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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Solomon Crow's Christmas Pockets and Other
+Tales, by Ruth McEnery Stuart
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Solomon Crow's Christmas Pockets and Other Tales
+
+Author: Ruth McEnery Stuart
+
+Release Date: January 12, 2009 [EBook #27779]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Carla Foust and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+book was produced from scanned images of public domain
+material from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note
+
+
+Inconsistencies in language and dialect found in the original book have
+been retained. Minor punctuation errors have been changed without
+notice. Printer errors have been changed and are listed at the end.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS
+
+RUTH McENERY STUART]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: [_See page 34_
+
+"'DIS HEAH'S A FUS-CLASS THING TER WORK OFF BAD TEMPERS WID'"]
+
+
+
+
+   SOLOMON CROW'S
+
+   CHRISTMAS POCKETS
+
+   AND OTHER TALES
+
+   BY
+
+   RUTH McENERY STUART
+
+   AUTHOR OF
+
+   "A GOLDEN WEDDING" "THE STORY OF BABETTE"
+   "CARLOTTA'S INTENDED" ETC.
+
+   ILLUSTRATED
+
+
+
+   NEW YORK
+   HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
+   1897
+
+
+
+
+BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
+
+     CARLOTTA'S INTENDED, and Other Tales. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
+       $1 50.
+
+     THE GOLDEN WEDDING, and Other Tales. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
+       $1 50.
+
+     THE STORY OF BABETTE. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 50.
+
+PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
+
+Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
+
+_All rights reserved._
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+MY DEAR NIECE
+
+LITTLE MISS LEA CALLAWAY
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                                    PAGE
+
+   SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS                                    3
+
+   THE TWO TIMS                                                       23
+
+   THE FREYS' CHRISTMAS PARTY                                         39
+
+   LITTLE MOTHER QUACKALINA                                           67
+
+   OLD EASTER                                                         91
+
+   SAINT IDYL'S LIGHT                                                111
+
+   "BLINK"                                                           131
+
+   DUKE'S CHRISTMAS                                                  165
+
+   UNCLE EPHE'S ADVICE TO BRER RABBIT                                193
+
+   MAY BE SO                                                         199
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+   "'DIS HEAH'S A FUS-CLASS THING TER WORK OFF BAD
+      TEMPERS WID'"                                        _Frontispiece_
+
+   "'SHE OUGHT TO EAT CANARY-SEED AND FISH-BONE'"         _Facing p._  46
+
+   THE ITALIAN ORGAN-GRINDER                                  "        62
+
+   "THE PROFESSOR NOT ONLY SANG, BUT DANCED"                  "        64
+
+   "THE FARMER'S BOY WAS A HUNTER"                            "        68
+
+   "SIR SOOTY HIMSELF ACTUALLY WADDLED INTO THE FARM-YARD"    "        74
+
+   "'I'M GOIN' TO SWAP 'EM'"                                  "        76
+
+   "MADE HER PUT OUT HER TONGUE"                              "        78
+
+   "HER OWN TEN BEAUTIFUL DUCKS WERE CLOSE ABOUT HER"         "        86
+
+   OLD EASTER                                                 "        92
+
+   "'YAS, MISSY, I WAS TWENTY-FO' HOND'ED YEARS OLE,
+      LAS' EASTER SUNDAY'"                                    "        94
+
+   "'DE CATS? WHY, HONEY, DEY WELCOME TO COME AN' GO'"        "       106
+
+   "'KEEP STEP, RABBIT, MAN!'"                                "       192
+
+   "'WELL, ONE MO' RABBIT FUR DE POT'"                        "       194
+
+
+
+
+SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS
+
+
+
+
+SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS
+
+
+His mother named him Solomon because, when he was a baby, he looked so
+wise; and then she called him Crow because he was so black. True, she
+got angry when the boys caught it up, but then it was too late. They
+knew more about crows than they did about Solomon, and the name suited.
+
+His twin-brother, who died when he was a day old, his mother had called
+Grundy--just because, as she said, "Solomon an' Grundy b'longs together
+in de books."
+
+When the wee black boy began to talk, he knew himself equally as Solomon
+or Crow, and so, when asked his name, he would answer: "Sol'mon Crow,"
+and Solomon Crow he thenceforth became.
+
+Crow was ten years old now, and he was so very black and polished and
+thin, and had so peaked and bright a face, that no one who had any
+sense of humor could hear him called Crow without smiling.
+
+Crow's mother, Tempest, had been a worker in her better days, but she
+had grown fatter and fatter until now she was so lazy and broad that her
+chief pleasure seemed to be sitting in her front door and gossiping with
+her neighbors over the fence, or in abusing or praising little Solomon,
+according to her mood.
+
+Tempest had never been very honest. When, in the old days, she had hired
+out as cook and carried "her dinner" home at night, the basket on her
+arm had usually held enough for herself and Crow and a pig and the
+chickens--with some to give away. She had not meant Crow to understand,
+but the little fellow was wide awake, and his mother was his pattern.
+
+But this is the boy's story. It seemed best to tell a little about his
+mother, so that, if he should some time do wrong things, we might all,
+writer and readers, be patient with him. He had been poorly taught. If
+we could not trace our honesty back to our mothers, how many of us would
+love the truth?
+
+Crow's mother loved him very much--she thought. She would knock down any
+one who even blamed him for anything. Indeed, when things went well, she
+would sometimes go sound asleep in the door with her fat arm around
+him--very much as the mother-cat beside her lay half dozing while she
+licked her baby kitten.
+
+But if Crow was awkward or forgot anything--or didn't bring home money
+enough--her abuse was worse than any mother-cat's claws.
+
+One of her worst taunts on such occasions was about like this: "Well,
+you is a low-down nigger, I must say. Nobody, to look at you, would
+b'lieve you was twin to a angel!"
+
+Or, "How you reckon yo' angel-twin feels ef he's a-lookin' at you now?"
+
+Crow had great reverence for his little lost mate. Indeed, he feared the
+displeasure of this other self, who, he believed, watched him from the
+skies, quite as much as the anger of God. Sad to say, the good Lord,
+whom most children love as a kind, heavenly Father, was to poor little
+Solomon Crow only a terrible, terrible punisher of wrong, and the little
+boy trembled at His very name. He seemed to hear God's anger in the
+thunder or the wind; but in the blue sky, the faithful stars, the
+opening flowers and singing birds--in all loving-kindness and
+friendship--he never saw a heavenly Father's love.
+
+He knew that some things were right and others wrong. He knew that it
+was right to go out and earn dimes to buy the things needed in the
+cabin, but he equally knew it was wrong to get this money dishonestly.
+Crow was a very shrewd little boy, and he made money honestly in a
+number of ways that only a wide-awake boy would think about.
+
+When fig season came, in hot summer-time, he happened to notice that
+beautiful ripe figs were drying up on the tip-tops of some great trees
+in a neighboring yard, where a stout old gentleman and his old wife
+lived alone, and he began to reflect.
+
+"If I could des git a-holt o' some o' dem fine sugar figs dat's
+a-swivelin' up every day on top o' dem trees, I'd meck a heap o' money
+peddlin' 'em on de street." And even while he thought this thought he
+licked his lips. There were, no doubt, other attractions about the figs
+for a very small boy with a very sweet tooth.
+
+On the next morning after this, Crow rang the front gate-bell of the
+yard where the figs were growing.
+
+"Want a boy to pick figs on sheers?" That was all he said to the fat old
+gentleman who had stepped around the house in answer to his ring.
+
+Crow's offer was timely.
+
+Old Mr. Cary was red in the face and panting even yet from reaching up
+into the mouldy, damp lower limbs of his fig-trees, trying to gather a
+dishful for breakfast.
+
+"Come in," he said, mopping his forehead as he spoke.
+
+"Pick on shares, will you?"
+
+"Yassir."
+
+"Even?"
+
+"Yassir."
+
+"Promise never to pick any but the very ripe figs?"
+
+"Yassir."
+
+"Honest boy?"
+
+"Yassir."
+
+"Turn in, then; but wait a minute."
+
+He stepped aside into the house, returning presently with two baskets.
+
+"Here," he said, presenting them both. "These are pretty nearly of a
+size. Go ahead, now, and let's see what you can do."
+
+Needless to say, Crow proved a great success as fig-picker. The very
+sugary figs that old Mr. Cary had panted for and reached for in vain lay
+bursting with sweetness on top of both baskets.
+
+The old gentleman and his wife were delighted, and the boy was quickly
+engaged to come every morning.
+
+And this was how Crow went into the fig business.
+
+Crow was a likable boy--"so bright and handy and nimble"--and the old
+people soon became fond of him.
+
+They noticed that he always handed in the larger of the two baskets,
+keeping the smaller for himself. This seemed not only honest, but
+generous.
+
+And generosity is a winning virtue in the very needy--as winning as it
+is common. The very poor are often great of heart.
+
+But this is not a safe fact upon which to found axioms.
+
+All God's poor are not educated up to the point of even small, fine
+honesties, and the so-called "generous" are not always "just" or honest.
+
+And--
+
+Poor little Solomon Crow! It is a pity to have to write it, but his weak
+point was exactly that he was not quite honest. He wanted to be, just
+because his angel-twin might be watching him, and he was afraid of
+thunder. But Crow was so anxious to be "smart" that he had long ago
+begun doing "tricky" things. Even the men working the roads had
+discovered this. In eating Crow's "fresh-boiled crawfish" or "shrimps,"
+they would often come across one of the left-overs of yesterday's
+supply, mixed in with the others; and a yesterday's shrimp is full of
+stomach-ache and indigestion. So that business suffered.
+
+In the fig business the ripe ones sold well; but when one of Crow's
+customers offered to buy all he would bring of green ones for
+preserving, Crow began filling his basket with them and distributing a
+top layer of ripe ones carefully over them. His lawful share of the very
+ripe he also carried away--in his little bread-basket.
+
+This was all very dishonest, and Crow knew it. Still he did it many
+times.
+
+And then--and this shows how one sin leads to another--and then, one
+day--oh, Solomon Crow, I'm ashamed to tell it on you!--one day he
+noticed that there were fresh eggs in the hen-house nests, quite near
+the fig-trees. Now, if there was anything Crow liked, it was a fried
+egg--two fried eggs. He always said he wanted two on his plate at once,
+looking at him like a pair of round eyes, "an' when dey reco'nizes me,"
+he would say, "den I eats 'em up."
+
+Why not slip a few of these tempting eggs into the bottom of the basket
+and cover them up with ripe figs?
+
+And so--,
+
+One day, he did it.
+
+He had stopped at the dining-room door that day and was handing in the
+larger basket, as usual, when old Mr. Cary, who stood there, said,
+smiling:
+
+"No, give us the smaller basket to-day, my boy. It's our turn to be
+generous."
+
+He extended his hand as he spoke.
+
+Crow tried to answer, but he could not. His mouth felt as dry and stiff
+and hard as a chip, and he suddenly began to open it wide and shut it
+slowly, like a chicken with the gapes.
+
+Mr. Cary kept his hand out waiting, but still Crow stood as if
+paralyzed, gaping and swallowing.
+
+Finally, he began to blink. And then he stammered:
+
+"I ain't p-p-p-ertic'lar b-b-bout de big basket. D-d-d-de best figs is
+in y'all's pickin'--in dis, de big basket."
+
+Crow's appearance was conviction itself. Without more ado, Mr. Cary
+grasped his arm firmly and fairly lifted him into the room.
+
+"Now, set those baskets down." He spoke sharply.
+
+The boy obeyed.
+
+"Here! empty the larger one on this tray. That's it. All fine, ripe
+figs. You've picked well for us. Now turn the other one out."
+
+At this poor Crow had a sudden relapse of the dry gapes. His arm fell
+limp and he looked as if he might tumble over.
+
+"Turn 'em out!" The old gentleman shrieked in so thunderous a tone that
+Crow jumped off his feet, and, seizing the other basket with his little
+shaking paws, he emptied it upon the heap of figs.
+
+Old Mrs. Cary had come in just in time to see the eggs roll out of the
+basket, and for a moment she and her husband looked at each other. And
+then they turned to the boy.
+
+When she spoke her voice was so gentle that Crow, not understanding,
+looked quickly into her face:
+
+"Let me take him into the library, William. Come, my boy."
+
+Her tone was so soft, so sorrowful and sympathetic, that Crow felt as he
+followed her as if, in the hour of his deepest disgrace, he had found a
+friend; and when presently he stood in a great square room before a high
+arm-chair, in which a white-haired old lady sat looking at him over her
+gold-rimmed spectacles and talking to him as he had never been spoken to
+in all his life before, he felt as if he were in a great court before a
+judge who didn't understand half how very bad little boys were.
+
+She asked him a good many questions--some very searching ones, too--all
+of which Crow answered as best he could, with his very short breath.
+
+His first feeling had been of pure fright. But when he found he was not
+to be abused, not beaten or sent to jail, he began to wonder.
+
+Little Solomon Crow, ten years old, in a Christian land, was hearing for
+the first time in his life that God loved him--loved him even now in his
+sin and disgrace, and wanted him to be good.
+
+He listened with wandering eyes at first, half expecting the old
+gentleman, Mr. Cary, to appear suddenly at the door with a whip or a
+policeman with a club. But after a while he kept his eyes steadily upon
+the lady's face.
+
+"Has no one ever told you, Solomon"--she had always called him Solomon,
+declaring that Crow was not a fit name for a boy who looked as he
+did--it was altogether "too personal"--"has no one ever told you,
+Solomon," she said, "that God loves all His little children, and that
+you are one of these children?"
+
+"No, ma'am," he answered, with difficulty. And then, as if catching at
+something that might give him a little standing, he added, quickly--so
+quickly that he stammered again:
+
+"B-b-b-but I knowed I was twin to a angel. I know dat. An' I knows ef my
+angel twin seen me steal dem aigs he'll be mightly ap' to tell Gord to
+strike me down daid."
+
+Of course he had to explain then about the "angel twin," and the old
+lady talked to him for a long time. And then together they knelt down.
+When at last they came out of the library she held the boy's hand and
+led him to her husband.
+
+"Are you willing to try him again, William?" she asked. "He has promised
+to do better."
+
+Old Mr. Cary cleared his throat and laid down his paper.
+
+"Don't deserve it," he began; "dirty little thief." And then he turned
+to the boy: "What have you got on, sir?"
+
+His voice was really quite terrible.
+
+"N-n-n-nothin'; only but des my b-b-b-briches an' jacket, an'--an'--an'
+skin," Crow replied, between gasps.
+
+"How many pockets?"
+
+"Two," said Crow.
+
+"Turn 'em out!"
+
+Crow drew out his little rust-stained pockets, dropping a few old nails
+and bits of twine upon the floor as he did so.
+
+"Um--h'm! Well, now, I'll tell you. _You're a dirty little thief_, as I
+said before. And I'm going to treat you as one. If you wear those
+pockets hanging out, or rip 'em out, and come in here before you leave
+every day dressed just as you are--pants and jacket and skin--and empty
+out your basket for us before you go, until I'm satisfied you'll do
+better, you can come."
+
+The old lady looked at her husband as if she thought him pretty hard on
+a very small boy. But she said nothing.
+
+Crow glanced appealingly at her before answering. And then he said,
+seizing his pocket:
+
+"Is you got air pair o' scissors, lady?"
+
+Mrs. Cary wished her husband would relent even while she brought the
+scissors, but he only cried:
+
+"Out with 'em!"
+
+"Suppose you cut them out yourself, Solomon," she interposed, kindly,
+handing him the scissors. "You'll have all this work to do yourself. We
+can't make you good."
+
+When, after several awkward efforts, Crow finally put the coarse little
+pockets in her hands, there were tears in her eyes, and she tried to
+hide them as she leaned over and gathered up his treasures--three nails,
+a string, a broken top, and a half-eaten chunk of cold corn-bread. As
+she handed them to him she said: "And I'll lay the pockets away for you,
+Solomon, and when we see that you are an honest boy I'll sew them back
+for you myself."
+
+As she spoke she rose, divided the figs evenly between the two baskets,
+and handed one to Crow.
+
+If there ever was a serious little black boy on God's beautiful earth it
+was little Solomon Crow as he balanced his basket of figs on his head
+that day and went slowly down the garden walk and out the great front
+gate.
+
+The next few weeks were not without trial to the boy. Old Mr. Cary
+continued very stern, even following him daily to the _banquette_, as if
+he dare not trust him to go out alone. And when he closed the iron gate
+after him he would say in a tone that was awfully solemn:
+
+"Good-mornin', sir!"
+
+That was all.
+
+Little Crow dreaded that walk to the gate more than all the rest of the
+ordeal. And yet, in a way, it gave him courage. He was at least worth
+while, and with time and patience he would win back the lost faith of
+the friends who were kind to him even while they could not trust him.
+They were, indeed, kind and generous in many ways, both to him and his
+unworthy mother.
+
+Fig-time was soon nearly over, and, of course, Crow expected a
+dismissal; but it was Mr. Cary himself who set these fears at rest by
+proposing to him to come daily to blacken his boots and to keep the
+garden-walk in order for regular wages.
+
+"But," he warned him, in closing, "don't you show your face here with a
+pocket on you. If your heavy pants have any in 'em, rip 'em out." And
+then he added, severely: "You've been a very bad boy."
+
+"Yassir," answered Crow, "I know I is. I been a heap wusser boy'n you
+knowed I was, too."
+
+"What's that you say, sir?"
+
+Crow repeated it. And then he added, for full confession:
+
+"I picked green figs heap o' days, and kivered 'em up wid ripe ones, an'
+sol' 'em to a white 'oman fur perserves." There was something desperate
+in the way he blurted it all out.
+
+"The dickens you did! And what are you telling me for?"
+
+He eyed the boy keenly as he put the question.
+
+At this Crow fairly wailed aloud: "'Caze I ain't gwine do it no mo'."
+And throwing his arms against the door-frame he buried his face in them,
+and he sobbed as if his little heart would break.
+
+For a moment old Mr. Cary seemed to have lost his voice, and then he
+said, in a voice quite new to Crow:
+
+"I don't believe you will, sir--I don't believe you will." And in a
+minute he said, still speaking gently: "Come here, boy."
+
+Still weeping aloud, Crow obeyed.
+
+"Tut, tut! No crying!" he began. "Be a man--be a man. And if you stick
+to it, before Christmas comes, we'll see about those pockets, and you
+can walk into the new year with your head up. But look sharp! Good-bye,
+now!"
+
+For the first time since the boy's fall Mr. Cary did not follow him to
+the gate. Maybe this was the beginning of trust. Slight a thing as it
+was, the boy took comfort in it.
+
+At last it was Christmas eve. Crow was on the back "gallery" putting a
+final polish on a pair of boots. He was nearly done, and his heart was
+beginning to sink, when the old lady came and stood near him. There was
+a very hopeful twinkle in her eye as she said, presently: "I wonder what
+our little shoeblack, who has been trying so hard to be good, would like
+to have for his Christmas gift?"
+
+But Crow only blinked while he polished the faster.
+
+"Tell me, Solomon," she insisted. "If you had one wish to-day, what
+would it be?"
+
+The boy wriggled nervously. And then he said:
+
+"You knows, lady. Needle--an' thrade--an'--an'--you knows, lady.
+Pockets."
+
+"Well, pockets it shall be. Come into my room when you get through."
+
+Old Mrs. Cary sat beside the fire reading as he went in. Seeing him, she
+nodded, smiling, towards the bed, upon which Crow saw a brand-new suit
+of clothes--coat, vest, and breeches--all spread out in a row.
+
+"There, my boy," she said; "there are your pockets."
+
+Crow had never in all his life owned a full new suit of clothes. All his
+"new" things had been second-hand, and for a moment he could not quite
+believe his eyes; but he went quickly to the bed and began passing his
+hands over the clothes. Then he ventured to take up the vest--and to
+turn it over. And now he began to find pockets.
+
+"Three pockets in de ves'--two in de pants--an'--an' fo', no five, no
+six--six pockets in de coat!"
+
+He giggled nervously as he thrust his little black fingers into one and
+then another. And then, suddenly overcome with a sense of the situation,
+he turned to Mrs. Cary, and, in a voice that trembled a little, said:
+
+"Is you sho' you ain't 'feerd to trus' me wid all deze pockets, lady?"
+
+It doesn't take a small boy long to slip into a new suit of clothes. And
+when a ragged urchin disappeared behind the head of the great old
+"four-poster" to-day, it seemed scarcely a minute before a trig,
+"tailor-made boy" strutted out from the opposite side, hands deep in
+pockets--breathing hard.
+
+As Solomon Crow strode up and down the room, radiant with joy, he seemed
+for the moment quite unconscious of any one's presence. But presently he
+stopped, looked involuntarily upward a minute, as if he felt himself
+observed from above. Then, turning to the old people, who stood together
+before the mantel, delightedly watching him, he said:
+
+"Bet you my angel twin ain't ashamed, ef he's a-lookin' down on me
+to-day."
+
+
+
+
+THE TWO TIMS
+
+
+
+
+THE TWO TIMS
+
+
+As the moon sent a white beam through the little square window of old
+Uncle Tim's cabin, it formed a long panel of light upon its
+smoke-stained wall, bringing into clear view an old banjo hanging upon a
+rusty nail. Nothing else in the small room was clearly visible. Although
+it was Christmas eve, there was no fire upon the broad hearth, and from
+the open door came the odor of honeysuckles and of violets. Winter is
+often in Louisiana only a name given by courtesy to the months coming
+between autumn and spring, out of respect to the calendar; and so it was
+this year.
+
+Sitting in the open doorway, his outline lost in the deep shadows of the
+vine, was old Uncle Tim, while, upon the floor at his side lay little
+Tim, his grandson. The boy lay so still that in the dim half-light he
+seemed a part of the floor furnishings, which were, in fact, an old cot,
+two crippled stools, a saddle, and odds and ends of broken harness, and
+bits of rope.
+
+Neither the old man nor the boy had spoken for a long time, and while
+they gazed intently at the old banjo hanging in the panel of light, the
+thoughts of both were tinged with sadness. The grandfather was nearly
+seventy years old, and little Tim was but ten; but they were great
+chums. The little boy's father had died while he was too young to
+remember, leaving little Tim to a step-mother, who brought him to his
+grandfather's home, where he had been ever since, and the attachment
+quickly formed between the two had grown and strengthened with the
+years.
+
+Old Uncle Tim was very poor, and his little cabin was small and shabby;
+and yet neither hunger nor cold had ever come in an unfriendly way to
+visit it. The tall plantation smoke-house threw a friendly shadow over
+the tiny hut every evening just before the sun went down--a shadow that
+seemed a promise at close of each day that the poor home should not be
+forgotten. Nor was it. Some days the old man was able to limp into the
+field and cut a load of cabbages for the hands, or to prepare seed
+potatoes for planting, so that, as he expressed it, "each piece 'll have
+one eye ter grow wid an' another ter look on an' see dat everything goes
+right."
+
+And then Uncle Tim was brimful of a good many valuable things with which
+he was very generous--_advice_, for instance.
+
+He could advise with wisdom upon any number of subjects, such as just at
+what time of the moon to make soap so that it would "set" well, how to
+find a missing shoat, or the right spot to dig for water.
+
+These were all valuable services; yet cabbages were not always ready to
+be cut, potato-planting was not always in season. Often for weeks not a
+hog would stray off. Only once in a decade a new well was wanted; and as
+to soap-making, it could occur only once during each moon at most.
+
+It is true that between times Uncle Tim gave copious warnings _not_ to
+make soap, which was quite a saving of effort and good material.
+
+But whether he was cutting seed potatoes, or advising, or only playing
+on his banjo, as he did incessantly between times, his rations came to
+the little cabin with clock-like regularity. They came just as regularly
+as old Tim _had worked_ when he was young, as regularly as little Tim
+_would_ when he should grow up, as it is a pity daily rations cannot
+always come to such feeble ones as, whether in their first or second
+childhood, are able to render only the service of willingness.
+
+And so we see that the two Tims, as they were often called, had no great
+anxieties as to their living, although they were very poor.
+
+The only thing in the world that the old man held as a personal
+possession was his old banjo. It was the one thing the little boy
+counted on as a precious future property. Often, at all hours of the day
+or evening, old Tim could be seen sitting before the cabin, his arms
+around the boy, who stood between his knees, while, with eyes closed, he
+ran his withered fingers over the strings, picking out the tunes that
+best recalled the stories of olden days that he loved to tell into the
+little fellow's ear. And sometimes, holding the banjo steady, he would
+invite little Tim to try his tiny hands at picking the strings.
+
+"Look out how you snap 'er too sudden!" he would exclaim if the little
+fingers moved too freely. "Look out, I say! Dis ain't none o' yo'
+pick-me-up-hit-an'-miss banjos, she ain't! An' you mus' learn ter treat
+'er wid rispec', caze, when yo' ole gran'dad dies, she gwine be yo'
+banjo, an' stan' in his place ter yer!"
+
+And then little Tim, confronted with the awful prospect of death and
+inheritance, would take a long breath, and, blinking his eyes, drop his
+hands at his side, saying, "You play 'er gran'dad."
+
+But having once started to speak, the old man was seldom brief, and so
+he would continue: "It's true dis ole banjo she's livin' in a po' nigger
+cabin wid a ole black marster an' a new one comin' on blacker yit. (You
+taken dat arter yo' gran'mammy, honey. She warn't dis heah muddy-brown
+color like I is. She was a heap purtier and clairer black.) Well, I say,
+if dis ole banjo _is_ livin' wid po' ignunt black folks, I wants you ter
+know she was _born white_.
+
+"Don't look at me so cuyus, honey. I know what I say. I say she was
+_born white._ Dat is, she _de_scended ter me _f'om_ white folks. My
+marster bought 'er ter learn on when we was boys together. An' he took
+_book lessons_ on 'er too, an' dat's how come I say she ain't none o'
+yo' common pick-up-my-strings-any-which-er-way banjos. She's been played
+by note music in her day, she is, an' she can answer a book note des as
+true as any _pi_anner a pusson ever listened at--ef anybody know how ter
+tackle 'er. Of co'se, ef you des tackle 'er p'omiskyus she ain't gwine
+bother 'erse'f ter play 'cordin' ter rule; but--
+
+"Why, boy, dis heah banjo she's done serenaded all de a'stocercy on dis
+river 'twix' here an' de English Turn in her day. Yas, she is. An' all
+dat expeunce is in 'er breast now; she 'ain't forgot it, an' ef air
+pusson dat know all dem ole book chunes was ter take 'er up an' call fur
+'em, she'd give 'em eve'y one des as true as ever yit.
+
+"An' yer know, baby, I'm a-tellin' you all dis," he would say, in
+closing--"I'm a-tellin' you all dis caze arter while, when I die, she
+gwine be _yo'_ banjo, 'n' I wants you ter know all 'er ins an' outs."
+
+And as he stopped, the little boy would ask, timidly, "Please, sir,
+gran'dad, lemme tote 'er an' hang 'er up. I'll step keerful." And taking
+each step with the utmost precision, and holding the long banjo aloft in
+his arms as if it were made of egg-shells, little Tim would climb the
+stool and hang the precious thing in its place against the cabin wall.
+
+Such a conversation had occurred to-day, and as the lad had taken the
+banjo from him the old man had added:
+
+"I wouldn't be s'prised, baby, ef 'fo' another year passes dat'll be
+_yo' banjo_, caze I feels mighty weak an' painful some days."
+
+This was in the early evening, several hours before the scene with which
+this little story opens. As night came on and the old man sat in the
+doorway, he did not notice that little Tim, in stretching himself upon
+the floor, as was his habit, came nearer than usual--so near, indeed,
+that, extending his little foot, he rested it against his grandfather's
+body, too lightly to be felt, and yet sensibly enough to satisfy his own
+affectionate impulse. And so he was lying when the moon rose and covered
+the old banjo with its light. He felt very serious as he gazed upon it,
+standing out so distinctly in the dark room. Some day it would be his;
+but the dear old grandfather would not be there, his chair would be
+always empty. There would be nobody in the little cabin but just little
+Tim and the banjo. He was too young to think of other changes. The
+ownership of the coveted treasure promised only death and utter
+loneliness. But presently the light passed off the wall on to the floor.
+It was creeping over to where little Tim lay, but he did not know it,
+and after blinking awhile at long intervals, and moving his foot
+occasionally to reassure himself of his grandfather's presence, he fell
+suddenly sound asleep.
+
+While these painful thoughts were filling little Tim's mind the old man
+had studied the bright panel on the wall with equal interest--and pain.
+By the very nature of things he could not leave the banjo to the boy and
+witness his pleasure in the possession.
+
+"She's de onlies' thing I got ter leave 'im, but I does wush't I could
+see him git 'er an' be at his little elbow ter show 'im all 'er ways,"
+he said, half audibly. "Dis heah way o' leavin' things ter folks when
+you die, it sounds awful high an' mighty, but look ter me like hit's po'
+satisfaction some ways. Po' little Tim! Now what he gwine do anyhow when
+I draps off?--nothin' but step-folks ter take keer of 'im--step-mammy
+an' step-daddy an' 'bout a dozen step brothers an' sisters, an' not even
+me heah ter show 'im how ter conduc' 'is banjo. De ve'y time he need me
+de mos' ter show 'im her ins an' outs I won't be nowhars about, an'
+yit--"
+
+As the old man's thoughts reached this point a sudden flare of light
+across the campus showed that the first bonfire was lighted.
+
+There was to be a big dance to-night in the open space in front of the
+sugar-house, and the lighting of the bonfires surrounding the spot was
+the announcement that it was time for everybody to come. It was Uncle
+Tim's signal to take down the banjo and tune up, for there was no more
+important instrument in the plantation string-band than this same old
+banjo.
+
+As he turned backward to wake little Tim he hesitated a moment, looking
+lovingly upon the little sleeping figure, which the moon now covered
+with a white rectangle of light. As his eyes rested upon the boy's face
+something, a confused memory of his last waking anxiety perhaps,
+brought a slight quiver to his lips, as if he might cry in his sleep,
+while he muttered the word "gran'dad."
+
+Old Uncle Tim had been trying to get himself to the point of doing
+something which it was somehow hard to do, but this tremulous lisping of
+his own name settled the question.
+
+Hobbling to his feet, he wended his way as noiselessly as possible to
+where the banjo hung, and, carrying it to the sleeping boy, laid it
+gently, with trembling fingers, upon his arm.
+
+Then, first silently regarding him a moment, he called out, "Weck up,
+Tim, my man! Weck up!"
+
+As he spoke, a loud and continuous explosion of fire-crackers--the
+opening of active festivities in the campus--startled the boy quite out
+of his nap.
+
+He was frightened and dazed for a minute, and then, seeing the banjo
+beside him and his grandfather's face so near, he exclaimed: "What's all
+dis, gran'dad? Whar me?"
+
+The old man's voice was pretty husky as he answered: "You right heah wid
+me, boy, an' dat banjo, hit's yo' Christmas gif', honey."
+
+Little Tim cast an agonized look upon the old man's face, and threw
+himself into his arms. "Is you gwine die now, gran'dad?" he sobbed,
+burying his face upon his bosom.
+
+Old Tim could not find voice at once, but presently he chuckled,
+nervously: "Humh! humh! No, boy, I ain't gwine die yit--not till my time
+comes, please Gord. But dis heah's Christmas, honey, an' I thought I'd
+gi'e you de ole banjo whiles I was living so's I could--so's you
+could--so's we could have pleasure out'n 'er bofe together, yer know,
+honey. Dat is, f'om dis time on she's _yo' banjo_, an' when I wants ter
+play on 'er, you _can loan 'er ter me_."
+
+"An'--an' you--you _sho'_ you ain't gwine die, gran'dad?"
+
+"I ain't sho' o' nothin', honey, but I 'ain't got no _notion_ o'
+dyin'--not to-night. We gwine ter de dance now, you an' me, an' I gwine
+play de banjo--_dat is ef you'll loan 'er ter me, baby_."
+
+Tim wanted to laugh, and it seemed sheer contrariness for him to cry,
+but somehow the tears would come, and the lump in his throat, and try
+hard as he might, he couldn't get his head higher than his grandfather's
+coat-sleeve or his arms from around his waist. He hardly knew why he
+still wept, and yet when presently he sobbed, "But, gran'dad, I'm
+'feered you _mought_ die," the old man understood.
+
+Certainly, even if he were not going to die now, giving away the old
+banjo seemed like a preparation for death. Was it not, in fact, a formal
+confession that he was nearing the end of his days? Had not this very
+feeling made it hard for him to part with it? The boy's grief at the
+thought touched him deeply, and lifting the little fellow upon his knee,
+he said, fondly:
+
+"_Don't_ fret, honey. _Don't_ let Christmas find yon cryin'. I tell you
+what I say let's do. I ain't gwine gi'e you de banjo, not yit, caze, des
+as you say, I _mought_ die; but I tell you what I gwine do. I gwine take
+you in pardners in it wid me. She ain't _mine_ an' she ain't _yoze_, and
+yit she's _bofe of us's_. You see, boy? _She's ourn!_ An' when I wants
+ter play on 'er _I'll play_, an' when you wants 'er, why, you teck
+'er--on'y be a _leetle_ bit keerful at fust, honey."
+
+"An' kin I ca'y 'er behine de cabin, whar you can't see how I'm
+a-holdin' 'er, an' play anyway I choose?"
+
+Old Tim winced a little at this, but he had not given grudgingly.
+
+"Cert'n'y," he answered. "Why not? Git up an' play 'er in de middle o'
+de night ef you want ter, on'y, of co'se, be keerful how you reach 'er
+down, so's you won't jolt 'er too sudden. An' now, boy, hand 'er heah
+an' lemme talk to yer a little bit."
+
+When little Tim lifted the banjo from the floor his face fairly beamed
+with joy, although in the darkness no one saw it, for the shaft of light
+had passed beyond him now. Handing the banjo to his grandfather, he
+slipped naturally back of it into his accustomed place in his arms.
+
+"Dis heah's a fus'-class thing ter work off bad tempers wid," the old
+man began, tightening the strings as he spoke. "Now ef one o' deze mule
+tempers ever take a-holt of yer in de foot, dat foot 'll be mighty ap'
+ter do some kickin'; an' ef it seizes a-holt o' yo' han', dat little
+fis' 'll be purty sho ter strike out an' do some damage; an' ef it jump
+onter yo' tongue, hit 'll mighty soon twis' it into sayin' bad language.
+But ef you'll teck hol' o' dis ole banjo des as quick as you feel de
+badness rise up in you, _an' play_, you'll scare de evil temper away so
+bad it _daresn't come back_. Ef it done settled _too strong_ in yo'
+tongue, run it off wid a song; an' ef yo' feet's git a kickin' spell on
+'em, _dance it off_; an' ef you feel it in yo' han', des run fur de
+banjo an' play de sweetes' chune you know, an' fus' thing you know all
+yo' madness 'll be gone.
+
+"She 'ain't got no mouf, but she can talk ter you, all de same; an' she
+'ain't got no head, but she can reason wid you. An' while ter look at
+'er she's purty nigh all belly, she don't eat a crumb. Dey ain't a
+greedy bone in 'er.
+
+"An' I wants you ter ricollec' dat I done guv 'er to you--dat is, _yo'
+sheer_ [share] _in 'er_, caze she's _mine_ too, you know. I done guv you
+a even sheer in 'er, des _caze you an' me is gran'daddy an' gran'son_.
+
+"Dis heah way o' dyin' an' _leavin'_ prop'ty, hit mought suit white
+folks, but it don't become our complexioms, some way; an' de mo' I
+thought about havin' to die ter give de onlies' gran'son I got de
+onlies' _prop'ty_ I got, de _miser'bler I got_, tell I couldn't stan' it
+no mo'."
+
+Little Tim's throat choked up again, and he rolled his eyes around and
+swallowed twice before he answered: "An' I--I was miser'ble too,
+gran'dad. I used ter des look at 'er hangin' 'g'inst de wall, an' think
+about me maybe playin' 'er, an' you--you not--not nowhar in
+sight--an'--an' some days seem like _I--I des hated 'er_."
+
+"Yas, baby, I know. But now you won't hate 'er no mo', boy; an' ef you
+die fus'--some time, you know, baby, little boys _does die_--an' ef you
+go fus', I'll teck good keer o' yo' sheer in 'er; an' ef I go, you mus'
+look out fur my sheer. An' long as we bofe live--well, I'll look out fur
+'er voice--keep 'er th'oat strings in order; an' you see dat she don't
+git ketched out in bad comp'ny, or in de rain, an' take cold.
+
+"Come on now. Wash yo' little face, and let's go ter de dance. Gee-man!
+Lis'n at de fire-crackers callin' us. Come on. Dat's right. Pack 'er on
+yo' shoulder like a man."
+
+And so the two Tims start off to the Christmas festival, young Tim
+bearing his precious burden proudly ahead, while the old man follows
+slowly behind, chuckling softly.
+
+"Des think how much time I done los', not takin' 'im in pardners befo',
+an' he de onlies' gran'son I got!"
+
+While little Tim, walking cautiously so as not to trip in the uneven
+path, turns presently and calls back:
+
+"Gran'dad, I reckon we done walked half de way, now. I done toted 'er
+_my_ sheer. Don't you want me ter tote 'er _yo' sheer_?"
+
+And the old man answers, with another chuckle, "Go on, honey."
+
+
+
+
+THE FREYS' CHRISTMAS PARTY
+
+
+
+
+THE FREYS' CHRISTMAS PARTY
+
+
+There was a great sensation in the old Coppenole house three days before
+Christmas. The Freys, who lived on the third floor, were going to give a
+Christmas dinner party, and all the other tenants were invited.
+
+Such a thing had never happened before, and, as Miss Penny told her
+canary-birds while she filled their seed-cups, it was "like a clap of
+thunder out of a clear sky."
+
+The Frey family, consisting of a widow and her brood of half a dozen
+children, were as poor as any of the tenants in the old building, for
+wasn't the mother earning a scant living as a beginner in newspaper
+work? Didn't the Frey children do every bit of the house-work, not to
+mention little outside industries by which the older ones earned small
+incomes? Didn't Meg send soft gingerbread to the Christian Woman's
+Exchange for sale twice a week, and Ethel find time, with all her
+studies, to paint butterflies on Swiss aprons for fairs or fêtes?
+
+Didn't everybody know that Conrad, now but thirteen, was a regular
+solicitor for orders for Christmas-trees, palmetto palms, and gray moss
+from the woods for decorative uses on holiday occasions?
+
+The idea of people in such circumstances as these giving dinner parties!
+It was almost incredible; but it was true, for tiny notes of invitation
+tied with rose-colored ribbons had been flying over the building all the
+afternoon. The Frey twins, Felix and Félicie, both barefoot, had carried
+one to each door.
+
+They were written with gold ink on pink paper. A water-colored butterfly
+was poised in midair somewhere on each one, and at the left lower end
+were the mysterious letters "R.S.V.P."
+
+The old Professor who lived in the room next the Frey kitchen got one,
+and Miss Penny, who occupied the room beyond. So did Mademoiselle
+Guyosa, who made paper flowers, and the mysterious little woman of the
+last, worst room in the house--a tiny figure whose face none of her
+neighbors had ever seen, but who had given her name to the baker and
+milkman as "Mamzelle St. John."
+
+And there were others. Madame Coraline, the fortune-teller, who rented
+the hall room on the second floor, was perhaps more surprised at her
+invitation than any of the rest. No one ever asked her anywhere. Even
+the veiled ladies who sometimes visited her darkened chamber always
+tiptoed up the steps as if they were half ashamed of going there.
+
+The twins had a time getting her to come to the door to receive the
+invitation, and after vainly rapping several times, they had finally
+brought a parasol and hammered upon the horseshoe tacked upon the door,
+until at last it opened just about an inch. And then she was invited.
+
+But, indeed, it is time to be telling how the party originated.
+
+It had been the habit of the Frey children, since they could remember,
+to save up spare coins all the year for a special fund which they called
+"Christmas money."
+
+The old fashion of spending these small amounts in presents for one
+another had long ago given place to the better one--more in the
+Christmas spirit--of using it to brighten the day for some one less
+blessed than themselves.
+
+It is true that on the Christmas before the one of this story they had
+broken the rule, or only strained it, perhaps, to buy a little stove for
+their mother's room.
+
+But a rule that would not stretch enough to take in such a home need
+would be a poor one indeed.
+
+This year they had had numerous schemes, but somehow none had seemed to
+appeal to the stockholders in the Christmas firm, and so they had
+finally called a meeting on the subject.
+
+It was at this meeting that Meg, fourteen years old, having taken the
+floor, said: "Well, it seems to _me_ that the _worst_ kind of a
+Christmas must be a lonely one. Just think how nearly all the roomers in
+this house spent last Christmas--most of 'em sittin' by their lone
+selves in their rooms, and some of 'em just eatin' every-day things! The
+Professor hadn't a thing but Bologna-sausage and crackers. _I
+know--'cause I peeped._ An' now, whatever you all are goin' to do with
+_your_ money, _mine's_ goin' right into this house, to the
+roomers--_some way_."
+
+"If we knew what we could do, Meg?" said Ethel.
+
+"If we knew what we could do or _how we could do it_," interrupted
+Conrad, "why, I'd give my eighty-five cents in a minute. I'd give it to
+the old Professor to have his curls cut."
+
+Conrad was a true-hearted fellow, but he was full of mischief.
+
+"Shame on you, Buddy!" said Meg, who was thoroughly serious. "Can't you
+be in earnest for just a minute?"
+
+"I am in earnest, Meg. I think your scheme is bully--if it could be
+worked; but the Professor wouldn't take our money any more'n we'd take
+his."
+
+"Neither would any of them." This was Ethel's first real objection.
+
+"Who's goin' to offer 'em money?" rejoined Meg.
+
+"I tell you what we _might_ do, maybe," Conrad suggested, dubiously. "We
+_might_ buy a lot of fine grub, an' send it in to 'em sort o'
+mysteriously. How'd that do?"
+
+"'Twouldn't do at all," Meg replied. "The idea! Who'd enjoy the finest
+Christmas dinner in the world by his lone self, with nothin' but a
+lookin'-glass to look into and holler 'Merry Christmas' to?"
+
+Conrad laughed. "Well, the Professor's little cracked glass wouldn't be
+much of a comfort to a hungry fellow. It gives you two mouths."
+
+Conrad was nothing if not facetious.
+
+"There you are again, Buddy! _Do_ be serious for once." And then she
+added, desperately, "The thing _I_ want to do is to _invite_ 'em."
+
+"Invite!"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"When?"
+
+"How?"
+
+"Where?"
+
+Such was the chorus that greeted Meg's astounding proposition.
+
+"Why, I say," she explained, nothing daunted, "let's put all our
+Christmas money together and get the very best dinner we can, and invite
+all the roomers to come and eat it with us. _Now I've said it!_ And I
+ain't foolin', either."
+
+"And we haven't a whole table-cloth to our names, Meg Frey, and you know
+it!" It was Ethel who spoke again.
+
+"And what's that got to do with it, Sisty? We ain't goin' to eat the
+cloth. Besides, can't we set the dish-mats over the holes? 'Twouldn't be
+the first time."
+
+"But, Meg, dearie, you surely are not proposing to invite company to
+dine in the kitchen, are you? And who'd cook the dinner, not to mention
+buying it?"
+
+"Well, now, listen, Sisty, dear. The dinner that's in my mind isn't a
+society-column dinner like those Momsy writes about, and those we are
+going to invite don't wear out much table-linen at home. And they cook
+their own dinners, too, most of 'em--exceptin' when they eat 'em in the
+French Market, with a Chinaman on one side of 'em and an Indian on the
+other.
+
+"_I'm_ goin' to cook _ours_, and as for eatin' in the kitchen, why, we
+don't need to. Just see how warm it is! The frost hasn't even nipped the
+banana leaves over there in the square. And Buddy can pull the table out
+on the big back gallery, an' we'll hang papa's old gray soldier blanket
+for a portière to keep the Quinettes from lookin' in; and, Sisty, you
+can write the invitations an' paint butterflies on 'em."
+
+Ethel's eyes for the first time sparkled with interest, but she kept
+silent, and Meg continued:
+
+"An' Buddy'll bring in a lot of gray moss and _latanier_ to dec'rate
+with, an'--"
+
+"An' us'll wait on the table!"
+
+"Yes, us'll wait on the table!" cried the twins.
+
+"But," added Felix in a moment, "you mus'n't invite Miss Penny, Meg,
+'cause if you do F'lissy an' me 'll be thest shore to disgrace the party
+a-laughin'. She looks thest ezzac'ly like a canary-bird, an' Buddy has
+tooken her off till we thest die a-laughin' every time we see her. I
+think she's raised canaries till she's a sort o' half-canary herself.
+Don't let's invite her, Sisty."
+
+"And don't you think Miss Penny would enjoy a slice of Christmas turkey
+as well as the rest of us, Felix?"
+
+"No; I fink she ought to eat canary-seed and fish-bone," chirped in
+Dorothea.
+
+Dorothea was only five, and this from her was so funny that even Meg
+laughed.
+
+"An' Buddy says he knows she sleeps perched on the towel-rack, 'cause
+they ain't a sign of a bed in her room."
+
+The three youngest were fairly choking with laughter now. But the older
+ones had soon grown quite serious in consulting about all the details of
+the matter, and even making out a conditional list of guests.
+
+When they came to the fortune-teller, both Ethel and Conrad hesitated,
+but Meg, true to her first impulse, had soon put down opposition by a
+single argument.
+
+"It seems to me she's the special one _to_ invite to a Christmas party
+like ours," she pleaded. "The lonesomer an' horrider they are, the more
+they belong, an' the more they'll enjoy it, too."
+
+"Accordin' to that," said Conrad, "the whole crowd ought to have a dizzy
+good time, for they're about as fine a job lot of lonesomes as I ever
+struck. And as for beauty! 'Vell, my y'ung vriends, how you was
+to-morrow?'" he continued, thrusting his thumbs into his armholes and
+strutting in imitation of the old Professor.
+
+[Illustration: "'SHE OUGHT TO EAT CANARY-SEED AND FISH-BONE'"]
+
+Meg was almost out of patience. "Do hush, Buddy, an' let's talk
+business. First of all, we have to put it to vote to see whether we
+_want_ to have the party or not."
+
+"I ain't a-goin' to give my money to no such a ugly ol' party," cried
+Felix. "I want pretty little girls with curls an' wreafs on to my
+party."
+
+"An' me, too. I want a heap o' pretty little girls with curls an' wreafs
+on--_to my party_," echoed Félicie.
+
+"An' I want a organ-grinder to the party that gets my half o' our
+picayunes," insisted Felix.
+
+"Yas, us wants a organ-grinder--an' a monkey, too--hey, F'lix?"
+
+"Yes, an' a monkey, too. Heap o' monkeys!"
+
+Meg was indeed having a hard time of it.
+
+"You see, Conrad"--the use of that name meant reproof from Meg--"you
+see, Conrad, this all comes from your makin' fun of everybody. But of
+course we can get an organ-grinder if the little ones want him."
+
+Ethel still seemed somewhat doubtful about the whole affair. Ethel was
+in the high-school. She had a lofty bridge to her nose. She was fifteen,
+and she never left off her final g's as the others did. These are, no
+doubt, some of the reasons why she was regarded as a sort of superior
+person in the family. If it had not been for the prospect of painting
+the cards, and a certain feeling of benevolence in the matter, it would
+have been hard for her to agree to the party at all. As it was, her
+voice had a note of mild protest as she said:
+
+"It's going to cost a good deal, Meg. How much money have we? Let's
+count up. I have a dollar and eighty-five cents."
+
+"And I've got two dollars," said Meg.
+
+"How is it you always save the most? I haven't saved but ninety cents."
+Conrad spoke with a little real embarrassment as he laid his little pile
+of coins upon the table.
+
+"I reckon it's 'cause I've got a regular plan, Buddy. I save a dime out
+of every dollar I get all through the year. It's the best way. And how
+much have you ponies got?"
+
+"We've got seventy cents together, an' we've been a-whiskerin' in our
+ears about it, too. We don't want our money put-ed in the dinner with
+the rest. We want to see what we are givin'."
+
+"Well, suppose you buy the fruit. Seventy cents 'll get bananas and
+oranges enough for the whole party."
+
+"An' us wants to buy 'em ourselfs, too--hey, F'lix?"
+
+"Yes, us wants to buy 'm ourselfs, too."
+
+"And so you shall. And now all in favor of the party hold up their right
+hands."
+
+All hands went up.
+
+"Contr'ry, no!" Meg continued.
+
+"Contr'ry, no!" echoed the twins.
+
+"Hush! You mus'n't say that. That's just what they say at votin's."
+
+"Gee-man-tally! But you girls 're awfully mixed," Conrad howled, with
+laughter. "They don't have any 'contr'ry no's' when they vote by holdin'
+up right hands. Besides, Dorothea held up her left hand, for I saw her."
+
+"Which is quite correct, Mr. Smartie, since we all know that Dolly is
+left-handed. You meant to vote for the party, didn't you, dearie?" Meg
+added, turning to Dorothea.
+
+For answer the little maid only bobbed her head, thrusting both hands
+behind her, as if afraid to trust them again.
+
+"But I haven't got but thest a nickel," she ventured, presently. "F'lix
+says it'll buy salt."
+
+"Salt!" said Conrad. "Well, I should smile! It would buy salt enough to
+pickle the whole party. Why, that little St. Johns woman goes out with a
+nickel an' lays in provisions. I've seen her do it."
+
+"Shame on you, Buddy!"
+
+"I'm not jokin', Meg. At least, I saw her buy a _quartie's_ worth o'
+coffee and a _quartie's_ worth o' sugar, an' then ask for _lagniappe_ o'
+salt. Ain't that layin' in provisions? She uses a cigar-box for her
+pantry, too."
+
+"Well," she protested, seriously, "what of it, Conrad? It doesn't take
+much for one very little person. Now, then, the party is voted for; but
+there's one more thing to be done before it can be really decided. We
+must ask Momsy's permission, of course. And that is goin' to be hard,
+because I don't want her to know about it. She has to be out reportin'
+festivals for the paper clear up to Christmas mornin', and if she knows
+about it, she'll worry over it. So I propose to ask her to let us give
+her a Christmas surprise, and not tell her what it is."
+
+"And we know just what she'll say," Conrad interrupted; "she'll say, 'If
+you older children all agree upon anything, I'm sure it can't be very
+far wrong or foolish'--just as she did time we put up the stove in her
+room."
+
+"Yes, I can hear her now," said Ethel. "But still we must _let_ her say
+it before we do a single thing, because, you know, _she mightn't_. An'
+then where'd the party be?"
+
+"It would be scattered around where it was last Christmas--where all the
+parties are that don't be," said Conrad. "They must be the ones we are
+always put down for, an' that's how we get left; eh, Sisty?"
+
+"Never mind, Buddy; we won't get left, as you call it, this time,
+anyway--unless, of course, Momsy vetoes it."
+
+"Vetoes what, children?"
+
+They had been so noisy that they had not heard their mother's step on
+the creaking stairs.
+
+Mrs. Frey carried her pencil and notes, and she looked tired, but she
+smiled indulgently as she repeated, "What am I to veto, dearies--or to
+approve?"
+
+"It's a sequet! A Trismas sequet!"
+
+"Yes, an' it's got owanges in it--"
+
+"--An' bananas!"
+
+"Hush, you ponies! And, Dolly, not another word!" Meg had resolutely
+taken the floor again.
+
+"Momsy, we've been consulting about our Christmas money, and we've voted
+to ask you to let us do something with it, and not to tell you a thing
+about it, only "--and here she glanced for approval at Ethel and
+Conrad--"only we _ought_ to tell you, Momsy, dear, that the surprise
+isn't for you this time."
+
+And then Mrs. Frey, sweet mother that she was, made just the little
+speech they thought she would make, and when they had kissed her, and
+all, even to Ethel, who seemed now as enthusiastic as the others,
+caught hands and danced around the dinner table, she was glad she had
+consented.
+
+It was such a delight to be able to supplement their scant Christmas
+prospects with an indulgence giving such pleasure.
+
+"And I'm glad it isn't for me, children," she added, as soon as the
+hubbub gave her a hearing. "I'm very glad. You know you strained a point
+last year, and I'm sure you did right. My little stove has been a great
+comfort. But I am always certain of just as many home-made presents as I
+have children, and they are the ones I value. Dolly's lamp-lighters are
+not all used up yet, and if she _were_ to give me another bundle this
+Christmas I shouldn't feel sorry. But our little Christmas _money_ we
+want to send out on some loving mission. And, by-the-way, I have two
+dollars which may go with yours if you need it--if it will make some
+poor body's bed softer or his dinner better."
+
+"Momsy's guessed!" Felix clapped his hands with delight.
+
+"'Sh! Hush, Felix! Yes, Momsy, it 'll do one of those things exactly,"
+said Meg. "And now _I_ say we'd better break up this meeting before the
+ponies tell the whole business."
+
+"F'lix never telled a thing," chirped Félicie, always ready to defend
+her mate. "Did you, F'lixy? Momsy said 'dinner' herself."
+
+"So I did, dear; but who is to get the dinner and why you are going to
+send it are things mother doesn't wish to know. And here are my two
+dollars. Now off to bed, the whole trundle-bed crowd, for I have a lot
+of copy to write to-night. Ethel may bring me a bite, and then sit
+beside me and write while I sip my tea and dictate and Meg puts the
+chickens to roost. And Conrad will keep quiet over his books. Just one
+kiss apiece and a hug for Dolly. Shoo now!"
+
+So the party was decided.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Frey home, although one of the poorest, was one of the happiest in
+New Orleans, for it was made up of cheery workers, even little Dorothea
+having her daily self-assumed tasks. Miss Dorothea, if you please,
+dusted the banisters round the porch every day, straightened the rows of
+shoes in mother's closet, folded the daily papers in the rack, and kept
+the one rug quite even with the front of the hearth. And this young lady
+had, furthermore, her regular income of five cents a week.
+
+Of course her one nickel contributed to the party had been saved only a
+few hours, but Dorothea was only five, and the old yellow _praline_
+woman knew about her income, and came trudging all the way up the stairs
+each week on "pay-day."
+
+Even after the invitations were sent it seemed to Dolly that the
+"party-day" would never come, for there were to be "three sleeps" before
+it should arrive.
+
+It was Ethel's idea to send the cards early, so as to forestall any home
+preparation among the guests.
+
+But all things come to him who waits--even Christmas. And so at last the
+great day arrived.
+
+Nearly all the invited had accepted, and everything was very exciting;
+but the situation was not without its difficulties.
+
+Even though she was out every day, it had been so hard to keep every
+tell-tale preparation out of Mrs. Frey's sight. But when she had found a
+pan of crullers on the top pantry shelf, or heard the muffled
+"gobble-gobble" of the turkey shut up in the old flour-barrel, or smelt
+invisible bananas and apples, she had been truly none the wiser, but had
+only said, "Bless their generous hearts! They are getting up a fine
+dinner to send to somebody."
+
+Indeed, Mrs. Frey never got an inkling of the whole truth until she
+tripped up the stairs a half-hour before dinner on Christmas day to
+find the feast all spread.
+
+The old mahogany table, extended to its full length, stood gorgeous in
+decorations of palmetto, moss, and flowers out upon the deep back porch,
+which was converted into a very pretty chamber by the hanging curtain of
+gray.
+
+If she had any misgivings about it, she betrayed them by no single word
+or look, but there were bright red spots upon her usually pale cheeks as
+she passed, smiling, into her room to dash into the dinner dress Ethel
+had laid out for her.
+
+To have her poverty-stricken home invaded by a host of strangers was
+striking a blow at the most sensitive weakness of this proud woman. And
+yet the loving motive which was so plain through it all, showing the
+very spirit in her dear children for which she had prayed, was too
+sacred a thing to be chilled by even a half-shade of disapproval.
+
+"And who are coming, dear?" she asked of Meg, as soon as she could trust
+her voice.
+
+"All the roomers, Momsy, excepting the little hunchback lady and Madame
+Coraline."
+
+"Madame Coraline!" Mrs. Frey could not help exclaiming.
+
+"Yes, Momsy. She accepted, and she _even came_, but she went back just
+now. She was dressed terribly fine--gold lace and green silk, but it was
+old and dowdy; and, Momsy, her cheeks were just as red! I was on the
+stepladder tackin' up the Bethlehem picture, Sisty was standin' on the
+high-chair hanging up the star, and Buddy's arms were full of gray moss
+that he was wrappin' round your chair. But we were just as polite to her
+as we could be, and asked her to take a seat. And we all thought she sat
+down; but she went, Momsy, and no one saw her go. Buddy says she's a
+witch. She left that flower-pot of sweet-basil on the table. I s'pose
+she brought it for a present. Do you think that we'd better send for her
+to come back, Momsy?"
+
+"No, daughter, I think not. No doubt she had her own reasons for going,
+and she may come back. And are the rest all coming?"
+
+"Yes'm; but we had a time gettin' Miss Guyosa to come. She says she's a
+First Family, an' she never mixes. But I told her so were we, and we
+mixed. And then I said that if she'd come she could sit at one end o'
+the table and carve the ham, while you'd do the turkey. But she says
+Buddy ought to do the turkey. But she's comin'. And, Momsy, the turkey
+is a perfect beauty. We put pecans in him. Miss Guyosa gave us the
+receipt and the nuts, too. Her cousin sent 'em to her from his
+plantation. And did you notice the paper roses in the moss festoons,
+Momsy? She made those. She has helped us fix up _a lot_. She made all
+the Easter flowers on St. Joseph's altar at the Cathedral, too, and--"
+
+A rap at the door announcing a first guest sent the little cook bounding
+to the kitchen, while Ethel rushed into her mother's room, her mouth
+full of pins and her sash on her arm.
+
+She had dressed the three little ones a half-hour ago; and Conrad, who
+had also made an early toilet, declared that they had all three walked
+round the dinner table thirty-nine times since their appearance in the
+"dining-room." When he advanced to do the honors, the small procession
+toddling single file behind him, somehow it had not occurred to him that
+he might encounter Miss Penny, the canary lady, standing in a dainty old
+dress of yellow silk just outside the door, nor, worse still, that she
+should bear in her hands a tiny cage containing a pair of young
+canaries.
+
+He said afterwards that "everything would have passed off all right if
+it hadn't been for the twins." Of course he had forgotten that he had
+himself been the first one to compare Miss Penny to a canary.
+
+By the time the little black-eyed woman had flitted into the door, and
+in a chirpy, bird-like voice wished them a merry Christmas, Felix had
+stuffed his entire handkerchief into his mouth. Was it any wonder that
+Félicie and Dorothea, seeing this, did actually disgrace the whole party
+by convulsions of laughter?
+
+They were soon restored to order, though, by the little yellow-gowned
+lady herself, for it took but half a minute to say that the birds were a
+present for the twins--"the two little ones who brought me the
+invitation."
+
+Such a present as this is no laughing matter, and, besides, the little
+Frey children were at heart polite. And so they had soon forgotten their
+mirth in their new joy.
+
+And then other guests were presently coming in, and Mrs. Frey, looking
+startlingly fine and pretty in her fresh ruches and new tie, was saying
+pleasant things to everybody, while Ethel and Meg, tripping lightly in
+and out, brought in the dishes.
+
+As there was no parlor, guests were received in the curtained end of the
+gallery. No one was disposed to be formal, and when the old Professor
+entered with a little brown-paper parcel, which he declared, after his
+greetings, to contain his dinner, everybody felt that the etiquette of
+the occasion was not to be very strict or in the least embarrassing.
+
+Of course Mrs. Frey, as hostess, "hoped the Professor would reconsider,
+and have a slice of the Christmas turkey"; but when they had presently
+all taken their seats at the table, and the eccentric guest had actually
+opened his roll of bread and cheese upon his empty plate, over which he
+began to pass savory dishes to his neighbors, she politely let him have
+his way. Indeed, there was nothing else to do, as he declared--declining
+the first course with a wave of his hand--that he had come "yust for de
+sake of sociapility."
+
+"I haf seen efery day doze children work und sing so nize togedder yust
+like leetle mans und ladies, so I come yust to eggsbress my t'anks for
+de compliment, und to make de acquaintance off doze nize y'ung
+neighbors." This with a courtly bow to each one of the children
+separately. And he added in a moment: "De dinner iss very fine, but for
+me one dinner iss yust like anudder. Doze are all externals."
+
+To which measured and kindly speech Conrad could not help replying, "It
+won't be an external to us, Professor, by the time we get through."
+
+"Oho!" exclaimed the old man, delighted with the boy's ready wit.
+"Dot's a wery schmart boy you got dhere, Mrs. Vrey."
+
+At this exhibition of broken English the twins, who were waiting on the
+table, thought it safe to rush to the kitchen on pretence of changing
+plates, while Dorothea, seated at the Professor's left, found it
+necessary to bite both lips and to stare hard at the vinegar-cruet for
+fully a second to keep from laughing. Then, to make sure of her
+self-possession, she artfully changed the subject, remarking, dryly,
+
+"My nickel buyed the ice."
+
+This was much funnier than the Professor's speech, judging from the
+laughter that followed it. And Miss Dorothea Frey's manners were saved,
+which was the important thing.
+
+It would be impossible in this short space to give a full account of
+this novel and interesting dinner party, but if any one supposes that
+there was a dull moment in it, he is altogether mistaken.
+
+Mrs. Frey and Ethel saw to it that no one was neglected in conversation;
+Meg and Conrad looked after the prompt replenishing of plates, though
+the alert little waiters, Felix and Félicie, anticipated every want, and
+were as sprightly as two crickets, while Dorothea provoked frequent
+laughter by a random fire of unexpected remarks, never failing, for
+instance, to offer ice-water during every "still minute"; and, indeed,
+once that young lady did a thing that might have proved quite terrible
+had the old lady Saxony, who sat opposite, been disagreeable or
+sensitive.
+
+What Dorothea said was innocent enough--only a single word of two
+letters, to begin with.
+
+She had been looking blankly at her opposite neighbor for a full minute,
+when she suddenly exclaimed,
+
+"Oh!"
+
+That was all, but it made everybody look, first at Dolly and then across
+the table. Whereupon the little maid, seeing her blunder, hastened to
+add:
+
+"That's nothin'. My grandma's come out too."
+
+And then, of course, every one noticed that old lady Saxony held her
+dainty hemstitched handkerchief quite over her mouth. Fortunately Mrs.
+Saxony's good sense was as great as her appreciation of humor, and, as
+she shook her finger threateningly at Dorothea, her twinkling eyes gave
+everybody leave to laugh. So "Dolly's terrible break," as Conrad called
+it, really went far to making the dinner a success--that is, if
+story-telling and laughter and the merry clamor such as distinguish the
+gayest of dinner parties the world over count as success.
+
+It was while the Professor was telling a funny story of his boy life in
+Germany that there came a rap at the door, and the children, thinking
+only of Madame Coraline, turned their eyes towards the door, only to see
+the Italian organ-grinder, whom, in the excitement of the dinner party,
+they had forgotten to expect. He was to play for the children to dance
+after dinner, and had come a little early--or perhaps dinner was late.
+
+Seeing the situation, the old man began bowing himself out, when the
+Professor, winking mysteriously at Mrs. Frey and gesticulating
+animatedly, pointed first to the old Italian and then to Madame
+Coraline's vacant chair. Everybody understood, and smiling faces had
+already shown approval when Mrs. Frey said, quietly, "Let's put it to
+vote. All in favor raise glasses."
+
+Every glass went up. The old Italian understood little English, but the
+offer of a seat is a simple pantomime, and he was presently declining
+again and again, bowing lower each time, until before he knew it--all
+the time refusing--he was in the chair, his plate was filled, and Dolly
+was asking him to have ice-water. No guest of the day was more welcome.
+None enjoyed his dinner more, judging from the indications. And as to
+Meg, the moving spirit in the whole party, she was beside herself with
+delight over the unexpected guest.
+
+[Illustration: THE ITALIAN ORGAN-GRINDER]
+
+The dinner all through was what Conrad called a "rattlin' success," and
+the evening afterwards, during which nearly every guest contributed some
+entertainment, was one long to be remembered. The Professor not only
+sang, but danced. Miss Penny whistled so like a canary that one could
+really believe her when she said she always trained her young birds'
+voices. Miss Guyosa told charming folk-lore anecdotes, handed down in
+her family since the old Spanish days in Louisiana.
+
+The smiling organ-grinder played his engaged twenty-five cents' worth of
+tunes over and over again, and when the evening was done, persistently
+refused to take the money until Felix slipped it into his pocket.
+
+The Frey party will long be remembered in the Coppenole house, and
+beyond it, too, for some very pleasant friendships date from this
+Christmas dinner. The old Professor was just the man to help Conrad with
+his German lessons. It was so easy for Meg to send him a cup of hot
+coffee on cold mornings. Mrs. Frey and Miss Guyosa soon found many ties
+in common friends of their youth. Indeed, the twins had gotten their
+French names from a remote creole cousin, who proved to be also a
+kinswoman to Miss Guyosa. It was such a comfort, when Mrs. Frey was kept
+out late at the office, for the children to have Miss Guyosa come and
+sit with them, telling stories or reading aloud; and they brought much
+brightness into her life too.
+
+Madame Coraline soon moved away, and, indeed, before another Christmas
+the Freys had moved too--to a small cottage all their own, sitting in
+the midst of a pretty rose-garden. Here often come Miss Guyosa and the
+Professor, both welcome guests, and Conrad says the Professor makes love
+to Miss Guyosa, but it is hard to tell.
+
+One cannot keep up with two people who can tell jokes in four languages,
+but the Professor has a way of dropping in as if by accident on the
+evenings Miss Guyosa is visiting the Freys, and they do read the same
+books--in four languages. There's really no telling.
+
+When the Frey children are playing on the _banquette_ at their front
+gate on sunny afternoons, the old organ-grinder often stops, plays a
+free tune or two for them to dance by, smilingly doffs his hat to the
+open window above, and passes on.
+
+[Illustration: "THE PROFESSOR NOT ONLY SANG, BUT DANCED"]
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE MOTHER QUACKALINA
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE MOTHER QUACKALINA
+
+STORY OF A DUCK FARM
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+The black duck had a hard time of it from the beginning--that is, from
+the beginning of her life on the farm. She had been a free wild bird up
+to that time, swimming in the bay, playing hide-and-seek with her
+brothers and sisters and cousins among the marsh reeds along the bank,
+and coquettishly diving for "mummies" and catching them "on the swim"
+whenever she craved a fishy morsel. This put a fresh perfume on her
+breath, and made her utterly charming to her seventh cousin, Sir Sooty
+Drake, who always kept himself actually fragrant with the aroma of raw
+fish, and was in all respects a dashing beau. Indeed, she was behaving
+most coyly, daintily swimming in graceful curves around Sir Sooty among
+the marsh-mallow clumps at the mouth of "Tarrup Crik," when the shot
+was fired that changed all her prospects in life.
+
+The farmer's boy was a hunter, and so had been his grandfather, and his
+grandfather's gun did its work with a terrific old-fashioned explosion.
+
+When it shot into the great clump of pink mallows everything trembled.
+The air was full of smoke, and for a distance of a quarter of a mile
+away the toads crept out of their hiding and looked up and down the
+road. The chickens picking at the late raspberry bushes in the farmer's
+yard craned their necks, blinked, and didn't swallow another berry for
+fully ten seconds. And a beautiful green caterpillar, that had seen the
+great red rooster mark him with his evil eye, and expected to be gobbled
+up in a twinkling, had time to "hump himself" and crawl under a leaf
+before the astonished rooster recovered from the noise. This is a case
+where the firing of a gun saved at least one life. I wonder how many
+butterflies owe their lives to that gun?
+
+As to the ducks in the clump of mallows that caught the volley, they
+simply tumbled over and gave themselves up for dead.
+
+[Illustration: "THE FARMER'S BOY WAS A HUNTER"]
+
+The heroine of our little story, Lady Quackalina Blackwing, stayed in a
+dead faint for fully seventeen seconds, and the first thing she knew
+when she "came to" was that she was lying under the farmer boy's coat in
+an old basket, and that there was a terrific rumbling in her ears and a
+sharp pain in one wing, that something was sticking her, that Sir Sooty
+was nowhere in sight, and that she wanted her mother and all her
+relations.
+
+Indeed, as she began to collect her senses, while she lay on top of the
+live crab that pinched her chest with his claw, she realized that there
+was not a cousin in the world, even to some she had rather disliked,
+that she would not have been most happy to greet at this trying moment.
+
+The crab probably had no unfriendly intention. He was only putting up
+the best hand he had, trying to find some of his own kindred. He had
+himself been lying in a hole in shallow water when the farmer's boy
+raked him in and changed the whole course of his existence.
+
+He and the duck knew each other by sight, but though they were both "in
+the swim," they belonged to different sets, and so were small comfort to
+one another on this journey to the farm.
+
+They both knew some English, and as the farmer's boy spoke part English
+and part "farm," they understood him fairly well when he was telling the
+man digging potatoes in the field that he was going to "bile" the crab
+in a tomato can and to make a "decoy" out of the duck.
+
+"Bile" and "decoy" were new words to the listeners in the basket, but
+they both knew about tomato cans. The bay and "Tarrup Crik" were strewn
+with them, and the crab had once hidden in one, half imbedded in the
+sand, when he was a "soft-shell." He knew their names, because he had
+studied them before their labels soaked off, and he knew there was no
+malice in them for him, though the young fishes who have soft outsides
+dreaded their sharp edges very much. There is sometimes some advantage
+in having one's skeleton on the surface, like a coat of mail.
+
+And so the crab was rather pleased at the prospect of the tomato can. He
+thought the cans grew in the bay, and so he expected presently to be
+"biled" in his own home waters. The word "biled" probably meant _dropped
+in_. Ignorance is sometimes bliss, indeed.
+
+Poor little Quackalina, however, was getting less comfort out of her
+ignorance. She thought "decoy" had a foreign sound, as if it might mean
+a French stew. She had had relations who had departed life by way of a
+_purée_, while others had gone into a _sauté_ or _pâté_. Perhaps a
+"decoy" was a _pâté_ with gravy or a _purée_ with a crust on it. If
+worse came to the worst, she would prefer the _purée_ with a crust. It
+would be more like decent burial.
+
+Of course she thought these things in duck language, which is not put in
+here, because it is not generally understood. It is quite a different
+thing from Pidgin-English, and it isn't all "quack" any more than French
+is all "au revoir," or Turkey all "gobble, gobble," or goose only a
+string of "S's," or darkey all "howdy."
+
+The crab's thoughts were expressed in his eyes, that began coming out
+like little telescopes until they stood quite over his cheeks. Maybe
+some people think crabs have no cheeks, but that isn't so. They have
+them, but they keep them inside, where they blush unseen, if they blush
+at all.
+
+But this is the story of the black duck. However, perhaps some one who
+reads it will be pleased to know that the crab got away. He sidled
+up--sidled is a regular word in crab language--until his left eye could
+see straight into the boy's face, and then he waited. He had long ago
+found that there was nothing to be gained by pinching the duck. It only
+made a row in the basket and got him upset. But, by keeping very still
+and watching his chance, he managed to climb so near the top that when
+the basket gave a lurch he simply vaulted overboard and dropped in the
+field. Then he hid between three mushrooms and a stick until the boy's
+footsteps were out of hearing and he had time to draw in his eyes and
+start for the bay. He had lost his left claw some time before, and the
+new one he was growing was not yet very strong. Still, let us hope that
+he reached there in safety.
+
+The duck knew when he had been trying to get out, but she didn't tell.
+She wanted him to go, for she didn't like his ways. Still, when he had
+gone, she felt lonely. Misery loves company--even though it be very poor
+company.
+
+But Quackalina had not long to feel lonely. Almost any boy who has shot
+a duck walks home with it pretty fast, and this boy nearly ran. He would
+have run if his legs hadn't been so fat.
+
+The first sound that Quackalina heard when they reached the gate was the
+quacking of a thousand ducks, and it frightened her so that she forgot
+all about the crab and her aching wing and even the decoy. The boy lived
+on a duck farm, and it was here that he had brought her. This would seem
+to be a most happy thing--but there are ducks and ducks. Poor little
+Quackalina knew the haughty quawk of the proud white ducks of Pekin. She
+knew that she would be only a poor colored person among them, and that
+she, whose mother and grandmother had lived in the swim of best beach
+circles and had looked down upon these incubator whitings, who were
+grown by the pound and had no relations whatever, would now have to
+suffer their scorn.
+
+Even their distant quawk made her quake, though she feared her end was
+near. There are some trivial things that are irritating even in the
+presence of death.
+
+But Quackalina was not soon to die. She did suffer some humiliations,
+and her wing was very painful, but a great discovery soon filled her
+with such joy that nothing else seemed worth thinking about.
+
+There were three other black ducks on the farm, and they hastened to
+tell her that they were already decoys, and that the one pleasant thing
+in being a decoy was that it was _not_ to be killed or cooked or eaten.
+
+This was good news. The life of a decoy-duck was hard enough; but when
+one got accustomed to have its foot tied to the shore, and shots fired
+all around it, one grew almost to enjoy it. It was so exciting. But to
+the timid young duck who had never been through it it was a terrible
+prospect.
+
+And so, for a long time, little Quackalina was a very sad duck. She
+loved her cousin, Sir Sooty, and she loved pink mallow blossoms. She
+liked to eat the "mummy" fish alive, and not cooked with sea-weed, as
+the farmer fed them to her.
+
+But most of all she missed Sir Sooty. And so, two weeks later, when her
+wing was nearly well, in its new, drooping shape, what was her joy when
+he himself actually waddled into the farm-yard--into her very
+presence--without a single quack of warning.
+
+The feathers of one of his beautiful wings were clipped, but he was
+otherwise looking quite well, and he hastened to tell her that he was
+happy, even in exile, to be with her again. And she believed him.
+
+He had been captured in a very humiliating way, and this he made her
+promise never to tell. He had swum so near the decoy-duck that his foot
+had caught in its string, and before he could get away the farmer had
+him fast. "And now," he quacked, "I'm glad I did it," and Quackalina
+quacked, "So am I." And they were very happy.
+
+[Illustration: "SIR SOOTY HIMSELF ACTUALLY WADDLED INTO THE FARM-YARD"]
+
+Indeed, they grew so blissful after a while that they decided to try to
+make the best of farm life and to settle down. So they began meandering
+about on long waddles--or waddling about on long meanders--all over
+the place, hunting for a cozy hiding-place for a nest. For five whole
+days they hunted before Quackalina finally settled down into the hollow
+that she declared was "just a fit" for her, under the edge of the old
+shanty where the Pekin feathers were stored.
+
+White, fluffy feathers are very beautiful things, and they are soft and
+pleasant to our touch, but they are sad sights to ducks and geese, and
+Quackalina selected a place for her nest where she could never see the
+door open into this dread storehouse.
+
+It was, indeed, very well hidden, and, as if to make it still more
+secure, a friendly golden-rod sprang up quite in front of it, and a
+growth of pepper-grass kindly closed in one side.
+
+Quackalina had never been sent out on decoy duty, and after a time she
+ceased to fear it, but sometimes Sir Sooty had to go, and his little
+wife would feel very anxious until he came back.
+
+There are some very sad parts in this little story, and we are coming to
+one of them now.
+
+The home-nest had been made. There were ten beautiful eggs in it--all
+polished and shining like opals. And the early golden-rod that stood on
+guard before it was sending out a first yellow spray when troubles began
+to come.
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+Quackalina thought she had laid twice as many as ten eggs in the nest,
+but she could not be quite sure, and neither could Sir Sooty, though he
+thought so, too.
+
+Very few poetic people are good at arithmetic, and even fine
+mathematicians are said to forget how to count when they are in love.
+
+Certain it is, however, that when Quackalina finally decided to be
+satisfied to begin sitting, there were exactly ten eggs in the
+nest--just enough for her to cover well with her warm down and feathers.
+
+"Sitting-time" may seem stupid to those who are not sitting; but
+Quackalina's breast was filled with a gentle content as she sat, day by
+day, behind the golden-rod, and blinked and reflected and listened for
+the dear "paddle, paddle" of Sir Sooty's feet, and his loving "qua',
+qua'"--a sort of caressing baby-talk that he had adopted in speaking to
+her ever since she had begun her long sitting.
+
+[Illustration: "'I'M GOIN' TO SWAP 'EM'"]
+
+Quackalina was a patient little creature, and seldom left her nest,
+so that when she did so for a short walk in the glaring sun, she was apt
+to be dizzy and to see strange spots before her eyes. But this would all
+pass away when she got back to her cozy nest in the cool shade.
+
+But one day it did not pass away--it got worse, or, at least, she
+thought it did. Instead of ten eggs in the nest she seemed to see
+twenty, and they were of a strange, dull color, and their shape seemed
+all wrong. She blinked her eyes nineteen times, and even rubbed them
+with her web-feet, so that she might not see double, but it was all in
+vain. Before her dazzled eyes twenty little pointed eggs lay, and when
+she sat upon them they felt strange to her breast. And then she grew
+faint and was too weak even to call Sir Sooty, but when he came waddling
+along presently, he found her so pale around the bill that he made her
+put out her tongue, and examined her symptoms generally.
+
+Sir Sooty was not a regular doctor, but he was a very good quack, and
+she believed in him, which, in many cases, is the main thing.
+
+So when he grew so tender that his words were almost like "qu, qu," and
+told her that she had been confined too closely and was threatened with
+_foie gras_, she only sighed and closed her eyes, and, keeping her fears
+to herself, hoped that the trouble was all in her eyes indeed--or her
+liver.
+
+Now the sad part of this tale is that the trouble was not with poor
+little Quackalina's eyes at all. It was in the nest. The same farmer's
+boy who had kept her sitting of eggs down to ten by taking out one every
+day until poor Quackalina's patience was worn out--the same boy who had
+not used her as a decoy only because he wanted her to stay at home and
+raise little decoy-ducks--this boy it was who had now chosen to take her
+ten beautiful eggs and put them under a guinea-hen, and to fetch the
+setting of twenty guinea eggs for Quackalina to hatch out.
+
+He did this just because, as he said, "That old black duck 'll hatch out
+as many eggs again as a guinea-hen will, an' the guinea 'll cover her
+ten eggs _easy_. I'm goin' to swap 'em." And "swap 'em" he did.
+
+Nobody knows how the guinea-hen liked her sitting, for none but herself
+and the boy knew where her nest was hidden in a pile of old rubbish down
+by the cow-pond.
+
+[Illustration: "MADE HER PUT OUT HER TONGUE"]
+
+When a night had passed, and a new day showed poor Quackalina the twenty
+little eggs actually under her breast--eggs so little that she could
+roll two at once under her foot--she did not know what to think. But
+like many patient people when great sorrows come, she kept very still
+and never told her fears.
+
+She had never seen a guinea egg before in all her life. There were
+birds' nests in some of the reeds along shore, and she knew their little
+toy eggs. She knew the eggs of snakes, too, and of terrapins, or
+"tarrups," as they are called by the farmer folk along the bay.
+
+When first she discovered the trouble in the nest she thought of these,
+and the very idea of a great procession of little turtles starting out
+from under her some fine morning startled her so that her head lay limp
+against the golden-rod for fully thirteen seconds. Then she got better,
+but it was not until she had taken a nip at the pepper-grass that she
+was sufficiently warmed up to hold up her head and think. And when she
+thought, she was comforted. These dainty pointed eggs were not in the
+least like the soft clumsy "double-enders" that the turtles lay in the
+sand. Besides, how could turtle-eggs have gotten there anyway? How much
+easier for one head to go wrong than twenty eggs.
+
+She chuckled at the very folly of her fears, and nestling down into the
+place, she soon began to nod. And presently she had a funny, funny
+dream, which is much too long to go into this story, which is a great
+pity, for her dream is quite as interesting as the real story, although
+it is not half so true.
+
+Sitting-time, after this, seemed very long to Quackalina, but after a
+while she began to know by various little stirrings under her downy
+breast that it was almost over. At the first real movement against her
+wing she felt as if everything about her was singing and saying,
+"mother! mother!" and bowing to her.
+
+Even the pepper-grass nodded and the golden-rod, and careless roosters
+as they passed _seemed_ to lower their combs to her and to forget
+themselves, just for a minute. And a great song was in her own bosom--a
+great song of joy--and although the sound that came from her beautiful
+coral bill was only a soft "qua', qua'," to common ears, to those who
+have the finest hearing it was full of a heavenly tenderness. But there
+was a tremor in it, too--a tremor of fear; and the fear was so terrible
+that it kept her from looking down even when she knew a little head was
+thrusting itself up through her great warm wing. She drew the wing as a
+caressing arm lovingly about it though, and saying to herself, "I must
+wait till they are all come; then I'll look," she gazed upward at the
+moon that was just showing a rim of gold over the hay-stack--and closed
+her eyes.
+
+There was no sleep that long night for little mother Quackalina.
+
+It was a great, great night. Under her breast, wonderful happenings
+every minute; outside, the white moonlight; and always in sight across
+the yard, just a dark object against the ground--Sir Sooty, sound
+asleep, like a philosopher!
+
+Oh yes, it was a great, great night. Its last hours before day were very
+dark and sorrowful, and by the time a golden gleam shot out of the east
+Quackalina knew that her first glance into the nest must bring her
+grief. The tiny restless things beneath her brooding wings were chirping
+in an unknown tongue. But their wiry Japanesy voices, that clinked
+together like little copper kettles, were very young and helpless, and
+Quackalina was a true mother-duck, and her heart went out to them.
+
+When the fatal moment came and she really looked down into the nest, her
+relief in seeing beautiful feathered things, at least, was greater than
+any other feeling. It was something not to have to mother a lot of
+"tarrups," certainly.
+
+Little guineas are very beautiful, and when presently Quackalina found
+herself crossing the yard with her twenty dainty red-booted hatchlings,
+although she longed for her own dear, ugly, smoky, "beautiful"
+ducklings, she could not help feeling pleasure and pride in the
+exquisite little creatures that had stepped so briskly into life from
+beneath her own breast.
+
+It was natural that she should have hurried to the pond with her brood.
+Wouldn't she have taken her own ducklings there? If these were only
+little "step-ducks," she was resolved that, in the language of
+step-mothers, "they should never know the difference." She would begin
+by taking them in swimming.
+
+Besides, she longed for the pond herself. It was the place where she
+could best think quietly and get things straightened in her mind.
+
+Sir Sooty had not seen her start off with her new family. He had said to
+himself that he had lost so much rest all night that he must have a good
+breakfast, and so, at the moment when Quackalina and the guineas slipped
+around the stable to the cow-pond, he was actually floundering in the
+very centre of one of the feed-troughs in the yard, and letting the
+farmer turn the great mass of cooked "feed" all over him. Greedy ducks
+often act that way. Even the snow-white Pekins do it. It is bad enough
+any time, but on the great morning when one becomes a papa-duck he ought
+to try to be dignified, and Sir Sooty knew it. And he knew full well
+that events had been happening all night in the nest, and that was why
+he said he had lost rest. But he hadn't. A great many people are like
+Sir Sooty. They say they lose sleep when they don't.
+
+But listen to what was taking place at the cow-pond, for it is this that
+made this story seem worth the telling.
+
+When Quackalina reached the pond, she flapped her tired wings three
+times from pure gladness at the sight of the beautiful water. And then,
+plunging in, she took one delightful dive before she turned to the
+shore, and in the sweetest tones invited the little ones to follow her.
+
+But they--
+
+Well, they just looked down at their red satin boots and shook their
+heads. And then it was that Quackalina noticed their feet, and saw that
+they would never swim.
+
+It was a great shock to her. She paddled along shore quite near them for
+a while, trying to be resigned to it. And then she waddled out on the
+grassy bank, and fed them with some newts, and a tadpole, and a few
+blue-bottle flies, and a snail, and several other delicacies, which they
+seemed to enjoy quite as much as if they had been young ducks. And then
+Quackalina, seeing them quite happy, struck out for the very middle of
+the pond. She would have one glorious outing, at least. Oh, how sweet
+the water was! How it soothed the tender spots under her weary wings!
+How it cooled her ears and her tired eyelids! And now--and now--and
+now--as she dived and dipped and plunged--how it cheered and comforted
+her heart! How faithfully it bore her on its cool bosom! For a few
+minutes, in the simple joy of her bath, she even forgot to be sorrowful.
+
+And now comes the dear part of the troublous tale of this little black
+mother-duck--the part that is so pleasant to write--the part that it
+will be good to read.
+
+When at last Quackalina, turning, said to herself, "I must go ashore now
+and look after my little steppies," she raised her eyes and looked
+before her to see just where she was. And then the vision she seemed to
+see was so strange and so beautiful that--well, she said afterwards that
+she never knew just how she bore it.
+
+Just before her, on the water, swimming easily on its trusty surface,
+were ten little ugly, smoky, "beautiful" ducks! Ten little ducks that
+looked precisely like every one of Quackalina's relations! And now they
+saw her and began swimming towards her.
+
+Before she knew it, Quackalina had flapped her great wings and quacked
+aloud three times, and three times again! And she didn't know she was
+doing it, either.
+
+She did know, though, that in less time than it has taken to tell it,
+her own ten beautiful ducks were close about her, and that she was
+kissing each one somewhere with her great red bill. And then she saw
+that upon the bank a nervous, hysterical guinea-hen was tearing along,
+and in a voice like a carving-knife screeching aloud with terror. It
+went through Quackalina's bosom like a neuralgia, but she didn't mind it
+very much. Indeed, she forgot it instantly when she looked down upon her
+ducklings again, and she even forgot to think about it any more. And so
+it was that the beautiful thing that was happening on the bank, under
+her very eyes almost, never came to Quackalina's knowledge at all.
+
+When her own bosom was as full of joy as it could be, why should she
+have turned at the sound of the carving-knife voice to look ashore, and
+to notice that at its first note there were twenty little pocket-knife
+answers from over the pond, and that in a twinkling twenty pairs of red
+satin boots were running as fast as they could go to meet the great
+speckled mother-hen, whose blady voice was the sweetest music in all the
+world to them?
+
+When, after quite a long time, Quackalina began to realize things, and
+thought of the little guineas, and said to herself, "Goodness gracious
+me!" she looked anxiously ashore for them, but not a red boot could she
+see. The whole delighted guinea family were at that moment having a
+happy time away off in the cornfield out of sight and hearing.
+
+This was very startling, and Quackalina grieved a little because she
+couldn't grieve more. She didn't understand it at all, and it made her
+almost afraid to go ashore, so she kept her ten little ducklings out
+upon the water nearly all day.
+
+And now comes a very amusing thing in this story.
+
+When this great, eventful day was passed, and Quackalina was sitting
+happily among the reeds with her dear ones under her wings, while Sir
+Sooty waddled proudly around her with the waddle that Quackalina thought
+the most graceful walk in the world, she began to tell him what had
+happened, beginning at the time when she noticed that the eggs were
+wrong.
+
+Sir Sooty listened very indulgently for a while, and then--it is a pity
+to tell it on him, but he actually burst out laughing, and told her,
+with the most patronizing quack in the world, that it was "all
+imagination."
+
+[Illustration: "HER OWN TEN BEAUTIFUL DUCKS WERE CLOSE ABOUT HER"]
+
+And when Quackalina insisted with tears and even a sob or two that it
+was every word true, he quietly looked at her tongue again, and then he
+said a very long word for a quack doctor. It sounded like 'lucination.
+And he told Quackalina never, on any account, to tell any one else so
+absurd a tale, and that it was only a canard--which was very flippant
+and unkind, in several ways. There are times when even good jokes are
+out of place.
+
+At this, Quackalina said that she would take him to the nest and show
+him the little pointed egg-shells. And she did take him there, too. Late
+at night, when all honest ducks, excepting somnambulists and such as
+have vindications on hand, are asleep, Quackalina led the way back to
+the old nest. But when she got there, although the clear, white
+moonlight lay upon everything and revealed every blade of grass, not a
+vestige of nest or straw or shell remained in sight.
+
+The farmer's boy had cleared them all away.
+
+By this time Quackalina began to be mystified herself, and after a
+while, seeing only her own ten ducks always near, and never sighting
+such a thing as little, flecked, red-booted guineas, she really came to
+doubt whether it had all happened or not.
+
+And even to this day she is not quite sure. How she and all her family
+finally got away and became happy wild birds again is another story. But
+while Quackalina sits and blinks upon the bank among the mallows, with
+all her ugly "beautiful" children around her, she sometimes even yet
+wonders if the whole thing could have been a nightmare, after all.
+
+But it was no nightmare. It was every word true. If anybody doesn't
+believe it, let him ask the guineas.
+
+
+
+
+OLD EASTER
+
+
+
+
+OLD EASTER
+
+
+Nearly everybody in New Orleans knew Old Easter, the candy-woman. She
+was very black, very wrinkled, and very thin, and she spoke with a wiry,
+cracked voice that would have been pitiful to hear had it not been so
+merry and so constantly heard in the funny high laughter that often
+announced her before she turned a street corner, as she hobbled along by
+herself with her old candy-basket balanced on her head.
+
+People who had known her for years said that she had carried her basket
+in this way for so long that she could walk more comfortably with it
+than without it. Certainly her head and its burden seemed to give her
+less trouble than her feet, as she picked her way along the uneven
+_banquettes_ with her stick. But then her feet were tied up in so many
+rags that even if they had been young and strong it would have been hard
+for her to walk well with them. Sometimes the rags were worn inside her
+shoes and sometimes outside, according to the shoes she wore. All of
+these were begged or picked out of trash heaps, and she was not at all
+particular about them, just so they were big enough to hold her old
+rheumatic feet--though she showed a special liking for men's boots.
+
+When asked why she preferred to wear boots she would always answer,
+promptly, "Ter keep off snake bites"; and then she would almost
+certainly, if there were listeners enough, continue in this fashion:
+"You all young trash forgits dat I dates back ter de snake days in dis
+town. Why, when I was a li'l' gal, about _so_ high, I was walkin' along
+Canal Street one day, barefeeted, an' not lookin' down, an' terrectly I
+feel some'h'n' nip me '_snip!_' in de big toe, an' lookin' quick I see a
+grea' big rattlesnake--"
+
+As she said "snip," the street children who were gathered around her
+would start and look about them, half expecting to see a great snake
+suddenly appear upon the flag-stones of the pavement.
+
+[Illustration: OLD EASTER]
+
+At this the old woman would scream with laughter as she assured them
+that there were thousands of serpents there now that they couldn't see,
+because they had only "single sight," and that many times when they
+thought mosquitoes were biting them they were being "'tackted by deze
+heah onvisible snakes."
+
+It is easy to see why the children would gather about her to listen to
+her talk.
+
+Nobody knew how old Easter was. Indeed, she did not know herself, and
+when any one asked her, she would say, "I 'spec' I mus' be 'long about
+twenty-fo'," or, "Don't you reckon I mus' be purty nigh on to nineteen?"
+And then, when she saw from her questioner's face that she had made a
+mistake, she would add, quickly: "I means twenty-fo' _hund'ed_, honey,"
+or, "I means a _hund'ed_ an' nineteen," which latter amendment no doubt
+came nearer the truth.
+
+Having arrived at a figure that seemed to be acceptable, she would
+generally repeat it, in this way:
+
+"Yas, missy; I was twenty-fo' hund'ed years ole las' Easter Sunday."
+
+The old woman had never forgotten that she had been named Easter because
+she was born on that day, and so she always claimed Easter Sunday as her
+birthday, and no amount of explanation would convince her that this was
+not always true.
+
+"What diff'ence do it make ter me ef it comes soon or late, I like ter
+know?" she would argue. "Ef it comes soon, I gits my birfday presents
+dat much quicker; an' ef it comes late, you all got dat much mo' time
+ter buy me some mo'. 'Tain't fur me ter deny my birfday caze it moves
+round."
+
+And then she would add, with a peal of her high, cracked laughter: "Seem
+ter me, de way I keeps a-livin' on--an' a-livin' on--_an' a-livin'
+on_--maybe deze heah slip-aroun' birfdays don't pin a pusson down ter
+ole age so close't as de clock-work reg'lars does."
+
+And then, if she were in the mood for it, she would set her basket down,
+and, without lifting her feet from the ground, go through a number of
+quick and comical movements, posing with her arms and body in a way that
+was absurdly like dancing.
+
+Old Easter had been a very clever woman in her day, and many an extra
+picayune had been dropped into her wrinkled palm--nobody remembered the
+time when it wasn't wrinkled--in the old days, just because of some
+witty answer she had given while she untied the corner of her
+handkerchief for the coins to make change in selling her candy.
+
+[Illustration: "'YAS, MISSY, I WAS TWENTY FO' HOND'ED YEARS OLE, LAS'
+EASTER SUNDAY'"]
+
+One of the very interesting things about the old woman was her memory.
+It was really very pleasant to talk with a person who could
+distinctly recall General Jackson and Governor Claiborne, who would tell
+blood-curdling tales of Lafitte the pirate and of her own wonderful
+experiences when as a young girl she had served his table at Barataria.
+
+If, as her memory failed her, the old creature was tempted into making
+up stories to supply the growing demand, it would not be fair to blame
+her too severely. Indeed, it is not at all certain that, as the years
+passed, she herself knew which of the marvellous tales she related were
+true and which made to order.
+
+"Yas, sir," she would say, "I ricollec' when all dis heah town wasn't
+nothin' but a alligator swamp--no houses--no fences--no streets--no
+gas-postes--no 'lection lights--no--_no river_--_no nothin'_!"
+
+If she had only stopped before she got to the river, she would have kept
+the faith of her hearers better, but it wouldn't have been half so
+funny.
+
+"There wasn't anything here then but you and the snakes, I suppose?" So
+a boy answered her one day, thinking to tease her a little.
+
+"Yas, me an' de snakes an' alligators an' Gineral Jackson an' my ole
+marster's gran'daddy an'--"
+
+"And Adam?" added the mischievous fellow, still determined to worry her
+if possible.
+
+"Yas, Marse Adam an' ole Mistus, Mis' Eve, an' de great big p'isonous
+fork-tailed snake wha' snatch de apple dat Marse Adam an' Mis' Eve was
+squabblin' over--an' et it up!"
+
+When she had gotten this far, while the children chuckled, she began
+reaching for her basket, that she had set down upon the _banquette_.
+Lifting it to her head, now, she walled her eyes around mysteriously as
+she added:
+
+"Yas, an' you better look out fur dat p'isonous fork-tailed snake, caze
+he's agoin' roun' hear right now; an' de favoristest dinner dat he
+craves ter eat is des sech no-'count, sassy, questionin' street-boys
+like you is."
+
+And with a toss of her head that set her candy-basket swaying and a peal
+of saw-teeth laughter, she started off, while her would-be teaser found
+that the laugh was turned on himself.
+
+It was sometimes hard to know when Easter was serious or when she was
+amusing herself--when she was sensible or when she wandered in her mind.
+And to the thoughtless it was always hard to take her seriously.
+
+Only those who, through all her miserable rags and absurdities, saw the
+very poor and pitiful old, old woman, who seemed always to be
+companionless and alone, would sometimes wonder about her, and, saying a
+kind and encouraging word, drop a few coins in her slim, black hand
+without making her lower her basket. Or they would invite her to "call
+at the house" for some old worn flannels or odds and ends of cold
+victuals.
+
+And there were a few who never forgot her in their Easter offerings, for
+which, as for all other gifts, she was requested to "call at the back
+gate." This seemed, indeed, the only way of reaching the weird old
+creature, who had for so many years appeared daily upon the streets,
+nobody seemed to know from where, disappearing with the going down of
+the sun as mysteriously as the golden disk itself. Of course, if any one
+had cared to insist upon knowing how she lived or where she stayed at
+nights, he might have followed her at a distance. But it is sometimes
+very easy for a very insignificant and needy person to rebuff those who
+honestly believe themselves eager to help. And so, when Old Easter, the
+candy-woman, would say, in answer to inquiries about her life, "I sleeps
+at night 'way out by de Metarie Ridge Cemetery, an' gets up in de
+mornin' up at de Red Church. I combs my ha'r wid de _latanier_, an'
+washes my face in de Ole Basin," it was so easy for those who wanted to
+help her to say to their consciences, "She doesn't want us to know where
+she lives," and, after a few simple kindnesses, to let the matter drop.
+
+The above ready reply to what she would have called their "searchin'
+question" proved her a woman of quick wit and fine imagination. Anybody
+who knows New Orleans at all well knows that Metarie Ridge Cemetery,
+situated out of town in the direction of the lake shore, and the old Red
+Church, by the riverside above Carrollton, are several miles apart.
+People know this as well as they know that the _latanier_ is the
+palmetto palm of the Southern wood, with its comb-like, many-toothed
+leaves, and that the Old Basin is a great pool of scum-covered, murky
+water, lying in a thickly-settled part of the French town, where numbers
+of small sailboats, coming in through the bayou with their cargoes of
+lumber from the coast of the Sound, lie against one another as they
+discharge and receive their freight.
+
+If all the good people who knew her in her grotesque and pitiful street
+character had been asked suddenly to name the very poorest and most
+miserable person in New Orleans, they would almost without doubt have
+immediately replied, "Why, old Aunt Easter, the candy-woman. Who could
+be poorer than she?"
+
+To be old and black and withered and a beggar, with nothing to recommend
+her but herself--her poor, insignificant, ragged self--who knew nobody
+and whom nobody knew--that was to be poor, indeed.
+
+Of course, Old Easter was not a professional beggar, but it was well
+known that before she disappeared from the streets every evening one end
+of her long candy-basket was generally pretty well filled with loose
+paper parcels of cold victuals, which she was always sure to get at
+certain kitchen doors from kindly people who didn't care for her poor
+brown twists. There had been days in the past when Easter peddled light,
+porous sticks of snow-white taffy, cakes of toothsome sugar-candy filled
+with fresh orange-blossoms, and pralines of pecans or cocoa-nut. But one
+cannot do everything.
+
+One cannot be expected to remember General Jackson, spin long,
+imaginative yarns of forgotten days, and make up-to-date pralines at the
+same time. If the people who had ears to listen had known the thing to
+value, this old, old woman could have sold her memories, her wit, and
+even her imagination better than she had ever sold her old-fashioned
+sweets.
+
+But the world likes molasses candy. And so Old Easter, whose meagre
+confections grew poorer as her stories waxed in richness, walked the
+streets in rags and dirt and absolute obscurity.
+
+An old lame dog, seeming instinctively to know her as his companion in
+misery, one day was observed to crouch beside her, and, seeing him, she
+took down her basket and entertained him from her loose paper parcels.
+
+And once--but this was many years ago, and the incident was quite
+forgotten now--when a crowd of street fellows began pelting Crazy Jake,
+a foolish, half-paralyzed black boy, who begged along the streets,
+Easter had stepped before him, and, after receiving a few of their clods
+in her face, had struck out into the gang of his tormenters, grabbed two
+of its principal leaders by the seats of their trousers, spanked them
+until they begged for mercy, and let them go.
+
+Nobody knew what had become of Crazy Jake after that. Nobody cared. The
+poor human creature who is not due at any particular place at any
+particular time can hardly be missed, even when the time comes when he
+himself misses the _here_ and the _there_ where he has been wont to
+spend his miserable days, even when he, perhaps having no one else, it
+is possible that he misses his tormenters.
+
+It was a little school-girl who saw the old woman lower her basket to
+share her scraps with the street dog. It seemed to her a pretty act,
+and so she told it when she went home. And she told it again at the next
+meeting of the particular "ten" of the King's Daughters of which she was
+a member.
+
+And this was how the name of Easter, the old black candy-woman, came to
+be written upon their little book as their chosen object of charity for
+the coming year.
+
+The name was not written, however, without some opposition, some
+discussion, and considerable argument. There were several of the ten who
+could not easily consent to give up the idea of sending their little
+moneys to an Indian or a Chinaman--or to a naked black fellow in his
+native Africa.
+
+There is something attractive in the savage who sticks bright feathers
+in his hair, carries a tomahawk, and wears moccasins upon his nimble
+feet. Most young people take readily to the idea of educating a
+picturesque savage and teaching him that the cast-off clothes they send
+him are better than his beads and feathers. The picturesque quality is
+very winning, find it where we may.
+
+People at a distance may see how very much more interesting and
+picturesque the old black woman, Easter, was than any of these, but she
+did not seem so to the ten good little maidens who finally agreed to
+adopt her for their own--to find her out in her home life, and to help
+her.
+
+With them it was an act of simple pity--an act so pure in its motive
+that it became in itself beautiful.
+
+Perhaps the idea gained a little following from the fact that Easter
+Sunday was approaching, and there was a pleasing fitness in the old
+woman's name when it was proposed as an object for their Easter
+offerings. But this is a slight consideration.
+
+Certainly when three certain very pious little maidens started out on
+the following Saturday morning to find the old woman, Easter, they were
+full of interest in their new object, and chattered like magpies, all
+three together, about the beautiful things they were going to do for
+her.
+
+Somehow, it never occurred to them that they might not find her either
+at the Jackson Street and St. Charles Avenue corner, or down near Lee
+Circle, or at the door of the Southern Athletic Club, at the corner of
+Washington and Prytania streets.
+
+But they found her at none of the familiar haunts; they did not discover
+any trace of her all that day, or for quite a week afterward. They had
+inquired of the grocery-man at the corner where she often rested--of the
+portresses of several schools where she sometimes peddled her candy at
+recess-time, and at the bakery where she occasionally bought a loaf of
+yesterday's bread. But nobody remembered having seen her recently.
+
+Several people knew and were pleased to tell how she always started out
+in the direction of the swamp every evening when the gas was lit in the
+city, and that she turned out over the bridge along Melpomene Street,
+stopping to collect stray bits of cabbage leaves and refuse vegetables
+where the bridgeway leads through Dryades Market. Some said that she had
+a friend there, who hid such things for her to find, under one of the
+stalls, but this may not have been true.
+
+It was on the Saturday morning after their first search that three
+little "Daughters of the King" started out a second time, determined if
+possible to trace Old Easter to her hiding-place.
+
+It was a shabby, ugly, and crowded part of town in which, following the
+bridged road, and inquiring as they went, they soon found themselves.
+
+For a long time it seemed a fruitless search, and they were almost
+discouraged when across a field, limping along before a half-shabby,
+fallen gate, they saw an old, lame, yellow dog.
+
+It was the story of her sharing her dinner with the dog on the street
+that had won these eager friends for the old woman, and so, perhaps,
+from an association of ideas, they crossed the field, timidly, half
+afraid of the poor miserable beast that at once attracted and repelled
+them.
+
+But they need not have feared. As soon as he knew they were visitors,
+the social fellow began wagging his little stump of a tail, and with a
+sort of coaxing half-bark asked them to come in and make themselves at
+home.
+
+Not so cordial, however, was the shy and reluctant greeting of the old
+woman, Easter, who, after trying in vain to rise from her chair as they
+entered her little room, motioned to them to be seated on her bed. There
+was no other seat vacant, the second chair of the house being in use by
+a crippled black man, who sat out upon the back porch, nodding.
+
+As they took their seats, the yellow dog, who had acted as usher,
+squatted serenely in their midst, with what seemed a broad grin upon his
+face, and then it was that the little maid who had seen the incident
+recognized him as the poor old street dog who had shared old Easter's
+dinner.
+
+Two other dogs, poor, ugly, common fellows, had strolled out as they
+came in, and there were several cats lying huddled together in the sun
+beside the chair of the sleeping figure on the back porch.
+
+It was a poor little home--as poor as any imagination could picture it.
+There were holes in the floor--holes in the roof--cracks everywhere. It
+was, indeed, not considered, to use a technical word, "tenable," and
+there was no rent to pay for living in it.
+
+But, considering things, it was pretty clean. And when its mistress
+presently recovered from her surprise at her unexpected visitors, she
+began to explain that "ef she'd 'a' knowed dey was comin' to call, she
+would 'a' scoured up a little."
+
+Her chief apologies, however, were for the house itself and its
+location, "away outside o' quality neighborhoods in de swampy fields."
+
+"I des camps out here, missy," she finally explained, "bec'ase dey's mo'
+room an' space fur my family." And here she laughed--a high, cracked
+peal of laughter--as she waved her hand in the direction of the back
+porch.
+
+"Dey ain't nobody ter pleg Crazy Jake out here, an' him an' me, wid deze
+here lame an' crippled cats an' dogs--why, we sets out yonder an' talks
+together in de evenin's after de 'lection lights is lit in de tower
+market and de moon is lit in de sky. An' Crazy Jake--why, when de
+moon's on de full, Crazy Jake he can talk knowledge good ez you kin. I
+fetched him out here about a million years ago, time dey was puttin' him
+in de streets, caze dey was gwine hurt him. An' he knows mighty smart,
+git him ter talkin' right time o' de moon! But mos' gin'ally he forgits.
+
+"Ef I hadn't 'a' fell an' sprained my leg las' week, de bread it
+wouldn't 'a' 'mos' give out, like it is, but I done melt down de insides
+o' some ole condense'-milk cans, an' soak de dry bread in it for him,
+an' to-morrer I'm gwine out ag'in. Yas, to-morrer I'm bleeged to go,
+caze you know to-morrer dats my birfday, an' all my family dey looks for
+a party on my birfday--don't you, you yaller, stub-tail feller you! Ef e
+warn't sort o' hongry, I'd make him talk fur yer; but I 'ain't learnt
+him much yit. He's my new-comer!"
+
+This last was addressed to the yellow dog.
+
+[Illustration: "'DE CATS? WHY, HONEY, DEY WELCOME TO COME AN' GO'"]
+
+"I had blin' Pete out here till 'istiddy. I done 'dopted him las' year,
+but he struck out ag'in beggin', 'caze he say he can't stand dis heah
+soaked victuals. But Pete, he ain't rale blin', nohow. He's des got a
+sinkin' sperit, an' he can't work, an' I keeps him caze a sinkin' sperit
+what ain't got no git-up to it hit's a heap wuss 'n blin'ness. He's got
+deze heah yaller-whited eyes, an' when he draps his leds over 'em an'
+trimbles 'em, you'd swear he was stone-blin', an' dat stuff wha' he
+rubs on 'em it's inju'ious to de sight, so I keeps him and takes keer of
+him now so I won't have a blin' man on my hands--an' to save him f'om
+sin, too.
+
+"Ma'am? What you say, missy? De cats? Why, honey, dey welcome to come
+an' go. I des picked 'em up here an' dar 'caze dey was whinin'. Any
+breathin' thing dat I sees dat's poorer 'n what I is, why, I fetches 'em
+out once-t, an' dey mos' gin'ally stays.
+
+"But if you yo'ng ladies 'll come out d'reckly after Easter Sunday, when
+I got my pervisions in, why I'll show you how de ladies intertain dey
+company in de old days when Gin'ral Jackson used ter po' de wine."
+
+Needless to say, there was such a birthday party as had never before
+been known in the little shanty on the Easter following the visit of the
+three little maids of the King's Daughters.
+
+When Old Easter had finished her duties as hostess, sharing her good
+things equally with those who sat at her little table and those who
+squatted in an outer circle on the floor, she remarked that it carried
+her away back to old times when she stood behind the governor's chair
+"while he h'isted his wineglass an' drink ter de ladies' side curls."
+And Crazy Jake said yes, he remembered, too. And then he began to nod,
+while blind Pete remarked, "To my eyes de purtiest thing about de whole
+birfday party is de bo'quet o' Easter lilies in de middle o' de table."
+
+
+
+
+SAINT IDYL'S LIGHT
+
+
+
+
+SAINT IDYL'S LIGHT
+
+
+You would never have guessed that her name was Idyl--the slender,
+angular little girl of thirteen years who stood in her faded gown of
+checkered homespun on the brow of the Mississippi River. And fancy a
+saint balancing a bucket of water on top of her head!
+
+Yet, as she puts the pail down beside her, the evening sun gleaming
+through her fair hair seems to transform it into a halo, as some one
+speaks her name, "Saint Idyl."
+
+Her thin, little ears, sun-filled as she stands, are crimson disks; and
+the outlines of her upper arms, dimly seen through the flimsy sleeves,
+are as meagre as are the ankles above her bare, slim feet.
+
+The appellation "Saint Idyl," given first in playful derision, might
+have been long ago forgotten but for the incident which this story
+records.
+
+It was three years before, when the plantation children, colored and
+white together, had been saying, as is a fashion with them, what they
+would like to be.
+
+One had chosen a "blue-eyed lady wid flounces and a pink fan," another a
+"fine white 'oman wid long black curls an' ear-rings," and a third would
+have been "a hoop-skirted lady wid a tall hat."
+
+It was then that Idyl, the only white child of the group--the adopted
+orphan of the overseer's family--had said:
+
+"I'd choose to be a saint, like the one in the glass winder in the
+church, with light shinin' from my head. I'd walk all night up and down
+the 'road bend,' so travellers could see the way and wagons wouldn't get
+stallded."
+
+The children had shuddered and felt half afraid at this.
+
+"But you'd git stallded yo'se'f in dat black mud--"
+
+"An' de runaways in de canebrake 'd ketch yer--"
+
+"An' de paterole'd shoot yer--"
+
+"An' eve'body'd think you was a walkin' sperit, an' run away f'om yer."
+
+So the protests had come in, though the gleaming eyes of the little
+negroes had shown their delight in the fantastic idea.
+
+"But I'd walk on a cloud, like the saint in the picture," Idyl had
+insisted. "And my feet wouldn't touch the mud, and when the runaways
+looked into my face, they'd try to be good and go back to their masters.
+Nobody would hurt me. Tired horses would be glad to see my light, and
+everybody would love me."
+
+So, first laughingly, and then as a matter of habit, she had come to be
+known as "Saint Idyl."
+
+As she stands quite still, with face uplifted, out on the levee this
+evening, one is reminded in looking at her of the "Maid of Domremi"
+listening to the voices.
+
+Idyl was in truth listening to voices--voices new, strange, and
+solemn--voices of heavy, distant cannon.
+
+It was the 23d of April, 1862. A few miles below Bijou Plantation
+Farragut's fleet was storming the blockade at Fort Jackson. All along
+the lower Mississippi it was a time of dread and terror.
+
+The negroes, for the most part awed and terror-stricken, muttered
+prayers as they went about, and all night long sang mournfully and
+shouted and prayed in the churches or in groups in their cabins, or even
+in the road.
+
+The war had come at last. Its glare was upon the sky at night, and all
+day long reiterated its persistent staccato menace:
+
+"Boom-m-m! Gloom-m-m! Tomb-b-b! Doom-m-m!"
+
+The air had never seemed to lose the vibratory tremor, "M-m-m!" since
+the first gun, nearly six days ago.
+
+It was as if the lips of the land were trembling. And the trembling lips
+of the black mothers, as they pressed their babes to their bosoms,
+echoed the wordless terror.
+
+Death was in the air. Had they doubted it? In a field near by a shell
+had fallen, burying itself in the earth, and, exploding, had sent two
+men into the air, killing one and returning the other unhurt.
+
+Now the survivor, saved as by a miracle, was preaching "The Wrath to
+Come."
+
+To quote from himself, he had "been up to heaven long enough to get
+'ligion." He had "gone up a lost sinner and come down a saved soul.
+Bless Gord!"
+
+Regarding his life as charmed, the blacks followed him in crowds, while
+he descanted upon the text: "Then two shall be in the field. One shall
+be taken and the other left."
+
+A great revival was in progress.
+
+But this afternoon the levee at Bijou had been the scene of a new panic.
+
+Rumor said that the blockade chain had been cut. Farragut's war monsters
+might any moment come snorting up the river. Nor was this all. The only
+local defence here was a volunteer artillery company of "Exempts." Old
+"Captain Doc," their leader, also local druggist and postmaster (doctor
+and minister only in emergency), was a unique and picturesque figure.
+Full of bombast as of ultimate kindness of feeling, he was equally happy
+in all of his four offices.
+
+The "Rev. Capt. Doc, M.D.," as he was wont, on occasion, to call
+himself--why drag in a personal name among titles in themselves
+sufficiently distinguishing?--was by common consent the leading man with
+a certain under-population along the coast. And when, three months
+before, he had harangued them as to the patriot's duty of home defence,
+there was not a worthy incapable present but enthusiastically enlisted.
+
+The tension of the times forbade perception of the ludicrous. For three
+months the "Riffraffs"--so they proudly called themselves--rheumatic,
+deaf, palsied, halt, lame, and one or two nearly blind, had represented
+"the cause," "the standing army," "le grand militaire," to the
+inflammable imaginations of this handful of simple rural people of the
+lower coast.
+
+Of the nine "odds and ends of old cannon" which Captain Doc had been
+able to collect, it was said that but one would carry a ball. Certainly,
+of the remaining seven, one was of wood, an ancient gunsmith's sign, and
+another a gilded papier-mâché affair of a former Mystick Krewe.
+
+Still, these answered for drill purposes, and would be replaced by
+genuine guns when possible. They were quite as good for everything
+excepting a battle, and in that case, of course, it would be a simple
+thing "to seize the enemy's guns" and use them.
+
+When the Riffraffs had paraded up and down the river road no one had
+smiled, and if anybody realized that their captain wore the gorgeous
+pompon of a drum-major, its fitness was not questioned.
+
+It was becoming to him. It corresponded to his lordly strut, and was in
+keeping with the stentorian tones that shouted "Halt!" or "Avance!"
+
+Captain Doc appealed to Americans and creoles alike, and the Riffraffs
+marched quite as often to the stirring measures of "La Marseillaise" as
+to "The Bonny Blue Flag."
+
+Ever since the first guns at the forts, the good captain had been
+disporting himself in full feather. He was "ready for the enemy."
+
+His was a pleasing figure, and even inspiring as a picturesque
+embodiment of patriotic zeal; but when this afternoon the Riffraffs had
+planted their artillery along the levee front, while the little captain
+rallied them to "prepare to die by their guns," it was a different
+matter.
+
+The company, loyal to a man, had responded with a shout, the blacksmith,
+to whose deaf ears his anvil had been silent for twenty years, throwing
+up his hat with the rest, while the epileptic who manned the
+papier-mâché gun was observed to scream the loudest.
+
+Suddenly a woman, catching the peril of the situation, shrieked:
+
+"They're going to fire on the gunboats! We'll all be killed."
+
+Another caught the cry, and another. A mad panic ensued; women with
+babies in their arms gathered about Captain Doc, entreating him, with
+tears and cries, to desist.
+
+But for once the tender old man, whose old boast had been that one tear
+from a woman's eyes "tore his heart open," was deaf to all entreaty.
+
+The Riffraffs represented an injured faction. They had not been asked to
+enlist with the "Coast Defenders"--since gone into active service--and
+they seemed intoxicated by the present opportunity to "show the stuff
+they were made of."
+
+At nearly nightfall the women, despairing and wailing, had gone home.
+Amid all the excitement the little girl Idyl had stood apart, silent. No
+one had noticed her, nor that, when all the others had gone, she still
+lingered.
+
+Even Mrs. Magwire, the overseer's wife, with whom she lived, had
+forgotten to hurry or to scold her. What emotions were surging in her
+young bosom no one could know.
+
+There was something in the cannon's roar that charmed her ear--something
+suggestive of strength and courage. Within her memory she had known only
+weakness and fear.
+
+After the yellow scourge of '53, when she was but four years old, she
+had realized vaguely that strange people with loud voices and red faces
+had come to be to her in the place of father and mother, that the
+Magwire babies were heavy to carry, and that their mother had but a poor
+opinion of a "lazy hulk av a girrl that could not heft a washtub without
+panting."
+
+Idyl had tried hard to be strong and to please her foster-mother, but
+there was, somehow, in her life at the Magwires' something that made
+her great far-away eyes grow larger and her poor little wrists more
+weak and slender.
+
+She envied the Magwire twins--with all their prickly heat and their
+calico-blue eyes--when their mother pressed them lovingly to her bosom.
+She even envied the black babies when their great black mammies crooned
+them to sleep.
+
+What does it matter, black or white or red, if one is loved?
+
+An embroidered "Darling" upon an old crib-blanket, and a
+daguerreotype--a slender youth beside a pale, girlish woman, who clasped
+a big-eyed babe--these were her only tokens of past affection.
+
+There was something within her that responded to the daintiness of the
+loving stitches in the old blanket--and to a something in the refined
+faces in the picture. And they had called their wee daughter "Idyl"--a
+little poem.
+
+Yet she, not understanding, hated this name because of Mrs. Magwire,
+whose most merciless taunt was, "Sure ye're well named, ye idle
+dthreamer."
+
+Mrs. Magwire, a well-meaning woman withal, measured her maternal
+kindnesses to the hungry-hearted orphan beneath her roof in generous
+bowls of milk and hunks of corn-bread.
+
+Idyl's dreams of propitiating her were all of
+abstractions--self-sacrifice, patience, gratitude.
+
+And she was as unconscious as was her material benefactress that she was
+an idealist, and why the combination resulted in inharmony.
+
+This evening, as she stood alone upon the levee, listening to the
+cannon, a sudden sense of utter desolation and loneliness came to her.
+She only of all the plantation was unloved--forgotten--in this hour of
+danger.
+
+A desperate longing seized her as she turned and looked back upon the
+nest of cabins. If she could only save the plantation! For love, no
+sacrifice could be too great.
+
+With the thought came an inspiration. There was reason in the women's
+fears. Should the Riffraffs fire upon the fleet, surely guns would
+answer, else what was war?
+
+She glanced at her full pail, and then at the row of cannon beside her.
+
+If she could pour water into them! It was too light yet, but to-night--
+
+How great and daring a deed to come to tempt the mind of a timid,
+delicate child who had never dared anything--even Mrs. Magwire's
+displeasure!
+
+All during the evening, while Mother Magwire rocked the babies, moaning
+and weeping, Idyl, wiping her dishes in the little kitchen, would step
+to the door and peer out at the levee where the guns were. Every distant
+cannon's roar seemed to challenge her to the deed.
+
+When finally her work was done, she slipped noiselessly out and started
+towards the levee, pail in hand; but as she approached it she saw moving
+shadows.
+
+The Riffraffs were working at the guns. Seeing her project impossible,
+she sat down in a dark shadow by the roadside--studied the moving
+figures--listened to the guns which came nearer as the hours passed.
+
+It was long after midnight; accelerated firing was proclaiming a crisis
+in the battle, when, suddenly, there came the rattle of approaching
+wheels accompanied by a noisy rabble. Then a woman screamed.
+
+Captain Doc was coming with a wagon-load of ammunition. The guns were to
+be loaded.
+
+The moon, a faint waning crescent, faded to a filmy line as a pillar of
+fire, rising against the sky northward towards the city, exceeded the
+glare of the battle below.
+
+The darkness was quite lifted now, up and down the levee, and Idyl,
+standing in the shadow, could see groups of people weeping, wringing
+their hands, as Captain Doc, pompon triumphant, came in sight galloping
+down the road.
+
+In a second more he would pass the spot where she stood--stood unseen,
+seeing the sorrow of the people, heeding the challenge of the guns. The
+wagon was at hand.
+
+With a faint, childish scream, raising her thin arms heavenward, she
+plunged forward and fell headlong in its path.
+
+The victory was hers.
+
+The tinselled captain was now tender surgeon, doctor, friend.
+
+In his own arms he raised the limp little form from beneath the wheel,
+while the shabby gray coats of a dozen "Riffraffs," laid over the
+cannon-balls in the wagon, made her a hero's bed; and Captain Doc,
+seizing the reins, turned the horses cautiously, and drove in haste back
+to his drug-store.
+
+Farragut's fleet and "the honor of the Riffraffs" were forgotten in the
+presence of this frail embodiment of death.
+
+Upon his own bed beside an open window he laid her, and while his eager
+company became surgeon's assistants, he tenderly bound her wounds.
+
+For several hours she lay in a stupor, and when she opened her eyes the
+captain knelt beside her. Mrs. Magwire stood near, noisily weeping.
+
+"Is it saved?" she asked, when at length she opened her eyes.
+
+Captain Doc, thinking her mind was wandering, raised her head, and
+pointed to the river, now ablaze with light.
+
+"See," said he. "See the steamboats loaded with burning cotton, and the
+great ship meeting them; that is a Yankee gunboat! See, it is passing."
+
+"And you didn't shoot? And are the people glad?"
+
+"No, we didn't shoot. You fell and got hurt at the dark turn by the
+acacia bushes, where you hang your little lantern on dark nights. Some
+one ought to have hung one for you to-night. How did it happen, child?"
+
+"It didn't happen. I did it on purpose. I knew if I got hurt you would
+stop and cure me, and not fire at the boats. I wanted to save--to save
+the plan--"
+
+While the little old man raised a glass to the child's lips his hand
+shook, and something like a sob escaped him.
+
+"Listen, little one," he whispered, while his lips quivered. "I am an
+old fool, but not a fiend--not a devil. Not a gun would have fired. I
+wet all the powder. I didn't want anybody to say the Riffraffs flinched
+at the last minute. But you--oh, my God!" His voice sank even lower.
+"You have given your young life for my folly."
+
+She understood.
+
+"I haven't got any pain--only--I can't move. I thought I'd get hurt
+worse than I am--and not so much. I feel as if I were going up--and
+up--through the red--into the blue. And the moon is coming sideways to
+me. And her face--it is in it--just like the picture." She cast her eyes
+about the room as if half conscious of her surroundings. "Will
+they--will they love me now?"
+
+Mrs. Magwire, sobbing aloud, fell upon her knees beside the bed.
+
+"God love her, the heavenly child!" she wailed. "She was niver intinded
+for this worrld. Sure, an' I love ye, darlint, jist the same as Mary Ann
+an' Kitty--an' betther, too, to make up the loss of yer own mother, God
+rest her."
+
+Great tears rolled down the cheeks of the dying child, and that heavenly
+light which seems a forecast of things unseen shone from her brilliant
+eyes.
+
+She laid her thin hand upon Mrs. Magwire's head, buried now upon the bed
+beside her.
+
+"Lay the little blanket on me, please--when I go--"
+
+She turned her eyes upon the sky.
+
+"She worked it for me--the 'Darling' on it. The moon is coming
+again--sideways. It is her face."
+
+So, through the red of the fiery sky, up into the blue, passed the pure
+spirit of little Saint Idyl.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The river seemed afire now with floating chariots of flame.
+
+Slowly, majestically, upward into this fiery sea rode the fleet.
+
+Although many of the negroes had run frightened into the woods, the
+conflagration revealed an almost unbroken line on either side of the
+river, watching the spectacular pageant with awe-stricken, ashy faces.
+
+At Bijou a line of men--not the Riffraffs--sat astride the cannon, over
+the mouths of which they hung their hats or coats.
+
+"I tell yer deze heah Yankees mus' be monst'ous-sized men. Look at de
+big eye-holes 'longside o' de ship," said one--a young black fellow.
+
+"Eye-holes!" retorted an old man sitting apart; "dem ain't no eye-holes,
+chillen. Dey gun-holes! Dat what dey is! An' ef you don't keep yo'
+faces straight dey'll 'splode out on you 'fo' you know it."
+
+The first speaker rolled backward down the levee, half a dozen
+following. The old man sat unmoved. Presently a little woolly head
+peered over the bank.
+
+"What de name o' dat fust man-o'-war, gran'dad?"
+
+"Name _Freedom_." The old man answered without moving. "Freedom comin'
+wid guns in 'er mouf, ready to spit fire, I tell yer!"
+
+"Jeems, heah, say all de no-'count niggers is gwine be sol' over
+ag'in--is dat so, gran'dad?"
+
+"Yas; every feller gwine be sol' ter 'isself. An' a mighty onery,
+low-down marster heap ob 'em 'll git, too."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was nearly day when Captain Doc, pale and haggard, joined the crowd
+upon the levee.
+
+As he stepped upon its brow, a woman, fearing the provocation of his
+military hat, begged him to remove it.
+
+It might provoke a volley.
+
+Raising the hat, the captain turned and solemnly addressed the crowd:
+
+"My countrymen," he began, and his voice trembled, "the Riffraffs are
+disbanded. See!"
+
+He threw the red-plumed thing far out upon the water. And then he turned
+to them.
+
+"I have just seen an angel pass--to enter--yonder." A sob closed his
+throat as he pointed to the sky.
+
+"Her pure blood is on my hands--and, by the help of God, they will shed
+no more.
+
+"These old guns are playthings--we are broken old men.
+
+"Let us pray."
+
+And there, out in the glare of the awful fiery spectacle, grown weird in
+the faint white light of a rising sun, arose the voice of prayer--prayer
+first for forgiveness of false pride and folly--for the women and
+children--- for the end of the war--for lasting peace.
+
+It was a scene to be remembered. Had anything been lacking in its awful
+solemnity, it was supplied with a tender potency reaching all hearts, in
+the knowledge of the dead child, who lay in the little cottage near.
+
+From up and down the levee, as far as the voice had reached, came
+fervent responses, "Amen!" and "Amen!"
+
+Late in the morning the Riffraffs' artillery, all but their largest gun,
+was, by the captain's command, dumped into the river.
+
+This reserved cannon they planted, mouth upwards, by the roadside on
+the site of the tragedy--a fitting memorial of the child-martyr.
+
+It was Mrs. Magwire, who, remembering how Idyl had often stolen out and
+hung a lantern at this dark turn of the "road bend," began thrusting a
+pine torch into the cannon's mouth on dark nights as a slight memorial
+of her. And those who noticed said she took her rosary there and said
+her beads.
+
+But Captain Doc had soon made the light his own special care, and until
+his death, ten years later, the old man never failed to supply this
+beacon to belated travellers on moonless nights.
+
+After a time a large square lantern took the place of the torch of pine,
+and grateful wayfarers alongshore, by rein or oar, guided or steered by
+the glimmer of Saint Idyl's Light.
+
+Last year the caving bank carried the rusty gun into the water. It is
+well that time and its sweet symbol, the peace-loving river, should bury
+forever from sight all record of a family feud half forgotten.
+
+And yet, is it not meet that when the glorious tale of Farragut's
+victory is told, the simple story of little Saint Idyl should sometimes
+follow, as the tender benediction follows the triumphant chant?
+
+
+
+
+"BLINK"
+
+
+
+
+"BLINK"
+
+
+I
+
+It was nearly midnight of Christmas Eve on Oakland Plantation. In the
+library of the great house a dim lamp burned, and here, in a big
+arm-chair before a waning fire, Evelyn Bruce, a fair young girl, sat
+earnestly talking to a withered old black woman, who sat on the rug at
+her feet.
+
+"An' yer say de plantatiom done sol', baby, an' we boun' ter move?"
+
+"Yes, mammy, the old place must go."
+
+"An' is de 'Onerble Mr. Citified buyed it, baby? I know he an' ole
+marster sot up all endurin' las' night a-talkin' and a-figgurin'."
+
+"Yes. Mr. Jacobs has closed the mortgage, and owns the place now."
+
+"An' when is we gwine, baby?"
+
+"The sooner the better. I wish the going were over."
+
+"An' whar'bouts is we gwine, honey?"
+
+"We will go to the city, mammy--to New Orleans. Something tells me that
+father will never be able to attend to business again, and I am going to
+work--to make money."
+
+Mammy fell backward. "W-w-w-work! Y-y-you w-w-work! Wh-wh-why, baby,
+what sort o' funny, cuyus way is you a-talkin', anyhow?"
+
+"Many refined women are earning their living in the city, mammy."
+
+"Is you a-talkin' sense, baby, ur is yer des a-bluffin'? Is yer axed yo'
+pa yit?"
+
+"I don't think father is well, mammy. He says that whatever I suggest we
+will do, and I am _sure_ it is best. We will take a cheap little house,
+father and I--"
+
+"Y-y-you an' yo' pa! An' wh-wh-what 'bout me, baby?" Mammy would stammer
+when she was excited.
+
+"And you, mammy, of course."
+
+"Umh! umh! umh! An' so we gwine ter trabble! An' de' Onerble Mr.
+Citified done closed de morgans on us! Ef-ef I'd 'a' knowed it dis
+mornin' when he was a-quizzifyin' me so sergacious, I b'lieve I'd o'
+upped an' sassed 'im, I des couldn't 'a' helt in. I 'lowed he was
+teckin' a mighty frien'ly intruss, axin' me do we-all's _puck_on-trees
+bear big _puck_ons, an'--an' ef de well keep cool all summer, an'--an'
+he ax me--he ax me--"
+
+"What else did he ask you, mammy?"
+
+"Scuze me namin' it ter yer, baby, but he ax me who was buried in we's
+graves--he did fur a fac'. Yer reckon dee gwine claim de graves in de
+morgans, baby?"
+
+Mammy had crouched again at Evelyn's feet, and her eager brown face was
+now almost against her knee.
+
+"All the land is mortgaged, mammy."
+
+"Don't yer reck'n he mought des nachelly scuze de graves out'n de
+morgans, baby, ef yer ax 'im mannerly?"
+
+"I'm afraid not, mammy, but after a while we may have them moved."
+
+The old bronze clock on the mantel struck twelve.
+
+"Des listen. De ole clock a-strikin' Chris'mas-gif now. Come 'long, go
+ter bed, honey. You needs a res', but I ain' gwine sleep none, 'caze all
+dis heah news what you been a-tellin' me, hit's gwine ter run roun' in
+my head all night, same as a buzz-saw."
+
+And so they passed out, mammy to her pallet in Evelyn's room, while the
+sleepless girl stepped to her father's chamber.
+
+Entering on tiptoe, she stood and looked upon his face. He slept as
+peacefully as a babe. The anxious look of care which he had worn for
+years had passed away, and the flickering fire revealed the ghost of a
+smile upon his placid face. In this it was that Evelyn read the truth.
+The crisis of effort for him was past. He might follow, but he would
+lead no more.
+
+Since the beginning of the war Colonel Brace's history had been the
+oft-told tale of loss and disaster, and at the opening of each year
+since there had been a flaring up of hope and expenditure, then a long
+summer of wavering promise, followed by an inevitable winter of
+disappointment.
+
+The old colonel was, both by inheritance and the habit of many
+successful years, a man of great affairs, and when the crash came he was
+too old to change. When he bought, he bought heavily. He planted for
+large results. There was nothing petty about him, not even his debts.
+And now the end had come.
+
+As Evelyn stood gazing upon his handsome, placid face her eyes were
+blinded with tears. Falling upon her knees at his side, she engaged for
+a moment in silent prayer, consecrating herself in love to the life
+which lay before her, and as she rose she kissed his forehead gently,
+and passed to her own room.
+
+On the table at her bedside lay several piles of manuscript, and as
+these attracted her, she turned her chair, and fell to work sorting them
+into packages, which she laid carefully away.
+
+Evelyn had always loved to scribble, but only within the last few years
+had she thought of writing for money that she should need. She had
+already sent several manuscripts to editors of magazines; but somehow,
+like birds too young to leave the nest, they all found their way back to
+her. With each failure, however, she had become more determined to
+succeed, but in the meantime--_now_--she must earn a living. This was
+not practicable here. In the city all things were possible, and to the
+city she would go. She would at first accept one of the tempting
+situations offered in the daily papers, improving her leisure by
+attending lectures, studying, observing, cultivating herself in every
+possible way, and after a time she would try her hand again at writing.
+
+It was nearly day when she finally went to bed, but she was up early
+next morning. There was much to be considered. Many things were to be
+done.
+
+At first she consulted her father about everything, but his invariable
+answer, "Just as you say, daughter," transferred all responsibility to
+her.
+
+A letter to her mother's old New Orleans friend, Madame Le Duc, briefly
+set forth the circumstances, and asked Madame's aid in securing a small
+house. Other letters sent in other directions arranged various matters,
+and Evelyn soon found herself in the vortex of a move. She had a wise,
+clear head and a steady, resolute hand, and in old mammy a most capable
+servant. The old woman seemed, indeed, to forget nothing, as she bustled
+about, packing, suggesting, and, spite of herself, frequently
+protesting; for, if the truth must be spoken, this move to the city was
+violating all the traditions of mammy's life.
+
+"Wh-wh-wh-why, baby! Not teck de grime-stone!" she exclaimed one day, in
+reply to Evelyn's protest against her packing that ponderous article.
+"How is we gwine sharpen de spade an' de grubbin'-hoe ter work in the
+gyard'n?"
+
+"We sha'n't have a garden, mammy."
+
+"No gyard'n!" Mammy sat down upon the grindstone in disgust.
+"Wh-wh-wh-what sort o' a fureign no-groun' place is we gwine ter,
+anyhow, baby? Honey," she continued, in a troubled voice, "co'se you
+know I ain't got educatiom, an' I ain't claim knowledge; b-b-b-but
+ain't you better study on it good 'fo' we goes ter dis heah new country?
+Dee tells me de cidy's a owdacious place. I been heern a heap o' tales,
+but I 'ain't say nothin' Is yer done prayed over it good, baby?"
+
+"Yes, dear. I have prayed that we should do only right. What have you
+heard, mammy?"
+
+"D-d-d-de way folks talks, look like death an' terror is des a-layin'
+roun' loose in de cidy. Dee tell _me_ dat ef yer des nachelly blows out
+yer light ter go ter bed, dat dis heah some'h'n' what stan' fur wick,
+hit 'll des keep a-sizzin' an' a-sizzin' out, des like sperityal steam;
+_an' hit's clair pizen_!"
+
+"That is true, mammy. But, you see, we won't blow it out. We'll know
+better."
+
+"Does yer snuff it out wid snuffers, baby, ur des fling it on de flo'
+an' tromp yer foots on it?"
+
+"Neither, mammy. The gas comes in through pipes built into the houses,
+and is turned on and off with a valve, somewhat as we let water out of
+the refrigerator."
+
+"Um-hm! Well done! Of co'se! On'y, in place o' water what _put out_ de
+light, hit's in'ardly filled wid some'h'n' what _favor_ a blaze."
+
+"Exactly."
+
+Mammy reflected a moment. "But de grime-stone gotter stay berhime, is
+she? An' is we gwine leave all de gyard'n tools an' implemers ter de
+'Onerble Mr. Citified?"
+
+"No, mammy; none of the appurtenances of the homestead are mortgaged. We
+must sell them. We need money, you know."
+
+"What is de impertinences o' de homestid, baby? You forgits I ain't
+on'erstan' book words."
+
+"Those things intended for family use, mammy. There are the
+carriage-horses, the cows, the chickens--"
+
+"Bless goodness fur dat! An' who gwine drive 'em inter de cidy fur us,
+honey?"
+
+"Oh, mammy, we must sell them all."
+
+Mammy was almost crying. "An' what sort o' entry is we gwine meck inter
+de cidy, honey--empty-handed, same as po' white trash? D-d-d-don't yer
+reck'n we b-b-better teck de chickens, baby? Yo' ma thunk a heap o' dem
+Brahma hens an' dem Clymoth Rockers--dee looks so courageous."
+
+It was hard for Evelyn to refuse. Mammy loved everything on the old
+place.
+
+"Let us give up all these things now, mammy; and after a while, when I
+grow rich and famous, I'll buy you all the chickens you want."
+
+At last preparations were over. They were to start on the morrow. Mammy
+had just returned from a last tour through out-buildings and gardens,
+and was evidently disturbed.
+
+"Honey," she began, throwing herself on the step at Evelyn's feet, "what
+yer reck'n? Ole Muffly is a-sett'n' on fo'teen eggs, down in de
+cotton-seed. W-w-we can't g'way f'm heah an' leave Muffly a-sett'n', hit
+des nachelly can't be did. D-d-don't yer reck'n dee'd hol' back de
+morgans a little, till Muffly git done sett'n'?"
+
+It was the same old story. Mammy would never be ready to go.
+
+"But our tickets are bought, mammy."
+
+"An' like as not de 'Onerble Mr. Citified 'll shoo ole Muffly orf de
+nes' an' spile de whole sett'n'. Tut! tut! tut!" And, groaning in
+spirit, mammy walked off.
+
+Evelyn had feared, for her father, the actual moment of leaving, and was
+much relieved when, with his now habitual tranquillity, he smilingly
+assisted both her and mammy into the sleeper. Instead of entering
+himself, however, he hesitated.
+
+"Isn't your mother coming, daughter?" he asked, looking backward.
+"Or--oh, I forgot," he added, quickly. "She has gone on before, hasn't
+she?"
+
+"Yes, dear, she has gone before," Evelyn answered, hardly knowing what
+she said, the chill of a new terror upon her.
+
+What did this mean? Was it possible that she had read but half the
+truth? Was her father's mind not only enfeebled, but going?
+
+Mammy had not heard the question, and so Evelyn bore her anxiety alone,
+and during the day her anxious eyes were often upon her father's face,
+but he only smiled and kept silent.
+
+They had been travelling all day, when suddenly, above the rumbling of
+the train, a weak, bird-like chirp was heard, faint but distinct; and
+presently it came again, a prolonged "p-e-e-p!"
+
+Heads went up, inquiring faces peered up and down the coach, and fell
+again to paper or book, when the cry came a third time, and again.
+
+Mammy's face was a study. "'Sh--'sh--'sh! don' say nothin', baby," she
+whispered, in Evelyn's ear; "but dis heah chicken in my bosom is
+a-ticklin' me so I can't hardly set still."
+
+Evelyn was absolutely speechless with surprise, as mammy continued by
+snatches her whispered explanation:
+
+"Des 'fo' we lef' I went 'n' lif' up ole Muffly ter see how de eggs was
+comin' orn, an' dis heah egg was pipped out, an' de little risindenter
+look like he eyed me so berseechin' I des nachelly couldn't leave 'im.
+Look like he knowed he warn't righteously in de morgans, an' 'e crave
+ter clair out an' trabble. I did hope speech wouldn't come ter 'im tell
+we got off'n deze heah train kyars."
+
+A halt at a station brought a momentary silence, and right here arose
+again, clear and shrill, the chicken's cry.
+
+Mammy was equal to the emergency. After glancing inquiringly up and down
+the coach, she exclaimed, aloud, "Some'h'n' in dis heah kyar soun' des
+like a vintrilloquer."
+
+"That's just what it is," said an old gentleman opposite, peering around
+over his spectacles. "And whoever you are, sir, you've been amusing
+yourself for an hour."
+
+Mammy's ruse had succeeded, and during the rest of the journey, although
+the chicken developed duly as to vocal powers, the only question asked
+by the curious was, "Who can the ventriloquist be?"
+
+Evelyn could hardly maintain her self-control, the situation was so
+utterly absurd.
+
+"I does hope it's a pullet," mammy confided later; "but I doubts it. Hit
+done struck out wid a mannish movemint a'ready. Muffly's eggs allus
+hatches out sech invig'rous chickens. I gwine in the dressin'-room,
+baby, an' wrop 'im up ag'in. Feel like he done kicked 'isse'f loose."
+
+Though she made several trips to the dressing-room in the interest of
+her hatchling, mammy's serene face held no betrayal of the disturbing
+secret of her bosom.
+
+At last the journey was over. The train crept with a tired motion into
+the noisy depot. Then came a rattling ride over cobble-stones, granite,
+and unpaved streets; a sudden halt before a low-browed cottage; a
+smiling old lady stepping out to meet them; a slam of the front
+door--they were at home in New Orleans.
+
+Madame Le Duc seemed to have forgotten nothing that their comfort
+required, and in many ways that the creole gentlewoman understands so
+well she was affectionately and unobtrusively kind. And yet, in the life
+Evelyn was seeking to enter, Madame could give her no aid. About all
+these new ideas of women--ladies--going out as bread-winners, Madame
+knew nothing. For twenty years she had gone only to the cathedral, the
+French Market, the cemetery, and the Chapel of St. Roche. As to all this
+unconventional American city above Canal Street, it was there and
+spreading (like the measles and other evils); everybody said so; even
+her paper, _L'Abeille_, referred to it in French--resentfully. She
+believed in it historically; but for herself, she "_never travelled_,"
+_excepting_, as she quaintly put it, in her "_acquaintances_"--the
+French streets with which she was familiar.
+
+The house she had selected was a typical old-fashioned French cottage,
+venerable in scaling plaster and fern-tufted tile roof, but cool and
+roomy within as uninviting without. A small inland garden surprised the
+eye as one entered the battened gate at its side, and a dormer-window in
+the roof looked out upon the rigging of ships at anchor but a
+stone's-throw away.
+
+Here, to the chamber above, Evelyn led her father. Furnishing this large
+upper room with familiar objects, and pointing out the novelties of the
+view from its window, she tried to interpret his new life happily for
+him, and he smiled, and seemed content.
+
+It was surprising to see how soon mammy fell into line with the changed
+order of things. The French Market, with its "cuyus fureign folks an'
+mixed talk," was a panorama of daily unfolding wonders to her. "But
+huccome dee calls it French?" she exclaimed, one day. "I been listenin'
+good, an' I hear 'em jabber, jabber, jabber all dey fanciful lingoes,
+but I 'ain't heern nair one say _polly fronsay_, an' yit I know dats de
+riverend book French." The Indian squaws in the market, sitting flat on
+the ground, surrounded by their wares, she held in special contempt. "I
+holds myse'f _clair_ 'bove a Injun," she boasted. "Dee ain't look
+jinnywine ter me. Dee ain't nuther white folks nur niggers, nair one.
+Sett'n' deeselves up fur go-betweens, an' sellin' sech grass-greens as
+we lef' berhindt us growin' in de wilderness!"
+
+But one unfailing source of pleasure to mammy was the little chicken,
+"Blink," who, she declared, "named 'isse'f Blink de day he blinked at me
+so cunnin' out'n de shell. Blink 'ain't said nothin' wid 'is mouf," she
+continued, eying him proudly, "'caze he know eye-speech set on a chicken
+a heap better'n human words, mo' inspecial on a yo'ng half-hatched
+chicken like Blink was dat day, cramped wid de egg-shell behime an' de
+morgans starin' 'im in de face befo', an' not knowin' how he gwine come
+out'n his trouble. He des kep' silence, an' wink all 'is argimints, an'
+'e wink to the p'int, too!"
+
+In spite of his unique entrance into the world and his precarious
+journey, Blink was a vigorous young chicken, with what mammy was pleased
+to call "a good proud step an' knowin' eyes."
+
+Three months passed. The long, dull summer was approaching, and yet
+Evelyn had found no regular employment. She had not been idle. Sewing
+for the market folk, decorating palmetto fans and Easter eggs, which
+mammy peddled in the big houses, she had earned small sums of money from
+time to time. In her enforced leisure she found opportunity for study,
+and her picturesque surroundings were as an open book.
+
+Impressions of the quaint old French and Spanish city, with its motley
+population, were carefully jotted down in her note-book. These first
+descriptions she afterwards rewrote, discarding weakening detail,
+elaborating the occasional triviality which seemed to reflect the true
+local tint--a nice distinction, involving conscientious hard work. How
+she longed for criticism and advice!
+
+A year ago her father, now usually dozing in his chair while she worked,
+would have been a most able and affectionate critic; but now--She
+rejoiced when a day passed without his asking for her mother, and
+wondering why she did not come.
+
+And so it was that in her need of sympathy Evelyn began to read her
+writings, some of which had grown into stories, to mammy. The very
+exercise of reading aloud--the sound of it--was helpful. That mammy's
+criticisms should have proven valuable in themselves was a surprise, but
+it was even so.
+
+
+II
+
+"A pusson would know dat was fanciful de way hit reads orf, des like a
+pusson 'magine some'h'n' what ain't so."
+
+Such was mammy's first criticism of a story which had just come back,
+returned from an editor. Evelyn had been trying to discover wherein its
+weakness lay.
+
+Mammy had caught the truth. The story was unreal. The English seemed
+good, the construction fair, but--it was "_fanciful_."
+
+The criticism set Evelyn to thinking. She laid aside this, and read
+another manuscript aloud.
+
+"I tell yer, honey, a-a-a pusson 'd know you had educatiom, de way you
+c'n fetch in de dictionary words."
+
+"Don't you understand them, mammy?" she asked, quickly, catching another
+idea.
+
+"Who, me? Law, baby, I don't crave ter on'erstan' all dat granjer. I des
+ketches de chune, an' hit sho is got a glorified ring."
+
+Here was a valuable hint. She must simplify her style. The tide of
+popular writing was, she knew, in the other direction, but the _best_
+writing was _simple_.
+
+The suggestion sent her back to study.
+
+And now for her own improvement she rewrote the "story of big words" in
+the simplest English she could command, bidding mammy tell her if there
+was one word she could not understand.
+
+In the transition the spirit of the story was necessarily changed, but
+the exercise was good. Mammy understood every word.
+
+"But, baby," she protested, with a troubled face, "look like _hit don't
+stan' no mo'_; all its granjer done gone. You better fix it up des like
+it was befo', honey. Hit 'minds me o' some o' deze heah fine folks what
+walks de streets. You know _folks what 'ain't got nothin' else_, dee des
+nachelly _'bleege_ ter put on finery."
+
+How clever mammy was! How wholesome the unconscious satire of her
+criticism! This story, shorn of its grandeur, could not stand indeed. It
+was weak and affected.
+
+"You dear old mammy," exclaimed Evelyn, "you don't know how you are
+helping me."
+
+"Gord knows I wushes I could holp you, honey. I 'ain't nuver is craved
+educatiom befo', but now, look like I'd like ter be king of all de
+smartness, an' know all dey is in de books. I wouldn't hol' back
+_noth'n_ f'om yer, baby."
+
+And Evelyn knew it was true.
+
+"Look ter me, baby," mammy suggested, another night, after listening to
+a highly imaginative story--"look ter me like ef--ef--ef you'd des write
+down some _truly truth_ what is _ac-chilly happened_, an' glorify it wid
+educatiom, hit 'd des nachelly stan' in a book."
+
+"I've been thinking of that," said Evelyn, reflectively, laying aside
+her manuscript.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"How does this sound, mammy?" she asked, a week later, when, taking up
+an unfinished tale, she began to read.
+
+It was the story of their own lives, dating from the sale of the
+plantation. The names, of course, were changed, excepting Blink's, and,
+indeed, until he appeared upon the scene, although mammy listened
+breathless, she did not recognize the characters. Blink, however, was
+unmistakable, and when he announced himself from the old woman's bosom
+his identity flashed upon mammy, and she tumbled over on the floor,
+laughing and crying alternately. Evelyn had written from her heart, and
+the story, simply told, held all the wrench of parting with old
+associations, while the spirit of courage and hope, which animated her,
+breathed in every line as she described their entrance upon their new
+life.
+
+"My heart was teched f'om de fus't, baby," said mammy, presently,
+wiping her eyes; "b-b-b-but look heah, honey, I'd--I'd be wuss'n a
+hycoprite ef I let dat noble ole black 'oman, de way you done specified
+'er, stan' fur me. Y-y-yer got ter change all dat, honey. Dey warn't
+nothin' on top o' dis roun' worl' what fetched me 'long wid y' all but
+'cep' 'caze I des _nachelly love yer_, an' all dat book granjer what you
+done laid on me I _don' know nothin' 't all about it_, an' yer got ter
+_teck it orf_, an' write me down like I is, des a po' ole nigger wha'
+done fell in wid de Gord-blessedes' white folks wha' ever lived on dis
+earth, an'--an' wha' gwine _foller_ 'em an' _stay by 'em_, don' keer
+which-a-way dee go, so long as 'er ole han's is able ter holp 'em. Yer
+got ter change all dat, honey.
+
+"But Blink! De laws-o'-mussy! Maybe hit's 'caze I been hatched 'im an'
+raised 'im, but look ter me like he ain't no _dis_grace ter de story, no
+way. Seem like he sets orf de book. Yer ain't gwine say nothin' 'bout
+Blink bein' a frizzly, is yer? 'Twouldn't do no good ter tell it on
+'im."
+
+"I didn't know it, mammy."
+
+"Yas, indeedy. Po' Blink's feathers done taken on a secon' twis'." She
+spoke, with maternal solicitude. "I d'know huccome he come dat-a-way,
+'caze we 'ain't nuver is had no frizzly stock 'mongs' our chickens.
+Sometimes I b'lieve Blink tumbled 'isse'f up dat-a-way tryin' ter
+wriggle 'isse'f outn de morgans. I hates it mightily. Look like a
+frizzly can't put on grandeur no way, don' keer how mannerly 'e hol'
+'isse'f."
+
+The progress of the new story, which mammy considered under her especial
+supervision, was now her engrossing thought.
+
+"Yer better walk straight, Blink," she would exclaim--"yer better walk
+straight an' step high, 'caze yer gwine in a book, honey, 'long wid de
+aristokercy!"
+
+One day Blink walked leisurely in from the street, returning, happily
+for mammy's peace of mind, before he had been missed. He raised his
+wings a moment as he entered, as if pleased to get home, and mammy
+exclaimed, as she burst out laughing:
+
+"Don't you come in heah shruggin' yo' shoulders at me, Blink, an'
+puttin' on no French airs. I believe Blink been out teckin' French
+lessons." She took her pet into her arms. "Is you crave ter learn
+fureign speech, Blinky, like de res' o' dis mixed-talkin' settle_mint_?
+Is you 'shamed o' yo' country voice, honey, an' tryin' ter ketch a
+French crow? No, he ain't," she added, putting him down at last, but
+watching him fondly. "Blink know he's a Bruce. An' he know he's folks
+is in tribulatiom, an' hilarity ain't become 'im--dat's huccome Blink
+'ain't crowed none--_ain't it, Blink_?"
+
+And Blink wisely winked his knowing eyes. That he had, indeed, never
+proclaimed his roosterhood by crowing was a source of some anxiety to
+mammy.
+
+"Maybe Blink don't know he's a rooster," she confided to Evelyn one day.
+"Sho 'nough, honey, he nuver is seen none! De neares' ter 'isse'f what
+he knows is dat ole green polly what set in de fig-tree nex' do', an'
+talk Gascon. I seed Blink 'is_tid_day stan' an' look at' im, an' den
+look down at 'isse'f, same as ter say, 'Is I a polly, or what?' An' den
+'e open an' shet 'is mouf, like 'e tryin' ter twis' it, polly fashion,
+an' hit won't twis', an' den 'e des shaken 'is head, an' walk orf, like
+'e heavy-hearted an' mixed in 'is mind. Blink don't know what
+'spornsibility lay on 'im ter keep our courage up. You heah me, Blink!
+Open yo' mouf, an' crow out, like a man!"
+
+But Blink was biding his time.
+
+During this time, in spite of strictest economy, money was going out
+faster than it came in.
+
+"I tell yer what I been thinkin', baby," said mammy, as she and Evelyn
+discussed the situation. "I think de bes' thing you can do is ter hire
+me out. I can cook you alls breckfus' soon, an' go out an' make day's
+work, an' come home plenty o' time ter cook de little speck o' dinner
+you an' ole boss needs."
+
+"Oh no, no! You mustn't think of it, mammy."
+
+"But what we gwine do, baby? We des _can't_ get out'n _money_. Hit
+_won't do_!"
+
+"Maybe I should have taken that position as lady's companion, mammy."
+
+"An' stay 'way all nights f'om yo' pa, when you de onlies' light ter 'is
+eyes? No, no, honey!"
+
+"But it has been my only offer, and sometimes I think--"
+
+"Hush talkin' dat-a-way, baby. Don't yer pray? An' don't yer trus' Gord?
+An' ain't yer done walked de streets tell you mos' drapped down, lookin'
+fur work? An' can't yer teck de hint dat de Lord done laid off yo' work
+_right heah in the house_? You go 'long now, an' cheer up yo' pa, des
+like you been doin', an' study yo' books, an' write down true joy an'
+true sorrer in yo' stories, an' glorify Gord wid yo' sense, an' don't
+pester yo'se'f 'bout to-day an' to-morrer, an'--an'--an' ef de gorspil
+is de trufe, an'--an' ef a po' ole nigger's prayers mounts ter heaven
+on de wings o' faith, Gord ain't gwine let a hair o' yo' head perish."
+
+But mammy pondered in her heart much concerning the financial outlook,
+and it was on the day after this conversation that she dressed herself
+with unusual care, and, without announcing her errand, started out.
+
+Her return soon brought its own explanation, however, for upon her old
+head she bore a huge bundle of unlaundered clothing.
+
+"What in the world!" exclaimed Evelyn; but before she could voice a
+protest, mammy interrupted her.
+
+"Nuver you mind, baby! I des waked up," she exclaimed, throwing her
+bundle at the kitchen door. "I been preachin' ter you 'bout teckin'
+hints, an' 'ain't been readin' my own lesson. Huccome we got dis heah
+nice sunny back yard, an' dis bustin' cisternful o' rain-water? Huccome
+de boa'din'-house folks at de corner keeps a-passin' an' a-passin' by
+dis gate wid all dey fluted finery on, ef 'twarn't ter gimme a hint dat
+dey's wealth a-layin' at de do', an' me, bline as a bat, 'ain't seen
+it?"
+
+"Oh, but, mammy, you can't take in washing. You are too old; it is too
+hard. You _mustn't_--"
+
+"Ef-ef-ef-ef you gits obstropulous, I-I-I gwine whup yer, sho. Y-y-yer
+know how much money's a-comin' out'n dat bundle, baby? _Five dollars!_"
+This in a stage-whisper. "An' not a speck o' dirt on nothin'; des baby
+caps an' lace doin's rumpled up."
+
+"How did you manage it, mammy?"
+
+"Well, baby, I des put on my fluted ap'on--an' you know it's ironed
+purty--an' my clair-starched neck-hankcher, an'--an' _my business face_,
+an' I helt up my head an' walked in, an' axed good prices, an' de
+ladies, dee des tooken took one good look at me, an' gimme all I'd
+carry. You know washin' an' ironin' is my pleasure, baby."
+
+It was useless to protest, and so, after a moment, Evelyn began rolling
+up her sleeves.
+
+"I am going to help you, mammy," she said, quietly but firmly; but
+before she could protest, mammy had gathered her into her arms, and
+carried her into her own room. Setting her down at her desk, she
+exclaimed:
+
+"Now, ef _you_ goes ter de wash-tub, dey ain't nothin' lef fur _me_ ter
+do but 'cep'n' ter _set down an' write de story_, an' you know I can't
+do it."
+
+"But, mammy, I _must_ help you."
+
+"Is you gwine _meck_ me whup yer, whe'r ur no, baby? Now I gwine meck a
+bargain wid yer. _You_ set down an' write, an' _I_ gwine play de pianner
+on de washboa'd, an' to-night you can read off what yer done put down,
+an' ef yer done written it purty an' sweet, you can come an' turn de
+flutin'-machine fur me ter-morrer. Yer gwine meck de bargain wid me,
+baby?"
+
+Evelyn was so touched that she had not voice to answer. Rising from her
+seat, she put her arms around mammy's neck and kissed her old face, and
+as she turned away a tear rolled down her cheek. And so the "bargain"
+was sealed.
+
+Before going to her desk Evelyn went to her father, to see that he
+wanted nothing. He sat, as usual, gazing silently out of the window.
+
+"Daughter," said he, as she entered, "are we in France?"
+
+"No, dear," she answered, startled at the question.
+
+"But the language I hear in the street is French; and see the
+ship-masts--French flags flying. But there is the German too, and
+English, and last week there was a Scandinavian. Where are we truly,
+daughter? My surroundings confuse me."
+
+"We are in New Orleans, father--in the French Quarter. Ships from almost
+everywhere come to this port, you know. Let us walk out to the levee
+this morning, and see the men-of-war in the river. The air will revive
+you."
+
+"Well, if your mother comes. She might come while we were away."
+
+And so it was always. With her heart trembling within her, Evelyn went
+to her desk. "Surely," she thought, "there is much need that I shall do
+my best." Almost reverentially she took her pen, as she proceeded with
+the true story she had begun.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"I done changed my min' 'bout dat ole 'oman wha' stan' fur me, baby,"
+said mammy that night. "You leave 'er des like she is. She glorifies de
+story a heap better'n my nachel self could do it. I been a-thinkin'
+'bout it, an' _de finer that ole 'oman ac', an' de mo' granjer yer lay
+on 'er, de better yer gwine meck de book_, 'caze de ole gemplum wha'
+stan' fur ole marster, his times an' seasons is done past, an' he can't
+do nothin' but set still an' wait, an'--an' de yo'ng missus, she ain't
+fitten ter wrastle on de outskirts; she ain't nothin' but 'cep' des a
+lovin' sweet saint, wid 'er face set ter a high, far mark--"
+
+"Hush, mammy!"
+
+"_I'm a-talkin' 'bout de book, baby, an' don't you interrup' me no mo'!_
+An' _I say ef dis ole 'oman wha' stan' fur me, ef-ef-ef she got a weak
+spot in 'er, dey won't be no story to it_. She de one wha' got ter
+_stan' by de battlemints an' hol' de fort_."
+
+"That's just what you are doing, mammy. There isn't a grain in her that
+is finer than you."
+
+"'Sh! dis ain't no time fur foolishness, baby. Yer 'ain't said nothin'
+'bout yo' ma an' de ole black 'oman's baby bein' borned de same day, is
+yer? An' how de ole 'oman nussed 'em bofe des like twins? An'--an' how
+folks 'cused 'er o' starvin' 'er own baby on de 'count o' yo' ma bein'
+puny? (_But dat warn't true._) Maybe yer better leave all dat out, 'caze
+hit mought spile de story."
+
+"How could it spoil it, mammy?"
+
+"Don't yer see, ef folks knowed dat dem white folks an' dat ole black
+'oman was _dat close-t_, dey wouldn't be no principle in it. Dey ain't
+nothin' but _love_ in _dat_, an' de ole 'oman _couldn't he'p 'erse'f, no
+mo'n I could he'p it_! No right-minded pusson is gwine ter deny dey own
+heart. Yer better leave all dat out, honey. B-b-but deys some'h'n' else
+wha' been lef out, wha' b'long in de book. Yer 'ain't named de way de
+little mistus sot up all nights an' nussed de ole 'oman time she was
+sick, an'--an'--an' de way she sew all de ole 'oman's cloze;
+an'--an'--an' yer done lef' out a heap o' de purtiness an' de sweetness
+o' de yo'ng mistus! Dis is a book, baby, an'--an'--yer boun' ter do
+jestice!"
+
+In this fashion the story was written.
+
+"And what do you think I am going to do with it, mammy?" said Evelyn,
+when finally, having done her very best, she was willing to call it
+finished.
+
+"Yer know some'h'n' baby? Ef-ef-ef I had de money, look like I'd buy
+that story myse'f. Seem some way like I loves it. Co'se I couldn't read
+it; but my min' been on it so long, seem like, ef I'd study de pages
+good dee'd open up ter me. What yer gwine do wid it, baby?"
+
+"Oh, mammy, I can hardly tell you! My heart seems in my throat when I
+dare to think of it; but _I'm going to try it_. A New York magazine has
+offered five hundred dollars for a best story--_five hundred dollars_!
+Think, mammy, what it would do for us!"
+
+"Dat wouldn't buy de plantatiom back, would it, baby?" Mammy had no
+conception of large sums.
+
+"We don't want it back, mammy. It would pay for moving our dear ones to
+graves of their own; we should put a nice sum in bank; you shouldn't do
+any more washing; and if we can write one good story, you know we can
+write more. It will be only a beginning."
+
+"An' I tell yer what I gwine do. I gwine pray over it good, des like I
+been doin' f'om de start, an' ef hit's Gord's will, dem folks 'll be
+moved in de sperit ter sen' 'long de money."
+
+And so the story was sent.
+
+After it was gone the atmosphere seemed brighter. The pending decision
+was now a fixed point to which all their hopes were directed.
+
+The very audacity of the effort seemed inspiration to more ambitious
+work; and during the long summer, while in her busy hands the
+fluting-machine went round and round, Evelyn's mind was full of plans
+for the future.
+
+Finally, December, with its promise of the momentous decision, was come,
+and Evelyn found herself full of anxious misgivings.
+
+What merit entitling it to special consideration had the little story?
+Did it bear the impress of self-forgetful, conscientious purpose, or was
+this a thing only feebly struggling into life within herself--not yet
+the compelling force that indelibly stamps itself upon the earnest labor
+of consecrated hands? How often in the silent hours of night did she ask
+herself questions like these!
+
+At last it was Christmas Eve again, and Saturday night. When the days
+are dark, what is so depressing as an anniversary--an anniversary joyous
+in its very essence? How one Christmas brings in its train
+memory-pictures of those gone before!
+
+This had been a hard day for Evelyn. Her heart felt weak within her,
+and yet, realizing that she alone represented youth and hope in the
+little household, and feeling need that her own courage should be
+sustained, she had been more than usually merry all day. She had
+clandestinely prepared little surprises for her father and mammy, and
+was both amused and touched to discover the old woman secreting
+mysterious little parcels which she knew were to come to her in the
+morning.
+
+"Wouldn't it be funny if, after all, I should turn out to be only a good
+washerwoman, mammy?" she said, laughing, as she assisted the old woman
+in pinning up a basket of laundered clothing.
+
+"Hit'd be funnier yit ef _I'd_ turn out inter one o' deze heah
+book-writers, wouldn't it?" And mammy laughed heartily at her own joke.
+"Look like I better study my a-b abs fus', let 'lone puttin' 'em back on
+paper wid a pen. I tell you educatiom's a-spreadin' in dis fam'ly, sho.
+Time Blink run over de sheet out a-bleachin' 'is_tid_dy, he written a
+Chinese letter all over it. Didn't you, Blink? What de matter wid Blink
+anyhow, to-day?" she added, taking the last pin from her head-kerchief.
+"Blink look like he nervous some way dis evenin'. He keep a-walkin'
+roun', an' winkin' so slow, an' retchin' his neck out de back-do' so
+cuyus. Stop a-battin' yo' eyes at me, Blink! Ef yo' got some'h'n' ter
+say, _say it_!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A sudden noisy rattle of the iron door-knocker--mammy trotting to the
+door--the postman--a letter! It all happened in a minute.
+
+How Evelyn's heart throbbed and her hand trembled as she opened the
+envelope! "Oh, mammy!" she cried, trembling now like an aspen leaf.
+"_Thank God!_"
+
+"Is dee d-d-d-done sont de money, baby?" Her old face was twitching too.
+
+But Evelyn could not answer. Nodding her head, she fell sobbing on
+mammy's shoulder.
+
+Mammy raised her apron to her eyes, and there's no telling what
+"foolishness" she might have committed had it not been that suddenly,
+right at her side, arose a most jubilant screech.
+
+Blink, perched on the handle of the clothes-basket, was crowing with all
+his might.
+
+Evelyn, startled, raised her head, and laughed through her tears, while
+mammy threw herself at full length upon the floor, shouting aloud.
+
+"Tell me chickens 'ain't got secon'-sight! Blink see'd--he
+see'd--Laws-o'-mussy, baby, look yonder at dat little yaller rooster
+stan'in' on de fence. _Dat_ what Blink see. Co'se it is!"
+
+
+
+
+DUKE'S CHRISTMAS
+
+
+
+
+DUKE'S CHRISTMAS
+
+
+"You des gimme de white folks's Christmas-dinner plates, time they git
+thoo eatin', an' lemme scrape 'em in a pan, an' set dat pan in my lap,
+an' blow out de light, an' _go it bline_! Hush, honey, hush, while I
+shet my eyes now an' tas'e all de samples what'd come out'n dat
+pan--cramberries, an' tukkey-stuffin' wid _puck_ons in it, an' ham an'
+fried oyscher an'--an' minch-meat, an' chow-chow pickle an'--an' jelly!
+Umh! Don' keer which-a-one I strack fust--dey all got de Christmas
+seasonin'!"
+
+Old Uncle Mose closed his eyes and smiled, even smacked his lips in
+contemplation of the imaginary feast which he summoned at will from his
+early memories. Little Duke, his grandchild, sitting beside him on the
+floor, rolled his big eyes and looked troubled. Black as a raven, nine
+years old and small of his age, but agile and shrewd as a little fox, he
+was at present the practical head of this family of two.
+
+This state of affairs had existed for more than two months, ever since a
+last attack of rheumatism had lifted his grandfather's leg upon the
+chair before him and held it there.
+
+Duke's success as a provider was somewhat remarkable, considering his
+size, color, and limited education.
+
+True, he had no rent to pay, for their one-roomed cabin, standing on
+uncertain stilts outside the old levee, had been deserted during the
+last high-water, when Uncle Mose had "tooken de chances" and moved in.
+But then Mose had been able to earn his seventy-five cents a day at
+wood-sawing; and besides, by keeping his fishing-lines baited and set
+out the back and front doors--there were no windows--he had often drawn
+in a catfish, or his shrimp-bag had yielded breakfast for two.
+
+Duke's responsibilities had come with the winter and its greater needs,
+when the receding waters had withdrawn even the small chance of landing
+a dinner with hook and line. True, it had been done on several
+occasions, when Duke had come home to find fricasseed chickens for
+dinner; but somehow the neighbors' chickens had grown wary, and refused
+to be enticed by the corn that lay under Mose's cabin.
+
+The few occasions when one of their number, swallowing an
+innocent-looking grain, had been suddenly lifted up into space,
+disappearing through the floor above, seemed to have impressed the
+survivors.
+
+Mose was a church-member, and would have scorned to rob a hen-roost, but
+he declared "when strange chickens come a-foolin' roun' bitin' on my
+fish-lines, I des twisses dey necks ter put 'em out'n dey misery."
+
+It had been a long time since he had met with any success at this
+poultry-fishing, and yet he always kept a few lines out.
+
+He _professed_ to be fishing for crawfish--as if crawfish ever bit on a
+hook or ate corn! Still, it eased his conscience, for he did try to set
+his grandson a Christian example consistent with his precepts.
+
+It was Christmas Eve, and the boy felt a sort of moral responsibility in
+the matter of providing a suitable Christmas dinner for the morrow. His
+question as to what the old man would like to have had elicited the
+enthusiastic bit of reminiscence with which this story opens. Here was a
+poser! His grandfather had described just the identical kind of dinner
+which he felt powerless to procure. If he had said oysters, or chicken,
+or even turkey, Duke thought he could have managed it; but a pan of
+rich fragments was simply out of the question.
+
+"Wouldn't you des as lief have a pone o' hot egg-bread, gran'dad,
+an'--an'--an' maybe a nice baked chicken--ur--ur a--"
+
+"Ur a nothin', boy! Don't talk to me! I'd a heap'd ruther have a
+secon'-han' white Christmas dinner 'n de bes' fus'-han' nigger one you
+ever seed, an' I ain't no spring-chicken, nuther. I done had 'spe'unce
+o' Christmas dinners. An' what you talkin' 'bout, anyhow? Whar you gwine
+git roas' chicken, nigger?"
+
+"I don' know, less'n I'd meck a heap o' money to-day; but I could sho'
+git a whole chicken ter roas' easier'n I could git dat pan full o'
+goodies _you's_ a-talkin' 'bout.
+
+"Is you gwine crawfishin' to-day, gran'daddy?" he continued, cautiously,
+rolling his eyes. "'Caze when I cross de road, terreckly, I gwine shoo
+off some o' dem big fat hens dat scratches up so much dus'. Dey des a
+puffec' nuisance, scratchin' dus' clean inter my eyes ev'y time I go
+down de road."
+
+"Dey is, is dey? De nasty, impident things! You better not shoo none of
+'em over heah, less'n you want me ter wring dey necks--which I boun' ter
+do ef dey pester my crawfish-lines."
+
+"Well, I'm gwine now, gran'dad. Ev'ything is done did an' set whar you
+kin reach--I gwine down de road an' shoo dem sassy chickens away. Dis
+here bucket o' brick-dus' sho' is heavy," he added, as he lifted to his
+head a huge pail.
+
+Starting out, he gathered up a few grains of corn, dropping them along
+in his wake until he reached the open where the chickens were; when,
+making a circuit round them, he drove them slowly until he saw them
+begin to pick up the corn. Then he turned, whistling as he went, into a
+side street, and proceeded on his way.
+
+Old Mose chuckled audibly as Duke passed out, and, baiting his lines
+with corn and scraps of meat, he lifted the bit of broken plank from the
+floor, and set about his day's sport.
+
+"Now, Mr. Chicken, I'm settin' deze heah lines fur crawfish, an' ef you
+smarties come a-foolin' round 'em, I gwine punish you 'cordin' ter de
+law. You heah me!" He chuckled as he thus presented his defence anew
+before the bar of his own conscience.
+
+But the chickens did not bite to-day--not a mother's son or daughter of
+them--though they ventured cautiously to the very edge of the cabin.
+
+It was a discouraging business, and the day seemed very long. It was
+nearly nightfall when Mose recognized Duke's familiar whistle from the
+levee. And when he heard the little bare feet pattering on the single
+plank that led from the brow of the bank to the cabin-door, he coughed
+and chuckled as if to disguise a certain eager agitation that always
+seized him when the little boy came home at night.
+
+"Here me," Duke called, still outside the door; adding as he entered,
+while he set his pail beside the old man, "How you is to-night,
+gran'dad?"
+
+"Des po'ly, thank Gord. How you yo'se'f, my man?" There was a note of
+affection in the old man's voice as he addressed the little pickaninny,
+who seemed in the twilight a mere midget.
+
+"An' what you got dyah?" he continued, turning to the pail, beside which
+Duke knelt, lighting a candle.
+
+"_Picayune_ o' light bread an' _lagniappe_[A] o' salt," Duke began,
+lifting out the parcels, "an' _picayune_ o' molasses an' _lagniappe_ o'
+coal-ile, ter rub yo' leg wid--heah hit in de tin can--an' _picayune_ o'
+coffee an' _lagniappe_ o' matches--heah dey is, fo'teen an' a half, but
+de half ain't got no fizz on it. An' deze heah in de bottom, dey des
+chips I picked up 'long de road."
+
+"An' you ain't axed fur no _lagniappe_ fo' yo'self, Juke. Whyn't you ax
+fur des one _lagniappe_ o' sugar-plums, baby, bein's it's Christmas? Yo'
+ole gran'dad 'ain't got nothin' fur you, an' you know to-morrer is sho
+'nough Christmas, boy. I 'ain't got even ter say a crawfish bite on my
+lines to-day, much less'n some'h'n' fittin' fur a Christmas-gif'. I did
+set heah an' whittle you a little whistle, but some'h'n' went wrong wid
+it. Hit won't blow. But tell me, how's business to-day, boy? I see you
+done sol' yo' brick-dus'?"
+
+"Yas, sir, but I toted it purty nigh all day 'fo' I _is_ sold it. De
+folks wharever I went dey say nobody don't want to scour on Christmas
+Eve. An' one time I set it down an' made three nickels cuttin' grass an'
+holdin' a white man's horse, an' dat gimme a res'. An' I started out
+ag'in, an' I walked inter a big house an' ax de lady ain't she want ter
+buy some pounded brick. An', gran'dad, you know what meck she buy it?
+'Caze she say my bucket is mos' as big as I is, an' ef I had de grit ter
+tote it clean ter her house on Christmas Eve, she say I sha'n't pack it
+back--an' she gimme a dime fur it, too, stid a nickel. An' she gimme
+two hole-in-de-middle cakes, wid sugar on 'em. Heah dey is." Duke took
+two sorry-lookin' rings from his hat and presented them to the old man.
+"I done et de sugar off 'em," he continued. "'Caze I knowed it'd give
+you de toofache in yo' gums. An' I tol' 'er what you say, gran'dad!"
+
+Mose turned quickly.
+
+"What you tol' dat white lady I say, nigger?"
+
+"I des tol' 'er what you say 'bout scrapin' de plates into a pan."
+
+Mose grinned broadly. "Is you had de face ter tell dat strange white
+'oman sech talk as dat? An' what she say?"
+
+"She des looked at me up an' down fur a minute, an' den she broke out in
+a laugh, an' she say: 'You sho' is de littles' coon I ever seen out
+foragin'!' An' wid dat she say: 'Ef you'll come roun' to-morrer night,
+'bout dark, I'll give you as big a pan o' scraps as you kin tote.'"
+
+There were tears in the old man's eyes, and he actually giggled.
+
+"Is she? Well done! But ain't you 'feerd you'll los' yo'self, gwine 'way
+down town at night?"
+
+"Los' who, gran'dad? You can't los' me in dis city, so long as de
+red-light Pertania cars is runnin'. I kin ketch on berhine tell dey
+fling me off, den teck de nex' one tell dey fling me off ag'in--an' hit
+ain't so fur dat-a-way."
+
+"Does dey fling yer off rough, boy? Look out dey don't bre'k yo' bones!"
+
+"Dey ain't gwine crack none o' my bones. Sometimes de drivers kicks me
+off, an' sometimes dey cusses me off, tell I lets go des ter save Gord's
+name--dat's a fac'."
+
+"Dat's right. Save it when you kin, boy. So she gwine scrape de
+Christmas plates fur me, is she? I wonder what sort o' white folks dis
+here tar-baby o' mine done strucken in wid, anyhow? You sho' dey reel
+quality white folks, is yer, Juke? 'Caze I ain't gwine sile my mouf on
+no po' white-trash scraps."
+
+"I ain't no sho'er'n des what I tell yer, gran'dad. Ef dey ain't
+quality, I don' know nothin' 't all 'bout it. I tell yer when I walked
+roun' dat yard clean ter de kitchen on dem flag-stones wid dat bucket o'
+brick on my hade, I had ter stop an' ketch my bref fo' I could talk, an'
+de cook, a sassy, fat, black lady, she would o' sont me out, but de
+madam, she seed me 'erse'f, an' she tooken took notice ter me, an' tell
+me set my bucket down, an' de yo'ng ladies, beatin' eggs in de kitchen,
+dey was makin' sport o' me, too--ax' me is I weaned yit, an' one ob 'em
+ax me is my nuss los' me! Den dey gimme deze heah hole-in-de-middle
+cakes, an' some reesons. I des fotched you a few reesons, but I done et
+de mos' ob em--I ain't gwine tell you no lie about it."
+
+"Dat's right, baby. I'm glad you is et 'em--des so dey don't cramp yer
+up--an' come 'long now an' eat yo' dinner. I saved you a good pan o'
+greens an' meat. What else is you et to-day, boy?"
+
+"De ladies in de kitchen dey gimme two burnt cakes, an' I swapped half
+o' my reesons wid a white boy for a biscuit--but I sho is hongry."
+
+"Yas, an' you sleepy, too--I know you is."
+
+"But I gwine git up soon, gran'dad. One market-lady she seh ef I come
+early in de mornin' an' tote baskits home, she gwine gimme some'h'n'
+good; an' I'm gwine ketch all dem butchers and fish-ladies in dat
+Mag'zine Markit 'Christmas-gif'!' An' I bet yer dey'll gimme some'h'n'
+ter fetch home. Las' Christmas I got seven nickels an' a whole passel o'
+marketin' des a-ketchin' 'em Christmas-gif'. Deze heah black molasses I
+brung yer home to-night--how yer like 'em, gran'dad?"
+
+"Fust-rate, boy. Don't yer see me eatin' 'em? Say yo' pra'rs now, Juke,
+an' lay down, 'caze I gwine weck you up by sun-up."
+
+It was not long before little Duke was snoring on his pallet, when old
+Mose, reaching behind the mantel, produced a finely braided leather
+whip, which he laid beside the sleeping boy.
+
+"Wush't I had a apple ur orwange ur stick o' candy ur some'h'n' sweet
+ter lay by 'im fur Christmas," he said, fondly, as he looked upon the
+little sleeping figure. "Reck'n I mought bile dem molasses down inter a
+little candy--seem lak hit's de onlies' chance dey is."
+
+And turning back to the low fire, Mose stirred the coals a little,
+poured the remains of Duke's "_picayune_ o' molasses" into a tomato-can,
+and began his labor of love.
+
+Like much of such service, it was for a long time simply a question of
+waiting; and Mose found it no simple task, even when it had reached the
+desired point, to pull the hot candy to a fairness of complexion
+approaching whiteness. When, however, he was able at last to lay a
+heavy, copper-colored twist with the whip beside the sleeping boy, he
+counted the trouble as nothing; and hobbling over to his own cot, he was
+soon also sleeping.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sun was showing in a gleam on the river next morning when Mose
+called, lustily, "Weck up, Juke, weck up! Christmas-gif', boy,
+Christmas-gif'!"
+
+Duke turned heavily once; then, catching the words, he sprang up with a
+bound.
+
+"Christmas-gif', gran'dad!" he returned, rubbing his eyes; then fully
+waking, he cried, "Look onder de chips in de bucket, gran'dad."
+
+And the old man choked up again as he produced the bag of tobacco, over
+which he had actually cried a little last night when he had found it
+hidden beneath the chips with which he had cooked Duke's candy.
+
+"I 'clare, Juke, I 'clare you is a caution," was all he could say.
+
+"An' who gimme all deze?" Duke exclaimed, suddenly seeing his own gifts.
+
+"I don' know nothin' 't all 'bout it, less'n ole Santa Claus mought o'
+tooken a rest in our mud chimbley las' night," said the old man, between
+laughter and tears.
+
+And Duke, the knowing little scamp, cracking his whip, munching his
+candy and grinning, replied:
+
+"I s'pec' he is, gran'dad; an' I s'pec' he come down an' b'iled up yo'
+nickel o' molasses, too, ter meck me dis candy. Tell yer, dis whup,
+she's got a daisy snapper on 'er, gran'dad! She's wuth a dozen o' deze
+heah white-boy _w'ips_, she is!"
+
+The last thing Mose heard as Duke descended the levee that morning was
+the crack of the new whip; and he said, as he filled his pipe, "De idee
+o' dat little tar-baby o' mine fetchin' me a Christmas-gif'!"
+
+It was past noon when Duke got home again, bearing upon his shoulder,
+like a veritable little Santa Claus himself, a half-filled coffee-sack,
+the joint results of his service in the market and of the generosity of
+its autocrats.
+
+The latter had evidently measured their gratuities by the size of their
+beneficiary, as their gifts were very small. Still, as the little fellow
+emptied the sack upon the floor, they made quite a tempting display.
+There were oranges, apples, bananas, several of each; a bunch of
+soup-greens, scraps of fresh meat--evidently butchers' "trimmings"--odds
+and ends of vegetables; while in the midst of the melee three live crabs
+struck out in as many directions for freedom.
+
+They were soon landed in a pot; while Mose, who was really no mean cook,
+was preparing what seemed a sumptuous mid-day meal.
+
+Late in the afternoon, while Mose nodded in his chair, Duke sat in the
+open doorway, stuffing the last banana into his little stomach, which
+was already as tight as a kettle-drum. He had cracked his whip until he
+was tired, but he still kept cracking it. He cracked it at every fly
+that lit on the floor, at the motes that floated into the shaft of
+sunlight before him, at special knots in the door-sill, or at nothing,
+as the spirit moved him. A sort of holiday feeling, such as he felt on
+Sundays, had kept him at home this afternoon. If he had known that to be
+a little too full of good things and a little tired of cracking whips or
+tooting horns or drumming was the happy condition of most of the rich
+boys of the land at that identical moment, he could not have been more
+content than he was. If his stomach ached just a little, he thought of
+all the good things in it, and was rather pleased to have it ache--just
+this little. It emphasized his realization of Christmas.
+
+As the evening wore on, and the crabs and bananas and molasses-candy
+stopped arguing with one another down in his little stomach, he found
+himself thinking, with some pleasure, of the pan of scraps he was to get
+for his grandfather, and he wished for the hour when he should go. He
+was glad when at last the old man waked with a start and began talking
+to him.
+
+"I been wushin' you'd weck up an' talk, gran'dad," he said, "caze I
+wants ter ax yer what's all dis here dey say 'bout Christmas? When I was
+comin' 'long to-day I stopped in a big chu'ch, an' dey was a
+preacher-man standin' up wid a white night-gown on, an' he say dis
+here's our Lord's birfday. I heerd 'im say it myse'f. Is dat so?"
+
+"Co'se it is, Juke. Huccome you ax me sech ignunt questioms? Gimme dat
+Bible, boy, an' lemme read you some 'ligion."
+
+Mose had been a sort of lay-preacher in his day, and really could read a
+little, spelling or stumbling over the long words. Taking the book
+reverently, he leaned forward until the shaft of sunlight fell upon the
+open page, when with halting speech he read to the little boy, who
+listened with open-mouthed attention, the story of the birth at
+Bethlehem.
+
+"An' look heah, Juke, my boy," he said, finally, closing the book,
+"hit's been on my min' all day ter tell yer I ain't gwine fishin' no mo'
+tell de high-water come back--you heah? 'Caze yer know somebody's
+chickens _mought_ come an' pick up de bait, an' I'd be bleeged ter kill
+'em ter save 'em, an' we ain' gwine do dat no mo', me an' you. You heah,
+Juke?"
+
+Duke rolled his eyes around and looked pretty serious. "Yas, sir, I
+heah," he said.
+
+"An' me an' you, we done made dis bargain on de Lord's birfday--yer
+heah, boy?--wid Gord's sunshine kiverin' us all over, an' my han' layin'
+on de page. Heah, lay yo' little han' on top o' mine, Juke, an' promise
+me you gwine be a _square man_, so he'p yer. Dat's it. Say it out loud,
+an' yo' ole gran'dad he done said it, too. Wrop up dem fishin'-lines
+now, an' th'ow 'em up on de rafters. Now come set down heah, an' lemme
+tell yer 'bout Christmas on de ole plantation. Look out how you pop dat
+whup 'crost my laig! Dat's a reg'lar horse-fly killer, wid a coal of
+fire on 'er tip." Duke laughed.
+
+"Now han' me a live coal fur my pipe. Dis here terbacca you brung me,
+hit smokes sweet as sugar, boy. Set down, now, close by me--so."
+
+Duke never tired of his grandfather's reminiscences, and he crept up
+close to the old man's knee as the story began.
+
+"When de big plantation-bell used ter ring on Christmas mornin', all de
+darkies had to march up ter de great house fur dey Christmas-gif's; an'
+us what worked _at_ de house, we had ter stan' in front o' de fiel'
+han's. An' after ole marster axed a blessin', an' de string-ban' play,
+an' we all sing a song--air one we choose--boss, he'd call out de names,
+an' we'd step up, one by one, ter git our presents; an' ef we'd walk too
+shamefaced ur too 'boveish, he'd pass a joke on us, ter set ev'ybody
+laughin'.
+
+"I ricollec' one Christmas-time I was co'tin' yo' gran'ma. I done had
+been co'tin' 'er two years, an' she helt 'er head so high I was 'feerd
+ter speak. An' when Christmas come, an' I marched up ter git my present,
+ole marster gimme my bundle, an' I started back, grinnin' lak a
+chessy-cat, an' he calt me back, an' he say: 'Hol' on, Moses,' he say,
+'I got 'nother present fur you ter-day. Heah's a finger-ring I got fur
+you, an' ef it don't fit you, I reckon hit'll fit Zephyr--you know yo'
+gran'ma she was name Zephyr. An' wid dat he ran his thumb in 'is pocket
+an' fotch me out a little gal's ring--"
+
+"A gol' ring, gran'dad?"
+
+"No, boy, but a silver ring--ginniwine German silver. Well, I wush't you
+could o' heard them darkies holler an' laugh! An' Zephyr, ef she hadn't
+o' been so yaller, she'd o' been red as dat sky yonder, de way she did
+blush buff."
+
+"An' what did you do, gran'dad?"
+
+"Who, me? Dey warn't but des one thing _fur_ me to do. I des gi'n Zephyr
+de ring, an' she ax me is I mean it, an'--an' I ax her is _she_ mean it,
+an'--an' we bofe say--none o' yo' business what we say! What you lookin'
+at me so quizzical fur, Juke? Ef yer wants ter know, we des had a
+weddin' dat Christmas night--dat what we done--an' dat's huccome you got
+yo' gran'ma.
+
+"But I'm talkin' 'bout Christmas now. When we'd all go home, we'd open
+our bundles, an' of all de purty things, _an'_ funny things, _an'_
+jokes you ever heerd of, dey'd be in dem Christmas bundles--some'h'n'
+ter suit ev'y one, and hit 'im square on his funny-bone ev'y time. An'
+all de little bundles o' buckwheat ur flour 'd have _picayunes_ an'
+dimes in 'em! We used ter reg'lar sif' 'em out wid a sifter. Dat was des
+_our_ white folks's way. None o' de yether fam'lies 'long de coas' done
+it. You see, all de diffe'nt fam'lies had diffe'nt ways. But ole marster
+an' ole miss dey'd think up some new foolishness ev'y year. We nuver
+knowed what was gwine to be did nex'--on'y one thing. _Dey allus put
+money in de buckwheat-bag_--an' you know we nuver tas'e no buckwheat
+'cep'n' on'y Christmas. Oh, boy, ef we could des meet wid some o' we's
+white folks ag'in!"
+
+"How is we got los' f'om 'em, gran'dad?" So Duke invited a hundredth
+repetition of the story he knew so well.
+
+"How did we git los' f'om we's white folks? Dat's a sad story fur
+Christmas, Juke, but ef you sesso--
+
+"Hit all happened in one night, time o' de big break in de levee, seven
+years gone by. We was lookin' fur de bank ter crack crost de river f'om
+us, an' so boss done had tooken all han's over, cep'n us ole folks an'
+chillen, ter he'p work an' watch de yether side. 'Bout midnight, whiles
+we was all sleepin', come a roa'in' soun', an' fus' thing we knowed, all
+in de pitchy darkness, we was floatin' away--nobody cep'n des you an' me
+an' yo' mammy in de cabin--floatin' an' bumpin' an' rockin,' _an' all de
+time dark as pitch_. So we kep' on--one minute stiddy, nex' minute
+_cher-plunk_ gins' a tree ur some'h'n' nother--_all in de dark_--an' one
+minute you'd cry--you was des a weanin' baby den--an' nex' minute I'd
+heah de bed you an' yo' ma was in bump gins' de wall, an' you'd laugh
+out loud, an' yo' mammy she'd holler--_all in de dark_. An' so we
+travelled, up an' down, bunkety-bunk, seem lak a honderd hours; tell
+treckly a _termenjus_ wave come, an' I had sca'cely felt it boomin'
+onder me when I pitched, an' ev'ything went travellin'. An' when I put
+out my han', I felt you by me--but yo' mammy, she warn't nowhar.
+
+"Hol' up yo' face an' don't cry, boy. I been a mighty poor mammy ter
+yer, but I blesses Gord to-night fur savin' dat little black baby ter
+me--_all in de win' an' de storm an' de dark dat night_.
+
+"You see, yo' daddy, he was out wid de gang wuckin' de levee crost de
+river--an' dat's huccome yo' ma was 'feerd ter stay by 'erse'f an' sont
+fur me.
+
+"Well, baby, when I knowed yo' mammy was gone, I helt you tight an'
+prayed. An' after a while--seem lak a million hours--come a pale streak
+o' day, an' 'fo' de sun was up, heah come a steamboat puffin' down de
+river, an' treckly hit blowed a whistle an' ringed a bell an' stop an'
+took us on boa'd, an' brung us on down heah ter de city."
+
+"An' you never seed my mammy no mo', gran'dad?" Little Duke's lips
+quivered just a little.
+
+"Yo' mammy was safe at Home in de Golden City, Juke, long 'fore we
+teched even de low lan' o' dis yearth.
+
+"An' dat's how we got los' f'om we's white folks.
+
+"An' time we struck de city I was so twis' up wid rheumatiz I lay fur
+six munts in de Cha'ity Hospit'l; an' you bein' so puny, cuttin' yo'
+toofs, dey kep' you right along in de baby-ward tell I was able to start
+out. An' sence I stepped out o' dat hospit'l do' wid yo' little bow-legs
+trottin' by me, so I been goin' ever sence. Days I'd go out sawin' wood,
+I'd set you on de wood-pile by me; an' when de cook 'd slip me out a
+plate o' soup, I'd ax fur two spoons. An' so you an' me, we been
+pardners right along, an' _I wouldn't swap pardners wid nobody_--you
+heah, Juke? Dis here's Christmas, an' I'm talkin' ter yer."
+
+Duke looked so serious that a feather's weight would have tipped the
+balance and made him cry; but he only blinked.
+
+"An' it's gittin' late now, pardner," the old man continued, "an' you
+better be gwine--less'n you 'feerd? Ef you is, des sesso now, an' we'll
+meck out wid de col' victuals in de press."
+
+"Who's afeerd, gran'dad?" Duke's face had broken into a broad grin now,
+and he was cracking his whip again.
+
+"Don't eat no supper tell I come," he added, as he started out into the
+night. But as he turned down the street he muttered to himself:
+
+"I wouldn't keer, ef all dem sassy boys didn't pleg me--say I ain't got
+no mammy--ur daddy--ur nothin'. But dey won't say it ter me ag'in, not
+whiles I got dis whup in my han'! She sting lak a rattlesnake, she do!
+She's a daisy an' a half! Cher-whack! You gwine sass me any mo', you
+grea' big over-my-size coward, you? Take dat! An' dat! _An' dat!_ Now
+run! Whoop! Heah come de red light!"
+
+So, in fancy avenging his little wrongs, Duke recovered his spirits and
+proceeded to catch on behind the Prytania car, that was to help him on
+his way to get his second-hand Christmas dinner.
+
+His benefactress had not forgotten her promise; and, in addition to a
+heavy pan of scraps, Duke took home, almost staggering beneath its
+weight, a huge, compact bundle.
+
+Old Mose was snoring vociferously when he reached the cabin. Depositing
+his parcel, the little fellow lit a candle, which he placed beside the
+sleeper; then uncovering the pan, he laid it gently upon his lap. And
+now, seizing a spoon and tin cup, he banged it with all his might.
+
+"Heah de plantation-bell! Come git yo' Christmas-gif's!"
+
+And when his grandfather sprang up, nearly upsetting the pan in his
+fright, Duke rolled backward on the floor, screaming with laughter.
+
+"I 'clare, Juke, boy," said Mose, when he found voice, "I wouldn't 'a'
+jumped so, but yo' foolishness des fitted inter my dream. I was dreamin'
+o' ole times, an' des when I come ter de ringin' o' de plantation-bell,
+I heerd _cherplang_! An' it nachelly riz me off'n my foots. What's dis
+heah? Did you git de dinner, sho' 'nough?"
+
+The pan of scraps quite equalled that of the old man's memory, every
+familiar fragment evoking a reminiscence.
+
+"You is sho' struck quality white folks dis time, Juke," he said,
+finally, as he pushed back the pan--Duke had long ago finished--"but
+dis here tukkey-stuffin'--I don't say 'tain' good, but _hit don't quite
+come up ter de mark o' ole miss's puckon stuffin'_!"
+
+Duke was nodding in his chair, when presently the old man, turning to go
+to bed, spied the unopened parcel, which, in his excitement, Duke had
+forgotten. Placing it upon the table before him, Mose began to open it.
+It was a package worth getting--just such a generous Christmas bundle as
+he had described to Duke this afternoon. Perhaps it was some vague
+impression of this sort that made his old fingers tremble as he untied
+the strings, peeping or sniffing into the little parcels of tea and
+coffee and flour. Suddenly something happened. Out of a little sack of
+buckwheat, accidentally upset, rolled a ten-cent piece. The old man
+threw up his arms, fell forward over the table, and in a moment was
+sobbing aloud.
+
+It was some time before he could make Duke comprehend the situation, but
+presently, pointing to the coin lying before him, he cried: "Look, boy,
+look! Wharbouts is you got dat bundle? Open yo' mouf, boy! Look at de
+money in de buckwheat-bag! Oh, my ole mistuss! Nobody but you is tied up
+dat bundle! Praise Gord, I say!"
+
+There was no sleep for either Mose or Duke now; and, late as it was,
+they soon started out, the old man steadying himself on Duke's shoulder,
+to find their people.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was hard for the little boy to believe, even after they had hugged
+all 'round and laughed and cried, that the stylish black gentleman who
+answered the door-bell, silver tray in hand, was his own father! He had
+often longed for a regular blue-shirted plantation "daddy," but never,
+in his most ambitious moments, had he aspired to filial relations with
+so august a personage as this!
+
+But while Duke was swelling up, rolling his eyes, and wondering, Mose
+stood in the centre of a crowd of his white people, while a gray-haired
+old lady, holding his trembling hand in both of hers, was saying, as the
+tears trickled down her cheeks:
+
+"But why didn't you get some one to write to us for you, Moses?"
+
+Then Mose, sniffling still, told of his long illness in the hospital,
+and of his having afterwards met a man from the coast who told the story
+of the sale of the plantation, but did not know where the family had
+gone.
+
+"When I fixed up that bundle," the old lady resumed, "I was thinking of
+you, Moses. Every year we have sent out such little packages to any
+needy colored people of whom we knew, as a sort of memorial to our lost
+ones, always half-hoping that they might actually reach some of them.
+And I thought of you specially, Moses," she continued, mischievously,
+"when I put in all that turkey-stuffing. Do you remember how greedy you
+always were about pecan-stuffing? It wasn't quite as good as usual this
+year."
+
+"No'm; dat what I say," said Mose. "I tol' Juke dat stuffin' warn't
+quite up ter de mark--ain't I, Juke? Fur gracious sake, look at Juke,
+settin' on his daddy's shoulder, with a face on him ole as a man! Put
+dat boy down, Pete! Dat's a business-man you foolin' wid!"
+
+Whereupon little Duke--man of affairs, forager, financier--overcome at
+last with the fulness of the situation, made a really babyish square
+mouth, and threw himself sobbing upon his father's bosom.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[Footnote A: Pronounced lan-yap. _Lagniappe_ is a small gratuity which
+New Orleans children always expect and usually get with a purchase.
+Retail druggists keep jars of candy, licorice, or other small
+confections for that purpose.]
+
+
+
+
+UNCLE EPHE'S ADVICE TO BRER RABBIT
+
+[Illustration: "'KEEP STEP, RABBIT, MAN!'"]
+
+
+
+
+UNCLE EPHE'S ADVICE TO BRER RABBIT
+
+
+   Keep step, Rabbit, man!
+   Hunter comin' quick's he can!
+   H'ist yo'se'f! _Don't_ cross de road,
+   Less 'n he'll hit you fur a toad!
+
+   Up an' skip it, 'fo' t's too late!
+   Hoppit--lippit! Bull-frog gait!
+   Hoppit--lippit--lippit--hoppit!
+   Goodness me, why don't you stop it?
+
+   Shame on you, Mr. Ge'man Rabbit,
+   Ter limp along wid sech a habit!
+   'F you'd balumps on yo' hime-legs straight,
+   An' hurry wid a mannish gait,
+
+   An' tie yo' ears down onder yo' th'oat,
+   An' kivir yo' tail wid a cut-away coat,
+   Rabbit-hunters by de dozen
+   Would shek yo' han' an' call you cousin,
+
+   An' like as not, you onery sinner,
+   Dey'd ax' you home ter eat yo' dinner!
+   But _don't you go_, 'caze ef you do,
+   Dey'll set you down to rabbit-stew.
+
+   An' de shape o' dem bones an' de smell o' dat meal
+   'Ll meck you wish you was back in de fiel'.
+   An' ef you'd stretch yo' mouf too wide,
+   You know yo' ears mought come ontied;
+
+   An' when you'd jump, you couldn't fail
+   To show yo' little cotton tail,
+   An' den, 'fo' you could twis' yo' phiz,
+   Dey'd _reconnize_ you _who you is_;
+
+   An' fo' you'd sca'cely bat yo' eye,
+   Dey'd have you skun an' in a pie,
+   Or maybe roasted on a coal,
+   Widout one thought about yo' soul.
+
+   So better teck ole Ephe's advice,
+   Des rig yo'se'f out slick an' nice,
+   An' tie yo' ears down, like I said,
+   An' hide yo' tail an' lif' yo' head.
+
+   [Illustration: "'WELL, ONE MO' RABBIT FUR DE POT'"]
+
+   An' when you balumps on yo' foots,
+   It wouldn't hurt ter put on boots.
+   Den walk _straight up_, like Mr. Man,
+   An' when he offer you 'is han',
+
+   Des smile, an' gi'e yo' hat a tip;
+   But _don't you show yo' rabbit lip_.
+   An' don't you have a word ter say,
+   No mo'n ter pass de time o' day.
+
+   An' ef he ax 'bout yo' affairs,
+   Des 'low you gwine ter hunt some hares,
+   An' ax 'im is he seen a jack--
+   An' dat 'll put 'im off de track.
+
+   Now, ef you'll foller dis advice,
+   Instid o' bein' et wid rice,
+   Ur baked in pie, ur stuffed wid sage,
+   You'll live ter die of nachel age.
+
+   'Sh! hush! What's dat? Was dat a gun?
+   _Don't_ trimble so. An' _don't you run_!
+   Come, set heah on de lorg wid me--
+   Hol' down yo' ears an' cross yo' knee.
+
+   _Don't_ run, _I say_. Tut--tut! He's gorn.
+   _Right 'cross de road_, as sho's you born!
+   Slam bang! I know'd he'd ketch a shot!
+   Well, one mo' rabbit fur de pot!
+
+
+
+
+MAY BE SO
+
+
+
+
+MAY BE SO
+
+
+   September butterflies flew thick
+   O'er flower-bed and clover-rick,
+   When little Miss Penelope,
+   Who watched them from grandfather's knee,
+
+   Said, "Grandpa, what's a butterfly?"
+   And, "Where do flowers go to when they die?"
+   For questions hard as hard can be
+   I recommend Penelope.
+
+   But grandpa had a playful way
+   Of dodging things too hard to say,
+   By giving fantasies instead
+   Of serious answers, so he said,
+
+   "Whenever a tired old flower must die,
+   Its soul mounts in a butterfly;
+   Just now a dozen snow-wings sped
+   From out that white petunia bed;
+
+   "And if you'll search, you'll find, I'm sure,
+   A dozen shrivelled cups or more;
+   Each pansy folds her purple cloth,
+   And soars aloft in velvet moth.
+
+   "So when tired sunflower doffs her cap
+   Of yellow frills to take a nap,
+   'Tis but that this surrender brings
+   Her soul's release on golden wings."
+
+   "But _is this so_? It ought to be,"
+   Said little Miss Penelope;
+   "Because I'm _sure_, dear grandpa, _you_
+   Would only tell the thing that's _true_.
+
+   "Are all the butterflies that fly
+   Real angels of the flowers that die?"
+   Grandfather's eyes looked far away,
+   As if he scarce knew what to say.
+
+   "Dear little Blossom," stroking now
+   The golden hair upon her brow,
+   "I can't--exactly--say--I--know--it;
+   I only heard it from a poet.
+
+   "And poets' eyes see wondrous things.
+   Great mysteries of flowers and wings,
+   And marvels of the earth and sea
+   And sky, they tell us constantly.
+
+   "But we can never prove them right,
+   Because we lack their finer sight;
+   And they, lest we should think them wrong,
+   Weave their strange stories into song
+
+   "_So beautiful_, so _seeming-true_,
+   So confidently stated too,
+   That we, not knowing yes or no,
+   Can only _hope they may be so_."
+
+   "But, grandpapa, no tale should close
+   With _ifs_ or _buts_ or _may-be-sos_;
+   So let us play we're poets, too,
+   And then we'll _know_ that this is true."
+
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+THE WORKS OF WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
+
+
+     IMPRESSIONS AND EXPERIENCES. 12mo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top,
+       $1 50.
+
+     MY LITERARY PASSIONS. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.
+
+     STOPS OF VARIOUS QUILLS. Poems. Illustrated by HOWARD PYLE. 4to,
+       Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 50.
+
+     THE DAY OF THEIR WEDDING. A Story. Illustrated by T. DE THULSTRUP.
+       12mo, Cloth, $1 25.
+
+     A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA. A Romance. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 50
+       cents.
+
+     THE COAST OF BOHEMIA. A Novel. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.
+
+     THE WORLD OF CHANCE. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 60 cents.
+
+     THE QUALITY OF MERCY. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.
+
+     AN IMPERATIVE DUTY. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; Paper, 50 cents.
+
+     A HAZARD OF NEW FORTUNES. A Novel. Two Volumes. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00;
+       Illustrated, 12mo, Paper, $1 00.
+
+     A PARTING AND A MEETING. Illustrated. Square 32mo, Cloth, $1 00.
+
+     THE SHADOW OF A DREAM. A Story. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; Paper, 50
+       cents.
+
+     ANNIE KILBURN. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.
+
+     APRIL HOPES. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.
+
+     CHRISTMAS EVERY DAY, AND OTHER STORIES. Illustrated. Post 8vo,
+       Cloth, $1 25.
+
+     A BOY'S TOWN. Described for HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. Illustrated.
+       Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25.
+
+     CRITICISM AND FICTION. With Portrait. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. (In the
+       Series "Harper's American Essayists.")
+
+     MODERN ITALIAN POETS. Essays and Versions. With Portraits. 12mo,
+       Cloth, $2 00.
+
+     THE MOUSE-TRAP, AND OTHER FARCES. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00.
+
+     FARCES: A LIKELY STORY--THE MOUSE-TRAP--FIVE O'CLOCK TEA--EVENING
+       DRESS--THE UNEXPECTED GUESTS--A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION--THE
+       ALBANY DEPOT--THE GARROTERS. In Uniform Style: Illustrated. 32mo,
+       Cloth, 50 cents each. ("Harper's Black and White Series.")
+
+     A LITTLE SWISS SOJOURN. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents.
+       ("Harper's Black and White Series.")
+
+     MY YEAR IN A LOG CABIN. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents.
+       ("Harper's Black and White Series.")
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+   PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
+
+   [Illustration: Left index]_The above works are for sale by all
+   booksellers, or will be mailed by the publishers, postage prepaid,
+   on receipt of the price._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's note
+
+
+The following changes have been made to the text:
+
+Page 25:  "whem he was young" changed to "when he was young".
+
+Page 40: "Félice" changed to "Félicie".
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Solomon Crow's Christmas Pockets and
+Other Tales, by Ruth McEnery Stuart
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS ***
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Solomon Crow's Christmas Pockets and Other
+Tales, by Ruth McEnery Stuart
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Solomon Crow's Christmas Pockets and Other Tales
+
+Author: Ruth McEnery Stuart
+
+Release Date: January 12, 2009 [EBook #27779]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Carla Foust and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+book was produced from scanned images of public domain
+material from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="transnote">
+<h3>Transcriber's note</h3>
+<p>Inconsistencies in language and dialect found in the original book have
+been retained. Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Printer
+errors have been changed, and they are indicated with
+a <a class="correction" title="like this" href="#tnotes">mouse-hover</a>
+and listed at the
+<a href="#tnotes">end of this book</a>.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 383px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="383" height="600" alt="SOLOMON CROW&#39;S CHRISTMAS POCKETS" />
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<a name="Page_i" id="Page_i"></a>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 399px;">
+<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="399" height="600" alt="banjo" title="" />
+<table summary="REFERENCE">
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdc"><b>[See page <a href="#Page_34">34</a></b></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<span class="caption">
+&quot;&#39;DIS HEAH&#39;S A FUS-CLASS THING TER WORK OFF BAD TEMPERS WID&#39;&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h1>SOLOMON CROW'S<br />
+<br />
+CHRISTMAS POCKETS<br />
+<br />
+AND OTHER TALES</h1>
+
+<p><br /><br /></p>
+<p class="fm4">BY<br />
+<br /></p>
+<p class="fm2">RUTH McENERY STUART<br />
+<br /></p>
+<p class="fm4">AUTHOR OF<br />
+<br /></p>
+<p class="fm4">"A GOLDEN WEDDING" "THE STORY OF BABETTE"<br />
+"CARLOTTA'S INTENDED" ETC.<br />
+<br /></p>
+<p class="fm4">ILLUSTRATED<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br /></p>
+<p class="fm3">NEW YORK<br />
+HARPER &amp; BROTHERS PUBLISHERS<br />
+1897</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div class="bbox">
+<p class="fm3">BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</p>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+
+<p class="fm4">CARLOTTA'S INTENDED, and Other Tales. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
+$1 50.</p>
+
+<p class="fm4">THE GOLDEN WEDDING, and Other Tales. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
+$1 50.</p>
+
+<p class="fm4">THE STORY OF BABETTE. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 50.</p>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+<p class="fm4"><span class="smcap">Published By</span> HARPER &amp; BROTHERS, <br /><span class="smcap">New York</span>.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><br /><br /></p>
+<p class="fm4">Copyright, 1896, by <span class="smcap">Harper &amp; Brothers</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="fm4"><i>All rights reserved.</i></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p class="fm4">TO</p>
+
+<p class="fm4">MY DEAR NIECE</p>
+
+<p class="fm3">LITTLE MISS LEA CALLAWAY</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<table summary="CONTENTS">
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr">PAGE</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Solomon Crow's Christmas Pockets</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Two Tims</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Freys' Christmas Party</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Little Mother Quackalina</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Old Easter</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Saint Idyl's Light</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">"Blink"</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Duke's Christmas</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Uncle Ephe's Advice To Brer Rabbit</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">May Be So</span></td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+
+<table summary="ILLUSTRATIONS">
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"'DIS HEAH'S A FUS-CLASS THING TER WORK OFF</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;BAD TEMPERS WID'" </td>
+<td class="tdl">&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_i"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"'SHE OUGHT TO EAT CANARY-SEED AND</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;FISH-BONE'"</td>
+<td class="tdl">Facing&nbsp;p.</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">THE ITALIAN ORGAN-GRINDER</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"THE PROFESSOR NOT ONLY SANG, BUT DANCED"</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"THE FARMER'S BOY WAS A HUNTER"</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"SIR SOOTY HIMSELF ACTUALLY WADDLED INTO</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;THE FARM-YARD"</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"'I'M GOIN' TO SWAP 'EM'"</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"MADE HER PUT OUT HER TONGUE"</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"HER OWN TEN BEAUTIFUL DUCKS WERE CLOSE</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;ABOUT HER"</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">OLD EASTER</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"'YAS, MISSY, I WAS TWENTY-FO' HOND'ED YEARS</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;OLE, LAS' EASTER SUNDAY'"</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"'DE CATS? WHY, HONEY, DEY WELCOME TO COME</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;AN' GO'"</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"'KEEP STEP, RABBIT, MAN!'"</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl">"'WELL, ONE MO' RABBIT FUR DE POT'"</td>
+<td class="tdc">"</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="SOLOMON_CROWS_CHRISTMAS_POCKETS" id="SOLOMON_CROWS_CHRISTMAS_POCKETS"></a>SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS</h2>
+
+
+<p>His mother named him Solomon because, when he was a baby, he looked so
+wise; and then she called him Crow because he was so black. True, she
+got angry when the boys caught it up, but then it was too late. They
+knew more about crows than they did about Solomon, and the name suited.</p>
+
+<p>His twin-brother, who died when he was a day old, his mother had called
+Grundy&mdash;just because, as she said, "Solomon an' Grundy b'longs together
+in de books."</p>
+
+<p>When the wee black boy began to talk, he knew himself equally as Solomon
+or Crow, and so, when asked his name, he would answer: "Sol'mon Crow,"
+and Solomon Crow he thenceforth became.</p>
+
+<p>Crow was ten years old now, and he was so very black and polished and
+thin, and had so peaked and bright a face, that no one who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> any
+sense of humor could hear him called Crow without smiling.</p>
+
+<p>Crow's mother, Tempest, had been a worker in her better days, but she
+had grown fatter and fatter until now she was so lazy and broad that her
+chief pleasure seemed to be sitting in her front door and gossiping with
+her neighbors over the fence, or in abusing or praising little Solomon,
+according to her mood.</p>
+
+<p>Tempest had never been very honest. When, in the old days, she had hired
+out as cook and carried "her dinner" home at night, the basket on her
+arm had usually held enough for herself and Crow and a pig and the
+chickens&mdash;with some to give away. She had not meant Crow to understand,
+but the little fellow was wide awake, and his mother was his pattern.</p>
+
+<p>But this is the boy's story. It seemed best to tell a little about his
+mother, so that, if he should some time do wrong things, we might all,
+writer and readers, be patient with him. He had been poorly taught. If
+we could not trace our honesty back to our mothers, how many of us would
+love the truth?</p>
+
+<p>Crow's mother loved him very much&mdash;she thought. She would knock down any
+one who even blamed him for anything. Indeed, when things went well, she
+would sometimes go sound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> asleep in the door with her fat arm around
+him&mdash;very much as the mother-cat beside her lay half dozing while she
+licked her baby kitten.</p>
+
+<p>But if Crow was awkward or forgot anything&mdash;or didn't bring home money
+enough&mdash;her abuse was worse than any mother-cat's claws.</p>
+
+<p>One of her worst taunts on such occasions was about like this: "Well,
+you is a low-down nigger, I must say. Nobody, to look at you, would
+b'lieve you was twin to a angel!"</p>
+
+<p>Or, "How you reckon yo' angel-twin feels ef he's a-lookin' at you now?"</p>
+
+<p>Crow had great reverence for his little lost mate. Indeed, he feared the
+displeasure of this other self, who, he believed, watched him from the
+skies, quite as much as the anger of God. Sad to say, the good Lord,
+whom most children love as a kind, heavenly Father, was to poor little
+Solomon Crow only a terrible, terrible punisher of wrong, and the little
+boy trembled at His very name. He seemed to hear God's anger in the
+thunder or the wind; but in the blue sky, the faithful stars, the
+opening flowers and singing birds&mdash;in all loving-kindness and
+friendship&mdash;he never saw a heavenly Father's love.</p>
+
+<p>He knew that some things were right and others wrong. He knew that it
+was right to go out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> and earn dimes to buy the things needed in the
+cabin, but he equally knew it was wrong to get this money dishonestly.
+Crow was a very shrewd little boy, and he made money honestly in a
+number of ways that only a wide-awake boy would think about.</p>
+
+<p>When fig season came, in hot summer-time, he happened to notice that
+beautiful ripe figs were drying up on the tip-tops of some great trees
+in a neighboring yard, where a stout old gentleman and his old wife
+lived alone, and he began to reflect.</p>
+
+<p>"If I could des git a-holt o' some o' dem fine sugar figs dat's
+a-swivelin' up every day on top o' dem trees, I'd meck a heap o' money
+peddlin' 'em on de street." And even while he thought this thought he
+licked his lips. There were, no doubt, other attractions about the figs
+for a very small boy with a very sweet tooth.</p>
+
+<p>On the next morning after this, Crow rang the front gate-bell of the
+yard where the figs were growing.</p>
+
+<p>"Want a boy to pick figs on sheers?" That was all he said to the fat old
+gentleman who had stepped around the house in answer to his ring.</p>
+
+<p>Crow's offer was timely.</p>
+
+<p>Old Mr. Cary was red in the face and panting even yet from reaching up
+into the mouldy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> damp lower limbs of his fig-trees, trying to gather a
+dishful for breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in," he said, mopping his forehead as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Pick on shares, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yassir."</p>
+
+<p>"Even?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yassir."</p>
+
+<p>"Promise never to pick any but the very ripe figs?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yassir."</p>
+
+<p>"Honest boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yassir."</p>
+
+<p>"Turn in, then; but wait a minute."</p>
+
+<p>He stepped aside into the house, returning presently with two baskets.</p>
+
+<p>"Here," he said, presenting them both. "These are pretty nearly of a
+size. Go ahead, now, and let's see what you can do."</p>
+
+<p>Needless to say, Crow proved a great success as fig-picker. The very
+sugary figs that old Mr. Cary had panted for and reached for in vain lay
+bursting with sweetness on top of both baskets.</p>
+
+<p>The old gentleman and his wife were delighted, and the boy was quickly
+engaged to come every morning.</p>
+
+<p>And this was how Crow went into the fig business.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Crow was a likable boy&mdash;"so bright and handy and nimble"&mdash;and the old
+people soon became fond of him.</p>
+
+<p>They noticed that he always handed in the larger of the two baskets,
+keeping the smaller for himself. This seemed not only honest, but
+generous.</p>
+
+<p>And generosity is a winning virtue in the very needy&mdash;as winning as it
+is common. The very poor are often great of heart.</p>
+
+<p>But this is not a safe fact upon which to found axioms.</p>
+
+<p>All God's poor are not educated up to the point of even small, fine
+honesties, and the so-called "generous" are not always "just" or honest.</p>
+
+<p>And&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Poor little Solomon Crow! It is a pity to have to write it, but his weak
+point was exactly that he was not quite honest. He wanted to be, just
+because his angel-twin might be watching him, and he was afraid of
+thunder. But Crow was so anxious to be "smart" that he had long ago
+begun doing "tricky" things. Even the men working the roads had
+discovered this. In eating Crow's "fresh-boiled crawfish" or "shrimps,"
+they would often come across one of the left-overs of yesterday's
+supply, mixed in with the others;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> and a yesterday's shrimp is full of
+stomach-ache and indigestion. So that business suffered.</p>
+
+<p>In the fig business the ripe ones sold well; but when one of Crow's
+customers offered to buy all he would bring of green ones for
+preserving, Crow began filling his basket with them and distributing a
+top layer of ripe ones carefully over them. His lawful share of the very
+ripe he also carried away&mdash;in his little bread-basket.</p>
+
+<p>This was all very dishonest, and Crow knew it. Still he did it many
+times.</p>
+
+<p>And then&mdash;and this shows how one sin leads to another&mdash;and then, one
+day&mdash;oh, Solomon Crow, I'm ashamed to tell it on you!&mdash;one day he
+noticed that there were fresh eggs in the hen-house nests, quite near
+the fig-trees. Now, if there was anything Crow liked, it was a fried
+egg&mdash;two fried eggs. He always said he wanted two on his plate at once,
+looking at him like a pair of round eyes, "an' when dey reco'nizes me,"
+he would say, "den I eats 'em up."</p>
+
+<p>Why not slip a few of these tempting eggs into the bottom of the basket
+and cover them up with ripe figs?</p>
+
+<p>And so&mdash;,</p>
+
+<p>One day, he did it.</p>
+
+<p>He had stopped at the dining-room door that day and was handing in the
+larger basket, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> usual, when old Mr. Cary, who stood there, said,
+smiling:</p>
+
+<p>"No, give us the smaller basket to-day, my boy. It's our turn to be
+generous."</p>
+
+<p>He extended his hand as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>Crow tried to answer, but he could not. His mouth felt as dry and stiff
+and hard as a chip, and he suddenly began to open it wide and shut it
+slowly, like a chicken with the gapes.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Cary kept his hand out waiting, but still Crow stood as if
+paralyzed, gaping and swallowing.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, he began to blink. And then he stammered:</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't p-p-p-ertic'lar b-b-bout de big basket. D-d-d-de best figs is
+in y'all's pickin'&mdash;in dis, de big basket."</p>
+
+<p>Crow's appearance was conviction itself. Without more ado, Mr. Cary
+grasped his arm firmly and fairly lifted him into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, set those baskets down." He spoke sharply.</p>
+
+<p>The boy obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Here! empty the larger one on this tray. That's it. All fine, ripe
+figs. You've picked well for us. Now turn the other one out."</p>
+
+<p>At this poor Crow had a sudden relapse of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> dry gapes. His arm fell
+limp and he looked as if he might tumble over.</p>
+
+<p>"Turn 'em out!" The old gentleman shrieked in so thunderous a tone that
+Crow jumped off his feet, and, seizing the other basket with his little
+shaking paws, he emptied it upon the heap of figs.</p>
+
+<p>Old Mrs. Cary had come in just in time to see the eggs roll out of the
+basket, and for a moment she and her husband looked at each other. And
+then they turned to the boy.</p>
+
+<p>When she spoke her voice was so gentle that Crow, not understanding,
+looked quickly into her face:</p>
+
+<p>"Let me take him into the library, William. Come, my boy."</p>
+
+<p>Her tone was so soft, so sorrowful and sympathetic, that Crow felt as he
+followed her as if, in the hour of his deepest disgrace, he had found a
+friend; and when presently he stood in a great square room before a high
+arm-chair, in which a white-haired old lady sat looking at him over her
+gold-rimmed spectacles and talking to him as he had never been spoken to
+in all his life before, he felt as if he were in a great court before a
+judge who didn't understand half how very bad little boys were.</p>
+
+<p>She asked him a good many questions&mdash;some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> very searching ones, too&mdash;all
+of which Crow answered as best he could, with his very short breath.</p>
+
+<p>His first feeling had been of pure fright. But when he found he was not
+to be abused, not beaten or sent to jail, he began to wonder.</p>
+
+<p>Little Solomon Crow, ten years old, in a Christian land, was hearing for
+the first time in his life that God loved him&mdash;loved him even now in his
+sin and disgrace, and wanted him to be good.</p>
+
+<p>He listened with wandering eyes at first, half expecting the old
+gentleman, Mr. Cary, to appear suddenly at the door with a whip or a
+policeman with a club. But after a while he kept his eyes steadily upon
+the lady's face.</p>
+
+<p>"Has no one ever told you, Solomon"&mdash;she had always called him Solomon,
+declaring that Crow was not a fit name for a boy who looked as he
+did&mdash;it was altogether "too personal"&mdash;"has no one ever told you,
+Solomon," she said, "that God loves all His little children, and that
+you are one of these children?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, ma'am," he answered, with difficulty. And then, as if catching at
+something that might give him a little standing, he added, quickly&mdash;so
+quickly that he stammered again:</p>
+
+<p>"B-b-b-but I knowed I was twin to a angel. I know dat. An' I knows ef my
+angel twin seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> me steal dem aigs he'll be mightly ap' to tell Gord to
+strike me down daid."</p>
+
+<p>Of course he had to explain then about the "angel twin," and the old
+lady talked to him for a long time. And then together they knelt down.
+When at last they came out of the library she held the boy's hand and
+led him to her husband.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you willing to try him again, William?" she asked. "He has promised
+to do better."</p>
+
+<p>Old Mr. Cary cleared his throat and laid down his paper.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't deserve it," he began; "dirty little thief." And then he turned
+to the boy: "What have you got on, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>His voice was really quite terrible.</p>
+
+<p>"N-n-n-nothin'; only but des my b-b-b-briches an' jacket, an'&mdash;an'&mdash;an'
+skin," Crow replied, between gasps.</p>
+
+<p>"How many pockets?"</p>
+
+<p>"Two," said Crow.</p>
+
+<p>"Turn 'em out!"</p>
+
+<p>Crow drew out his little rust-stained pockets, dropping a few old nails
+and bits of twine upon the floor as he did so.</p>
+
+<p>"Um&mdash;h'm! Well, now, I'll tell you. <i>You're a dirty little thief</i>, as I
+said before. And I'm going to treat you as one. If you wear those
+pockets<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> hanging out, or rip 'em out, and come in here before you leave
+every day dressed just as you are&mdash;pants and jacket and skin&mdash;and empty
+out your basket for us before you go, until I'm satisfied you'll do
+better, you can come."</p>
+
+<p>The old lady looked at her husband as if she thought him pretty hard on
+a very small boy. But she said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Crow glanced appealingly at her before answering. And then he said,
+seizing his pocket:</p>
+
+<p>"Is you got air pair o' scissors, lady?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Cary wished her husband would relent even while she brought the
+scissors, but he only cried:</p>
+
+<p>"Out with 'em!"</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose you cut them out yourself, Solomon," she interposed, kindly,
+handing him the scissors. "You'll have all this work to do yourself. We
+can't make you good."</p>
+
+<p>When, after several awkward efforts, Crow finally put the coarse little
+pockets in her hands, there were tears in her eyes, and she tried to
+hide them as she leaned over and gathered up his treasures&mdash;three nails,
+a string, a broken top, and a half-eaten chunk of cold corn-bread. As
+she handed them to him she said: "And I'll lay the pockets away for you,
+Solomon, and when we see that you are an honest boy I'll sew them back
+for you myself."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>As she spoke she rose, divided the figs evenly between the two baskets,
+and handed one to Crow.</p>
+
+<p>If there ever was a serious little black boy on God's beautiful earth it
+was little Solomon Crow as he balanced his basket of figs on his head
+that day and went slowly down the garden walk and out the great front
+gate.</p>
+
+<p>The next few weeks were not without trial to the boy. Old Mr. Cary
+continued very stern, even following him daily to the <i>banquette</i>, as if
+he dare not trust him to go out alone. And when he closed the iron gate
+after him he would say in a tone that was awfully solemn:</p>
+
+<p>"Good-mornin', sir!"</p>
+
+<p>That was all.</p>
+
+<p>Little Crow dreaded that walk to the gate more than all the rest of the
+ordeal. And yet, in a way, it gave him courage. He was at least worth
+while, and with time and patience he would win back the lost faith of
+the friends who were kind to him even while they could not trust him.
+They were, indeed, kind and generous in many ways, both to him and his
+unworthy mother.</p>
+
+<p>Fig-time was soon nearly over, and, of course, Crow expected a
+dismissal; but it was Mr. Cary himself who set these fears at rest by
+propos<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>ing to him to come daily to blacken his boots and to keep the
+garden-walk in order for regular wages.</p>
+
+<p>"But," he warned him, in closing, "don't you show your face here with a
+pocket on you. If your heavy pants have any in 'em, rip 'em out." And
+then he added, severely: "You've been a very bad boy."</p>
+
+<p>"Yassir," answered Crow, "I know I is. I been a heap wusser boy'n you
+knowed I was, too."</p>
+
+<p>"What's that you say, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>Crow repeated it. And then he added, for full confession:</p>
+
+<p>"I picked green figs heap o' days, and kivered 'em up wid ripe ones, an'
+sol' 'em to a white 'oman fur perserves." There was something desperate
+in the way he blurted it all out.</p>
+
+<p>"The dickens you did! And what are you telling me for?"</p>
+
+<p>He eyed the boy keenly as he put the question.</p>
+
+<p>At this Crow fairly wailed aloud: "'Caze I ain't gwine do it no mo'."
+And throwing his arms against the door-frame he buried his face in them,
+and he sobbed as if his little heart would break.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment old Mr. Cary seemed to have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> lost his voice, and then he
+said, in a voice quite new to Crow:</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe you will, sir&mdash;I don't believe you will." And in a
+minute he said, still speaking gently: "Come here, boy."</p>
+
+<p>Still weeping aloud, Crow obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Tut, tut! No crying!" he began. "Be a man&mdash;be a man. And if you stick
+to it, before Christmas comes, we'll see about those pockets, and you
+can walk into the new year with your head up. But look sharp! Good-bye,
+now!"</p>
+
+<p>For the first time since the boy's fall Mr. Cary did not follow him to
+the gate. Maybe this was the beginning of trust. Slight a thing as it
+was, the boy took comfort in it.</p>
+
+<p>At last it was Christmas eve. Crow was on the back "gallery" putting a
+final polish on a pair of boots. He was nearly done, and his heart was
+beginning to sink, when the old lady came and stood near him. There was
+a very hopeful twinkle in her eye as she said, presently: "I wonder what
+our little shoeblack, who has been trying so hard to be good, would like
+to have for his Christmas gift?"</p>
+
+<p>But Crow only blinked while he polished the faster.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me, Solomon," she insisted. "If you had one wish to-day, what
+would it be?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The boy wriggled nervously. And then he said:</p>
+
+<p>"You knows, lady. Needle&mdash;an' thrade&mdash;an'&mdash;an'&mdash;you knows, lady.
+Pockets."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, pockets it shall be. Come into my room when you get through."</p>
+
+<p>Old Mrs. Cary sat beside the fire reading as he went in. Seeing him, she
+nodded, smiling, towards the bed, upon which Crow saw a brand-new suit
+of clothes&mdash;coat, vest, and breeches&mdash;all spread out in a row.</p>
+
+<p>"There, my boy," she said; "there are your pockets."</p>
+
+<p>Crow had never in all his life owned a full new suit of clothes. All his
+"new" things had been second-hand, and for a moment he could not quite
+believe his eyes; but he went quickly to the bed and began passing his
+hands over the clothes. Then he ventured to take up the vest&mdash;and to
+turn it over. And now he began to find pockets.</p>
+
+<p>"Three pockets in de ves'&mdash;two in de pants&mdash;an'&mdash;an' fo', no five, no
+six&mdash;six pockets in de coat!"</p>
+
+<p>He giggled nervously as he thrust his little black fingers into one and
+then another. And then, suddenly overcome with a sense of the situation,
+he turned to Mrs. Cary, and, in a voice that trembled a little, said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Is you sho' you ain't 'feerd to trus' me wid all deze pockets, lady?"</p>
+
+<p>It doesn't take a small boy long to slip into a new suit of clothes. And
+when a ragged urchin disappeared behind the head of the great old
+"four-poster" to-day, it seemed scarcely a minute before a trig,
+"tailor-made boy" strutted out from the opposite side, hands deep in
+pockets&mdash;breathing hard.</p>
+
+<p>As Solomon Crow strode up and down the room, radiant with joy, he seemed
+for the moment quite unconscious of any one's presence. But presently he
+stopped, looked involuntarily upward a minute, as if he felt himself
+observed from above. Then, turning to the old people, who stood together
+before the mantel, delightedly watching him, he said:</p>
+
+<p>"Bet you my angel twin ain't ashamed, ef he's a-lookin' down on me
+to-day."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE TWO TIMS</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_TWO_TIMS" id="THE_TWO_TIMS"></a>THE TWO TIMS</h2>
+
+
+<p>As the moon sent a white beam through the little square window of old
+Uncle Tim's cabin, it formed a long panel of light upon its
+smoke-stained wall, bringing into clear view an old banjo hanging upon a
+rusty nail. Nothing else in the small room was clearly visible. Although
+it was Christmas eve, there was no fire upon the broad hearth, and from
+the open door came the odor of honeysuckles and of violets. Winter is
+often in Louisiana only a name given by courtesy to the months coming
+between autumn and spring, out of respect to the calendar; and so it was
+this year.</p>
+
+<p>Sitting in the open doorway, his outline lost in the deep shadows of the
+vine, was old Uncle Tim, while, upon the floor at his side lay little
+Tim, his grandson. The boy lay so still that in the dim half-light he
+seemed a part of the floor furnishings, which were, in fact, an old cot,
+two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> crippled stools, a saddle, and odds and ends of broken harness, and
+bits of rope.</p>
+
+<p>Neither the old man nor the boy had spoken for a long time, and while
+they gazed intently at the old banjo hanging in the panel of light, the
+thoughts of both were tinged with sadness. The grandfather was nearly
+seventy years old, and little Tim was but ten; but they were great
+chums. The little boy's father had died while he was too young to
+remember, leaving little Tim to a step-mother, who brought him to his
+grandfather's home, where he had been ever since, and the attachment
+quickly formed between the two had grown and strengthened with the
+years.</p>
+
+<p>Old Uncle Tim was very poor, and his little cabin was small and shabby;
+and yet neither hunger nor cold had ever come in an unfriendly way to
+visit it. The tall plantation smoke-house threw a friendly shadow over
+the tiny hut every evening just before the sun went down&mdash;a shadow that
+seemed a promise at close of each day that the poor home should not be
+forgotten. Nor was it. Some days the old man was able to limp into the
+field and cut a load of cabbages for the hands, or to prepare seed
+potatoes for planting, so that, as he expressed it, "each piece 'll have
+one eye ter grow wid an' another ter look on an' see dat everything goes
+right."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And then Uncle Tim was brimful of a good many valuable things with which
+he was very generous&mdash;<i>advice</i>, for instance.</p>
+
+<p>He could advise with wisdom upon any number of subjects, such as just at
+what time of the moon to make soap so that it would "set" well, how to
+find a missing shoat, or the right spot to dig for water.</p>
+
+<p>These were all valuable services; yet cabbages were not always ready to
+be cut, potato-planting was not always in season. Often for weeks not a
+hog would stray off. Only once in a decade a new well was wanted; and as
+to soap-making, it could occur only once during each moon at most.</p>
+
+<p>It is true that between times Uncle Tim gave copious warnings <i>not</i> to
+make soap, which was quite a saving of effort and good material.</p>
+
+<p>But whether he was cutting seed potatoes, or advising, or only playing
+on his banjo, as he did incessantly between times, his rations came to
+the little cabin with clock-like regularity. They came just as regularly
+as old Tim <i>had worked</i>
+<a name="corr1" id="corr1"></a><a class="correction" href="#cn1" title="changed from 'whem'">when</a>
+he was young, as regularly as little Tim
+<i>would</i> when he should grow up, as it is a pity daily rations cannot
+always come to such feeble ones as, whether in their first or second
+childhood, are able to render only the service of willingness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And so we see that the two Tims, as they were often called, had no great
+anxieties as to their living, although they were very poor.</p>
+
+<p>The only thing in the world that the old man held as a personal
+possession was his old banjo. It was the one thing the little boy
+counted on as a precious future property. Often, at all hours of the day
+or evening, old Tim could be seen sitting before the cabin, his arms
+around the boy, who stood between his knees, while, with eyes closed, he
+ran his withered fingers over the strings, picking out the tunes that
+best recalled the stories of olden days that he loved to tell into the
+little fellow's ear. And sometimes, holding the banjo steady, he would
+invite little Tim to try his tiny hands at picking the strings.</p>
+
+<p>"Look out how you snap 'er too sudden!" he would exclaim if the little
+fingers moved too freely. "Look out, I say! Dis ain't none o' yo'
+pick-me-up-hit-an'-miss banjos, she ain't! An' you mus' learn ter treat
+'er wid rispec', caze, when yo' ole gran'dad dies, she gwine be yo'
+banjo, an' stan' in his place ter yer!"</p>
+
+<p>And then little Tim, confronted with the awful prospect of death and
+inheritance, would take a long breath, and, blinking his eyes, drop his
+hands at his side, saying, "You play 'er gran'dad."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But having once started to speak, the old man was seldom brief, and so
+he would continue: "It's true dis ole banjo she's livin' in a po' nigger
+cabin wid a ole black marster an' a new one comin' on blacker yit. (You
+taken dat arter yo' gran'mammy, honey. She warn't dis heah muddy-brown
+color like I is. She was a heap purtier and clairer black.) Well, I say,
+if dis ole banjo <i>is</i> livin' wid po' ignunt black folks, I wants you ter
+know she was <i>born white</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't look at me so cuyus, honey. I know what I say. I say she was
+<i>born white.</i> Dat is, she <i>de</i>scended ter me <i>f'om</i> white folks. My
+marster bought 'er ter learn on when we was boys together. An' he took
+<i>book lessons</i> on 'er too, an' dat's how come I say she ain't none o'
+yo' common pick-up-my-strings-any-which-er-way banjos. She's been played
+by note music in her day, she is, an' she can answer a book note des as
+true as any <i>pi</i>anner a pusson ever listened at&mdash;ef anybody know how ter
+tackle 'er. Of co'se, ef you des tackle 'er p'omiskyus she ain't gwine
+bother 'erse'f ter play 'cordin' ter rule; but&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Why, boy, dis heah banjo she's done serenaded all de a'stocercy on dis
+river 'twix' here an' de English Turn in her day. Yas, she is. An' all
+dat expeunce is in 'er breast now; she 'ain't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> forgot it, an' ef air
+pusson dat know all dem ole book chunes was ter take 'er up an' call fur
+'em, she'd give 'em eve'y one des as true as ever yit.</p>
+
+<p>"An' yer know, baby, I'm a-tellin' you all dis," he would say, in
+closing&mdash;"I'm a-tellin' you all dis caze arter while, when I die, she
+gwine be <i>yo'</i> banjo, 'n' I wants you ter know all 'er ins an' outs."</p>
+
+<p>And as he stopped, the little boy would ask, timidly, "Please, sir,
+gran'dad, lemme tote 'er an' hang 'er up. I'll step keerful." And taking
+each step with the utmost precision, and holding the long banjo aloft in
+his arms as if it were made of egg-shells, little Tim would climb the
+stool and hang the precious thing in its place against the cabin wall.</p>
+
+<p>Such a conversation had occurred to-day, and as the lad had taken the
+banjo from him the old man had added:</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't be s'prised, baby, ef 'fo' another year passes dat'll be
+<i>yo' banjo</i>, caze I feels mighty weak an' painful some days."</p>
+
+<p>This was in the early evening, several hours before the scene with which
+this little story opens. As night came on and the old man sat in the
+doorway, he did not notice that little Tim, in stretching himself upon
+the floor, as was his habit, came nearer than usual&mdash;so near, indeed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
+that, extending his little foot, he rested it against his grandfather's
+body, too lightly to be felt, and yet sensibly enough to satisfy his own
+affectionate impulse. And so he was lying when the moon rose and covered
+the old banjo with its light. He felt very serious as he gazed upon it,
+standing out so distinctly in the dark room. Some day it would be his;
+but the dear old grandfather would not be there, his chair would be
+always empty. There would be nobody in the little cabin but just little
+Tim and the banjo. He was too young to think of other changes. The
+ownership of the coveted treasure promised only death and utter
+loneliness. But presently the light passed off the wall on to the floor.
+It was creeping over to where little Tim lay, but he did not know it,
+and after blinking awhile at long intervals, and moving his foot
+occasionally to reassure himself of his grandfather's presence, he fell
+suddenly sound asleep.</p>
+
+<p>While these painful thoughts were filling little Tim's mind the old man
+had studied the bright panel on the wall with equal interest&mdash;and pain.
+By the very nature of things he could not leave the banjo to the boy and
+witness his pleasure in the possession.</p>
+
+<p>"She's de onlies' thing I got ter leave 'im, but I does wush't I could
+see him git 'er an' be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> at his little elbow ter show 'im all 'er ways,"
+he said, half audibly. "Dis heah way o' leavin' things ter folks when
+you die, it sounds awful high an' mighty, but look ter me like hit's po'
+satisfaction some ways. Po' little Tim! Now what he gwine do anyhow when
+I draps off?&mdash;nothin' but step-folks ter take keer of 'im&mdash;step-mammy
+an' step-daddy an' 'bout a dozen step brothers an' sisters, an' not even
+me heah ter show 'im how ter conduc' 'is banjo. De ve'y time he need me
+de mos' ter show 'im her ins an' outs I won't be nowhars about, an'
+yit&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>As the old man's thoughts reached this point a sudden flare of light
+across the campus showed that the first bonfire was lighted.</p>
+
+<p>There was to be a big dance to-night in the open space in front of the
+sugar-house, and the lighting of the bonfires surrounding the spot was
+the announcement that it was time for everybody to come. It was Uncle
+Tim's signal to take down the banjo and tune up, for there was no more
+important instrument in the plantation string-band than this same old
+banjo.</p>
+
+<p>As he turned backward to wake little Tim he hesitated a moment, looking
+lovingly upon the little sleeping figure, which the moon now covered
+with a white rectangle of light. As his eyes rested upon the boy's face
+something, a con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>fused memory of his last waking anxiety perhaps,
+brought a slight quiver to his lips, as if he might cry in his sleep,
+while he muttered the word "gran'dad."</p>
+
+<p>Old Uncle Tim had been trying to get himself to the point of doing
+something which it was somehow hard to do, but this tremulous lisping of
+his own name settled the question.</p>
+
+<p>Hobbling to his feet, he wended his way as noiselessly as possible to
+where the banjo hung, and, carrying it to the sleeping boy, laid it
+gently, with trembling fingers, upon his arm.</p>
+
+<p>Then, first silently regarding him a moment, he called out, "Weck up,
+Tim, my man! Weck up!"</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, a loud and continuous explosion of fire-crackers&mdash;the
+opening of active festivities in the campus&mdash;startled the boy quite out
+of his nap.</p>
+
+<p>He was frightened and dazed for a minute, and then, seeing the banjo
+beside him and his grandfather's face so near, he exclaimed: "What's all
+dis, gran'dad? Whar me?"</p>
+
+<p>The old man's voice was pretty husky as he answered: "You right heah wid
+me, boy, an' dat banjo, hit's yo' Christmas gif', honey."</p>
+
+<p>Little Tim cast an agonized look upon the old man's face, and threw
+himself into his arms.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> "Is you gwine die now, gran'dad?" he sobbed,
+burying his face upon his bosom.</p>
+
+<p>Old Tim could not find voice at once, but presently he chuckled,
+nervously: "Humh! humh! No, boy, I ain't gwine die yit&mdash;not till my time
+comes, please Gord. But dis heah's Christmas, honey, an' I thought I'd
+gi'e you de ole banjo whiles I was living so's I could&mdash;so's you
+could&mdash;so's we could have pleasure out'n 'er bofe together, yer know,
+honey. Dat is, f'om dis time on she's <i>yo' banjo</i>, an' when I wants ter
+play on 'er, you <i>can loan 'er ter me</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"An'&mdash;an' you&mdash;you <i>sho'</i> you ain't gwine die, gran'dad?"</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't sho' o' nothin', honey, but I 'ain't got no <i>notion</i> o'
+dyin'&mdash;not to-night. We gwine ter de dance now, you an' me, an' I gwine
+play de banjo&mdash;<i>dat is ef you'll loan 'er ter me, baby</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Tim wanted to laugh, and it seemed sheer contrariness for him to cry,
+but somehow the tears would come, and the lump in his throat, and try
+hard as he might, he couldn't get his head higher than his grandfather's
+coat-sleeve or his arms from around his waist. He hardly knew why he
+still wept, and yet when presently he sobbed, "But, gran'dad, I'm
+'feered you <i>mought</i> die," the old man understood.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly, even if he were not going to die<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> now, giving away the old
+banjo seemed like a preparation for death. Was it not, in fact, a formal
+confession that he was nearing the end of his days? Had not this very
+feeling made it hard for him to part with it? The boy's grief at the
+thought touched him deeply, and lifting the little fellow upon his knee,
+he said, fondly:</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Don't</i> fret, honey. <i>Don't</i> let Christmas find yon cryin'. I tell you
+what I say let's do. I ain't gwine gi'e you de banjo, not yit, caze, des
+as you say, I <i>mought</i> die; but I tell you what I gwine do. I gwine take
+you in pardners in it wid me. She ain't <i>mine</i> an' she ain't <i>yoze</i>, and
+yit she's <i>bofe of us's</i>. You see, boy? <i>She's ourn!</i> An' when I wants
+ter play on 'er <i>I'll play</i>, an' when you wants 'er, why, you teck
+'er&mdash;on'y be a <i>leetle</i> bit keerful at fust, honey."</p>
+
+<p>"An' kin I ca'y 'er behine de cabin, whar you can't see how I'm
+a-holdin' 'er, an' play anyway I choose?"</p>
+
+<p>Old Tim winced a little at this, but he had not given grudgingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Cert'n'y," he answered. "Why not? Git up an' play 'er in de middle o'
+de night ef you want ter, on'y, of co'se, be keerful how you reach 'er
+down, so's you won't jolt 'er too sudden. An' now, boy, hand 'er heah
+an' lemme talk to yer a little bit."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>When little Tim lifted the banjo from the floor his face fairly beamed
+with joy, although in the darkness no one saw it, for the shaft of light
+had passed beyond him now. Handing the banjo to his grandfather, he
+slipped naturally back of it into his accustomed place in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Dis heah's a fus'-class thing ter work off bad tempers wid," the old
+man began, tightening the strings as he spoke. "Now ef one o' deze mule
+tempers ever take a-holt of yer in de foot, dat foot 'll be mighty ap'
+ter do some kickin'; an' ef it seizes a-holt o' yo' han', dat little
+fis' 'll be purty sho ter strike out an' do some damage; an' ef it jump
+onter yo' tongue, hit 'll mighty soon twis' it into sayin' bad language.
+But ef you'll teck hol' o' dis ole banjo des as quick as you feel de
+badness rise up in you, <i>an' play</i>, you'll scare de evil temper away so
+bad it <i>daresn't come back</i>. Ef it done settled <i>too strong</i> in yo'
+tongue, run it off wid a song; an' ef yo' feet's git a kickin' spell on
+'em, <i>dance it off</i>; an' ef you feel it in yo' han', des run fur de
+banjo an' play de sweetes' chune you know, an' fus' thing you know all
+yo' madness 'll be gone.</p>
+
+<p>"She 'ain't got no mouf, but she can talk ter you, all de same; an' she
+'ain't got no head, but she can reason wid you. An' while ter look at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+'er she's purty nigh all belly, she don't eat a crumb. Dey ain't a
+greedy bone in 'er.</p>
+
+<p>"An' I wants you ter ricollec' dat I done guv 'er to you&mdash;dat is, <i>yo'
+sheer</i> [share] <i>in 'er</i>, caze she's <i>mine</i> too, you know. I done guv you
+a even sheer in 'er, des <i>caze you an' me is gran'daddy an' gran'son</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Dis heah way o' dyin' an' <i>leavin'</i> prop'ty, hit mought suit white
+folks, but it don't become our complexioms, some way; an' de mo' I
+thought about havin' to die ter give de onlies' gran'son I got de
+onlies' <i>prop'ty</i> I got, de <i>miser'bler I got</i>, tell I couldn't stan' it
+no mo'."</p>
+
+<p>Little Tim's throat choked up again, and he rolled his eyes around and
+swallowed twice before he answered: "An' I&mdash;I was miser'ble too,
+gran'dad. I used ter des look at 'er hangin' 'g'inst de wall, an' think
+about me maybe playin' 'er, an' you&mdash;you not&mdash;not nowhar in
+sight&mdash;an'&mdash;an' some days seem like <i>I&mdash;I des hated 'er</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, baby, I know. But now you won't hate 'er no mo', boy; an' ef you
+die fus'&mdash;some time, you know, baby, little boys <i>does die</i>&mdash;an' ef you
+go fus', I'll teck good keer o' yo' sheer in 'er; an' ef I go, you mus'
+look out fur my sheer. An' long as we bofe live&mdash;well, I'll look out fur
+'er voice&mdash;keep 'er th'oat strings in order; an'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> you see dat she don't
+git ketched out in bad comp'ny, or in de rain, an' take cold.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on now. Wash yo' little face, and let's go ter de dance. Gee-man!
+Lis'n at de fire-crackers callin' us. Come on. Dat's right. Pack 'er on
+yo' shoulder like a man."</p>
+
+<p>And so the two Tims start off to the Christmas festival, young Tim
+bearing his precious burden proudly ahead, while the old man follows
+slowly behind, chuckling softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Des think how much time I done los', not takin' 'im in pardners befo',
+an' he de onlies' gran'son I got!"</p>
+
+<p>While little Tim, walking cautiously so as not to trip in the uneven
+path, turns presently and calls back:</p>
+
+<p>"Gran'dad, I reckon we done walked half de way, now. I done toted 'er
+<i>my</i> sheer. Don't you want me ter tote 'er <i>yo' sheer</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>And the old man answers, with another chuckle, "Go on, honey."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE FREYS' CHRISTMAS PARTY</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_FREYS_CHRISTMAS_PARTY" id="THE_FREYS_CHRISTMAS_PARTY"></a>THE FREYS' CHRISTMAS PARTY</h2>
+
+
+<p>There was a great sensation in the old Coppenole house three days before
+Christmas. The Freys, who lived on the third floor, were going to give a
+Christmas dinner party, and all the other tenants were invited.</p>
+
+<p>Such a thing had never happened before, and, as Miss Penny told her
+canary-birds while she filled their seed-cups, it was "like a clap of
+thunder out of a clear sky."</p>
+
+<p>The Frey family, consisting of a widow and her brood of half a dozen
+children, were as poor as any of the tenants in the old building, for
+wasn't the mother earning a scant living as a beginner in newspaper
+work? Didn't the Frey children do every bit of the house-work, not to
+mention little outside industries by which the older ones earned small
+incomes? Didn't Meg send soft gingerbread to the Christian Woman's
+Exchange for sale twice a week, and Ethel find time, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> all her
+studies, to paint butterflies on Swiss aprons for fairs or f&ecirc;tes?</p>
+
+<p>Didn't everybody know that Conrad, now but thirteen, was a regular
+solicitor for orders for Christmas-trees, palmetto palms, and gray moss
+from the woods for decorative uses on holiday occasions?</p>
+
+<p>The idea of people in such circumstances as these giving dinner parties!
+It was almost incredible; but it was true, for tiny notes of invitation
+tied with rose-colored ribbons had been flying over the building all the
+afternoon. The Frey twins, Felix and
+<a name="corr2" id="corr2"></a><a class="correction" href="#cn2" title="changed from 'F&eacute;lice'">F&eacute;licie</a>,
+both barefoot, had carried one to each door.</p>
+
+<p>They were written with gold ink on pink paper. A water-colored butterfly
+was poised in midair somewhere on each one, and at the left lower end
+were the mysterious letters "R.S.V.P."</p>
+
+<p>The old Professor who lived in the room next the Frey kitchen got one,
+and Miss Penny, who occupied the room beyond. So did Mademoiselle
+Guyosa, who made paper flowers, and the mysterious little woman of the
+last, worst room in the house&mdash;a tiny figure whose face none of her
+neighbors had ever seen, but who had given her name to the baker and
+milkman as "Mamzelle St. John."</p>
+
+<p>And there were others. Madame Coraline,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> the fortune-teller, who rented
+the hall room on the second floor, was perhaps more surprised at her
+invitation than any of the rest. No one ever asked her anywhere. Even
+the veiled ladies who sometimes visited her darkened chamber always
+tiptoed up the steps as if they were half ashamed of going there.</p>
+
+<p>The twins had a time getting her to come to the door to receive the
+invitation, and after vainly rapping several times, they had finally
+brought a parasol and hammered upon the horseshoe tacked upon the door,
+until at last it opened just about an inch. And then she was invited.</p>
+
+<p>But, indeed, it is time to be telling how the party originated.</p>
+
+<p>It had been the habit of the Frey children, since they could remember,
+to save up spare coins all the year for a special fund which they called
+"Christmas money."</p>
+
+<p>The old fashion of spending these small amounts in presents for one
+another had long ago given place to the better one&mdash;more in the
+Christmas spirit&mdash;of using it to brighten the day for some one less
+blessed than themselves.</p>
+
+<p>It is true that on the Christmas before the one of this story they had
+broken the rule, or only strained it, perhaps, to buy a little stove for
+their mother's room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But a rule that would not stretch enough to take in such a home need
+would be a poor one indeed.</p>
+
+<p>This year they had had numerous schemes, but somehow none had seemed to
+appeal to the stockholders in the Christmas firm, and so they had
+finally called a meeting on the subject.</p>
+
+<p>It was at this meeting that Meg, fourteen years old, having taken the
+floor, said: "Well, it seems to <i>me</i> that the <i>worst</i> kind of a
+Christmas must be a lonely one. Just think how nearly all the roomers in
+this house spent last Christmas&mdash;most of 'em sittin' by their lone
+selves in their rooms, and some of 'em just eatin' every-day things! The
+Professor hadn't a thing but Bologna-sausage and crackers. <i>I
+know&mdash;'cause I peeped.</i> An' now, whatever you all are goin' to do with
+<i>your</i> money, <i>mine's</i> goin' right into this house, to the
+roomers&mdash;<i>some way</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"If we knew what we could do, Meg?" said Ethel.</p>
+
+<p>"If we knew what we could do or <i>how we could do it</i>," interrupted
+Conrad, "why, I'd give my eighty-five cents in a minute. I'd give it to
+the old Professor to have his curls cut."</p>
+
+<p>Conrad was a true-hearted fellow, but he was full of mischief.</p>
+
+<p>"Shame on you, Buddy!" said Meg, who was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> thoroughly serious. "Can't you
+be in earnest for just a minute?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am in earnest, Meg. I think your scheme is bully&mdash;if it could be
+worked; but the Professor wouldn't take our money any more'n we'd take
+his."</p>
+
+<p>"Neither would any of them." This was Ethel's first real objection.</p>
+
+<p>"Who's goin' to offer 'em money?" rejoined Meg.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you what we <i>might</i> do, maybe," Conrad suggested, dubiously. "We
+<i>might</i> buy a lot of fine grub, an' send it in to 'em sort o'
+mysteriously. How'd that do?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Twouldn't do at all," Meg replied. "The idea! Who'd enjoy the finest
+Christmas dinner in the world by his lone self, with nothin' but a
+lookin'-glass to look into and holler 'Merry Christmas' to?"</p>
+
+<p>Conrad laughed. "Well, the Professor's little cracked glass wouldn't be
+much of a comfort to a hungry fellow. It gives you two mouths."</p>
+
+<p>Conrad was nothing if not facetious.</p>
+
+<p>"There you are again, Buddy! <i>Do</i> be serious for once." And then she
+added, desperately, "The thing <i>I</i> want to do is to <i>invite</i> 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Invite!"</p>
+
+<p>"Who?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"When?"</p>
+
+<p>"How?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where?"</p>
+
+<p>Such was the chorus that greeted Meg's astounding proposition.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I say," she explained, nothing daunted, "let's put all our
+Christmas money together and get the very best dinner we can, and invite
+all the roomers to come and eat it with us. <i>Now I've said it!</i> And I
+ain't foolin', either."</p>
+
+<p>"And we haven't a whole table-cloth to our names, Meg Frey, and you know
+it!" It was Ethel who spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>"And what's that got to do with it, Sisty? We ain't goin' to eat the
+cloth. Besides, can't we set the dish-mats over the holes? 'Twouldn't be
+the first time."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Meg, dearie, you surely are not proposing to invite company to
+dine in the kitchen, are you? And who'd cook the dinner, not to mention
+buying it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now, listen, Sisty, dear. The dinner that's in my mind isn't a
+society-column dinner like those Momsy writes about, and those we are
+going to invite don't wear out much table-linen at home. And they cook
+their own dinners, too, most of 'em&mdash;exceptin' when they eat 'em<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> in the
+French Market, with a Chinaman on one side of 'em and an Indian on the
+other.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I'm</i> goin' to cook <i>ours</i>, and as for eatin' in the kitchen, why, we
+don't need to. Just see how warm it is! The frost hasn't even nipped the
+banana leaves over there in the square. And Buddy can pull the table out
+on the big back gallery, an' we'll hang papa's old gray soldier blanket
+for a porti&egrave;re to keep the Quinettes from lookin' in; and, Sisty, you
+can write the invitations an' paint butterflies on 'em."</p>
+
+<p>Ethel's eyes for the first time sparkled with interest, but she kept
+silent, and Meg continued:</p>
+
+<p>"An' Buddy'll bring in a lot of gray moss and <i>latanier</i> to dec'rate
+with, an'&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"An' us'll wait on the table!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, us'll wait on the table!" cried the twins.</p>
+
+<p>"But," added Felix in a moment, "you mus'n't invite Miss Penny, Meg,
+'cause if you do F'lissy an' me'll be thest shore to disgrace the party
+a-laughin'. She looks thest ezzac'ly like a canary-bird, an' Buddy has
+tooken her off till we thest die a-laughin' every time we see her. I
+think she's raised canaries till she's a sort o' half-canary herself.
+Don't let's invite her, Sisty."</p>
+
+<p>"And don't you think Miss Penny would enjoy a slice of Christmas turkey
+as well as the rest of us, Felix?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"No; I fink she ought to eat canary-seed and fish-bone," chirped in
+Dorothea.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothea was only five, and this from her was so funny that even Meg
+laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"An' Buddy says he knows she sleeps perched on the towel-rack, 'cause
+they ain't a sign of a bed in her room."</p>
+
+<p>The three youngest were fairly choking with laughter now. But the older
+ones had soon grown quite serious in consulting about all the details of
+the matter, and even making out a conditional list of guests.</p>
+
+<p>When they came to the fortune-teller, both Ethel and Conrad hesitated,
+but Meg, true to her first impulse, had soon put down opposition by a
+single argument.</p>
+
+<p>"It seems to me she's the special one <i>to</i> invite to a Christmas party
+like ours," she pleaded. "The lonesomer an' horrider they are, the more
+they belong, an' the more they'll enjoy it, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Accordin' to that," said Conrad, "the whole crowd ought to have a dizzy
+good time, for they're about as fine a job lot of lonesomes as I ever
+struck. And as for beauty! 'Vell, my y'ung vriends, how you was
+to-morrow?'" he continued, thrusting his thumbs into his armholes and
+strutting in imitation of the old Professor.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 395px;">
+<img src="images/page046.jpg" width="395" height="600" alt="&quot;&#39;SHE OUGHT TO EAT CANARY-SEED AND FISH-BONE&#39;&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;&#39;SHE OUGHT TO EAT CANARY-SEED AND FISH-BONE&#39;&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Meg was almost out of patience. "Do hush,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> Buddy, an' let's talk
+business. First of all, we have to put it to vote to see whether we
+<i>want</i> to have the party or not."</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't a-goin' to give my money to no such a ugly ol' party," cried
+Felix. "I want pretty little girls with curls an' wreafs on to my
+party."</p>
+
+<p>"An' me, too. I want a heap o' pretty little girls with curls an' wreafs
+on&mdash;<i>to my party</i>," echoed F&eacute;licie.</p>
+
+<p>"An' I want a organ-grinder to the party that gets my half o' our
+picayunes," insisted Felix.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, us wants a organ-grinder&mdash;an' a monkey, too&mdash;hey, F'lix?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, an' a monkey, too. Heap o' monkeys!"</p>
+
+<p>Meg was indeed having a hard time of it.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, Conrad"&mdash;the use of that name meant reproof from Meg&mdash;"you
+see, Conrad, this all comes from your makin' fun of everybody. But of
+course we can get an organ-grinder if the little ones want him."</p>
+
+<p>Ethel still seemed somewhat doubtful about the whole affair. Ethel was
+in the high-school. She had a lofty bridge to her nose. She was fifteen,
+and she never left off her final g's as the others did. These are, no
+doubt, some of the reasons why she was regarded as a sort of superior
+person in the family. If it had not been for the prospect of painting
+the cards, and a certain feel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>ing of benevolence in the matter, it would
+have been hard for her to agree to the party at all. As it was, her
+voice had a note of mild protest as she said:</p>
+
+<p>"It's going to cost a good deal, Meg. How much money have we? Let's
+count up. I have a dollar and eighty-five cents."</p>
+
+<p>"And I've got two dollars," said Meg.</p>
+
+<p>"How is it you always save the most? I haven't saved but ninety cents."
+Conrad spoke with a little real embarrassment as he laid his little pile
+of coins upon the table.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon it's 'cause I've got a regular plan, Buddy. I save a dime out
+of every dollar I get all through the year. It's the best way. And how
+much have you ponies got?"</p>
+
+<p>"We've got seventy cents together, an' we've been a-whiskerin' in our
+ears about it, too. We don't want our money put-ed in the dinner with
+the rest. We want to see what we are givin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, suppose you buy the fruit. Seventy cents 'll get bananas and
+oranges enough for the whole party."</p>
+
+<p>"An' us wants to buy 'em ourselfs, too&mdash;hey, F'lix?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, us wants to buy 'm ourselfs, too."</p>
+
+<p>"And so you shall. And now all in favor of the party hold up their right
+hands."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>All hands went up.</p>
+
+<p>"Contr'ry, no!" Meg continued.</p>
+
+<p>"Contr'ry, no!" echoed the twins.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush! You mus'n't say that. That's just what they say at votin's."</p>
+
+<p>"Gee-man-tally! But you girls 're awfully mixed," Conrad howled, with
+laughter. "They don't have any 'contr'ry no's' when they vote by holdin'
+up right hands. Besides, Dorothea held up her left hand, for I saw her."</p>
+
+<p>"Which is quite correct, Mr. Smartie, since we all know that Dolly is
+left-handed. You meant to vote for the party, didn't you, dearie?" Meg
+added, turning to Dorothea.</p>
+
+<p>For answer the little maid only bobbed her head, thrusting both hands
+behind her, as if afraid to trust them again.</p>
+
+<p>"But I haven't got but thest a nickel," she ventured, presently. "F'lix
+says it'll buy salt."</p>
+
+<p>"Salt!" said Conrad. "Well, I should smile! It would buy salt enough to
+pickle the whole party. Why, that little St. Johns woman goes out with a
+nickel an' lays in provisions. I've seen her do it."</p>
+
+<p>"Shame on you, Buddy!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not jokin', Meg. At least, I saw her buy a <i>quartie's</i> worth o'
+coffee and a <i>quartie's</i> worth o' sugar, an' then ask for <i>lagniappe</i> o'
+salt. Ain't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> that layin' in provisions? She uses a cigar-box for her
+pantry, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," she protested, seriously, "what of it, Conrad? It doesn't take
+much for one very little person. Now, then, the party is voted for; but
+there's one more thing to be done before it can be really decided. We
+must ask Momsy's permission, of course. And that is goin' to be hard,
+because I don't want her to know about it. She has to be out reportin'
+festivals for the paper clear up to Christmas mornin', and if she knows
+about it, she'll worry over it. So I propose to ask her to let us give
+her a Christmas surprise, and not tell her what it is."</p>
+
+<p>"And we know just what she'll say," Conrad interrupted; "she'll say, 'If
+you older children all agree upon anything, I'm sure it can't be very
+far wrong or foolish'&mdash;just as she did time we put up the stove in her
+room."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I can hear her now," said Ethel. "But still we must <i>let</i> her say
+it before we do a single thing, because, you know, <i>she mightn't</i>. An'
+then where'd the party be?"</p>
+
+<p>"It would be scattered around where it was last Christmas&mdash;where all the
+parties are that don't be," said Conrad. "They must be the ones we are
+always put down for, an' that's how we get left; eh, Sisty?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, Buddy; we won't get left, as you call it, this time,
+anyway&mdash;unless, of course, Momsy vetoes it."</p>
+
+<p>"Vetoes what, children?"</p>
+
+<p>They had been so noisy that they had not heard their mother's step on
+the creaking stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Frey carried her pencil and notes, and she looked tired, but she
+smiled indulgently as she repeated, "What am I to veto, dearies&mdash;or to
+approve?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a sequet! A Trismas sequet!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, an' it's got owanges in it&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;An' bananas!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, you ponies! And, Dolly, not another word!" Meg had resolutely
+taken the floor again.</p>
+
+<p>"Momsy, we've been consulting about our Christmas money, and we've voted
+to ask you to let us do something with it, and not to tell you a thing
+about it, only "&mdash;and here she glanced for approval at Ethel and
+Conrad&mdash;"only we <i>ought</i> to tell you, Momsy, dear, that the surprise
+isn't for you this time."</p>
+
+<p>And then Mrs. Frey, sweet mother that she was, made just the little
+speech they thought she would make, and when they had kissed her, and
+all, even to Ethel, who seemed now as en<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>thusiastic as the others,
+caught hands and danced around the dinner table, she was glad she had
+consented.</p>
+
+<p>It was such a delight to be able to supplement their scant Christmas
+prospects with an indulgence giving such pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>"And I'm glad it isn't for me, children," she added, as soon as the
+hubbub gave her a hearing. "I'm very glad. You know you strained a point
+last year, and I'm sure you did right. My little stove has been a great
+comfort. But I am always certain of just as many home-made presents as I
+have children, and they are the ones I value. Dolly's lamp-lighters are
+not all used up yet, and if she <i>were</i> to give me another bundle this
+Christmas I shouldn't feel sorry. But our little Christmas <i>money</i> we
+want to send out on some loving mission. And, by-the-way, I have two
+dollars which may go with yours if you need it&mdash;if it will make some
+poor body's bed softer or his dinner better."</p>
+
+<p>"Momsy's guessed!" Felix clapped his hands with delight.</p>
+
+<p>"'Sh! Hush, Felix! Yes, Momsy, it'll do one of those things exactly,"
+said Meg. "And now <i>I</i> say we'd better break up this meeting before the
+ponies tell the whole business."</p>
+
+<p>"F'lix never telled a thing," chirped F&eacute;licie,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> always ready to defend
+her mate. "Did you, F'lixy? Momsy said 'dinner' herself."</p>
+
+<p>"So I did, dear; but who is to get the dinner and why you are going to
+send it are things mother doesn't wish to know. And here are my two
+dollars. Now off to bed, the whole trundle-bed crowd, for I have a lot
+of copy to write to-night. Ethel may bring me a bite, and then sit
+beside me and write while I sip my tea and dictate and Meg puts the
+chickens to roost. And Conrad will keep quiet over his books. Just one
+kiss apiece and a hug for Dolly. Shoo now!"</p>
+
+<p>So the party was decided.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The Frey home, although one of the poorest, was one of the happiest in
+New Orleans, for it was made up of cheery workers, even little Dorothea
+having her daily self-assumed tasks. Miss Dorothea, if you please,
+dusted the banisters round the porch every day, straightened the rows of
+shoes in mother's closet, folded the daily papers in the rack, and kept
+the one rug quite even with the front of the hearth. And this young lady
+had, furthermore, her regular income of five cents a week.</p>
+
+<p>Of course her one nickel contributed to the party had been saved only a
+few hours, but Dorothea was only five, and the old yellow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> <i>praline</i>
+woman knew about her income, and came trudging all the way up the stairs
+each week on "pay-day."</p>
+
+<p>Even after the invitations were sent it seemed to Dolly that the
+"party-day" would never come, for there were to be "three sleeps" before
+it should arrive.</p>
+
+<p>It was Ethel's idea to send the cards early, so as to forestall any home
+preparation among the guests.</p>
+
+<p>But all things come to him who waits&mdash;even Christmas. And so at last the
+great day arrived.</p>
+
+<p>Nearly all the invited had accepted, and everything was very exciting;
+but the situation was not without its difficulties.</p>
+
+<p>Even though she was out every day, it had been so hard to keep every
+tell-tale preparation out of Mrs. Frey's sight. But when she had found a
+pan of crullers on the top pantry shelf, or heard the muffled
+"gobble-gobble" of the turkey shut up in the old flour-barrel, or smelt
+invisible bananas and apples, she had been truly none the wiser, but had
+only said, "Bless their generous hearts! They are getting up a fine
+dinner to send to somebody."</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, Mrs. Frey never got an inkling of the whole truth until she
+tripped up the stairs a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> half-hour before dinner on Christmas day to
+find the feast all spread.</p>
+
+<p>The old mahogany table, extended to its full length, stood gorgeous in
+decorations of palmetto, moss, and flowers out upon the deep back porch,
+which was converted into a very pretty chamber by the hanging curtain of
+gray.</p>
+
+<p>If she had any misgivings about it, she betrayed them by no single word
+or look, but there were bright red spots upon her usually pale cheeks as
+she passed, smiling, into her room to dash into the dinner dress Ethel
+had laid out for her.</p>
+
+<p>To have her poverty-stricken home invaded by a host of strangers was
+striking a blow at the most sensitive weakness of this proud woman. And
+yet the loving motive which was so plain through it all, showing the
+very spirit in her dear children for which she had prayed, was too
+sacred a thing to be chilled by even a half-shade of disapproval.</p>
+
+<p>"And who are coming, dear?" she asked of Meg, as soon as she could trust
+her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"All the roomers, Momsy, excepting the little hunchback lady and Madame
+Coraline."</p>
+
+<p>"Madame Coraline!" Mrs. Frey could not help exclaiming.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Momsy. She accepted, and she <i>even came</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>, but she went back just
+now. She was dressed terribly fine&mdash;gold lace and green silk, but it was
+old and dowdy; and, Momsy, her cheeks were just as red! I was on the
+stepladder tackin' up the Bethlehem picture, Sisty was standin' on the
+high-chair hanging up the star, and Buddy's arms were full of gray moss
+that he was wrappin' round your chair. But we were just as polite to her
+as we could be, and asked her to take a seat. And we all thought she sat
+down; but she went, Momsy, and no one saw her go. Buddy says she's a
+witch. She left that flower-pot of sweet-basil on the table. I s'pose
+she brought it for a present. Do you think that we'd better send for her
+to come back, Momsy?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, daughter, I think not. No doubt she had her own reasons for going,
+and she may come back. And are the rest all coming?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes'm; but we had a time gettin' Miss Guyosa to come. She says she's a
+First Family, an' she never mixes. But I told her so were we, and we
+mixed. And then I said that if she'd come she could sit at one end o'
+the table and carve the ham, while you'd do the turkey. But she says
+Buddy ought to do the turkey. But she's comin'. And, Momsy, the turkey
+is a perfect beauty. We put pecans in him. Miss Guyosa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> gave us the
+receipt and the nuts, too. Her cousin sent 'em to her from his
+plantation. And did you notice the paper roses in the moss festoons,
+Momsy? She made those. She has helped us fix up <i>a lot</i>. She made all
+the Easter flowers on St. Joseph's altar at the Cathedral, too, and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A rap at the door announcing a first guest sent the little cook bounding
+to the kitchen, while Ethel rushed into her mother's room, her mouth
+full of pins and her sash on her arm.</p>
+
+<p>She had dressed the three little ones a half-hour ago; and Conrad, who
+had also made an early toilet, declared that they had all three walked
+round the dinner table thirty-nine times since their appearance in the
+"dining-room." When he advanced to do the honors, the small procession
+toddling single file behind him, somehow it had not occurred to him that
+he might encounter Miss Penny, the canary lady, standing in a dainty old
+dress of yellow silk just outside the door, nor, worse still, that she
+should bear in her hands a tiny cage containing a pair of young
+canaries.</p>
+
+<p>He said afterwards that "everything would have passed off all right if
+it hadn't been for the twins." Of course he had forgotten that he had
+himself been the first one to compare Miss Penny to a canary.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>By the time the little black-eyed woman had flitted into the door, and
+in a chirpy, bird-like voice wished them a merry Christmas, Felix had
+stuffed his entire handkerchief into his mouth. Was it any wonder that
+F&eacute;licie and Dorothea, seeing this, did actually disgrace the whole party
+by convulsions of laughter?</p>
+
+<p>They were soon restored to order, though, by the little yellow-gowned
+lady herself, for it took but half a minute to say that the birds were a
+present for the twins&mdash;"the two little ones who brought me the
+invitation."</p>
+
+<p>Such a present as this is no laughing matter, and, besides, the little
+Frey children were at heart polite. And so they had soon forgotten their
+mirth in their new joy.</p>
+
+<p>And then other guests were presently coming in, and Mrs. Frey, looking
+startlingly fine and pretty in her fresh ruches and new tie, was saying
+pleasant things to everybody, while Ethel and Meg, tripping lightly in
+and out, brought in the dishes.</p>
+
+<p>As there was no parlor, guests were received in the curtained end of the
+gallery. No one was disposed to be formal, and when the old Professor
+entered with a little brown-paper parcel, which he declared, after his
+greetings, to contain his dinner, everybody felt that the etiquette of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+the occasion was not to be very strict or in the least embarrassing.</p>
+
+<p>Of course Mrs. Frey, as hostess, "hoped the Professor would reconsider,
+and have a slice of the Christmas turkey"; but when they had presently
+all taken their seats at the table, and the eccentric guest had actually
+opened his roll of bread and cheese upon his empty plate, over which he
+began to pass savory dishes to his neighbors, she politely let him have
+his way. Indeed, there was nothing else to do, as he declared&mdash;declining
+the first course with a wave of his hand&mdash;that he had come "yust for de
+sake of sociapility."</p>
+
+<p>"I haf seen efery day doze children work und sing so nize togedder yust
+like leetle mans und ladies, so I come yust to eggsbress my t'anks for
+de compliment, und to make de acquaintance off doze nize y'ung
+neighbors." This with a courtly bow to each one of the children
+separately. And he added in a moment: "De dinner iss very fine, but for
+me one dinner iss yust like anudder. Doze are all externals."</p>
+
+<p>To which measured and kindly speech Conrad could not help replying, "It
+won't be an external to us, Professor, by the time we get through."</p>
+
+<p>"Oho!" exclaimed the old man, delighted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> with the boy's ready wit.
+"Dot's a wery schmart boy you got dhere, Mrs. Vrey."</p>
+
+<p>At this exhibition of broken English the twins, who were waiting on the
+table, thought it safe to rush to the kitchen on pretence of changing
+plates, while Dorothea, seated at the Professor's left, found it
+necessary to bite both lips and to stare hard at the vinegar-cruet for
+fully a second to keep from laughing. Then, to make sure of her
+self-possession, she artfully changed the subject, remarking, dryly,</p>
+
+<p>"My nickel buyed the ice."</p>
+
+<p>This was much funnier than the Professor's speech, judging from the
+laughter that followed it. And Miss Dorothea Frey's manners were saved,
+which was the important thing.</p>
+
+<p>It would be impossible in this short space to give a full account of
+this novel and interesting dinner party, but if any one supposes that
+there was a dull moment in it, he is altogether mistaken.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Frey and Ethel saw to it that no one was neglected in conversation;
+Meg and Conrad looked after the prompt replenishing of plates, though
+the alert little waiters, Felix and F&eacute;licie, anticipated every want, and
+were as sprightly as two crickets, while Dorothea provoked frequent
+laughter by a random fire of unexpected remarks,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> never failing, for
+instance, to offer ice-water during every "still minute"; and, indeed,
+once that young lady did a thing that might have proved quite terrible
+had the old lady Saxony, who sat opposite, been disagreeable or
+sensitive.</p>
+
+<p>What Dorothea said was innocent enough&mdash;only a single word of two
+letters, to begin with.</p>
+
+<p>She had been looking blankly at her opposite neighbor for a full minute,
+when she suddenly exclaimed,</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>That was all, but it made everybody look, first at Dolly and then across
+the table. Whereupon the little maid, seeing her blunder, hastened to
+add:</p>
+
+<p>"That's nothin'. My grandma's come out too."</p>
+
+<p>And then, of course, every one noticed that old lady Saxony held her
+dainty hemstitched handkerchief quite over her mouth. Fortunately Mrs.
+Saxony's good sense was as great as her appreciation of humor, and, as
+she shook her finger threateningly at Dorothea, her twinkling eyes gave
+everybody leave to laugh. So "Dolly's terrible break," as Conrad called
+it, really went far to making the dinner a success&mdash;that is, if
+story-telling and laughter and the merry clamor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> such as distinguish the
+gayest of dinner parties the world over count as success.</p>
+
+<p>It was while the Professor was telling a funny story of his boy life in
+Germany that there came a rap at the door, and the children, thinking
+only of Madame Coraline, turned their eyes towards the door, only to see
+the Italian organ-grinder, whom, in the excitement of the dinner party,
+they had forgotten to expect. He was to play for the children to dance
+after dinner, and had come a little early&mdash;or perhaps dinner was late.</p>
+
+<p>Seeing the situation, the old man began bowing himself out, when the
+Professor, winking mysteriously at Mrs. Frey and gesticulating
+animatedly, pointed first to the old Italian and then to Madame
+Coraline's vacant chair. Everybody understood, and smiling faces had
+already shown approval when Mrs. Frey said, quietly, "Let's put it to
+vote. All in favor raise glasses."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 429px;">
+<img src="images/page062.jpg" width="429" height="600" alt="THE ITALIAN ORGAN-GRINDER" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THE ITALIAN ORGAN-GRINDER</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Every glass went up. The old Italian understood little English, but the
+offer of a seat is a simple pantomime, and he was presently declining
+again and again, bowing lower each time, until before he knew it&mdash;all
+the time refusing&mdash;he was in the chair, his plate was filled, and Dolly
+was asking him to have ice-water. No guest of the day was more welcome.
+None en<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>joyed his dinner more, judging from the indications. And as to
+Meg, the moving spirit in the whole party, she was beside herself with
+delight over the unexpected guest.</p>
+
+<p>The dinner all through was what Conrad called a "rattlin' success," and
+the evening afterwards, during which nearly every guest contributed some
+entertainment, was one long to be remembered. The Professor not only
+sang, but danced. Miss Penny whistled so like a canary that one could
+really believe her when she said she always trained her young birds'
+voices. Miss Guyosa told charming folk-lore anecdotes, handed down in
+her family since the old Spanish days in Louisiana.</p>
+
+<p>The smiling organ-grinder played his engaged twenty-five cents' worth of
+tunes over and over again, and when the evening was done, persistently
+refused to take the money until Felix slipped it into his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>The Frey party will long be remembered in the Coppenole house, and
+beyond it, too, for some very pleasant friendships date from this
+Christmas dinner. The old Professor was just the man to help Conrad with
+his German lessons. It was so easy for Meg to send him a cup of hot
+coffee on cold mornings. Mrs. Frey and Miss Guyosa soon found many ties
+in common friends<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> of their youth. Indeed, the twins had gotten their
+French names from a remote creole cousin, who proved to be also a
+kinswoman to Miss Guyosa. It was such a comfort, when Mrs. Frey was kept
+out late at the office, for the children to have Miss Guyosa come and
+sit with them, telling stories or reading aloud; and they brought much
+brightness into her life too.</p>
+
+<p>Madame Coraline soon moved away, and, indeed, before another Christmas
+the Freys had moved too&mdash;to a small cottage all their own, sitting in
+the midst of a pretty rose-garden. Here often come Miss Guyosa and the
+Professor, both welcome guests, and Conrad says the Professor makes love
+to Miss Guyosa, but it is hard to tell.</p>
+
+<p>One cannot keep up with two people who can tell jokes in four languages,
+but the Professor has a way of dropping in as if by accident on the
+evenings Miss Guyosa is visiting the Freys, and they do read the same
+books&mdash;in four languages. There's really no telling.</p>
+
+<p>When the Frey children are playing on the <i>banquette</i> at their front
+gate on sunny afternoons, the old organ-grinder often stops, plays a
+free tune or two for them to dance by, smilingly doffs his hat to the
+open window above, and passes on.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/page064.jpg" width="600" height="385" alt="&quot;THE PROFESSOR NOT ONLY SANG, BUT DANCED&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;THE PROFESSOR NOT ONLY SANG, BUT DANCED&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+<h2>LITTLE MOTHER QUACKALINA</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="LITTLE_MOTHER_QUACKALINA" id="LITTLE_MOTHER_QUACKALINA"></a>LITTLE MOTHER QUACKALINA</h2>
+
+<h3>STORY OF A DUCK FARM</h3>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER I</h3>
+
+<p>The black duck had a hard time of it from the beginning&mdash;that is, from
+the beginning of her life on the farm. She had been a free wild bird up
+to that time, swimming in the bay, playing hide-and-seek with her
+brothers and sisters and cousins among the marsh reeds along the bank,
+and coquettishly diving for "mummies" and catching them "on the swim"
+whenever she craved a fishy morsel. This put a fresh perfume on her
+breath, and made her utterly charming to her seventh cousin, Sir Sooty
+Drake, who always kept himself actually fragrant with the aroma of raw
+fish, and was in all respects a dashing beau. Indeed, she was behaving
+most coyly, daintily swimming in graceful curves around Sir Sooty among
+the marsh-mallow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> clumps at the mouth of "Tarrup Crik," when the shot
+was fired that changed all her prospects in life.</p>
+
+<p>The farmer's boy was a hunter, and so had been his grandfather, and his
+grandfather's gun did its work with a terrific old-fashioned explosion.</p>
+
+<p>When it shot into the great clump of pink mallows everything trembled.
+The air was full of smoke, and for a distance of a quarter of a mile
+away the toads crept out of their hiding and looked up and down the
+road. The chickens picking at the late raspberry bushes in the farmer's
+yard craned their necks, blinked, and didn't swallow another berry for
+fully ten seconds. And a beautiful green caterpillar, that had seen the
+great red rooster mark him with his evil eye, and expected to be gobbled
+up in a twinkling, had time to "hump himself" and crawl under a leaf
+before the astonished rooster recovered from the noise. This is a case
+where the firing of a gun saved at least one life. I wonder how many
+butterflies owe their lives to that gun?</p>
+
+<p>As to the ducks in the clump of mallows that caught the volley, they
+simply tumbled over and gave themselves up for dead.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/page068.jpg" width="600" height="395" alt="&quot;THE FARMER&#39;S BOY WAS A HUNTER&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;THE FARMER&#39;S BOY WAS A HUNTER&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>The heroine of our little story, Lady Quackalina Blackwing, stayed in a
+dead faint for fully seventeen seconds, and the first thing she knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
+when she "came to" was that she was lying under the farmer boy's coat in
+an old basket, and that there was a terrific rumbling in her ears and a
+sharp pain in one wing, that something was sticking her, that Sir Sooty
+was nowhere in sight, and that she wanted her mother and all her
+relations.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, as she began to collect her senses, while she lay on top of the
+live crab that pinched her chest with his claw, she realized that there
+was not a cousin in the world, even to some she had rather disliked,
+that she would not have been most happy to greet at this trying moment.</p>
+
+<p>The crab probably had no unfriendly intention. He was only putting up
+the best hand he had, trying to find some of his own kindred. He had
+himself been lying in a hole in shallow water when the farmer's boy
+raked him in and changed the whole course of his existence.</p>
+
+<p>He and the duck knew each other by sight, but though they were both "in
+the swim," they belonged to different sets, and so were small comfort to
+one another on this journey to the farm.</p>
+
+<p>They both knew some English, and as the farmer's boy spoke part English
+and part "farm," they understood him fairly well when he was telling the
+man digging potatoes in the field that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> was going to "bile" the crab
+in a tomato can and to make a "decoy" out of the duck.</p>
+
+<p>"Bile" and "decoy" were new words to the listeners in the basket, but
+they both knew about tomato cans. The bay and "Tarrup Crik" were strewn
+with them, and the crab had once hidden in one, half imbedded in the
+sand, when he was a "soft-shell." He knew their names, because he had
+studied them before their labels soaked off, and he knew there was no
+malice in them for him, though the young fishes who have soft outsides
+dreaded their sharp edges very much. There is sometimes some advantage
+in having one's skeleton on the surface, like a coat of mail.</p>
+
+<p>And so the crab was rather pleased at the prospect of the tomato can. He
+thought the cans grew in the bay, and so he expected presently to be
+"biled" in his own home waters. The word "biled" probably meant <i>dropped
+in</i>. Ignorance is sometimes bliss, indeed.</p>
+
+<p>Poor little Quackalina, however, was getting less comfort out of her
+ignorance. She thought "decoy" had a foreign sound, as if it might mean
+a French stew. She had had relations who had departed life by way of a
+<i>pur&eacute;e</i>, while others had gone into a <i>saut&eacute;</i> or <i>p&acirc;t&eacute;</i>. Perhaps a
+"decoy" was a <i>p&acirc;t&eacute;</i> with gravy or a <i>pur&eacute;e</i> with a crust on it. If
+worse came to the worst, she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> would prefer the <i>pur&eacute;e</i> with a crust. It
+would be more like decent burial.</p>
+
+<p>Of course she thought these things in duck language, which is not put in
+here, because it is not generally understood. It is quite a different
+thing from Pidgin-English, and it isn't all "quack" any more than French
+is all "au revoir," or Turkey all "gobble, gobble," or goose only a
+string of "S's," or darkey all "howdy."</p>
+
+<p>The crab's thoughts were expressed in his eyes, that began coming out
+like little telescopes until they stood quite over his cheeks. Maybe
+some people think crabs have no cheeks, but that isn't so. They have
+them, but they keep them inside, where they blush unseen, if they blush
+at all.</p>
+
+<p>But this is the story of the black duck. However, perhaps some one who
+reads it will be pleased to know that the crab got away. He sidled
+up&mdash;sidled is a regular word in crab language&mdash;until his left eye could
+see straight into the boy's face, and then he waited. He had long ago
+found that there was nothing to be gained by pinching the duck. It only
+made a row in the basket and got him upset. But, by keeping very still
+and watching his chance, he managed to climb so near the top that when
+the basket<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> gave a lurch he simply vaulted overboard and dropped in the
+field. Then he hid between three mushrooms and a stick until the boy's
+footsteps were out of hearing and he had time to draw in his eyes and
+start for the bay. He had lost his left claw some time before, and the
+new one he was growing was not yet very strong. Still, let us hope that
+he reached there in safety.</p>
+
+<p>The duck knew when he had been trying to get out, but she didn't tell.
+She wanted him to go, for she didn't like his ways. Still, when he had
+gone, she felt lonely. Misery loves company&mdash;even though it be very poor
+company.</p>
+
+<p>But Quackalina had not long to feel lonely. Almost any boy who has shot
+a duck walks home with it pretty fast, and this boy nearly ran. He would
+have run if his legs hadn't been so fat.</p>
+
+<p>The first sound that Quackalina heard when they reached the gate was the
+quacking of a thousand ducks, and it frightened her so that she forgot
+all about the crab and her aching wing and even the decoy. The boy lived
+on a duck farm, and it was here that he had brought her. This would seem
+to be a most happy thing&mdash;but there are ducks and ducks. Poor little
+Quackalina knew the haughty quawk of the proud white ducks of Pekin. She
+knew that she would be only a poor colored person among<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> them, and that
+she, whose mother and grandmother had lived in the swim of best beach
+circles and had looked down upon these incubator whitings, who were
+grown by the pound and had no relations whatever, would now have to
+suffer their scorn.</p>
+
+<p>Even their distant quawk made her quake, though she feared her end was
+near. There are some trivial things that are irritating even in the
+presence of death.</p>
+
+<p>But Quackalina was not soon to die. She did suffer some humiliations,
+and her wing was very painful, but a great discovery soon filled her
+with such joy that nothing else seemed worth thinking about.</p>
+
+<p>There were three other black ducks on the farm, and they hastened to
+tell her that they were already decoys, and that the one pleasant thing
+in being a decoy was that it was <i>not</i> to be killed or cooked or eaten.</p>
+
+<p>This was good news. The life of a decoy-duck was hard enough; but when
+one got accustomed to have its foot tied to the shore, and shots fired
+all around it, one grew almost to enjoy it. It was so exciting. But to
+the timid young duck who had never been through it it was a terrible
+prospect.</p>
+
+<p>And so, for a long time, little Quackalina was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> a very sad duck. She
+loved her cousin, Sir Sooty, and she loved pink mallow blossoms. She
+liked to eat the "mummy" fish alive, and not cooked with sea-weed, as
+the farmer fed them to her.</p>
+
+<p>But most of all she missed Sir Sooty. And so, two weeks later, when her
+wing was nearly well, in its new, drooping shape, what was her joy when
+he himself actually waddled into the farm-yard&mdash;into her very
+presence&mdash;without a single quack of warning.</p>
+
+<p>The feathers of one of his beautiful wings were clipped, but he was
+otherwise looking quite well, and he hastened to tell her that he was
+happy, even in exile, to be with her again. And she believed him.</p>
+
+<p>He had been captured in a very humiliating way, and this he made her
+promise never to tell. He had swum so near the decoy-duck that his foot
+had caught in its string, and before he could get away the farmer had
+him fast. "And now," he quacked, "I'm glad I did it," and Quackalina
+quacked, "So am I." And they were very happy.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/page074.jpg" width="600" height="470" alt="&quot;SIR SOOTY HIMSELF ACTUALLY WADDLED INTO THE FARM-YARD&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;SIR SOOTY HIMSELF ACTUALLY WADDLED INTO THE FARM-YARD&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Indeed, they grew so blissful after a while that they decided to try to
+make the best of farm life and to settle down. So they began meandering
+about on long waddles&mdash;or waddling about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> on long meanders&mdash;all over
+the place, hunting for a cozy hiding-place for a nest. For five whole
+days they hunted before Quackalina finally settled down into the hollow
+that she declared was "just a fit" for her, under the edge of the old
+shanty where the Pekin feathers were stored.</p>
+
+<p>White, fluffy feathers are very beautiful things, and they are soft and
+pleasant to our touch, but they are sad sights to ducks and geese, and
+Quackalina selected a place for her nest where she could never see the
+door open into this dread storehouse.</p>
+
+<p>It was, indeed, very well hidden, and, as if to make it still more
+secure, a friendly golden-rod sprang up quite in front of it, and a
+growth of pepper-grass kindly closed in one side.</p>
+
+<p>Quackalina had never been sent out on decoy duty, and after a time she
+ceased to fear it, but sometimes Sir Sooty had to go, and his little
+wife would feel very anxious until he came back.</p>
+
+<p>There are some very sad parts in this little story, and we are coming to
+one of them now.</p>
+
+<p>The home-nest had been made. There were ten beautiful eggs in it&mdash;all
+polished and shining like opals. And the early golden-rod that stood on
+guard before it was sending out a first yellow spray when troubles began
+to come.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER II</h3>
+
+<p>Quackalina thought she had laid twice as many as ten eggs in the nest,
+but she could not be quite sure, and neither could Sir Sooty, though he
+thought so, too.</p>
+
+<p>Very few poetic people are good at arithmetic, and even fine
+mathematicians are said to forget how to count when they are in love.</p>
+
+<p>Certain it is, however, that when Quackalina finally decided to be
+satisfied to begin sitting, there were exactly ten eggs in the
+nest&mdash;just enough for her to cover well with her warm down and feathers.</p>
+
+<p>"Sitting-time" may seem stupid to those who are not sitting; but
+Quackalina's breast was filled with a gentle content as she sat, day by
+day, behind the golden-rod, and blinked and reflected and listened for
+the dear "paddle, paddle" of Sir Sooty's feet, and his loving "qua',
+qua'"&mdash;a sort of caressing baby-talk that he had adopted in speaking to
+her ever since she had begun her long sitting.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 388px;">
+<img src="images/page076.jpg" width="388" height="600" alt="&quot;&#39;I&#39;M GOIN&#39; TO SWAP &#39;EM&#39;&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;&#39;I&#39;M GOIN&#39; TO SWAP &#39;EM&#39;&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Quackalina was a patient little creature, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> seldom left her nest,
+so that when she did so for a short walk in the glaring sun, she was apt
+to be dizzy and to see strange spots before her eyes. But this would all
+pass away when she got back to her cozy nest in the cool shade.</p>
+
+<p>But one day it did not pass away&mdash;it got worse, or, at least, she
+thought it did. Instead of ten eggs in the nest she seemed to see
+twenty, and they were of a strange, dull color, and their shape seemed
+all wrong. She blinked her eyes nineteen times, and even rubbed them
+with her web-feet, so that she might not see double, but it was all in
+vain. Before her dazzled eyes twenty little pointed eggs lay, and when
+she sat upon them they felt strange to her breast. And then she grew
+faint and was too weak even to call Sir Sooty, but when he came waddling
+along presently, he found her so pale around the bill that he made her
+put out her tongue, and examined her symptoms generally.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Sooty was not a regular doctor, but he was a very good quack, and
+she believed in him, which, in many cases, is the main thing.</p>
+
+<p>So when he grew so tender that his words were almost like "qu, qu," and
+told her that she had been confined too closely and was threatened with
+<i>foie gras</i>, she only sighed and closed her eyes, and, keeping her fears
+to herself, hoped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> that the trouble was all in her eyes indeed&mdash;or her
+liver.</p>
+
+<p>Now the sad part of this tale is that the trouble was not with poor
+little Quackalina's eyes at all. It was in the nest. The same farmer's
+boy who had kept her sitting of eggs down to ten by taking out one every
+day until poor Quackalina's patience was worn out&mdash;the same boy who had
+not used her as a decoy only because he wanted her to stay at home and
+raise little decoy-ducks&mdash;this boy it was who had now chosen to take her
+ten beautiful eggs and put them under a guinea-hen, and to fetch the
+setting of twenty guinea eggs for Quackalina to hatch out.</p>
+
+<p>He did this just because, as he said, "That old black duck 'll hatch out
+as many eggs again as a guinea-hen will, an' the guinea 'll cover her
+ten eggs <i>easy</i>. I'm goin' to swap 'em." And "swap 'em" he did.</p>
+
+<p>Nobody knows how the guinea-hen liked her sitting, for none but herself
+and the boy knew where her nest was hidden in a pile of old rubbish down
+by the cow-pond.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/page078.jpg" width="600" height="390" alt="&quot;MADE HER PUT OUT HER TONGUE&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;MADE HER PUT OUT HER TONGUE&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>When a night had passed, and a new day showed poor Quackalina the twenty
+little eggs actually under her breast&mdash;eggs so little that she could
+roll two at once under her foot&mdash;she did not know what to think. But
+like many patient<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> people when great sorrows come, she kept very still
+and never told her fears.</p>
+
+<p>She had never seen a guinea egg before in all her life. There were
+birds' nests in some of the reeds along shore, and she knew their little
+toy eggs. She knew the eggs of snakes, too, and of terrapins, or
+"tarrups," as they are called by the farmer folk along the bay.</p>
+
+<p>When first she discovered the trouble in the nest she thought of these,
+and the very idea of a great procession of little turtles starting out
+from under her some fine morning startled her so that her head lay limp
+against the golden-rod for fully thirteen seconds. Then she got better,
+but it was not until she had taken a nip at the pepper-grass that she
+was sufficiently warmed up to hold up her head and think. And when she
+thought, she was comforted. These dainty pointed eggs were not in the
+least like the soft clumsy "double-enders" that the turtles lay in the
+sand. Besides, how could turtle-eggs have gotten there anyway? How much
+easier for one head to go wrong than twenty eggs.</p>
+
+<p>She chuckled at the very folly of her fears, and nestling down into the
+place, she soon began to nod. And presently she had a funny, funny
+dream, which is much too long to go into this story, which is a great
+pity, for her dream is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> quite as interesting as the real story, although
+it is not half so true.</p>
+
+<p>Sitting-time, after this, seemed very long to Quackalina, but after a
+while she began to know by various little stirrings under her downy
+breast that it was almost over. At the first real movement against her
+wing she felt as if everything about her was singing and saying,
+"mother! mother!" and bowing to her.</p>
+
+<p>Even the pepper-grass nodded and the golden-rod, and careless roosters
+as they passed <i>seemed</i> to lower their combs to her and to forget
+themselves, just for a minute. And a great song was in her own bosom&mdash;a
+great song of joy&mdash;and although the sound that came from her beautiful
+coral bill was only a soft "qua', qua'," to common ears, to those who
+have the finest hearing it was full of a heavenly tenderness. But there
+was a tremor in it, too&mdash;a tremor of fear; and the fear was so terrible
+that it kept her from looking down even when she knew a little head was
+thrusting itself up through her great warm wing. She drew the wing as a
+caressing arm lovingly about it though, and saying to herself, "I must
+wait till they are all come; then I'll look," she gazed upward at the
+moon that was just showing a rim of gold over the hay-stack&mdash;and closed
+her eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There was no sleep that long night for little mother Quackalina.</p>
+
+<p>It was a great, great night. Under her breast, wonderful happenings
+every minute; outside, the white moonlight; and always in sight across
+the yard, just a dark object against the ground&mdash;Sir Sooty, sound
+asleep, like a philosopher!</p>
+
+<p>Oh yes, it was a great, great night. Its last hours before day were very
+dark and sorrowful, and by the time a golden gleam shot out of the east
+Quackalina knew that her first glance into the nest must bring her
+grief. The tiny restless things beneath her brooding wings were chirping
+in an unknown tongue. But their wiry Japanesy voices, that clinked
+together like little copper kettles, were very young and helpless, and
+Quackalina was a true mother-duck, and her heart went out to them.</p>
+
+<p>When the fatal moment came and she really looked down into the nest, her
+relief in seeing beautiful feathered things, at least, was greater than
+any other feeling. It was something not to have to mother a lot of
+"tarrups," certainly.</p>
+
+<p>Little guineas are very beautiful, and when presently Quackalina found
+herself crossing the yard with her twenty dainty red-booted hatchlings,
+although she longed for her own dear, ugly, smoky, "beautiful"
+ducklings, she could not help<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> feeling pleasure and pride in the
+exquisite little creatures that had stepped so briskly into life from
+beneath her own breast.</p>
+
+<p>It was natural that she should have hurried to the pond with her brood.
+Wouldn't she have taken her own ducklings there? If these were only
+little "step-ducks," she was resolved that, in the language of
+step-mothers, "they should never know the difference." She would begin
+by taking them in swimming.</p>
+
+<p>Besides, she longed for the pond herself. It was the place where she
+could best think quietly and get things straightened in her mind.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Sooty had not seen her start off with her new family. He had said to
+himself that he had lost so much rest all night that he must have a good
+breakfast, and so, at the moment when Quackalina and the guineas slipped
+around the stable to the cow-pond, he was actually floundering in the
+very centre of one of the feed-troughs in the yard, and letting the
+farmer turn the great mass of cooked "feed" all over him. Greedy ducks
+often act that way. Even the snow-white Pekins do it. It is bad enough
+any time, but on the great morning when one becomes a papa-duck he ought
+to try to be dignified, and Sir Sooty knew it. And he knew full well
+that events had been happening all night in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> the nest, and that was why
+he said he had lost rest. But he hadn't. A great many people are like
+Sir Sooty. They say they lose sleep when they don't.</p>
+
+<p>But listen to what was taking place at the cow-pond, for it is this that
+made this story seem worth the telling.</p>
+
+<p>When Quackalina reached the pond, she flapped her tired wings three
+times from pure gladness at the sight of the beautiful water. And then,
+plunging in, she took one delightful dive before she turned to the
+shore, and in the sweetest tones invited the little ones to follow her.</p>
+
+<p>But they&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Well, they just looked down at their red satin boots and shook their
+heads. And then it was that Quackalina noticed their feet, and saw that
+they would never swim.</p>
+
+<p>It was a great shock to her. She paddled along shore quite near them for
+a while, trying to be resigned to it. And then she waddled out on the
+grassy bank, and fed them with some newts, and a tadpole, and a few
+blue-bottle flies, and a snail, and several other delicacies, which they
+seemed to enjoy quite as much as if they had been young ducks. And then
+Quackalina, seeing them quite happy, struck out for the very middle of
+the pond. She would have one glorious outing,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> at least. Oh, how sweet
+the water was! How it soothed the tender spots under her weary wings!
+How it cooled her ears and her tired eyelids! And now&mdash;and now&mdash;and
+now&mdash;as she dived and dipped and plunged&mdash;how it cheered and comforted
+her heart! How faithfully it bore her on its cool bosom! For a few
+minutes, in the simple joy of her bath, she even forgot to be sorrowful.</p>
+
+<p>And now comes the dear part of the troublous tale of this little black
+mother-duck&mdash;the part that is so pleasant to write&mdash;the part that it
+will be good to read.</p>
+
+<p>When at last Quackalina, turning, said to herself, "I must go ashore now
+and look after my little steppies," she raised her eyes and looked
+before her to see just where she was. And then the vision she seemed to
+see was so strange and so beautiful that&mdash;well, she said afterwards that
+she never knew just how she bore it.</p>
+
+<p>Just before her, on the water, swimming easily on its trusty surface,
+were ten little ugly, smoky, "beautiful" ducks! Ten little ducks that
+looked precisely like every one of Quackalina's relations! And now they
+saw her and began swimming towards her.</p>
+
+<p>Before she knew it, Quackalina had flapped her great wings and quacked
+aloud three times,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> and three times again! And she didn't know she was
+doing it, either.</p>
+
+<p>She did know, though, that in less time than it has taken to tell it,
+her own ten beautiful ducks were close about her, and that she was
+kissing each one somewhere with her great red bill. And then she saw
+that upon the bank a nervous, hysterical guinea-hen was tearing along,
+and in a voice like a carving-knife screeching aloud with terror. It
+went through Quackalina's bosom like a neuralgia, but she didn't mind it
+very much. Indeed, she forgot it instantly when she looked down upon her
+ducklings again, and she even forgot to think about it any more. And so
+it was that the beautiful thing that was happening on the bank, under
+her very eyes almost, never came to Quackalina's knowledge at all.</p>
+
+<p>When her own bosom was as full of joy as it could be, why should she
+have turned at the sound of the carving-knife voice to look ashore, and
+to notice that at its first note there were twenty little pocket-knife
+answers from over the pond, and that in a twinkling twenty pairs of red
+satin boots were running as fast as they could go to meet the great
+speckled mother-hen, whose blady voice was the sweetest music in all the
+world to them?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>When, after quite a long time, Quackalina began to realize things, and
+thought of the little guineas, and said to herself, "Goodness gracious
+me!" she looked anxiously ashore for them, but not a red boot could she
+see. The whole delighted guinea family were at that moment having a
+happy time away off in the cornfield out of sight and hearing.</p>
+
+<p>This was very startling, and Quackalina grieved a little because she
+couldn't grieve more. She didn't understand it at all, and it made her
+almost afraid to go ashore, so she kept her ten little ducklings out
+upon the water nearly all day.</p>
+
+<p>And now comes a very amusing thing in this story.</p>
+
+<p>When this great, eventful day was passed, and Quackalina was sitting
+happily among the reeds with her dear ones under her wings, while Sir
+Sooty waddled proudly around her with the waddle that Quackalina thought
+the most graceful walk in the world, she began to tell him what had
+happened, beginning at the time when she noticed that the eggs were
+wrong.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Sooty listened very indulgently for a while, and then&mdash;it is a pity
+to tell it on him, but he actually burst out laughing, and told her,
+with the most patronizing quack in the world, that it was "all
+imagination."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/page086.jpg" width="600" height="389" alt="&quot;HER OWN TEN BEAUTIFUL DUCKS WERE CLOSE ABOUT HER&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;HER OWN TEN BEAUTIFUL DUCKS WERE CLOSE ABOUT HER&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p>
+<p>And when Quackalina insisted with tears and even a sob or two that it
+was every word true, he quietly looked at her tongue again, and then he
+said a very long word for a quack doctor. It sounded like 'lucination.
+And he told Quackalina never, on any account, to tell any one else so
+absurd a tale, and that it was only a canard&mdash;which was very flippant
+and unkind, in several ways. There are times when even good jokes are
+out of place.</p>
+
+<p>At this, Quackalina said that she would take him to the nest and show
+him the little pointed egg-shells. And she did take him there, too. Late
+at night, when all honest ducks, excepting somnambulists and such as
+have vindications on hand, are asleep, Quackalina led the way back to
+the old nest. But when she got there, although the clear, white
+moonlight lay upon everything and revealed every blade of grass, not a
+vestige of nest or straw or shell remained in sight.</p>
+
+<p>The farmer's boy had cleared them all away.</p>
+
+<p>By this time Quackalina began to be mystified herself, and after a
+while, seeing only her own ten ducks always near, and never sighting
+such a thing as little, flecked, red-booted guineas, she really came to
+doubt whether it had all happened or not.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And even to this day she is not quite sure. How she and all her family
+finally got away and became happy wild birds again is another story. But
+while Quackalina sits and blinks upon the bank among the mallows, with
+all her ugly "beautiful" children around her, she sometimes even yet
+wonders if the whole thing could have been a nightmare, after all.</p>
+
+<p>But it was no nightmare. It was every word true. If anybody doesn't
+believe it, let him ask the guineas.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
+<h2>OLD EASTER</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="OLD_EASTER" id="OLD_EASTER"></a>OLD EASTER</h2>
+
+
+<p>Nearly everybody in New Orleans knew Old Easter, the candy-woman. She
+was very black, very wrinkled, and very thin, and she spoke with a wiry,
+cracked voice that would have been pitiful to hear had it not been so
+merry and so constantly heard in the funny high laughter that often
+announced her before she turned a street corner, as she hobbled along by
+herself with her old candy-basket balanced on her head.</p>
+
+<p>People who had known her for years said that she had carried her basket
+in this way for so long that she could walk more comfortably with it
+than without it. Certainly her head and its burden seemed to give her
+less trouble than her feet, as she picked her way along the uneven
+<i>banquettes</i> with her stick. But then her feet were tied up in so many
+rags that even if they had been young and strong it would have been hard
+for her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> to walk well with them. Sometimes the rags were worn inside her
+shoes and sometimes outside, according to the shoes she wore. All of
+these were begged or picked out of trash heaps, and she was not at all
+particular about them, just so they were big enough to hold her old
+rheumatic feet&mdash;though she showed a special liking for men's boots.</p>
+
+<p>When asked why she preferred to wear boots she would always answer,
+promptly, "Ter keep off snake bites"; and then she would almost
+certainly, if there were listeners enough, continue in this fashion:
+"You all young trash forgits dat I dates back ter de snake days in dis
+town. Why, when I was a li'l' gal, about <i>so</i> high, I was walkin' along
+Canal Street one day, barefeeted, an' not lookin' down, an' terrectly I
+feel some'h'n' nip me '<i>snip!</i>' in de big toe, an' lookin' quick I see a
+grea' big rattlesnake&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>As she said "snip," the street children who were gathered around her
+would start and look about them, half expecting to see a great snake
+suddenly appear upon the flag-stones of the pavement.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 349px;">
+<img src="images/page092.jpg" width="349" height="575" alt="OLD EASTER" title="" />
+<span class="caption">OLD EASTER</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>At this the old woman would scream with laughter as she assured them
+that there were thousands of serpents there now that they couldn't see,
+because they had only "single<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> sight," and that many times when they
+thought mosquitoes were biting them they were being "'tackted by deze
+heah onvisible snakes."</p>
+
+<p>It is easy to see why the children would gather about her to listen to
+her talk.</p>
+
+<p>Nobody knew how old Easter was. Indeed, she did not know herself, and
+when any one asked her, she would say, "I 'spec' I mus' be 'long about
+twenty-fo'," or, "Don't you reckon I mus' be purty nigh on to nineteen?"
+And then, when she saw from her questioner's face that she had made a
+mistake, she would add, quickly: "I means twenty-fo' <i>hund'ed</i>, honey,"
+or, "I means a <i>hund'ed</i> an' nineteen," which latter amendment no doubt
+came nearer the truth.</p>
+
+<p>Having arrived at a figure that seemed to be acceptable, she would
+generally repeat it, in this way:</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, missy; I was twenty-fo' hund'ed years ole las' Easter Sunday."</p>
+
+<p>The old woman had never forgotten that she had been named Easter because
+she was born on that day, and so she always claimed Easter Sunday as her
+birthday, and no amount of explanation would convince her that this was
+not always true.</p>
+
+<p>"What diff'ence do it make ter me ef it comes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> soon or late, I like ter
+know?" she would argue. "Ef it comes soon, I gits my birfday presents
+dat much quicker; an' ef it comes late, you all got dat much mo' time
+ter buy me some mo'. 'Tain't fur me ter deny my birfday caze it moves
+round."</p>
+
+<p>And then she would add, with a peal of her high, cracked laughter: "Seem
+ter me, de way I keeps a-livin' on&mdash;an' a-livin' on&mdash;<i>an' a-livin'
+on</i>&mdash;maybe deze heah slip-aroun' birfdays don't pin a pusson down ter
+ole age so close't as de clock-work reg'lars does."</p>
+
+<p>And then, if she were in the mood for it, she would set her basket down,
+and, without lifting her feet from the ground, go through a number of
+quick and comical movements, posing with her arms and body in a way that
+was absurdly like dancing.</p>
+
+<p>Old Easter had been a very clever woman in her day, and many an extra
+picayune had been dropped into her wrinkled palm&mdash;nobody remembered the
+time when it wasn't wrinkled&mdash;in the old days, just because of some
+witty answer she had given while she untied the corner of her
+handkerchief for the coins to make change in selling her candy.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 376px;">
+<img src="images/page094.jpg" width="376" height="600" alt="&quot;&#39;YAS, MISSY, I WAS TWENTY FO&#39; HOND&#39;ED YEARS OLE, LAS&#39;
+EASTER SUNDAY&#39;&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;&#39;YAS, MISSY, I WAS TWENTY FO&#39; HOND&#39;ED YEARS OLE, LAS&#39;
+EASTER SUNDAY&#39;&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>One of the very interesting things about the old woman was her memory.
+It was really very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> pleasant to talk with a person who could
+distinctly recall General Jackson and Governor Claiborne, who would tell
+blood-curdling tales of Lafitte the pirate and of her own wonderful
+experiences when as a young girl she had served his table at Barataria.</p>
+
+<p>If, as her memory failed her, the old creature was tempted into making
+up stories to supply the growing demand, it would not be fair to blame
+her too severely. Indeed, it is not at all certain that, as the years
+passed, she herself knew which of the marvellous tales she related were
+true and which made to order.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, sir," she would say, "I ricollec' when all dis heah town wasn't
+nothin' but a alligator swamp&mdash;no houses&mdash;no fences&mdash;no streets&mdash;no
+gas-postes&mdash;no 'lection lights&mdash;no&mdash;<i>no river</i>&mdash;<i>no nothin'</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>If she had only stopped before she got to the river, she would have kept
+the faith of her hearers better, but it wouldn't have been half so
+funny.</p>
+
+<p>"There wasn't anything here then but you and the snakes, I suppose?" So
+a boy answered her one day, thinking to tease her a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, me an' de snakes an' alligators an' Gineral Jackson an' my ole
+marster's gran'daddy an'&mdash;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"And Adam?" added the mischievous fellow, still determined to worry her
+if possible.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, Marse Adam an' ole Mistus, Mis' Eve, an' de great big p'isonous
+fork-tailed snake wha' snatch de apple dat Marse Adam an' Mis' Eve was
+squabblin' over&mdash;an' et it up!"</p>
+
+<p>When she had gotten this far, while the children chuckled, she began
+reaching for her basket, that she had set down upon the <i>banquette</i>.
+Lifting it to her head, now, she walled her eyes around mysteriously as
+she added:</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, an' you better look out fur dat p'isonous fork-tailed snake, caze
+he's agoin' roun' hear right now; an' de favoristest dinner dat he
+craves ter eat is des sech no-'count, sassy, questionin' street-boys
+like you is."</p>
+
+<p>And with a toss of her head that set her candy-basket swaying and a peal
+of saw-teeth laughter, she started off, while her would-be teaser found
+that the laugh was turned on himself.</p>
+
+<p>It was sometimes hard to know when Easter was serious or when she was
+amusing herself&mdash;when she was sensible or when she wandered in her mind.
+And to the thoughtless it was always hard to take her seriously.</p>
+
+<p>Only those who, through all her miserable rags and absurdities, saw the
+very poor and pitiful old, old woman, who seemed always to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
+companionless and alone, would sometimes wonder about her, and, saying a
+kind and encouraging word, drop a few coins in her slim, black hand
+without making her lower her basket. Or they would invite her to "call
+at the house" for some old worn flannels or odds and ends of cold
+victuals.</p>
+
+<p>And there were a few who never forgot her in their Easter offerings, for
+which, as for all other gifts, she was requested to "call at the back
+gate." This seemed, indeed, the only way of reaching the weird old
+creature, who had for so many years appeared daily upon the streets,
+nobody seemed to know from where, disappearing with the going down of
+the sun as mysteriously as the golden disk itself. Of course, if any one
+had cared to insist upon knowing how she lived or where she stayed at
+nights, he might have followed her at a distance. But it is sometimes
+very easy for a very insignificant and needy person to rebuff those who
+honestly believe themselves eager to help. And so, when Old Easter, the
+candy-woman, would say, in answer to inquiries about her life, "I sleeps
+at night 'way out by de Metarie Ridge Cemetery, an' gets up in de
+mornin' up at de Red Church. I combs my ha'r wid de <i>latanier</i>, an'
+washes my face in de Ole Basin," it was so easy for those who wanted to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+help her to say to their consciences, "She doesn't want us to know where
+she lives," and, after a few simple kindnesses, to let the matter drop.</p>
+
+<p>The above ready reply to what she would have called their "searchin'
+question" proved her a woman of quick wit and fine imagination. Anybody
+who knows New Orleans at all well knows that Metarie Ridge Cemetery,
+situated out of town in the direction of the lake shore, and the old Red
+Church, by the riverside above Carrollton, are several miles apart.
+People know this as well as they know that the <i>latanier</i> is the
+palmetto palm of the Southern wood, with its comb-like, many-toothed
+leaves, and that the Old Basin is a great pool of scum-covered, murky
+water, lying in a thickly-settled part of the French town, where numbers
+of small sailboats, coming in through the bayou with their cargoes of
+lumber from the coast of the Sound, lie against one another as they
+discharge and receive their freight.</p>
+
+<p>If all the good people who knew her in her grotesque and pitiful street
+character had been asked suddenly to name the very poorest and most
+miserable person in New Orleans, they would almost without doubt have
+immediately replied, "Why, old Aunt Easter, the candy-woman. Who could
+be poorer than she?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>To be old and black and withered and a beggar, with nothing to recommend
+her but herself&mdash;her poor, insignificant, ragged self&mdash;who knew nobody
+and whom nobody knew&mdash;that was to be poor, indeed.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, Old Easter was not a professional beggar, but it was well
+known that before she disappeared from the streets every evening one end
+of her long candy-basket was generally pretty well filled with loose
+paper parcels of cold victuals, which she was always sure to get at
+certain kitchen doors from kindly people who didn't care for her poor
+brown twists. There had been days in the past when Easter peddled light,
+porous sticks of snow-white taffy, cakes of toothsome sugar-candy filled
+with fresh orange-blossoms, and pralines of pecans or cocoa-nut. But one
+cannot do everything.</p>
+
+<p>One cannot be expected to remember General Jackson, spin long,
+imaginative yarns of forgotten days, and make up-to-date pralines at the
+same time. If the people who had ears to listen had known the thing to
+value, this old, old woman could have sold her memories, her wit, and
+even her imagination better than she had ever sold her old-fashioned
+sweets.</p>
+
+<p>But the world likes molasses candy. And so Old Easter, whose meagre
+confections grew poor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>er as her stories waxed in richness, walked the
+streets in rags and dirt and absolute obscurity.</p>
+
+<p>An old lame dog, seeming instinctively to know her as his companion in
+misery, one day was observed to crouch beside her, and, seeing him, she
+took down her basket and entertained him from her loose paper parcels.</p>
+
+<p>And once&mdash;but this was many years ago, and the incident was quite
+forgotten now&mdash;when a crowd of street fellows began pelting Crazy Jake,
+a foolish, half-paralyzed black boy, who begged along the streets,
+Easter had stepped before him, and, after receiving a few of their clods
+in her face, had struck out into the gang of his tormenters, grabbed two
+of its principal leaders by the seats of their trousers, spanked them
+until they begged for mercy, and let them go.</p>
+
+<p>Nobody knew what had become of Crazy Jake after that. Nobody cared. The
+poor human creature who is not due at any particular place at any
+particular time can hardly be missed, even when the time comes when he
+himself misses the <i>here</i> and the <i>there</i> where he has been wont to
+spend his miserable days, even when he, perhaps having no one else, it
+is possible that he misses his tormenters.</p>
+
+<p>It was a little school-girl who saw the old woman lower her basket to
+share her scraps with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> the street dog. It seemed to her a pretty act,
+and so she told it when she went home. And she told it again at the next
+meeting of the particular "ten" of the King's Daughters of which she was
+a member.</p>
+
+<p>And this was how the name of Easter, the old black candy-woman, came to
+be written upon their little book as their chosen object of charity for
+the coming year.</p>
+
+<p>The name was not written, however, without some opposition, some
+discussion, and considerable argument. There were several of the ten who
+could not easily consent to give up the idea of sending their little
+moneys to an Indian or a Chinaman&mdash;or to a naked black fellow in his
+native Africa.</p>
+
+<p>There is something attractive in the savage who sticks bright feathers
+in his hair, carries a tomahawk, and wears moccasins upon his nimble
+feet. Most young people take readily to the idea of educating a
+picturesque savage and teaching him that the cast-off clothes they send
+him are better than his beads and feathers. The picturesque quality is
+very winning, find it where we may.</p>
+
+<p>People at a distance may see how very much more interesting and
+picturesque the old black woman, Easter, was than any of these, but she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
+did not seem so to the ten good little maidens who finally agreed to
+adopt her for their own&mdash;to find her out in her home life, and to help
+her.</p>
+
+<p>With them it was an act of simple pity&mdash;an act so pure in its motive
+that it became in itself beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps the idea gained a little following from the fact that Easter
+Sunday was approaching, and there was a pleasing fitness in the old
+woman's name when it was proposed as an object for their Easter
+offerings. But this is a slight consideration.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly when three certain very pious little maidens started out on
+the following Saturday morning to find the old woman, Easter, they were
+full of interest in their new object, and chattered like magpies, all
+three together, about the beautiful things they were going to do for
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow, it never occurred to them that they might not find her either
+at the Jackson Street and St. Charles Avenue corner, or down near Lee
+Circle, or at the door of the Southern Athletic Club, at the corner of
+Washington and Prytania streets.</p>
+
+<p>But they found her at none of the familiar haunts; they did not discover
+any trace of her all that day, or for quite a week afterward.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> They had
+inquired of the grocery-man at the corner where she often rested&mdash;of the
+portresses of several schools where she sometimes peddled her candy at
+recess-time, and at the bakery where she occasionally bought a loaf of
+yesterday's bread. But nobody remembered having seen her recently.</p>
+
+<p>Several people knew and were pleased to tell how she always started out
+in the direction of the swamp every evening when the gas was lit in the
+city, and that she turned out over the bridge along Melpomene Street,
+stopping to collect stray bits of cabbage leaves and refuse vegetables
+where the bridgeway leads through Dryades Market. Some said that she had
+a friend there, who hid such things for her to find, under one of the
+stalls, but this may not have been true.</p>
+
+<p>It was on the Saturday morning after their first search that three
+little "Daughters of the King" started out a second time, determined if
+possible to trace Old Easter to her hiding-place.</p>
+
+<p>It was a shabby, ugly, and crowded part of town in which, following the
+bridged road, and inquiring as they went, they soon found themselves.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time it seemed a fruitless search, and they were almost
+discouraged when across a field, limping along before a half-shabby,
+fallen gate, they saw an old, lame, yellow dog.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was the story of her sharing her dinner with the dog on the street
+that had won these eager friends for the old woman, and so, perhaps,
+from an association of ideas, they crossed the field, timidly, half
+afraid of the poor miserable beast that at once attracted and repelled
+them.</p>
+
+<p>But they need not have feared. As soon as he knew they were visitors,
+the social fellow began wagging his little stump of a tail, and with a
+sort of coaxing half-bark asked them to come in and make themselves at
+home.</p>
+
+<p>Not so cordial, however, was the shy and reluctant greeting of the old
+woman, Easter, who, after trying in vain to rise from her chair as they
+entered her little room, motioned to them to be seated on her bed. There
+was no other seat vacant, the second chair of the house being in use by
+a crippled black man, who sat out upon the back porch, nodding.</p>
+
+<p>As they took their seats, the yellow dog, who had acted as usher,
+squatted serenely in their midst, with what seemed a broad grin upon his
+face, and then it was that the little maid who had seen the incident
+recognized him as the poor old street dog who had shared old Easter's
+dinner.</p>
+
+<p>Two other dogs, poor, ugly, common fellows,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> had strolled out as they
+came in, and there were several cats lying huddled together in the sun
+beside the chair of the sleeping figure on the back porch.</p>
+
+<p>It was a poor little home&mdash;as poor as any imagination could picture it.
+There were holes in the floor&mdash;holes in the roof&mdash;cracks everywhere. It
+was, indeed, not considered, to use a technical word, "tenable," and
+there was no rent to pay for living in it.</p>
+
+<p>But, considering things, it was pretty clean. And when its mistress
+presently recovered from her surprise at her unexpected visitors, she
+began to explain that "ef she'd 'a' knowed dey was comin' to call, she
+would 'a' scoured up a little."</p>
+
+<p>Her chief apologies, however, were for the house itself and its
+location, "away outside o' quality neighborhoods in de swampy fields."</p>
+
+<p>"I des camps out here, missy," she finally explained, "bec'ase dey's mo'
+room an' space fur my family." And here she laughed&mdash;a high, cracked
+peal of laughter&mdash;as she waved her hand in the direction of the back
+porch.</p>
+
+<p>"Dey ain't nobody ter pleg Crazy Jake out here, an' him an' me, wid deze
+here lame an' crippled cats an' dogs&mdash;why, we sets out yonder an' talks
+together in de evenin's after de 'lection lights is lit in de tower
+market and de moon is lit in de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> sky. An' Crazy Jake&mdash;why, when de
+moon's on de full, Crazy Jake he can talk knowledge good ez you kin. I
+fetched him out here about a million years ago, time dey was puttin' him
+in de streets, caze dey was gwine hurt him. An' he knows mighty smart,
+git him ter talkin' right time o' de moon! But mos' gin'ally he forgits.</p>
+
+<p>"Ef I hadn't 'a' fell an' sprained my leg las' week, de bread it
+wouldn't 'a' 'mos' give out, like it is, but I done melt down de insides
+o' some ole condense'-milk cans, an' soak de dry bread in it for him,
+an' to-morrer I'm gwine out ag'in. Yas, to-morrer I'm bleeged to go,
+caze you know to-morrer dats my birfday, an' all my family dey looks for
+a party on my birfday&mdash;don't you, you yaller, stub-tail feller you! Ef e
+warn't sort o' hongry, I'd make him talk fur yer; but I 'ain't learnt
+him much yit. He's my new-comer!"</p>
+
+<p>This last was addressed to the yellow dog.</p>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/page106.jpg" width="600" height="218" alt="&quot;&#39;DE CATS? WHY, HONEY, DEY WELCOME TO COME AN&#39; GO&#39;&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;&#39;DE CATS? WHY, HONEY, DEY WELCOME TO COME AN&#39; GO&#39;&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>"I had blin' Pete out here till 'istiddy. I done 'dopted him las' year,
+but he struck out ag'in beggin', 'caze he say he can't stand dis heah
+soaked victuals. But Pete, he ain't rale blin', nohow. He's des got a
+sinkin' sperit, an' he can't work, an' I keeps him caze a sinkin' sperit
+what ain't got no git-up to it hit's a heap wuss 'n blin'ness. He's got
+deze heah yaller-whited eyes, an' when he draps his leds over 'em an'
+trimbles 'em, you'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> swear he was stone-blin', an' dat stuff wha' he
+rubs on 'em it's inju'ious to de sight, so I keeps him and takes keer of
+him now so I won't have a blin' man on my hands&mdash;an' to save him f'om
+sin, too.</p>
+
+<p>"Ma'am? What you say, missy? De cats? Why, honey, dey welcome to come
+an' go. I des picked 'em up here an' dar 'caze dey was whinin'. Any
+breathin' thing dat I sees dat's poorer 'n what I is, why, I fetches 'em
+out once-t, an' dey mos' gin'ally stays.</p>
+
+<p>"But if you yo'ng ladies 'll come out d'reckly after Easter Sunday, when
+I got my pervisions in, why I'll show you how de ladies intertain dey
+company in de old days when Gin'ral Jackson used ter po' de wine."</p>
+
+<p>Needless to say, there was such a birthday party as had never before
+been known in the little shanty on the Easter following the visit of the
+three little maids of the King's Daughters.</p>
+
+<p>When Old Easter had finished her duties as hostess, sharing her good
+things equally with those who sat at her little table and those who
+squatted in an outer circle on the floor, she remarked that it carried
+her away back to old times when she stood behind the governor's chair
+"while he h'isted his wineglass an' drink ter de ladies' side curls."
+And Crazy Jake said yes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> he remembered, too. And then he began to nod,
+while blind Pete remarked, "To my eyes de purtiest thing about de whole
+birfday party is de bo'quet o' Easter lilies in de middle o' de table."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SAINT IDYL'S LIGHT</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="SAINT_IDYLS_LIGHT" id="SAINT_IDYLS_LIGHT"></a>SAINT IDYL'S LIGHT</h2>
+
+
+<p>You would never have guessed that her name was Idyl&mdash;the slender,
+angular little girl of thirteen years who stood in her faded gown of
+checkered homespun on the brow of the Mississippi River. And fancy a
+saint balancing a bucket of water on top of her head!</p>
+
+<p>Yet, as she puts the pail down beside her, the evening sun gleaming
+through her fair hair seems to transform it into a halo, as some one
+speaks her name, "Saint Idyl."</p>
+
+<p>Her thin, little ears, sun-filled as she stands, are crimson disks; and
+the outlines of her upper arms, dimly seen through the flimsy sleeves,
+are as meagre as are the ankles above her bare, slim feet.</p>
+
+<p>The appellation "Saint Idyl," given first in playful derision, might
+have been long ago forgotten but for the incident which this story
+records.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was three years before, when the plantation children, colored and
+white together, had been saying, as is a fashion with them, what they
+would like to be.</p>
+
+<p>One had chosen a "blue-eyed lady wid flounces and a pink fan," another a
+"fine white 'oman wid long black curls an' ear-rings," and a third would
+have been "a hoop-skirted lady wid a tall hat."</p>
+
+<p>It was then that Idyl, the only white child of the group&mdash;the adopted
+orphan of the overseer's family&mdash;had said:</p>
+
+<p>"I'd choose to be a saint, like the one in the glass winder in the
+church, with light shinin' from my head. I'd walk all night up and down
+the 'road bend,' so travellers could see the way and wagons wouldn't get
+stallded."</p>
+
+<p>The children had shuddered and felt half afraid at this.</p>
+
+<p>"But you'd git stallded yo'se'f in dat black mud&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"An' de runaways in de canebrake 'd ketch yer&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"An' de paterole'd shoot yer&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"An' eve'body'd think you was a walkin' sperit, an' run away f'om yer."</p>
+
+<p>So the protests had come in, though the gleaming eyes of the little
+negroes had shown their delight in the fantastic idea.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But I'd walk on a cloud, like the saint in the picture," Idyl had
+insisted. "And my feet wouldn't touch the mud, and when the runaways
+looked into my face, they'd try to be good and go back to their masters.
+Nobody would hurt me. Tired horses would be glad to see my light, and
+everybody would love me."</p>
+
+<p>So, first laughingly, and then as a matter of habit, she had come to be
+known as "Saint Idyl."</p>
+
+<p>As she stands quite still, with face uplifted, out on the levee this
+evening, one is reminded in looking at her of the "Maid of Domremi"
+listening to the voices.</p>
+
+<p>Idyl was in truth listening to voices&mdash;voices new, strange, and
+solemn&mdash;voices of heavy, distant cannon.</p>
+
+<p>It was the 23d of April, 1862. A few miles below Bijou Plantation
+Farragut's fleet was storming the blockade at Fort Jackson. All along
+the lower Mississippi it was a time of dread and terror.</p>
+
+<p>The negroes, for the most part awed and terror-stricken, muttered
+prayers as they went about, and all night long sang mournfully and
+shouted and prayed in the churches or in groups in their cabins, or even
+in the road.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The war had come at last. Its glare was upon the sky at night, and all
+day long reiterated its persistent staccato menace:</p>
+
+<p>"Boom-m-m! Gloom-m-m! Tomb-b-b! Doom-m-m!"</p>
+
+<p>The air had never seemed to lose the vibratory tremor, "M-m-m!" since
+the first gun, nearly six days ago.</p>
+
+<p>It was as if the lips of the land were trembling. And the trembling lips
+of the black mothers, as they pressed their babes to their bosoms,
+echoed the wordless terror.</p>
+
+<p>Death was in the air. Had they doubted it? In a field near by a shell
+had fallen, burying itself in the earth, and, exploding, had sent two
+men into the air, killing one and returning the other unhurt.</p>
+
+<p>Now the survivor, saved as by a miracle, was preaching "The Wrath to
+Come."</p>
+
+<p>To quote from himself, he had "been up to heaven long enough to get
+'ligion." He had "gone up a lost sinner and come down a saved soul.
+Bless Gord!"</p>
+
+<p>Regarding his life as charmed, the blacks followed him in crowds, while
+he descanted upon the text: "Then two shall be in the field. One shall
+be taken and the other left."</p>
+
+<p>A great revival was in progress.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But this afternoon the levee at Bijou had been the scene of a new panic.</p>
+
+<p>Rumor said that the blockade chain had been cut. Farragut's war monsters
+might any moment come snorting up the river. Nor was this all. The only
+local defence here was a volunteer artillery company of "Exempts." Old
+"Captain Doc," their leader, also local druggist and postmaster (doctor
+and minister only in emergency), was a unique and picturesque figure.
+Full of bombast as of ultimate kindness of feeling, he was equally happy
+in all of his four offices.</p>
+
+<p>The "Rev. Capt. Doc, M.D.," as he was wont, on occasion, to call
+himself&mdash;why drag in a personal name among titles in themselves
+sufficiently distinguishing?&mdash;was by common consent the leading man with
+a certain under-population along the coast. And when, three months
+before, he had harangued them as to the patriot's duty of home defence,
+there was not a worthy incapable present but enthusiastically enlisted.</p>
+
+<p>The tension of the times forbade perception of the ludicrous. For three
+months the "Riffraffs"&mdash;so they proudly called themselves&mdash;rheumatic,
+deaf, palsied, halt, lame, and one or two nearly blind, had represented
+"the cause," "the standing army," "le grand militaire," to the
+in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>flammable imaginations of this handful of simple rural people of the
+lower coast.</p>
+
+<p>Of the nine "odds and ends of old cannon" which Captain Doc had been
+able to collect, it was said that but one would carry a ball. Certainly,
+of the remaining seven, one was of wood, an ancient gunsmith's sign, and
+another a gilded papier-m&acirc;ch&eacute; affair of a former Mystick Krewe.</p>
+
+<p>Still, these answered for drill purposes, and would be replaced by
+genuine guns when possible. They were quite as good for everything
+excepting a battle, and in that case, of course, it would be a simple
+thing "to seize the enemy's guns" and use them.</p>
+
+<p>When the Riffraffs had paraded up and down the river road no one had
+smiled, and if anybody realized that their captain wore the gorgeous
+pompon of a drum-major, its fitness was not questioned.</p>
+
+<p>It was becoming to him. It corresponded to his lordly strut, and was in
+keeping with the stentorian tones that shouted "Halt!" or "Avance!"</p>
+
+<p>Captain Doc appealed to Americans and creoles alike, and the Riffraffs
+marched quite as often to the stirring measures of "La Marseillaise" as
+to "The Bonny Blue Flag."</p>
+
+<p>Ever since the first guns at the forts, the good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> captain had been
+disporting himself in full feather. He was "ready for the enemy."</p>
+
+<p>His was a pleasing figure, and even inspiring as a picturesque
+embodiment of patriotic zeal; but when this afternoon the Riffraffs had
+planted their artillery along the levee front, while the little captain
+rallied them to "prepare to die by their guns," it was a different
+matter.</p>
+
+<p>The company, loyal to a man, had responded with a shout, the blacksmith,
+to whose deaf ears his anvil had been silent for twenty years, throwing
+up his hat with the rest, while the epileptic who manned the
+papier-m&acirc;ch&eacute; gun was observed to scream the loudest.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a woman, catching the peril of the situation, shrieked:</p>
+
+<p>"They're going to fire on the gunboats! We'll all be killed."</p>
+
+<p>Another caught the cry, and another. A mad panic ensued; women with
+babies in their arms gathered about Captain Doc, entreating him, with
+tears and cries, to desist.</p>
+
+<p>But for once the tender old man, whose old boast had been that one tear
+from a woman's eyes "tore his heart open," was deaf to all entreaty.</p>
+
+<p>The Riffraffs represented an injured faction. They had not been asked to
+enlist with the "Coast<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> Defenders"&mdash;since gone into active service&mdash;and
+they seemed intoxicated by the present opportunity to "show the stuff
+they were made of."</p>
+
+<p>At nearly nightfall the women, despairing and wailing, had gone home.
+Amid all the excitement the little girl Idyl had stood apart, silent. No
+one had noticed her, nor that, when all the others had gone, she still
+lingered.</p>
+
+<p>Even Mrs. Magwire, the overseer's wife, with whom she lived, had
+forgotten to hurry or to scold her. What emotions were surging in her
+young bosom no one could know.</p>
+
+<p>There was something in the cannon's roar that charmed her ear&mdash;something
+suggestive of strength and courage. Within her memory she had known only
+weakness and fear.</p>
+
+<p>After the yellow scourge of '53, when she was but four years old, she
+had realized vaguely that strange people with loud voices and red faces
+had come to be to her in the place of father and mother, that the
+Magwire babies were heavy to carry, and that their mother had but a poor
+opinion of a "lazy hulk av a girrl that could not heft a washtub without
+panting."</p>
+
+<p>Idyl had tried hard to be strong and to please her foster-mother, but
+there was, somehow, in her life at the Magwires' something that made
+her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> great far-away eyes grow larger and her poor little wrists more
+weak and slender.</p>
+
+<p>She envied the Magwire twins&mdash;with all their prickly heat and their
+calico-blue eyes&mdash;when their mother pressed them lovingly to her bosom.
+She even envied the black babies when their great black mammies crooned
+them to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>What does it matter, black or white or red, if one is loved?</p>
+
+<p>An embroidered "Darling" upon an old crib-blanket, and a
+daguerreotype&mdash;a slender youth beside a pale, girlish woman, who clasped
+a big-eyed babe&mdash;these were her only tokens of past affection.</p>
+
+<p>There was something within her that responded to the daintiness of the
+loving stitches in the old blanket&mdash;and to a something in the refined
+faces in the picture. And they had called their wee daughter "Idyl"&mdash;a
+little poem.</p>
+
+<p>Yet she, not understanding, hated this name because of Mrs. Magwire,
+whose most merciless taunt was, "Sure ye're well named, ye idle
+dthreamer."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Magwire, a well-meaning woman withal, measured her maternal
+kindnesses to the hungry-hearted orphan beneath her roof in generous
+bowls of milk and hunks of corn-bread.</p>
+
+<p>Idyl's dreams of propitiating her were all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> of
+abstractions&mdash;self-sacrifice, patience, gratitude.</p>
+
+<p>And she was as unconscious as was her material benefactress that she was
+an idealist, and why the combination resulted in inharmony.</p>
+
+<p>This evening, as she stood alone upon the levee, listening to the
+cannon, a sudden sense of utter desolation and loneliness came to her.
+She only of all the plantation was unloved&mdash;forgotten&mdash;in this hour of
+danger.</p>
+
+<p>A desperate longing seized her as she turned and looked back upon the
+nest of cabins. If she could only save the plantation! For love, no
+sacrifice could be too great.</p>
+
+<p>With the thought came an inspiration. There was reason in the women's
+fears. Should the Riffraffs fire upon the fleet, surely guns would
+answer, else what was war?</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at her full pail, and then at the row of cannon beside her.</p>
+
+<p>If she could pour water into them! It was too light yet, but to-night&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>How great and daring a deed to come to tempt the mind of a timid,
+delicate child who had never dared anything&mdash;even Mrs. Magwire's
+displeasure!</p>
+
+<p>All during the evening, while Mother Magwire rocked the babies, moaning
+and weeping, Idyl,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> wiping her dishes in the little kitchen, would step
+to the door and peer out at the levee where the guns were. Every distant
+cannon's roar seemed to challenge her to the deed.</p>
+
+<p>When finally her work was done, she slipped noiselessly out and started
+towards the levee, pail in hand; but as she approached it she saw moving
+shadows.</p>
+
+<p>The Riffraffs were working at the guns. Seeing her project impossible,
+she sat down in a dark shadow by the roadside&mdash;studied the moving
+figures&mdash;listened to the guns which came nearer as the hours passed.</p>
+
+<p>It was long after midnight; accelerated firing was proclaiming a crisis
+in the battle, when, suddenly, there came the rattle of approaching
+wheels accompanied by a noisy rabble. Then a woman screamed.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Doc was coming with a wagon-load of ammunition. The guns were to
+be loaded.</p>
+
+<p>The moon, a faint waning crescent, faded to a filmy line as a pillar of
+fire, rising against the sky northward towards the city, exceeded the
+glare of the battle below.</p>
+
+<p>The darkness was quite lifted now, up and down the levee, and Idyl,
+standing in the shadow, could see groups of people weeping, wringing
+their hands, as Captain Doc, pompon tri<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>umphant, came in sight galloping
+down the road.</p>
+
+<p>In a second more he would pass the spot where she stood&mdash;stood unseen,
+seeing the sorrow of the people, heeding the challenge of the guns. The
+wagon was at hand.</p>
+
+<p>With a faint, childish scream, raising her thin arms heavenward, she
+plunged forward and fell headlong in its path.</p>
+
+<p>The victory was hers.</p>
+
+<p>The tinselled captain was now tender surgeon, doctor, friend.</p>
+
+<p>In his own arms he raised the limp little form from beneath the wheel,
+while the shabby gray coats of a dozen "Riffraffs," laid over the
+cannon-balls in the wagon, made her a hero's bed; and Captain Doc,
+seizing the reins, turned the horses cautiously, and drove in haste back
+to his drug-store.</p>
+
+<p>Farragut's fleet and "the honor of the Riffraffs" were forgotten in the
+presence of this frail embodiment of death.</p>
+
+<p>Upon his own bed beside an open window he laid her, and while his eager
+company became surgeon's assistants, he tenderly bound her wounds.</p>
+
+<p>For several hours she lay in a stupor, and when she opened her eyes the
+captain knelt be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>side her. Mrs. Magwire stood near, noisily weeping.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it saved?" she asked, when at length she opened her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Doc, thinking her mind was wandering, raised her head, and
+pointed to the river, now ablaze with light.</p>
+
+<p>"See," said he. "See the steamboats loaded with burning cotton, and the
+great ship meeting them; that is a Yankee gunboat! See, it is passing."</p>
+
+<p>"And you didn't shoot? And are the people glad?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, we didn't shoot. You fell and got hurt at the dark turn by the
+acacia bushes, where you hang your little lantern on dark nights. Some
+one ought to have hung one for you to-night. How did it happen, child?"</p>
+
+<p>"It didn't happen. I did it on purpose. I knew if I got hurt you would
+stop and cure me, and not fire at the boats. I wanted to save&mdash;to save
+the plan&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>While the little old man raised a glass to the child's lips his hand
+shook, and something like a sob escaped him.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, little one," he whispered, while his lips quivered. "I am an
+old fool, but not a fiend&mdash;not a devil. Not a gun would have fired.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> I
+wet all the powder. I didn't want anybody to say the Riffraffs flinched
+at the last minute. But you&mdash;oh, my God!" His voice sank even lower.
+"You have given your young life for my folly."</p>
+
+<p>She understood.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't got any pain&mdash;only&mdash;I can't move. I thought I'd get hurt
+worse than I am&mdash;and not so much. I feel as if I were going up&mdash;and
+up&mdash;through the red&mdash;into the blue. And the moon is coming sideways to
+me. And her face&mdash;it is in it&mdash;just like the picture." She cast her eyes
+about the room as if half conscious of her surroundings. "Will
+they&mdash;will they love me now?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Magwire, sobbing aloud, fell upon her knees beside the bed.</p>
+
+<p>"God love her, the heavenly child!" she wailed. "She was niver intinded
+for this worrld. Sure, an' I love ye, darlint, jist the same as Mary Ann
+an' Kitty&mdash;an' betther, too, to make up the loss of yer own mother, God
+rest her."</p>
+
+<p>Great tears rolled down the cheeks of the dying child, and that heavenly
+light which seems a forecast of things unseen shone from her brilliant
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She laid her thin hand upon Mrs. Magwire's head, buried now upon the bed
+beside her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Lay the little blanket on me, please&mdash;when I go&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She turned her eyes upon the sky.</p>
+
+<p>"She worked it for me&mdash;the 'Darling' on it. The moon is coming
+again&mdash;sideways. It is her face."</p>
+
+<p>So, through the red of the fiery sky, up into the blue, passed the pure
+spirit of little Saint Idyl.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The river seemed afire now with floating chariots of flame.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly, majestically, upward into this fiery sea rode the fleet.</p>
+
+<p>Although many of the negroes had run frightened into the woods, the
+conflagration revealed an almost unbroken line on either side of the
+river, watching the spectacular pageant with awe-stricken, ashy faces.</p>
+
+<p>At Bijou a line of men&mdash;not the Riffraffs&mdash;sat astride the cannon, over
+the mouths of which they hung their hats or coats.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell yer deze heah Yankees mus' be monst'ous-sized men. Look at de
+big eye-holes 'longside o' de ship," said one&mdash;a young black fellow.</p>
+
+<p>"Eye-holes!" retorted an old man sitting apart; "dem ain't no eye-holes,
+chillen. Dey<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> gun-holes! Dat what dey is! An' ef you don't keep yo'
+faces straight dey'll 'splode out on you 'fo' you know it."</p>
+
+<p>The first speaker rolled backward down the levee, half a dozen
+following. The old man sat unmoved. Presently a little woolly head
+peered over the bank.</p>
+
+<p>"What de name o' dat fust man-o'-war, gran'dad?"</p>
+
+<p>"Name <i>Freedom</i>." The old man answered without moving. "Freedom comin'
+wid guns in 'er mouf, ready to spit fire, I tell yer!"</p>
+
+<p>"Jeems, heah, say all de no-'count niggers is gwine be sol' over
+ag'in&mdash;is dat so, gran'dad?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas; every feller gwine be sol' ter 'isself. An' a mighty onery,
+low-down marster heap ob 'em 'll git, too."</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>It was nearly day when Captain Doc, pale and haggard, joined the crowd
+upon the levee.</p>
+
+<p>As he stepped upon its brow, a woman, fearing the provocation of his
+military hat, begged him to remove it.</p>
+
+<p>It might provoke a volley.</p>
+
+<p>Raising the hat, the captain turned and solemnly addressed the crowd:</p>
+
+<p>"My countrymen," he began, and his voice trembled, "the Riffraffs are
+disbanded. See!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He threw the red-plumed thing far out upon the water. And then he turned
+to them.</p>
+
+<p>"I have just seen an angel pass&mdash;to enter&mdash;yonder." A sob closed his
+throat as he pointed to the sky.</p>
+
+<p>"Her pure blood is on my hands&mdash;and, by the help of God, they will shed
+no more.</p>
+
+<p>"These old guns are playthings&mdash;we are broken old men.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us pray."</p>
+
+<p>And there, out in the glare of the awful fiery spectacle, grown weird in
+the faint white light of a rising sun, arose the voice of prayer&mdash;prayer
+first for forgiveness of false pride and folly&mdash;for the women and
+children&mdash;- for the end of the war&mdash;for lasting peace.</p>
+
+<p>It was a scene to be remembered. Had anything been lacking in its awful
+solemnity, it was supplied with a tender potency reaching all hearts, in
+the knowledge of the dead child, who lay in the little cottage near.</p>
+
+<p>From up and down the levee, as far as the voice had reached, came
+fervent responses, "Amen!" and "Amen!"</p>
+
+<p>Late in the morning the Riffraffs' artillery, all but their largest gun,
+was, by the captain's command, dumped into the river.</p>
+
+<p>This reserved cannon they planted, mouth up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>wards, by the roadside on
+the site of the tragedy&mdash;a fitting memorial of the child-martyr.</p>
+
+<p>It was Mrs. Magwire, who, remembering how Idyl had often stolen out and
+hung a lantern at this dark turn of the "road bend," began thrusting a
+pine torch into the cannon's mouth on dark nights as a slight memorial
+of her. And those who noticed said she took her rosary there and said
+her beads.</p>
+
+<p>But Captain Doc had soon made the light his own special care, and until
+his death, ten years later, the old man never failed to supply this
+beacon to belated travellers on moonless nights.</p>
+
+<p>After a time a large square lantern took the place of the torch of pine,
+and grateful wayfarers alongshore, by rein or oar, guided or steered by
+the glimmer of Saint Idyl's Light.</p>
+
+<p>Last year the caving bank carried the rusty gun into the water. It is
+well that time and its sweet symbol, the peace-loving river, should bury
+forever from sight all record of a family feud half forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>And yet, is it not meet that when the glorious tale of Farragut's
+victory is told, the simple story of little Saint Idyl should sometimes
+follow, as the tender benediction follows the triumphant chant?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
+<h2>"BLINK"</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="BLINK" id="BLINK"></a>"BLINK"</h2>
+
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<p>It was nearly midnight of Christmas Eve on Oakland Plantation. In the
+library of the great house a dim lamp burned, and here, in a big
+arm-chair before a waning fire, Evelyn Bruce, a fair young girl, sat
+earnestly talking to a withered old black woman, who sat on the rug at
+her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"An' yer say de plantatiom done sol', baby, an' we boun' ter move?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mammy, the old place must go."</p>
+
+<p>"An' is de 'Onerble Mr. Citified buyed it, baby? I know he an' ole
+marster sot up all endurin' las' night a-talkin' and a-figgurin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Mr. Jacobs has closed the mortgage, and owns the place now."</p>
+
+<p>"An' when is we gwine, baby?"</p>
+
+<p>"The sooner the better. I wish the going were over."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"An' whar'bouts is we gwine, honey?"</p>
+
+<p>"We will go to the city, mammy&mdash;to New Orleans. Something tells me that
+father will never be able to attend to business again, and I am going to
+work&mdash;to make money."</p>
+
+<p>Mammy fell backward. "W-w-w-work! Y-y-you w-w-work! Wh-wh-why, baby,
+what sort o' funny, cuyus way is you a-talkin', anyhow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Many refined women are earning their living in the city, mammy."</p>
+
+<p>"Is you a-talkin' sense, baby, ur is yer des a-bluffin'? Is yer axed yo'
+pa yit?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think father is well, mammy. He says that whatever I suggest we
+will do, and I am <i>sure</i> it is best. We will take a cheap little house,
+father and I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Y-y-you an' yo' pa! An' wh-wh-what 'bout me, baby?" Mammy would stammer
+when she was excited.</p>
+
+<p>"And you, mammy, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"Umh! umh! umh! An' so we gwine ter trabble! An' de' Onerble Mr.
+Citified done closed de morgans on us! Ef-ef I'd 'a' knowed it dis
+mornin' when he was a-quizzifyin' me so sergacious, I b'lieve I'd o'
+upped an' sassed 'im, I des couldn't 'a' helt in. I 'lowed he was
+teckin' a mighty frien'ly intruss, axin' me do we-all's <i>puck</i>on-trees
+bear big <i>puck</i>ons, an'&mdash;an' ef de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> well keep cool all summer, an'&mdash;an'
+he ax me&mdash;he ax me&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What else did he ask you, mammy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Scuze me namin' it ter yer, baby, but he ax me who was buried in we's
+graves&mdash;he did fur a fac'. Yer reckon dee gwine claim de graves in de
+morgans, baby?"</p>
+
+<p>Mammy had crouched again at Evelyn's feet, and her eager brown face was
+now almost against her knee.</p>
+
+<p>"All the land is mortgaged, mammy."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't yer reck'n he mought des nachelly scuze de graves out'n de
+morgans, baby, ef yer ax 'im mannerly?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid not, mammy, but after a while we may have them moved."</p>
+
+<p>The old bronze clock on the mantel struck twelve.</p>
+
+<p>"Des listen. De ole clock a-strikin' Chris'mas-gif now. Come 'long, go
+ter bed, honey. You needs a res', but I ain' gwine sleep none, 'caze all
+dis heah news what you been a-tellin' me, hit's gwine ter run roun' in
+my head all night, same as a buzz-saw."</p>
+
+<p>And so they passed out, mammy to her pallet in Evelyn's room, while the
+sleepless girl stepped to her father's chamber.</p>
+
+<p>Entering on tiptoe, she stood and looked upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> his face. He slept as
+peacefully as a babe. The anxious look of care which he had worn for
+years had passed away, and the flickering fire revealed the ghost of a
+smile upon his placid face. In this it was that Evelyn read the truth.
+The crisis of effort for him was past. He might follow, but he would
+lead no more.</p>
+
+<p>Since the beginning of the war Colonel Brace's history had been the
+oft-told tale of loss and disaster, and at the opening of each year
+since there had been a flaring up of hope and expenditure, then a long
+summer of wavering promise, followed by an inevitable winter of
+disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>The old colonel was, both by inheritance and the habit of many
+successful years, a man of great affairs, and when the crash came he was
+too old to change. When he bought, he bought heavily. He planted for
+large results. There was nothing petty about him, not even his debts.
+And now the end had come.</p>
+
+<p>As Evelyn stood gazing upon his handsome, placid face her eyes were
+blinded with tears. Falling upon her knees at his side, she engaged for
+a moment in silent prayer, consecrating herself in love to the life
+which lay before her, and as she rose she kissed his forehead gently,
+and passed to her own room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>On the table at her bedside lay several piles of manuscript, and as
+these attracted her, she turned her chair, and fell to work sorting them
+into packages, which she laid carefully away.</p>
+
+<p>Evelyn had always loved to scribble, but only within the last few years
+had she thought of writing for money that she should need. She had
+already sent several manuscripts to editors of magazines; but somehow,
+like birds too young to leave the nest, they all found their way back to
+her. With each failure, however, she had become more determined to
+succeed, but in the meantime&mdash;<i>now</i>&mdash;she must earn a living. This was
+not practicable here. In the city all things were possible, and to the
+city she would go. She would at first accept one of the tempting
+situations offered in the daily papers, improving her leisure by
+attending lectures, studying, observing, cultivating herself in every
+possible way, and after a time she would try her hand again at writing.</p>
+
+<p>It was nearly day when she finally went to bed, but she was up early
+next morning. There was much to be considered. Many things were to be
+done.</p>
+
+<p>At first she consulted her father about everything, but his invariable
+answer, "Just as you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> say, daughter," transferred all responsibility to
+her.</p>
+
+<p>A letter to her mother's old New Orleans friend, Madame Le Duc, briefly
+set forth the circumstances, and asked Madame's aid in securing a small
+house. Other letters sent in other directions arranged various matters,
+and Evelyn soon found herself in the vortex of a move. She had a wise,
+clear head and a steady, resolute hand, and in old mammy a most capable
+servant. The old woman seemed, indeed, to forget nothing, as she bustled
+about, packing, suggesting, and, spite of herself, frequently
+protesting; for, if the truth must be spoken, this move to the city was
+violating all the traditions of mammy's life.</p>
+
+<p>"Wh-wh-wh-why, baby! Not teck de grime-stone!" she exclaimed one day, in
+reply to Evelyn's protest against her packing that ponderous article.
+"How is we gwine sharpen de spade an' de grubbin'-hoe ter work in the
+gyard'n?"</p>
+
+<p>"We sha'n't have a garden, mammy."</p>
+
+<p>"No gyard'n!" Mammy sat down upon the grindstone in disgust.
+"Wh-wh-wh-what sort o' a fureign no-groun' place is we gwine ter,
+anyhow, baby? Honey," she continued, in a troubled voice, "co'se you
+know I ain't got educatiom, an' I ain't claim knowledge; b-b-b-but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
+ain't you better study on it good 'fo' we goes ter dis heah new country?
+Dee tells me de cidy's a owdacious place. I been heern a heap o' tales,
+but I 'ain't say nothin' Is yer done prayed over it good, baby?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear. I have prayed that we should do only right. What have you
+heard, mammy?"</p>
+
+<p>"D-d-d-de way folks talks, look like death an' terror is des a-layin'
+roun' loose in de cidy. Dee tell <i>me</i> dat ef yer des nachelly blows out
+yer light ter go ter bed, dat dis heah some'h'n' what stan' fur wick,
+hit'll des keep a-sizzin' an' a-sizzin' out, des like sperityal steam;
+<i>an' hit's clair pizen</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"That is true, mammy. But, you see, we won't blow it out. We'll know
+better."</p>
+
+<p>"Does yer snuff it out wid snuffers, baby, ur des fling it on de flo'
+an' tromp yer foots on it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Neither, mammy. The gas comes in through pipes built into the houses,
+and is turned on and off with a valve, somewhat as we let water out of
+the refrigerator."</p>
+
+<p>"Um-hm! Well done! Of co'se! On'y, in place o' water what <i>put out</i> de
+light, hit's in'ardly filled wid some'h'n' what <i>favor</i> a blaze."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly."</p>
+
+<p>Mammy reflected a moment. "But de grime-stone gotter stay berhime, is
+she? An' is we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> gwine leave all de gyard'n tools an' implemers ter de
+'Onerble Mr. Citified?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, mammy; none of the appurtenances of the homestead are mortgaged. We
+must sell them. We need money, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"What is de impertinences o' de homestid, baby? You forgits I ain't
+on'erstan' book words."</p>
+
+<p>"Those things intended for family use, mammy. There are the
+carriage-horses, the cows, the chickens&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Bless goodness fur dat! An' who gwine drive 'em inter de cidy fur us,
+honey?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mammy, we must sell them all."</p>
+
+<p>Mammy was almost crying. "An' what sort o' entry is we gwine meck inter
+de cidy, honey&mdash;empty-handed, same as po' white trash? D-d-d-don't yer
+reck'n we b-b-better teck de chickens, baby? Yo' ma thunk a heap o' dem
+Brahma hens an' dem Clymoth Rockers&mdash;dee looks so courageous."</p>
+
+<p>It was hard for Evelyn to refuse. Mammy loved everything on the old
+place.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us give up all these things now, mammy; and after a while, when I
+grow rich and famous, I'll buy you all the chickens you want."</p>
+
+<p>At last preparations were over. They were to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> start on the morrow. Mammy
+had just returned from a last tour through out-buildings and gardens,
+and was evidently disturbed.</p>
+
+<p>"Honey," she began, throwing herself on the step at Evelyn's feet, "what
+yer reck'n? Ole Muffly is a-sett'n' on fo'teen eggs, down in de
+cotton-seed. W-w-we can't g'way f'm heah an' leave Muffly a-sett'n', hit
+des nachelly can't be did. D-d-don't yer reck'n dee'd hol' back de
+morgans a little, till Muffly git done sett'n'?"</p>
+
+<p>It was the same old story. Mammy would never be ready to go.</p>
+
+<p>"But our tickets are bought, mammy."</p>
+
+<p>"An' like as not de 'Onerble Mr. Citified 'll shoo ole Muffly orf de
+nes' an' spile de whole sett'n'. Tut! tut! tut!" And, groaning in
+spirit, mammy walked off.</p>
+
+<p>Evelyn had feared, for her father, the actual moment of leaving, and was
+much relieved when, with his now habitual tranquillity, he smilingly
+assisted both her and mammy into the sleeper. Instead of entering
+himself, however, he hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't your mother coming, daughter?" he asked, looking backward.
+"Or&mdash;oh, I forgot," he added, quickly. "She has gone on before, hasn't
+she?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear, she has gone before," Evelyn an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>swered, hardly knowing what
+she said, the chill of a new terror upon her.</p>
+
+<p>What did this mean? Was it possible that she had read but half the
+truth? Was her father's mind not only enfeebled, but going?</p>
+
+<p>Mammy had not heard the question, and so Evelyn bore her anxiety alone,
+and during the day her anxious eyes were often upon her father's face,
+but he only smiled and kept silent.</p>
+
+<p>They had been travelling all day, when suddenly, above the rumbling of
+the train, a weak, bird-like chirp was heard, faint but distinct; and
+presently it came again, a prolonged "p-e-e-p!"</p>
+
+<p>Heads went up, inquiring faces peered up and down the coach, and fell
+again to paper or book, when the cry came a third time, and again.</p>
+
+<p>Mammy's face was a study. "'Sh&mdash;'sh&mdash;'sh! don' say nothin', baby," she
+whispered, in Evelyn's ear; "but dis heah chicken in my bosom is
+a-ticklin' me so I can't hardly set still."</p>
+
+<p>Evelyn was absolutely speechless with surprise, as mammy continued by
+snatches her whispered explanation:</p>
+
+<p>"Des 'fo' we lef' I went 'n' lif' up ole Muffly ter see how de eggs was
+comin' orn, an' dis heah egg was pipped out, an' de little risindenter
+look like he eyed me so berseechin' I des nachelly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> couldn't leave 'im.
+Look like he knowed he warn't righteously in de morgans, an' 'e crave
+ter clair out an' trabble. I did hope speech wouldn't come ter 'im tell
+we got off'n deze heah train kyars."</p>
+
+<p>A halt at a station brought a momentary silence, and right here arose
+again, clear and shrill, the chicken's cry.</p>
+
+<p>Mammy was equal to the emergency. After glancing inquiringly up and down
+the coach, she exclaimed, aloud, "Some'h'n' in dis heah kyar soun' des
+like a vintrilloquer."</p>
+
+<p>"That's just what it is," said an old gentleman opposite, peering around
+over his spectacles. "And whoever you are, sir, you've been amusing
+yourself for an hour."</p>
+
+<p>Mammy's ruse had succeeded, and during the rest of the journey, although
+the chicken developed duly as to vocal powers, the only question asked
+by the curious was, "Who can the ventriloquist be?"</p>
+
+<p>Evelyn could hardly maintain her self-control, the situation was so
+utterly absurd.</p>
+
+<p>"I does hope it's a pullet," mammy confided later; "but I doubts it. Hit
+done struck out wid a mannish movemint a'ready. Muffly's eggs allus
+hatches out sech invig'rous chickens. I gwine in the dressin'-room,
+baby, an' wrop 'im<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> up ag'in. Feel like he done kicked 'isse'f loose."</p>
+
+<p>Though she made several trips to the dressing-room in the interest of
+her hatchling, mammy's serene face held no betrayal of the disturbing
+secret of her bosom.</p>
+
+<p>At last the journey was over. The train crept with a tired motion into
+the noisy depot. Then came a rattling ride over cobble-stones, granite,
+and unpaved streets; a sudden halt before a low-browed cottage; a
+smiling old lady stepping out to meet them; a slam of the front
+door&mdash;they were at home in New Orleans.</p>
+
+<p>Madame Le Duc seemed to have forgotten nothing that their comfort
+required, and in many ways that the creole gentlewoman understands so
+well she was affectionately and unobtrusively kind. And yet, in the life
+Evelyn was seeking to enter, Madame could give her no aid. About all
+these new ideas of women&mdash;ladies&mdash;going out as bread-winners, Madame
+knew nothing. For twenty years she had gone only to the cathedral, the
+French Market, the cemetery, and the Chapel of St. Roche. As to all this
+unconventional American city above Canal Street, it was there and
+spreading (like the measles and other evils); everybody said so; even
+her paper, <i>L'Abeille</i>, referred to it in French&mdash;resentfully. She
+be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>lieved in it historically; but for herself, she "<i>never travelled</i>,"
+<i>excepting</i>, as she quaintly put it, in her "<i>acquaintances</i>"&mdash;the
+French streets with which she was familiar.</p>
+
+<p>The house she had selected was a typical old-fashioned French cottage,
+venerable in scaling plaster and fern-tufted tile roof, but cool and
+roomy within as uninviting without. A small inland garden surprised the
+eye as one entered the battened gate at its side, and a dormer-window in
+the roof looked out upon the rigging of ships at anchor but a
+stone's-throw away.</p>
+
+<p>Here, to the chamber above, Evelyn led her father. Furnishing this large
+upper room with familiar objects, and pointing out the novelties of the
+view from its window, she tried to interpret his new life happily for
+him, and he smiled, and seemed content.</p>
+
+<p>It was surprising to see how soon mammy fell into line with the changed
+order of things. The French Market, with its "cuyus fureign folks an'
+mixed talk," was a panorama of daily unfolding wonders to her. "But
+huccome dee calls it French?" she exclaimed, one day. "I been listenin'
+good, an' I hear 'em jabber, jabber, jabber all dey fanciful lingoes,
+but I 'ain't heern nair one say <i>polly fronsay</i>, an' yit I know dats de
+riverend book French." The Indian squaws in the market,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> sitting flat on
+the ground, surrounded by their wares, she held in special contempt. "I
+holds myse'f <i>clair</i> 'bove a Injun," she boasted. "Dee ain't look
+jinnywine ter me. Dee ain't nuther white folks nur niggers, nair one.
+Sett'n' deeselves up fur go-betweens, an' sellin' sech grass-greens as
+we lef' berhindt us growin' in de wilderness!"</p>
+
+<p>But one unfailing source of pleasure to mammy was the little chicken,
+"Blink," who, she declared, "named 'isse'f Blink de day he blinked at me
+so cunnin' out'n de shell. Blink 'ain't said nothin' wid 'is mouf," she
+continued, eying him proudly, "'caze he know eye-speech set on a chicken
+a heap better'n human words, mo' inspecial on a yo'ng half-hatched
+chicken like Blink was dat day, cramped wid de egg-shell behime an' de
+morgans starin' 'im in de face befo', an' not knowin' how he gwine come
+out'n his trouble. He des kep' silence, an' wink all 'is argimints, an'
+'e wink to the p'int, too!"</p>
+
+<p>In spite of his unique entrance into the world and his precarious
+journey, Blink was a vigorous young chicken, with what mammy was pleased
+to call "a good proud step an' knowin' eyes."</p>
+
+<p>Three months passed. The long, dull summer was approaching, and yet
+Evelyn had found no regular employment. She had not been idle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> Sewing
+for the market folk, decorating palmetto fans and Easter eggs, which
+mammy peddled in the big houses, she had earned small sums of money from
+time to time. In her enforced leisure she found opportunity for study,
+and her picturesque surroundings were as an open book.</p>
+
+<p>Impressions of the quaint old French and Spanish city, with its motley
+population, were carefully jotted down in her note-book. These first
+descriptions she afterwards rewrote, discarding weakening detail,
+elaborating the occasional triviality which seemed to reflect the true
+local tint&mdash;a nice distinction, involving conscientious hard work. How
+she longed for criticism and advice!</p>
+
+<p>A year ago her father, now usually dozing in his chair while she worked,
+would have been a most able and affectionate critic; but now&mdash;She
+rejoiced when a day passed without his asking for her mother, and
+wondering why she did not come.</p>
+
+<p>And so it was that in her need of sympathy Evelyn began to read her
+writings, some of which had grown into stories, to mammy. The very
+exercise of reading aloud&mdash;the sound of it&mdash;was helpful. That mammy's
+criticisms should have proven valuable in themselves was a surprise, but
+it was even so.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p>
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p>"A pusson would know dat was fanciful de way hit reads orf, des like a
+pusson 'magine some'h'n' what ain't so."</p>
+
+<p>Such was mammy's first criticism of a story which had just come back,
+returned from an editor. Evelyn had been trying to discover wherein its
+weakness lay.</p>
+
+<p>Mammy had caught the truth. The story was unreal. The English seemed
+good, the construction fair, but&mdash;it was "<i>fanciful</i>."</p>
+
+<p>The criticism set Evelyn to thinking. She laid aside this, and read
+another manuscript aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell yer, honey, a-a-a pusson 'd know you had educatiom, de way you
+c'n fetch in de dictionary words."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you understand them, mammy?" she asked, quickly, catching another
+idea.</p>
+
+<p>"Who, me? Law, baby, I don't crave ter on'erstan' all dat granjer. I des
+ketches de chune, an' hit sho is got a glorified ring."</p>
+
+<p>Here was a valuable hint. She must simplify her style. The tide of
+popular writing was, she knew, in the other direction, but the <i>best</i>
+writing was <i>simple</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The suggestion sent her back to study.</p>
+
+<p>And now for her own improvement she rewrote the "story of big words" in
+the simplest English she could command, bidding mammy tell her if there
+was one word she could not understand.</p>
+
+<p>In the transition the spirit of the story was necessarily changed, but
+the exercise was good. Mammy understood every word.</p>
+
+<p>"But, baby," she protested, with a troubled face, "look like <i>hit don't
+stan' no mo'</i>; all its granjer done gone. You better fix it up des like
+it was befo', honey. Hit 'minds me o' some o' deze heah fine folks what
+walks de streets. You know <i>folks what 'ain't got nothin' else</i>, dee des
+nachelly <i>'bleege</i> ter put on finery."</p>
+
+<p>How clever mammy was! How wholesome the unconscious satire of her
+criticism! This story, shorn of its grandeur, could not stand indeed. It
+was weak and affected.</p>
+
+<p>"You dear old mammy," exclaimed Evelyn, "you don't know how you are
+helping me."</p>
+
+<p>"Gord knows I wushes I could holp you, honey. I 'ain't nuver is craved
+educatiom befo', but now, look like I'd like ter be king of all de
+smartness, an' know all dey is in de books. I wouldn't hol' back
+<i>noth'n</i> f'om yer, baby."</p>
+
+<p>And Evelyn knew it was true.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Look ter me, baby," mammy suggested, another night, after listening to
+a highly imaginative story&mdash;"look ter me like ef&mdash;ef&mdash;ef you'd des write
+down some <i>truly truth</i> what is <i>ac-chilly happened</i>, an' glorify it wid
+educatiom, hit 'd des nachelly stan' in a book."</p>
+
+<p>"I've been thinking of that," said Evelyn, reflectively, laying aside
+her manuscript.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>"How does this sound, mammy?" she asked, a week later, when, taking up
+an unfinished tale, she began to read.</p>
+
+<p>It was the story of their own lives, dating from the sale of the
+plantation. The names, of course, were changed, excepting Blink's, and,
+indeed, until he appeared upon the scene, although mammy listened
+breathless, she did not recognize the characters. Blink, however, was
+unmistakable, and when he announced himself from the old woman's bosom
+his identity flashed upon mammy, and she tumbled over on the floor,
+laughing and crying alternately. Evelyn had written from her heart, and
+the story, simply told, held all the wrench of parting with old
+associations, while the spirit of courage and hope, which animated her,
+breathed in every line as she described their entrance upon their new
+life.</p>
+
+<p>"My heart was teched f'om de fus't, baby,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> said mammy, presently,
+wiping her eyes; "b-b-b-but look heah, honey, I'd&mdash;I'd be wuss'n a
+hycoprite ef I let dat noble ole black 'oman, de way you done specified
+'er, stan' fur me. Y-y-yer got ter change all dat, honey. Dey warn't
+nothin' on top o' dis roun' worl' what fetched me 'long wid y' all but
+'cep' 'caze I des <i>nachelly love yer</i>, an' all dat book granjer what you
+done laid on me I <i>don' know nothin' 't all about it</i>, an' yer got ter
+<i>teck it orf</i>, an' write me down like I is, des a po' ole nigger wha'
+done fell in wid de Gord-blessedes' white folks wha' ever lived on dis
+earth, an'&mdash;an' wha' gwine <i>foller</i> 'em an' <i>stay by 'em</i>, don' keer
+which-a-way dee go, so long as 'er ole han's is able ter holp 'em. Yer
+got ter change all dat, honey.</p>
+
+<p>"But Blink! De laws-o'-mussy! Maybe hit's 'caze I been hatched 'im an'
+raised 'im, but look ter me like he ain't no <i>dis</i>grace ter de story, no
+way. Seem like he sets orf de book. Yer ain't gwine say nothin' 'bout
+Blink bein' a frizzly, is yer? 'Twouldn't do no good ter tell it on
+'im."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't know it, mammy."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, indeedy. Po' Blink's feathers done taken on a secon' twis'." She
+spoke, with maternal solicitude. "I d'know huccome he come dat-a-way,
+'caze we 'ain't nuver is had no frizzly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> stock 'mongs' our chickens.
+Sometimes I b'lieve Blink tumbled 'isse'f up dat-a-way tryin' ter
+wriggle 'isse'f outn de morgans. I hates it mightily. Look like a
+frizzly can't put on grandeur no way, don' keer how mannerly 'e hol'
+'isse'f."</p>
+
+<p>The progress of the new story, which mammy considered under her especial
+supervision, was now her engrossing thought.</p>
+
+<p>"Yer better walk straight, Blink," she would exclaim&mdash;"yer better walk
+straight an' step high, 'caze yer gwine in a book, honey, 'long wid de
+aristokercy!"</p>
+
+<p>One day Blink walked leisurely in from the street, returning, happily
+for mammy's peace of mind, before he had been missed. He raised his
+wings a moment as he entered, as if pleased to get home, and mammy
+exclaimed, as she burst out laughing:</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you come in heah shruggin' yo' shoulders at me, Blink, an'
+puttin' on no French airs. I believe Blink been out teckin' French
+lessons." She took her pet into her arms. "Is you crave ter learn
+fureign speech, Blinky, like de res' o' dis mixed-talkin' settle<i>mint</i>?
+Is you 'shamed o' yo' country voice, honey, an' tryin' ter ketch a
+French crow? No, he ain't," she added, putting him down at last, but
+watching him fond<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>ly. "Blink know he's a Bruce. An' he know he's folks
+is in tribulatiom, an' hilarity ain't become 'im&mdash;dat's huccome Blink
+'ain't crowed none&mdash;<i>ain't it, Blink</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>And Blink wisely winked his knowing eyes. That he had, indeed, never
+proclaimed his roosterhood by crowing was a source of some anxiety to
+mammy.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe Blink don't know he's a rooster," she confided to Evelyn one day.
+"Sho 'nough, honey, he nuver is seen none! De neares' ter 'isse'f what
+he knows is dat ole green polly what set in de fig-tree nex' do', an'
+talk Gascon. I seed Blink 'is<i>tid</i>day stan' an' look at' im, an' den
+look down at 'isse'f, same as ter say, 'Is I a polly, or what?' An' den
+'e open an' shet 'is mouf, like 'e tryin' ter twis' it, polly fashion,
+an' hit won't twis', an' den 'e des shaken 'is head, an' walk orf, like
+'e heavy-hearted an' mixed in 'is mind. Blink don't know what
+'spornsibility lay on 'im ter keep our courage up. You heah me, Blink!
+Open yo' mouf, an' crow out, like a man!"</p>
+
+<p>But Blink was biding his time.</p>
+
+<p>During this time, in spite of strictest economy, money was going out
+faster than it came in.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell yer what I been thinkin', baby," said mammy, as she and Evelyn
+discussed the situa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>tion. "I think de bes' thing you can do is ter hire
+me out. I can cook you alls breckfus' soon, an' go out an' make day's
+work, an' come home plenty o' time ter cook de little speck o' dinner
+you an' ole boss needs."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no, no! You mustn't think of it, mammy."</p>
+
+<p>"But what we gwine do, baby? We des <i>can't</i> get out'n <i>money</i>. Hit
+<i>won't do</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe I should have taken that position as lady's companion, mammy."</p>
+
+<p>"An' stay 'way all nights f'om yo' pa, when you de onlies' light ter 'is
+eyes? No, no, honey!"</p>
+
+<p>"But it has been my only offer, and sometimes I think&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush talkin' dat-a-way, baby. Don't yer pray? An' don't yer trus' Gord?
+An' ain't yer done walked de streets tell you mos' drapped down, lookin'
+fur work? An' can't yer teck de hint dat de Lord done laid off yo' work
+<i>right heah in the house</i>? You go 'long now, an' cheer up yo' pa, des
+like you been doin', an' study yo' books, an' write down true joy an'
+true sorrer in yo' stories, an' glorify Gord wid yo' sense, an' don't
+pester yo'se'f 'bout to-day an' to-morrer, an'&mdash;an'&mdash;an' ef de gorspil
+is de trufe, an'&mdash;an' ef a po' ole nigger's prayers mounts ter heaven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
+on de wings o' faith, Gord ain't gwine let a hair o' yo' head perish."</p>
+
+<p>But mammy pondered in her heart much concerning the financial outlook,
+and it was on the day after this conversation that she dressed herself
+with unusual care, and, without announcing her errand, started out.</p>
+
+<p>Her return soon brought its own explanation, however, for upon her old
+head she bore a huge bundle of unlaundered clothing.</p>
+
+<p>"What in the world!" exclaimed Evelyn; but before she could voice a
+protest, mammy interrupted her.</p>
+
+<p>"Nuver you mind, baby! I des waked up," she exclaimed, throwing her
+bundle at the kitchen door. "I been preachin' ter you 'bout teckin'
+hints, an' 'ain't been readin' my own lesson. Huccome we got dis heah
+nice sunny back yard, an' dis bustin' cisternful o' rain-water? Huccome
+de boa'din'-house folks at de corner keeps a-passin' an' a-passin' by
+dis gate wid all dey fluted finery on, ef 'twarn't ter gimme a hint dat
+dey's wealth a-layin' at de do', an' me, bline as a bat, 'ain't seen
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but, mammy, you can't take in washing. You are too old; it is too
+hard. You <i>mustn't</i>&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ef-ef-ef-ef you gits obstropulous, I-I-I gwine whup yer, sho. Y-y-yer
+know how much money's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> a-comin' out'n dat bundle, baby? <i>Five dollars!</i>"
+This in a stage-whisper. "An' not a speck o' dirt on nothin'; des baby
+caps an' lace doin's rumpled up."</p>
+
+<p>"How did you manage it, mammy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, baby, I des put on my fluted ap'on&mdash;an' you know it's ironed
+purty&mdash;an' my clair-starched neck-hankcher, an'&mdash;an' <i>my business face</i>,
+an' I helt up my head an' walked in, an' axed good prices, an' de
+ladies, dee des tooken took one good look at me, an' gimme all I'd
+carry. You know washin' an' ironin' is my pleasure, baby."</p>
+
+<p>It was useless to protest, and so, after a moment, Evelyn began rolling
+up her sleeves.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to help you, mammy," she said, quietly but firmly; but
+before she could protest, mammy had gathered her into her arms, and
+carried her into her own room. Setting her down at her desk, she
+exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>"Now, ef <i>you</i> goes ter de wash-tub, dey ain't nothin' lef fur <i>me</i> ter
+do but 'cep'n' ter <i>set down an' write de story</i>, an' you know I can't
+do it."</p>
+
+<p>"But, mammy, I <i>must</i> help you."</p>
+
+<p>"Is you gwine <i>meck</i> me whup yer, whe'r ur no, baby? Now I gwine meck a
+bargain wid yer. <i>You</i> set down an' write, an' <i>I</i> gwine play de pianner
+on de washboa'd, an' to-night you can read<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> off what yer done put down,
+an' ef yer done written it purty an' sweet, you can come an' turn de
+flutin'-machine fur me ter-morrer. Yer gwine meck de bargain wid me,
+baby?"</p>
+
+<p>Evelyn was so touched that she had not voice to answer. Rising from her
+seat, she put her arms around mammy's neck and kissed her old face, and
+as she turned away a tear rolled down her cheek. And so the "bargain"
+was sealed.</p>
+
+<p>Before going to her desk Evelyn went to her father, to see that he
+wanted nothing. He sat, as usual, gazing silently out of the window.</p>
+
+<p>"Daughter," said he, as she entered, "are we in France?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, dear," she answered, startled at the question.</p>
+
+<p>"But the language I hear in the street is French; and see the
+ship-masts&mdash;French flags flying. But there is the German too, and
+English, and last week there was a Scandinavian. Where are we truly,
+daughter? My surroundings confuse me."</p>
+
+<p>"We are in New Orleans, father&mdash;in the French Quarter. Ships from almost
+everywhere come to this port, you know. Let us walk out to the levee
+this morning, and see the men-of-war in the river. The air will revive
+you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, if your mother comes. She might come while we were away."</p>
+
+<p>And so it was always. With her heart trembling within her, Evelyn went
+to her desk. "Surely," she thought, "there is much need that I shall do
+my best." Almost reverentially she took her pen, as she proceeded with
+the true story she had begun.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>"I done changed my min' 'bout dat ole 'oman wha' stan' fur me, baby,"
+said mammy that night. "You leave 'er des like she is. She glorifies de
+story a heap better'n my nachel self could do it. I been a-thinkin'
+'bout it, an' <i>de finer that ole 'oman ac', an' de mo' granjer yer lay
+on 'er, de better yer gwine meck de book</i>, 'caze de ole gemplum wha'
+stan' fur ole marster, his times an' seasons is done past, an' he can't
+do nothin' but set still an' wait, an'&mdash;an' de yo'ng missus, she ain't
+fitten ter wrastle on de outskirts; she ain't nothin' but 'cep' des a
+lovin' sweet saint, wid 'er face set ter a high, far mark&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, mammy!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I'm a-talkin' 'bout de book, baby, an' don't you interrup' me no mo'!</i>
+An' <i>I say ef dis ole 'oman wha' stan' fur me, ef-ef-ef she got a weak
+spot in 'er, dey won't be no story to it</i>. She de one wha' got ter
+<i>stan' by de battlemints an' hol' de fort</i>."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"That's just what you are doing, mammy. There isn't a grain in her that
+is finer than you."</p>
+
+<p>"'Sh! dis ain't no time fur foolishness, baby. Yer 'ain't said nothin'
+'bout yo' ma an' de ole black 'oman's baby bein' borned de same day, is
+yer? An' how de ole 'oman nussed 'em bofe des like twins? An'&mdash;an' how
+folks 'cused 'er o' starvin' 'er own baby on de 'count o' yo' ma bein'
+puny? (<i>But dat warn't true.</i>) Maybe yer better leave all dat out, 'caze
+hit mought spile de story."</p>
+
+<p>"How could it spoil it, mammy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't yer see, ef folks knowed dat dem white folks an' dat ole black
+'oman was <i>dat close-t</i>, dey wouldn't be no principle in it. Dey ain't
+nothin' but <i>love</i> in <i>dat</i>, an' de ole 'oman <i>couldn't he'p 'erse'f, no
+mo'n I could he'p it</i>! No right-minded pusson is gwine ter deny dey own
+heart. Yer better leave all dat out, honey. B-b-but deys some'h'n' else
+wha' been lef out, wha' b'long in de book. Yer 'ain't named de way de
+little mistus sot up all nights an' nussed de ole 'oman time she was
+sick, an'&mdash;an'&mdash;an' de way she sew all de ole 'oman's cloze;
+an'&mdash;an'&mdash;an' yer done lef' out a heap o' de purtiness an' de sweetness
+o' de yo'ng mistus! Dis is a book, baby, an'&mdash;an'&mdash;yer boun' ter do
+jestice!"</p>
+
+<p>In this fashion the story was written.</p>
+
+<p>"And what do you think I am going to do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> with it, mammy?" said Evelyn,
+when finally, having done her very best, she was willing to call it
+finished.</p>
+
+<p>"Yer know some'h'n' baby? Ef-ef-ef I had de money, look like I'd buy
+that story myse'f. Seem some way like I loves it. Co'se I couldn't read
+it; but my min' been on it so long, seem like, ef I'd study de pages
+good dee'd open up ter me. What yer gwine do wid it, baby?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mammy, I can hardly tell you! My heart seems in my throat when I
+dare to think of it; but <i>I'm going to try it</i>. A New York magazine has
+offered five hundred dollars for a best story&mdash;<i>five hundred dollars</i>!
+Think, mammy, what it would do for us!"</p>
+
+<p>"Dat wouldn't buy de plantatiom back, would it, baby?" Mammy had no
+conception of large sums.</p>
+
+<p>"We don't want it back, mammy. It would pay for moving our dear ones to
+graves of their own; we should put a nice sum in bank; you shouldn't do
+any more washing; and if we can write one good story, you know we can
+write more. It will be only a beginning."</p>
+
+<p>"An' I tell yer what I gwine do. I gwine pray over it good, des like I
+been doin' f'om de start, an' ef hit's Gord's will, dem folks 'll be
+moved in de sperit ter sen' 'long de money."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And so the story was sent.</p>
+
+<p>After it was gone the atmosphere seemed brighter. The pending decision
+was now a fixed point to which all their hopes were directed.</p>
+
+<p>The very audacity of the effort seemed inspiration to more ambitious
+work; and during the long summer, while in her busy hands the
+fluting-machine went round and round, Evelyn's mind was full of plans
+for the future.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, December, with its promise of the momentous decision, was come,
+and Evelyn found herself full of anxious misgivings.</p>
+
+<p>What merit entitling it to special consideration had the little story?
+Did it bear the impress of self-forgetful, conscientious purpose, or was
+this a thing only feebly struggling into life within herself&mdash;not yet
+the compelling force that indelibly stamps itself upon the earnest labor
+of consecrated hands? How often in the silent hours of night did she ask
+herself questions like these!</p>
+
+<p>At last it was Christmas Eve again, and Saturday night. When the days
+are dark, what is so depressing as an anniversary&mdash;an anniversary joyous
+in its very essence? How one Christmas brings in its train
+memory-pictures of those gone before!</p>
+
+<p>This had been a hard day for Evelyn. Her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> heart felt weak within her,
+and yet, realizing that she alone represented youth and hope in the
+little household, and feeling need that her own courage should be
+sustained, she had been more than usually merry all day. She had
+clandestinely prepared little surprises for her father and mammy, and
+was both amused and touched to discover the old woman secreting
+mysterious little parcels which she knew were to come to her in the
+morning.</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't it be funny if, after all, I should turn out to be only a good
+washerwoman, mammy?" she said, laughing, as she assisted the old woman
+in pinning up a basket of laundered clothing.</p>
+
+<p>"Hit'd be funnier yit ef <i>I'd</i> turn out inter one o' deze heah
+book-writers, wouldn't it?" And mammy laughed heartily at her own joke.
+"Look like I better study my a-b abs fus', let 'lone puttin' 'em back on
+paper wid a pen. I tell you educatiom's a-spreadin' in dis fam'ly, sho.
+Time Blink run over de sheet out a-bleachin' 'is<i>tid</i>dy, he written a
+Chinese letter all over it. Didn't you, Blink? What de matter wid Blink
+anyhow, to-day?" she added, taking the last pin from her head-kerchief.
+"Blink look like he nervous some way dis evenin'. He keep a-walkin'
+roun', an' winkin' so slow, an' retchin' his neck<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> out de back-do' so
+cuyus. Stop a-battin' yo' eyes at me, Blink! Ef yo' got some'h'n' ter
+say, <i>say it</i>!"</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>A sudden noisy rattle of the iron door-knocker&mdash;mammy trotting to the
+door&mdash;the postman&mdash;a letter! It all happened in a minute.</p>
+
+<p>How Evelyn's heart throbbed and her hand trembled as she opened the
+envelope! "Oh, mammy!" she cried, trembling now like an aspen leaf.
+"<i>Thank God!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Is dee d-d-d-done sont de money, baby?" Her old face was twitching too.</p>
+
+<p>But Evelyn could not answer. Nodding her head, she fell sobbing on
+mammy's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>Mammy raised her apron to her eyes, and there's no telling what
+"foolishness" she might have committed had it not been that suddenly,
+right at her side, arose a most jubilant screech.</p>
+
+<p>Blink, perched on the handle of the clothes-basket, was crowing with all
+his might.</p>
+
+<p>Evelyn, startled, raised her head, and laughed through her tears, while
+mammy threw herself at full length upon the floor, shouting aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me chickens 'ain't got secon'-sight! Blink see'd&mdash;he
+see'd&mdash;Laws-o'-mussy, baby, look yonder at dat little yaller rooster
+stan'in' on de fence. <i>Dat</i> what Blink see. Co'se it is!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DUKE'S CHRISTMAS</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="DUKES_CHRISTMAS" id="DUKES_CHRISTMAS"></a>DUKE'S CHRISTMAS</h2>
+
+
+<p>"You des gimme de white folks's Christmas-dinner plates, time they git
+thoo eatin', an' lemme scrape 'em in a pan, an' set dat pan in my lap,
+an' blow out de light, an' <i>go it bline</i>! Hush, honey, hush, while I
+shet my eyes now an' tas'e all de samples what'd come out'n dat
+pan&mdash;cramberries, an' tukkey-stuffin' wid <i>puck</i>ons in it, an' ham an'
+fried oyscher an'&mdash;an' minch-meat, an' chow-chow pickle an'&mdash;an' jelly!
+Umh! Don' keer which-a-one I strack fust&mdash;dey all got de Christmas
+seasonin'!"</p>
+
+<p>Old Uncle Mose closed his eyes and smiled, even smacked his lips in
+contemplation of the imaginary feast which he summoned at will from his
+early memories. Little Duke, his grandchild, sitting beside him on the
+floor, rolled his big eyes and looked troubled. Black as a raven, nine
+years old and small of his age, but agile and shrewd as a little fox, he
+was at present the practical head of this family of two.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>This state of affairs had existed for more than two months, ever since a
+last attack of rheumatism had lifted his grandfather's leg upon the
+chair before him and held it there.</p>
+
+<p>Duke's success as a provider was somewhat remarkable, considering his
+size, color, and limited education.</p>
+
+<p>True, he had no rent to pay, for their one-roomed cabin, standing on
+uncertain stilts outside the old levee, had been deserted during the
+last high-water, when Uncle Mose had "tooken de chances" and moved in.
+But then Mose had been able to earn his seventy-five cents a day at
+wood-sawing; and besides, by keeping his fishing-lines baited and set
+out the back and front doors&mdash;there were no windows&mdash;he had often drawn
+in a catfish, or his shrimp-bag had yielded breakfast for two.</p>
+
+<p>Duke's responsibilities had come with the winter and its greater needs,
+when the receding waters had withdrawn even the small chance of landing
+a dinner with hook and line. True, it had been done on several
+occasions, when Duke had come home to find fricasseed chickens for
+dinner; but somehow the neighbors' chickens had grown wary, and refused
+to be enticed by the corn that lay under Mose's cabin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The few occasions when one of their number, swallowing an
+innocent-looking grain, had been suddenly lifted up into space,
+disappearing through the floor above, seemed to have impressed the
+survivors.</p>
+
+<p>Mose was a church-member, and would have scorned to rob a hen-roost, but
+he declared "when strange chickens come a-foolin' roun' bitin' on my
+fish-lines, I des twisses dey necks ter put 'em out'n dey misery."</p>
+
+<p>It had been a long time since he had met with any success at this
+poultry-fishing, and yet he always kept a few lines out.</p>
+
+<p>He <i>professed</i> to be fishing for crawfish&mdash;as if crawfish ever bit on a
+hook or ate corn! Still, it eased his conscience, for he did try to set
+his grandson a Christian example consistent with his precepts.</p>
+
+<p>It was Christmas Eve, and the boy felt a sort of moral responsibility in
+the matter of providing a suitable Christmas dinner for the morrow. His
+question as to what the old man would like to have had elicited the
+enthusiastic bit of reminiscence with which this story opens. Here was a
+poser! His grandfather had described just the identical kind of dinner
+which he felt powerless to procure. If he had said oysters, or chicken,
+or even turkey, Duke thought he could have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> managed it; but a pan of
+rich fragments was simply out of the question.</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't you des as lief have a pone o' hot egg-bread, gran'dad,
+an'&mdash;an'&mdash;an' maybe a nice baked chicken&mdash;ur&mdash;ur a&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ur a nothin', boy! Don't talk to me! I'd a heap'd ruther have a
+secon'-han' white Christmas dinner 'n de bes' fus'-han' nigger one you
+ever seed, an' I ain't no spring-chicken, nuther. I done had 'spe'unce
+o' Christmas dinners. An' what you talkin' 'bout, anyhow? Whar you gwine
+git roas' chicken, nigger?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don' know, less'n I'd meck a heap o' money to-day; but I could sho'
+git a whole chicken ter roas' easier'n I could git dat pan full o'
+goodies <i>you's</i> a-talkin' 'bout.</p>
+
+<p>"Is you gwine crawfishin' to-day, gran'daddy?" he continued, cautiously,
+rolling his eyes. "'Caze when I cross de road, terreckly, I gwine shoo
+off some o' dem big fat hens dat scratches up so much dus'. Dey des a
+puffec' nuisance, scratchin' dus' clean inter my eyes ev'y time I go
+down de road."</p>
+
+<p>"Dey is, is dey? De nasty, impident things! You better not shoo none of
+'em over heah, less'n you want me ter wring dey necks&mdash;which I boun' ter
+do ef dey pester my crawfish-lines."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm gwine now, gran'dad. Ev'ything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> is done did an' set whar you
+kin reach&mdash;I gwine down de road an' shoo dem sassy chickens away. Dis
+here bucket o' brick-dus' sho' is heavy," he added, as he lifted to his
+head a huge pail.</p>
+
+<p>Starting out, he gathered up a few grains of corn, dropping them along
+in his wake until he reached the open where the chickens were; when,
+making a circuit round them, he drove them slowly until he saw them
+begin to pick up the corn. Then he turned, whistling as he went, into a
+side street, and proceeded on his way.</p>
+
+<p>Old Mose chuckled audibly as Duke passed out, and, baiting his lines
+with corn and scraps of meat, he lifted the bit of broken plank from the
+floor, and set about his day's sport.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Mr. Chicken, I'm settin' deze heah lines fur crawfish, an' ef you
+smarties come a-foolin' round 'em, I gwine punish you 'cordin' ter de
+law. You heah me!" He chuckled as he thus presented his defence anew
+before the bar of his own conscience.</p>
+
+<p>But the chickens did not bite to-day&mdash;not a mother's son or daughter of
+them&mdash;though they ventured cautiously to the very edge of the cabin.</p>
+
+<p>It was a discouraging business, and the day seemed very long. It was
+nearly nightfall when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> Mose recognized Duke's familiar whistle from the
+levee. And when he heard the little bare feet pattering on the single
+plank that led from the brow of the bank to the cabin-door, he coughed
+and chuckled as if to disguise a certain eager agitation that always
+seized him when the little boy came home at night.</p>
+
+<p>"Here me," Duke called, still outside the door; adding as he entered,
+while he set his pail beside the old man, "How you is to-night,
+gran'dad?"</p>
+
+<p>"Des po'ly, thank Gord. How you yo'se'f, my man?" There was a note of
+affection in the old man's voice as he addressed the little pickaninny,
+who seemed in the twilight a mere midget.</p>
+
+<p>"An' what you got dyah?" he continued, turning to the pail, beside which
+Duke knelt, lighting a candle.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Picayune</i> o' light bread an' <i>lagniappe</i><a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> o' salt," Duke began,
+lifting out the parcels, "an' <i>picayune</i> o' molasses an' <i>lagniappe</i> o'
+coal-ile, ter rub yo' leg wid&mdash;heah hit in de tin can&mdash;an' <i>picayune</i> o'
+coffee an' <i>lagniappe</i> o' matches&mdash;heah <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>dey is, fo'teen an' a half, but
+de half ain't got no fizz on it. An' deze heah in de bottom, dey des
+chips I picked up 'long de road."</p>
+
+<p>"An' you ain't axed fur no <i>lagniappe</i> fo' yo'self, Juke. Whyn't you ax
+fur des one <i>lagniappe</i> o' sugar-plums, baby, bein's it's Christmas? Yo'
+ole gran'dad 'ain't got nothin' fur you, an' you know to-morrer is sho
+'nough Christmas, boy. I 'ain't got even ter say a crawfish bite on my
+lines to-day, much less'n some'h'n' fittin' fur a Christmas-gif'. I did
+set heah an' whittle you a little whistle, but some'h'n' went wrong wid
+it. Hit won't blow. But tell me, how's business to-day, boy? I see you
+done sol' yo' brick-dus'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, sir, but I toted it purty nigh all day 'fo' I <i>is</i> sold it. De
+folks wharever I went dey say nobody don't want to scour on Christmas
+Eve. An' one time I set it down an' made three nickels cuttin' grass an'
+holdin' a white man's horse, an' dat gimme a res'. An' I started out
+ag'in, an' I walked inter a big house an' ax de lady ain't she want ter
+buy some pounded brick. An', gran'dad, you know what meck she buy it?
+'Caze she say my bucket is mos' as big as I is, an' ef I had de grit ter
+tote it clean ter her house on Christmas Eve, she say I sha'n't pack it
+back&mdash;an' she gimme a dime fur it, too, stid a nickel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> An' she gimme
+two hole-in-de-middle cakes, wid sugar on 'em. Heah dey is." Duke took
+two sorry-lookin' rings from his hat and presented them to the old man.
+"I done et de sugar off 'em," he continued. "'Caze I knowed it'd give
+you de toofache in yo' gums. An' I tol' 'er what you say, gran'dad!"</p>
+
+<p>Mose turned quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"What you tol' dat white lady I say, nigger?"</p>
+
+<p>"I des tol' 'er what you say 'bout scrapin' de plates into a pan."</p>
+
+<p>Mose grinned broadly. "Is you had de face ter tell dat strange white
+'oman sech talk as dat? An' what she say?"</p>
+
+<p>"She des looked at me up an' down fur a minute, an' den she broke out in
+a laugh, an' she say: 'You sho' is de littles' coon I ever seen out
+foragin'!' An' wid dat she say: 'Ef you'll come roun' to-morrer night,
+'bout dark, I'll give you as big a pan o' scraps as you kin tote.'"</p>
+
+<p>There were tears in the old man's eyes, and he actually giggled.</p>
+
+<p>"Is she? Well done! But ain't you 'feerd you'll los' yo'self, gwine 'way
+down town at night?"</p>
+
+<p>"Los' who, gran'dad? You can't los' me in dis city, so long as de
+red-light Pertania cars is runnin'. I kin ketch on berhine tell dey
+fling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> me off, den teck de nex' one tell dey fling me off ag'in&mdash;an' hit
+ain't so fur dat-a-way."</p>
+
+<p>"Does dey fling yer off rough, boy? Look out dey don't bre'k yo' bones!"</p>
+
+<p>"Dey ain't gwine crack none o' my bones. Sometimes de drivers kicks me
+off, an' sometimes dey cusses me off, tell I lets go des ter save Gord's
+name&mdash;dat's a fac'."</p>
+
+<p>"Dat's right. Save it when you kin, boy. So she gwine scrape de
+Christmas plates fur me, is she? I wonder what sort o' white folks dis
+here tar-baby o' mine done strucken in wid, anyhow? You sho' dey reel
+quality white folks, is yer, Juke? 'Caze I ain't gwine sile my mouf on
+no po' white-trash scraps."</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't no sho'er'n des what I tell yer, gran'dad. Ef dey ain't
+quality, I don' know nothin' 't all 'bout it. I tell yer when I walked
+roun' dat yard clean ter de kitchen on dem flag-stones wid dat bucket o'
+brick on my hade, I had ter stop an' ketch my bref fo' I could talk, an'
+de cook, a sassy, fat, black lady, she would o' sont me out, but de
+madam, she seed me 'erse'f, an' she tooken took notice ter me, an' tell
+me set my bucket down, an' de yo'ng ladies, beatin' eggs in de kitchen,
+dey was makin' sport o' me, too&mdash;ax' me is I weaned yit, an' one ob 'em
+ax me is my nuss los' me! Den dey gimme deze heah hole-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>in-de-middle
+cakes, an' some reesons. I des fotched you a few reesons, but I done et
+de mos' ob em&mdash;I ain't gwine tell you no lie about it."</p>
+
+<p>"Dat's right, baby. I'm glad you is et 'em&mdash;des so dey don't cramp yer
+up&mdash;an' come 'long now an' eat yo' dinner. I saved you a good pan o'
+greens an' meat. What else is you et to-day, boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"De ladies in de kitchen dey gimme two burnt cakes, an' I swapped half
+o' my reesons wid a white boy for a biscuit&mdash;but I sho is hongry."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, an' you sleepy, too&mdash;I know you is."</p>
+
+<p>"But I gwine git up soon, gran'dad. One market-lady she seh ef I come
+early in de mornin' an' tote baskits home, she gwine gimme some'h'n'
+good; an' I'm gwine ketch all dem butchers and fish-ladies in dat
+Mag'zine Markit 'Christmas-gif'!' An' I bet yer dey'll gimme some'h'n'
+ter fetch home. Las' Christmas I got seven nickels an' a whole passel o'
+marketin' des a-ketchin' 'em Christmas-gif'. Deze heah black molasses I
+brung yer home to-night&mdash;how yer like 'em, gran'dad?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fust-rate, boy. Don't yer see me eatin' 'em? Say yo' pra'rs now, Juke,
+an' lay down, 'caze I gwine weck you up by sun-up."</p>
+
+<p>It was not long before little Duke was snoring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> on his pallet, when old
+Mose, reaching behind the mantel, produced a finely braided leather
+whip, which he laid beside the sleeping boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Wush't I had a apple ur orwange ur stick o' candy ur some'h'n' sweet
+ter lay by 'im fur Christmas," he said, fondly, as he looked upon the
+little sleeping figure. "Reck'n I mought bile dem molasses down inter a
+little candy&mdash;seem lak hit's de onlies' chance dey is."</p>
+
+<p>And turning back to the low fire, Mose stirred the coals a little,
+poured the remains of Duke's "<i>picayune</i> o' molasses" into a tomato-can,
+and began his labor of love.</p>
+
+<p>Like much of such service, it was for a long time simply a question of
+waiting; and Mose found it no simple task, even when it had reached the
+desired point, to pull the hot candy to a fairness of complexion
+approaching whiteness. When, however, he was able at last to lay a
+heavy, copper-colored twist with the whip beside the sleeping boy, he
+counted the trouble as nothing; and hobbling over to his own cot, he was
+soon also sleeping.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The sun was showing in a gleam on the river next morning when Mose
+called, lustily, "Weck up, Juke, weck up! Christmas-gif', boy,
+Christmas-gif'!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Duke turned heavily once; then, catching the words, he sprang up with a
+bound.</p>
+
+<p>"Christmas-gif', gran'dad!" he returned, rubbing his eyes; then fully
+waking, he cried, "Look onder de chips in de bucket, gran'dad."</p>
+
+<p>And the old man choked up again as he produced the bag of tobacco, over
+which he had actually cried a little last night when he had found it
+hidden beneath the chips with which he had cooked Duke's candy.</p>
+
+<p>"I 'clare, Juke, I 'clare you is a caution," was all he could say.</p>
+
+<p>"An' who gimme all deze?" Duke exclaimed, suddenly seeing his own gifts.</p>
+
+<p>"I don' know nothin' 't all 'bout it, less'n ole Santa Claus mought o'
+tooken a rest in our mud chimbley las' night," said the old man, between
+laughter and tears.</p>
+
+<p>And Duke, the knowing little scamp, cracking his whip, munching his
+candy and grinning, replied:</p>
+
+<p>"I s'pec' he is, gran'dad; an' I s'pec' he come down an' b'iled up yo'
+nickel o' molasses, too, ter meck me dis candy. Tell yer, dis whup,
+she's got a daisy snapper on 'er, gran'dad! She's wuth a dozen o' deze
+heah white-boy <i>w'ips</i>, she is!"</p>
+
+<p>The last thing Mose heard as Duke descended the levee that morning was
+the crack of the new<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> whip; and he said, as he filled his pipe, "De idee
+o' dat little tar-baby o' mine fetchin' me a Christmas-gif'!"</p>
+
+<p>It was past noon when Duke got home again, bearing upon his shoulder,
+like a veritable little Santa Claus himself, a half-filled coffee-sack,
+the joint results of his service in the market and of the generosity of
+its autocrats.</p>
+
+<p>The latter had evidently measured their gratuities by the size of their
+beneficiary, as their gifts were very small. Still, as the little fellow
+emptied the sack upon the floor, they made quite a tempting display.
+There were oranges, apples, bananas, several of each; a bunch of
+soup-greens, scraps of fresh meat&mdash;evidently butchers' "trimmings"&mdash;odds
+and ends of vegetables; while in the midst of the melee three live crabs
+struck out in as many directions for freedom.</p>
+
+<p>They were soon landed in a pot; while Mose, who was really no mean cook,
+was preparing what seemed a sumptuous mid-day meal.</p>
+
+<p>Late in the afternoon, while Mose nodded in his chair, Duke sat in the
+open doorway, stuffing the last banana into his little stomach, which
+was already as tight as a kettle-drum. He had cracked his whip until he
+was tired, but he still kept cracking it. He cracked it at every fly
+that lit on the floor, at the motes that floated into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> shaft of
+sunlight before him, at special knots in the door-sill, or at nothing,
+as the spirit moved him. A sort of holiday feeling, such as he felt on
+Sundays, had kept him at home this afternoon. If he had known that to be
+a little too full of good things and a little tired of cracking whips or
+tooting horns or drumming was the happy condition of most of the rich
+boys of the land at that identical moment, he could not have been more
+content than he was. If his stomach ached just a little, he thought of
+all the good things in it, and was rather pleased to have it ache&mdash;just
+this little. It emphasized his realization of Christmas.</p>
+
+<p>As the evening wore on, and the crabs and bananas and molasses-candy
+stopped arguing with one another down in his little stomach, he found
+himself thinking, with some pleasure, of the pan of scraps he was to get
+for his grandfather, and he wished for the hour when he should go. He
+was glad when at last the old man waked with a start and began talking
+to him.</p>
+
+<p>"I been wushin' you'd weck up an' talk, gran'dad," he said, "caze I
+wants ter ax yer what's all dis here dey say 'bout Christmas? When I was
+comin' 'long to-day I stopped in a big chu'ch, an' dey was a
+preacher-man standin' up wid a white night-gown on, an' he say dis
+here's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> our Lord's birfday. I heerd 'im say it myse'f. Is dat so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Co'se it is, Juke. Huccome you ax me sech ignunt questioms? Gimme dat
+Bible, boy, an' lemme read you some 'ligion."</p>
+
+<p>Mose had been a sort of lay-preacher in his day, and really could read a
+little, spelling or stumbling over the long words. Taking the book
+reverently, he leaned forward until the shaft of sunlight fell upon the
+open page, when with halting speech he read to the little boy, who
+listened with open-mouthed attention, the story of the birth at
+Bethlehem.</p>
+
+<p>"An' look heah, Juke, my boy," he said, finally, closing the book,
+"hit's been on my min' all day ter tell yer I ain't gwine fishin' no mo'
+tell de high-water come back&mdash;you heah? 'Caze yer know somebody's
+chickens <i>mought</i> come an' pick up de bait, an' I'd be bleeged ter kill
+'em ter save 'em, an' we ain' gwine do dat no mo', me an' you. You heah,
+Juke?"</p>
+
+<p>Duke rolled his eyes around and looked pretty serious. "Yas, sir, I
+heah," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"An' me an' you, we done made dis bargain on de Lord's birfday&mdash;yer
+heah, boy?&mdash;wid Gord's sunshine kiverin' us all over, an' my han' layin'
+on de page. Heah, lay yo' little han' on top o' mine, Juke, an' promise
+me you gwine be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> a <i>square man</i>, so he'p yer. Dat's it. Say it out loud,
+an' yo' ole gran'dad he done said it, too. Wrop up dem fishin'-lines
+now, an' th'ow 'em up on de rafters. Now come set down heah, an' lemme
+tell yer 'bout Christmas on de ole plantation. Look out how you pop dat
+whup 'crost my laig! Dat's a reg'lar horse-fly killer, wid a coal of
+fire on 'er tip." Duke laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Now han' me a live coal fur my pipe. Dis here terbacca you brung me,
+hit smokes sweet as sugar, boy. Set down, now, close by me&mdash;so."</p>
+
+<p>Duke never tired of his grandfather's reminiscences, and he crept up
+close to the old man's knee as the story began.</p>
+
+<p>"When de big plantation-bell used ter ring on Christmas mornin', all de
+darkies had to march up ter de great house fur dey Christmas-gif's; an'
+us what worked <i>at</i> de house, we had ter stan' in front o' de fiel'
+han's. An' after ole marster axed a blessin', an' de string-ban' play,
+an' we all sing a song&mdash;air one we choose&mdash;boss, he'd call out de names,
+an' we'd step up, one by one, ter git our presents; an' ef we'd walk too
+shamefaced ur too 'boveish, he'd pass a joke on us, ter set ev'ybody
+laughin'.</p>
+
+<p>"I ricollec' one Christmas-time I was co'tin' yo' gran'ma. I done had
+been co'tin' 'er two years, an' she helt 'er head so high I was 'feerd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
+ter speak. An' when Christmas come, an' I marched up ter git my present,
+ole marster gimme my bundle, an' I started back, grinnin' lak a
+chessy-cat, an' he calt me back, an' he say: 'Hol' on, Moses,' he say,
+'I got 'nother present fur you ter-day. Heah's a finger-ring I got fur
+you, an' ef it don't fit you, I reckon hit'll fit Zephyr&mdash;you know yo'
+gran'ma she was name Zephyr. An' wid dat he ran his thumb in 'is pocket
+an' fotch me out a little gal's ring&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"A gol' ring, gran'dad?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, boy, but a silver ring&mdash;ginniwine German silver. Well, I wush't you
+could o' heard them darkies holler an' laugh! An' Zephyr, ef she hadn't
+o' been so yaller, she'd o' been red as dat sky yonder, de way she did
+blush buff."</p>
+
+<p>"An' what did you do, gran'dad?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who, me? Dey warn't but des one thing <i>fur</i> me to do. I des gi'n Zephyr
+de ring, an' she ax me is I mean it, an'&mdash;an' I ax her is <i>she</i> mean it,
+an'&mdash;an' we bofe say&mdash;none o' yo' business what we say! What you lookin'
+at me so quizzical fur, Juke? Ef yer wants ter know, we des had a
+weddin' dat Christmas night&mdash;dat what we done&mdash;an' dat's huccome you got
+yo' gran'ma.</p>
+
+<p>"But I'm talkin' 'bout Christmas now. When we'd all go home, we'd open
+our bundles, an' of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> all de purty things, <i>an'</i> funny things, <i>an'</i>
+jokes you ever heerd of, dey'd be in dem Christmas bundles&mdash;some'h'n'
+ter suit ev'y one, and hit 'im square on his funny-bone ev'y time. An'
+all de little bundles o' buckwheat ur flour 'd have <i>picayunes</i> an'
+dimes in 'em! We used ter reg'lar sif' 'em out wid a sifter. Dat was des
+<i>our</i> white folks's way. None o' de yether fam'lies 'long de coas' done
+it. You see, all de diffe'nt fam'lies had diffe'nt ways. But ole marster
+an' ole miss dey'd think up some new foolishness ev'y year. We nuver
+knowed what was gwine to be did nex'&mdash;on'y one thing. <i>Dey allus put
+money in de buckwheat-bag</i>&mdash;an' you know we nuver tas'e no buckwheat
+'cep'n' on'y Christmas. Oh, boy, ef we could des meet wid some o' we's
+white folks ag'in!"</p>
+
+<p>"How is we got los' f'om 'em, gran'dad?" So Duke invited a hundredth
+repetition of the story he knew so well.</p>
+
+<p>"How did we git los' f'om we's white folks? Dat's a sad story fur
+Christmas, Juke, but ef you sesso&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Hit all happened in one night, time o' de big break in de levee, seven
+years gone by. We was lookin' fur de bank ter crack crost de river f'om
+us, an' so boss done had tooken all han's over, cep'n us ole folks an'
+chillen, ter he'p work an'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> watch de yether side. 'Bout midnight, whiles
+we was all sleepin', come a roa'in' soun', an' fus' thing we knowed, all
+in de pitchy darkness, we was floatin' away&mdash;nobody cep'n des you an' me
+an' yo' mammy in de cabin&mdash;floatin' an' bumpin' an' rockin,' <i>an' all de
+time dark as pitch</i>. So we kep' on&mdash;one minute stiddy, nex' minute
+<i>cher-plunk</i> gins' a tree ur some'h'n' nother&mdash;<i>all in de dark</i>&mdash;an' one
+minute you'd cry&mdash;you was des a weanin' baby den&mdash;an' nex' minute I'd
+heah de bed you an' yo' ma was in bump gins' de wall, an' you'd laugh
+out loud, an' yo' mammy she'd holler&mdash;<i>all in de dark</i>. An' so we
+travelled, up an' down, bunkety-bunk, seem lak a honderd hours; tell
+treckly a <i>termenjus</i> wave come, an' I had sca'cely felt it boomin'
+onder me when I pitched, an' ev'ything went travellin'. An' when I put
+out my han', I felt you by me&mdash;but yo' mammy, she warn't nowhar.</p>
+
+<p>"Hol' up yo' face an' don't cry, boy. I been a mighty poor mammy ter
+yer, but I blesses Gord to-night fur savin' dat little black baby ter
+me&mdash;<i>all in de win' an' de storm an' de dark dat night</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, yo' daddy, he was out wid de gang wuckin' de levee crost de
+river&mdash;an' dat's huccome yo' ma was 'feerd ter stay by 'erse'f an' sont
+fur me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, baby, when I knowed yo' mammy was gone, I helt you tight an'
+prayed. An' after a while&mdash;seem lak a million hours&mdash;come a pale streak
+o' day, an' 'fo' de sun was up, heah come a steamboat puffin' down de
+river, an' treckly hit blowed a whistle an' ringed a bell an' stop an'
+took us on boa'd, an' brung us on down heah ter de city."</p>
+
+<p>"An' you never seed my mammy no mo', gran'dad?" Little Duke's lips
+quivered just a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Yo' mammy was safe at Home in de Golden City, Juke, long 'fore we
+teched even de low lan' o' dis yearth.</p>
+
+<p>"An' dat's how we got los' f'om we's white folks.</p>
+
+<p>"An' time we struck de city I was so twis' up wid rheumatiz I lay fur
+six munts in de Cha'ity Hospit'l; an' you bein' so puny, cuttin' yo'
+toofs, dey kep' you right along in de baby-ward tell I was able to start
+out. An' sence I stepped out o' dat hospit'l do' wid yo' little bow-legs
+trottin' by me, so I been goin' ever sence. Days I'd go out sawin' wood,
+I'd set you on de wood-pile by me; an' when de cook 'd slip me out a
+plate o' soup, I'd ax fur two spoons. An' so you an' me, we been
+pardners right along, an' <i>I wouldn't swap pardners wid nobody</i>&mdash;you
+heah, Juke? Dis here's Christmas, an' I'm talkin' ter yer."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Duke looked so serious that a feather's weight would have tipped the
+balance and made him cry; but he only blinked.</p>
+
+<p>"An' it's gittin' late now, pardner," the old man continued, "an' you
+better be gwine&mdash;less'n you 'feerd? Ef you is, des sesso now, an' we'll
+meck out wid de col' victuals in de press."</p>
+
+<p>"Who's afeerd, gran'dad?" Duke's face had broken into a broad grin now,
+and he was cracking his whip again.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't eat no supper tell I come," he added, as he started out into the
+night. But as he turned down the street he muttered to himself:</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't keer, ef all dem sassy boys didn't pleg me&mdash;say I ain't got
+no mammy&mdash;ur daddy&mdash;ur nothin'. But dey won't say it ter me ag'in, not
+whiles I got dis whup in my han'! She sting lak a rattlesnake, she do!
+She's a daisy an' a half! Cher-whack! You gwine sass me any mo', you
+grea' big over-my-size coward, you? Take dat! An' dat! <i>An' dat!</i> Now
+run! Whoop! Heah come de red light!"</p>
+
+<p>So, in fancy avenging his little wrongs, Duke recovered his spirits and
+proceeded to catch on behind the Prytania car, that was to help him on
+his way to get his second-hand Christmas dinner.</p>
+
+<p>His benefactress had not forgotten her prom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>ise; and, in addition to a
+heavy pan of scraps, Duke took home, almost staggering beneath its
+weight, a huge, compact bundle.</p>
+
+<p>Old Mose was snoring vociferously when he reached the cabin. Depositing
+his parcel, the little fellow lit a candle, which he placed beside the
+sleeper; then uncovering the pan, he laid it gently upon his lap. And
+now, seizing a spoon and tin cup, he banged it with all his might.</p>
+
+<p>"Heah de plantation-bell! Come git yo' Christmas-gif's!"</p>
+
+<p>And when his grandfather sprang up, nearly upsetting the pan in his
+fright, Duke rolled backward on the floor, screaming with laughter.</p>
+
+<p>"I 'clare, Juke, boy," said Mose, when he found voice, "I wouldn't 'a'
+jumped so, but yo' foolishness des fitted inter my dream. I was dreamin'
+o' ole times, an' des when I come ter de ringin' o' de plantation-bell,
+I heerd <i>cherplang</i>! An' it nachelly riz me off'n my foots. What's dis
+heah? Did you git de dinner, sho' 'nough?"</p>
+
+<p>The pan of scraps quite equalled that of the old man's memory, every
+familiar fragment evoking a reminiscence.</p>
+
+<p>"You is sho' struck quality white folks dis time, Juke," he said,
+finally, as he pushed back the pan&mdash;Duke had long ago finished&mdash;"but
+dis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> here tukkey-stuffin'&mdash;I don't say 'tain' good, but <i>hit don't quite
+come up ter de mark o' ole miss's puckon stuffin'</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Duke was nodding in his chair, when presently the old man, turning to go
+to bed, spied the unopened parcel, which, in his excitement, Duke had
+forgotten. Placing it upon the table before him, Mose began to open it.
+It was a package worth getting&mdash;just such a generous Christmas bundle as
+he had described to Duke this afternoon. Perhaps it was some vague
+impression of this sort that made his old fingers tremble as he untied
+the strings, peeping or sniffing into the little parcels of tea and
+coffee and flour. Suddenly something happened. Out of a little sack of
+buckwheat, accidentally upset, rolled a ten-cent piece. The old man
+threw up his arms, fell forward over the table, and in a moment was
+sobbing aloud.</p>
+
+<p>It was some time before he could make Duke comprehend the situation, but
+presently, pointing to the coin lying before him, he cried: "Look, boy,
+look! Wharbouts is you got dat bundle? Open yo' mouf, boy! Look at de
+money in de buckwheat-bag! Oh, my ole mistuss! Nobody but you is tied up
+dat bundle! Praise Gord, I say!"</p>
+
+<p>There was no sleep for either Mose or Duke<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> now; and, late as it was,
+they soon started out, the old man steadying himself on Duke's shoulder,
+to find their people.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>It was hard for the little boy to believe, even after they had hugged
+all 'round and laughed and cried, that the stylish black gentleman who
+answered the door-bell, silver tray in hand, was his own father! He had
+often longed for a regular blue-shirted plantation "daddy," but never,
+in his most ambitious moments, had he aspired to filial relations with
+so august a personage as this!</p>
+
+<p>But while Duke was swelling up, rolling his eyes, and wondering, Mose
+stood in the centre of a crowd of his white people, while a gray-haired
+old lady, holding his trembling hand in both of hers, was saying, as the
+tears trickled down her cheeks:</p>
+
+<p>"But why didn't you get some one to write to us for you, Moses?"</p>
+
+<p>Then Mose, sniffling still, told of his long illness in the hospital,
+and of his having afterwards met a man from the coast who told the story
+of the sale of the plantation, but did not know where the family had
+gone.</p>
+
+<p>"When I fixed up that bundle," the old lady resumed, "I was thinking of
+you, Moses. Every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> year we have sent out such little packages to any
+needy colored people of whom we knew, as a sort of memorial to our lost
+ones, always half-hoping that they might actually reach some of them.
+And I thought of you specially, Moses," she continued, mischievously,
+"when I put in all that turkey-stuffing. Do you remember how greedy you
+always were about pecan-stuffing? It wasn't quite as good as usual this
+year."</p>
+
+<p>"No'm; dat what I say," said Mose. "I tol' Juke dat stuffin' warn't
+quite up ter de mark&mdash;ain't I, Juke? Fur gracious sake, look at Juke,
+settin' on his daddy's shoulder, with a face on him ole as a man! Put
+dat boy down, Pete! Dat's a business-man you foolin' wid!"</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon little Duke&mdash;man of affairs, forager, financier&mdash;overcome at
+last with the fulness of the situation, made a really babyish square
+mouth, and threw himself sobbing upon his father's bosom.</p>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Pronounced lan-yap. <i>Lagniappe</i> is a small gratuity which
+New Orleans children always expect and usually get with a purchase.
+Retail druggists keep jars of candy, licorice, or other small
+confections for that purpose.</p></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p>
+<h2>UNCLE EPHE'S ADVICE TO BRER RABBIT</h2>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 504px;">
+<img src="images/page192.jpg" width="504" height="539" alt="&quot;&#39;KEEP STEP, RABBIT, MAN!&#39;&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;&#39;KEEP STEP, RABBIT, MAN!&#39;&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="UNCLE_EPHES_ADVICE_TO_BRER_RABBIT" id="UNCLE_EPHES_ADVICE_TO_BRER_RABBIT"></a>UNCLE EPHE'S ADVICE TO BRER RABBIT</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Keep step, Rabbit, man!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hunter comin' quick's he can!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">H'ist yo'se'f! <i>Don't</i> cross de road,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Less 'n he'll hit you fur a toad!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Up an' skip it, 'fo' t's too late!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hoppit&mdash;lippit! Bull-frog gait!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hoppit&mdash;lippit&mdash;lippit&mdash;hoppit!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Goodness me, why don't you stop it?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shame on you, Mr. Ge'man Rabbit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ter limp along wid sech a habit!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'F you'd balumps on yo' hime-legs straight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' hurry wid a mannish gait,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' tie yo' ears down onder yo' th'oat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' kivir yo' tail wid a cut-away coat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rabbit-hunters by de dozen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would shek yo' han' an' call you cousin,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' like as not, you onery sinner,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dey'd ax' you home ter eat yo' dinner!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But <i>don't you go</i>, 'caze ef you do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dey'll set you down to rabbit-stew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' de shape o' dem bones an' de smell o' dat meal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Ll meck you wish you was back in de fiel'.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' ef you'd stretch yo' mouf too wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You know yo' ears mought come ontied;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' when you'd jump, you couldn't fail<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To show yo' little cotton tail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' den, 'fo' you could twis' yo' phiz,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dey'd <i>reconnize</i> you <i>who you is</i>;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' fo' you'd sca'cely bat yo' eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dey'd have you skun an' in a pie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or maybe roasted on a coal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Widout one thought about yo' soul.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So better teck ole Ephe's advice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Des rig yo'se'f out slick an' nice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' tie yo' ears down, like I said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' hide yo' tail an' lif' yo' head.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/page194.jpg" width="600" height="277" alt="&quot;&#39;WELL, ONE MO&#39; RABBIT FUR DE POT&#39;&quot;" title="" /><br />
+<span class="caption">&quot;&#39;WELL, ONE MO&#39; RABBIT FUR DE POT&#39;&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' when you balumps on yo' foots,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It wouldn't hurt ter put on boots.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Den walk <i>straight up</i>, like Mr. Man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' when he offer you 'is han',<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Des smile, an' gi'e yo' hat a tip;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But <i>don't you show yo' rabbit lip</i>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' don't you have a word ter say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No mo'n ter pass de time o' day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' ef he ax 'bout yo' affairs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Des 'low you gwine ter hunt some hares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' ax 'im is he seen a jack&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' dat 'll put 'im off de track.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now, ef you'll foller dis advice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Instid o' bein' et wid rice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ur baked in pie, ur stuffed wid sage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You'll live ter die of nachel age.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Sh! hush! What's dat? Was dat a gun?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Don't</i> trimble so. An' <i>don't you run</i>!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come, set heah on de lorg wid me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hol' down yo' ears an' cross yo' knee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>Don't</i> run, <i>I say</i>. Tut&mdash;tut! He's gorn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Right 'cross de road</i>, as sho's you born!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slam bang! I know'd he'd ketch a shot!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well, one mo' rabbit fur de pot!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MAY BE SO</h2>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="MAY_BE_SO" id="MAY_BE_SO"></a>MAY BE SO</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">September butterflies flew thick<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er flower-bed and clover-rick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When little Miss Penelope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who watched them from grandfather's knee,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Said, "Grandpa, what's a butterfly?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, "Where do flowers go to when they die?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For questions hard as hard can be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I recommend Penelope.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But grandpa had a playful way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of dodging things too hard to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By giving fantasies instead<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of serious answers, so he said,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Whenever a tired old flower must die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its soul mounts in a butterfly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just now a dozen snow-wings sped<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From out that white petunia bed;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And if you'll search, you'll find, I'm sure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A dozen shrivelled cups or more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each pansy folds her purple cloth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soars aloft in velvet moth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"So when tired sunflower doffs her cap<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of yellow frills to take a nap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis but that this surrender brings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her soul's release on golden wings."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But <i>is this so</i>? It ought to be,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said little Miss Penelope;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Because I'm <i>sure</i>, dear grandpa, <i>you</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would only tell the thing that's <i>true</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Are all the butterflies that fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Real angels of the flowers that die?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grandfather's eyes looked far away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if he scarce knew what to say.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Dear little Blossom," stroking now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The golden hair upon her brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I can't&mdash;exactly&mdash;say&mdash;I&mdash;know&mdash;it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I only heard it from a poet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And poets' eyes see wondrous things.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great mysteries of flowers and wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And marvels of the earth and sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sky, they tell us constantly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But we can never prove them right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because we lack their finer sight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they, lest we should think them wrong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weave their strange stories into song<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"<i>So beautiful</i>, so <i>seeming-true</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So confidently stated too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That we, not knowing yes or no,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can only <i>hope they may be so</i>."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But, grandpapa, no tale should close<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With <i>ifs</i> or <i>buts</i> or <i>may-be-sos</i>;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So let us play we're poets, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then we'll <i>know</i> that this is true."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<p class="fm4">THE END</p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="THE_WORKS_OF_WILLIAM_DEAN_HOWELLS" id="THE_WORKS_OF_WILLIAM_DEAN_HOWELLS"></a>THE WORKS OF WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS</h2>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>IMPRESSIONS AND EXPERIENCES. 12mo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top,
+$1 50.</p>
+
+<p><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/etext/3378">MY LITERARY PASSIONS</a>. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.</p>
+
+<p>STOPS OF VARIOUS QUILLS. Poems. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Howard Pyle</span>. 4to,
+Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 50.</p>
+
+<p>THE DAY OF THEIR WEDDING. A Story. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">T. de Thulstrup</span>.
+12mo, Cloth, $1 25.</p>
+
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+<p><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/etext/22519">CHRISTMAS EVERY DAY, <span class="smcap">and Other Stories</span></a>. Illustrated. Post 8vo,
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+Dress</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Unexpected Guests</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">A Letter of Introduction</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Albany
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+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Published by HARPER &amp; BROTHERS, New York.</span><br />
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+
+<i>The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be mailed by<br />
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+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div class="transnote">
+<h3>Transcriber's note<a name="tnotes" id="tnotes"></a></h3>
+
+<p>
+The following changes have been made to the text:</p>
+
+<p>Page 25:  "whem he was young" changed to
+"<a name="cn1" id="cn1"></a><a href="#corr1">when</a> he was young".</p>
+
+<p>Page 40: "Félice" changed to
+"<a name="cn2" id="cn2"></a><a href="#corr2">Félicie</a>".</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Solomon Crow's Christmas Pockets and
+Other Tales, by Ruth McEnery Stuart
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,5039 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Solomon Crow's Christmas Pockets and Other
+Tales, by Ruth McEnery Stuart
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Solomon Crow's Christmas Pockets and Other Tales
+
+Author: Ruth McEnery Stuart
+
+Release Date: January 12, 2009 [EBook #27779]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Carla Foust and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+book was produced from scanned images of public domain
+material from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note
+
+
+Inconsistencies in language and dialect found in the original book have
+been retained. Minor punctuation errors have been changed without
+notice. Printer errors have been changed and are listed at the end.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS
+
+RUTH McENERY STUART]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: [_See page 34_
+
+"'DIS HEAH'S A FUS-CLASS THING TER WORK OFF BAD TEMPERS WID'"]
+
+
+
+
+   SOLOMON CROW'S
+
+   CHRISTMAS POCKETS
+
+   AND OTHER TALES
+
+   BY
+
+   RUTH McENERY STUART
+
+   AUTHOR OF
+
+   "A GOLDEN WEDDING" "THE STORY OF BABETTE"
+   "CARLOTTA'S INTENDED" ETC.
+
+   ILLUSTRATED
+
+
+
+   NEW YORK
+   HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
+   1897
+
+
+
+
+BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
+
+     CARLOTTA'S INTENDED, and Other Tales. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
+       $1 50.
+
+     THE GOLDEN WEDDING, and Other Tales. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
+       $1 50.
+
+     THE STORY OF BABETTE. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 50.
+
+PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
+
+Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
+
+_All rights reserved._
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+MY DEAR NIECE
+
+LITTLE MISS LEA CALLAWAY
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                                    PAGE
+
+   SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS                                    3
+
+   THE TWO TIMS                                                       23
+
+   THE FREYS' CHRISTMAS PARTY                                         39
+
+   LITTLE MOTHER QUACKALINA                                           67
+
+   OLD EASTER                                                         91
+
+   SAINT IDYL'S LIGHT                                                111
+
+   "BLINK"                                                           131
+
+   DUKE'S CHRISTMAS                                                  165
+
+   UNCLE EPHE'S ADVICE TO BRER RABBIT                                193
+
+   MAY BE SO                                                         199
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+   "'DIS HEAH'S A FUS-CLASS THING TER WORK OFF BAD
+      TEMPERS WID'"                                        _Frontispiece_
+
+   "'SHE OUGHT TO EAT CANARY-SEED AND FISH-BONE'"         _Facing p._  46
+
+   THE ITALIAN ORGAN-GRINDER                                  "        62
+
+   "THE PROFESSOR NOT ONLY SANG, BUT DANCED"                  "        64
+
+   "THE FARMER'S BOY WAS A HUNTER"                            "        68
+
+   "SIR SOOTY HIMSELF ACTUALLY WADDLED INTO THE FARM-YARD"    "        74
+
+   "'I'M GOIN' TO SWAP 'EM'"                                  "        76
+
+   "MADE HER PUT OUT HER TONGUE"                              "        78
+
+   "HER OWN TEN BEAUTIFUL DUCKS WERE CLOSE ABOUT HER"         "        86
+
+   OLD EASTER                                                 "        92
+
+   "'YAS, MISSY, I WAS TWENTY-FO' HOND'ED YEARS OLE,
+      LAS' EASTER SUNDAY'"                                    "        94
+
+   "'DE CATS? WHY, HONEY, DEY WELCOME TO COME AN' GO'"        "       106
+
+   "'KEEP STEP, RABBIT, MAN!'"                                "       192
+
+   "'WELL, ONE MO' RABBIT FUR DE POT'"                        "       194
+
+
+
+
+SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS
+
+
+
+
+SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS
+
+
+His mother named him Solomon because, when he was a baby, he looked so
+wise; and then she called him Crow because he was so black. True, she
+got angry when the boys caught it up, but then it was too late. They
+knew more about crows than they did about Solomon, and the name suited.
+
+His twin-brother, who died when he was a day old, his mother had called
+Grundy--just because, as she said, "Solomon an' Grundy b'longs together
+in de books."
+
+When the wee black boy began to talk, he knew himself equally as Solomon
+or Crow, and so, when asked his name, he would answer: "Sol'mon Crow,"
+and Solomon Crow he thenceforth became.
+
+Crow was ten years old now, and he was so very black and polished and
+thin, and had so peaked and bright a face, that no one who had any
+sense of humor could hear him called Crow without smiling.
+
+Crow's mother, Tempest, had been a worker in her better days, but she
+had grown fatter and fatter until now she was so lazy and broad that her
+chief pleasure seemed to be sitting in her front door and gossiping with
+her neighbors over the fence, or in abusing or praising little Solomon,
+according to her mood.
+
+Tempest had never been very honest. When, in the old days, she had hired
+out as cook and carried "her dinner" home at night, the basket on her
+arm had usually held enough for herself and Crow and a pig and the
+chickens--with some to give away. She had not meant Crow to understand,
+but the little fellow was wide awake, and his mother was his pattern.
+
+But this is the boy's story. It seemed best to tell a little about his
+mother, so that, if he should some time do wrong things, we might all,
+writer and readers, be patient with him. He had been poorly taught. If
+we could not trace our honesty back to our mothers, how many of us would
+love the truth?
+
+Crow's mother loved him very much--she thought. She would knock down any
+one who even blamed him for anything. Indeed, when things went well, she
+would sometimes go sound asleep in the door with her fat arm around
+him--very much as the mother-cat beside her lay half dozing while she
+licked her baby kitten.
+
+But if Crow was awkward or forgot anything--or didn't bring home money
+enough--her abuse was worse than any mother-cat's claws.
+
+One of her worst taunts on such occasions was about like this: "Well,
+you is a low-down nigger, I must say. Nobody, to look at you, would
+b'lieve you was twin to a angel!"
+
+Or, "How you reckon yo' angel-twin feels ef he's a-lookin' at you now?"
+
+Crow had great reverence for his little lost mate. Indeed, he feared the
+displeasure of this other self, who, he believed, watched him from the
+skies, quite as much as the anger of God. Sad to say, the good Lord,
+whom most children love as a kind, heavenly Father, was to poor little
+Solomon Crow only a terrible, terrible punisher of wrong, and the little
+boy trembled at His very name. He seemed to hear God's anger in the
+thunder or the wind; but in the blue sky, the faithful stars, the
+opening flowers and singing birds--in all loving-kindness and
+friendship--he never saw a heavenly Father's love.
+
+He knew that some things were right and others wrong. He knew that it
+was right to go out and earn dimes to buy the things needed in the
+cabin, but he equally knew it was wrong to get this money dishonestly.
+Crow was a very shrewd little boy, and he made money honestly in a
+number of ways that only a wide-awake boy would think about.
+
+When fig season came, in hot summer-time, he happened to notice that
+beautiful ripe figs were drying up on the tip-tops of some great trees
+in a neighboring yard, where a stout old gentleman and his old wife
+lived alone, and he began to reflect.
+
+"If I could des git a-holt o' some o' dem fine sugar figs dat's
+a-swivelin' up every day on top o' dem trees, I'd meck a heap o' money
+peddlin' 'em on de street." And even while he thought this thought he
+licked his lips. There were, no doubt, other attractions about the figs
+for a very small boy with a very sweet tooth.
+
+On the next morning after this, Crow rang the front gate-bell of the
+yard where the figs were growing.
+
+"Want a boy to pick figs on sheers?" That was all he said to the fat old
+gentleman who had stepped around the house in answer to his ring.
+
+Crow's offer was timely.
+
+Old Mr. Cary was red in the face and panting even yet from reaching up
+into the mouldy, damp lower limbs of his fig-trees, trying to gather a
+dishful for breakfast.
+
+"Come in," he said, mopping his forehead as he spoke.
+
+"Pick on shares, will you?"
+
+"Yassir."
+
+"Even?"
+
+"Yassir."
+
+"Promise never to pick any but the very ripe figs?"
+
+"Yassir."
+
+"Honest boy?"
+
+"Yassir."
+
+"Turn in, then; but wait a minute."
+
+He stepped aside into the house, returning presently with two baskets.
+
+"Here," he said, presenting them both. "These are pretty nearly of a
+size. Go ahead, now, and let's see what you can do."
+
+Needless to say, Crow proved a great success as fig-picker. The very
+sugary figs that old Mr. Cary had panted for and reached for in vain lay
+bursting with sweetness on top of both baskets.
+
+The old gentleman and his wife were delighted, and the boy was quickly
+engaged to come every morning.
+
+And this was how Crow went into the fig business.
+
+Crow was a likable boy--"so bright and handy and nimble"--and the old
+people soon became fond of him.
+
+They noticed that he always handed in the larger of the two baskets,
+keeping the smaller for himself. This seemed not only honest, but
+generous.
+
+And generosity is a winning virtue in the very needy--as winning as it
+is common. The very poor are often great of heart.
+
+But this is not a safe fact upon which to found axioms.
+
+All God's poor are not educated up to the point of even small, fine
+honesties, and the so-called "generous" are not always "just" or honest.
+
+And--
+
+Poor little Solomon Crow! It is a pity to have to write it, but his weak
+point was exactly that he was not quite honest. He wanted to be, just
+because his angel-twin might be watching him, and he was afraid of
+thunder. But Crow was so anxious to be "smart" that he had long ago
+begun doing "tricky" things. Even the men working the roads had
+discovered this. In eating Crow's "fresh-boiled crawfish" or "shrimps,"
+they would often come across one of the left-overs of yesterday's
+supply, mixed in with the others; and a yesterday's shrimp is full of
+stomach-ache and indigestion. So that business suffered.
+
+In the fig business the ripe ones sold well; but when one of Crow's
+customers offered to buy all he would bring of green ones for
+preserving, Crow began filling his basket with them and distributing a
+top layer of ripe ones carefully over them. His lawful share of the very
+ripe he also carried away--in his little bread-basket.
+
+This was all very dishonest, and Crow knew it. Still he did it many
+times.
+
+And then--and this shows how one sin leads to another--and then, one
+day--oh, Solomon Crow, I'm ashamed to tell it on you!--one day he
+noticed that there were fresh eggs in the hen-house nests, quite near
+the fig-trees. Now, if there was anything Crow liked, it was a fried
+egg--two fried eggs. He always said he wanted two on his plate at once,
+looking at him like a pair of round eyes, "an' when dey reco'nizes me,"
+he would say, "den I eats 'em up."
+
+Why not slip a few of these tempting eggs into the bottom of the basket
+and cover them up with ripe figs?
+
+And so--,
+
+One day, he did it.
+
+He had stopped at the dining-room door that day and was handing in the
+larger basket, as usual, when old Mr. Cary, who stood there, said,
+smiling:
+
+"No, give us the smaller basket to-day, my boy. It's our turn to be
+generous."
+
+He extended his hand as he spoke.
+
+Crow tried to answer, but he could not. His mouth felt as dry and stiff
+and hard as a chip, and he suddenly began to open it wide and shut it
+slowly, like a chicken with the gapes.
+
+Mr. Cary kept his hand out waiting, but still Crow stood as if
+paralyzed, gaping and swallowing.
+
+Finally, he began to blink. And then he stammered:
+
+"I ain't p-p-p-ertic'lar b-b-bout de big basket. D-d-d-de best figs is
+in y'all's pickin'--in dis, de big basket."
+
+Crow's appearance was conviction itself. Without more ado, Mr. Cary
+grasped his arm firmly and fairly lifted him into the room.
+
+"Now, set those baskets down." He spoke sharply.
+
+The boy obeyed.
+
+"Here! empty the larger one on this tray. That's it. All fine, ripe
+figs. You've picked well for us. Now turn the other one out."
+
+At this poor Crow had a sudden relapse of the dry gapes. His arm fell
+limp and he looked as if he might tumble over.
+
+"Turn 'em out!" The old gentleman shrieked in so thunderous a tone that
+Crow jumped off his feet, and, seizing the other basket with his little
+shaking paws, he emptied it upon the heap of figs.
+
+Old Mrs. Cary had come in just in time to see the eggs roll out of the
+basket, and for a moment she and her husband looked at each other. And
+then they turned to the boy.
+
+When she spoke her voice was so gentle that Crow, not understanding,
+looked quickly into her face:
+
+"Let me take him into the library, William. Come, my boy."
+
+Her tone was so soft, so sorrowful and sympathetic, that Crow felt as he
+followed her as if, in the hour of his deepest disgrace, he had found a
+friend; and when presently he stood in a great square room before a high
+arm-chair, in which a white-haired old lady sat looking at him over her
+gold-rimmed spectacles and talking to him as he had never been spoken to
+in all his life before, he felt as if he were in a great court before a
+judge who didn't understand half how very bad little boys were.
+
+She asked him a good many questions--some very searching ones, too--all
+of which Crow answered as best he could, with his very short breath.
+
+His first feeling had been of pure fright. But when he found he was not
+to be abused, not beaten or sent to jail, he began to wonder.
+
+Little Solomon Crow, ten years old, in a Christian land, was hearing for
+the first time in his life that God loved him--loved him even now in his
+sin and disgrace, and wanted him to be good.
+
+He listened with wandering eyes at first, half expecting the old
+gentleman, Mr. Cary, to appear suddenly at the door with a whip or a
+policeman with a club. But after a while he kept his eyes steadily upon
+the lady's face.
+
+"Has no one ever told you, Solomon"--she had always called him Solomon,
+declaring that Crow was not a fit name for a boy who looked as he
+did--it was altogether "too personal"--"has no one ever told you,
+Solomon," she said, "that God loves all His little children, and that
+you are one of these children?"
+
+"No, ma'am," he answered, with difficulty. And then, as if catching at
+something that might give him a little standing, he added, quickly--so
+quickly that he stammered again:
+
+"B-b-b-but I knowed I was twin to a angel. I know dat. An' I knows ef my
+angel twin seen me steal dem aigs he'll be mightly ap' to tell Gord to
+strike me down daid."
+
+Of course he had to explain then about the "angel twin," and the old
+lady talked to him for a long time. And then together they knelt down.
+When at last they came out of the library she held the boy's hand and
+led him to her husband.
+
+"Are you willing to try him again, William?" she asked. "He has promised
+to do better."
+
+Old Mr. Cary cleared his throat and laid down his paper.
+
+"Don't deserve it," he began; "dirty little thief." And then he turned
+to the boy: "What have you got on, sir?"
+
+His voice was really quite terrible.
+
+"N-n-n-nothin'; only but des my b-b-b-briches an' jacket, an'--an'--an'
+skin," Crow replied, between gasps.
+
+"How many pockets?"
+
+"Two," said Crow.
+
+"Turn 'em out!"
+
+Crow drew out his little rust-stained pockets, dropping a few old nails
+and bits of twine upon the floor as he did so.
+
+"Um--h'm! Well, now, I'll tell you. _You're a dirty little thief_, as I
+said before. And I'm going to treat you as one. If you wear those
+pockets hanging out, or rip 'em out, and come in here before you leave
+every day dressed just as you are--pants and jacket and skin--and empty
+out your basket for us before you go, until I'm satisfied you'll do
+better, you can come."
+
+The old lady looked at her husband as if she thought him pretty hard on
+a very small boy. But she said nothing.
+
+Crow glanced appealingly at her before answering. And then he said,
+seizing his pocket:
+
+"Is you got air pair o' scissors, lady?"
+
+Mrs. Cary wished her husband would relent even while she brought the
+scissors, but he only cried:
+
+"Out with 'em!"
+
+"Suppose you cut them out yourself, Solomon," she interposed, kindly,
+handing him the scissors. "You'll have all this work to do yourself. We
+can't make you good."
+
+When, after several awkward efforts, Crow finally put the coarse little
+pockets in her hands, there were tears in her eyes, and she tried to
+hide them as she leaned over and gathered up his treasures--three nails,
+a string, a broken top, and a half-eaten chunk of cold corn-bread. As
+she handed them to him she said: "And I'll lay the pockets away for you,
+Solomon, and when we see that you are an honest boy I'll sew them back
+for you myself."
+
+As she spoke she rose, divided the figs evenly between the two baskets,
+and handed one to Crow.
+
+If there ever was a serious little black boy on God's beautiful earth it
+was little Solomon Crow as he balanced his basket of figs on his head
+that day and went slowly down the garden walk and out the great front
+gate.
+
+The next few weeks were not without trial to the boy. Old Mr. Cary
+continued very stern, even following him daily to the _banquette_, as if
+he dare not trust him to go out alone. And when he closed the iron gate
+after him he would say in a tone that was awfully solemn:
+
+"Good-mornin', sir!"
+
+That was all.
+
+Little Crow dreaded that walk to the gate more than all the rest of the
+ordeal. And yet, in a way, it gave him courage. He was at least worth
+while, and with time and patience he would win back the lost faith of
+the friends who were kind to him even while they could not trust him.
+They were, indeed, kind and generous in many ways, both to him and his
+unworthy mother.
+
+Fig-time was soon nearly over, and, of course, Crow expected a
+dismissal; but it was Mr. Cary himself who set these fears at rest by
+proposing to him to come daily to blacken his boots and to keep the
+garden-walk in order for regular wages.
+
+"But," he warned him, in closing, "don't you show your face here with a
+pocket on you. If your heavy pants have any in 'em, rip 'em out." And
+then he added, severely: "You've been a very bad boy."
+
+"Yassir," answered Crow, "I know I is. I been a heap wusser boy'n you
+knowed I was, too."
+
+"What's that you say, sir?"
+
+Crow repeated it. And then he added, for full confession:
+
+"I picked green figs heap o' days, and kivered 'em up wid ripe ones, an'
+sol' 'em to a white 'oman fur perserves." There was something desperate
+in the way he blurted it all out.
+
+"The dickens you did! And what are you telling me for?"
+
+He eyed the boy keenly as he put the question.
+
+At this Crow fairly wailed aloud: "'Caze I ain't gwine do it no mo'."
+And throwing his arms against the door-frame he buried his face in them,
+and he sobbed as if his little heart would break.
+
+For a moment old Mr. Cary seemed to have lost his voice, and then he
+said, in a voice quite new to Crow:
+
+"I don't believe you will, sir--I don't believe you will." And in a
+minute he said, still speaking gently: "Come here, boy."
+
+Still weeping aloud, Crow obeyed.
+
+"Tut, tut! No crying!" he began. "Be a man--be a man. And if you stick
+to it, before Christmas comes, we'll see about those pockets, and you
+can walk into the new year with your head up. But look sharp! Good-bye,
+now!"
+
+For the first time since the boy's fall Mr. Cary did not follow him to
+the gate. Maybe this was the beginning of trust. Slight a thing as it
+was, the boy took comfort in it.
+
+At last it was Christmas eve. Crow was on the back "gallery" putting a
+final polish on a pair of boots. He was nearly done, and his heart was
+beginning to sink, when the old lady came and stood near him. There was
+a very hopeful twinkle in her eye as she said, presently: "I wonder what
+our little shoeblack, who has been trying so hard to be good, would like
+to have for his Christmas gift?"
+
+But Crow only blinked while he polished the faster.
+
+"Tell me, Solomon," she insisted. "If you had one wish to-day, what
+would it be?"
+
+The boy wriggled nervously. And then he said:
+
+"You knows, lady. Needle--an' thrade--an'--an'--you knows, lady.
+Pockets."
+
+"Well, pockets it shall be. Come into my room when you get through."
+
+Old Mrs. Cary sat beside the fire reading as he went in. Seeing him, she
+nodded, smiling, towards the bed, upon which Crow saw a brand-new suit
+of clothes--coat, vest, and breeches--all spread out in a row.
+
+"There, my boy," she said; "there are your pockets."
+
+Crow had never in all his life owned a full new suit of clothes. All his
+"new" things had been second-hand, and for a moment he could not quite
+believe his eyes; but he went quickly to the bed and began passing his
+hands over the clothes. Then he ventured to take up the vest--and to
+turn it over. And now he began to find pockets.
+
+"Three pockets in de ves'--two in de pants--an'--an' fo', no five, no
+six--six pockets in de coat!"
+
+He giggled nervously as he thrust his little black fingers into one and
+then another. And then, suddenly overcome with a sense of the situation,
+he turned to Mrs. Cary, and, in a voice that trembled a little, said:
+
+"Is you sho' you ain't 'feerd to trus' me wid all deze pockets, lady?"
+
+It doesn't take a small boy long to slip into a new suit of clothes. And
+when a ragged urchin disappeared behind the head of the great old
+"four-poster" to-day, it seemed scarcely a minute before a trig,
+"tailor-made boy" strutted out from the opposite side, hands deep in
+pockets--breathing hard.
+
+As Solomon Crow strode up and down the room, radiant with joy, he seemed
+for the moment quite unconscious of any one's presence. But presently he
+stopped, looked involuntarily upward a minute, as if he felt himself
+observed from above. Then, turning to the old people, who stood together
+before the mantel, delightedly watching him, he said:
+
+"Bet you my angel twin ain't ashamed, ef he's a-lookin' down on me
+to-day."
+
+
+
+
+THE TWO TIMS
+
+
+
+
+THE TWO TIMS
+
+
+As the moon sent a white beam through the little square window of old
+Uncle Tim's cabin, it formed a long panel of light upon its
+smoke-stained wall, bringing into clear view an old banjo hanging upon a
+rusty nail. Nothing else in the small room was clearly visible. Although
+it was Christmas eve, there was no fire upon the broad hearth, and from
+the open door came the odor of honeysuckles and of violets. Winter is
+often in Louisiana only a name given by courtesy to the months coming
+between autumn and spring, out of respect to the calendar; and so it was
+this year.
+
+Sitting in the open doorway, his outline lost in the deep shadows of the
+vine, was old Uncle Tim, while, upon the floor at his side lay little
+Tim, his grandson. The boy lay so still that in the dim half-light he
+seemed a part of the floor furnishings, which were, in fact, an old cot,
+two crippled stools, a saddle, and odds and ends of broken harness, and
+bits of rope.
+
+Neither the old man nor the boy had spoken for a long time, and while
+they gazed intently at the old banjo hanging in the panel of light, the
+thoughts of both were tinged with sadness. The grandfather was nearly
+seventy years old, and little Tim was but ten; but they were great
+chums. The little boy's father had died while he was too young to
+remember, leaving little Tim to a step-mother, who brought him to his
+grandfather's home, where he had been ever since, and the attachment
+quickly formed between the two had grown and strengthened with the
+years.
+
+Old Uncle Tim was very poor, and his little cabin was small and shabby;
+and yet neither hunger nor cold had ever come in an unfriendly way to
+visit it. The tall plantation smoke-house threw a friendly shadow over
+the tiny hut every evening just before the sun went down--a shadow that
+seemed a promise at close of each day that the poor home should not be
+forgotten. Nor was it. Some days the old man was able to limp into the
+field and cut a load of cabbages for the hands, or to prepare seed
+potatoes for planting, so that, as he expressed it, "each piece 'll have
+one eye ter grow wid an' another ter look on an' see dat everything goes
+right."
+
+And then Uncle Tim was brimful of a good many valuable things with which
+he was very generous--_advice_, for instance.
+
+He could advise with wisdom upon any number of subjects, such as just at
+what time of the moon to make soap so that it would "set" well, how to
+find a missing shoat, or the right spot to dig for water.
+
+These were all valuable services; yet cabbages were not always ready to
+be cut, potato-planting was not always in season. Often for weeks not a
+hog would stray off. Only once in a decade a new well was wanted; and as
+to soap-making, it could occur only once during each moon at most.
+
+It is true that between times Uncle Tim gave copious warnings _not_ to
+make soap, which was quite a saving of effort and good material.
+
+But whether he was cutting seed potatoes, or advising, or only playing
+on his banjo, as he did incessantly between times, his rations came to
+the little cabin with clock-like regularity. They came just as regularly
+as old Tim _had worked_ when he was young, as regularly as little Tim
+_would_ when he should grow up, as it is a pity daily rations cannot
+always come to such feeble ones as, whether in their first or second
+childhood, are able to render only the service of willingness.
+
+And so we see that the two Tims, as they were often called, had no great
+anxieties as to their living, although they were very poor.
+
+The only thing in the world that the old man held as a personal
+possession was his old banjo. It was the one thing the little boy
+counted on as a precious future property. Often, at all hours of the day
+or evening, old Tim could be seen sitting before the cabin, his arms
+around the boy, who stood between his knees, while, with eyes closed, he
+ran his withered fingers over the strings, picking out the tunes that
+best recalled the stories of olden days that he loved to tell into the
+little fellow's ear. And sometimes, holding the banjo steady, he would
+invite little Tim to try his tiny hands at picking the strings.
+
+"Look out how you snap 'er too sudden!" he would exclaim if the little
+fingers moved too freely. "Look out, I say! Dis ain't none o' yo'
+pick-me-up-hit-an'-miss banjos, she ain't! An' you mus' learn ter treat
+'er wid rispec', caze, when yo' ole gran'dad dies, she gwine be yo'
+banjo, an' stan' in his place ter yer!"
+
+And then little Tim, confronted with the awful prospect of death and
+inheritance, would take a long breath, and, blinking his eyes, drop his
+hands at his side, saying, "You play 'er gran'dad."
+
+But having once started to speak, the old man was seldom brief, and so
+he would continue: "It's true dis ole banjo she's livin' in a po' nigger
+cabin wid a ole black marster an' a new one comin' on blacker yit. (You
+taken dat arter yo' gran'mammy, honey. She warn't dis heah muddy-brown
+color like I is. She was a heap purtier and clairer black.) Well, I say,
+if dis ole banjo _is_ livin' wid po' ignunt black folks, I wants you ter
+know she was _born white_.
+
+"Don't look at me so cuyus, honey. I know what I say. I say she was
+_born white._ Dat is, she _de_scended ter me _f'om_ white folks. My
+marster bought 'er ter learn on when we was boys together. An' he took
+_book lessons_ on 'er too, an' dat's how come I say she ain't none o'
+yo' common pick-up-my-strings-any-which-er-way banjos. She's been played
+by note music in her day, she is, an' she can answer a book note des as
+true as any _pi_anner a pusson ever listened at--ef anybody know how ter
+tackle 'er. Of co'se, ef you des tackle 'er p'omiskyus she ain't gwine
+bother 'erse'f ter play 'cordin' ter rule; but--
+
+"Why, boy, dis heah banjo she's done serenaded all de a'stocercy on dis
+river 'twix' here an' de English Turn in her day. Yas, she is. An' all
+dat expeunce is in 'er breast now; she 'ain't forgot it, an' ef air
+pusson dat know all dem ole book chunes was ter take 'er up an' call fur
+'em, she'd give 'em eve'y one des as true as ever yit.
+
+"An' yer know, baby, I'm a-tellin' you all dis," he would say, in
+closing--"I'm a-tellin' you all dis caze arter while, when I die, she
+gwine be _yo'_ banjo, 'n' I wants you ter know all 'er ins an' outs."
+
+And as he stopped, the little boy would ask, timidly, "Please, sir,
+gran'dad, lemme tote 'er an' hang 'er up. I'll step keerful." And taking
+each step with the utmost precision, and holding the long banjo aloft in
+his arms as if it were made of egg-shells, little Tim would climb the
+stool and hang the precious thing in its place against the cabin wall.
+
+Such a conversation had occurred to-day, and as the lad had taken the
+banjo from him the old man had added:
+
+"I wouldn't be s'prised, baby, ef 'fo' another year passes dat'll be
+_yo' banjo_, caze I feels mighty weak an' painful some days."
+
+This was in the early evening, several hours before the scene with which
+this little story opens. As night came on and the old man sat in the
+doorway, he did not notice that little Tim, in stretching himself upon
+the floor, as was his habit, came nearer than usual--so near, indeed,
+that, extending his little foot, he rested it against his grandfather's
+body, too lightly to be felt, and yet sensibly enough to satisfy his own
+affectionate impulse. And so he was lying when the moon rose and covered
+the old banjo with its light. He felt very serious as he gazed upon it,
+standing out so distinctly in the dark room. Some day it would be his;
+but the dear old grandfather would not be there, his chair would be
+always empty. There would be nobody in the little cabin but just little
+Tim and the banjo. He was too young to think of other changes. The
+ownership of the coveted treasure promised only death and utter
+loneliness. But presently the light passed off the wall on to the floor.
+It was creeping over to where little Tim lay, but he did not know it,
+and after blinking awhile at long intervals, and moving his foot
+occasionally to reassure himself of his grandfather's presence, he fell
+suddenly sound asleep.
+
+While these painful thoughts were filling little Tim's mind the old man
+had studied the bright panel on the wall with equal interest--and pain.
+By the very nature of things he could not leave the banjo to the boy and
+witness his pleasure in the possession.
+
+"She's de onlies' thing I got ter leave 'im, but I does wush't I could
+see him git 'er an' be at his little elbow ter show 'im all 'er ways,"
+he said, half audibly. "Dis heah way o' leavin' things ter folks when
+you die, it sounds awful high an' mighty, but look ter me like hit's po'
+satisfaction some ways. Po' little Tim! Now what he gwine do anyhow when
+I draps off?--nothin' but step-folks ter take keer of 'im--step-mammy
+an' step-daddy an' 'bout a dozen step brothers an' sisters, an' not even
+me heah ter show 'im how ter conduc' 'is banjo. De ve'y time he need me
+de mos' ter show 'im her ins an' outs I won't be nowhars about, an'
+yit--"
+
+As the old man's thoughts reached this point a sudden flare of light
+across the campus showed that the first bonfire was lighted.
+
+There was to be a big dance to-night in the open space in front of the
+sugar-house, and the lighting of the bonfires surrounding the spot was
+the announcement that it was time for everybody to come. It was Uncle
+Tim's signal to take down the banjo and tune up, for there was no more
+important instrument in the plantation string-band than this same old
+banjo.
+
+As he turned backward to wake little Tim he hesitated a moment, looking
+lovingly upon the little sleeping figure, which the moon now covered
+with a white rectangle of light. As his eyes rested upon the boy's face
+something, a confused memory of his last waking anxiety perhaps,
+brought a slight quiver to his lips, as if he might cry in his sleep,
+while he muttered the word "gran'dad."
+
+Old Uncle Tim had been trying to get himself to the point of doing
+something which it was somehow hard to do, but this tremulous lisping of
+his own name settled the question.
+
+Hobbling to his feet, he wended his way as noiselessly as possible to
+where the banjo hung, and, carrying it to the sleeping boy, laid it
+gently, with trembling fingers, upon his arm.
+
+Then, first silently regarding him a moment, he called out, "Weck up,
+Tim, my man! Weck up!"
+
+As he spoke, a loud and continuous explosion of fire-crackers--the
+opening of active festivities in the campus--startled the boy quite out
+of his nap.
+
+He was frightened and dazed for a minute, and then, seeing the banjo
+beside him and his grandfather's face so near, he exclaimed: "What's all
+dis, gran'dad? Whar me?"
+
+The old man's voice was pretty husky as he answered: "You right heah wid
+me, boy, an' dat banjo, hit's yo' Christmas gif', honey."
+
+Little Tim cast an agonized look upon the old man's face, and threw
+himself into his arms. "Is you gwine die now, gran'dad?" he sobbed,
+burying his face upon his bosom.
+
+Old Tim could not find voice at once, but presently he chuckled,
+nervously: "Humh! humh! No, boy, I ain't gwine die yit--not till my time
+comes, please Gord. But dis heah's Christmas, honey, an' I thought I'd
+gi'e you de ole banjo whiles I was living so's I could--so's you
+could--so's we could have pleasure out'n 'er bofe together, yer know,
+honey. Dat is, f'om dis time on she's _yo' banjo_, an' when I wants ter
+play on 'er, you _can loan 'er ter me_."
+
+"An'--an' you--you _sho'_ you ain't gwine die, gran'dad?"
+
+"I ain't sho' o' nothin', honey, but I 'ain't got no _notion_ o'
+dyin'--not to-night. We gwine ter de dance now, you an' me, an' I gwine
+play de banjo--_dat is ef you'll loan 'er ter me, baby_."
+
+Tim wanted to laugh, and it seemed sheer contrariness for him to cry,
+but somehow the tears would come, and the lump in his throat, and try
+hard as he might, he couldn't get his head higher than his grandfather's
+coat-sleeve or his arms from around his waist. He hardly knew why he
+still wept, and yet when presently he sobbed, "But, gran'dad, I'm
+'feered you _mought_ die," the old man understood.
+
+Certainly, even if he were not going to die now, giving away the old
+banjo seemed like a preparation for death. Was it not, in fact, a formal
+confession that he was nearing the end of his days? Had not this very
+feeling made it hard for him to part with it? The boy's grief at the
+thought touched him deeply, and lifting the little fellow upon his knee,
+he said, fondly:
+
+"_Don't_ fret, honey. _Don't_ let Christmas find yon cryin'. I tell you
+what I say let's do. I ain't gwine gi'e you de banjo, not yit, caze, des
+as you say, I _mought_ die; but I tell you what I gwine do. I gwine take
+you in pardners in it wid me. She ain't _mine_ an' she ain't _yoze_, and
+yit she's _bofe of us's_. You see, boy? _She's ourn!_ An' when I wants
+ter play on 'er _I'll play_, an' when you wants 'er, why, you teck
+'er--on'y be a _leetle_ bit keerful at fust, honey."
+
+"An' kin I ca'y 'er behine de cabin, whar you can't see how I'm
+a-holdin' 'er, an' play anyway I choose?"
+
+Old Tim winced a little at this, but he had not given grudgingly.
+
+"Cert'n'y," he answered. "Why not? Git up an' play 'er in de middle o'
+de night ef you want ter, on'y, of co'se, be keerful how you reach 'er
+down, so's you won't jolt 'er too sudden. An' now, boy, hand 'er heah
+an' lemme talk to yer a little bit."
+
+When little Tim lifted the banjo from the floor his face fairly beamed
+with joy, although in the darkness no one saw it, for the shaft of light
+had passed beyond him now. Handing the banjo to his grandfather, he
+slipped naturally back of it into his accustomed place in his arms.
+
+"Dis heah's a fus'-class thing ter work off bad tempers wid," the old
+man began, tightening the strings as he spoke. "Now ef one o' deze mule
+tempers ever take a-holt of yer in de foot, dat foot 'll be mighty ap'
+ter do some kickin'; an' ef it seizes a-holt o' yo' han', dat little
+fis' 'll be purty sho ter strike out an' do some damage; an' ef it jump
+onter yo' tongue, hit 'll mighty soon twis' it into sayin' bad language.
+But ef you'll teck hol' o' dis ole banjo des as quick as you feel de
+badness rise up in you, _an' play_, you'll scare de evil temper away so
+bad it _daresn't come back_. Ef it done settled _too strong_ in yo'
+tongue, run it off wid a song; an' ef yo' feet's git a kickin' spell on
+'em, _dance it off_; an' ef you feel it in yo' han', des run fur de
+banjo an' play de sweetes' chune you know, an' fus' thing you know all
+yo' madness 'll be gone.
+
+"She 'ain't got no mouf, but she can talk ter you, all de same; an' she
+'ain't got no head, but she can reason wid you. An' while ter look at
+'er she's purty nigh all belly, she don't eat a crumb. Dey ain't a
+greedy bone in 'er.
+
+"An' I wants you ter ricollec' dat I done guv 'er to you--dat is, _yo'
+sheer_ [share] _in 'er_, caze she's _mine_ too, you know. I done guv you
+a even sheer in 'er, des _caze you an' me is gran'daddy an' gran'son_.
+
+"Dis heah way o' dyin' an' _leavin'_ prop'ty, hit mought suit white
+folks, but it don't become our complexioms, some way; an' de mo' I
+thought about havin' to die ter give de onlies' gran'son I got de
+onlies' _prop'ty_ I got, de _miser'bler I got_, tell I couldn't stan' it
+no mo'."
+
+Little Tim's throat choked up again, and he rolled his eyes around and
+swallowed twice before he answered: "An' I--I was miser'ble too,
+gran'dad. I used ter des look at 'er hangin' 'g'inst de wall, an' think
+about me maybe playin' 'er, an' you--you not--not nowhar in
+sight--an'--an' some days seem like _I--I des hated 'er_."
+
+"Yas, baby, I know. But now you won't hate 'er no mo', boy; an' ef you
+die fus'--some time, you know, baby, little boys _does die_--an' ef you
+go fus', I'll teck good keer o' yo' sheer in 'er; an' ef I go, you mus'
+look out fur my sheer. An' long as we bofe live--well, I'll look out fur
+'er voice--keep 'er th'oat strings in order; an' you see dat she don't
+git ketched out in bad comp'ny, or in de rain, an' take cold.
+
+"Come on now. Wash yo' little face, and let's go ter de dance. Gee-man!
+Lis'n at de fire-crackers callin' us. Come on. Dat's right. Pack 'er on
+yo' shoulder like a man."
+
+And so the two Tims start off to the Christmas festival, young Tim
+bearing his precious burden proudly ahead, while the old man follows
+slowly behind, chuckling softly.
+
+"Des think how much time I done los', not takin' 'im in pardners befo',
+an' he de onlies' gran'son I got!"
+
+While little Tim, walking cautiously so as not to trip in the uneven
+path, turns presently and calls back:
+
+"Gran'dad, I reckon we done walked half de way, now. I done toted 'er
+_my_ sheer. Don't you want me ter tote 'er _yo' sheer_?"
+
+And the old man answers, with another chuckle, "Go on, honey."
+
+
+
+
+THE FREYS' CHRISTMAS PARTY
+
+
+
+
+THE FREYS' CHRISTMAS PARTY
+
+
+There was a great sensation in the old Coppenole house three days before
+Christmas. The Freys, who lived on the third floor, were going to give a
+Christmas dinner party, and all the other tenants were invited.
+
+Such a thing had never happened before, and, as Miss Penny told her
+canary-birds while she filled their seed-cups, it was "like a clap of
+thunder out of a clear sky."
+
+The Frey family, consisting of a widow and her brood of half a dozen
+children, were as poor as any of the tenants in the old building, for
+wasn't the mother earning a scant living as a beginner in newspaper
+work? Didn't the Frey children do every bit of the house-work, not to
+mention little outside industries by which the older ones earned small
+incomes? Didn't Meg send soft gingerbread to the Christian Woman's
+Exchange for sale twice a week, and Ethel find time, with all her
+studies, to paint butterflies on Swiss aprons for fairs or fetes?
+
+Didn't everybody know that Conrad, now but thirteen, was a regular
+solicitor for orders for Christmas-trees, palmetto palms, and gray moss
+from the woods for decorative uses on holiday occasions?
+
+The idea of people in such circumstances as these giving dinner parties!
+It was almost incredible; but it was true, for tiny notes of invitation
+tied with rose-colored ribbons had been flying over the building all the
+afternoon. The Frey twins, Felix and Felicie, both barefoot, had carried
+one to each door.
+
+They were written with gold ink on pink paper. A water-colored butterfly
+was poised in midair somewhere on each one, and at the left lower end
+were the mysterious letters "R.S.V.P."
+
+The old Professor who lived in the room next the Frey kitchen got one,
+and Miss Penny, who occupied the room beyond. So did Mademoiselle
+Guyosa, who made paper flowers, and the mysterious little woman of the
+last, worst room in the house--a tiny figure whose face none of her
+neighbors had ever seen, but who had given her name to the baker and
+milkman as "Mamzelle St. John."
+
+And there were others. Madame Coraline, the fortune-teller, who rented
+the hall room on the second floor, was perhaps more surprised at her
+invitation than any of the rest. No one ever asked her anywhere. Even
+the veiled ladies who sometimes visited her darkened chamber always
+tiptoed up the steps as if they were half ashamed of going there.
+
+The twins had a time getting her to come to the door to receive the
+invitation, and after vainly rapping several times, they had finally
+brought a parasol and hammered upon the horseshoe tacked upon the door,
+until at last it opened just about an inch. And then she was invited.
+
+But, indeed, it is time to be telling how the party originated.
+
+It had been the habit of the Frey children, since they could remember,
+to save up spare coins all the year for a special fund which they called
+"Christmas money."
+
+The old fashion of spending these small amounts in presents for one
+another had long ago given place to the better one--more in the
+Christmas spirit--of using it to brighten the day for some one less
+blessed than themselves.
+
+It is true that on the Christmas before the one of this story they had
+broken the rule, or only strained it, perhaps, to buy a little stove for
+their mother's room.
+
+But a rule that would not stretch enough to take in such a home need
+would be a poor one indeed.
+
+This year they had had numerous schemes, but somehow none had seemed to
+appeal to the stockholders in the Christmas firm, and so they had
+finally called a meeting on the subject.
+
+It was at this meeting that Meg, fourteen years old, having taken the
+floor, said: "Well, it seems to _me_ that the _worst_ kind of a
+Christmas must be a lonely one. Just think how nearly all the roomers in
+this house spent last Christmas--most of 'em sittin' by their lone
+selves in their rooms, and some of 'em just eatin' every-day things! The
+Professor hadn't a thing but Bologna-sausage and crackers. _I
+know--'cause I peeped._ An' now, whatever you all are goin' to do with
+_your_ money, _mine's_ goin' right into this house, to the
+roomers--_some way_."
+
+"If we knew what we could do, Meg?" said Ethel.
+
+"If we knew what we could do or _how we could do it_," interrupted
+Conrad, "why, I'd give my eighty-five cents in a minute. I'd give it to
+the old Professor to have his curls cut."
+
+Conrad was a true-hearted fellow, but he was full of mischief.
+
+"Shame on you, Buddy!" said Meg, who was thoroughly serious. "Can't you
+be in earnest for just a minute?"
+
+"I am in earnest, Meg. I think your scheme is bully--if it could be
+worked; but the Professor wouldn't take our money any more'n we'd take
+his."
+
+"Neither would any of them." This was Ethel's first real objection.
+
+"Who's goin' to offer 'em money?" rejoined Meg.
+
+"I tell you what we _might_ do, maybe," Conrad suggested, dubiously. "We
+_might_ buy a lot of fine grub, an' send it in to 'em sort o'
+mysteriously. How'd that do?"
+
+"'Twouldn't do at all," Meg replied. "The idea! Who'd enjoy the finest
+Christmas dinner in the world by his lone self, with nothin' but a
+lookin'-glass to look into and holler 'Merry Christmas' to?"
+
+Conrad laughed. "Well, the Professor's little cracked glass wouldn't be
+much of a comfort to a hungry fellow. It gives you two mouths."
+
+Conrad was nothing if not facetious.
+
+"There you are again, Buddy! _Do_ be serious for once." And then she
+added, desperately, "The thing _I_ want to do is to _invite_ 'em."
+
+"Invite!"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"When?"
+
+"How?"
+
+"Where?"
+
+Such was the chorus that greeted Meg's astounding proposition.
+
+"Why, I say," she explained, nothing daunted, "let's put all our
+Christmas money together and get the very best dinner we can, and invite
+all the roomers to come and eat it with us. _Now I've said it!_ And I
+ain't foolin', either."
+
+"And we haven't a whole table-cloth to our names, Meg Frey, and you know
+it!" It was Ethel who spoke again.
+
+"And what's that got to do with it, Sisty? We ain't goin' to eat the
+cloth. Besides, can't we set the dish-mats over the holes? 'Twouldn't be
+the first time."
+
+"But, Meg, dearie, you surely are not proposing to invite company to
+dine in the kitchen, are you? And who'd cook the dinner, not to mention
+buying it?"
+
+"Well, now, listen, Sisty, dear. The dinner that's in my mind isn't a
+society-column dinner like those Momsy writes about, and those we are
+going to invite don't wear out much table-linen at home. And they cook
+their own dinners, too, most of 'em--exceptin' when they eat 'em in the
+French Market, with a Chinaman on one side of 'em and an Indian on the
+other.
+
+"_I'm_ goin' to cook _ours_, and as for eatin' in the kitchen, why, we
+don't need to. Just see how warm it is! The frost hasn't even nipped the
+banana leaves over there in the square. And Buddy can pull the table out
+on the big back gallery, an' we'll hang papa's old gray soldier blanket
+for a portiere to keep the Quinettes from lookin' in; and, Sisty, you
+can write the invitations an' paint butterflies on 'em."
+
+Ethel's eyes for the first time sparkled with interest, but she kept
+silent, and Meg continued:
+
+"An' Buddy'll bring in a lot of gray moss and _latanier_ to dec'rate
+with, an'--"
+
+"An' us'll wait on the table!"
+
+"Yes, us'll wait on the table!" cried the twins.
+
+"But," added Felix in a moment, "you mus'n't invite Miss Penny, Meg,
+'cause if you do F'lissy an' me 'll be thest shore to disgrace the party
+a-laughin'. She looks thest ezzac'ly like a canary-bird, an' Buddy has
+tooken her off till we thest die a-laughin' every time we see her. I
+think she's raised canaries till she's a sort o' half-canary herself.
+Don't let's invite her, Sisty."
+
+"And don't you think Miss Penny would enjoy a slice of Christmas turkey
+as well as the rest of us, Felix?"
+
+"No; I fink she ought to eat canary-seed and fish-bone," chirped in
+Dorothea.
+
+Dorothea was only five, and this from her was so funny that even Meg
+laughed.
+
+"An' Buddy says he knows she sleeps perched on the towel-rack, 'cause
+they ain't a sign of a bed in her room."
+
+The three youngest were fairly choking with laughter now. But the older
+ones had soon grown quite serious in consulting about all the details of
+the matter, and even making out a conditional list of guests.
+
+When they came to the fortune-teller, both Ethel and Conrad hesitated,
+but Meg, true to her first impulse, had soon put down opposition by a
+single argument.
+
+"It seems to me she's the special one _to_ invite to a Christmas party
+like ours," she pleaded. "The lonesomer an' horrider they are, the more
+they belong, an' the more they'll enjoy it, too."
+
+"Accordin' to that," said Conrad, "the whole crowd ought to have a dizzy
+good time, for they're about as fine a job lot of lonesomes as I ever
+struck. And as for beauty! 'Vell, my y'ung vriends, how you was
+to-morrow?'" he continued, thrusting his thumbs into his armholes and
+strutting in imitation of the old Professor.
+
+[Illustration: "'SHE OUGHT TO EAT CANARY-SEED AND FISH-BONE'"]
+
+Meg was almost out of patience. "Do hush, Buddy, an' let's talk
+business. First of all, we have to put it to vote to see whether we
+_want_ to have the party or not."
+
+"I ain't a-goin' to give my money to no such a ugly ol' party," cried
+Felix. "I want pretty little girls with curls an' wreafs on to my
+party."
+
+"An' me, too. I want a heap o' pretty little girls with curls an' wreafs
+on--_to my party_," echoed Felicie.
+
+"An' I want a organ-grinder to the party that gets my half o' our
+picayunes," insisted Felix.
+
+"Yas, us wants a organ-grinder--an' a monkey, too--hey, F'lix?"
+
+"Yes, an' a monkey, too. Heap o' monkeys!"
+
+Meg was indeed having a hard time of it.
+
+"You see, Conrad"--the use of that name meant reproof from Meg--"you
+see, Conrad, this all comes from your makin' fun of everybody. But of
+course we can get an organ-grinder if the little ones want him."
+
+Ethel still seemed somewhat doubtful about the whole affair. Ethel was
+in the high-school. She had a lofty bridge to her nose. She was fifteen,
+and she never left off her final g's as the others did. These are, no
+doubt, some of the reasons why she was regarded as a sort of superior
+person in the family. If it had not been for the prospect of painting
+the cards, and a certain feeling of benevolence in the matter, it would
+have been hard for her to agree to the party at all. As it was, her
+voice had a note of mild protest as she said:
+
+"It's going to cost a good deal, Meg. How much money have we? Let's
+count up. I have a dollar and eighty-five cents."
+
+"And I've got two dollars," said Meg.
+
+"How is it you always save the most? I haven't saved but ninety cents."
+Conrad spoke with a little real embarrassment as he laid his little pile
+of coins upon the table.
+
+"I reckon it's 'cause I've got a regular plan, Buddy. I save a dime out
+of every dollar I get all through the year. It's the best way. And how
+much have you ponies got?"
+
+"We've got seventy cents together, an' we've been a-whiskerin' in our
+ears about it, too. We don't want our money put-ed in the dinner with
+the rest. We want to see what we are givin'."
+
+"Well, suppose you buy the fruit. Seventy cents 'll get bananas and
+oranges enough for the whole party."
+
+"An' us wants to buy 'em ourselfs, too--hey, F'lix?"
+
+"Yes, us wants to buy 'm ourselfs, too."
+
+"And so you shall. And now all in favor of the party hold up their right
+hands."
+
+All hands went up.
+
+"Contr'ry, no!" Meg continued.
+
+"Contr'ry, no!" echoed the twins.
+
+"Hush! You mus'n't say that. That's just what they say at votin's."
+
+"Gee-man-tally! But you girls 're awfully mixed," Conrad howled, with
+laughter. "They don't have any 'contr'ry no's' when they vote by holdin'
+up right hands. Besides, Dorothea held up her left hand, for I saw her."
+
+"Which is quite correct, Mr. Smartie, since we all know that Dolly is
+left-handed. You meant to vote for the party, didn't you, dearie?" Meg
+added, turning to Dorothea.
+
+For answer the little maid only bobbed her head, thrusting both hands
+behind her, as if afraid to trust them again.
+
+"But I haven't got but thest a nickel," she ventured, presently. "F'lix
+says it'll buy salt."
+
+"Salt!" said Conrad. "Well, I should smile! It would buy salt enough to
+pickle the whole party. Why, that little St. Johns woman goes out with a
+nickel an' lays in provisions. I've seen her do it."
+
+"Shame on you, Buddy!"
+
+"I'm not jokin', Meg. At least, I saw her buy a _quartie's_ worth o'
+coffee and a _quartie's_ worth o' sugar, an' then ask for _lagniappe_ o'
+salt. Ain't that layin' in provisions? She uses a cigar-box for her
+pantry, too."
+
+"Well," she protested, seriously, "what of it, Conrad? It doesn't take
+much for one very little person. Now, then, the party is voted for; but
+there's one more thing to be done before it can be really decided. We
+must ask Momsy's permission, of course. And that is goin' to be hard,
+because I don't want her to know about it. She has to be out reportin'
+festivals for the paper clear up to Christmas mornin', and if she knows
+about it, she'll worry over it. So I propose to ask her to let us give
+her a Christmas surprise, and not tell her what it is."
+
+"And we know just what she'll say," Conrad interrupted; "she'll say, 'If
+you older children all agree upon anything, I'm sure it can't be very
+far wrong or foolish'--just as she did time we put up the stove in her
+room."
+
+"Yes, I can hear her now," said Ethel. "But still we must _let_ her say
+it before we do a single thing, because, you know, _she mightn't_. An'
+then where'd the party be?"
+
+"It would be scattered around where it was last Christmas--where all the
+parties are that don't be," said Conrad. "They must be the ones we are
+always put down for, an' that's how we get left; eh, Sisty?"
+
+"Never mind, Buddy; we won't get left, as you call it, this time,
+anyway--unless, of course, Momsy vetoes it."
+
+"Vetoes what, children?"
+
+They had been so noisy that they had not heard their mother's step on
+the creaking stairs.
+
+Mrs. Frey carried her pencil and notes, and she looked tired, but she
+smiled indulgently as she repeated, "What am I to veto, dearies--or to
+approve?"
+
+"It's a sequet! A Trismas sequet!"
+
+"Yes, an' it's got owanges in it--"
+
+"--An' bananas!"
+
+"Hush, you ponies! And, Dolly, not another word!" Meg had resolutely
+taken the floor again.
+
+"Momsy, we've been consulting about our Christmas money, and we've voted
+to ask you to let us do something with it, and not to tell you a thing
+about it, only "--and here she glanced for approval at Ethel and
+Conrad--"only we _ought_ to tell you, Momsy, dear, that the surprise
+isn't for you this time."
+
+And then Mrs. Frey, sweet mother that she was, made just the little
+speech they thought she would make, and when they had kissed her, and
+all, even to Ethel, who seemed now as enthusiastic as the others,
+caught hands and danced around the dinner table, she was glad she had
+consented.
+
+It was such a delight to be able to supplement their scant Christmas
+prospects with an indulgence giving such pleasure.
+
+"And I'm glad it isn't for me, children," she added, as soon as the
+hubbub gave her a hearing. "I'm very glad. You know you strained a point
+last year, and I'm sure you did right. My little stove has been a great
+comfort. But I am always certain of just as many home-made presents as I
+have children, and they are the ones I value. Dolly's lamp-lighters are
+not all used up yet, and if she _were_ to give me another bundle this
+Christmas I shouldn't feel sorry. But our little Christmas _money_ we
+want to send out on some loving mission. And, by-the-way, I have two
+dollars which may go with yours if you need it--if it will make some
+poor body's bed softer or his dinner better."
+
+"Momsy's guessed!" Felix clapped his hands with delight.
+
+"'Sh! Hush, Felix! Yes, Momsy, it 'll do one of those things exactly,"
+said Meg. "And now _I_ say we'd better break up this meeting before the
+ponies tell the whole business."
+
+"F'lix never telled a thing," chirped Felicie, always ready to defend
+her mate. "Did you, F'lixy? Momsy said 'dinner' herself."
+
+"So I did, dear; but who is to get the dinner and why you are going to
+send it are things mother doesn't wish to know. And here are my two
+dollars. Now off to bed, the whole trundle-bed crowd, for I have a lot
+of copy to write to-night. Ethel may bring me a bite, and then sit
+beside me and write while I sip my tea and dictate and Meg puts the
+chickens to roost. And Conrad will keep quiet over his books. Just one
+kiss apiece and a hug for Dolly. Shoo now!"
+
+So the party was decided.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Frey home, although one of the poorest, was one of the happiest in
+New Orleans, for it was made up of cheery workers, even little Dorothea
+having her daily self-assumed tasks. Miss Dorothea, if you please,
+dusted the banisters round the porch every day, straightened the rows of
+shoes in mother's closet, folded the daily papers in the rack, and kept
+the one rug quite even with the front of the hearth. And this young lady
+had, furthermore, her regular income of five cents a week.
+
+Of course her one nickel contributed to the party had been saved only a
+few hours, but Dorothea was only five, and the old yellow _praline_
+woman knew about her income, and came trudging all the way up the stairs
+each week on "pay-day."
+
+Even after the invitations were sent it seemed to Dolly that the
+"party-day" would never come, for there were to be "three sleeps" before
+it should arrive.
+
+It was Ethel's idea to send the cards early, so as to forestall any home
+preparation among the guests.
+
+But all things come to him who waits--even Christmas. And so at last the
+great day arrived.
+
+Nearly all the invited had accepted, and everything was very exciting;
+but the situation was not without its difficulties.
+
+Even though she was out every day, it had been so hard to keep every
+tell-tale preparation out of Mrs. Frey's sight. But when she had found a
+pan of crullers on the top pantry shelf, or heard the muffled
+"gobble-gobble" of the turkey shut up in the old flour-barrel, or smelt
+invisible bananas and apples, she had been truly none the wiser, but had
+only said, "Bless their generous hearts! They are getting up a fine
+dinner to send to somebody."
+
+Indeed, Mrs. Frey never got an inkling of the whole truth until she
+tripped up the stairs a half-hour before dinner on Christmas day to
+find the feast all spread.
+
+The old mahogany table, extended to its full length, stood gorgeous in
+decorations of palmetto, moss, and flowers out upon the deep back porch,
+which was converted into a very pretty chamber by the hanging curtain of
+gray.
+
+If she had any misgivings about it, she betrayed them by no single word
+or look, but there were bright red spots upon her usually pale cheeks as
+she passed, smiling, into her room to dash into the dinner dress Ethel
+had laid out for her.
+
+To have her poverty-stricken home invaded by a host of strangers was
+striking a blow at the most sensitive weakness of this proud woman. And
+yet the loving motive which was so plain through it all, showing the
+very spirit in her dear children for which she had prayed, was too
+sacred a thing to be chilled by even a half-shade of disapproval.
+
+"And who are coming, dear?" she asked of Meg, as soon as she could trust
+her voice.
+
+"All the roomers, Momsy, excepting the little hunchback lady and Madame
+Coraline."
+
+"Madame Coraline!" Mrs. Frey could not help exclaiming.
+
+"Yes, Momsy. She accepted, and she _even came_, but she went back just
+now. She was dressed terribly fine--gold lace and green silk, but it was
+old and dowdy; and, Momsy, her cheeks were just as red! I was on the
+stepladder tackin' up the Bethlehem picture, Sisty was standin' on the
+high-chair hanging up the star, and Buddy's arms were full of gray moss
+that he was wrappin' round your chair. But we were just as polite to her
+as we could be, and asked her to take a seat. And we all thought she sat
+down; but she went, Momsy, and no one saw her go. Buddy says she's a
+witch. She left that flower-pot of sweet-basil on the table. I s'pose
+she brought it for a present. Do you think that we'd better send for her
+to come back, Momsy?"
+
+"No, daughter, I think not. No doubt she had her own reasons for going,
+and she may come back. And are the rest all coming?"
+
+"Yes'm; but we had a time gettin' Miss Guyosa to come. She says she's a
+First Family, an' she never mixes. But I told her so were we, and we
+mixed. And then I said that if she'd come she could sit at one end o'
+the table and carve the ham, while you'd do the turkey. But she says
+Buddy ought to do the turkey. But she's comin'. And, Momsy, the turkey
+is a perfect beauty. We put pecans in him. Miss Guyosa gave us the
+receipt and the nuts, too. Her cousin sent 'em to her from his
+plantation. And did you notice the paper roses in the moss festoons,
+Momsy? She made those. She has helped us fix up _a lot_. She made all
+the Easter flowers on St. Joseph's altar at the Cathedral, too, and--"
+
+A rap at the door announcing a first guest sent the little cook bounding
+to the kitchen, while Ethel rushed into her mother's room, her mouth
+full of pins and her sash on her arm.
+
+She had dressed the three little ones a half-hour ago; and Conrad, who
+had also made an early toilet, declared that they had all three walked
+round the dinner table thirty-nine times since their appearance in the
+"dining-room." When he advanced to do the honors, the small procession
+toddling single file behind him, somehow it had not occurred to him that
+he might encounter Miss Penny, the canary lady, standing in a dainty old
+dress of yellow silk just outside the door, nor, worse still, that she
+should bear in her hands a tiny cage containing a pair of young
+canaries.
+
+He said afterwards that "everything would have passed off all right if
+it hadn't been for the twins." Of course he had forgotten that he had
+himself been the first one to compare Miss Penny to a canary.
+
+By the time the little black-eyed woman had flitted into the door, and
+in a chirpy, bird-like voice wished them a merry Christmas, Felix had
+stuffed his entire handkerchief into his mouth. Was it any wonder that
+Felicie and Dorothea, seeing this, did actually disgrace the whole party
+by convulsions of laughter?
+
+They were soon restored to order, though, by the little yellow-gowned
+lady herself, for it took but half a minute to say that the birds were a
+present for the twins--"the two little ones who brought me the
+invitation."
+
+Such a present as this is no laughing matter, and, besides, the little
+Frey children were at heart polite. And so they had soon forgotten their
+mirth in their new joy.
+
+And then other guests were presently coming in, and Mrs. Frey, looking
+startlingly fine and pretty in her fresh ruches and new tie, was saying
+pleasant things to everybody, while Ethel and Meg, tripping lightly in
+and out, brought in the dishes.
+
+As there was no parlor, guests were received in the curtained end of the
+gallery. No one was disposed to be formal, and when the old Professor
+entered with a little brown-paper parcel, which he declared, after his
+greetings, to contain his dinner, everybody felt that the etiquette of
+the occasion was not to be very strict or in the least embarrassing.
+
+Of course Mrs. Frey, as hostess, "hoped the Professor would reconsider,
+and have a slice of the Christmas turkey"; but when they had presently
+all taken their seats at the table, and the eccentric guest had actually
+opened his roll of bread and cheese upon his empty plate, over which he
+began to pass savory dishes to his neighbors, she politely let him have
+his way. Indeed, there was nothing else to do, as he declared--declining
+the first course with a wave of his hand--that he had come "yust for de
+sake of sociapility."
+
+"I haf seen efery day doze children work und sing so nize togedder yust
+like leetle mans und ladies, so I come yust to eggsbress my t'anks for
+de compliment, und to make de acquaintance off doze nize y'ung
+neighbors." This with a courtly bow to each one of the children
+separately. And he added in a moment: "De dinner iss very fine, but for
+me one dinner iss yust like anudder. Doze are all externals."
+
+To which measured and kindly speech Conrad could not help replying, "It
+won't be an external to us, Professor, by the time we get through."
+
+"Oho!" exclaimed the old man, delighted with the boy's ready wit.
+"Dot's a wery schmart boy you got dhere, Mrs. Vrey."
+
+At this exhibition of broken English the twins, who were waiting on the
+table, thought it safe to rush to the kitchen on pretence of changing
+plates, while Dorothea, seated at the Professor's left, found it
+necessary to bite both lips and to stare hard at the vinegar-cruet for
+fully a second to keep from laughing. Then, to make sure of her
+self-possession, she artfully changed the subject, remarking, dryly,
+
+"My nickel buyed the ice."
+
+This was much funnier than the Professor's speech, judging from the
+laughter that followed it. And Miss Dorothea Frey's manners were saved,
+which was the important thing.
+
+It would be impossible in this short space to give a full account of
+this novel and interesting dinner party, but if any one supposes that
+there was a dull moment in it, he is altogether mistaken.
+
+Mrs. Frey and Ethel saw to it that no one was neglected in conversation;
+Meg and Conrad looked after the prompt replenishing of plates, though
+the alert little waiters, Felix and Felicie, anticipated every want, and
+were as sprightly as two crickets, while Dorothea provoked frequent
+laughter by a random fire of unexpected remarks, never failing, for
+instance, to offer ice-water during every "still minute"; and, indeed,
+once that young lady did a thing that might have proved quite terrible
+had the old lady Saxony, who sat opposite, been disagreeable or
+sensitive.
+
+What Dorothea said was innocent enough--only a single word of two
+letters, to begin with.
+
+She had been looking blankly at her opposite neighbor for a full minute,
+when she suddenly exclaimed,
+
+"Oh!"
+
+That was all, but it made everybody look, first at Dolly and then across
+the table. Whereupon the little maid, seeing her blunder, hastened to
+add:
+
+"That's nothin'. My grandma's come out too."
+
+And then, of course, every one noticed that old lady Saxony held her
+dainty hemstitched handkerchief quite over her mouth. Fortunately Mrs.
+Saxony's good sense was as great as her appreciation of humor, and, as
+she shook her finger threateningly at Dorothea, her twinkling eyes gave
+everybody leave to laugh. So "Dolly's terrible break," as Conrad called
+it, really went far to making the dinner a success--that is, if
+story-telling and laughter and the merry clamor such as distinguish the
+gayest of dinner parties the world over count as success.
+
+It was while the Professor was telling a funny story of his boy life in
+Germany that there came a rap at the door, and the children, thinking
+only of Madame Coraline, turned their eyes towards the door, only to see
+the Italian organ-grinder, whom, in the excitement of the dinner party,
+they had forgotten to expect. He was to play for the children to dance
+after dinner, and had come a little early--or perhaps dinner was late.
+
+Seeing the situation, the old man began bowing himself out, when the
+Professor, winking mysteriously at Mrs. Frey and gesticulating
+animatedly, pointed first to the old Italian and then to Madame
+Coraline's vacant chair. Everybody understood, and smiling faces had
+already shown approval when Mrs. Frey said, quietly, "Let's put it to
+vote. All in favor raise glasses."
+
+Every glass went up. The old Italian understood little English, but the
+offer of a seat is a simple pantomime, and he was presently declining
+again and again, bowing lower each time, until before he knew it--all
+the time refusing--he was in the chair, his plate was filled, and Dolly
+was asking him to have ice-water. No guest of the day was more welcome.
+None enjoyed his dinner more, judging from the indications. And as to
+Meg, the moving spirit in the whole party, she was beside herself with
+delight over the unexpected guest.
+
+[Illustration: THE ITALIAN ORGAN-GRINDER]
+
+The dinner all through was what Conrad called a "rattlin' success," and
+the evening afterwards, during which nearly every guest contributed some
+entertainment, was one long to be remembered. The Professor not only
+sang, but danced. Miss Penny whistled so like a canary that one could
+really believe her when she said she always trained her young birds'
+voices. Miss Guyosa told charming folk-lore anecdotes, handed down in
+her family since the old Spanish days in Louisiana.
+
+The smiling organ-grinder played his engaged twenty-five cents' worth of
+tunes over and over again, and when the evening was done, persistently
+refused to take the money until Felix slipped it into his pocket.
+
+The Frey party will long be remembered in the Coppenole house, and
+beyond it, too, for some very pleasant friendships date from this
+Christmas dinner. The old Professor was just the man to help Conrad with
+his German lessons. It was so easy for Meg to send him a cup of hot
+coffee on cold mornings. Mrs. Frey and Miss Guyosa soon found many ties
+in common friends of their youth. Indeed, the twins had gotten their
+French names from a remote creole cousin, who proved to be also a
+kinswoman to Miss Guyosa. It was such a comfort, when Mrs. Frey was kept
+out late at the office, for the children to have Miss Guyosa come and
+sit with them, telling stories or reading aloud; and they brought much
+brightness into her life too.
+
+Madame Coraline soon moved away, and, indeed, before another Christmas
+the Freys had moved too--to a small cottage all their own, sitting in
+the midst of a pretty rose-garden. Here often come Miss Guyosa and the
+Professor, both welcome guests, and Conrad says the Professor makes love
+to Miss Guyosa, but it is hard to tell.
+
+One cannot keep up with two people who can tell jokes in four languages,
+but the Professor has a way of dropping in as if by accident on the
+evenings Miss Guyosa is visiting the Freys, and they do read the same
+books--in four languages. There's really no telling.
+
+When the Frey children are playing on the _banquette_ at their front
+gate on sunny afternoons, the old organ-grinder often stops, plays a
+free tune or two for them to dance by, smilingly doffs his hat to the
+open window above, and passes on.
+
+[Illustration: "THE PROFESSOR NOT ONLY SANG, BUT DANCED"]
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE MOTHER QUACKALINA
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE MOTHER QUACKALINA
+
+STORY OF A DUCK FARM
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+The black duck had a hard time of it from the beginning--that is, from
+the beginning of her life on the farm. She had been a free wild bird up
+to that time, swimming in the bay, playing hide-and-seek with her
+brothers and sisters and cousins among the marsh reeds along the bank,
+and coquettishly diving for "mummies" and catching them "on the swim"
+whenever she craved a fishy morsel. This put a fresh perfume on her
+breath, and made her utterly charming to her seventh cousin, Sir Sooty
+Drake, who always kept himself actually fragrant with the aroma of raw
+fish, and was in all respects a dashing beau. Indeed, she was behaving
+most coyly, daintily swimming in graceful curves around Sir Sooty among
+the marsh-mallow clumps at the mouth of "Tarrup Crik," when the shot
+was fired that changed all her prospects in life.
+
+The farmer's boy was a hunter, and so had been his grandfather, and his
+grandfather's gun did its work with a terrific old-fashioned explosion.
+
+When it shot into the great clump of pink mallows everything trembled.
+The air was full of smoke, and for a distance of a quarter of a mile
+away the toads crept out of their hiding and looked up and down the
+road. The chickens picking at the late raspberry bushes in the farmer's
+yard craned their necks, blinked, and didn't swallow another berry for
+fully ten seconds. And a beautiful green caterpillar, that had seen the
+great red rooster mark him with his evil eye, and expected to be gobbled
+up in a twinkling, had time to "hump himself" and crawl under a leaf
+before the astonished rooster recovered from the noise. This is a case
+where the firing of a gun saved at least one life. I wonder how many
+butterflies owe their lives to that gun?
+
+As to the ducks in the clump of mallows that caught the volley, they
+simply tumbled over and gave themselves up for dead.
+
+[Illustration: "THE FARMER'S BOY WAS A HUNTER"]
+
+The heroine of our little story, Lady Quackalina Blackwing, stayed in a
+dead faint for fully seventeen seconds, and the first thing she knew
+when she "came to" was that she was lying under the farmer boy's coat in
+an old basket, and that there was a terrific rumbling in her ears and a
+sharp pain in one wing, that something was sticking her, that Sir Sooty
+was nowhere in sight, and that she wanted her mother and all her
+relations.
+
+Indeed, as she began to collect her senses, while she lay on top of the
+live crab that pinched her chest with his claw, she realized that there
+was not a cousin in the world, even to some she had rather disliked,
+that she would not have been most happy to greet at this trying moment.
+
+The crab probably had no unfriendly intention. He was only putting up
+the best hand he had, trying to find some of his own kindred. He had
+himself been lying in a hole in shallow water when the farmer's boy
+raked him in and changed the whole course of his existence.
+
+He and the duck knew each other by sight, but though they were both "in
+the swim," they belonged to different sets, and so were small comfort to
+one another on this journey to the farm.
+
+They both knew some English, and as the farmer's boy spoke part English
+and part "farm," they understood him fairly well when he was telling the
+man digging potatoes in the field that he was going to "bile" the crab
+in a tomato can and to make a "decoy" out of the duck.
+
+"Bile" and "decoy" were new words to the listeners in the basket, but
+they both knew about tomato cans. The bay and "Tarrup Crik" were strewn
+with them, and the crab had once hidden in one, half imbedded in the
+sand, when he was a "soft-shell." He knew their names, because he had
+studied them before their labels soaked off, and he knew there was no
+malice in them for him, though the young fishes who have soft outsides
+dreaded their sharp edges very much. There is sometimes some advantage
+in having one's skeleton on the surface, like a coat of mail.
+
+And so the crab was rather pleased at the prospect of the tomato can. He
+thought the cans grew in the bay, and so he expected presently to be
+"biled" in his own home waters. The word "biled" probably meant _dropped
+in_. Ignorance is sometimes bliss, indeed.
+
+Poor little Quackalina, however, was getting less comfort out of her
+ignorance. She thought "decoy" had a foreign sound, as if it might mean
+a French stew. She had had relations who had departed life by way of a
+_puree_, while others had gone into a _saute_ or _pate_. Perhaps a
+"decoy" was a _pate_ with gravy or a _puree_ with a crust on it. If
+worse came to the worst, she would prefer the _puree_ with a crust. It
+would be more like decent burial.
+
+Of course she thought these things in duck language, which is not put in
+here, because it is not generally understood. It is quite a different
+thing from Pidgin-English, and it isn't all "quack" any more than French
+is all "au revoir," or Turkey all "gobble, gobble," or goose only a
+string of "S's," or darkey all "howdy."
+
+The crab's thoughts were expressed in his eyes, that began coming out
+like little telescopes until they stood quite over his cheeks. Maybe
+some people think crabs have no cheeks, but that isn't so. They have
+them, but they keep them inside, where they blush unseen, if they blush
+at all.
+
+But this is the story of the black duck. However, perhaps some one who
+reads it will be pleased to know that the crab got away. He sidled
+up--sidled is a regular word in crab language--until his left eye could
+see straight into the boy's face, and then he waited. He had long ago
+found that there was nothing to be gained by pinching the duck. It only
+made a row in the basket and got him upset. But, by keeping very still
+and watching his chance, he managed to climb so near the top that when
+the basket gave a lurch he simply vaulted overboard and dropped in the
+field. Then he hid between three mushrooms and a stick until the boy's
+footsteps were out of hearing and he had time to draw in his eyes and
+start for the bay. He had lost his left claw some time before, and the
+new one he was growing was not yet very strong. Still, let us hope that
+he reached there in safety.
+
+The duck knew when he had been trying to get out, but she didn't tell.
+She wanted him to go, for she didn't like his ways. Still, when he had
+gone, she felt lonely. Misery loves company--even though it be very poor
+company.
+
+But Quackalina had not long to feel lonely. Almost any boy who has shot
+a duck walks home with it pretty fast, and this boy nearly ran. He would
+have run if his legs hadn't been so fat.
+
+The first sound that Quackalina heard when they reached the gate was the
+quacking of a thousand ducks, and it frightened her so that she forgot
+all about the crab and her aching wing and even the decoy. The boy lived
+on a duck farm, and it was here that he had brought her. This would seem
+to be a most happy thing--but there are ducks and ducks. Poor little
+Quackalina knew the haughty quawk of the proud white ducks of Pekin. She
+knew that she would be only a poor colored person among them, and that
+she, whose mother and grandmother had lived in the swim of best beach
+circles and had looked down upon these incubator whitings, who were
+grown by the pound and had no relations whatever, would now have to
+suffer their scorn.
+
+Even their distant quawk made her quake, though she feared her end was
+near. There are some trivial things that are irritating even in the
+presence of death.
+
+But Quackalina was not soon to die. She did suffer some humiliations,
+and her wing was very painful, but a great discovery soon filled her
+with such joy that nothing else seemed worth thinking about.
+
+There were three other black ducks on the farm, and they hastened to
+tell her that they were already decoys, and that the one pleasant thing
+in being a decoy was that it was _not_ to be killed or cooked or eaten.
+
+This was good news. The life of a decoy-duck was hard enough; but when
+one got accustomed to have its foot tied to the shore, and shots fired
+all around it, one grew almost to enjoy it. It was so exciting. But to
+the timid young duck who had never been through it it was a terrible
+prospect.
+
+And so, for a long time, little Quackalina was a very sad duck. She
+loved her cousin, Sir Sooty, and she loved pink mallow blossoms. She
+liked to eat the "mummy" fish alive, and not cooked with sea-weed, as
+the farmer fed them to her.
+
+But most of all she missed Sir Sooty. And so, two weeks later, when her
+wing was nearly well, in its new, drooping shape, what was her joy when
+he himself actually waddled into the farm-yard--into her very
+presence--without a single quack of warning.
+
+The feathers of one of his beautiful wings were clipped, but he was
+otherwise looking quite well, and he hastened to tell her that he was
+happy, even in exile, to be with her again. And she believed him.
+
+He had been captured in a very humiliating way, and this he made her
+promise never to tell. He had swum so near the decoy-duck that his foot
+had caught in its string, and before he could get away the farmer had
+him fast. "And now," he quacked, "I'm glad I did it," and Quackalina
+quacked, "So am I." And they were very happy.
+
+[Illustration: "SIR SOOTY HIMSELF ACTUALLY WADDLED INTO THE FARM-YARD"]
+
+Indeed, they grew so blissful after a while that they decided to try to
+make the best of farm life and to settle down. So they began meandering
+about on long waddles--or waddling about on long meanders--all over
+the place, hunting for a cozy hiding-place for a nest. For five whole
+days they hunted before Quackalina finally settled down into the hollow
+that she declared was "just a fit" for her, under the edge of the old
+shanty where the Pekin feathers were stored.
+
+White, fluffy feathers are very beautiful things, and they are soft and
+pleasant to our touch, but they are sad sights to ducks and geese, and
+Quackalina selected a place for her nest where she could never see the
+door open into this dread storehouse.
+
+It was, indeed, very well hidden, and, as if to make it still more
+secure, a friendly golden-rod sprang up quite in front of it, and a
+growth of pepper-grass kindly closed in one side.
+
+Quackalina had never been sent out on decoy duty, and after a time she
+ceased to fear it, but sometimes Sir Sooty had to go, and his little
+wife would feel very anxious until he came back.
+
+There are some very sad parts in this little story, and we are coming to
+one of them now.
+
+The home-nest had been made. There were ten beautiful eggs in it--all
+polished and shining like opals. And the early golden-rod that stood on
+guard before it was sending out a first yellow spray when troubles began
+to come.
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+Quackalina thought she had laid twice as many as ten eggs in the nest,
+but she could not be quite sure, and neither could Sir Sooty, though he
+thought so, too.
+
+Very few poetic people are good at arithmetic, and even fine
+mathematicians are said to forget how to count when they are in love.
+
+Certain it is, however, that when Quackalina finally decided to be
+satisfied to begin sitting, there were exactly ten eggs in the
+nest--just enough for her to cover well with her warm down and feathers.
+
+"Sitting-time" may seem stupid to those who are not sitting; but
+Quackalina's breast was filled with a gentle content as she sat, day by
+day, behind the golden-rod, and blinked and reflected and listened for
+the dear "paddle, paddle" of Sir Sooty's feet, and his loving "qua',
+qua'"--a sort of caressing baby-talk that he had adopted in speaking to
+her ever since she had begun her long sitting.
+
+[Illustration: "'I'M GOIN' TO SWAP 'EM'"]
+
+Quackalina was a patient little creature, and seldom left her nest,
+so that when she did so for a short walk in the glaring sun, she was apt
+to be dizzy and to see strange spots before her eyes. But this would all
+pass away when she got back to her cozy nest in the cool shade.
+
+But one day it did not pass away--it got worse, or, at least, she
+thought it did. Instead of ten eggs in the nest she seemed to see
+twenty, and they were of a strange, dull color, and their shape seemed
+all wrong. She blinked her eyes nineteen times, and even rubbed them
+with her web-feet, so that she might not see double, but it was all in
+vain. Before her dazzled eyes twenty little pointed eggs lay, and when
+she sat upon them they felt strange to her breast. And then she grew
+faint and was too weak even to call Sir Sooty, but when he came waddling
+along presently, he found her so pale around the bill that he made her
+put out her tongue, and examined her symptoms generally.
+
+Sir Sooty was not a regular doctor, but he was a very good quack, and
+she believed in him, which, in many cases, is the main thing.
+
+So when he grew so tender that his words were almost like "qu, qu," and
+told her that she had been confined too closely and was threatened with
+_foie gras_, she only sighed and closed her eyes, and, keeping her fears
+to herself, hoped that the trouble was all in her eyes indeed--or her
+liver.
+
+Now the sad part of this tale is that the trouble was not with poor
+little Quackalina's eyes at all. It was in the nest. The same farmer's
+boy who had kept her sitting of eggs down to ten by taking out one every
+day until poor Quackalina's patience was worn out--the same boy who had
+not used her as a decoy only because he wanted her to stay at home and
+raise little decoy-ducks--this boy it was who had now chosen to take her
+ten beautiful eggs and put them under a guinea-hen, and to fetch the
+setting of twenty guinea eggs for Quackalina to hatch out.
+
+He did this just because, as he said, "That old black duck 'll hatch out
+as many eggs again as a guinea-hen will, an' the guinea 'll cover her
+ten eggs _easy_. I'm goin' to swap 'em." And "swap 'em" he did.
+
+Nobody knows how the guinea-hen liked her sitting, for none but herself
+and the boy knew where her nest was hidden in a pile of old rubbish down
+by the cow-pond.
+
+[Illustration: "MADE HER PUT OUT HER TONGUE"]
+
+When a night had passed, and a new day showed poor Quackalina the twenty
+little eggs actually under her breast--eggs so little that she could
+roll two at once under her foot--she did not know what to think. But
+like many patient people when great sorrows come, she kept very still
+and never told her fears.
+
+She had never seen a guinea egg before in all her life. There were
+birds' nests in some of the reeds along shore, and she knew their little
+toy eggs. She knew the eggs of snakes, too, and of terrapins, or
+"tarrups," as they are called by the farmer folk along the bay.
+
+When first she discovered the trouble in the nest she thought of these,
+and the very idea of a great procession of little turtles starting out
+from under her some fine morning startled her so that her head lay limp
+against the golden-rod for fully thirteen seconds. Then she got better,
+but it was not until she had taken a nip at the pepper-grass that she
+was sufficiently warmed up to hold up her head and think. And when she
+thought, she was comforted. These dainty pointed eggs were not in the
+least like the soft clumsy "double-enders" that the turtles lay in the
+sand. Besides, how could turtle-eggs have gotten there anyway? How much
+easier for one head to go wrong than twenty eggs.
+
+She chuckled at the very folly of her fears, and nestling down into the
+place, she soon began to nod. And presently she had a funny, funny
+dream, which is much too long to go into this story, which is a great
+pity, for her dream is quite as interesting as the real story, although
+it is not half so true.
+
+Sitting-time, after this, seemed very long to Quackalina, but after a
+while she began to know by various little stirrings under her downy
+breast that it was almost over. At the first real movement against her
+wing she felt as if everything about her was singing and saying,
+"mother! mother!" and bowing to her.
+
+Even the pepper-grass nodded and the golden-rod, and careless roosters
+as they passed _seemed_ to lower their combs to her and to forget
+themselves, just for a minute. And a great song was in her own bosom--a
+great song of joy--and although the sound that came from her beautiful
+coral bill was only a soft "qua', qua'," to common ears, to those who
+have the finest hearing it was full of a heavenly tenderness. But there
+was a tremor in it, too--a tremor of fear; and the fear was so terrible
+that it kept her from looking down even when she knew a little head was
+thrusting itself up through her great warm wing. She drew the wing as a
+caressing arm lovingly about it though, and saying to herself, "I must
+wait till they are all come; then I'll look," she gazed upward at the
+moon that was just showing a rim of gold over the hay-stack--and closed
+her eyes.
+
+There was no sleep that long night for little mother Quackalina.
+
+It was a great, great night. Under her breast, wonderful happenings
+every minute; outside, the white moonlight; and always in sight across
+the yard, just a dark object against the ground--Sir Sooty, sound
+asleep, like a philosopher!
+
+Oh yes, it was a great, great night. Its last hours before day were very
+dark and sorrowful, and by the time a golden gleam shot out of the east
+Quackalina knew that her first glance into the nest must bring her
+grief. The tiny restless things beneath her brooding wings were chirping
+in an unknown tongue. But their wiry Japanesy voices, that clinked
+together like little copper kettles, were very young and helpless, and
+Quackalina was a true mother-duck, and her heart went out to them.
+
+When the fatal moment came and she really looked down into the nest, her
+relief in seeing beautiful feathered things, at least, was greater than
+any other feeling. It was something not to have to mother a lot of
+"tarrups," certainly.
+
+Little guineas are very beautiful, and when presently Quackalina found
+herself crossing the yard with her twenty dainty red-booted hatchlings,
+although she longed for her own dear, ugly, smoky, "beautiful"
+ducklings, she could not help feeling pleasure and pride in the
+exquisite little creatures that had stepped so briskly into life from
+beneath her own breast.
+
+It was natural that she should have hurried to the pond with her brood.
+Wouldn't she have taken her own ducklings there? If these were only
+little "step-ducks," she was resolved that, in the language of
+step-mothers, "they should never know the difference." She would begin
+by taking them in swimming.
+
+Besides, she longed for the pond herself. It was the place where she
+could best think quietly and get things straightened in her mind.
+
+Sir Sooty had not seen her start off with her new family. He had said to
+himself that he had lost so much rest all night that he must have a good
+breakfast, and so, at the moment when Quackalina and the guineas slipped
+around the stable to the cow-pond, he was actually floundering in the
+very centre of one of the feed-troughs in the yard, and letting the
+farmer turn the great mass of cooked "feed" all over him. Greedy ducks
+often act that way. Even the snow-white Pekins do it. It is bad enough
+any time, but on the great morning when one becomes a papa-duck he ought
+to try to be dignified, and Sir Sooty knew it. And he knew full well
+that events had been happening all night in the nest, and that was why
+he said he had lost rest. But he hadn't. A great many people are like
+Sir Sooty. They say they lose sleep when they don't.
+
+But listen to what was taking place at the cow-pond, for it is this that
+made this story seem worth the telling.
+
+When Quackalina reached the pond, she flapped her tired wings three
+times from pure gladness at the sight of the beautiful water. And then,
+plunging in, she took one delightful dive before she turned to the
+shore, and in the sweetest tones invited the little ones to follow her.
+
+But they--
+
+Well, they just looked down at their red satin boots and shook their
+heads. And then it was that Quackalina noticed their feet, and saw that
+they would never swim.
+
+It was a great shock to her. She paddled along shore quite near them for
+a while, trying to be resigned to it. And then she waddled out on the
+grassy bank, and fed them with some newts, and a tadpole, and a few
+blue-bottle flies, and a snail, and several other delicacies, which they
+seemed to enjoy quite as much as if they had been young ducks. And then
+Quackalina, seeing them quite happy, struck out for the very middle of
+the pond. She would have one glorious outing, at least. Oh, how sweet
+the water was! How it soothed the tender spots under her weary wings!
+How it cooled her ears and her tired eyelids! And now--and now--and
+now--as she dived and dipped and plunged--how it cheered and comforted
+her heart! How faithfully it bore her on its cool bosom! For a few
+minutes, in the simple joy of her bath, she even forgot to be sorrowful.
+
+And now comes the dear part of the troublous tale of this little black
+mother-duck--the part that is so pleasant to write--the part that it
+will be good to read.
+
+When at last Quackalina, turning, said to herself, "I must go ashore now
+and look after my little steppies," she raised her eyes and looked
+before her to see just where she was. And then the vision she seemed to
+see was so strange and so beautiful that--well, she said afterwards that
+she never knew just how she bore it.
+
+Just before her, on the water, swimming easily on its trusty surface,
+were ten little ugly, smoky, "beautiful" ducks! Ten little ducks that
+looked precisely like every one of Quackalina's relations! And now they
+saw her and began swimming towards her.
+
+Before she knew it, Quackalina had flapped her great wings and quacked
+aloud three times, and three times again! And she didn't know she was
+doing it, either.
+
+She did know, though, that in less time than it has taken to tell it,
+her own ten beautiful ducks were close about her, and that she was
+kissing each one somewhere with her great red bill. And then she saw
+that upon the bank a nervous, hysterical guinea-hen was tearing along,
+and in a voice like a carving-knife screeching aloud with terror. It
+went through Quackalina's bosom like a neuralgia, but she didn't mind it
+very much. Indeed, she forgot it instantly when she looked down upon her
+ducklings again, and she even forgot to think about it any more. And so
+it was that the beautiful thing that was happening on the bank, under
+her very eyes almost, never came to Quackalina's knowledge at all.
+
+When her own bosom was as full of joy as it could be, why should she
+have turned at the sound of the carving-knife voice to look ashore, and
+to notice that at its first note there were twenty little pocket-knife
+answers from over the pond, and that in a twinkling twenty pairs of red
+satin boots were running as fast as they could go to meet the great
+speckled mother-hen, whose blady voice was the sweetest music in all the
+world to them?
+
+When, after quite a long time, Quackalina began to realize things, and
+thought of the little guineas, and said to herself, "Goodness gracious
+me!" she looked anxiously ashore for them, but not a red boot could she
+see. The whole delighted guinea family were at that moment having a
+happy time away off in the cornfield out of sight and hearing.
+
+This was very startling, and Quackalina grieved a little because she
+couldn't grieve more. She didn't understand it at all, and it made her
+almost afraid to go ashore, so she kept her ten little ducklings out
+upon the water nearly all day.
+
+And now comes a very amusing thing in this story.
+
+When this great, eventful day was passed, and Quackalina was sitting
+happily among the reeds with her dear ones under her wings, while Sir
+Sooty waddled proudly around her with the waddle that Quackalina thought
+the most graceful walk in the world, she began to tell him what had
+happened, beginning at the time when she noticed that the eggs were
+wrong.
+
+Sir Sooty listened very indulgently for a while, and then--it is a pity
+to tell it on him, but he actually burst out laughing, and told her,
+with the most patronizing quack in the world, that it was "all
+imagination."
+
+[Illustration: "HER OWN TEN BEAUTIFUL DUCKS WERE CLOSE ABOUT HER"]
+
+And when Quackalina insisted with tears and even a sob or two that it
+was every word true, he quietly looked at her tongue again, and then he
+said a very long word for a quack doctor. It sounded like 'lucination.
+And he told Quackalina never, on any account, to tell any one else so
+absurd a tale, and that it was only a canard--which was very flippant
+and unkind, in several ways. There are times when even good jokes are
+out of place.
+
+At this, Quackalina said that she would take him to the nest and show
+him the little pointed egg-shells. And she did take him there, too. Late
+at night, when all honest ducks, excepting somnambulists and such as
+have vindications on hand, are asleep, Quackalina led the way back to
+the old nest. But when she got there, although the clear, white
+moonlight lay upon everything and revealed every blade of grass, not a
+vestige of nest or straw or shell remained in sight.
+
+The farmer's boy had cleared them all away.
+
+By this time Quackalina began to be mystified herself, and after a
+while, seeing only her own ten ducks always near, and never sighting
+such a thing as little, flecked, red-booted guineas, she really came to
+doubt whether it had all happened or not.
+
+And even to this day she is not quite sure. How she and all her family
+finally got away and became happy wild birds again is another story. But
+while Quackalina sits and blinks upon the bank among the mallows, with
+all her ugly "beautiful" children around her, she sometimes even yet
+wonders if the whole thing could have been a nightmare, after all.
+
+But it was no nightmare. It was every word true. If anybody doesn't
+believe it, let him ask the guineas.
+
+
+
+
+OLD EASTER
+
+
+
+
+OLD EASTER
+
+
+Nearly everybody in New Orleans knew Old Easter, the candy-woman. She
+was very black, very wrinkled, and very thin, and she spoke with a wiry,
+cracked voice that would have been pitiful to hear had it not been so
+merry and so constantly heard in the funny high laughter that often
+announced her before she turned a street corner, as she hobbled along by
+herself with her old candy-basket balanced on her head.
+
+People who had known her for years said that she had carried her basket
+in this way for so long that she could walk more comfortably with it
+than without it. Certainly her head and its burden seemed to give her
+less trouble than her feet, as she picked her way along the uneven
+_banquettes_ with her stick. But then her feet were tied up in so many
+rags that even if they had been young and strong it would have been hard
+for her to walk well with them. Sometimes the rags were worn inside her
+shoes and sometimes outside, according to the shoes she wore. All of
+these were begged or picked out of trash heaps, and she was not at all
+particular about them, just so they were big enough to hold her old
+rheumatic feet--though she showed a special liking for men's boots.
+
+When asked why she preferred to wear boots she would always answer,
+promptly, "Ter keep off snake bites"; and then she would almost
+certainly, if there were listeners enough, continue in this fashion:
+"You all young trash forgits dat I dates back ter de snake days in dis
+town. Why, when I was a li'l' gal, about _so_ high, I was walkin' along
+Canal Street one day, barefeeted, an' not lookin' down, an' terrectly I
+feel some'h'n' nip me '_snip!_' in de big toe, an' lookin' quick I see a
+grea' big rattlesnake--"
+
+As she said "snip," the street children who were gathered around her
+would start and look about them, half expecting to see a great snake
+suddenly appear upon the flag-stones of the pavement.
+
+[Illustration: OLD EASTER]
+
+At this the old woman would scream with laughter as she assured them
+that there were thousands of serpents there now that they couldn't see,
+because they had only "single sight," and that many times when they
+thought mosquitoes were biting them they were being "'tackted by deze
+heah onvisible snakes."
+
+It is easy to see why the children would gather about her to listen to
+her talk.
+
+Nobody knew how old Easter was. Indeed, she did not know herself, and
+when any one asked her, she would say, "I 'spec' I mus' be 'long about
+twenty-fo'," or, "Don't you reckon I mus' be purty nigh on to nineteen?"
+And then, when she saw from her questioner's face that she had made a
+mistake, she would add, quickly: "I means twenty-fo' _hund'ed_, honey,"
+or, "I means a _hund'ed_ an' nineteen," which latter amendment no doubt
+came nearer the truth.
+
+Having arrived at a figure that seemed to be acceptable, she would
+generally repeat it, in this way:
+
+"Yas, missy; I was twenty-fo' hund'ed years ole las' Easter Sunday."
+
+The old woman had never forgotten that she had been named Easter because
+she was born on that day, and so she always claimed Easter Sunday as her
+birthday, and no amount of explanation would convince her that this was
+not always true.
+
+"What diff'ence do it make ter me ef it comes soon or late, I like ter
+know?" she would argue. "Ef it comes soon, I gits my birfday presents
+dat much quicker; an' ef it comes late, you all got dat much mo' time
+ter buy me some mo'. 'Tain't fur me ter deny my birfday caze it moves
+round."
+
+And then she would add, with a peal of her high, cracked laughter: "Seem
+ter me, de way I keeps a-livin' on--an' a-livin' on--_an' a-livin'
+on_--maybe deze heah slip-aroun' birfdays don't pin a pusson down ter
+ole age so close't as de clock-work reg'lars does."
+
+And then, if she were in the mood for it, she would set her basket down,
+and, without lifting her feet from the ground, go through a number of
+quick and comical movements, posing with her arms and body in a way that
+was absurdly like dancing.
+
+Old Easter had been a very clever woman in her day, and many an extra
+picayune had been dropped into her wrinkled palm--nobody remembered the
+time when it wasn't wrinkled--in the old days, just because of some
+witty answer she had given while she untied the corner of her
+handkerchief for the coins to make change in selling her candy.
+
+[Illustration: "'YAS, MISSY, I WAS TWENTY FO' HOND'ED YEARS OLE, LAS'
+EASTER SUNDAY'"]
+
+One of the very interesting things about the old woman was her memory.
+It was really very pleasant to talk with a person who could
+distinctly recall General Jackson and Governor Claiborne, who would tell
+blood-curdling tales of Lafitte the pirate and of her own wonderful
+experiences when as a young girl she had served his table at Barataria.
+
+If, as her memory failed her, the old creature was tempted into making
+up stories to supply the growing demand, it would not be fair to blame
+her too severely. Indeed, it is not at all certain that, as the years
+passed, she herself knew which of the marvellous tales she related were
+true and which made to order.
+
+"Yas, sir," she would say, "I ricollec' when all dis heah town wasn't
+nothin' but a alligator swamp--no houses--no fences--no streets--no
+gas-postes--no 'lection lights--no--_no river_--_no nothin'_!"
+
+If she had only stopped before she got to the river, she would have kept
+the faith of her hearers better, but it wouldn't have been half so
+funny.
+
+"There wasn't anything here then but you and the snakes, I suppose?" So
+a boy answered her one day, thinking to tease her a little.
+
+"Yas, me an' de snakes an' alligators an' Gineral Jackson an' my ole
+marster's gran'daddy an'--"
+
+"And Adam?" added the mischievous fellow, still determined to worry her
+if possible.
+
+"Yas, Marse Adam an' ole Mistus, Mis' Eve, an' de great big p'isonous
+fork-tailed snake wha' snatch de apple dat Marse Adam an' Mis' Eve was
+squabblin' over--an' et it up!"
+
+When she had gotten this far, while the children chuckled, she began
+reaching for her basket, that she had set down upon the _banquette_.
+Lifting it to her head, now, she walled her eyes around mysteriously as
+she added:
+
+"Yas, an' you better look out fur dat p'isonous fork-tailed snake, caze
+he's agoin' roun' hear right now; an' de favoristest dinner dat he
+craves ter eat is des sech no-'count, sassy, questionin' street-boys
+like you is."
+
+And with a toss of her head that set her candy-basket swaying and a peal
+of saw-teeth laughter, she started off, while her would-be teaser found
+that the laugh was turned on himself.
+
+It was sometimes hard to know when Easter was serious or when she was
+amusing herself--when she was sensible or when she wandered in her mind.
+And to the thoughtless it was always hard to take her seriously.
+
+Only those who, through all her miserable rags and absurdities, saw the
+very poor and pitiful old, old woman, who seemed always to be
+companionless and alone, would sometimes wonder about her, and, saying a
+kind and encouraging word, drop a few coins in her slim, black hand
+without making her lower her basket. Or they would invite her to "call
+at the house" for some old worn flannels or odds and ends of cold
+victuals.
+
+And there were a few who never forgot her in their Easter offerings, for
+which, as for all other gifts, she was requested to "call at the back
+gate." This seemed, indeed, the only way of reaching the weird old
+creature, who had for so many years appeared daily upon the streets,
+nobody seemed to know from where, disappearing with the going down of
+the sun as mysteriously as the golden disk itself. Of course, if any one
+had cared to insist upon knowing how she lived or where she stayed at
+nights, he might have followed her at a distance. But it is sometimes
+very easy for a very insignificant and needy person to rebuff those who
+honestly believe themselves eager to help. And so, when Old Easter, the
+candy-woman, would say, in answer to inquiries about her life, "I sleeps
+at night 'way out by de Metarie Ridge Cemetery, an' gets up in de
+mornin' up at de Red Church. I combs my ha'r wid de _latanier_, an'
+washes my face in de Ole Basin," it was so easy for those who wanted to
+help her to say to their consciences, "She doesn't want us to know where
+she lives," and, after a few simple kindnesses, to let the matter drop.
+
+The above ready reply to what she would have called their "searchin'
+question" proved her a woman of quick wit and fine imagination. Anybody
+who knows New Orleans at all well knows that Metarie Ridge Cemetery,
+situated out of town in the direction of the lake shore, and the old Red
+Church, by the riverside above Carrollton, are several miles apart.
+People know this as well as they know that the _latanier_ is the
+palmetto palm of the Southern wood, with its comb-like, many-toothed
+leaves, and that the Old Basin is a great pool of scum-covered, murky
+water, lying in a thickly-settled part of the French town, where numbers
+of small sailboats, coming in through the bayou with their cargoes of
+lumber from the coast of the Sound, lie against one another as they
+discharge and receive their freight.
+
+If all the good people who knew her in her grotesque and pitiful street
+character had been asked suddenly to name the very poorest and most
+miserable person in New Orleans, they would almost without doubt have
+immediately replied, "Why, old Aunt Easter, the candy-woman. Who could
+be poorer than she?"
+
+To be old and black and withered and a beggar, with nothing to recommend
+her but herself--her poor, insignificant, ragged self--who knew nobody
+and whom nobody knew--that was to be poor, indeed.
+
+Of course, Old Easter was not a professional beggar, but it was well
+known that before she disappeared from the streets every evening one end
+of her long candy-basket was generally pretty well filled with loose
+paper parcels of cold victuals, which she was always sure to get at
+certain kitchen doors from kindly people who didn't care for her poor
+brown twists. There had been days in the past when Easter peddled light,
+porous sticks of snow-white taffy, cakes of toothsome sugar-candy filled
+with fresh orange-blossoms, and pralines of pecans or cocoa-nut. But one
+cannot do everything.
+
+One cannot be expected to remember General Jackson, spin long,
+imaginative yarns of forgotten days, and make up-to-date pralines at the
+same time. If the people who had ears to listen had known the thing to
+value, this old, old woman could have sold her memories, her wit, and
+even her imagination better than she had ever sold her old-fashioned
+sweets.
+
+But the world likes molasses candy. And so Old Easter, whose meagre
+confections grew poorer as her stories waxed in richness, walked the
+streets in rags and dirt and absolute obscurity.
+
+An old lame dog, seeming instinctively to know her as his companion in
+misery, one day was observed to crouch beside her, and, seeing him, she
+took down her basket and entertained him from her loose paper parcels.
+
+And once--but this was many years ago, and the incident was quite
+forgotten now--when a crowd of street fellows began pelting Crazy Jake,
+a foolish, half-paralyzed black boy, who begged along the streets,
+Easter had stepped before him, and, after receiving a few of their clods
+in her face, had struck out into the gang of his tormenters, grabbed two
+of its principal leaders by the seats of their trousers, spanked them
+until they begged for mercy, and let them go.
+
+Nobody knew what had become of Crazy Jake after that. Nobody cared. The
+poor human creature who is not due at any particular place at any
+particular time can hardly be missed, even when the time comes when he
+himself misses the _here_ and the _there_ where he has been wont to
+spend his miserable days, even when he, perhaps having no one else, it
+is possible that he misses his tormenters.
+
+It was a little school-girl who saw the old woman lower her basket to
+share her scraps with the street dog. It seemed to her a pretty act,
+and so she told it when she went home. And she told it again at the next
+meeting of the particular "ten" of the King's Daughters of which she was
+a member.
+
+And this was how the name of Easter, the old black candy-woman, came to
+be written upon their little book as their chosen object of charity for
+the coming year.
+
+The name was not written, however, without some opposition, some
+discussion, and considerable argument. There were several of the ten who
+could not easily consent to give up the idea of sending their little
+moneys to an Indian or a Chinaman--or to a naked black fellow in his
+native Africa.
+
+There is something attractive in the savage who sticks bright feathers
+in his hair, carries a tomahawk, and wears moccasins upon his nimble
+feet. Most young people take readily to the idea of educating a
+picturesque savage and teaching him that the cast-off clothes they send
+him are better than his beads and feathers. The picturesque quality is
+very winning, find it where we may.
+
+People at a distance may see how very much more interesting and
+picturesque the old black woman, Easter, was than any of these, but she
+did not seem so to the ten good little maidens who finally agreed to
+adopt her for their own--to find her out in her home life, and to help
+her.
+
+With them it was an act of simple pity--an act so pure in its motive
+that it became in itself beautiful.
+
+Perhaps the idea gained a little following from the fact that Easter
+Sunday was approaching, and there was a pleasing fitness in the old
+woman's name when it was proposed as an object for their Easter
+offerings. But this is a slight consideration.
+
+Certainly when three certain very pious little maidens started out on
+the following Saturday morning to find the old woman, Easter, they were
+full of interest in their new object, and chattered like magpies, all
+three together, about the beautiful things they were going to do for
+her.
+
+Somehow, it never occurred to them that they might not find her either
+at the Jackson Street and St. Charles Avenue corner, or down near Lee
+Circle, or at the door of the Southern Athletic Club, at the corner of
+Washington and Prytania streets.
+
+But they found her at none of the familiar haunts; they did not discover
+any trace of her all that day, or for quite a week afterward. They had
+inquired of the grocery-man at the corner where she often rested--of the
+portresses of several schools where she sometimes peddled her candy at
+recess-time, and at the bakery where she occasionally bought a loaf of
+yesterday's bread. But nobody remembered having seen her recently.
+
+Several people knew and were pleased to tell how she always started out
+in the direction of the swamp every evening when the gas was lit in the
+city, and that she turned out over the bridge along Melpomene Street,
+stopping to collect stray bits of cabbage leaves and refuse vegetables
+where the bridgeway leads through Dryades Market. Some said that she had
+a friend there, who hid such things for her to find, under one of the
+stalls, but this may not have been true.
+
+It was on the Saturday morning after their first search that three
+little "Daughters of the King" started out a second time, determined if
+possible to trace Old Easter to her hiding-place.
+
+It was a shabby, ugly, and crowded part of town in which, following the
+bridged road, and inquiring as they went, they soon found themselves.
+
+For a long time it seemed a fruitless search, and they were almost
+discouraged when across a field, limping along before a half-shabby,
+fallen gate, they saw an old, lame, yellow dog.
+
+It was the story of her sharing her dinner with the dog on the street
+that had won these eager friends for the old woman, and so, perhaps,
+from an association of ideas, they crossed the field, timidly, half
+afraid of the poor miserable beast that at once attracted and repelled
+them.
+
+But they need not have feared. As soon as he knew they were visitors,
+the social fellow began wagging his little stump of a tail, and with a
+sort of coaxing half-bark asked them to come in and make themselves at
+home.
+
+Not so cordial, however, was the shy and reluctant greeting of the old
+woman, Easter, who, after trying in vain to rise from her chair as they
+entered her little room, motioned to them to be seated on her bed. There
+was no other seat vacant, the second chair of the house being in use by
+a crippled black man, who sat out upon the back porch, nodding.
+
+As they took their seats, the yellow dog, who had acted as usher,
+squatted serenely in their midst, with what seemed a broad grin upon his
+face, and then it was that the little maid who had seen the incident
+recognized him as the poor old street dog who had shared old Easter's
+dinner.
+
+Two other dogs, poor, ugly, common fellows, had strolled out as they
+came in, and there were several cats lying huddled together in the sun
+beside the chair of the sleeping figure on the back porch.
+
+It was a poor little home--as poor as any imagination could picture it.
+There were holes in the floor--holes in the roof--cracks everywhere. It
+was, indeed, not considered, to use a technical word, "tenable," and
+there was no rent to pay for living in it.
+
+But, considering things, it was pretty clean. And when its mistress
+presently recovered from her surprise at her unexpected visitors, she
+began to explain that "ef she'd 'a' knowed dey was comin' to call, she
+would 'a' scoured up a little."
+
+Her chief apologies, however, were for the house itself and its
+location, "away outside o' quality neighborhoods in de swampy fields."
+
+"I des camps out here, missy," she finally explained, "bec'ase dey's mo'
+room an' space fur my family." And here she laughed--a high, cracked
+peal of laughter--as she waved her hand in the direction of the back
+porch.
+
+"Dey ain't nobody ter pleg Crazy Jake out here, an' him an' me, wid deze
+here lame an' crippled cats an' dogs--why, we sets out yonder an' talks
+together in de evenin's after de 'lection lights is lit in de tower
+market and de moon is lit in de sky. An' Crazy Jake--why, when de
+moon's on de full, Crazy Jake he can talk knowledge good ez you kin. I
+fetched him out here about a million years ago, time dey was puttin' him
+in de streets, caze dey was gwine hurt him. An' he knows mighty smart,
+git him ter talkin' right time o' de moon! But mos' gin'ally he forgits.
+
+"Ef I hadn't 'a' fell an' sprained my leg las' week, de bread it
+wouldn't 'a' 'mos' give out, like it is, but I done melt down de insides
+o' some ole condense'-milk cans, an' soak de dry bread in it for him,
+an' to-morrer I'm gwine out ag'in. Yas, to-morrer I'm bleeged to go,
+caze you know to-morrer dats my birfday, an' all my family dey looks for
+a party on my birfday--don't you, you yaller, stub-tail feller you! Ef e
+warn't sort o' hongry, I'd make him talk fur yer; but I 'ain't learnt
+him much yit. He's my new-comer!"
+
+This last was addressed to the yellow dog.
+
+[Illustration: "'DE CATS? WHY, HONEY, DEY WELCOME TO COME AN' GO'"]
+
+"I had blin' Pete out here till 'istiddy. I done 'dopted him las' year,
+but he struck out ag'in beggin', 'caze he say he can't stand dis heah
+soaked victuals. But Pete, he ain't rale blin', nohow. He's des got a
+sinkin' sperit, an' he can't work, an' I keeps him caze a sinkin' sperit
+what ain't got no git-up to it hit's a heap wuss 'n blin'ness. He's got
+deze heah yaller-whited eyes, an' when he draps his leds over 'em an'
+trimbles 'em, you'd swear he was stone-blin', an' dat stuff wha' he
+rubs on 'em it's inju'ious to de sight, so I keeps him and takes keer of
+him now so I won't have a blin' man on my hands--an' to save him f'om
+sin, too.
+
+"Ma'am? What you say, missy? De cats? Why, honey, dey welcome to come
+an' go. I des picked 'em up here an' dar 'caze dey was whinin'. Any
+breathin' thing dat I sees dat's poorer 'n what I is, why, I fetches 'em
+out once-t, an' dey mos' gin'ally stays.
+
+"But if you yo'ng ladies 'll come out d'reckly after Easter Sunday, when
+I got my pervisions in, why I'll show you how de ladies intertain dey
+company in de old days when Gin'ral Jackson used ter po' de wine."
+
+Needless to say, there was such a birthday party as had never before
+been known in the little shanty on the Easter following the visit of the
+three little maids of the King's Daughters.
+
+When Old Easter had finished her duties as hostess, sharing her good
+things equally with those who sat at her little table and those who
+squatted in an outer circle on the floor, she remarked that it carried
+her away back to old times when she stood behind the governor's chair
+"while he h'isted his wineglass an' drink ter de ladies' side curls."
+And Crazy Jake said yes, he remembered, too. And then he began to nod,
+while blind Pete remarked, "To my eyes de purtiest thing about de whole
+birfday party is de bo'quet o' Easter lilies in de middle o' de table."
+
+
+
+
+SAINT IDYL'S LIGHT
+
+
+
+
+SAINT IDYL'S LIGHT
+
+
+You would never have guessed that her name was Idyl--the slender,
+angular little girl of thirteen years who stood in her faded gown of
+checkered homespun on the brow of the Mississippi River. And fancy a
+saint balancing a bucket of water on top of her head!
+
+Yet, as she puts the pail down beside her, the evening sun gleaming
+through her fair hair seems to transform it into a halo, as some one
+speaks her name, "Saint Idyl."
+
+Her thin, little ears, sun-filled as she stands, are crimson disks; and
+the outlines of her upper arms, dimly seen through the flimsy sleeves,
+are as meagre as are the ankles above her bare, slim feet.
+
+The appellation "Saint Idyl," given first in playful derision, might
+have been long ago forgotten but for the incident which this story
+records.
+
+It was three years before, when the plantation children, colored and
+white together, had been saying, as is a fashion with them, what they
+would like to be.
+
+One had chosen a "blue-eyed lady wid flounces and a pink fan," another a
+"fine white 'oman wid long black curls an' ear-rings," and a third would
+have been "a hoop-skirted lady wid a tall hat."
+
+It was then that Idyl, the only white child of the group--the adopted
+orphan of the overseer's family--had said:
+
+"I'd choose to be a saint, like the one in the glass winder in the
+church, with light shinin' from my head. I'd walk all night up and down
+the 'road bend,' so travellers could see the way and wagons wouldn't get
+stallded."
+
+The children had shuddered and felt half afraid at this.
+
+"But you'd git stallded yo'se'f in dat black mud--"
+
+"An' de runaways in de canebrake 'd ketch yer--"
+
+"An' de paterole'd shoot yer--"
+
+"An' eve'body'd think you was a walkin' sperit, an' run away f'om yer."
+
+So the protests had come in, though the gleaming eyes of the little
+negroes had shown their delight in the fantastic idea.
+
+"But I'd walk on a cloud, like the saint in the picture," Idyl had
+insisted. "And my feet wouldn't touch the mud, and when the runaways
+looked into my face, they'd try to be good and go back to their masters.
+Nobody would hurt me. Tired horses would be glad to see my light, and
+everybody would love me."
+
+So, first laughingly, and then as a matter of habit, she had come to be
+known as "Saint Idyl."
+
+As she stands quite still, with face uplifted, out on the levee this
+evening, one is reminded in looking at her of the "Maid of Domremi"
+listening to the voices.
+
+Idyl was in truth listening to voices--voices new, strange, and
+solemn--voices of heavy, distant cannon.
+
+It was the 23d of April, 1862. A few miles below Bijou Plantation
+Farragut's fleet was storming the blockade at Fort Jackson. All along
+the lower Mississippi it was a time of dread and terror.
+
+The negroes, for the most part awed and terror-stricken, muttered
+prayers as they went about, and all night long sang mournfully and
+shouted and prayed in the churches or in groups in their cabins, or even
+in the road.
+
+The war had come at last. Its glare was upon the sky at night, and all
+day long reiterated its persistent staccato menace:
+
+"Boom-m-m! Gloom-m-m! Tomb-b-b! Doom-m-m!"
+
+The air had never seemed to lose the vibratory tremor, "M-m-m!" since
+the first gun, nearly six days ago.
+
+It was as if the lips of the land were trembling. And the trembling lips
+of the black mothers, as they pressed their babes to their bosoms,
+echoed the wordless terror.
+
+Death was in the air. Had they doubted it? In a field near by a shell
+had fallen, burying itself in the earth, and, exploding, had sent two
+men into the air, killing one and returning the other unhurt.
+
+Now the survivor, saved as by a miracle, was preaching "The Wrath to
+Come."
+
+To quote from himself, he had "been up to heaven long enough to get
+'ligion." He had "gone up a lost sinner and come down a saved soul.
+Bless Gord!"
+
+Regarding his life as charmed, the blacks followed him in crowds, while
+he descanted upon the text: "Then two shall be in the field. One shall
+be taken and the other left."
+
+A great revival was in progress.
+
+But this afternoon the levee at Bijou had been the scene of a new panic.
+
+Rumor said that the blockade chain had been cut. Farragut's war monsters
+might any moment come snorting up the river. Nor was this all. The only
+local defence here was a volunteer artillery company of "Exempts." Old
+"Captain Doc," their leader, also local druggist and postmaster (doctor
+and minister only in emergency), was a unique and picturesque figure.
+Full of bombast as of ultimate kindness of feeling, he was equally happy
+in all of his four offices.
+
+The "Rev. Capt. Doc, M.D.," as he was wont, on occasion, to call
+himself--why drag in a personal name among titles in themselves
+sufficiently distinguishing?--was by common consent the leading man with
+a certain under-population along the coast. And when, three months
+before, he had harangued them as to the patriot's duty of home defence,
+there was not a worthy incapable present but enthusiastically enlisted.
+
+The tension of the times forbade perception of the ludicrous. For three
+months the "Riffraffs"--so they proudly called themselves--rheumatic,
+deaf, palsied, halt, lame, and one or two nearly blind, had represented
+"the cause," "the standing army," "le grand militaire," to the
+inflammable imaginations of this handful of simple rural people of the
+lower coast.
+
+Of the nine "odds and ends of old cannon" which Captain Doc had been
+able to collect, it was said that but one would carry a ball. Certainly,
+of the remaining seven, one was of wood, an ancient gunsmith's sign, and
+another a gilded papier-mache affair of a former Mystick Krewe.
+
+Still, these answered for drill purposes, and would be replaced by
+genuine guns when possible. They were quite as good for everything
+excepting a battle, and in that case, of course, it would be a simple
+thing "to seize the enemy's guns" and use them.
+
+When the Riffraffs had paraded up and down the river road no one had
+smiled, and if anybody realized that their captain wore the gorgeous
+pompon of a drum-major, its fitness was not questioned.
+
+It was becoming to him. It corresponded to his lordly strut, and was in
+keeping with the stentorian tones that shouted "Halt!" or "Avance!"
+
+Captain Doc appealed to Americans and creoles alike, and the Riffraffs
+marched quite as often to the stirring measures of "La Marseillaise" as
+to "The Bonny Blue Flag."
+
+Ever since the first guns at the forts, the good captain had been
+disporting himself in full feather. He was "ready for the enemy."
+
+His was a pleasing figure, and even inspiring as a picturesque
+embodiment of patriotic zeal; but when this afternoon the Riffraffs had
+planted their artillery along the levee front, while the little captain
+rallied them to "prepare to die by their guns," it was a different
+matter.
+
+The company, loyal to a man, had responded with a shout, the blacksmith,
+to whose deaf ears his anvil had been silent for twenty years, throwing
+up his hat with the rest, while the epileptic who manned the
+papier-mache gun was observed to scream the loudest.
+
+Suddenly a woman, catching the peril of the situation, shrieked:
+
+"They're going to fire on the gunboats! We'll all be killed."
+
+Another caught the cry, and another. A mad panic ensued; women with
+babies in their arms gathered about Captain Doc, entreating him, with
+tears and cries, to desist.
+
+But for once the tender old man, whose old boast had been that one tear
+from a woman's eyes "tore his heart open," was deaf to all entreaty.
+
+The Riffraffs represented an injured faction. They had not been asked to
+enlist with the "Coast Defenders"--since gone into active service--and
+they seemed intoxicated by the present opportunity to "show the stuff
+they were made of."
+
+At nearly nightfall the women, despairing and wailing, had gone home.
+Amid all the excitement the little girl Idyl had stood apart, silent. No
+one had noticed her, nor that, when all the others had gone, she still
+lingered.
+
+Even Mrs. Magwire, the overseer's wife, with whom she lived, had
+forgotten to hurry or to scold her. What emotions were surging in her
+young bosom no one could know.
+
+There was something in the cannon's roar that charmed her ear--something
+suggestive of strength and courage. Within her memory she had known only
+weakness and fear.
+
+After the yellow scourge of '53, when she was but four years old, she
+had realized vaguely that strange people with loud voices and red faces
+had come to be to her in the place of father and mother, that the
+Magwire babies were heavy to carry, and that their mother had but a poor
+opinion of a "lazy hulk av a girrl that could not heft a washtub without
+panting."
+
+Idyl had tried hard to be strong and to please her foster-mother, but
+there was, somehow, in her life at the Magwires' something that made
+her great far-away eyes grow larger and her poor little wrists more
+weak and slender.
+
+She envied the Magwire twins--with all their prickly heat and their
+calico-blue eyes--when their mother pressed them lovingly to her bosom.
+She even envied the black babies when their great black mammies crooned
+them to sleep.
+
+What does it matter, black or white or red, if one is loved?
+
+An embroidered "Darling" upon an old crib-blanket, and a
+daguerreotype--a slender youth beside a pale, girlish woman, who clasped
+a big-eyed babe--these were her only tokens of past affection.
+
+There was something within her that responded to the daintiness of the
+loving stitches in the old blanket--and to a something in the refined
+faces in the picture. And they had called their wee daughter "Idyl"--a
+little poem.
+
+Yet she, not understanding, hated this name because of Mrs. Magwire,
+whose most merciless taunt was, "Sure ye're well named, ye idle
+dthreamer."
+
+Mrs. Magwire, a well-meaning woman withal, measured her maternal
+kindnesses to the hungry-hearted orphan beneath her roof in generous
+bowls of milk and hunks of corn-bread.
+
+Idyl's dreams of propitiating her were all of
+abstractions--self-sacrifice, patience, gratitude.
+
+And she was as unconscious as was her material benefactress that she was
+an idealist, and why the combination resulted in inharmony.
+
+This evening, as she stood alone upon the levee, listening to the
+cannon, a sudden sense of utter desolation and loneliness came to her.
+She only of all the plantation was unloved--forgotten--in this hour of
+danger.
+
+A desperate longing seized her as she turned and looked back upon the
+nest of cabins. If she could only save the plantation! For love, no
+sacrifice could be too great.
+
+With the thought came an inspiration. There was reason in the women's
+fears. Should the Riffraffs fire upon the fleet, surely guns would
+answer, else what was war?
+
+She glanced at her full pail, and then at the row of cannon beside her.
+
+If she could pour water into them! It was too light yet, but to-night--
+
+How great and daring a deed to come to tempt the mind of a timid,
+delicate child who had never dared anything--even Mrs. Magwire's
+displeasure!
+
+All during the evening, while Mother Magwire rocked the babies, moaning
+and weeping, Idyl, wiping her dishes in the little kitchen, would step
+to the door and peer out at the levee where the guns were. Every distant
+cannon's roar seemed to challenge her to the deed.
+
+When finally her work was done, she slipped noiselessly out and started
+towards the levee, pail in hand; but as she approached it she saw moving
+shadows.
+
+The Riffraffs were working at the guns. Seeing her project impossible,
+she sat down in a dark shadow by the roadside--studied the moving
+figures--listened to the guns which came nearer as the hours passed.
+
+It was long after midnight; accelerated firing was proclaiming a crisis
+in the battle, when, suddenly, there came the rattle of approaching
+wheels accompanied by a noisy rabble. Then a woman screamed.
+
+Captain Doc was coming with a wagon-load of ammunition. The guns were to
+be loaded.
+
+The moon, a faint waning crescent, faded to a filmy line as a pillar of
+fire, rising against the sky northward towards the city, exceeded the
+glare of the battle below.
+
+The darkness was quite lifted now, up and down the levee, and Idyl,
+standing in the shadow, could see groups of people weeping, wringing
+their hands, as Captain Doc, pompon triumphant, came in sight galloping
+down the road.
+
+In a second more he would pass the spot where she stood--stood unseen,
+seeing the sorrow of the people, heeding the challenge of the guns. The
+wagon was at hand.
+
+With a faint, childish scream, raising her thin arms heavenward, she
+plunged forward and fell headlong in its path.
+
+The victory was hers.
+
+The tinselled captain was now tender surgeon, doctor, friend.
+
+In his own arms he raised the limp little form from beneath the wheel,
+while the shabby gray coats of a dozen "Riffraffs," laid over the
+cannon-balls in the wagon, made her a hero's bed; and Captain Doc,
+seizing the reins, turned the horses cautiously, and drove in haste back
+to his drug-store.
+
+Farragut's fleet and "the honor of the Riffraffs" were forgotten in the
+presence of this frail embodiment of death.
+
+Upon his own bed beside an open window he laid her, and while his eager
+company became surgeon's assistants, he tenderly bound her wounds.
+
+For several hours she lay in a stupor, and when she opened her eyes the
+captain knelt beside her. Mrs. Magwire stood near, noisily weeping.
+
+"Is it saved?" she asked, when at length she opened her eyes.
+
+Captain Doc, thinking her mind was wandering, raised her head, and
+pointed to the river, now ablaze with light.
+
+"See," said he. "See the steamboats loaded with burning cotton, and the
+great ship meeting them; that is a Yankee gunboat! See, it is passing."
+
+"And you didn't shoot? And are the people glad?"
+
+"No, we didn't shoot. You fell and got hurt at the dark turn by the
+acacia bushes, where you hang your little lantern on dark nights. Some
+one ought to have hung one for you to-night. How did it happen, child?"
+
+"It didn't happen. I did it on purpose. I knew if I got hurt you would
+stop and cure me, and not fire at the boats. I wanted to save--to save
+the plan--"
+
+While the little old man raised a glass to the child's lips his hand
+shook, and something like a sob escaped him.
+
+"Listen, little one," he whispered, while his lips quivered. "I am an
+old fool, but not a fiend--not a devil. Not a gun would have fired. I
+wet all the powder. I didn't want anybody to say the Riffraffs flinched
+at the last minute. But you--oh, my God!" His voice sank even lower.
+"You have given your young life for my folly."
+
+She understood.
+
+"I haven't got any pain--only--I can't move. I thought I'd get hurt
+worse than I am--and not so much. I feel as if I were going up--and
+up--through the red--into the blue. And the moon is coming sideways to
+me. And her face--it is in it--just like the picture." She cast her eyes
+about the room as if half conscious of her surroundings. "Will
+they--will they love me now?"
+
+Mrs. Magwire, sobbing aloud, fell upon her knees beside the bed.
+
+"God love her, the heavenly child!" she wailed. "She was niver intinded
+for this worrld. Sure, an' I love ye, darlint, jist the same as Mary Ann
+an' Kitty--an' betther, too, to make up the loss of yer own mother, God
+rest her."
+
+Great tears rolled down the cheeks of the dying child, and that heavenly
+light which seems a forecast of things unseen shone from her brilliant
+eyes.
+
+She laid her thin hand upon Mrs. Magwire's head, buried now upon the bed
+beside her.
+
+"Lay the little blanket on me, please--when I go--"
+
+She turned her eyes upon the sky.
+
+"She worked it for me--the 'Darling' on it. The moon is coming
+again--sideways. It is her face."
+
+So, through the red of the fiery sky, up into the blue, passed the pure
+spirit of little Saint Idyl.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The river seemed afire now with floating chariots of flame.
+
+Slowly, majestically, upward into this fiery sea rode the fleet.
+
+Although many of the negroes had run frightened into the woods, the
+conflagration revealed an almost unbroken line on either side of the
+river, watching the spectacular pageant with awe-stricken, ashy faces.
+
+At Bijou a line of men--not the Riffraffs--sat astride the cannon, over
+the mouths of which they hung their hats or coats.
+
+"I tell yer deze heah Yankees mus' be monst'ous-sized men. Look at de
+big eye-holes 'longside o' de ship," said one--a young black fellow.
+
+"Eye-holes!" retorted an old man sitting apart; "dem ain't no eye-holes,
+chillen. Dey gun-holes! Dat what dey is! An' ef you don't keep yo'
+faces straight dey'll 'splode out on you 'fo' you know it."
+
+The first speaker rolled backward down the levee, half a dozen
+following. The old man sat unmoved. Presently a little woolly head
+peered over the bank.
+
+"What de name o' dat fust man-o'-war, gran'dad?"
+
+"Name _Freedom_." The old man answered without moving. "Freedom comin'
+wid guns in 'er mouf, ready to spit fire, I tell yer!"
+
+"Jeems, heah, say all de no-'count niggers is gwine be sol' over
+ag'in--is dat so, gran'dad?"
+
+"Yas; every feller gwine be sol' ter 'isself. An' a mighty onery,
+low-down marster heap ob 'em 'll git, too."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was nearly day when Captain Doc, pale and haggard, joined the crowd
+upon the levee.
+
+As he stepped upon its brow, a woman, fearing the provocation of his
+military hat, begged him to remove it.
+
+It might provoke a volley.
+
+Raising the hat, the captain turned and solemnly addressed the crowd:
+
+"My countrymen," he began, and his voice trembled, "the Riffraffs are
+disbanded. See!"
+
+He threw the red-plumed thing far out upon the water. And then he turned
+to them.
+
+"I have just seen an angel pass--to enter--yonder." A sob closed his
+throat as he pointed to the sky.
+
+"Her pure blood is on my hands--and, by the help of God, they will shed
+no more.
+
+"These old guns are playthings--we are broken old men.
+
+"Let us pray."
+
+And there, out in the glare of the awful fiery spectacle, grown weird in
+the faint white light of a rising sun, arose the voice of prayer--prayer
+first for forgiveness of false pride and folly--for the women and
+children--- for the end of the war--for lasting peace.
+
+It was a scene to be remembered. Had anything been lacking in its awful
+solemnity, it was supplied with a tender potency reaching all hearts, in
+the knowledge of the dead child, who lay in the little cottage near.
+
+From up and down the levee, as far as the voice had reached, came
+fervent responses, "Amen!" and "Amen!"
+
+Late in the morning the Riffraffs' artillery, all but their largest gun,
+was, by the captain's command, dumped into the river.
+
+This reserved cannon they planted, mouth upwards, by the roadside on
+the site of the tragedy--a fitting memorial of the child-martyr.
+
+It was Mrs. Magwire, who, remembering how Idyl had often stolen out and
+hung a lantern at this dark turn of the "road bend," began thrusting a
+pine torch into the cannon's mouth on dark nights as a slight memorial
+of her. And those who noticed said she took her rosary there and said
+her beads.
+
+But Captain Doc had soon made the light his own special care, and until
+his death, ten years later, the old man never failed to supply this
+beacon to belated travellers on moonless nights.
+
+After a time a large square lantern took the place of the torch of pine,
+and grateful wayfarers alongshore, by rein or oar, guided or steered by
+the glimmer of Saint Idyl's Light.
+
+Last year the caving bank carried the rusty gun into the water. It is
+well that time and its sweet symbol, the peace-loving river, should bury
+forever from sight all record of a family feud half forgotten.
+
+And yet, is it not meet that when the glorious tale of Farragut's
+victory is told, the simple story of little Saint Idyl should sometimes
+follow, as the tender benediction follows the triumphant chant?
+
+
+
+
+"BLINK"
+
+
+
+
+"BLINK"
+
+
+I
+
+It was nearly midnight of Christmas Eve on Oakland Plantation. In the
+library of the great house a dim lamp burned, and here, in a big
+arm-chair before a waning fire, Evelyn Bruce, a fair young girl, sat
+earnestly talking to a withered old black woman, who sat on the rug at
+her feet.
+
+"An' yer say de plantatiom done sol', baby, an' we boun' ter move?"
+
+"Yes, mammy, the old place must go."
+
+"An' is de 'Onerble Mr. Citified buyed it, baby? I know he an' ole
+marster sot up all endurin' las' night a-talkin' and a-figgurin'."
+
+"Yes. Mr. Jacobs has closed the mortgage, and owns the place now."
+
+"An' when is we gwine, baby?"
+
+"The sooner the better. I wish the going were over."
+
+"An' whar'bouts is we gwine, honey?"
+
+"We will go to the city, mammy--to New Orleans. Something tells me that
+father will never be able to attend to business again, and I am going to
+work--to make money."
+
+Mammy fell backward. "W-w-w-work! Y-y-you w-w-work! Wh-wh-why, baby,
+what sort o' funny, cuyus way is you a-talkin', anyhow?"
+
+"Many refined women are earning their living in the city, mammy."
+
+"Is you a-talkin' sense, baby, ur is yer des a-bluffin'? Is yer axed yo'
+pa yit?"
+
+"I don't think father is well, mammy. He says that whatever I suggest we
+will do, and I am _sure_ it is best. We will take a cheap little house,
+father and I--"
+
+"Y-y-you an' yo' pa! An' wh-wh-what 'bout me, baby?" Mammy would stammer
+when she was excited.
+
+"And you, mammy, of course."
+
+"Umh! umh! umh! An' so we gwine ter trabble! An' de' Onerble Mr.
+Citified done closed de morgans on us! Ef-ef I'd 'a' knowed it dis
+mornin' when he was a-quizzifyin' me so sergacious, I b'lieve I'd o'
+upped an' sassed 'im, I des couldn't 'a' helt in. I 'lowed he was
+teckin' a mighty frien'ly intruss, axin' me do we-all's _puck_on-trees
+bear big _puck_ons, an'--an' ef de well keep cool all summer, an'--an'
+he ax me--he ax me--"
+
+"What else did he ask you, mammy?"
+
+"Scuze me namin' it ter yer, baby, but he ax me who was buried in we's
+graves--he did fur a fac'. Yer reckon dee gwine claim de graves in de
+morgans, baby?"
+
+Mammy had crouched again at Evelyn's feet, and her eager brown face was
+now almost against her knee.
+
+"All the land is mortgaged, mammy."
+
+"Don't yer reck'n he mought des nachelly scuze de graves out'n de
+morgans, baby, ef yer ax 'im mannerly?"
+
+"I'm afraid not, mammy, but after a while we may have them moved."
+
+The old bronze clock on the mantel struck twelve.
+
+"Des listen. De ole clock a-strikin' Chris'mas-gif now. Come 'long, go
+ter bed, honey. You needs a res', but I ain' gwine sleep none, 'caze all
+dis heah news what you been a-tellin' me, hit's gwine ter run roun' in
+my head all night, same as a buzz-saw."
+
+And so they passed out, mammy to her pallet in Evelyn's room, while the
+sleepless girl stepped to her father's chamber.
+
+Entering on tiptoe, she stood and looked upon his face. He slept as
+peacefully as a babe. The anxious look of care which he had worn for
+years had passed away, and the flickering fire revealed the ghost of a
+smile upon his placid face. In this it was that Evelyn read the truth.
+The crisis of effort for him was past. He might follow, but he would
+lead no more.
+
+Since the beginning of the war Colonel Brace's history had been the
+oft-told tale of loss and disaster, and at the opening of each year
+since there had been a flaring up of hope and expenditure, then a long
+summer of wavering promise, followed by an inevitable winter of
+disappointment.
+
+The old colonel was, both by inheritance and the habit of many
+successful years, a man of great affairs, and when the crash came he was
+too old to change. When he bought, he bought heavily. He planted for
+large results. There was nothing petty about him, not even his debts.
+And now the end had come.
+
+As Evelyn stood gazing upon his handsome, placid face her eyes were
+blinded with tears. Falling upon her knees at his side, she engaged for
+a moment in silent prayer, consecrating herself in love to the life
+which lay before her, and as she rose she kissed his forehead gently,
+and passed to her own room.
+
+On the table at her bedside lay several piles of manuscript, and as
+these attracted her, she turned her chair, and fell to work sorting them
+into packages, which she laid carefully away.
+
+Evelyn had always loved to scribble, but only within the last few years
+had she thought of writing for money that she should need. She had
+already sent several manuscripts to editors of magazines; but somehow,
+like birds too young to leave the nest, they all found their way back to
+her. With each failure, however, she had become more determined to
+succeed, but in the meantime--_now_--she must earn a living. This was
+not practicable here. In the city all things were possible, and to the
+city she would go. She would at first accept one of the tempting
+situations offered in the daily papers, improving her leisure by
+attending lectures, studying, observing, cultivating herself in every
+possible way, and after a time she would try her hand again at writing.
+
+It was nearly day when she finally went to bed, but she was up early
+next morning. There was much to be considered. Many things were to be
+done.
+
+At first she consulted her father about everything, but his invariable
+answer, "Just as you say, daughter," transferred all responsibility to
+her.
+
+A letter to her mother's old New Orleans friend, Madame Le Duc, briefly
+set forth the circumstances, and asked Madame's aid in securing a small
+house. Other letters sent in other directions arranged various matters,
+and Evelyn soon found herself in the vortex of a move. She had a wise,
+clear head and a steady, resolute hand, and in old mammy a most capable
+servant. The old woman seemed, indeed, to forget nothing, as she bustled
+about, packing, suggesting, and, spite of herself, frequently
+protesting; for, if the truth must be spoken, this move to the city was
+violating all the traditions of mammy's life.
+
+"Wh-wh-wh-why, baby! Not teck de grime-stone!" she exclaimed one day, in
+reply to Evelyn's protest against her packing that ponderous article.
+"How is we gwine sharpen de spade an' de grubbin'-hoe ter work in the
+gyard'n?"
+
+"We sha'n't have a garden, mammy."
+
+"No gyard'n!" Mammy sat down upon the grindstone in disgust.
+"Wh-wh-wh-what sort o' a fureign no-groun' place is we gwine ter,
+anyhow, baby? Honey," she continued, in a troubled voice, "co'se you
+know I ain't got educatiom, an' I ain't claim knowledge; b-b-b-but
+ain't you better study on it good 'fo' we goes ter dis heah new country?
+Dee tells me de cidy's a owdacious place. I been heern a heap o' tales,
+but I 'ain't say nothin' Is yer done prayed over it good, baby?"
+
+"Yes, dear. I have prayed that we should do only right. What have you
+heard, mammy?"
+
+"D-d-d-de way folks talks, look like death an' terror is des a-layin'
+roun' loose in de cidy. Dee tell _me_ dat ef yer des nachelly blows out
+yer light ter go ter bed, dat dis heah some'h'n' what stan' fur wick,
+hit 'll des keep a-sizzin' an' a-sizzin' out, des like sperityal steam;
+_an' hit's clair pizen_!"
+
+"That is true, mammy. But, you see, we won't blow it out. We'll know
+better."
+
+"Does yer snuff it out wid snuffers, baby, ur des fling it on de flo'
+an' tromp yer foots on it?"
+
+"Neither, mammy. The gas comes in through pipes built into the houses,
+and is turned on and off with a valve, somewhat as we let water out of
+the refrigerator."
+
+"Um-hm! Well done! Of co'se! On'y, in place o' water what _put out_ de
+light, hit's in'ardly filled wid some'h'n' what _favor_ a blaze."
+
+"Exactly."
+
+Mammy reflected a moment. "But de grime-stone gotter stay berhime, is
+she? An' is we gwine leave all de gyard'n tools an' implemers ter de
+'Onerble Mr. Citified?"
+
+"No, mammy; none of the appurtenances of the homestead are mortgaged. We
+must sell them. We need money, you know."
+
+"What is de impertinences o' de homestid, baby? You forgits I ain't
+on'erstan' book words."
+
+"Those things intended for family use, mammy. There are the
+carriage-horses, the cows, the chickens--"
+
+"Bless goodness fur dat! An' who gwine drive 'em inter de cidy fur us,
+honey?"
+
+"Oh, mammy, we must sell them all."
+
+Mammy was almost crying. "An' what sort o' entry is we gwine meck inter
+de cidy, honey--empty-handed, same as po' white trash? D-d-d-don't yer
+reck'n we b-b-better teck de chickens, baby? Yo' ma thunk a heap o' dem
+Brahma hens an' dem Clymoth Rockers--dee looks so courageous."
+
+It was hard for Evelyn to refuse. Mammy loved everything on the old
+place.
+
+"Let us give up all these things now, mammy; and after a while, when I
+grow rich and famous, I'll buy you all the chickens you want."
+
+At last preparations were over. They were to start on the morrow. Mammy
+had just returned from a last tour through out-buildings and gardens,
+and was evidently disturbed.
+
+"Honey," she began, throwing herself on the step at Evelyn's feet, "what
+yer reck'n? Ole Muffly is a-sett'n' on fo'teen eggs, down in de
+cotton-seed. W-w-we can't g'way f'm heah an' leave Muffly a-sett'n', hit
+des nachelly can't be did. D-d-don't yer reck'n dee'd hol' back de
+morgans a little, till Muffly git done sett'n'?"
+
+It was the same old story. Mammy would never be ready to go.
+
+"But our tickets are bought, mammy."
+
+"An' like as not de 'Onerble Mr. Citified 'll shoo ole Muffly orf de
+nes' an' spile de whole sett'n'. Tut! tut! tut!" And, groaning in
+spirit, mammy walked off.
+
+Evelyn had feared, for her father, the actual moment of leaving, and was
+much relieved when, with his now habitual tranquillity, he smilingly
+assisted both her and mammy into the sleeper. Instead of entering
+himself, however, he hesitated.
+
+"Isn't your mother coming, daughter?" he asked, looking backward.
+"Or--oh, I forgot," he added, quickly. "She has gone on before, hasn't
+she?"
+
+"Yes, dear, she has gone before," Evelyn answered, hardly knowing what
+she said, the chill of a new terror upon her.
+
+What did this mean? Was it possible that she had read but half the
+truth? Was her father's mind not only enfeebled, but going?
+
+Mammy had not heard the question, and so Evelyn bore her anxiety alone,
+and during the day her anxious eyes were often upon her father's face,
+but he only smiled and kept silent.
+
+They had been travelling all day, when suddenly, above the rumbling of
+the train, a weak, bird-like chirp was heard, faint but distinct; and
+presently it came again, a prolonged "p-e-e-p!"
+
+Heads went up, inquiring faces peered up and down the coach, and fell
+again to paper or book, when the cry came a third time, and again.
+
+Mammy's face was a study. "'Sh--'sh--'sh! don' say nothin', baby," she
+whispered, in Evelyn's ear; "but dis heah chicken in my bosom is
+a-ticklin' me so I can't hardly set still."
+
+Evelyn was absolutely speechless with surprise, as mammy continued by
+snatches her whispered explanation:
+
+"Des 'fo' we lef' I went 'n' lif' up ole Muffly ter see how de eggs was
+comin' orn, an' dis heah egg was pipped out, an' de little risindenter
+look like he eyed me so berseechin' I des nachelly couldn't leave 'im.
+Look like he knowed he warn't righteously in de morgans, an' 'e crave
+ter clair out an' trabble. I did hope speech wouldn't come ter 'im tell
+we got off'n deze heah train kyars."
+
+A halt at a station brought a momentary silence, and right here arose
+again, clear and shrill, the chicken's cry.
+
+Mammy was equal to the emergency. After glancing inquiringly up and down
+the coach, she exclaimed, aloud, "Some'h'n' in dis heah kyar soun' des
+like a vintrilloquer."
+
+"That's just what it is," said an old gentleman opposite, peering around
+over his spectacles. "And whoever you are, sir, you've been amusing
+yourself for an hour."
+
+Mammy's ruse had succeeded, and during the rest of the journey, although
+the chicken developed duly as to vocal powers, the only question asked
+by the curious was, "Who can the ventriloquist be?"
+
+Evelyn could hardly maintain her self-control, the situation was so
+utterly absurd.
+
+"I does hope it's a pullet," mammy confided later; "but I doubts it. Hit
+done struck out wid a mannish movemint a'ready. Muffly's eggs allus
+hatches out sech invig'rous chickens. I gwine in the dressin'-room,
+baby, an' wrop 'im up ag'in. Feel like he done kicked 'isse'f loose."
+
+Though she made several trips to the dressing-room in the interest of
+her hatchling, mammy's serene face held no betrayal of the disturbing
+secret of her bosom.
+
+At last the journey was over. The train crept with a tired motion into
+the noisy depot. Then came a rattling ride over cobble-stones, granite,
+and unpaved streets; a sudden halt before a low-browed cottage; a
+smiling old lady stepping out to meet them; a slam of the front
+door--they were at home in New Orleans.
+
+Madame Le Duc seemed to have forgotten nothing that their comfort
+required, and in many ways that the creole gentlewoman understands so
+well she was affectionately and unobtrusively kind. And yet, in the life
+Evelyn was seeking to enter, Madame could give her no aid. About all
+these new ideas of women--ladies--going out as bread-winners, Madame
+knew nothing. For twenty years she had gone only to the cathedral, the
+French Market, the cemetery, and the Chapel of St. Roche. As to all this
+unconventional American city above Canal Street, it was there and
+spreading (like the measles and other evils); everybody said so; even
+her paper, _L'Abeille_, referred to it in French--resentfully. She
+believed in it historically; but for herself, she "_never travelled_,"
+_excepting_, as she quaintly put it, in her "_acquaintances_"--the
+French streets with which she was familiar.
+
+The house she had selected was a typical old-fashioned French cottage,
+venerable in scaling plaster and fern-tufted tile roof, but cool and
+roomy within as uninviting without. A small inland garden surprised the
+eye as one entered the battened gate at its side, and a dormer-window in
+the roof looked out upon the rigging of ships at anchor but a
+stone's-throw away.
+
+Here, to the chamber above, Evelyn led her father. Furnishing this large
+upper room with familiar objects, and pointing out the novelties of the
+view from its window, she tried to interpret his new life happily for
+him, and he smiled, and seemed content.
+
+It was surprising to see how soon mammy fell into line with the changed
+order of things. The French Market, with its "cuyus fureign folks an'
+mixed talk," was a panorama of daily unfolding wonders to her. "But
+huccome dee calls it French?" she exclaimed, one day. "I been listenin'
+good, an' I hear 'em jabber, jabber, jabber all dey fanciful lingoes,
+but I 'ain't heern nair one say _polly fronsay_, an' yit I know dats de
+riverend book French." The Indian squaws in the market, sitting flat on
+the ground, surrounded by their wares, she held in special contempt. "I
+holds myse'f _clair_ 'bove a Injun," she boasted. "Dee ain't look
+jinnywine ter me. Dee ain't nuther white folks nur niggers, nair one.
+Sett'n' deeselves up fur go-betweens, an' sellin' sech grass-greens as
+we lef' berhindt us growin' in de wilderness!"
+
+But one unfailing source of pleasure to mammy was the little chicken,
+"Blink," who, she declared, "named 'isse'f Blink de day he blinked at me
+so cunnin' out'n de shell. Blink 'ain't said nothin' wid 'is mouf," she
+continued, eying him proudly, "'caze he know eye-speech set on a chicken
+a heap better'n human words, mo' inspecial on a yo'ng half-hatched
+chicken like Blink was dat day, cramped wid de egg-shell behime an' de
+morgans starin' 'im in de face befo', an' not knowin' how he gwine come
+out'n his trouble. He des kep' silence, an' wink all 'is argimints, an'
+'e wink to the p'int, too!"
+
+In spite of his unique entrance into the world and his precarious
+journey, Blink was a vigorous young chicken, with what mammy was pleased
+to call "a good proud step an' knowin' eyes."
+
+Three months passed. The long, dull summer was approaching, and yet
+Evelyn had found no regular employment. She had not been idle. Sewing
+for the market folk, decorating palmetto fans and Easter eggs, which
+mammy peddled in the big houses, she had earned small sums of money from
+time to time. In her enforced leisure she found opportunity for study,
+and her picturesque surroundings were as an open book.
+
+Impressions of the quaint old French and Spanish city, with its motley
+population, were carefully jotted down in her note-book. These first
+descriptions she afterwards rewrote, discarding weakening detail,
+elaborating the occasional triviality which seemed to reflect the true
+local tint--a nice distinction, involving conscientious hard work. How
+she longed for criticism and advice!
+
+A year ago her father, now usually dozing in his chair while she worked,
+would have been a most able and affectionate critic; but now--She
+rejoiced when a day passed without his asking for her mother, and
+wondering why she did not come.
+
+And so it was that in her need of sympathy Evelyn began to read her
+writings, some of which had grown into stories, to mammy. The very
+exercise of reading aloud--the sound of it--was helpful. That mammy's
+criticisms should have proven valuable in themselves was a surprise, but
+it was even so.
+
+
+II
+
+"A pusson would know dat was fanciful de way hit reads orf, des like a
+pusson 'magine some'h'n' what ain't so."
+
+Such was mammy's first criticism of a story which had just come back,
+returned from an editor. Evelyn had been trying to discover wherein its
+weakness lay.
+
+Mammy had caught the truth. The story was unreal. The English seemed
+good, the construction fair, but--it was "_fanciful_."
+
+The criticism set Evelyn to thinking. She laid aside this, and read
+another manuscript aloud.
+
+"I tell yer, honey, a-a-a pusson 'd know you had educatiom, de way you
+c'n fetch in de dictionary words."
+
+"Don't you understand them, mammy?" she asked, quickly, catching another
+idea.
+
+"Who, me? Law, baby, I don't crave ter on'erstan' all dat granjer. I des
+ketches de chune, an' hit sho is got a glorified ring."
+
+Here was a valuable hint. She must simplify her style. The tide of
+popular writing was, she knew, in the other direction, but the _best_
+writing was _simple_.
+
+The suggestion sent her back to study.
+
+And now for her own improvement she rewrote the "story of big words" in
+the simplest English she could command, bidding mammy tell her if there
+was one word she could not understand.
+
+In the transition the spirit of the story was necessarily changed, but
+the exercise was good. Mammy understood every word.
+
+"But, baby," she protested, with a troubled face, "look like _hit don't
+stan' no mo'_; all its granjer done gone. You better fix it up des like
+it was befo', honey. Hit 'minds me o' some o' deze heah fine folks what
+walks de streets. You know _folks what 'ain't got nothin' else_, dee des
+nachelly _'bleege_ ter put on finery."
+
+How clever mammy was! How wholesome the unconscious satire of her
+criticism! This story, shorn of its grandeur, could not stand indeed. It
+was weak and affected.
+
+"You dear old mammy," exclaimed Evelyn, "you don't know how you are
+helping me."
+
+"Gord knows I wushes I could holp you, honey. I 'ain't nuver is craved
+educatiom befo', but now, look like I'd like ter be king of all de
+smartness, an' know all dey is in de books. I wouldn't hol' back
+_noth'n_ f'om yer, baby."
+
+And Evelyn knew it was true.
+
+"Look ter me, baby," mammy suggested, another night, after listening to
+a highly imaginative story--"look ter me like ef--ef--ef you'd des write
+down some _truly truth_ what is _ac-chilly happened_, an' glorify it wid
+educatiom, hit 'd des nachelly stan' in a book."
+
+"I've been thinking of that," said Evelyn, reflectively, laying aside
+her manuscript.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"How does this sound, mammy?" she asked, a week later, when, taking up
+an unfinished tale, she began to read.
+
+It was the story of their own lives, dating from the sale of the
+plantation. The names, of course, were changed, excepting Blink's, and,
+indeed, until he appeared upon the scene, although mammy listened
+breathless, she did not recognize the characters. Blink, however, was
+unmistakable, and when he announced himself from the old woman's bosom
+his identity flashed upon mammy, and she tumbled over on the floor,
+laughing and crying alternately. Evelyn had written from her heart, and
+the story, simply told, held all the wrench of parting with old
+associations, while the spirit of courage and hope, which animated her,
+breathed in every line as she described their entrance upon their new
+life.
+
+"My heart was teched f'om de fus't, baby," said mammy, presently,
+wiping her eyes; "b-b-b-but look heah, honey, I'd--I'd be wuss'n a
+hycoprite ef I let dat noble ole black 'oman, de way you done specified
+'er, stan' fur me. Y-y-yer got ter change all dat, honey. Dey warn't
+nothin' on top o' dis roun' worl' what fetched me 'long wid y' all but
+'cep' 'caze I des _nachelly love yer_, an' all dat book granjer what you
+done laid on me I _don' know nothin' 't all about it_, an' yer got ter
+_teck it orf_, an' write me down like I is, des a po' ole nigger wha'
+done fell in wid de Gord-blessedes' white folks wha' ever lived on dis
+earth, an'--an' wha' gwine _foller_ 'em an' _stay by 'em_, don' keer
+which-a-way dee go, so long as 'er ole han's is able ter holp 'em. Yer
+got ter change all dat, honey.
+
+"But Blink! De laws-o'-mussy! Maybe hit's 'caze I been hatched 'im an'
+raised 'im, but look ter me like he ain't no _dis_grace ter de story, no
+way. Seem like he sets orf de book. Yer ain't gwine say nothin' 'bout
+Blink bein' a frizzly, is yer? 'Twouldn't do no good ter tell it on
+'im."
+
+"I didn't know it, mammy."
+
+"Yas, indeedy. Po' Blink's feathers done taken on a secon' twis'." She
+spoke, with maternal solicitude. "I d'know huccome he come dat-a-way,
+'caze we 'ain't nuver is had no frizzly stock 'mongs' our chickens.
+Sometimes I b'lieve Blink tumbled 'isse'f up dat-a-way tryin' ter
+wriggle 'isse'f outn de morgans. I hates it mightily. Look like a
+frizzly can't put on grandeur no way, don' keer how mannerly 'e hol'
+'isse'f."
+
+The progress of the new story, which mammy considered under her especial
+supervision, was now her engrossing thought.
+
+"Yer better walk straight, Blink," she would exclaim--"yer better walk
+straight an' step high, 'caze yer gwine in a book, honey, 'long wid de
+aristokercy!"
+
+One day Blink walked leisurely in from the street, returning, happily
+for mammy's peace of mind, before he had been missed. He raised his
+wings a moment as he entered, as if pleased to get home, and mammy
+exclaimed, as she burst out laughing:
+
+"Don't you come in heah shruggin' yo' shoulders at me, Blink, an'
+puttin' on no French airs. I believe Blink been out teckin' French
+lessons." She took her pet into her arms. "Is you crave ter learn
+fureign speech, Blinky, like de res' o' dis mixed-talkin' settle_mint_?
+Is you 'shamed o' yo' country voice, honey, an' tryin' ter ketch a
+French crow? No, he ain't," she added, putting him down at last, but
+watching him fondly. "Blink know he's a Bruce. An' he know he's folks
+is in tribulatiom, an' hilarity ain't become 'im--dat's huccome Blink
+'ain't crowed none--_ain't it, Blink_?"
+
+And Blink wisely winked his knowing eyes. That he had, indeed, never
+proclaimed his roosterhood by crowing was a source of some anxiety to
+mammy.
+
+"Maybe Blink don't know he's a rooster," she confided to Evelyn one day.
+"Sho 'nough, honey, he nuver is seen none! De neares' ter 'isse'f what
+he knows is dat ole green polly what set in de fig-tree nex' do', an'
+talk Gascon. I seed Blink 'is_tid_day stan' an' look at' im, an' den
+look down at 'isse'f, same as ter say, 'Is I a polly, or what?' An' den
+'e open an' shet 'is mouf, like 'e tryin' ter twis' it, polly fashion,
+an' hit won't twis', an' den 'e des shaken 'is head, an' walk orf, like
+'e heavy-hearted an' mixed in 'is mind. Blink don't know what
+'spornsibility lay on 'im ter keep our courage up. You heah me, Blink!
+Open yo' mouf, an' crow out, like a man!"
+
+But Blink was biding his time.
+
+During this time, in spite of strictest economy, money was going out
+faster than it came in.
+
+"I tell yer what I been thinkin', baby," said mammy, as she and Evelyn
+discussed the situation. "I think de bes' thing you can do is ter hire
+me out. I can cook you alls breckfus' soon, an' go out an' make day's
+work, an' come home plenty o' time ter cook de little speck o' dinner
+you an' ole boss needs."
+
+"Oh no, no! You mustn't think of it, mammy."
+
+"But what we gwine do, baby? We des _can't_ get out'n _money_. Hit
+_won't do_!"
+
+"Maybe I should have taken that position as lady's companion, mammy."
+
+"An' stay 'way all nights f'om yo' pa, when you de onlies' light ter 'is
+eyes? No, no, honey!"
+
+"But it has been my only offer, and sometimes I think--"
+
+"Hush talkin' dat-a-way, baby. Don't yer pray? An' don't yer trus' Gord?
+An' ain't yer done walked de streets tell you mos' drapped down, lookin'
+fur work? An' can't yer teck de hint dat de Lord done laid off yo' work
+_right heah in the house_? You go 'long now, an' cheer up yo' pa, des
+like you been doin', an' study yo' books, an' write down true joy an'
+true sorrer in yo' stories, an' glorify Gord wid yo' sense, an' don't
+pester yo'se'f 'bout to-day an' to-morrer, an'--an'--an' ef de gorspil
+is de trufe, an'--an' ef a po' ole nigger's prayers mounts ter heaven
+on de wings o' faith, Gord ain't gwine let a hair o' yo' head perish."
+
+But mammy pondered in her heart much concerning the financial outlook,
+and it was on the day after this conversation that she dressed herself
+with unusual care, and, without announcing her errand, started out.
+
+Her return soon brought its own explanation, however, for upon her old
+head she bore a huge bundle of unlaundered clothing.
+
+"What in the world!" exclaimed Evelyn; but before she could voice a
+protest, mammy interrupted her.
+
+"Nuver you mind, baby! I des waked up," she exclaimed, throwing her
+bundle at the kitchen door. "I been preachin' ter you 'bout teckin'
+hints, an' 'ain't been readin' my own lesson. Huccome we got dis heah
+nice sunny back yard, an' dis bustin' cisternful o' rain-water? Huccome
+de boa'din'-house folks at de corner keeps a-passin' an' a-passin' by
+dis gate wid all dey fluted finery on, ef 'twarn't ter gimme a hint dat
+dey's wealth a-layin' at de do', an' me, bline as a bat, 'ain't seen
+it?"
+
+"Oh, but, mammy, you can't take in washing. You are too old; it is too
+hard. You _mustn't_--"
+
+"Ef-ef-ef-ef you gits obstropulous, I-I-I gwine whup yer, sho. Y-y-yer
+know how much money's a-comin' out'n dat bundle, baby? _Five dollars!_"
+This in a stage-whisper. "An' not a speck o' dirt on nothin'; des baby
+caps an' lace doin's rumpled up."
+
+"How did you manage it, mammy?"
+
+"Well, baby, I des put on my fluted ap'on--an' you know it's ironed
+purty--an' my clair-starched neck-hankcher, an'--an' _my business face_,
+an' I helt up my head an' walked in, an' axed good prices, an' de
+ladies, dee des tooken took one good look at me, an' gimme all I'd
+carry. You know washin' an' ironin' is my pleasure, baby."
+
+It was useless to protest, and so, after a moment, Evelyn began rolling
+up her sleeves.
+
+"I am going to help you, mammy," she said, quietly but firmly; but
+before she could protest, mammy had gathered her into her arms, and
+carried her into her own room. Setting her down at her desk, she
+exclaimed:
+
+"Now, ef _you_ goes ter de wash-tub, dey ain't nothin' lef fur _me_ ter
+do but 'cep'n' ter _set down an' write de story_, an' you know I can't
+do it."
+
+"But, mammy, I _must_ help you."
+
+"Is you gwine _meck_ me whup yer, whe'r ur no, baby? Now I gwine meck a
+bargain wid yer. _You_ set down an' write, an' _I_ gwine play de pianner
+on de washboa'd, an' to-night you can read off what yer done put down,
+an' ef yer done written it purty an' sweet, you can come an' turn de
+flutin'-machine fur me ter-morrer. Yer gwine meck de bargain wid me,
+baby?"
+
+Evelyn was so touched that she had not voice to answer. Rising from her
+seat, she put her arms around mammy's neck and kissed her old face, and
+as she turned away a tear rolled down her cheek. And so the "bargain"
+was sealed.
+
+Before going to her desk Evelyn went to her father, to see that he
+wanted nothing. He sat, as usual, gazing silently out of the window.
+
+"Daughter," said he, as she entered, "are we in France?"
+
+"No, dear," she answered, startled at the question.
+
+"But the language I hear in the street is French; and see the
+ship-masts--French flags flying. But there is the German too, and
+English, and last week there was a Scandinavian. Where are we truly,
+daughter? My surroundings confuse me."
+
+"We are in New Orleans, father--in the French Quarter. Ships from almost
+everywhere come to this port, you know. Let us walk out to the levee
+this morning, and see the men-of-war in the river. The air will revive
+you."
+
+"Well, if your mother comes. She might come while we were away."
+
+And so it was always. With her heart trembling within her, Evelyn went
+to her desk. "Surely," she thought, "there is much need that I shall do
+my best." Almost reverentially she took her pen, as she proceeded with
+the true story she had begun.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"I done changed my min' 'bout dat ole 'oman wha' stan' fur me, baby,"
+said mammy that night. "You leave 'er des like she is. She glorifies de
+story a heap better'n my nachel self could do it. I been a-thinkin'
+'bout it, an' _de finer that ole 'oman ac', an' de mo' granjer yer lay
+on 'er, de better yer gwine meck de book_, 'caze de ole gemplum wha'
+stan' fur ole marster, his times an' seasons is done past, an' he can't
+do nothin' but set still an' wait, an'--an' de yo'ng missus, she ain't
+fitten ter wrastle on de outskirts; she ain't nothin' but 'cep' des a
+lovin' sweet saint, wid 'er face set ter a high, far mark--"
+
+"Hush, mammy!"
+
+"_I'm a-talkin' 'bout de book, baby, an' don't you interrup' me no mo'!_
+An' _I say ef dis ole 'oman wha' stan' fur me, ef-ef-ef she got a weak
+spot in 'er, dey won't be no story to it_. She de one wha' got ter
+_stan' by de battlemints an' hol' de fort_."
+
+"That's just what you are doing, mammy. There isn't a grain in her that
+is finer than you."
+
+"'Sh! dis ain't no time fur foolishness, baby. Yer 'ain't said nothin'
+'bout yo' ma an' de ole black 'oman's baby bein' borned de same day, is
+yer? An' how de ole 'oman nussed 'em bofe des like twins? An'--an' how
+folks 'cused 'er o' starvin' 'er own baby on de 'count o' yo' ma bein'
+puny? (_But dat warn't true._) Maybe yer better leave all dat out, 'caze
+hit mought spile de story."
+
+"How could it spoil it, mammy?"
+
+"Don't yer see, ef folks knowed dat dem white folks an' dat ole black
+'oman was _dat close-t_, dey wouldn't be no principle in it. Dey ain't
+nothin' but _love_ in _dat_, an' de ole 'oman _couldn't he'p 'erse'f, no
+mo'n I could he'p it_! No right-minded pusson is gwine ter deny dey own
+heart. Yer better leave all dat out, honey. B-b-but deys some'h'n' else
+wha' been lef out, wha' b'long in de book. Yer 'ain't named de way de
+little mistus sot up all nights an' nussed de ole 'oman time she was
+sick, an'--an'--an' de way she sew all de ole 'oman's cloze;
+an'--an'--an' yer done lef' out a heap o' de purtiness an' de sweetness
+o' de yo'ng mistus! Dis is a book, baby, an'--an'--yer boun' ter do
+jestice!"
+
+In this fashion the story was written.
+
+"And what do you think I am going to do with it, mammy?" said Evelyn,
+when finally, having done her very best, she was willing to call it
+finished.
+
+"Yer know some'h'n' baby? Ef-ef-ef I had de money, look like I'd buy
+that story myse'f. Seem some way like I loves it. Co'se I couldn't read
+it; but my min' been on it so long, seem like, ef I'd study de pages
+good dee'd open up ter me. What yer gwine do wid it, baby?"
+
+"Oh, mammy, I can hardly tell you! My heart seems in my throat when I
+dare to think of it; but _I'm going to try it_. A New York magazine has
+offered five hundred dollars for a best story--_five hundred dollars_!
+Think, mammy, what it would do for us!"
+
+"Dat wouldn't buy de plantatiom back, would it, baby?" Mammy had no
+conception of large sums.
+
+"We don't want it back, mammy. It would pay for moving our dear ones to
+graves of their own; we should put a nice sum in bank; you shouldn't do
+any more washing; and if we can write one good story, you know we can
+write more. It will be only a beginning."
+
+"An' I tell yer what I gwine do. I gwine pray over it good, des like I
+been doin' f'om de start, an' ef hit's Gord's will, dem folks 'll be
+moved in de sperit ter sen' 'long de money."
+
+And so the story was sent.
+
+After it was gone the atmosphere seemed brighter. The pending decision
+was now a fixed point to which all their hopes were directed.
+
+The very audacity of the effort seemed inspiration to more ambitious
+work; and during the long summer, while in her busy hands the
+fluting-machine went round and round, Evelyn's mind was full of plans
+for the future.
+
+Finally, December, with its promise of the momentous decision, was come,
+and Evelyn found herself full of anxious misgivings.
+
+What merit entitling it to special consideration had the little story?
+Did it bear the impress of self-forgetful, conscientious purpose, or was
+this a thing only feebly struggling into life within herself--not yet
+the compelling force that indelibly stamps itself upon the earnest labor
+of consecrated hands? How often in the silent hours of night did she ask
+herself questions like these!
+
+At last it was Christmas Eve again, and Saturday night. When the days
+are dark, what is so depressing as an anniversary--an anniversary joyous
+in its very essence? How one Christmas brings in its train
+memory-pictures of those gone before!
+
+This had been a hard day for Evelyn. Her heart felt weak within her,
+and yet, realizing that she alone represented youth and hope in the
+little household, and feeling need that her own courage should be
+sustained, she had been more than usually merry all day. She had
+clandestinely prepared little surprises for her father and mammy, and
+was both amused and touched to discover the old woman secreting
+mysterious little parcels which she knew were to come to her in the
+morning.
+
+"Wouldn't it be funny if, after all, I should turn out to be only a good
+washerwoman, mammy?" she said, laughing, as she assisted the old woman
+in pinning up a basket of laundered clothing.
+
+"Hit'd be funnier yit ef _I'd_ turn out inter one o' deze heah
+book-writers, wouldn't it?" And mammy laughed heartily at her own joke.
+"Look like I better study my a-b abs fus', let 'lone puttin' 'em back on
+paper wid a pen. I tell you educatiom's a-spreadin' in dis fam'ly, sho.
+Time Blink run over de sheet out a-bleachin' 'is_tid_dy, he written a
+Chinese letter all over it. Didn't you, Blink? What de matter wid Blink
+anyhow, to-day?" she added, taking the last pin from her head-kerchief.
+"Blink look like he nervous some way dis evenin'. He keep a-walkin'
+roun', an' winkin' so slow, an' retchin' his neck out de back-do' so
+cuyus. Stop a-battin' yo' eyes at me, Blink! Ef yo' got some'h'n' ter
+say, _say it_!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A sudden noisy rattle of the iron door-knocker--mammy trotting to the
+door--the postman--a letter! It all happened in a minute.
+
+How Evelyn's heart throbbed and her hand trembled as she opened the
+envelope! "Oh, mammy!" she cried, trembling now like an aspen leaf.
+"_Thank God!_"
+
+"Is dee d-d-d-done sont de money, baby?" Her old face was twitching too.
+
+But Evelyn could not answer. Nodding her head, she fell sobbing on
+mammy's shoulder.
+
+Mammy raised her apron to her eyes, and there's no telling what
+"foolishness" she might have committed had it not been that suddenly,
+right at her side, arose a most jubilant screech.
+
+Blink, perched on the handle of the clothes-basket, was crowing with all
+his might.
+
+Evelyn, startled, raised her head, and laughed through her tears, while
+mammy threw herself at full length upon the floor, shouting aloud.
+
+"Tell me chickens 'ain't got secon'-sight! Blink see'd--he
+see'd--Laws-o'-mussy, baby, look yonder at dat little yaller rooster
+stan'in' on de fence. _Dat_ what Blink see. Co'se it is!"
+
+
+
+
+DUKE'S CHRISTMAS
+
+
+
+
+DUKE'S CHRISTMAS
+
+
+"You des gimme de white folks's Christmas-dinner plates, time they git
+thoo eatin', an' lemme scrape 'em in a pan, an' set dat pan in my lap,
+an' blow out de light, an' _go it bline_! Hush, honey, hush, while I
+shet my eyes now an' tas'e all de samples what'd come out'n dat
+pan--cramberries, an' tukkey-stuffin' wid _puck_ons in it, an' ham an'
+fried oyscher an'--an' minch-meat, an' chow-chow pickle an'--an' jelly!
+Umh! Don' keer which-a-one I strack fust--dey all got de Christmas
+seasonin'!"
+
+Old Uncle Mose closed his eyes and smiled, even smacked his lips in
+contemplation of the imaginary feast which he summoned at will from his
+early memories. Little Duke, his grandchild, sitting beside him on the
+floor, rolled his big eyes and looked troubled. Black as a raven, nine
+years old and small of his age, but agile and shrewd as a little fox, he
+was at present the practical head of this family of two.
+
+This state of affairs had existed for more than two months, ever since a
+last attack of rheumatism had lifted his grandfather's leg upon the
+chair before him and held it there.
+
+Duke's success as a provider was somewhat remarkable, considering his
+size, color, and limited education.
+
+True, he had no rent to pay, for their one-roomed cabin, standing on
+uncertain stilts outside the old levee, had been deserted during the
+last high-water, when Uncle Mose had "tooken de chances" and moved in.
+But then Mose had been able to earn his seventy-five cents a day at
+wood-sawing; and besides, by keeping his fishing-lines baited and set
+out the back and front doors--there were no windows--he had often drawn
+in a catfish, or his shrimp-bag had yielded breakfast for two.
+
+Duke's responsibilities had come with the winter and its greater needs,
+when the receding waters had withdrawn even the small chance of landing
+a dinner with hook and line. True, it had been done on several
+occasions, when Duke had come home to find fricasseed chickens for
+dinner; but somehow the neighbors' chickens had grown wary, and refused
+to be enticed by the corn that lay under Mose's cabin.
+
+The few occasions when one of their number, swallowing an
+innocent-looking grain, had been suddenly lifted up into space,
+disappearing through the floor above, seemed to have impressed the
+survivors.
+
+Mose was a church-member, and would have scorned to rob a hen-roost, but
+he declared "when strange chickens come a-foolin' roun' bitin' on my
+fish-lines, I des twisses dey necks ter put 'em out'n dey misery."
+
+It had been a long time since he had met with any success at this
+poultry-fishing, and yet he always kept a few lines out.
+
+He _professed_ to be fishing for crawfish--as if crawfish ever bit on a
+hook or ate corn! Still, it eased his conscience, for he did try to set
+his grandson a Christian example consistent with his precepts.
+
+It was Christmas Eve, and the boy felt a sort of moral responsibility in
+the matter of providing a suitable Christmas dinner for the morrow. His
+question as to what the old man would like to have had elicited the
+enthusiastic bit of reminiscence with which this story opens. Here was a
+poser! His grandfather had described just the identical kind of dinner
+which he felt powerless to procure. If he had said oysters, or chicken,
+or even turkey, Duke thought he could have managed it; but a pan of
+rich fragments was simply out of the question.
+
+"Wouldn't you des as lief have a pone o' hot egg-bread, gran'dad,
+an'--an'--an' maybe a nice baked chicken--ur--ur a--"
+
+"Ur a nothin', boy! Don't talk to me! I'd a heap'd ruther have a
+secon'-han' white Christmas dinner 'n de bes' fus'-han' nigger one you
+ever seed, an' I ain't no spring-chicken, nuther. I done had 'spe'unce
+o' Christmas dinners. An' what you talkin' 'bout, anyhow? Whar you gwine
+git roas' chicken, nigger?"
+
+"I don' know, less'n I'd meck a heap o' money to-day; but I could sho'
+git a whole chicken ter roas' easier'n I could git dat pan full o'
+goodies _you's_ a-talkin' 'bout.
+
+"Is you gwine crawfishin' to-day, gran'daddy?" he continued, cautiously,
+rolling his eyes. "'Caze when I cross de road, terreckly, I gwine shoo
+off some o' dem big fat hens dat scratches up so much dus'. Dey des a
+puffec' nuisance, scratchin' dus' clean inter my eyes ev'y time I go
+down de road."
+
+"Dey is, is dey? De nasty, impident things! You better not shoo none of
+'em over heah, less'n you want me ter wring dey necks--which I boun' ter
+do ef dey pester my crawfish-lines."
+
+"Well, I'm gwine now, gran'dad. Ev'ything is done did an' set whar you
+kin reach--I gwine down de road an' shoo dem sassy chickens away. Dis
+here bucket o' brick-dus' sho' is heavy," he added, as he lifted to his
+head a huge pail.
+
+Starting out, he gathered up a few grains of corn, dropping them along
+in his wake until he reached the open where the chickens were; when,
+making a circuit round them, he drove them slowly until he saw them
+begin to pick up the corn. Then he turned, whistling as he went, into a
+side street, and proceeded on his way.
+
+Old Mose chuckled audibly as Duke passed out, and, baiting his lines
+with corn and scraps of meat, he lifted the bit of broken plank from the
+floor, and set about his day's sport.
+
+"Now, Mr. Chicken, I'm settin' deze heah lines fur crawfish, an' ef you
+smarties come a-foolin' round 'em, I gwine punish you 'cordin' ter de
+law. You heah me!" He chuckled as he thus presented his defence anew
+before the bar of his own conscience.
+
+But the chickens did not bite to-day--not a mother's son or daughter of
+them--though they ventured cautiously to the very edge of the cabin.
+
+It was a discouraging business, and the day seemed very long. It was
+nearly nightfall when Mose recognized Duke's familiar whistle from the
+levee. And when he heard the little bare feet pattering on the single
+plank that led from the brow of the bank to the cabin-door, he coughed
+and chuckled as if to disguise a certain eager agitation that always
+seized him when the little boy came home at night.
+
+"Here me," Duke called, still outside the door; adding as he entered,
+while he set his pail beside the old man, "How you is to-night,
+gran'dad?"
+
+"Des po'ly, thank Gord. How you yo'se'f, my man?" There was a note of
+affection in the old man's voice as he addressed the little pickaninny,
+who seemed in the twilight a mere midget.
+
+"An' what you got dyah?" he continued, turning to the pail, beside which
+Duke knelt, lighting a candle.
+
+"_Picayune_ o' light bread an' _lagniappe_[A] o' salt," Duke began,
+lifting out the parcels, "an' _picayune_ o' molasses an' _lagniappe_ o'
+coal-ile, ter rub yo' leg wid--heah hit in de tin can--an' _picayune_ o'
+coffee an' _lagniappe_ o' matches--heah dey is, fo'teen an' a half, but
+de half ain't got no fizz on it. An' deze heah in de bottom, dey des
+chips I picked up 'long de road."
+
+"An' you ain't axed fur no _lagniappe_ fo' yo'self, Juke. Whyn't you ax
+fur des one _lagniappe_ o' sugar-plums, baby, bein's it's Christmas? Yo'
+ole gran'dad 'ain't got nothin' fur you, an' you know to-morrer is sho
+'nough Christmas, boy. I 'ain't got even ter say a crawfish bite on my
+lines to-day, much less'n some'h'n' fittin' fur a Christmas-gif'. I did
+set heah an' whittle you a little whistle, but some'h'n' went wrong wid
+it. Hit won't blow. But tell me, how's business to-day, boy? I see you
+done sol' yo' brick-dus'?"
+
+"Yas, sir, but I toted it purty nigh all day 'fo' I _is_ sold it. De
+folks wharever I went dey say nobody don't want to scour on Christmas
+Eve. An' one time I set it down an' made three nickels cuttin' grass an'
+holdin' a white man's horse, an' dat gimme a res'. An' I started out
+ag'in, an' I walked inter a big house an' ax de lady ain't she want ter
+buy some pounded brick. An', gran'dad, you know what meck she buy it?
+'Caze she say my bucket is mos' as big as I is, an' ef I had de grit ter
+tote it clean ter her house on Christmas Eve, she say I sha'n't pack it
+back--an' she gimme a dime fur it, too, stid a nickel. An' she gimme
+two hole-in-de-middle cakes, wid sugar on 'em. Heah dey is." Duke took
+two sorry-lookin' rings from his hat and presented them to the old man.
+"I done et de sugar off 'em," he continued. "'Caze I knowed it'd give
+you de toofache in yo' gums. An' I tol' 'er what you say, gran'dad!"
+
+Mose turned quickly.
+
+"What you tol' dat white lady I say, nigger?"
+
+"I des tol' 'er what you say 'bout scrapin' de plates into a pan."
+
+Mose grinned broadly. "Is you had de face ter tell dat strange white
+'oman sech talk as dat? An' what she say?"
+
+"She des looked at me up an' down fur a minute, an' den she broke out in
+a laugh, an' she say: 'You sho' is de littles' coon I ever seen out
+foragin'!' An' wid dat she say: 'Ef you'll come roun' to-morrer night,
+'bout dark, I'll give you as big a pan o' scraps as you kin tote.'"
+
+There were tears in the old man's eyes, and he actually giggled.
+
+"Is she? Well done! But ain't you 'feerd you'll los' yo'self, gwine 'way
+down town at night?"
+
+"Los' who, gran'dad? You can't los' me in dis city, so long as de
+red-light Pertania cars is runnin'. I kin ketch on berhine tell dey
+fling me off, den teck de nex' one tell dey fling me off ag'in--an' hit
+ain't so fur dat-a-way."
+
+"Does dey fling yer off rough, boy? Look out dey don't bre'k yo' bones!"
+
+"Dey ain't gwine crack none o' my bones. Sometimes de drivers kicks me
+off, an' sometimes dey cusses me off, tell I lets go des ter save Gord's
+name--dat's a fac'."
+
+"Dat's right. Save it when you kin, boy. So she gwine scrape de
+Christmas plates fur me, is she? I wonder what sort o' white folks dis
+here tar-baby o' mine done strucken in wid, anyhow? You sho' dey reel
+quality white folks, is yer, Juke? 'Caze I ain't gwine sile my mouf on
+no po' white-trash scraps."
+
+"I ain't no sho'er'n des what I tell yer, gran'dad. Ef dey ain't
+quality, I don' know nothin' 't all 'bout it. I tell yer when I walked
+roun' dat yard clean ter de kitchen on dem flag-stones wid dat bucket o'
+brick on my hade, I had ter stop an' ketch my bref fo' I could talk, an'
+de cook, a sassy, fat, black lady, she would o' sont me out, but de
+madam, she seed me 'erse'f, an' she tooken took notice ter me, an' tell
+me set my bucket down, an' de yo'ng ladies, beatin' eggs in de kitchen,
+dey was makin' sport o' me, too--ax' me is I weaned yit, an' one ob 'em
+ax me is my nuss los' me! Den dey gimme deze heah hole-in-de-middle
+cakes, an' some reesons. I des fotched you a few reesons, but I done et
+de mos' ob em--I ain't gwine tell you no lie about it."
+
+"Dat's right, baby. I'm glad you is et 'em--des so dey don't cramp yer
+up--an' come 'long now an' eat yo' dinner. I saved you a good pan o'
+greens an' meat. What else is you et to-day, boy?"
+
+"De ladies in de kitchen dey gimme two burnt cakes, an' I swapped half
+o' my reesons wid a white boy for a biscuit--but I sho is hongry."
+
+"Yas, an' you sleepy, too--I know you is."
+
+"But I gwine git up soon, gran'dad. One market-lady she seh ef I come
+early in de mornin' an' tote baskits home, she gwine gimme some'h'n'
+good; an' I'm gwine ketch all dem butchers and fish-ladies in dat
+Mag'zine Markit 'Christmas-gif'!' An' I bet yer dey'll gimme some'h'n'
+ter fetch home. Las' Christmas I got seven nickels an' a whole passel o'
+marketin' des a-ketchin' 'em Christmas-gif'. Deze heah black molasses I
+brung yer home to-night--how yer like 'em, gran'dad?"
+
+"Fust-rate, boy. Don't yer see me eatin' 'em? Say yo' pra'rs now, Juke,
+an' lay down, 'caze I gwine weck you up by sun-up."
+
+It was not long before little Duke was snoring on his pallet, when old
+Mose, reaching behind the mantel, produced a finely braided leather
+whip, which he laid beside the sleeping boy.
+
+"Wush't I had a apple ur orwange ur stick o' candy ur some'h'n' sweet
+ter lay by 'im fur Christmas," he said, fondly, as he looked upon the
+little sleeping figure. "Reck'n I mought bile dem molasses down inter a
+little candy--seem lak hit's de onlies' chance dey is."
+
+And turning back to the low fire, Mose stirred the coals a little,
+poured the remains of Duke's "_picayune_ o' molasses" into a tomato-can,
+and began his labor of love.
+
+Like much of such service, it was for a long time simply a question of
+waiting; and Mose found it no simple task, even when it had reached the
+desired point, to pull the hot candy to a fairness of complexion
+approaching whiteness. When, however, he was able at last to lay a
+heavy, copper-colored twist with the whip beside the sleeping boy, he
+counted the trouble as nothing; and hobbling over to his own cot, he was
+soon also sleeping.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sun was showing in a gleam on the river next morning when Mose
+called, lustily, "Weck up, Juke, weck up! Christmas-gif', boy,
+Christmas-gif'!"
+
+Duke turned heavily once; then, catching the words, he sprang up with a
+bound.
+
+"Christmas-gif', gran'dad!" he returned, rubbing his eyes; then fully
+waking, he cried, "Look onder de chips in de bucket, gran'dad."
+
+And the old man choked up again as he produced the bag of tobacco, over
+which he had actually cried a little last night when he had found it
+hidden beneath the chips with which he had cooked Duke's candy.
+
+"I 'clare, Juke, I 'clare you is a caution," was all he could say.
+
+"An' who gimme all deze?" Duke exclaimed, suddenly seeing his own gifts.
+
+"I don' know nothin' 't all 'bout it, less'n ole Santa Claus mought o'
+tooken a rest in our mud chimbley las' night," said the old man, between
+laughter and tears.
+
+And Duke, the knowing little scamp, cracking his whip, munching his
+candy and grinning, replied:
+
+"I s'pec' he is, gran'dad; an' I s'pec' he come down an' b'iled up yo'
+nickel o' molasses, too, ter meck me dis candy. Tell yer, dis whup,
+she's got a daisy snapper on 'er, gran'dad! She's wuth a dozen o' deze
+heah white-boy _w'ips_, she is!"
+
+The last thing Mose heard as Duke descended the levee that morning was
+the crack of the new whip; and he said, as he filled his pipe, "De idee
+o' dat little tar-baby o' mine fetchin' me a Christmas-gif'!"
+
+It was past noon when Duke got home again, bearing upon his shoulder,
+like a veritable little Santa Claus himself, a half-filled coffee-sack,
+the joint results of his service in the market and of the generosity of
+its autocrats.
+
+The latter had evidently measured their gratuities by the size of their
+beneficiary, as their gifts were very small. Still, as the little fellow
+emptied the sack upon the floor, they made quite a tempting display.
+There were oranges, apples, bananas, several of each; a bunch of
+soup-greens, scraps of fresh meat--evidently butchers' "trimmings"--odds
+and ends of vegetables; while in the midst of the melee three live crabs
+struck out in as many directions for freedom.
+
+They were soon landed in a pot; while Mose, who was really no mean cook,
+was preparing what seemed a sumptuous mid-day meal.
+
+Late in the afternoon, while Mose nodded in his chair, Duke sat in the
+open doorway, stuffing the last banana into his little stomach, which
+was already as tight as a kettle-drum. He had cracked his whip until he
+was tired, but he still kept cracking it. He cracked it at every fly
+that lit on the floor, at the motes that floated into the shaft of
+sunlight before him, at special knots in the door-sill, or at nothing,
+as the spirit moved him. A sort of holiday feeling, such as he felt on
+Sundays, had kept him at home this afternoon. If he had known that to be
+a little too full of good things and a little tired of cracking whips or
+tooting horns or drumming was the happy condition of most of the rich
+boys of the land at that identical moment, he could not have been more
+content than he was. If his stomach ached just a little, he thought of
+all the good things in it, and was rather pleased to have it ache--just
+this little. It emphasized his realization of Christmas.
+
+As the evening wore on, and the crabs and bananas and molasses-candy
+stopped arguing with one another down in his little stomach, he found
+himself thinking, with some pleasure, of the pan of scraps he was to get
+for his grandfather, and he wished for the hour when he should go. He
+was glad when at last the old man waked with a start and began talking
+to him.
+
+"I been wushin' you'd weck up an' talk, gran'dad," he said, "caze I
+wants ter ax yer what's all dis here dey say 'bout Christmas? When I was
+comin' 'long to-day I stopped in a big chu'ch, an' dey was a
+preacher-man standin' up wid a white night-gown on, an' he say dis
+here's our Lord's birfday. I heerd 'im say it myse'f. Is dat so?"
+
+"Co'se it is, Juke. Huccome you ax me sech ignunt questioms? Gimme dat
+Bible, boy, an' lemme read you some 'ligion."
+
+Mose had been a sort of lay-preacher in his day, and really could read a
+little, spelling or stumbling over the long words. Taking the book
+reverently, he leaned forward until the shaft of sunlight fell upon the
+open page, when with halting speech he read to the little boy, who
+listened with open-mouthed attention, the story of the birth at
+Bethlehem.
+
+"An' look heah, Juke, my boy," he said, finally, closing the book,
+"hit's been on my min' all day ter tell yer I ain't gwine fishin' no mo'
+tell de high-water come back--you heah? 'Caze yer know somebody's
+chickens _mought_ come an' pick up de bait, an' I'd be bleeged ter kill
+'em ter save 'em, an' we ain' gwine do dat no mo', me an' you. You heah,
+Juke?"
+
+Duke rolled his eyes around and looked pretty serious. "Yas, sir, I
+heah," he said.
+
+"An' me an' you, we done made dis bargain on de Lord's birfday--yer
+heah, boy?--wid Gord's sunshine kiverin' us all over, an' my han' layin'
+on de page. Heah, lay yo' little han' on top o' mine, Juke, an' promise
+me you gwine be a _square man_, so he'p yer. Dat's it. Say it out loud,
+an' yo' ole gran'dad he done said it, too. Wrop up dem fishin'-lines
+now, an' th'ow 'em up on de rafters. Now come set down heah, an' lemme
+tell yer 'bout Christmas on de ole plantation. Look out how you pop dat
+whup 'crost my laig! Dat's a reg'lar horse-fly killer, wid a coal of
+fire on 'er tip." Duke laughed.
+
+"Now han' me a live coal fur my pipe. Dis here terbacca you brung me,
+hit smokes sweet as sugar, boy. Set down, now, close by me--so."
+
+Duke never tired of his grandfather's reminiscences, and he crept up
+close to the old man's knee as the story began.
+
+"When de big plantation-bell used ter ring on Christmas mornin', all de
+darkies had to march up ter de great house fur dey Christmas-gif's; an'
+us what worked _at_ de house, we had ter stan' in front o' de fiel'
+han's. An' after ole marster axed a blessin', an' de string-ban' play,
+an' we all sing a song--air one we choose--boss, he'd call out de names,
+an' we'd step up, one by one, ter git our presents; an' ef we'd walk too
+shamefaced ur too 'boveish, he'd pass a joke on us, ter set ev'ybody
+laughin'.
+
+"I ricollec' one Christmas-time I was co'tin' yo' gran'ma. I done had
+been co'tin' 'er two years, an' she helt 'er head so high I was 'feerd
+ter speak. An' when Christmas come, an' I marched up ter git my present,
+ole marster gimme my bundle, an' I started back, grinnin' lak a
+chessy-cat, an' he calt me back, an' he say: 'Hol' on, Moses,' he say,
+'I got 'nother present fur you ter-day. Heah's a finger-ring I got fur
+you, an' ef it don't fit you, I reckon hit'll fit Zephyr--you know yo'
+gran'ma she was name Zephyr. An' wid dat he ran his thumb in 'is pocket
+an' fotch me out a little gal's ring--"
+
+"A gol' ring, gran'dad?"
+
+"No, boy, but a silver ring--ginniwine German silver. Well, I wush't you
+could o' heard them darkies holler an' laugh! An' Zephyr, ef she hadn't
+o' been so yaller, she'd o' been red as dat sky yonder, de way she did
+blush buff."
+
+"An' what did you do, gran'dad?"
+
+"Who, me? Dey warn't but des one thing _fur_ me to do. I des gi'n Zephyr
+de ring, an' she ax me is I mean it, an'--an' I ax her is _she_ mean it,
+an'--an' we bofe say--none o' yo' business what we say! What you lookin'
+at me so quizzical fur, Juke? Ef yer wants ter know, we des had a
+weddin' dat Christmas night--dat what we done--an' dat's huccome you got
+yo' gran'ma.
+
+"But I'm talkin' 'bout Christmas now. When we'd all go home, we'd open
+our bundles, an' of all de purty things, _an'_ funny things, _an'_
+jokes you ever heerd of, dey'd be in dem Christmas bundles--some'h'n'
+ter suit ev'y one, and hit 'im square on his funny-bone ev'y time. An'
+all de little bundles o' buckwheat ur flour 'd have _picayunes_ an'
+dimes in 'em! We used ter reg'lar sif' 'em out wid a sifter. Dat was des
+_our_ white folks's way. None o' de yether fam'lies 'long de coas' done
+it. You see, all de diffe'nt fam'lies had diffe'nt ways. But ole marster
+an' ole miss dey'd think up some new foolishness ev'y year. We nuver
+knowed what was gwine to be did nex'--on'y one thing. _Dey allus put
+money in de buckwheat-bag_--an' you know we nuver tas'e no buckwheat
+'cep'n' on'y Christmas. Oh, boy, ef we could des meet wid some o' we's
+white folks ag'in!"
+
+"How is we got los' f'om 'em, gran'dad?" So Duke invited a hundredth
+repetition of the story he knew so well.
+
+"How did we git los' f'om we's white folks? Dat's a sad story fur
+Christmas, Juke, but ef you sesso--
+
+"Hit all happened in one night, time o' de big break in de levee, seven
+years gone by. We was lookin' fur de bank ter crack crost de river f'om
+us, an' so boss done had tooken all han's over, cep'n us ole folks an'
+chillen, ter he'p work an' watch de yether side. 'Bout midnight, whiles
+we was all sleepin', come a roa'in' soun', an' fus' thing we knowed, all
+in de pitchy darkness, we was floatin' away--nobody cep'n des you an' me
+an' yo' mammy in de cabin--floatin' an' bumpin' an' rockin,' _an' all de
+time dark as pitch_. So we kep' on--one minute stiddy, nex' minute
+_cher-plunk_ gins' a tree ur some'h'n' nother--_all in de dark_--an' one
+minute you'd cry--you was des a weanin' baby den--an' nex' minute I'd
+heah de bed you an' yo' ma was in bump gins' de wall, an' you'd laugh
+out loud, an' yo' mammy she'd holler--_all in de dark_. An' so we
+travelled, up an' down, bunkety-bunk, seem lak a honderd hours; tell
+treckly a _termenjus_ wave come, an' I had sca'cely felt it boomin'
+onder me when I pitched, an' ev'ything went travellin'. An' when I put
+out my han', I felt you by me--but yo' mammy, she warn't nowhar.
+
+"Hol' up yo' face an' don't cry, boy. I been a mighty poor mammy ter
+yer, but I blesses Gord to-night fur savin' dat little black baby ter
+me--_all in de win' an' de storm an' de dark dat night_.
+
+"You see, yo' daddy, he was out wid de gang wuckin' de levee crost de
+river--an' dat's huccome yo' ma was 'feerd ter stay by 'erse'f an' sont
+fur me.
+
+"Well, baby, when I knowed yo' mammy was gone, I helt you tight an'
+prayed. An' after a while--seem lak a million hours--come a pale streak
+o' day, an' 'fo' de sun was up, heah come a steamboat puffin' down de
+river, an' treckly hit blowed a whistle an' ringed a bell an' stop an'
+took us on boa'd, an' brung us on down heah ter de city."
+
+"An' you never seed my mammy no mo', gran'dad?" Little Duke's lips
+quivered just a little.
+
+"Yo' mammy was safe at Home in de Golden City, Juke, long 'fore we
+teched even de low lan' o' dis yearth.
+
+"An' dat's how we got los' f'om we's white folks.
+
+"An' time we struck de city I was so twis' up wid rheumatiz I lay fur
+six munts in de Cha'ity Hospit'l; an' you bein' so puny, cuttin' yo'
+toofs, dey kep' you right along in de baby-ward tell I was able to start
+out. An' sence I stepped out o' dat hospit'l do' wid yo' little bow-legs
+trottin' by me, so I been goin' ever sence. Days I'd go out sawin' wood,
+I'd set you on de wood-pile by me; an' when de cook 'd slip me out a
+plate o' soup, I'd ax fur two spoons. An' so you an' me, we been
+pardners right along, an' _I wouldn't swap pardners wid nobody_--you
+heah, Juke? Dis here's Christmas, an' I'm talkin' ter yer."
+
+Duke looked so serious that a feather's weight would have tipped the
+balance and made him cry; but he only blinked.
+
+"An' it's gittin' late now, pardner," the old man continued, "an' you
+better be gwine--less'n you 'feerd? Ef you is, des sesso now, an' we'll
+meck out wid de col' victuals in de press."
+
+"Who's afeerd, gran'dad?" Duke's face had broken into a broad grin now,
+and he was cracking his whip again.
+
+"Don't eat no supper tell I come," he added, as he started out into the
+night. But as he turned down the street he muttered to himself:
+
+"I wouldn't keer, ef all dem sassy boys didn't pleg me--say I ain't got
+no mammy--ur daddy--ur nothin'. But dey won't say it ter me ag'in, not
+whiles I got dis whup in my han'! She sting lak a rattlesnake, she do!
+She's a daisy an' a half! Cher-whack! You gwine sass me any mo', you
+grea' big over-my-size coward, you? Take dat! An' dat! _An' dat!_ Now
+run! Whoop! Heah come de red light!"
+
+So, in fancy avenging his little wrongs, Duke recovered his spirits and
+proceeded to catch on behind the Prytania car, that was to help him on
+his way to get his second-hand Christmas dinner.
+
+His benefactress had not forgotten her promise; and, in addition to a
+heavy pan of scraps, Duke took home, almost staggering beneath its
+weight, a huge, compact bundle.
+
+Old Mose was snoring vociferously when he reached the cabin. Depositing
+his parcel, the little fellow lit a candle, which he placed beside the
+sleeper; then uncovering the pan, he laid it gently upon his lap. And
+now, seizing a spoon and tin cup, he banged it with all his might.
+
+"Heah de plantation-bell! Come git yo' Christmas-gif's!"
+
+And when his grandfather sprang up, nearly upsetting the pan in his
+fright, Duke rolled backward on the floor, screaming with laughter.
+
+"I 'clare, Juke, boy," said Mose, when he found voice, "I wouldn't 'a'
+jumped so, but yo' foolishness des fitted inter my dream. I was dreamin'
+o' ole times, an' des when I come ter de ringin' o' de plantation-bell,
+I heerd _cherplang_! An' it nachelly riz me off'n my foots. What's dis
+heah? Did you git de dinner, sho' 'nough?"
+
+The pan of scraps quite equalled that of the old man's memory, every
+familiar fragment evoking a reminiscence.
+
+"You is sho' struck quality white folks dis time, Juke," he said,
+finally, as he pushed back the pan--Duke had long ago finished--"but
+dis here tukkey-stuffin'--I don't say 'tain' good, but _hit don't quite
+come up ter de mark o' ole miss's puckon stuffin'_!"
+
+Duke was nodding in his chair, when presently the old man, turning to go
+to bed, spied the unopened parcel, which, in his excitement, Duke had
+forgotten. Placing it upon the table before him, Mose began to open it.
+It was a package worth getting--just such a generous Christmas bundle as
+he had described to Duke this afternoon. Perhaps it was some vague
+impression of this sort that made his old fingers tremble as he untied
+the strings, peeping or sniffing into the little parcels of tea and
+coffee and flour. Suddenly something happened. Out of a little sack of
+buckwheat, accidentally upset, rolled a ten-cent piece. The old man
+threw up his arms, fell forward over the table, and in a moment was
+sobbing aloud.
+
+It was some time before he could make Duke comprehend the situation, but
+presently, pointing to the coin lying before him, he cried: "Look, boy,
+look! Wharbouts is you got dat bundle? Open yo' mouf, boy! Look at de
+money in de buckwheat-bag! Oh, my ole mistuss! Nobody but you is tied up
+dat bundle! Praise Gord, I say!"
+
+There was no sleep for either Mose or Duke now; and, late as it was,
+they soon started out, the old man steadying himself on Duke's shoulder,
+to find their people.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was hard for the little boy to believe, even after they had hugged
+all 'round and laughed and cried, that the stylish black gentleman who
+answered the door-bell, silver tray in hand, was his own father! He had
+often longed for a regular blue-shirted plantation "daddy," but never,
+in his most ambitious moments, had he aspired to filial relations with
+so august a personage as this!
+
+But while Duke was swelling up, rolling his eyes, and wondering, Mose
+stood in the centre of a crowd of his white people, while a gray-haired
+old lady, holding his trembling hand in both of hers, was saying, as the
+tears trickled down her cheeks:
+
+"But why didn't you get some one to write to us for you, Moses?"
+
+Then Mose, sniffling still, told of his long illness in the hospital,
+and of his having afterwards met a man from the coast who told the story
+of the sale of the plantation, but did not know where the family had
+gone.
+
+"When I fixed up that bundle," the old lady resumed, "I was thinking of
+you, Moses. Every year we have sent out such little packages to any
+needy colored people of whom we knew, as a sort of memorial to our lost
+ones, always half-hoping that they might actually reach some of them.
+And I thought of you specially, Moses," she continued, mischievously,
+"when I put in all that turkey-stuffing. Do you remember how greedy you
+always were about pecan-stuffing? It wasn't quite as good as usual this
+year."
+
+"No'm; dat what I say," said Mose. "I tol' Juke dat stuffin' warn't
+quite up ter de mark--ain't I, Juke? Fur gracious sake, look at Juke,
+settin' on his daddy's shoulder, with a face on him ole as a man! Put
+dat boy down, Pete! Dat's a business-man you foolin' wid!"
+
+Whereupon little Duke--man of affairs, forager, financier--overcome at
+last with the fulness of the situation, made a really babyish square
+mouth, and threw himself sobbing upon his father's bosom.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[Footnote A: Pronounced lan-yap. _Lagniappe_ is a small gratuity which
+New Orleans children always expect and usually get with a purchase.
+Retail druggists keep jars of candy, licorice, or other small
+confections for that purpose.]
+
+
+
+
+UNCLE EPHE'S ADVICE TO BRER RABBIT
+
+[Illustration: "'KEEP STEP, RABBIT, MAN!'"]
+
+
+
+
+UNCLE EPHE'S ADVICE TO BRER RABBIT
+
+
+   Keep step, Rabbit, man!
+   Hunter comin' quick's he can!
+   H'ist yo'se'f! _Don't_ cross de road,
+   Less 'n he'll hit you fur a toad!
+
+   Up an' skip it, 'fo' t's too late!
+   Hoppit--lippit! Bull-frog gait!
+   Hoppit--lippit--lippit--hoppit!
+   Goodness me, why don't you stop it?
+
+   Shame on you, Mr. Ge'man Rabbit,
+   Ter limp along wid sech a habit!
+   'F you'd balumps on yo' hime-legs straight,
+   An' hurry wid a mannish gait,
+
+   An' tie yo' ears down onder yo' th'oat,
+   An' kivir yo' tail wid a cut-away coat,
+   Rabbit-hunters by de dozen
+   Would shek yo' han' an' call you cousin,
+
+   An' like as not, you onery sinner,
+   Dey'd ax' you home ter eat yo' dinner!
+   But _don't you go_, 'caze ef you do,
+   Dey'll set you down to rabbit-stew.
+
+   An' de shape o' dem bones an' de smell o' dat meal
+   'Ll meck you wish you was back in de fiel'.
+   An' ef you'd stretch yo' mouf too wide,
+   You know yo' ears mought come ontied;
+
+   An' when you'd jump, you couldn't fail
+   To show yo' little cotton tail,
+   An' den, 'fo' you could twis' yo' phiz,
+   Dey'd _reconnize_ you _who you is_;
+
+   An' fo' you'd sca'cely bat yo' eye,
+   Dey'd have you skun an' in a pie,
+   Or maybe roasted on a coal,
+   Widout one thought about yo' soul.
+
+   So better teck ole Ephe's advice,
+   Des rig yo'se'f out slick an' nice,
+   An' tie yo' ears down, like I said,
+   An' hide yo' tail an' lif' yo' head.
+
+   [Illustration: "'WELL, ONE MO' RABBIT FUR DE POT'"]
+
+   An' when you balumps on yo' foots,
+   It wouldn't hurt ter put on boots.
+   Den walk _straight up_, like Mr. Man,
+   An' when he offer you 'is han',
+
+   Des smile, an' gi'e yo' hat a tip;
+   But _don't you show yo' rabbit lip_.
+   An' don't you have a word ter say,
+   No mo'n ter pass de time o' day.
+
+   An' ef he ax 'bout yo' affairs,
+   Des 'low you gwine ter hunt some hares,
+   An' ax 'im is he seen a jack--
+   An' dat 'll put 'im off de track.
+
+   Now, ef you'll foller dis advice,
+   Instid o' bein' et wid rice,
+   Ur baked in pie, ur stuffed wid sage,
+   You'll live ter die of nachel age.
+
+   'Sh! hush! What's dat? Was dat a gun?
+   _Don't_ trimble so. An' _don't you run_!
+   Come, set heah on de lorg wid me--
+   Hol' down yo' ears an' cross yo' knee.
+
+   _Don't_ run, _I say_. Tut--tut! He's gorn.
+   _Right 'cross de road_, as sho's you born!
+   Slam bang! I know'd he'd ketch a shot!
+   Well, one mo' rabbit fur de pot!
+
+
+
+
+MAY BE SO
+
+
+
+
+MAY BE SO
+
+
+   September butterflies flew thick
+   O'er flower-bed and clover-rick,
+   When little Miss Penelope,
+   Who watched them from grandfather's knee,
+
+   Said, "Grandpa, what's a butterfly?"
+   And, "Where do flowers go to when they die?"
+   For questions hard as hard can be
+   I recommend Penelope.
+
+   But grandpa had a playful way
+   Of dodging things too hard to say,
+   By giving fantasies instead
+   Of serious answers, so he said,
+
+   "Whenever a tired old flower must die,
+   Its soul mounts in a butterfly;
+   Just now a dozen snow-wings sped
+   From out that white petunia bed;
+
+   "And if you'll search, you'll find, I'm sure,
+   A dozen shrivelled cups or more;
+   Each pansy folds her purple cloth,
+   And soars aloft in velvet moth.
+
+   "So when tired sunflower doffs her cap
+   Of yellow frills to take a nap,
+   'Tis but that this surrender brings
+   Her soul's release on golden wings."
+
+   "But _is this so_? It ought to be,"
+   Said little Miss Penelope;
+   "Because I'm _sure_, dear grandpa, _you_
+   Would only tell the thing that's _true_.
+
+   "Are all the butterflies that fly
+   Real angels of the flowers that die?"
+   Grandfather's eyes looked far away,
+   As if he scarce knew what to say.
+
+   "Dear little Blossom," stroking now
+   The golden hair upon her brow,
+   "I can't--exactly--say--I--know--it;
+   I only heard it from a poet.
+
+   "And poets' eyes see wondrous things.
+   Great mysteries of flowers and wings,
+   And marvels of the earth and sea
+   And sky, they tell us constantly.
+
+   "But we can never prove them right,
+   Because we lack their finer sight;
+   And they, lest we should think them wrong,
+   Weave their strange stories into song
+
+   "_So beautiful_, so _seeming-true_,
+   So confidently stated too,
+   That we, not knowing yes or no,
+   Can only _hope they may be so_."
+
+   "But, grandpapa, no tale should close
+   With _ifs_ or _buts_ or _may-be-sos_;
+   So let us play we're poets, too,
+   And then we'll _know_ that this is true."
+
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+THE WORKS OF WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
+
+
+     IMPRESSIONS AND EXPERIENCES. 12mo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top,
+       $1 50.
+
+     MY LITERARY PASSIONS. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.
+
+     STOPS OF VARIOUS QUILLS. Poems. Illustrated by HOWARD PYLE. 4to,
+       Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 50.
+
+     THE DAY OF THEIR WEDDING. A Story. Illustrated by T. DE THULSTRUP.
+       12mo, Cloth, $1 25.
+
+     A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA. A Romance. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 50
+       cents.
+
+     THE COAST OF BOHEMIA. A Novel. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.
+
+     THE WORLD OF CHANCE. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 60 cents.
+
+     THE QUALITY OF MERCY. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.
+
+     AN IMPERATIVE DUTY. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; Paper, 50 cents.
+
+     A HAZARD OF NEW FORTUNES. A Novel. Two Volumes. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00;
+       Illustrated, 12mo, Paper, $1 00.
+
+     A PARTING AND A MEETING. Illustrated. Square 32mo, Cloth, $1 00.
+
+     THE SHADOW OF A DREAM. A Story. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; Paper, 50
+       cents.
+
+     ANNIE KILBURN. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.
+
+     APRIL HOPES. A Novel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 75 cents.
+
+     CHRISTMAS EVERY DAY, AND OTHER STORIES. Illustrated. Post 8vo,
+       Cloth, $1 25.
+
+     A BOY'S TOWN. Described for HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. Illustrated.
+       Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25.
+
+     CRITICISM AND FICTION. With Portrait. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. (In the
+       Series "Harper's American Essayists.")
+
+     MODERN ITALIAN POETS. Essays and Versions. With Portraits. 12mo,
+       Cloth, $2 00.
+
+     THE MOUSE-TRAP, AND OTHER FARCES. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00.
+
+     FARCES: A LIKELY STORY--THE MOUSE-TRAP--FIVE O'CLOCK TEA--EVENING
+       DRESS--THE UNEXPECTED GUESTS--A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION--THE
+       ALBANY DEPOT--THE GARROTERS. In Uniform Style: Illustrated. 32mo,
+       Cloth, 50 cents each. ("Harper's Black and White Series.")
+
+     A LITTLE SWISS SOJOURN. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents.
+       ("Harper's Black and White Series.")
+
+     MY YEAR IN A LOG CABIN. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents.
+       ("Harper's Black and White Series.")
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+   PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
+
+   [Illustration: Left index]_The above works are for sale by all
+   booksellers, or will be mailed by the publishers, postage prepaid,
+   on receipt of the price._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's note
+
+
+The following changes have been made to the text:
+
+Page 25:  "whem he was young" changed to "when he was young".
+
+Page 40: "Felice" changed to "Felicie".
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Solomon Crow's Christmas Pockets and
+Other Tales, by Ruth McEnery Stuart
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOLOMON CROW'S CHRISTMAS POCKETS ***
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