houn’s feet an’ legs, an’ you kin see dem settin’ ’roun’ waitin’ fuh deah turn.

Heah cum Ole Miss now; look at dem chickins an’ de cows all lookin’ at huh—ub cose meckin’ mirations ter deahsebs erbout huh. Dat lady behin’ wid uh barsket on huh ahm an’ all dem keys on huh ap’on strings, is Miss Betsey Orsman, de housekeeper. Dey bin ter kivver all dat grabe ub Mars Francis wid flowers—’ceppin’ de toomstone. De vusses on hit ev’y serbent in dis house has larnt. Think ub dat!

“Kyant you say ’em, Aunt Sookey?”

“Yas, indeed, chile, dat I kin; but I will arsk Miss Betsey arfter Ole Miss gits by. Honey, she’s uh ’citer; she jes’ gibs huhsef up ter glory when she speechifyin’. I will ax huh kase she likes ter say it.

“Miss Betsey, will you say dem vusses what’s on Mars Francis’ toomstone?”

“Why, certainly, Sookey; now listen good:

“The seasons as they fly,
Snatch from us in their course, year after year
Some sweet connection, some endearing tie.
The parent, ever honored, ever dear,
Claims from the filial breast the pious sigh;
A brother’s urn demands the filial tear,
And gentle sorrows gush from friendship’s eye.
To-day we frolic in the rosy bloom
Of jocund youth—to-morrow knells us to the tomb.”

“Miss Betsy is an ole maid, Muhtilda. De reason she’s wa’kin’ fum us so slow is kase she’s meddowtatin’. Dey tell me dat one time Cap’n Stitchberry wuz in lub wid huh, but he gib huh up kase she tu fon’ ub vusses; an’ he tell Mars Pinckney dat she lubbed him tu much. She’s ve’y fon’ ub Mars Pinckney, an’ don’ mine his teasin’, so de udder day he tole huh—

“Da nebber wuz uh goose so gray but soon er late
Wud fine some wan’rin’ gander fuh uh mate.”

“Now, wan’ dat sassy?

“Saul wuz pow’ful fon’ ub cracklin’-pone wid mullasses, an’ I gwine dis minit futto meck uh pone fuh dat po’ boy. I’s bin watchin’ de ribber all de mawnin’. It wudn’ s’prise me ef’n de Margaret Jane cum in de ribber befo’ de sun sot; so don’ you go home, Muhtilda. Den I will sen’ fuh Little Billy futto tell us some stories; Susan fum Mars Carroll’s is cummin ober—ub cose Ezra Viney will keep comp’ny wid huh; an’ lars’, but not leas’, Stephen got three dozen sorf crabs, six watahmillions an’ two ole hens I kilt yistiddy dat had stopped layin’. So we will hab uh happy time eben ef’n Saul don’ cum ter night.

“Dar’s Billy now, talkin’ ter Juba Viney; got his banjo hung ’roun’ his neck. Dem’s mus’rat hides he’s got tied ’roun’ his wais’; gwine ter Mage Rudd’s sto’, I ’specks. O—h, Billy; we are ’speckin’ Saul dis eb’nin’. Kyant you cum ober, sing us some songs an’ play us some chunes arfter Stephen goes ter set his net? He rejects ter you bein’ so pus-nal wid de witches;[11] ain’ fogib you yit fuh gittin’ up’n dat ’simmon tree an’ sassin’ Uncle Caesar Butler.”[12]

Billy knew Aunt Sookey would have something good for supper, and knew that she doted on Saul, so he soon turned up at her quarters, and quickly asked for Uncle Stephen, whom he knew would not welcome him.

“Da he is, jes’ paddlin’ his boat fum de sho;” responded Aunt Sookey. “Gwine ter set his net.”

Billy smelt the frying crabs, and asked in apparent ignorance: “Is you had supper, Aunt Sookey?”

“No indeed, honey; de lard jes’ cummenc’ ter bile.”

“Well, den, I will sing uh new chune I jes’ larnt, while de table gittin’ sot:

“On Tom-big-bee ribber so fair I wuz bawn,
In uh hut made ub leabes ub de tall yaller cawn;
An’ dar I fus’ met wid meh Ju-la so true,
An’ I row’d huh erbout in meh gum-tree canoe,
Singin’ row away row, o’er de watahs so blue,
Like uh feather we’ll float, in meh gum-tree canoe.

“Wid meh hands on de banjo an’ toe on de oar,
I sing ter de soun’ ub de ribber’s sorf roar;
While de stars dey look down at meh Ju-la so true,
An’ dance in huh eye in meh gum-tree canoe.
Singin’ row away row, o’er de watahs so blue,
Like uh feather we’ll float, in my gum-tree canoe.”

“Billy, dat’s lubly; kyant you sing jes’ one mo’ song befo’ I puts de butter on dese sorf crabs?”

“Yes’m!”

“Sometimes I libs on de fat ub de lan;
Sometimes I libs on de lean;
An’ when I gits meh day’s wuck done
I sweeps de kitchen clean.
Den heah meh true lub weep,
Heah meh true lub sigh,
Way down in Callio
Dis niggah’s bawn ter die.”

“I kyant sing an nerr vus, Aunt Sookey, kase I so horngry, an’ I kyant stay tu long kase I ain’ sot meh mus’rat gums yit, an’ I bleege ter go ter de sto’ futto sell dese hides. Mo’n dat, Mars Pinckney gwine fox hun’in’ de fus’ thing in de mawnin’ long befo’ de sun up.”

Billy ate heartily, and the _jamboree_ was broken up by the incoming of Uncle Stephen. Billy, to be very polite to Uncle Stephen, whom he knew did not like him, said: “Uncle Stephen, I jes’ watch you all _day_ long yistiddy ketchin’ oysters; you sut’ny kin ketch oysters.”

Uncle Stephen leaned wearily on his paddle and said: “Y-a-s, Billy! Ef’n I wuz uh chicken you wud watch me all _night_!”

Billy soon departed, and when he was well into the darkness, twanged his banjo and sang:

“I ain’ no tukkey buzzard,
I ain’ no saint;
I ain’ no tukkey buzzard,
So glad I aint.”

BLACK CREEK FALLS.
]

“LET US MECK BRICK.”

Sistus, brudders an’ chillun: Pawson Demby wuz ’specially ’quested futto prech at de gre’t bushmeetin’ gwine on in Bolingbrook Neck, an’ dey sent up uh _fo’-hoss-mule team_ an’ kyart fuh him lars’ night. He ’quested me futto say ter de congation dat he wanted yo’ pray’rs fuh de gre’t cause he gwine ter prech erbout, an’ he also qualify me ter say his tex’ will be fum de book ub Deutron’my, 22d chaptah, 10th vus: “Thou shalt not plough wid uh ox an’ uh ass togedda.”

Some free niggahs ’long de Choptank dat cum fum Henraccah County, Firginny, is ploughin’ wid uh mule an’ uh ox, an’ hit’s stressin’ de Babtis’ ’roun’ de ribba pow’ful, kase hit’s sech uh wiolation ub de Scripturs.

De witches in Haylan’ Branch is keepin’ uh good many sistus fum cummin’ ter de chuch Sunday nights. De c’lections consequationly is so small I is ’fraid we kyant git de kyarpet fuh de pulpit by Chrismus; but ev’y little bit helps, ef’n hit’s only uh rabbit’s foot, kase dey will sell at de festival fuh 6 cents uh dozen.

Ez I ain’ had uh ve’y long notice, meh discose dis ebinin’ will be breef. You will fine meh tex’ in de book ub Gen’sis, 11th chaptah, thud vus:

“LET US MECK BRICK.”

Den, ergin, de fif’ chaptah ub Exodus, all ub de sebinth vus: “Ye shall no mo’ gib de people straw ter meck brick, ez heahtofo’; let dem go an’ gavva straw fuh demsebs.”

You all recommember dat Mars Nickey say lars’ New Year Day dat ef’n his serbents, young an’ ole, ’habe demsebs well fuh uh hole yeah he gwine ter build ’em uh little brick chuch. Well, de serbents is bin monstus good fuh uh hole yeah, ’skusin’ Little Billy, an’ he so curisome Marster don’ mine him. ’Sides, he muvva Nancy nuss Mars Pinckney. So arfter de cawn wuz hus’in’ Mars Nickey tole me an’ Reubin ter go ter de clay bank an’ meck boutin fifty thousan’ bricks, an’ dey wud be uh plenty ter build uh chuch dat wud hab uh real top-lofty pulpit, uh moaners’ corner, an’ hole boutin two hun’erd serbents. Mars John Chamberlain, Mars Tench Tilghman, Mars Samuel Dickinson holp ter buy de shingles an’ furnachy.

Wuckin’ dat clay (an’ Moses wud hab praised dat clay), meckin’ an’ haulin’ dem bricks ter dat lubly cedar grove, made me think ub dis tex’ night an’ day, an’ I is wanted fuh uh yeah ter preach on dis gre’t subjec’.

I see some dear sistus heah fum Queen Anne’s. I s’pose you cum ober ter de bushmeetin’ in Oxford Neck, so I wan’ you ter ondastan what uh ’squisite spot Cedar Grove is fuh uh brick chuch, befo’ I git fudda wid meh spressifications boutin bricks.

Sistus, da is uh little creek called Peach Blossom. De fus’ peach seed dat cum ter Amer’ca wuz fotch ober an’ planted ’long Peach Blossom Creek, Mars Pinckney say, erbout de time Klumbus ’skivered Amer’ca; dat’s why hit’s called Peach Blossom. De same man fotch ober some apple seed, an’ de apples wuz named arfter him, Catlin apples.

Peach Blossom is erboutin uh harf mile long an’ uh hun’erd ya’ds wide, an’ empties inter Fausley Creek. De watah is fum five ter eight feet deep, de bottom ez clean ez de deck ub Cap’n Stitchberry’s schooner, de Margaret Jane, sandy, an’ ez hyard ez uh mule’s haid, but you kyant see de bottom ’ceppin heah an’ heah, kase da’s wha Mars Nickey got he oysters bedded, an’ da’s wha Uncle Stephen sets Mars Nickey’s net, ketches de spot, hogfish an’ pan rock dat cums in dat creek ter feed ober de oysters, an’ den ter meddowtate. Mos’ at de haid ub de creek is uh proud-lookin’ grove ub cedars; ’mong dem cedars is _twenty cedar toomstone poses_, wha Ole Mars burried he good an’’ favorite houn’s, an’ da’s wha de new Zion Chuch gwine ter be swottuated.

Belubbed, da nebber wuz uh mo’ ’chantin’ creek! On hits banks grows lubly trees, fum de sas’fras an’ dogwood ter de gre’t elms, walnut an’ poplar trees. Sistuh Cassey, befo’ she died had uh cabin at de haid ub de creek; de honeysuckle an’ wile rose seeds strayed fum huh house all ’long de banks ub dat creek, an’ now de honeysuckle an’ wile roses blooms an’ clustus ’roun’ one nerr day an’ night—hit’s uh heb’nly spot. Hit don’ matter how de win’ blow, ef’n you paddle yo’ skiff in Peach Blossom Creek hit’s so cam, quiet an’ shady you kin heah de little jinny wrens, sparrows an’ crickets singin’. De watah looks so smove an’ happy when de tide go out an’ when de tide cum in, dat it al’ays mecks me think ub Ole Miss’ face; fac’ is, you jes’ wanter set down an’ muse, an’ you won’er why all erligeons ain’ de Babtis in Talbot County, ter wash deah sins erway in Peach Blossom. But I mus’ tu’n ter de application.

Little Billy wucked two days dribin’ uh ox team, den ub cose he got tired. Mammy Nancy ’quested me ter arsk you all ter pray fuh him arfter de doxol’gy; he is ve’y bad. Ef’n Mars Nickey knew’d what he say he’d whup him sho’; kase he say Mars Nickey wud hab built dat chuch, good er bad niggahs; dat he tole him all dat he wanted him ter do wuz ter see ezactly wha de bricks wuz drapped, an’ ter be sho’ none ub dem bricks wuz drapped ergin dem _houn’ cedar pos’ toomstones_. Billy fudda spressify dat he bleebe de chuch wuz gwine ter be uh kind ub monumen’ ter he good an’ faithful houn’s an’ good an’ faithful serbents.

Ole Miss, when sweet sixteen, going to dance the minuet.
]

Meh brudderin, I hab now laid de foundation. So I wan’ you fus’ ter persidder de pictur on de face ub dat lubly clock; befo’ she strike ergin I am gwine ter tell you who de fus’ brickmakers wuz, an’ how dey cum ter meck bricks.

Way down in Egyp’ lan’ long time befo’ Klumbus ’skivvered Talbot County, da wuz uh king named Fario. He wuz uh gre’t man, an’ you kin ’magin’ what style he lib in fum de fac’ he had six hun’erd wibes, two chariots fuh each wife, an’ dey nebber is bin able ter fine out ezactly how many hosses, mules, jackasses, steers, cows, sheep, goats an’ serbents he had; an’ he had so much ter meck him peart dat he got ter be uh ve’y wile man. Well, dis king had uh lubly daughter, de apple ub he mouf an’ de ve’y spit ub de king. She had uh nice ’scluded little ribba (I specks it wuz mos’ ez putty ez Fausley Creek) futto bave in; she likewise had fo’ er five hun’erd han’maids, an’ all longed ter de qual’ty. De Bible call ’em damsels. I think hit’s uh good name fuh maids dese days, ’skusin’, ub cose, free niggahs. Well, de narration say dat Miss Fario wen’ down ter de ribba wid huh damsels futto bave. Dey wuz orndressin’ huh, ten maids wuz teckin’ de rings of’n huh ten fingahs, two mo’ maids wuz teckin’ huh earrings out, an’ uh nubba teckin’ de _earrings_ outin huh nose. (All de qual’ty wo’ rings in deah noses dem days.) Jes’ ez she erboutin orndress—you see dey didn’ ware no bavin’ suits in de time ub de Petracks, an’ bad ez de men wuz dey didn’ bave wid de ladies; so da wuz sut’ny no mails ’roun’, ’ceppin’ uh monstus fine baby boy three monfs ole, dat wuz kivverd up wid bullrushes, an’ ’rapped in flags (I s’pose de flags wuz some ole sorf battle-flags)—well, jes’ ez de king’s daughter put huh little feets in de watah ter see ef’n it tu cole, she heah uh chile cry. She jumped back relarmed, an’ say ter huh maids, “What’s dat?” Den she look in de bullrushes, an’ lo an’ beholst, da wuz uh cutesome lookin’ cradle wid flags ’roun’ hit (Is’lite flags, I s’pose), an’ uh baby fairly harkin’; he cryin’ so.

Hit is s’pose by narrationists dat de ma ub de chile got de frog fright, kase frogs wuz so thick, an’ gittin’ thicker, dat dey wuz in de kitchens, smoke houses, parlors, tubs, cookin’ ubbins, an’ in de beds; so de chile’s ma meck uh sort ub deck-ober cradle ub mud, tar, pitch an’ beeswax, dat made hit frog-proof, an’ da’s wha dey sho’ly foun’ de baby. Pres’ny Miss Fario saw uh ooman stan’in’ neah by, so she say, “Is you de muvva ub dis chile?” She say, “Yes’m!” Miss Fario say, “Cum heah an’ nuss dis chile right ’way an’ I’ll pay you ter be de chile’s mammy. I’m gwine ter ’dopt him; he uh monstus fine chile. ’Sides I want something futto caress; an’ ez I foun’ him in de watah, I’m gwine ter gib him de lubly name ub Moses, kase de Bible say in Egyp’ lan’ Moses is de name fuh watah.”

Bimeby he grow’d up ter be uh gre’t man, an’ wuz ve’y friendly wid de Petracks. Pres’ny you will see de application.

Well, de king say ter de Petracks, “We is gwine ter hab uh gre’t famin’, kase de frogs, locusses an’ grasshoppus is uh carryin’ on high.” So dey all ’cided ter buy all de cawn dat wuz riz dat yeah. Pres’ny heah cum de famin’, sho’ nuff; den de Gyptian farmers an’ sheppards cum ter Joseph. Dey say, “Joseph, we horngry; we ain’ got no cawn!” Joseph right ’way say, “I’s got plenty cawn!” So dey buy uh plantation ub cawn, an’ Joseph teck de money ter de King, an’ de King he hab uh gay time ober dat money ub de Is’lites.

Now, strange ter say, wid all de hosses, chariots, foxhoun’s, an’ I ’specks, fine coon dogs dat dey could wusship, an’ wid deah wissum tu (kase Mars Pinckney say dey knew’d mo’n we do)—fuh all dat dey wusship crockdiles (why, de Bible say King Solomon had six hun’erd wibes an’ three hun’erd _crockdiles_; jes’ think ub dat!), el’phants, ants, bulls, butterflies, grasshoppus, frogs, an’ I dunno what not, an’ dey didn’ keer no mo’ fuh one ooman dan uh man keer fuh uh yaller-jacket’s nes’. Yas, indeed; dey wusship ’mos’ ev’ything ’ceppin’ uh damsel. Dey had drobes ub wibes, but dey didn’ hab no condidence in deah wibes. Why, ef’n dey hab uh composation ebin wid uh Pawson, dem Kings an’ Judges wud ’mejately hab deah haids cut orf.

Well, hit cum ter pars in erboutin uh yeah dem po’ Is’lites cum back ter de Petracks mo’ horngry dan ebba, an’ tell deah tale ub ’stress. Dey say, “We ain’ got no money; we spend hit all fuh cawn. Our fodder is all ’zausted, so we fotch our cattle; we will gib dese cattle fuh cawn. So Joseph count de cattle an’ teck ’em fuh cawn. Now, dat’s two yeahs ub de famine. Dar’s five mo’ yit.”

Well, hit cum ter pars uh yeah arfter dat dey cum ergin an’ dey say, “We ain’ got uh _cent dis time_, an’ no cattle; how-some-eber, we mus’ hab cawn; we kyant lib ’dout hit. So dey gib all deah plantations. So King Fario own all Egyp’ lan’, an’ he carry on higher still, jes’ scan’lus, ve’y mischevious, kase he own mos’ ez many plantations ez Ab’ham.”

Brudderin, uh yeah went by, an’ heah cum dem po’ horngry sheppards an’ farmers ergin. Dey say, “We almos’ starbed we so horngry.” King Fario say “What you got ter gimmy, now?” An’ dey say, “Nuffin ’ceppin’ our bodies, futto be yo’ slabes.”

Moses wuz uh gre’t man, ve’y gre’t man (he nuss wuz uh cullud pusson), so he look on all de time, stroked his whiskus, leaned on dat cutesome rod ub his’n an’ didn’ say nuffin, jes’ meddowtate an’ muse, muse an’ meddowtate. Now, Moses natch’ly felt po’ly kase he had kilt uh Gyptian de day befo’ fuh kickin’ uh Is’lite, one ub he people. Pres’ny heah cum King Fario, dribin’ fo’ jack-asses in uh chariot he had jes’ bought wid sum ub his cawn money. Little Billy say he read somewha in de Bible dat King Fario shuck han’s wid Moses, an’ say ter him in uh whispuh:

“Moses, I’m gwine ter teck all dem Gyptians ez slabes. Dar’s such uh drouf, so many frogs, locusses an’ grasshoppus, da ain’ no use ter set ’em at wuck in de fiel’s, so I’m gwine ter meck ’em wuck hyard fuh dat cawn. I wan’ at leas’ uh harf million sot ter wuck dis day, but what dey gwine ter do? Dat’s de consequation! Dar’s uh gre’t deman’ fuh bricks ev’ywha, but meh clay ain’ ve’y good.”

Den Moses riz up his rod, gib it uh twiss, an’ cunjured dat rod. Den dey had uh little serpent dance, an’ while dey wuz uh dancin’ Moses say, “You got ’bun’ance ub straw, an’ ef’n de straw gib out you got plenty ub stubble.” King Fario say, “Uh case orntried is hyard ter justify.” Den Moses gib he rod nubba twiss (Little Billy say dat de rod wuz made outin witch hazel wood), an’ he spressify, “I’s foun’ out uh way ter meck bricks ’doutin straw!” An’ right ’way dem po’ slabes wuz sot ter brick-meckin’.

“Let us meck brick.”

Den arfter dey bin meckin bricks ’boutin two hun’erd yeah hit cum ter pars dat de profit Ex-o-dus said, “Ye shall no mo’ gib de people straw ter meck bricks, ez heahtofo’; let ’em go an’ gavva straw fuh demsebs.”

Brudderin, when you gib bricks uh _solid_ thought hit’s uh pow’ful subjec’. Fac’ is, we is all bricks, an’ made fum de same clay. I is not spressifyin’ de application ter straw bricks, kase I dunno how dey is turnt ter clay.

Bricks is our house futto dwell in an’ wusshup in while we libbin’, an’ our house in de groun’ tell de day cum when de gre’t Marster blow He hohn an’ we stan’ befo’ uh gate finah dan any King Sol’man ebba had. Belubbed, is you gwine ter try an’ swing on dat gate? [A voice: “Yas, Lawd!”] an’ be da ter heah St. Peter say “Heah cum meh chillun; lemmy call deah names.” Brudderin, sistus an’ little chillun, will he call yo’ names?

Tilly Mink: “Brer Rasmus, I’m mos’ swingin’ on dat gate now!”

Well, den, meck dat boy Scipio Jones, settin’ ’side you, teck dat sweet-tater harness orf, an’ dat piece ub sheep rib outin his mouf, he chawin’, fuh uh bit.

At de lars camp meetin’ uh ve’y ’stinguish’ Babtis’ pawson said he wuz s’prised dat de lubly daughter ub King Fario merried King Sol’mon, uh man dat wusshup’d frogs, bulls, el’phants an’ crock’diles fuh pets. My ’pinion is she fell in lub wid dat _brick_ house ub de King’s, dat de Bible say had two thousan’ baf tubs, an’ teck thutteen yeah ter buil’. Den, ergin, de bricks wuz laid in gole. King Fario’s daughter cudn’ resis’ uh house like dat, an’ I don’ think ’twuz hyard ter ondastan’. Huh merryin’ de King, dafo’, wuz uh subjec’ dat wuz rash-nal.

When we gittin’ our heb’nly trunk packed, an’ when we trabblin’ up ter St. Peter’s gait, I kin see Uncle Reubin, Aunt Phillis, Uncle Stephen, Aunt Sookey, Rasmus Jemes, Damon Danridge, Pawson Phil Demby an’ Mammy Nancy trottin’ ’long de road in de beauty ub holiness, goin’ ter St. Peter’s gait an’ longin’ ter git deah han’s on de gait futto ring dat bell. An’ I kin see Little Billy (be sho’ an’ pray fuh him, Sistus; ef’n coons, ’possums, fiddles an’ banjos had nebba ’zisted, he wudn’ be uh sinnah)—yas, I kin see Little Billy stan’in’ wid Jasper pullin’ dat bell tell he mos’ breck de wire, an’ pester St. Peter so dat he say, “Who dat tryin’ ter breck meh bell?” Den de bell wen’ jing-uh-ling ergin! Den St. Peter ’mejately stuck he lubly haid ober de gate an’ say, “Gwuffum heah, Little Billy; you ain’ bin ’nointed. Yon got ter lib wid dem you likes ter keep cump’ny wid; fuh instinc’, witches, ghoses, jack-uh-ma-lanterns an’ de chillun in de wilderness ub Zip!” You kin ’magine how po’ Billy’s face look—much mo’ sadder dan Scip Jones’ look at de cake-walk lars’ Chris’mus; an’ when St. Peter smile same ez uh serrypin an’ say, “Heah cum meh chillun; walk in de watah, fuh hit’s al’ays wahm; let me babtiz you in de golden ribba,” Billy wuz so ’stressed dat he kicked Jasper an’ say, “Hit’s all yo’ fault; ef’n you wan’ sech uh good coon dog I’d nebba bin led ’stray.”

Now, dis will cum ter pars: When St. Peter sees Aunt Phillis an’ Uncle Reubin cummin’ ’long he will say, jes’ ez sho’ ez judgmen’ day is cummin’, “Cherrypins an’ serrypins, an’ Ham, de cullud son ub Noahy, bresh de dust fum two ub de bes’ seats in de Lawd’s kitchen fuh dem two saints, an’ tell ’em we gwine ter hab uh festibal!” I wan’ Ham ter set ’long side you an’ pint out Samuel de fus’, an’ secon’, Moses, King Dabid, King Fario, Zackeus de climber, an’ lars’, but not leas’, Ho Ho, an’ you’ll see fum he habin’ whiskus he ain’ no Chine er Japne. Den de profit Noahy will renounce dat King Dabid an’ he son, King Sol’mon, gwine ter sing uh jewette togedda—King David, ub cose, playin’ on his hyarp ub uh thousan’ strings; an’ I ’specks dat sweetes’ son ub Noahy, Ham, will play de banjo. Bless meh soul an’ body, an’ meh body an’ soul, belubbed, what uh festibal hit will be! Sistus, I kin see ’em all.

Tilly Mink: “Yas, Brer Rasmus, all clustah’d ’roun’ de pul-pit.”

John Poney: “Kin you see me, Brer Rasmus?”

No; I am lis’nin’ ter ’em talk. Dear little Jona will tell erboutin’ his sea voyage; St. Peter, dat lubly ’possel, ub how many shirks he kotch an’ kilt; Little Jack-a-ass erboutin how slippery wuz de sycamo’ tree he clum; Jacob erboutin de lubly streeked, striped an’ speckled cattle he riz; Nimrod erboutin coon dogs, King Sol’mon erboutin he thorrybreds—brudderin’ I cud preach fum dis tex’ fuh uh monf an’ nebba git rejected, but I mus’ migrate ter dem dat ain’ bin ’mersed. Wha will dey be when dat sweet festibal is gwine on? Cole ez hit is—an’ dar’s fo’ back logs on de fire—I say cole ez hit is, tu cole fuh uh ’possum ter be out, yit I feel so het up fum dis discose dat I kin almos’ tase de red hot melted lead, an’ sizzlin’ brimstone dat de sinnah hab ter resis’ on.

“You kyant eat uh hoe-cake but once!” so cum ter de moanah’s bench now; cum while de hoe-cake ub salbation is brown wid faith, an’ all kivver’d ober wid de graby ub redemption, an’ hab yo’ fingahs filled wid streams ub goodness. When you go befo’ St. Peter, de gre’t fisherman, he got Moses stan’in’ by he side wid dat curisome rod ub his’n.[13] Den Moses tap you on de han’ wid he rod, an’ ef’n you good yo’ fingah nails will fly back, an’ Moses will pull fum yo’ fingahs gre’t long strings ub goodness; an’ ef’n you bad, gre’t long black bad strings.

Uncle Reubin Viney say dat he heah uh gre’t Mefodis’ pawson say dat Unuch, who wuz transplanted, wuz so good dat he didn’ hab any fingah nails, an’ de Mefodis’ pawson also say de reason de debbil is called Ole Scratch is kase he fingah nails long ez uh roostus spuhs.

Now, when Moses tap yo’ fingahs what he gwine ter pull out? Belubbed, now is de time fuh de checkeration ub yo’ sins. Burhol’ de golden stairs starin’ you in de face! Sistus an’ brudders, you mus’ try ter clim’ dem stairs. Hit will meck yo’ legs, ahms, risses an’ hyarts so strong, jes’ ez it did little Zackasses when he clum dat slippery sycamo’ tree; an’ when you git ter de top ub dem golden stairs you will see fus’ Ole Mars Nickey, Mars Tilghman, Mars Jimmy an’ Miss Henrietta wid wings _’hine_ an’ _befo’_ an’ cullud angels consonly breshin’ de dus’ fum Miss Henrietta’s cheah, an’ lookin’ fuh huh specks, an’ you’ll see de same sweet ringlets in huh hyah. Yas, indeed! kissen huh lubly brow, neck an’ bres’ jes’ like de jewdraps kisses de snowballs in de gyardin. An’ pres’ny she will raise up dem sweet han’s ub huh’n dat’s of’n bin bu’nt meckin’ poltices fuh good an’ bad serbents, open huh cherrypin mouf an’ say, “Dem’s meh good serbents; I knew’d dey’d be heah!” An’ den she’ll call Ham an’ say, “Gib ’em nice seats in de Lawd’s kitchen;” an’ while she gibbin’ orders King Dabid chune he hyarp, Gabriel he trumpet, an’ all de res’ ub de gre’t singers an’ players git ’roun’ de organ. Den King Sol’mon, wid uh pow’ful bow an’ uh book ub songs un’er his arm, ax Miss Henrietta futto play de organ; an’ Miss Henrietta bow fum him an’ look ez prowd ez uh peacock—an’ she wuz, tu! An’, belubbed, she say, “I’m sho’ you ain’ pus-nal, den ergin you ain’ rash-nal, King Sol’mon, kase you had tu many wibes; an’ ef’n it wan’ fuh dem lubly songs ub yo’n I wudn’ fogib yo’ sassyness er keep comp’ny wid you.”

Lars’ but not leas’, I ’specks Aunt Phillis sot at de melojin in de Lawd’s kitchen wid all Marster’s good an’ faithful serbents ’roun’ huh, an’ when Moses teck he rod an’ gib dat rod uh twiss, dey all included by singin’ togedda, de fo’f vus ub hym 473:

“He suvrin pow’r widout our aid
Made us ub clay [dar’s de application] an’ formed us men;
An’ when like wan’rin’ sheep we strayed,
He fotch us ter his fol’ ergen.”

Befo’ we sojourn I fogot ter renounce dat Mage Rudd say de keys ub de heb’nly organ wuz all made ub gole. Yistiddy I ax Mars Pinckney erboutin hit, an’ he say, “Sho’! Da wuz uh _Key_ made ub gole dat writ uh gre’t an’ pow’ful song.” Think ub dat! I dunno what he mean ezac’ly, but I s’pose hit sompin in rebellation.

OLE MISS.

(Miss Henrietta.)
]

JUBA VINEY’S YALLER PANTS.

Flowers were fading. Roses, hyacinths, honeysuckle, buttercups and bluebells all gave “sigh for sigh.” ’Twas the last of summer—the hour when birds fly homeward to their nests, wandering bees seek their hives, chickens their roosts. ’Twas twilight, and its dews bathed the blooming clematis, climbing and caressing the latticed porch; a wooing breeze wafted its perfume through Otwell House, and awoke the waves on the slumbering river.

Aunt Phillis had early leave to attend a Baptist prayer meeting, consequently the crickets were having a concert in the kitchen, little darkies were romping merrily on the lawn. Ole Mars was visiting Col. Leonard Hollyday and shooting sora and blue-wing duck on Wild Goose Marsh. Miss Henrietta had just tuned her harp and bade the servants be quiet. Presently all was silence, save the drowsy burr of some insect.

Her voice was mellifluous, her face pure and noble, and the servants worshipped her as the ancient Jews worshipped Queen Esther. She sang, “There is a green hill far away,” and her beautiful fingers at times touched the strings softly as snowflakes that fall upon the warm cheek of a maiden and melt into tears—as did her voice.

Below the porch sat Little Billy an enrapt listener. Just as the song was ended Juba Viney strolled by, and Little Billy said:

“Howdy, Juba! Which way you bin?”

“Ain’ bin no wha; jes’ gwine.”

“Wha you gwine?”

“Gwine ter Mage Rudd’s[14] sto’; tells me mus’rat hides is riz—wuf uh levy. I’m gwine ter sell mine.”

“Well, wait tell I chain Jasper, den I’ll go wid you.”

“What’s de matter wid Jasper, Billy?”

“Why, uh coon bit him in de foot lars nite. Nebber wud hab bit him ef’n Jasper hadn’ been ’fused. I smoked de coon outin uh holler, an’ de smoke ’fused de dog.”

“I’s glad futto hab you go, Billy, kase I wants yo’ ’sponsibility. I’s gwine ter buy some things at de sto’. I specks ter fill bof dese bags, dat’s full ub mus’rat hides, wid what I buy.”

“I wud teck meh mus’rat hides, too, but I sprain meh ankle, back, ahms, risses an’ han’s lars nite clim’in’ uh tree. I ain’ able ter tote nuffin, so I kyant teck meh skins ter nite.”

“Tho’t you say you smoke de coon out?”

“So I did, but dis wuz uh nubba coon.”

“I hope Mage Rudd won’ be shut up; I wan’ ter git sompin nice fuh Susan. She ’bout done promise she gwine ter hab me, Billy; wud uh merried me long ’go, ’ceppin’ fuh dat yaller niggah dat dribes fuh Mrs. Rodgers. She nebba bin in lub wid Jerry; hit’s only when Mrs. Rodgers cum ter see Miss Henrietta, an’ he got on glubs dat’s got fuz on ’em, uh ban’ ’roun’ he hat; bras’ buttons on he coat, white-top boots on, an’ uh sorter pine burr on de side ub he hat, an’ al’ays hab he pocket full ub can’y dat’s got vusses in ’em. Billy, don’ you say nuffin boutin hit, but I’m gwine ter hab meh pockets made bigga, an’ gwine ter hab one pocket full ub dat can’y all de time. What you s’pose dat can’y got in it? Hit almos’ cunjah Susan.

“Ef’n Susan cud jes’ see me once dress up dat way, why, man, she cudn’ resis’ me futto sabe huh life. Nite befo’ lars’ when she seed me gwine ter Zion, wid meh yaller pants on dat’s got black stripes down de legs, dem I bo’t at Mage Rudd’s, she jes’ wuz charm’; an’ when I show’d huh meh new par ub gallisters[15] I got ter ware wid dem pants, she ’low, ‘Juba, you sut’ny do look peart.’ When Aunt Sookey seed me she sez, ‘Juba, you luck tu sweet ter lib.’ Den Uncle Stephen he smole uh grin an’ say, ‘Wait tell Jerry cum prancin’ erlong, you won’ think so.’ Den dey cummenc’ titterin’ an’ pokin’ deah necks out jes’ like uh passel ub geese wid young goslin’s; mos’ ’gusted me! Billy, Mrs. Rodgers al’ays call dat niggah Jerry-Myah. I nebba knew’d any niggah ’roun’ heah name’ Myah, did you?”

“Not dat I kin recommember. He cum outin de Cyahrmichael fambly, an’ dey monstus cute sort ub niggahs.”

“Well, he ain’ ’stressin’ me! I walk home fum Zion lars’ Sunday wid Susan. She did luck tu cute in dat new Josey ub hern! I dunno which ’track huh mos’, de gre’t sermon ub Pawson Demby er meh yaller pants. He prech fum de book ub Daniel erboutin de time de William goat (Pawson Demby say ’twan’ perlite ter say Billy goat in de pulpit) fit an’ smut de ram an’ breck he hohns. He ’cluded fum two profits (I fogit de name ub de fus’ one, but hit got Zek in it), an’ hit wuz all erboutin de new moon, six lam’s an’ uh ram. De udder profit wuz de gre’t Gencis, an’ Pawson Demby ’splain ter us ’bout de two hun’erd yews an’ twenty rams dat Jacob sont See-saw.”

“Juba, you mean Esau, de hunter.”

“Yas, dat’s hit, Billy. You see, I kyant read ter ’fresh meh mem’ry. Well, hit wuz uh real farmer’s sermon, but I wuz glad when de ’cludin’ time cum, kase Pawson Demby prech two hours an’ uh harf, de pew wuz so crowded an’ we sot so close dat bof meh feet wen’ ’sleep; truf is, dey got so tired, an’ ’twuz so wahm, I wud hab tuck meh shoes orf, but I didn’ hab no stockin’s on. Mrs. Rodgers’ Jerry wan’ at chuch. Tilly, he sistah, say he had uh chill. Wish hit had shake he haid orf! So I walk home wid Susan. When she got in de kitchen an’ tuck huh shoes orf she say ergin, ‘Juba, you sut’ny do look peart!’ Den she put huh han’ in huh pocket, pull out one dem can’y vusses, an’ she say hit say:

“Wiolets red, roses blue,
Sugah sweet; me too.”

“Den she pull out nubba, an’ hit say—

Lub hangs ’round dis lubbin’ hyart
Like flies ’roun’ uh apple tart.

“Den she put huh han’s un’er de ap’on strings ’roun’ huh ’squisit’ waise—so! ’Cose I knewed what dat me’nt, so I tuck uh good tase ub dem big sweet lips ub huh’n. Den she try ter look like she ’fended, an’ say, ‘Go ’way, Juba; you al’ays wan’ ter be pus-nal.’ Den she skip ’long ter de dairy, an’ huh feet tech de groun’ jes’ ez sorf an’ lite ez uh ’possum’s. Bimeby she cum back wid huh ahms full ub uh gre’t big crock ub clabba, all kivvered ober wid brown sugah. Den I hilt huh an’ kiss’d huh sho’ nuff, mo’n six er seben times. I’d uh kiss huh six er seben hun’erd times, but I heahd Miss Henrietta cummin’ ter see boutin some ginger cakes she cookin’ in de stobe. I wuz sut’ny glad to heah huh, tu, kase I specks Susan wud uh scolded me pow’ful. Dunno tho’; kase when Miss Henrietta cum tippin’ in so sorf dat huh little feets wudn’ uh mash uh rose ef’n de kitchen flo’ bin kivvered wid ’em, Susan she wuz uh singin’, ‘Dar is uh happy lan’ fa’, fa’ erway,’ same ez uh martingale. How-some-ebba, she mus’ uh bin uh little ’fused, kase she cummenc’ ter stir dat clabba—when I heah Miss Henrietta an’ breck uh ’way—same ez hit wuz eggs, butta, cawn meal an’ butta milk, gittin’ stirred fuh johnny-cake. I’s teckin dis bag futto carry what I’s gwine ter buy huh. I wudn’ teck uh kyart-load ub mus’rat hides fuh dat gal’s lub! An’ ef’n Mage Rudd is got ’em, I’s gwine ter buy harf peck ub dat sweet can’y dat’s got vusses, some ammons, resins, dates an’ apples—’nuff futto fill dis bag. Den fuh mehsef I wan’ ter git uh mouf orgin, two mo’ juice-hyarps, an’ wid de res’ ub de money I’s gwine ter see ef’n I kyant buy uh new par ub pants, yaller wid black stripes, an’ uh fiddle.”

“You better buy sompin’ dat will meck money.”

“What’s dat?”

“Why, some ub dem new kine ub steel traps, ’sted ub wasein’ yo’ money on can’y, resins, an’ sich like fuh dat gal Susan futto eat wid Mrs. Rodgers’ Jerry. Juba, you sut’ny mus’ t’ink ’tain’ no trubble ter ketch mus’rats an’ skin ’em, de way you wase yo’ money; mo’n dat, I wants ter borry two dollars fum you mehsef tell I sell meh mus’rat hides. Now, what you wan’ wid two par yellow pants’ Dey ve’y putty, but one par nuff fuh dis summer, dat’s harf gone.”

“Well, Billy, I spile dem pants day befo’ yistiddy, which I will tell you boutin, tho’ hits uh composation dat’s ornpleasan’ ter me. Well, I had bin haulin’ cawn all day ter Cap’n Stitchberry’s schooner, de Margaret Jane. I wan’ ter dress up ter teck Susan ter de ’bate at Zion Chuch, so I jes’ fed Crow an’ Ab’ham, tu’n ’em loose, an’ didn’ teck deah yoke off. Fus’ place, dat white steer Crow is dangersome ter projic wid—Uncle Stephen say de gre’tes’ kicker he ebba saw; an’ he say de nite Crow wuz bohn wuz de wus’ nite he ebba saw. Blowin’, dark an’ snowin’—so dark dat’s why dey call him Crow. Uncle Stephen say when uh leetle ca’f he wud kick his ma, ole Snowball, quick ez he wud kick you. So, ’cose I didn’ wan’ dat steer ter kick me big ez he is. I heahd Uncle Silas say one time he wuz plowin’ wid Dove an’ Pigeon—dey wuz de bigges’ an’ strongis’ mules Mars Nickey had. He plow’d up uh yaller-jackets’ nes’, an’ he wuzn’ watchin Dove er Pigeon; he wuz jes’ watchin’ an’ fightin’ dem yaller-jackets. He say he had mos’ wo’ out uh bran’ new straw hat fightin’ ’em, an’ wuz mos’ ’zausted, when dey got on Dove. She gib uh kick, _bof_ huh feet hit him on de haid an’ gib him de haidache all day. An’ dat uh steer name Sampson—an’ he wan’ sech uh pow’ful steer neba—kick him on de haid wid _one_ foot, an’ he haid ache fuh _two_ days.

“Well, ez I wuz tellin’ you, I hadn’ mo’n fed Crow an’ Ab’ham, when dat new oberseer, Dan Sharp, cum ’long an’ sez ter me, jes’ ez I wuz startin’ ter see Susan, ‘Why didn’ you teck de yoke of’n dem steers?’ So I say, ‘Kase I fogot hit!’ ‘Well, den,’ he say, ’you lazy roscal, teck hit orf now!’ I wuz all dress up in meh bes’ summer close, an’ I recommembered what you say boutin dat oberseer; so I riz meh haid up an’ say, sassy-like, ‘You roscal yo’sef.’ Billy, wid dat he fairly foam at de mouf, run arfter me fas’ ez uh colt; den I run an’ run, but he gain on me (you see, I had meh shoes on), an’ I wuz so feard gittin’ kotch an’ whupped, da wuz nuffin lef’ fuh me but ter run in de creek, at de mouf ub Haylan’ Branch, up ter meh neck—_wid dem new yaller pants on_. Arfter I had bin in de watah boutin twenty minutes, mebby uh harf hour, long nuff fuh Dan Sharp ter git his bref back, he say, ‘Who uh roscal, you black imp; me er you?’ I sez rite quick, ‘I is!’ Den he say, ‘You kin cum outin de creek.’ Den I tu’n fool, ez hit tu’n out, an’ say, ‘I ain’ gwine ter cum out; I’s gwine ter suffah in heah. I’s gwine ter git de cramps, an’ uh mis’ry in meh back, an’ den go an’ tell Mars Nickey an’ Miss Henrietta how I kotch dem cramps.’ Den Dan Sharp say, ‘Ef’n you gwine ter tell yo’ Mars Nickey an’ Miss Henrietta, den I will keep you in heah tell midnite.’ Den he teck out he watch an’ say, ‘I’ll send de fus’ one ub de chillun dat cum ’long de road fuh meh supper. I ain’ sorry ter stay heah, kase I heah tell ub de dancin’ parties de witches hab in dis branch, an’ I wanter see how long hit will teck ’em ter gib you spavins when dey gits ter dancin’ an’ meddowtatin’ ’roun’ you an’ tryin’ ter meck sturrups in yo’ hyah.’

“Billy, I had meh hyah all tied up in twisses, but when de oberseer talk dat fashion, meh hyah riz up on meh haid so quick hit bus’ dem twisses. I mos’ had uh spavin, sho’ nuff. When meh bref cum back I say, ‘Befo’ de Lawd, Mr. Sharp, I promis’ not ter tell.’ Den he lemmy cum out. Well, Billy, ef’n you cud hab seed de colour de salt watah tu’n dem lubly pants, you’d uh wep’. Do you recommember uh ole white-eyed, pie-coloured hoss dat good ole Quakah, Mars Isaac Atkinson, had name Skeuball?”

“’Cose I do. Mars Isaac use ter say witches made stirrups in he main, an’ sometimes rid him ober ter Fausley.” [Billy was that witch!]

“Well, de colour ub dem pants ’mine me ub ole Skeuball; I kyant ’magin’ what de man dat made de muslin cud uh put in hit. An’ Billy, I kyant ondastan’ how cum Mr. Sharp run me in dat creek. I’m mo’n twice ez big ez you is, an’ you say when he cuss you, you cuss him back. ’Cose arfter what you spressify ter me, when he sass me I rite ’way ’cluded ter sass him. So I say, ‘You roscal yo’sef.’ Billy you no de consequation ub dat miration. I ’ten’ ter ax Mr. Sharp when he meck up wid me how cum hit dat Billy kin cuss him an’ I kyant ebin sass him.”

“Juba, don’ tu’n fool ergin. Don’ say nuffin ter him nohow; hit will jes’ meck him mad ergin, an’ dat gre’t big man mite breck bof our necks. Da wuz uh checkeration in our composation de nite I tole you, fuh Mage Rudd tuck his broom an’ fairly swep’ me outin his sto’ fuh spillin’ mullasses on de sto’ flo’, an’ I wuz tu fusstified ter tell you de res’ ub what I did boutin Mr. Sharp. Well, Juba, de res’ is, when I wan’ ter cuss him I goes way up ter de top ub de hill ’hin’ de bawn. Den I looks all ’roun’ an’ ’roun’, an’ ef’n I don’ see Mr. Sharp no wha neah, I jes’ cuss, cuss, an’ cusses him; an’ dat way, hit do mo’ good dan yo’ way, kase you kin git mad ez you wan’ ter, spressify yo’sef jes’ ez yo’ wan’ ter, an’ hit don’ teck de colour outin yo’ pants.”

“Well, Billy, I ain’ fogot de spilein’ ub dem pants, I tell you. I bin t’inkin’ ’bout breckin’ meh wud an’ tyin’ meh haid up’n uh hankcheah an’ tellin’ Mars Nickey de ve’y fus’ time he ax me how I feel. Den I’ll say, “Po’ly, Mars Nickey; ve’y po’ly eber sence Mr. Sharp run me in yo’ creek at de foot ub Haylan’ Branch mash an’ kep’ me stan’in’ in da mos’ all nite tramplin’ on yo’ oysters. Now, what do you t’ink, Billy, boutin dat?”

“Ez you gwine ter tell Marster in de summah time er de wintah time?”

“Dunno, Billy; I ain’ t’ink ’bout dat.”

“Well, teck my ’vice an’ tell him in de summah time, kase boutin uh harf hour arfter you tell him, da will be tu pussons stan’in’ in de creek up ter deah moufs—one will be Mr. Sharp, tudda, Juba Viney.”

“HIS BREF KINLETH COALS.”

Sistus, brudders an’ chillun: You will fine meh tex’ in de forty-fus’ chaptah ub Job, an’ uh part ub de twenty-fus’ vus: “His bref kinleth coals.”

Fus’ly, meh discose ter-day will be ’boutin strange things.

Da is some people in dis congation, ’tickerly Little Billy, dat kyant ondastan’ why we don’ no mo’ erboutin witches, an’ ghoses. De fac’ is, sence de witch cummittee went inter Haylan’ Branch, saw uh ghose er sperrit—an’ dey sut’ny saw one er de udda—da has bin too much witch talk in dis congation. Fuh instinct, what diffunc’ do hit meck ef’n hit de same sort, er not de same sort, ub witches dat Saul talk erboutin when he say, “Thou shal’ not suffah uh witch ter lib.” Mo’n dat, he cud ’ford ter talk dat way, fars ez he cud run.

De Bible say, “Saul an’ Jonithan wuz swiftah dan eagles.”

Secon’ly, Meh belubbed sistus, da is some things you nebba kin fine out, stranger dan witches an’ mo’ ’structive dan witches er jack-uh-ma-lanterns.

Thudly, Dis lubly oak pulpit Mars Nickey had built full us wuz once uh acorn—think ub dat; an’ you may keep on thinkin’, but you kyant ondastan’ it.

Fo’fly, Miss Henrietta cum in de chuch yistiddy an’ look ’roun’ while I wuz sweepin’. She say: “Reubin, Chris’mus I gwine ter gib de chuch uh melojin.” She had in huh bres’ fo’ er five little wiolets, an’ dey jes’ fill de chuch full ub deah sweetness—dunno tho’, kase I specks some ub de sweetness wuz fum huh bref, kase hit’s jes’ like uh lam’s.

Now, den, what cud be mo’ strange dan de odah fum uh little wiolet? Hit cums peepin’ up in de early spring, den hit buds an’ blooms, an’ uh bed ub dem wiolets is ez sweet ez dat hyarp ub uh thousan’ strings dat little Dabid played ’pon. What’s in de groun’ ’ceppin’ de wumms ter gib dat wiolet odah? Mars Nickey say dat wumms sweeten de uth an’ meck holes futto let de air in. You kin smell de wiolet, but you kyant kerry dat odah ’way wid you; but uh jewdrap kin cum ’long erboutin sundown, drap on dat flowah, res’ uh little while, an’ what’s de consequation? Why, dat little jewdrap will ’sorb ernuff ub dat odah ter meck yo’ hankcheah smell sweet fuh uh hole Sunday, an’ you kin teck hit outin yo’ pocket ev’y five minutes, ef’n you wan’ter.

What’s witches er ghoses ’long side de mistification ub uh jewdrap? Why, de action ub young chickens is mo’ curisome ter me dan witches. Ef’n uh chicken is only two days ole, and not strong ernuff ter git on he ma’s back, an’ uh wile tukkey, er wile goose, er buzzard cum sailin’ ’long, hit don’ pesterfy de ole hen er any ub huh chicks. Dey keep on playin’ wid dere toes an’ tryin’ ter pick up ebery little trem’lin’ sunbeam dat’s playin’ wid de grass; but jes’ let uh little sparrow-hawk, er any kind ub hawk cum ’long, you’ll see dat ole hen renounce hit ter huh chicks quick ez you kin wink yo’ eye. Den you kin look an’ look, but you kyant fine one ub dem little chickens ter sabe yo’ life.

Now, why is dat? Hits da _in_-sence; dat is, de sence dat’s in ’em.

Sixly, Teck uh little cherry blossom dat you cud put in Miss Henrietta’s thimble; hit mecks uh cherry tree. I’s talkin’ now boutin dem small breed ub cherry blossoms dat grows at Fausley, on dem monstus gre’t big trees. Why, some ub de bumps on dem trees is big ernuff ter set on. Pow’ful big cherry trees! What’s witches ter de cherry blossoms dat mecks dem big trees? You kyant ’splain hit.