“What made that old hornet sting me for, Mammy Phyllis?” demanded Mary Van, regarding tearfully her little red swelling hand.
“’Caze, honey,” replied Phyllis, seating herself in a chair beside the hammock, “he thought you had done jine Cap’n Yall’r Jackit’s army ter fight ’ginst him.”
“What they going to fight about?” Willis began to fidget to see the fight.
“Set still, boy, you’ll th’ow dis gal clean out’n de hammock.” She readjusted both of them, and resumed her seat. “Dey fightin’ ov’r dat ole pan er dirty cid’r settin’ out yond’r b’hime de ash-hopp’r. Yersee Cap’n Yall’r Jackit an’ Cap’n Hornit, bofe uv’ em, jes’ er gwine back’ards an’ fur’ards ’mongst de varmints, tryin’ ter see which one kin git de mo’es fokes ter jine der side. Miss Queen Bee tell ’em, hit’s de bizzy season in de honey biznes’ an’ she ain’ got no time ter fool wid none uv ’em. Cap’n Yall’r Jackit sorter stop and study, he do, den he g’long down de big road tell he come up wid Mist’r Grab-All Spid’r. He pass howdy wid ’im, den he ’nounce:
“‘Mist’r Grab-All, ’cose you gwine jine de Yall’r Jackits’ side, ain’t yer?’
“Grab-All Spid’r sort’r op’n an’ shet his claws an’ th’ow his ’bark’r quid on de uth’r side his jaw an’ ’spon’:
“‘Nor, I’m jes’ er plain ole biznes’ man,—I ain’ got no fightin’ sense like dese rip snortin’, hifalutin’ solger boys. I’ll jes’stan’ off an’ watch de battle, but,’ sez he, ‘I hopes you’ll whup de fight, Cap’n Yall’r Jackit, ’pon de wurd uv er gent’mun I does, ’caze dat pan er cid’r’s wuth er tussle, an’ youse de man ter make hit.’
“MIST’R GRAB-ALL, ’COSE YOU GWINE JINEDE YALL’R JACKITS SIDE, AIN’T YER?”
“Yall’r Jackit sorter swell hisse’f out er lit’le big’r, an’ Mist’r Grab-All roll hisse’f up in er ball like he bin sleep er hundred ye’rs, an’ ain’ nuv’r heah tell uv er Yall’r Jackit in his life.
“Bimeby, hyah come Cap’n Hornit zoonin’ down de big road. Old Grab-All Spid’r onrap hisse’f an’ start ter stretchin’ his legs out, an’ chawin’ on his bark’r quid ergin.
“Cap’n Hornit say, ‘Name er de Lawd, Mist’r Grab-All, is you bin sleep th’u all dis fracus dat’s ’bout ter bus’ loose?’
“Grab-All spit his quid out; an’ gap louder time er two, an’ say, ‘Whut you torkin’ ’bout, Cap’n Hawnit?’
“Hawnit zoon erbout, an’ holl’r, ‘Wake up!’ sez he, ‘Wake up, I wants yer ter hope me wipe dem Yall’r Jackits off’n creation.’
“Grab-All set up an’ take notice, like he gwine jine de hawnit’s army dat minit, den he sorter crumble hisse’f down, an’ low, ‘Lawdy, Lawdy, ef I jes’ wus er solger like you is, Cap’n Hawnit, I’d be de bigges’ man in de woel.’ Whut’s de use er you axin’ enybody ter hope you fight?—Why you kin whup out dem Yall’r Jackits ’fo’ de time start ter commence!’ Den he laf’ an’ slap hisse’f on de knee, an’ say, ‘I wush ter de Lawd I wus er fightin’ man like you is, Cap’n!’
“Cap’n Hawnit swell his chist out tell he look like he gwine bus’ dem solger butt’nsoff sho’, an’ Grab-All roll hisse’f up ergin like he done gone back ter sleep er nuth’r hund’rd ye’rs.
“Soon es Cap’n Hawnit g’long off, Grab-All onrap hisse’f ergin, an’ swing er long on de lim’ er de trees by his spid’r web.”
“Mammy, why didn’t he walk on the ground?”
“’Caze, son, he nuv’r want ter make no tracks, so fokes kin fine out his biznes’.—Nor, suh, he swing hisse’f by dat spid’r web er his’n tell he come ter Mist’r Inch Wurm’s house. Inch Wurm’s old lady say, ‘Yond’r come dat old Grab-All Spid’r, yer bett’r take keer how yer fools wid ’im.’
“Jes’ den Grab-All th’ow his hat on de flo’ an’ bow low down ter Miss Inch Wurm an’ sez he, ‘I jes’ come ter tell yo’ ole manwhar dar’s er sight er money waitin’ fur somebody ter come ’long an’ pick up.’
“Ole lady Inch Wurm sort’r take notice, she do, an’ ax ’im ter pass de news erlong. Grab-All say: ‘Nor, you jes’ set right still tell me an’ yo’ ole man come back an’ fetch yer er hat full er money.’
“Old lady Inch Wurm git up an’ g’long down town, an’ start ter spindin’ dat money right den. Soon es she done out’n de way, Grab-All tell Inch Wurm ’bout de cid’r in de pan b’hime de ash-hopp’r; an’, sez he, ‘we’ll make de Hawnits an’ Yall’r Jackits fight derse’fs ter death, den me an’ you’ll ’vide de cid’r, dat is ef you kin mea’jer off how much dey is in de pan ’thout lettin’ fokes know whut you doin’.’
“Yer see Grab-All sich er big biznes’ man dat he bleege ter know how big de pan is,an’ how much’s in dar, down ter de ve’y drap. So Inch Wurm he put on his ole close an’ went er crawlin’ off ter mea’jer de cid’r, an’ ’tain’ long ’fo’ hyah he come back ergin wid de news fur Grab-All. Grab-All tell ’im: ‘You done wurk fine, an’ you done wurk quick,—in fack,’ sez he, ‘you done yo’ wurk s’ good I gwine fix yer, so you doan hatt’r do no mo’ wurk long es you live.’ Den he laf in his sleeve.
“Mammy, don’t let Grab-All hurt Inch Wurm,” begged Mary Van.
“Dat can’t be hop’d, honey, Inch Wurm know too much ’bout Grab-All’s biznes’, an’ Grab-All got ter shet his mouf some way,—He take an’ spin er teenchy-weenchy lit’le web, right whar Inch Wurm got ter git out at. Inch Wurm, he start off, feelin’ pow’ful fine he do, an’ ’fo’ yer knows hit,dar he wus all tangle up in Grab-All’s web. Grab-All, he run ’roun’ like he tryin’ ter hope ’im out, but he jes’ spinnin’ de web tight’r so Inch Wurm nuv’r is ter git out no mo’.—He got ter starve ter death, ’caze he’s in Grab-All’s way, an’ Grab-All gwine see nobody doan come ’roun’ dar ter hope ’im neeth’r. ’Cose he doan mine Miss Lightnin’ Bug passin’ de time er night wid him, ’caze she can’ do nuthin’ mo’en ter bright’n ’im up er lit’le,—but he keep his eye on her, too.
“Nex’ day, de fight commence! Suh, I tell yer hit wus de pepperes’ fight yer ev’r seed. Dem Hawnits fly inter dem Yall’r Jackits, tell yer can’t see de groun’ fur de dead Jackits; but hyah come de Jackits back at de Hawnits! Lawdee! dey come wid der foots, an’ der han’s, an’ der haids alltergeth’r.—Yas, suh, dey come er buttin’ an’ er bitin’ an’ er stingin’ mouty nigh at de same time! Yas, my Lawd, de dead Jackits wus kiv’r’d up wid de dead Hawnits! Oh! I tell yer dem varmints fit like sho’ nuf war times!
“Whin bofe sides ’ud stop ter sorter blow er lit’le, an’ think mebbe dey kin confab de res’ er de fight out,—ole Grab-All’d come fus’ ter de Hawnits, an’ den ter de Jackits, an’ tell ’em dey boun’ ter whup out de nex’ jump. Whin he see de Hawnits gittin’ de wus er de charge, he run tell ’em wharbouts ter hit de Jackits. Whin he see too minny er de Jackits gittin’ kilt, he run tell dem wharbouts ter cripple de Hawnits. He keep on gwine fus’ ter one, den ter de uth’r twell dey wusn’t er han’ full lef’ on bofe sides.”
“Why didn’t they turn in and beat old Mister Grab-All?” Willis bristled.
“’Caze bofe uv ’em think Grab-All wus on der side. Grab-All ain’ lef’ no tracks ter pint out whar he bin—nor, suh, he so full er dat spid’r web biznes’ er his’n dat he kin swing hisse’f fum ennywhar,—an’ fo’ yer kin kitch ’im, he done swing ’roun’ in ernuth’r place onti’ly.”
“Captain Yellow Jacket’s side beat the fight, didn’t they, Mammy?” Mary Van desired the hornets vanquished.
“No, they didn’t,” contradicted Willis, “a hornet can beat a Yellow Jacket every time!”
“Jes’ hole on dar!” Phyllis steadied the hammock. “I’m de onlies’ one dat seen who ’twas whup’d.”
“I want Captain Yellow Jacket’s side tokill all of the hornets,” whimpered Mary Van.
“But they can’t,” persisted Willis vehemently.
Once more Phyllis held the hammock. “You dunno nuthin’ tall erbout hit, suh,” as she saw the little girl about to cry, “Hawnits is got mo’ pow’r en Jackits is got, but er Jackit is mo’ smart’r en er Hawnit. I ’speck ef Grab-All had er helt his mouf out’n de fracus, de Jackits wud er outfit de Hawnits, but es hit wus, Grab-All keep ’em fightin’ tell dem whut wusn’t kilt wus hit so hard dat hit ’twan’ long ’fo’ de ve’y las’ one uv ’em died. Atter dat hap’n Grab-All, he got de cid’r!
“He spin erlong b’ildin’ on some houses he fixin’ ter rent tell bimeby Mist’r Blue Bot’le Fly an’ his fambly come erlong.Mist’r Blue Bot’le whisper ter his chillun ter give Grab-All plenty er road. I tell yer Grab-All swing hisse’f down, he do, an’ ax Mist’r Blue Bot’le whut ail his fambly dat dey look so po’ly.
“Blue Bot’le say: ‘I ain’ nuv’r see sich er time in m’ life! De rich fokes done stretch wire ov’r de vit’als s’tight dat dey ain’ nuthin’ fur de po’ flies ter do ’cep’n ter starve.’
“Grab-All say, ‘Dat’s de trufe, Brer Blue Bot’le, an’ I feels s’ sorry fur yer dat I’m gwine give you an’ yo’ fambly all de vit’als yer kin eat.’
“Bot’le Fly so glad he gwine git sumthin’ fur nuthin’, dat he fergit ter ’member how raskilly Grab-All wus, an’ whin he do ’member ’bout hit, he think he gwine keep his eye op’n an’ git de fus’ lick. He jes’ nachellycan’t let dat free vit’als git way fum ’im, doan keer how low down Grab-All wus. So him an’ his fambly foll’r Grab-All ter de pan er cider, an’ dey so hongry, dey fergits ’bout ev’ythin’ ’cep’n eatin’. Grab-All set up on de ash-hopp’r an’ mos’ kill hisse’f laffin’.”
“Why, Mammy?”
“’Caze, son, he jes’ fatnin’ dem flies ter kill ’em off like yo’ ma do chickins. Whin de flies ’gun ter git fat, he spin er teenchy, lit’le web, an’ whin dey git kotch’d, he run an’ make like he tryin’ ter onhitch ’em, but he tie ’em up wusser, an’ sting ’em tell dey dies. Den he take ’em ter one dem houses an’ sto’ ’em erway.”
“Did he kill all of Mister Blue Bottle’s family?” asked Mary Van.
“Dey wusn’t er one uv ’em lef’, honey, not eb’n Miss Blue Bot’le’s baby gal, an’nobody dunno de money Grab-All make on de fly trade dat winter nuth’r.”
“Mammy Phyllis, are all spiders kin to Grab-All?”
“Dey’s all kin, but dey ain’t all got de same name, ’caze yer see all uv ’em ain’t got de same slicknes’ ter git way wid fokes like Grab-All do,” she explained.
“Did Mister Grab-All give the other spiders some of Mister Blue Bottle’s children to eat?” asked Mary Van, by way of suggestive generosity.
“Nor, suh, Grab-All say he ain’ got no pockit book kin—he say he need all he got, an’ mo’ b’sides.” Then she added: “But dey doan need Grab-All ter give ’em nuthin’ ’caze none uv ’em wus po’—all uv ’em got nuf spid’r web in ’em ter swing erlong ’dout trackin’ up der biznes’.”
She reached out to steady the hammock as Willis scrambled out.
“Mammy,” he exclaimed, “Captain Yellow Jacket and Captain Hornet didn’t get a thing.”
“Nor, suh,” said Phyllis, lifting Mary Van to the ground, “an’ nobody nev’r do git nuthin’ dat keeps der senses in der fistes ’stid er der haids—Ketch Ma’y Van by de uth’r han’ an’ come on.”
“Whut yer givin’ dat boy, Zeek?—I boun’ hit ’tain’ nuthin’ fur no good.”
Phyllis started for the garden gate, where a suspicious conference was going on between Willis and the gardener. “Howcum yer can’t op’n yer haid whin fokes speaks ter yer?” Seeing his unwillingness to reply, she threw her apron partly over her head and quickened her pace.
“Me an’ de lit’le man wus jes’ fixin’ ter make yer ’quainted wid er present I fotch him fum ov’r t’oth’r side de creek,” explained Zeek.
“Whar de present?” she interrupted withannoyance, as she perceived he was trying to tease her.
She took the little boy by the hand and started for the house.
“Wait, Mammy,” he begged, pulling back; “Unk Zeek, please gimme the snakes.”
“Give you whut, in de name er de Lawd!” exclaimed Phyllis.
“Jes’ two lit’le gyarters I kotch an’ put in er bottle fur de chile,” Zeek explained again.
“Yas,” returned Phyllis angrily, “you kotch dem snakes fur nuthin’ but ter tu’n ’em loose ’bout my foots, soon es you gits me in er tight place—I knows yer. Yer orter be ’shame er yo’se’f,—an’ callin’ yo’se’f er deac’n, too!”
Zeek threw his head back and gave a roaring laugh. “Whew!” he finished, “Sis’Phyllis, you is de slickes’ ’ooman I ev’r seed. How yer know I gwine tu’n dem gyrters loose on yer?” and Zeek laughed again until he held to the gate for support.
Phyllis turned without deigning a reply.
“Hole on, Sis’ Phyllis,” Zeek ran and caught her by the arm, “hole on, Sist’r,—you ain’ mad sho’ nuf, is yer?”
“Tu’n me loose, Zeekiel,” she demanded furiously.
Instead, he caught the other arm also. “I ain’ gwine let yer go mad like yer is,” then consiliatingly, “yer knows dem gyart’rs snakes can’t bite nobody—I jes’ wanter see yer dance er lit’le,” and again he laughed, as the picture presented itself.
“I gwine call Miss Lucy, ef yer doan take yer han’s off’n me,” stolidly demanded Phyllis.
“All right,” he said holding on as tightly as ever, “I jes’ want yer ter wait hyah tell I goes down ter de orchard an’ gets yer er hat full er dem big peaches.” This argument lessened the rigidity of her face. “Dey’s de fines’ thing ter swage mis’ry er de speeret yer ev’r seed.” She allowed him to shove her gently to the ground under the lilac bushes. “Hyah, set right hyah tell I comes back.” Seeing the old woman partly restored to good humor, he slammed the garden gate behind him and went down the path, singing.
“Come on, Mammy, less us get my lit’le green snakes Unk Zeek brought me,” Willis started back to the garden.
“Come back hyah, boy,” as she caught him by the skirt of his blouse, “dem snakes wusn’t brung hyah fur you, Zeek jes’ makin’er ’cat’s paw’ er you. He ’ceivin’ you jes’ like Mist’r Rattlesnake done Miss Eve.”
“No, he ain’t, Unk Zeek loves me,” defended the boy.
“Dat’s jes’ whut Miss Eve think whin de sarpint temp’ her.”
“What’s er sarpint?” He still pulled against her.
“Er sarpint is er snake, honey—dat’s jes’ his scriptur’ name—come on an’ set in Mammy’s lap an’ she’ll tell yer ’bout how ole Mist’r Rattlesnake fix hisse’f up so fine, way back yonder time, an’ come struttin’ roun’ Miss Eve. He nuv’r come crawlin’ like snakes does dese days neeth’r, nor, suh, he come walkin’ plum on de een’ er his tail; an’ he look s’ fine an’ starchy dat—”
“Didn’t he have to hop?” Willis scrambled into her lap.
“Nor, de Lawd fix hit so he doan hatt’r hop. I’m tellin’ ’zackly de trufe,—he come walkin’ on de een’ er his tail,” she insisted, “an he look s’ fine an’ gran’, like some er de fine men folks, dat Miss Eve cudn’t see how black wid sin he wus.”
“You are not black with sin,” and he pulled the wrinkled face to him and kissed it.
“Bless my baby,” looking into his face as she hugged him, “dis hyah black on Mammy’s face is nig’r black,” she squeezed him again, “but sin black, like Mr. Rattlesnake got, stays in fokeses hearts whar hits hard ter see, whin hit’s kiv’r’d up wid fine man’rs an’ er slick tongue.
“So whin Mist’r Rattlesnake come bowin’ an scrapin’ ter Miss Eve wid dat beav’r hat on, an’ dat walkin’ stick whirlin’ roun’ in hishan’, she git so airish tryin’ ter th’ow off man’rs like his’n, dat whin he tell her ter eat dat pis’n apple, she et hit ’dout knowin’ whut she doin’. Howsumev’r, whin Mist’r Rattlesnake but’n up his long tail coat sort’r keerles’ like, an’ strut hisse’f off, Miss Eve, she ’gun ter feel de mis’ry er dat pis’n apple.”
“Did her mama give her some castor oil?” Willis sympathized with Miss Eve.
“No, my Lawd, she sot dar an’ holl’r tell Adam come an’ ax her whut ail ’er. She start ter laffin’ she did, an’ say: ‘I jes’ callin’ you ter eat one dem fine meller apples Mist’r Rattlesnake fotch’ me!’”
“Did Mist’r Adam eat it?” asked Willis with much concern.
“Who gwine hind’r him fum eatin’ hit? An’ de Eveses is bin pis’nin’ de Adamses ev’rsense—you ’memb’r whut Mammy tell yer, an’ look out fur ’em.”
“Why didn’t Mist’r Adam kill Mist’r Rattlesnake?” he resented.
“’Caze his own sin done make him er coward, dat’s de trufe!—Whin er man do mean an’ low life tricks hisse’f, he ain’ got de face ter stan’ up an’ whup nobody fur doin’ de same thing; but Adam didn’t hatt’r whup de Sarpint ’caze de Lawd knock ’im flat ’pon de groun’ an’ tromp on ’im, an’ tell ’im he got ter crawl de res’ er his life, ter keep up wid his low down ways.”
Mary Van’s voice sounded from the gate, “I can’t open it.”
Willis sprang to her assistance, but Phyllis caught him: “Will yer run right straight back, ef Mammy let yer onfas’n de gate?”
The promise was given, and in a momentWillis returned with: “Mammy, less show Mary Van m’ two lit’le green snakes.” He was off in a second, but Phyllis again detained him.
“Nummine ’bout dem gyrt’r snakes,—I ain’ got start’d ter tellin’ ’bout Mist’r Rattlesnake yit. Come on hyah Ma’y Van, an’ set down on de grass, an’ Mammy gwine spread out her ap’on fur you ter set on, ’caze she hatt’r hole dis wiggly boy in her lap.”
“I want to see Willis’s snakes,” demurred the little girl.
Phyllis looked thoughtfully a moment, then throwing her hands up suddenly, “I wond’r is enybody got de news ’bout Mist’r Rattlesnake’s toofake? You ain’ heah nuthin’ is yer, Ma’y Van?”
Mary Van shook her head in the negative.
“Who you shakin’ dat haid at, gal?”
“No, ma’m,” quickly corrected the child.
“De las’ time de snake doct’r come by hyah, he wus huntin’ fur some yerbs ter put in Mist’r Rattlesnake’s toof,” continued the old woman in an interested tone. “Miss Eve, she tell de doct’r ter g’long an’ git de same kind er yerbs he give fur rattlesnake bite, dat Mist’r Rattlesnake jes’ got mad an’ bite his own se’f, an’ dat whut ail his toof.”
“Who made him mad?” Mary Van knelt on the edge of the apron.
“De Lawd make him mad whin He tell him he can’t git no mo’ free vit’als out’n Eden. De Lawd say, ‘Nor, suh, yer got ter wurk, an’ sweat, an’ crawl fur vit’als de res’ er yo’ life—an’ you an’ Miss Eve gwine fight one nuth’r tell one er yer gits kilt.’”
“When are they going to fight?” asked Willis eagerly.
“Dey fit dat ve’y day; an’ whin hit git too hot fur Miss Eve, she take an’ jump on top er ole man Elerphant’s back ’fo’ Mist’r Rattlesnake cud git her. He try ter crope up ole man Elerphant’s legs, but Elerphant keep his foots wurkin’ s’ much, an’ his snout flyin’ roun’ s’ tur’bul, dat Mist’r Rattlesnake hatt’r keep out’n de way. Miss Eve she set up an’ laf’ at him, an’ dat make Mist’r Rattlesnake so mad, he rip an’ tar’, an’ fome at de mouf, an’ mos’ turn hisse’f wrong side out’ards tryin’ ter hop up an’ bite Miss Eve. Miss Eve she th’ow herse’f eroun’ laffin’ an’ say: ‘Ynan, ynan,’ at ’im, tell Mist’r Rattlesnake git so mad he jes’ up, an’ bite his own se’f.”
“Did it kill him?” Mary Van crawled further on the apron and sat beside the little boy.
“Hit wud er kilt him ef he hadn’t er run’d an’ got dem rattlesnake yerbs mouty quick,—an’ dat’s howcum Miss Eveses’ chilluns know how ter kyore rattlesnake bite.”
“How, Mammy?” demanded Willis.
“’Caze Miss Eve watch de yerbs Mist’r Rattlesnake eat ter swage his pis’n, den she tell her chilluns ter eat de same kine ef he ev’r bite dem.”[2]
“Did Mist’r Rattlesnake bite Miss Eve’s children?” asked Willis.
“He bite ’em ev’y time he git er chanct.”
“But it don’t kill them, because they know how to get cured, don’t they, Mammy Phyllis?” Mary Van disliked tragedy.
“Miss Eve’s Injun chillun kyores derse’f, but de res’ er de fambly dies.”
“No, Mist’r Rattlesnake shan’t bite Miss Eve’s children,” said Mary Van, shaking her curls.
“You late in de day gittin’ in yo’ sayso, ’caze Mist’r Rattlesnake bite you ef you fools wid ’im; he ain’ nuv’r git in er good hum’r wid nobody sense de Lawd make him wurk fur his livin’. He bin crawlin’ crookid, an’ doin’ fokes crookid ev’r sense.”
“How does he work?” Willis pulled her face to him.
“He wurk makin’ uth’r fokes do his wurk fur ’im, dat’s how he wurk. His ole ’oomanan’ de chillun keep de sto’, an’ Unk Toad Frog try ter wurk de farm fur ’im, but Mist’r Rattlesnake done eat up so miny er de Toad Frog fambly dat Unk Toad ain’ got nuf han’s lef’ ter make er crap. He tell Mist’r Rattlesnake ef he doan git sumbody ter hope him, he ain’ gwine have no corn, so Mist’r Rattlesnake take out down de big road huntin’ fur farm han’s, he do. He come ter er passel er Hop’r Grasses settin’ down on de side de road doin’ nuthin’, an’ he tell ’em ef dey come an’ hope him raise er crap er corn, he’ll give ’em ha’f de crap. Well, suh, dem Hop’r Grasses plow an’ hoe, an’ weed, an’ pick bugs off an’—”
“Mammy, don’t call them ‘hopper grasses,’ Mary Van says you must say ‘Grass-hoppers.’”
“In de name er de Lawd, whut do Ma’y Van know ’bout varmints an’ beastes?”
“My papa says you must call them Grass-hoppers,” protested Mary Van.
“I doan speck Mist’r Hop’r Grass menshun ter yo’ pa dat Hop’r wus jes’ er nickname, did he?”
The little girl was obliged to acknowledge that no such communication had taken place.
“Den he ain’ got no ’pin’ons ter scat’r on de subjec’—Hop’r Grass say he wush ter de Lawd fokes’d stop nam’n’ him hine part b’fo’, ennyhow. He say he plum ti’ed white fokes med’lin’ in his ’far’s—”
“Mammy, go on about Mister Rattlesnake,” Willis began to fidget.
“Set still den, lemme see whar ’bouts I wus at—”
“The Hopper Grasses were working in the field,” Mary Van prompted.
“Dat’s de trufe, dat’s jes’ whar dem po’ things wus at. Lawdee, how dem varmints jes’ nachelly wurk derse’fs mouty nigh ter death. Bimeby, de corn ’gun ter tos’l an’ git ripe, an’ Mist’r Rattlesnake see de harves’ ain’ fur off, an’ he know he bleeg’d ter ’vide dat corn wid dem Hop’r Grasses. He lay out on de creek bank an’ study how he gwine ter cheat ’em. One day de Hop’r Grasses wus er settin’ down in de shade er de corn jes’ waitin’ fur Mist’r Rattlesnake ter give de wurd ter go ter cuttin’, whin Mist’r Rattlesnake crope up ter de back er de fiel’ an’ clim’ on top er de fence an’ give er crack er his tail so loud dat de po’ Hop’r Grasses scat’r all ov’r de country ev’y which er way. Dey wus so skeer’d, hit take’em er long time fo’ dey darsen’t ter come back ter see whut ’twus skeer’d ’em. By dat time, Mist’r Rattlesnake had done trench hisse’f on dis side de law. Yas, suh, he tak’n his seat ’pon top er dat gate, an’ ’fuse ter let er one on ’em come in de fiel’. He tell ’em dey done flew’d off an’ lef’ him ’fo’ harves’ time, an’ dee done broke der corntrack, an’ no law ain’ gwine hole him ter his’n, an’ dey mout jes’ es well ter g’long off an’ git ernuth’r job.”
“Didn’t the Hopper Grasses fight him?” Willis’ fists closed at the thought.
“Fight? Whut chanct wud dey had ’ginst dat low down Rattlesnake?” lifting Mary Van from her apron and trying to pull herself up by the bushes. “Dey done whut ev’ybody does dat runs up ’ginst snake law—dey got swindl’d.”
“What’s snake law?” he tried to assist her.
“Snake law is sin law, doan you nuv’r fergit dat,” she smoothed her apron out, and adjusted the little boy’s blouse, “an’ whin you gits ter be er big man like yo’ pa, jes’ recoleck whut yo’ Mammy tole yer, dat law whut ain’t right right, is snake law, an’ dem whut foll’rs ’long b’hime hit has got ter go in er crook’d track. ’Memb’r dat long es you live, Mammy’s man.”
Willis again begged to show Mary Van the green snakes, when Phyllis exclaimed, “Sakes er live, look at de peaches dat nigg’r Zeek is got.”
“Keep way fum dem bee hives, yer hyah?” admonished Phyllis from her old rocking chair under the cherry tree, where she alternately dozed and kept watch on the children playing around her in the yard.
“Mammy, the bees are all crawling out of the hive,” exclaimed Willis.
“Lawdy mussy, dem bees fixin’ ter swarm!” then raising her voice, “Zeek’l,—ah Zeek!—come quick, yer bees fixin’ ter swarm!”
Zeek came running up through the garden, with a tin pan and stick in hand calling, “Which way’d dey go?”
But the bees answered the questionthemselves, for at that moment they started in the direction of the garden. Zeek began to beat furiously upon the tin pan, while the children screamed in excitement as they beheld the bees hover a moment above Zeek’s head, then descend one and all upon his hat. Many straggling ones crawled about his face, one in its distraction landed upon his eyelid, closing the eye.
Zeek walked steadily without batting the open eye, until he reached an empty gum. There with the assistance of Phyllis, he carefully relieved his head of its dangerous burden.
“Whew!” he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from his head, “dat’s de out-bangin’es’ hivin’ I ev’r done in all m’ life, an’ dat hive in dat ole gum ain’t wurth er cent,” he ended reflectively.
“Howcum yer sayso?”
“Lawd, Phyllis,” he replied pushing his hat on the back of his head and folding his arms across his chest, “you’se he’rd er menny time dat
“‘De bees dat swarms in May,Is wurth er load er hay,De bees dat swarms in JuneIs wurth er silv’r spoon;Dem dat swarms in JulyAin’t wurth er house fly.’
An’ dem bees er swarmin’ hyah in Argus’ ain’ wurth nuthin’ but ter show you whut er bee-hiv’r I is.”
“Hit show pertic’ler you ain’ nuthin’ ter make honey out’n,” Phyllis laughed.
“I ain’ notice none uv ’em smackin’ der mouf’ ov’r you yerse’f, Sis’ Phyllis,” he retorted grinning.
“Bees don’t eat people, Uncle Zeek,” Mary Van endeavored to explain, “they just sting them like hornets do.”
“Does dey, honey? Well, I boun’ none uv ’em ain’ gwine wase er sting on dat ole black bag er salt ov’r yond’r,” pointing at Phyllis.
“My Mammy’s not any old black salt either!” And Willis squeezed her around the neck.
“She’s er ole black nigg’r, dat’s whut she is,” teased Zeek.
“She’s not black!—and she’s not a nigger either!” and he began to kiss her face.
“Name er de Lawd, ef she ain’t er nigg’r, an’ she ain’ black, whut is she?” Zeek thoroughly enjoyed the little boy’s very evident discomfort.
“She’s my Mammy,—and she’s purty likemy mama.” Willis was dangerously near tears, as he left Phyllis’s lap and made for Zeek. “I’ll hit you if you call my mammy a nigger.”
Mary Van had thrown an iron toy at him, whereupon Phyllis interfered.
“G’long an’ ’ten’ ter yer biznes’, Zeek,—I’m gwine call Miss Lucy ef you starts dese chillun ter cryin’.—Chillun, youall bring yer lit’le cheers yond’r an’ set hyah in front uv Mammy, an’ she’ll tell yer ’bout Miss Queen Bee an’ her fambly.”
“Mammy, what made Miss Queen Bee move out from her house just now?” Willis interposed.
“’Caze she wanter git erway f’um An’ Polly Parrit—she say she ti’ed An’ Polly pokin’ her nose in her biznes’.”
“Papa says she has to move ’cause herchildren take up all the room.” Willis gave this information with an air of knowing more on the subject.
“Dar now, yer hyah de preach’r, doan yer?” chuckling and looking with pride upon him.
“I speck you done outgrow’d dat confab Miss Queen Bee speak wid me too, ain’t yer?”
Willis did not entirely gather her meaning, but he replied:
“My papa says they won’t sting you if you don’t bother ’em.”
“Aha, yo’ pa tole de trufe—’cep’n sometimes. Bees is cur’us creeturs, I tell yer dey is. Dey ain’ nuthin’ but er passel er fokes wid wings on ’em. Ole Miss Queen Bee settin’ up dar, make ’em walk er chalk line, she do. She de law—she sho’ is. Ef shesay fight,—dey fights. Ef she say, ax der pard’n,—dey axes hit. But,—” and she hesitated, rubbing her arm, “dey is sometimes whin bees gits jes’ like crazy fokes an’ loses all der senses.”
“That’s when they swarm, ain’t it, Mammy?” suggested Willis authoritatively.
“’Tain’t no sich er thing,—You done give out all de knowin’ you know’d ’bout bees. Set still an’ lis’n ter sumbody else,” reverting to her subject. “Dis time I’m talkin’ ’bout wus whin triberlashun ’pon triberlashun hap’n ter Miss Queen’s fokes.
“One day Miss Queen Bee’s chillun was gittin’ honey out’n de clov’r wid Miss Black Bee’s chilluns. De Bizzy Bees notice Miss Black Bee’s fokes doan seem ter be totin’ much honey back and furrards, but dey ain’ got no time ter confab, so dey doan saynuthin’. Bimeby, Miss Queen Bee see one de Black Bee fokes come in wid her chillun, an’ she notice he ain’ brung no honey in wid him, but she do notice dat he tak’n considerbul out wid ’im.”
“Mammy, my papa says they ain’t any little bees that don’t work except the drones,” corrected the little boy.
“Lemme tell yer sump’in, yo’ pa know mo’ ’bout pol’tics dan he do ’bout bees. ’Caze I knows whin bees starts ter stealin’, dey’s de bigges’ rogues in de woel. An’ dese black bees whut I’m talkin’ ’bout, wus scan’lus steal’rs, too. Bimeby, hyah come sum mo’, an’ mo’, tell Miss Queen holl’r out fur her fightin’ squad! Dem Bizzy Bee boys swarms quick whin dey heahs de war holl’r, an’ ’tain’ long ’fo’ de Bizzy Bees an’ de Black Bees wus er buzzin’ an’ er clippin’at one nuth’r’s wings, tell de wings wus fallin’, ’round thick es gnats. I tell yer Miss Queen Bee’s chillun had er mouty hard fight ter keep der honey, but bimeby dey run all de Black Bees off ’cep’n dem whut dey kilt.”
“The Black Bees didn’t hurt any of Miss Queen’s children, did they?” asked Mary Van.
“’Cose some uv ’em got hurt’d, an’ some uv ’em wint so far es ter git kilt, but—”
“Wasn’t Miss Queen mighty sorry for ’em?” sympathized the little girl.
“She ain’ know nuthin’ ’bout hit, ’caze Miss Queen Bee’s chillun dat gits sick er hurted doan nuv’r come home. Nor, suh, dey g’long off an’ die by derse’f.”
“I don’t want ’em to go off. I want all of them to sleep with their mama till theyget well;” Mary Van nudged the old woman’s knee, “make ’em go and tell their mama wherebouts they hurt.”
“No, mam, Miss Queen say she ain’ got no time ter nuss nobody, ’caze Mist’r Rattlesnake crawlin’ ’roun’ her gum right now, an’ she gittin’ pow’ful nervious. She know Mist’r Rattlesnake know how rich wid honey she is, an’ Rattlesnake know her boys comes home wid der pockits full ev’y trip. Ole Grab-All Spider know hit, too, an’ he crope up on de uth’r side er de gum ter ketch de Bee boys whin dey lights. Whin Miss Queen see Mist’r Rattlesnake an’ ole Grab-All Spider settin’ ’long side er her do’, she sen’ Buzzy Drone Bee ter tell de fightin’ squad ter git reddy ter fight ergin whin dey heahs de war holl’r.”
“Why didn’t she ask Mister Man to helpher?” Willis stood up and leaned against her knee.
“Miss Queen ain’ gwine ax nobody ter hope her do nuthin’. She fixin’ ter have er set’lement herse’f, but jes’ es she fixin’ ter git reddy, Mist’r Rattlesnake an’ ole Grab-All Spider start ter gobblin’ de Bee boys es dey lights.”
“Please, Mammy, make ’em stop!” Mary Van was up tugging at Phyllis’ shoulder. “Quick, Mammy, before they eat any more!”
“Lawd, chillun, Miss Queen so mis’erbul ’bout dem chillun, she plum crazy by now—she tell her chillun ter light out fum dar an’ sting ev’y thing dey kin git on, an’ dey does hit, too, fer de Bizzy Bees allus tends to dey biznes’.”
“They stung old Grab-All and old Rattlesnakefirst, didn’t they?” Willis was half in her lap.
“No, suh, whin Grab-All an’ Rattlesnake seen de blood in Miss Queen’s eye, dey lit out fum dar, an’ de Bizzy Bees come down on Jack Donkey. Jack he had jump de fence an’ come up in de upper lot ter git er lit’le watermillon rine he seen by de back porch, an’ I tell yer he kick out consid’rble whin dem bees drap derse’fs on him. He tak’n out fur de stable ter git Brer Dur’am Cow ter rake de bees off’n him,—ev’y one Brer Dur’am rake, light on his own se’f an’ ’tain’ long ’fo’ him an’ Jack takes out fur Mist’r Man’s, an’ ax him fur de Lawd’s sake ter cl’ar ’em uv de bees. Mist’r Man’s old lady, an’ de lit’le boy come out ter see whut ail de beastes, an’ I tell yer de bees start dem ter holl’rin’ an’ dancin’,—An’ Polly Parrit,she come out ter git de news, an’ I tell yer de ole lady git in de hottes’ part er de fracus, too.”
“Did they sting Mister Man’s little boy much?” Mary Van pushed Willis, who was dancing all around Phyllis, out of her way. “Sit down, Willis.”
“Lawdee,” continued Phyllis, gently forcing the little boy into his chair again, “doan yer heah dat boy squallin’ right now? Dem bare legs er his’n right full er bees. Mist’r Man, he run an’ start ter smokin’ de bees, fas’ es he kin, an’ bimeby, atter er long time, de Bee boys goes back ter dey ma.”
“Mammy, you tell Miss Queen Bee to tell John Mocking Bird to eat old Grab-All up,” pleaded Mary Van, putting her arms around Phyllis’s neck.
“Ain’ I done tole yer Miss Queen ain’gwine ax nobody fur nuthin’, an’ she ain’ gwine give nobody nuthin’ neether? She tell her chillun ter scuf’le hard an’ make er heap er honey, an’ den hit doan make no diffunce whut happ’n. One day, one er her boys come out uv er flow’r so full er honey dat he comeblumpon de groun’. Ev’y time he try ter fly, hyah he come backblumpon de groun’ ergin. Nancy Hummin’ Bird tell him ter git up on her back an’ she’d give ’im er lif’. He crawl on Nancy’s back an’ she tuk ’im home. Whin Miss Queen seed him, she ax ’im how he got dar wid sich er load er honey. He tell his ma Nancy fotch ’im. Hoopee! she buzz on him I tell yer. Yas, suh! She say: ‘Yer go straight es you kin an’ pay fur dat ride.’”
“Did he pay five cents money, Mammy?” Willis rocked over backwards but was upbefore Phyllis could rise. “It didn’t hurt. Did she give him five cents, Mammy?”
“Nor, he give Miss Nancy some honey, whut she love good es de bees does, but Nancy got nuf mann’rs ter tell him she doan charge ’im, but Bizzy pay her enyhow, ’caze his ma done tole ’im dey ain’ keerin’ ter make no ’quaintance wid nobody ’cep’n wid flow’rs. Miss Queen say: ‘Hit’s all right ter mix up wid de flow’rs, ’caze dat’s biznes’, but de res’ er de woel kin g’long whar dey’s er mine ter.’ Miss Queen totin’ her haid pow’ful high dese days, ’caze dat gum’s full er honey an’ she ain’ owin’ nobody er cent. She say she ain’ got no use fur nuthin’ ’cepin’ biznes’. Dey g’long ter bed mouty biggity, an’ feelin’ pow’ful rich, but ’long in de night er bad old man come an’ take’n ev’r speck er honey in degum. Miss Queen think she done dremp er nightmar’, but whin she git up in de mawnin’ sho’ nuf dey ain’ got er Lawd’s bite er brekfus’. Miss Queen, she say: ‘G’long in de fiel’, chillun, an’ git us some brekfus’. ’Tain’ gwine be long ’fo’ we’ll git rich ergin.’
“But Jack Frost meet ’em at de do’, an’ say, ‘I’ll bite de fus’ man dat sticks his nose out.’
“Miss Queen say, ‘Lawdy, Lawdy, whut we gwine do? De idee er rich fokes like we all wus, settin’ hyah waitin’ fur po’ fokes ter hope us.’
“Jack Frost say, ‘You done slip up right dar, Sis’ Queen Bee, de Lawd ain’ nuv’r make nobody so big dey kin git ’long by derse’f, an’ ef you had er drapt er lit’le er dat honey ’long side de road whilst yer wus er makin’ so much uv hit, you’d er had some uvhit layin’ ’round whar Mist’r Bad Man cudn’t er foun’ hit.’”
“Make old Mister Bad Man give ’em back some honey,” Willis insisted.
“Mister Bad Man done sole dat honey an’ got hisse’f er pa’r er shoes ter keep Jack Fros’ fum bitin’ his foots.”
Both children were clamoring for the rescue of the bees.
“Nor, suh, dey done live by derse’fs whilst dey wus rich, an’ now mis’ry done ketch up wid ’em, dey got ter perish in de same way.”
“Boo hoo, boo hoo,” wailed both, “I don’t want Miss Bizzy Bee’s children to perish.”
“Hush cryin’.”
But they continued in genuine sympathy.
“Y’uall cryin’ so hard, yer can’t see Mist’r Good Man comin’ wid his han’s right full er bee vit’als. But dat ain’ gwine beno less’n ter dem bees. Dey gwine do de same thing dis time nex’ ye’r, ’caze dey’s dem kine er fokes.”
“Mammy, I wanter telephone Santy Claus,” fretted Willis, seeking excuse to leave the nursery.
“Nor, he done gone erway fum home ter hunt up whar de good chilluns stays at,” as she moved about putting the room to rights; “you an’ Ma’y Van fix dat lit’le Chrismus tree ov’r yond’r fur Ma’y Van’s dolls, an’ you be ole man Sandy.”
“I got ter telephone Santy Claus about little Leonora—he don’t know she’s come,” insisted Willis.
“I dunno whut’s de rees’n—he brung herhisse’f dis mawnin’,” still moving briskly about.
“I got to telephone Santy what to bring her,” he persisted.
“Dat baby ain’ got her eyes op’n yit.”
“Yes, she has, Mammy,” and Mary Van crossed the room and looked into Phyllis’s face, “they’re big brown ones, ’caus I went over to Uncle Hugh’s house and looked at ’em good m’self.”
“Well, I doan keer nuthin’ tall ’bout dat, Sandy Claus say she too lit’le fur him ter fool wid yit.”
Mary Van turned to Willis, “Less us fix this tree for little Leonora.”
“No, I’m got to telephone to Santy Claus.” He clung to the knob of the locked door.
“Well, ef yer ’bleege ter pass er wurd wid’im, holl’r up de chimbly—he settin’ up dar lis’nin’ ter see ef you’se er good boy.”
“No, I want to go downstairs and see my mama!” and he kicked violently against the door.
Instead of coercing him, Phyllis took her seat by the fire, and placing her elbows upon her knees, spoke with her face towards the chimney: “Suh?” pausing a moment to listen; “yas, suh—yas, suh, dat’s Willis, but he ain’ no bad chile,—yas, suh, dat’s him kickin’ ’gainst de do’, but he jes’ playin’ foot ball wid hit—nor, suh, Willis ain’ bad, he’s de bes’ boy in dis town.”
Immediately both children were climbing into her lap asking and answering their own questions. “Lawdy mussy ’pon me! Set down like fokes—whut’s dem lit’le cheers fur?” They, however, seated themselvesupon the rug, and pulled her down with them so as to be more convenient for further chimney discourse.
“Mammy, did he say he was going to bring my drum, an’ billy goat wagon, an’—”
“An’ my dolly with long hair that can talk, an’ my—”
“He say,” she interrupted quietly, “he gwine bring yer all dem things you done writ erbout, ef yer be’s good chillun. De speshul news he giv’ me den, is ’bout de beastes; an’ creeters’ Crismus tree. He say Tall Pine gwine be de Crismus tree, an’ Mist’r Race Hoss gwine read out de names on de pres’nts.”
“Mammy, can Mist’r Race Hoss climb up Tall Pine Tree?”
“Whut he hatt’r clime hit fur? Ain’t Mist’r Wile Cat dar ter scale de tree an’ain’ Doct’r Peckerwood settin’ up dar wid his doct’r sissors, jes’ waitin’ ter clip de strings?”
“But Mister Wild Cat might eat up Doctor Peckerwood,” said Mary Van, distrustfully.
“Honey, Mist’r Wile Cat’s like er heap er slick fokes in de woel—he’ll wurk pow’ful good an’ squar’ long es he know fokes watchin’ ’im. All de beastes an’ creeturs come ter de tree—an’ I tell yer dar wus er Crismus gif’ fur all de good ones.”
“Mister Rattlesnake didn’t get any, did he?” asked Mary Van.
“Rattlesnake say Decemb’r too late fur him ter be settin’ up, an’ he say he’d ruth’r sleep dan go ter enny ole Crismus tree ennyhow.”
“Tishy Peafowl was too bad, too, wasn’tshe, Mammy?” Mary Van remembered the bad ones.
“You slip up right dar, yas, mam, you is, fur Tishy done got ’ligion an’ jine de church.”
“Did her pretty feathers grow out again?”
“No, mam! sin done eat ’em out by de roots, but de Lawd hang er mouty prutty fe’th’r coll’r on de tree fur her, jes’ ter show Tish he know she tryin’.”
“And Tishy never was bad any more,” assisted Willis.
“Dat she wus, sin ketch’d up wid her er heap er times, but she recoleck ’bout de col’r, an’ fight de bes’ she kin, an’ de Lawd doan ax fur no mo’.”
“Was Jack Donkey too bad to come?”
“Jack Donkey wusn’t no wusser’n er heap uv ’em dat gits ter Crismus trees. Jack hewrit’n an’ ax Sandy ter bring him er fine kiv’r so fokes can’t fine out he’s er donkey. Sandy, he sen’ him de kiv’r wid all sort er fine doin’s on hit, but whin Cap’n Goat fling hit on Jack, dar wus his b’hime legs prancin’ erbout, an’ his long ye’rs still er stickin’ out. Cap’n Goat, he pull an’ pull ter stretch de kiv’r, but hit won’t stretch, den de Cap’n tell him, ‘Jack,’ sez he, ‘long es you keeps dem b’hime foots wurkin’ like you does, an’ dem long ye’rs gwine ev’y which er way, yer mout jes’ es well call yo’se’f donkey, ’caze no kiv’r ain’ gwine stretch big nuf ter hide dem p’ints.’”
Willis pushed her knee: “Give Cap’n Yellow Jacket and Cap’n Hornet something nice ’cause old Grab-All got all their cider,—they didn’t do anything bad.”
“Lawdy, boy, dem fokes done kilt onenuth’r long ergo. Doan yer ’memb’r? But der wid’rs got ax ter come, an’ dey nev’r went, ’caze Grab-All Spid’r tryin’ ter dance ’tendance fus’ on one, den tuth’r uv ’em.”
“Don’t let old Grab-All get any present.”
“Lawsee, I mos’ fergit ter tell yer ’bout de axdent dat hap’n ter ole Grab-All, whin he come er sneakin’ up de side er Mist’r Tall Pine. Yassuh, Mist’r Wile Cat an’ Doct’r Peck’rwood tryin’ ter handle dat buckit er hot cowpeas an’ pot licker fur Sis’ Cow, whin de whole thing slip an’ come downblump, on ole Grab-All.”
“Did it kill him?”
“Nor, dorter, he too mean ter die, but dat’s whut he got off’n de Crismus tree.”
“Didn’t Sis’ Cow get some more peas?” asked Willis.
“Nor, she say her an’ Brer Dur’am ’ud jes’lick up whut dey cud off’n de groun’. Sis’ Cow say she willin’ ter lose de peas jes’ ter see ole Grab-All git fixt. I tell yer de tree lookin’ mouty fine by de time ole Crismus night come. Yer see de beastes hatt’r have der doin’s on ole Crismus night.”
“What’s Old Christmas?”
“I donno whut ’tis, son, ’cep’n I allus heah dat twelve days atter Crismus, ’zackly at twelve erclock in de night time, all de beastes an’ creeturs falls on der knees an’ glorifies de Lawd,—an’ I allus heahs fokes call hit ‘Ole Crismus.’”
“Birds can’t kneel, Mammy Phyllis,” announced Mary Van.
“Dey kin put der haid on de groun’, an’ make der cross mark, I reckin.”
“Where was Miss Queen Bee; you left her out?”
“Miss Queen lef’ herse’f out, she say she feer’d her rumaticks ’ud git wusser, but dat ain’ so—she feer’d sumbody gwine ketch her ’Crismus gif’.”
“Did God fix their eyes like Johnnie Squinch’s, so they could see the tree good at night?”
“Whut he got ter do dat fur, son? Ain’ you seed de candles dat grows on de een’ er ev’y pine tree branch?”
“No, Mammy Phyllis, I haven’t,” Mary Van insisted upon an explanation.
“Shucks, gal, ain’ yer seed dis hyah lit’le light green candle sorter lookin’ things comin’ out’n de bushy een’ er de pine tree branches?”
“Are they candles?” the little girl did not quite remember.
“Whut else is dey ter light up de Lawd’sbirfday party wid? I’ll show yer dem candles de nex’ time we goes on Tink’r Knob. I tell yer whin de Roost’r telerfome: ‘Come on ter de Crismus t-r-e-e-,’ ‘Come on ter de Crismus t-r-e-e-!’ dey all comes er tar’in’. Ole man Roost’r, he fly up ter de highes’ rock on Tink’r Knob, an’ watch de clouds. Miss Moon, she bus’ th’u er big Black bank uv ’em an’ tetch off ev’y candle on dat tree—an’ ole man Roost’r say, ‘Blessed be de L-a-w-d,’ an’ all de beastes draps on der knees, an’ says der pra’rs. Den dey gits up an’ ketches one nuth’r Crismus gif’, an’ den dey gits der pres’nts.”
“Mammy, did Ned Dog, an’ Lilly Dove, an’ Big Eye Buzzard get sumthin’?” Willis wanted to remember all.
“No,” interrupted Mary Van, shaking her finger at Willis. “Mammy said thebad ones couldn’t come, and Big Eye was bad.”
“Well, I tell yer, dey let Big Eye come an’ clean up de scraps fur ’em, ’caze he done name hisse’f Buzzard ergin, an’ he wus gittin’ long bet’r.”
“Mammy, did everyone that was good get something?”
“Not ev’y single one, baby. Hit hap’n dat Sandy Claus make some mouty bad meestakes, ev’y now an’ den. Some time he give bad fokes de things de good fokes orter have. You ’memb’rs dem fire crack’rs dat lit’le yaller dog ax us ter take off’n his tail las’ Crismus? Well, dat Weed boy’s ole bad bull dog gits er heap mo’n him.”
“Mammy, let Yellow Doggie come to Mister Tall Pine’s Christmas Tree,” begged Willis.
“He say he ruth’r eat Crismus dinn’r wid Ned Dog. But dar’s er heap er yall’r dogs ’mongst fokes I tell yer. Dat po’ white ’ooman come beggin’ hyah las’ week, wid dat raggity boy tryin’ ter hope car’y de po’ lit’le ha’f froz’ baby. No, Lawd,” she shook her head, “dem fokes ruth’r have er piece er corn bread, an’ er han’full er fier’n all de Crismus tree yer kin stick at ’em.” The mental picture of the woman was still vivid, for she continued: “I speck dat ’ooman got dat quilt yer ma give her, wrop roun’ her right now, squattin’ close ter some hot ashes in de fierplace, wid de baby squose up right clost ter her, an’ dat boy gittin’ clost es he kin ter her und’r de quilt—an’ I speck he say,
“‘Ma, doan yer wush we had er stockin’ ter hang up, so Sandy Claus ’ud bring us sumpin’?’
“I speck his ma hug him tight wid one arm, an’ moan, an’ moan, an’ moan, an’ I speck de boy say:
“‘Ma, yer reckin’ Sandy ’ud give us er piece er bread, ef I wuster go down ter de sto’ wind’r an’ ax him fur hit?’
“An’ I speck his ma jes’ keep on er moanin’, ’caze she know dat ole sto’ man’s Sandy Claus ain’ no bett’r’n de sto’ man hisse’f.
“He say, ‘Ma, yer reck’n May Van an’ Willis ’ud lemme look th’u de wind’r at der nice warm fier, an’ all der good sump’in’ ter eat, an’ de purty Crismus tree?’
“An’ his ma mos’ bus’ her heart in two, ’caze she can’ do nuthin’ but jes’ luv ’im.”
“Mammy,” trembled the little girl’s voice, “why didn’t the little boy write to Santy like me and Willis?”
“’Caze he nuv’r had no stamp ter put onde let’r. I tell yer hit takes money ter buy Sandy Claus stamps.”
“We just sent ours up the chimbly,” refuted Willis.
“Dat boy didn’t had ernuf fire ter make his’n go up de chimbly.”
“Why didn’t his mama ask God?” half whispered Mary Van, as she laid her head on Phyllis’s shoulder.
“Dat po’ creetur’s moanin’ an’ groanin’ wus er heap loud’r’n enny pra’r she cud pray.”
“Couldn’t God hear her?” Willis clutched her by the arm. “Ask God to lis’n good, Mammy.”
“De Lawd know his biznes’, baby, bet’r’n we does. Dat ’ooman got ter set dar an’ shiv’r tell de Lawd git somebody ter het her up ergin.”
“Mammy,” said Willis, his lips quivering, “le’ss weall take ’em some of our goodies an’ things.”
Mary Van begged, “Please.”
“Dar now!” She placed a hand on each baby head: “De Lawd done he’rd dat po’ creet’rs pra’r right now. He want you chillun ter go fix dat po’ ’ooman’s fier, an’ give her sump’n’ ter eat, so you won’t nuv’r fergit how good He is ter you, an’ whin you kicks at de do’, an’ holl’ers loud, you’ll ’member ter fight sin like Tishy Peafowel do.”
Her suggestion went to each eager little heart.
“Yas, suh, an’ de Lawd say: ‘Doanchu both’r no mo’, lit’le boy, er ole black mammy comin’ roun’ hyah terreckly wid er lit’le boy an’ gal, an’ dey gwina bring all der ole toys, an’ some der warm close too, ’long widsome nice vit’als, an’ der pa gwine sen’ yer some fier, ter make er fier wid.’”
There was no need to lock the nursery door on Christmas Eve afternoon, for Phyllis and two radiant little children were in the rockaway, fairly packed in under the good things they carried to some of the homes Santa didn’t know about. And when the happy little boy said his, “Now I lay me” that night, he asked, “An’ please tell Santy not to forget m’ goat harness and m’ goat, an’ m’ drum, an’ bring Mary Van a harness like my race hoss harness with bells, an’ please show Santy the way to all the lit’le poor children’s houses, an’ give ’em some stamps for their letters, too. An’ please God tell Santy to hurry up an’ come on. Amen.”