SUCCESSFUL STRATEGY.
“I have a present for you,” said his aunt, handing Billy a long, rectangular package.
“Thank you, ma'am,” said her beaming nephew as he sat down on the floor, all eager anticipation, and began to untie the string. His charming, changeful face was bright and happy again, but his expression became one of indignant amaze as he saw the contents of the box.
“What I want with a doll?” he asked angrily, “I ain't no girl.”
“I think every little boy should have a doll and learn to make clothes for it,” said Miss Minerva. “I don't want you to be a great, rough boy; I want you to be sweet and gentle like a little girl; I am going to teach you how to sew and cook and sweep, so you may grow up a comfort to me.”
This was a gloomy forecast for the little boy accustomed, as he had been, to the freedom of a big plantation, and he scowled darkly.
“Me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln ain't never hafter play with no dolls sence we's born,” he replied sullenly, “we goes in swimmin' an' plays baseball. I can knock a home-run an' pitch a curve an' ketch a fly. Why don't you gimme a baseball bat? I already got a ball what Admiral Farragut gimme. An' I ain't agoin' to be no sissy neither. Lina an' Frances plays dolls, me an' Jimmy—” he stopped in sudden confusion.
“Lina and Frances and James!” exclaimed his aunt. “What do you know about them, William?”
The child's face flushed. “I seen 'em this mornin',” he acknowledged.
Miss Minerva put a hand on either shoulder der and looked straight into his eyes.
“William, who started that sprinkling this morning?” she questioned, sharply.
Billy flushed guiltily and lowered his eyelids; but only for an instant. Quickly recovering his composure he returned her gaze steadily and ignored her question.
“I see yo' beau too, Aunt Minerva,” he remarked tranquilly.
It was Miss Minerva this time who lost her composure, for her thin, sallow face became perfectly crimson.
“My beau?” she asked confusedly. “Who put that nonsense into your head?”
“Jimmy show him to me,” he replied jauntily, once more master of the situation and in full realization of the fact. “Why don't you marry him, Aunt Minerva, so's he could live right here with us? An' I could learn him how to churn. I s'pec' he 'd make a beautiful churner. He sho' is a pretty little fat man,” he continued flatteringly. “An' dress? That beau was jest dressed plumb up to the top notch. I sho' would marry him if I's you an' not turn up my nose at him 'cause he wears pants, an' you can learn him how to talk properer'n what he do an' I betcher he'd jest nachelly take to a broom, an' I s'pec' he ain't got nobody 'tall to show him how to sew. An' y' all could get the doctor to fetch you a little baby so he wouldn't hafter play with no doll. I sho' wisht we had him here,” ended a selfish Billy, “he could save me a lot of steps. An' I sho' would like to hear 'bout all them Injuns an' Yankees what he's killed.”
Billy's aunt was visibly embarrassed.
The persistent admiration of this, her one lover, had been pleasing to her, yet she had never been willing to sacrifice her independence for the cares and trials of matrimony. The existing state of affairs between the two was known to every one in the small town, but such was Miss Minerva's dignified aloofness that Billy was the first person who had ever dared to broach the subject to her.
“Sit down here, William,” she commanded, “and I will read to you.”
“Tell me a tale,” he said, looking up at her with his bright, sweet smile. The doll lay neglected on a chair near by and Billy wanted her to forget it.
“Tell me 'bout Piljerk Peter.”
“Piljerk Peter?” there was an interrogation in her voice.
“Yas 'm. Ain't you never hear tell 'bout Piljerk Peter? He had fifteen chillens an' one time the las' one of 'em an' his ole 'oman was down with the fever an' he ain't got but one pill an' they so sick they mos' 'bout to die an' ain't nobody in the fiel' fer to pick the cotton an' he can't git no doctor an' he ain't got but jest that one pill; so he tie that pill to a string an' let the bigges' chile swaller it an' draw it back up an' let the nex' chile swaller it an' jerk it back up an' let the nex, Chile swaller it an' jerk it back up an' let the nex' Chile swaller it an' jerk it back up an' let the nex'—.”
“I don't believe in telling tales to children,” interrupted his aunt, “I will tell you biographical and historical stories and stories from the Bible. Now listen, while I read to you.”
“An' the nex' Chile swaller it an' he jerk it back up,” continued Billy serenely, “an' the nex' Chile swaller it an' he jerk it back up tell finely ev'y single one of 'em, plumb down to the baby, swaller that pill an' the las' one of 'em got well an' that one pill it done the work. Then he tuck the pill and give it to his ole 'oman an' she swaller it an' he jerk it back up but didn't nothin' 'tall come up but jest the string an' his ole 'oman she died 'cause all the strenk done gone outer that pill.”
Miss Minerva opened a book called “Gems for the Household,” which she had purchased from a silvertongued book-agent. She selected an article the subject of which was “The Pure in Heart.”
Billy listened with a seemingly attentive ear to the choice flow of words, but in reality his little brain was busy with its own thoughts. The article closed with the suggestion that if one were innocent and pure he would have a dreamless sleep—
“If you have a conscience clear,And God's commands you keep;If your heart is good and pure,You will have a perfect sleep.”
Billy's aunt concluded. Wishing to know if he had understood what she had just read she asked:
“What people sleep the soundest?”
“Niggers,” was his prompt reply, as he thought of the long summer days and the colored folk on the plantation.
She was disappointed, but not discouraged.
“Now, William,” she admonished, “I'm going to read you another piece, and I want you to tell me about it, when I get through. Pay strict attention.”
“Yas 'm,” he readily agreed.
She chose an article describing the keen sense of smell in animals. Miss Minerva was not an entertaining reader and the words were long and fairly incomprehensible to the little boy sitting patiently at her side.
Again his thoughts wandered, though every now and then he caught a word or two.
“What animals have the keenest sense of smell, William?” was her query at the conclusion of her reading.
“Billy goats,” was Billy's answer without the slightest hesitation.
“You have goats on the brain,” she said in anger. “I did not read one word about billy goats.”
“Well, if 'taint a billy goat,” he replied, “I do' know what 'tis 'thout it's a skunk.”
“I bought you a little primer this morning,” she remarked after a short silence, “and I want you to say a lesson every day.”
“I already knows a lot,” he boasted. “Tabernicle, he 'an' Mercantile both been to school an' they learnt me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln. I knows crooked S, an' broken back K, an' curly tail Q, an' roun' O, an' I can spell c-a-t cat, an' d-o-g dog an' A stands fer apple.”
That night he concluded his ever lengthy prayer at his kinswoman's knee with:
“O Lord, please make for Aunt Minerva a little baby, make her two of 'em. O Lord, if you got 'em to spare please make her three little babies an' let 'em all be girls so's she can learn 'em how to churn an' sew. An' bless Aunt Minerva and Major Minerva, f'r ever 'nd ever. Amen.”
As he rose from his knees he asked: “Aunt Minerva, do God work on Sunday?”
“No-o,” answered his relative, hesitatingly.
“Well, it look like He'd jest hafter work on Sunday, He's so busy jest a-makin' babies. He makes all the niggers an' heathens an' Injuns an' white chillens; I reckon He gits somebody to help him. Don't you, Aunt Minerva?”
RABBITS' AND OTHER EGGS
Billy was sitting in the swing. Jimmy crawled over the fence and joined him.
“Miss Cecilia's dyeing me some Easter eggs,” he said, “all blue and pink and green and yelluh and every kind they is; I tooken her some of our hen's eggs and she is going to fix 'em for me and they'll be just like rabbit's eggs; I reckon I'll have 'bout a million. I'll give you one,” he added generously.
“I want more 'n one,” declared Billy, who was used to having the lion's share of everything.
“You all time talking 'bout you want more 'n one egg,” said Jimmy. “You 'bout the stingiest Peter they is. Ain't you got no eggs? Get Miss Minerva to give you some of hers and I'll take 'em over and ask Miss Cecilia to dye 'em for you 'cause you ain't 'quainted with her yet.”
“Aunt Minerva ain't got none 'cep'in' what she put under a of hen fer to set this mornin':”
“Can't you get 'em from under the old hen? Miss Minerva is such a Christian woman, she ain't—”
“You done fool me 'bout that 'ligious business befo',” interrupted Billy, “an' I got put to bed in the daytime.”
“Well, she won't never miss two or three eggs,” coaxed Jimmy. “How many did she put under the old hen?”
“She put fifteen,” was the response, “an' I don't believe she'd want me to tech 'em.”
“They 're 'bout the prettiest eggs ever was,” continued the tempter, “all blue and pink and green, and 'bout a million kinds. They're just perzactly like rabbit's eggs.”
“Me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln ain't never hear teller no rabbit's eggs sence we's born,” said Billy; “I don't berlieve rabbits lays eggs nohow.”
“They don' lay 'em 'cept to Easter,” said Jimmy. “Miss Cecilia 'splained it all to me and she's my Sunday-School teacher and rabbits is bound to lay eggs 'cause it's in the Bible and she's 'bout the prettiest 'splainer they is. I'm going over there now to see 'bout my eggs,” and he made believe to leave the swing.
“Le's us slip roun' to the hen-house an' see what the of hen's a-doin',” suggested the sorely tempted Billy. “Aunt Minerva is a-makin' me some nightshirts an' she ain't takin' no notice of nothin' else.”
They tiptoed stealthily around the house to the back-yard, but found the hen-house door locked.
“Can't you get the key?” asked the younger child.
“Naw, I can't,” replied the other boy, “but you can git in th'oo this-here little hole what the chickens goes in at, whiles I watches fer Aunt Minerva. I'll stand right here an' hol' my cap whiles you fetches me the eggs. An' don't you take more 'n five or six,” he warned.
“I'm skeered of the old hen,” objected Jimmy. “Is she much of a pecker?”
“Naw, she ain't a-goin' to hurt you,” was the encouraging reply. “Git up an' crawl th'oo; I'll help you.”
Billy, having overcome his scruples, now entered into the undertaking with great zest.
Jimmy climbed the chicken ladder, kicked his chubby legs through the aperture, hung suspended on his fat little middle for an instant, and finally, with much panting and tugging, wriggled his plump, round body into the hen-house. He walked over where a lonesome looking hen was sitting patiently on a nest. He put out a cautious hand and the hen promptly gave it a vicious peck.
“Billy,” he called angrily, “you got to come in here and hold this old chicken; she's 'bout the terriblest pecker they is.”
Billy stuck his head in the little square hole. “Go at her from behind,” he suggested; “put yo' hand under her easy like, an' don' let her know what you's up to.”
Jimmy tried to follow these instructions, but received another peck for his pains. He promptly mutinied.
“If you want any eggs,” he declared, scowling at the face framed in the aperture, “you can come get 'em yourself. I done monkeyed with this chicken all I'm going to.”
So Billy climbed up and easily got his lean little body through the opening. He dexterously caught the hen by the nape of the neck, as he had seen Aunt Cindy do, while Jimmy reached for the eggs.
“If we ain't done lef' my cap outside on the groun',” said Billy. “What we goin' to put the eggs in?”
“Well, that's just like you, Billy, you all time got to leave your cap on the ground. I'll put 'em in my blouse till you get outside and then I'll hand 'em to you. How many you going to take?”
“We might just as well git 'em all now,” said Billy. “Aunt Cindy say they's some kinder hens won't lay no chickens 't all if folks put they hands in they nests an' this here hen look like to me she's one of them kind, so the rester the egg'll jest be waste, any how, 'cause you done put yo' han's in her nes', an' a dominicker ain't a-goin' to stan' no projeckin' with her eggs. Hurry up.”
Jimmy carefully distributed the eggs inside his blouse, and Billy once more crawled through the hole and stood on the outside waiting, cap in hand, to receive them.
But the patient hen had at last raised her voice in angry protest and set up a furious cackling, which so frightened the little boy on the inside that he was panic-stricken. He caught hold of a low roost pole, swung himself up and, wholly unmindful of his blouse full of eggs, pushed his lower limbs through the hole and stuck fast. A pair of chubby, sturdy legs, down which were slowly trickling little yellow rivulets, and half of a plump, round body were all that would go through.
“Pull!” yelled the owner of the short fat legs. “I'm stuck and can't go no furder. Pull me th'oo, Billy.”
About this time the defrauded fowl flew from her nest and attempted to get out by her rightful exit. Finding it stopped up by a wriggling, squirming body she perched herself on the little boy's neck and flapped her enraged wings in his face.
“Pull!” yelled the child again, “help me th'oo, Billy, 'fore this fool chicken pecks all the meat off 'm my bones.”
Billy grabbed the sticky limbs and gave a valiant tug, but the body did not move an inch. Alas, Jimmy with his cargo of broken eggs was fast imprisoned.
“Pull again!” yelled the scared and angry child, “you 'bout the idjetest idjet they is if you can't do no better 'n that.”
Billy jerked with all his strength, but with no visible result.
“Pull harder! You no-count gump!” screamed the prisoner, beating off the hen with his hands.
The boy on the outside, who was strong for his years, braced himself and gave a mighty wrench of the other child's stout extremities. Jimmy howled in pain and gave his friend an energetic kick.
“Lemme go!” he shrieked, “you old impe'dunt backbiter. I'm going to tell Miss Minerva you pulled my legs out by the roots.”
A small portion of the prisoner's blouse was visible. Billy caught hold of it and gave a strong jerk. There was a sound of ripping and tearing and the older boy fell sprawling on his back with a goodly portion of the younger child's raiment in his hands.
“Now see what you done,” yelled the victim of his energy, “you ain't got the sense of a buffalo gnat. Oh! oh! This hole is 'bout to cut my stomach open.”
“Hush, Jimmy!” warned the other child. “Don't make so much noise. Aunt Minerva'll hear you.”
“I want her to hear me,” screamed Jimmy. “You'd like me to stay stuck in a chicken hole all night. Oh! oh! oh!”
The noise did indeed bring Billy's aunt out on a tour of investigation. She had to knock a plank off the hen-house with an axe before Jimmy's release could be accomplished. He was lifted down, red, angry, sticky, and perspiring, and was indeed a sight to behold.
“Billy got to all time perpose something to get little boys in trouble,” he growled, “and got to all time get 'em stuck in a hole in a chicken-house.”
“My nephew's name is William,” corrected she.
“You perposed this here yo'self!” cried an indignant Billy. “Me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln don' know nothin' 't all 'bout no rabbit's eggs sence we's born.”
“It doesn't matter who proposed it,” said his aunt firmly. “You are going to be punished, William. I have just finished one of your night-shirts. Come with me and put it on and go to bed. Jimmy, you go home and show yourself to your mother.”
“Pick up yo' shirt-tail offer the groun' what I tore off, Jimmy,” advised Billy, “an' take it home to yo' ma. Aunt Minerva,” he pleaded, following mournfully behind her, “please don't put me to bed; the Major he don' go to bed no daytimes; I won't never get me no mo' eggs to make rabbit's eggs outer.”
TELLERS OF TALES
The days flew rapidly by. Miss Minerva usually attempted to train Billy all the morning, and by the midday dinner hour she was so exhausted that she was glad to let him play in the front yard during the afternoon.
Here he was often joined by the three children whose acquaintance he had made the day after his arrival, and the quartette became staunch friends and chums.
All four were sitting in the swing one warm spring day, under the surveillance of Billy's aunt, sewing on the veranda.
“Let's tell tales,” suggested Jimmy.
“All right,” agreed Frances. “I'll tell the first. Once there's—”
“Naw, you ain't neither,” interrupted the little boy. “You all time talking 'bout you going to tell the first tale. I'm going to tell the first tale myself. One time they's—”
“No, you are not either,” said Lina positively. “Frances is a girl and she ought to be the first if she wants to. Don't you think so, Billy?”
“Yas, I does,” championed he; “go on, Frances.”
That little girl, thus encouraged, proceeded to tell the first tale:
“Once there's a man named Mr. Elisha, and he had a friend named Mr. Elijah, so his mantelpiece fell on top of his head and make him perfectly bald; he hasn't got a single hair and he hasn't got any money, 'cause mama read me 'bout he rented his garments, which is clo'es, 'cause he didn't have none at all what belong to him. I spec' he just rented him a shirt and a pair o' breeches and wore 'em next to his hide 'thout no undershirt at all. He was drea'ful poor and had a miser'ble time and old mean Mr. Per'dventure took him up on a high mountain and left him, so when he come down some bad little childern say, 'Go 'long back, bald head!' and they make pockmocks on him. Seems like everybody treat him bad, so he cuss 'em, so I never see anybody with a bald head 'thout I run, 'cause I don't want to get cussed. So two Teddy bears come out of the woods and ate up forty-two hunderd of—”
“Why, Frances,” reproved Lina, “you always get things wrong. I don't believe they ate up that many children.”
“Yes, they did too,” championed Jimmy, “'cause it's in the Bible and Miss Cecilia 'splained all 'bout it to me, and she's our Sunday-School teacher and 'bout the bullyest 'splainer they is. Them Teddy bears ate up 'bout a million chillens, which is all the little boys and girls two Teddy bears can hold at a time.”
“I knows a man what ain't got no hair 't all on his head,” remarked Billy; “he's a conjure-man an' me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln been talkin' to him ever sence we's born an' he ain't never cuss us, an' I ain't never got eat up by no Teddy bears neither. Huccome him to be bald? He's out in the fiel' one day a-pickin' cotton when he see a tu'key buzzard an' he talk to her like this:
“'I say tu'key buzzard, I say,Who shall I see unexpected today?'
“If she flop her wings three times you goin' to see yo' sweetheart, but this-here buzzard ain't flop no wings 't all; she jes' lean over an' th'ow up on his head an' he been bald ever sence; ev'y single hair come out.”
“Did you-all hear 'bout that 'Talian Dago that works on the section gang eating a buzzard?” asked Frances.
“Naw,” said Billy. “Did it make him sick?”
“That it did,” she answered; “he sent for Doctor Sanford and tells him, 'Me killa de big bird, me eat-a de big bird, de big bird make-a me seek.”'
“Them Dagoes 'bout the funniest talking folks they is,” said Jimmy, “but they got to talk that way 'cause it's in the Bible. They 'sputed on the tower of Babel and the Lord say 'Confound you!' Miss Cecilia 'splained it all to me and she's 'bout the dandiest 'splainer they is.”
“You may tell your tale now, Jimmy,” said Lina.
“I'm going to tell 'bout William Tell 'cause he's in the Bible,” said Jimmy. “Once they's a man name'—”
“William Tell isn't in the Bible,” declared Lina.
“Yes, he is too,” contended the little boy, “Miss Cecilia 'splained it to me. You all time setting yourself up to know more'n me and Miss Cecilia. One time they's a man name' William Tell and he had a little boy what's the cutest kid they is and the Devil come 'long and temp' him. Then the Lord say, 'William Tell, you and Adam and Eve can taste everything they is in the garden 'cepting this one apple tree; you can get all the pears and bunnanas and peaches and grapes and oranges and plums and persimmons and scalybarks and fig leaves and 'bout a million other kinds of fruit if you want to, but don't you tech a single apple.' And the Devil temp' him and say he going to put his cap on a pole and everybody got to bow down to it for a idol and if William Tell don't bow down to it he got to shoot a apple for good or evil off 'm his little boy's head. That's all the little boy William Tell and Adam and Eve got, but he ain't going to fall down and worship no gravy image on top a pole, so he put a tomahawk in his bosom and he tooken his bow and arrur and shot the apple plumb th'oo the middle and never swinge a hair of his head. And Eve nibble off the apple and give Adam the core, and Lina all time 'sputing 'bout Adam and Eve and William Tell ain't in the Bible. They 're our first parents.”
“Now, Billy, you tell a tale and then it will be my time,” said Lina with a savingthe-best-for-the-last air.
“Once they was a of witch,” said Billy, “what got outer her skin ev'y night an' lef' it on the he'rth an' turnt herself to a great, big, black cat an' go up the chim'ly an' go roun' an' ride folks fer horses, an' set on ev'ybody's chis' an' suck they breath an' kill 'em an' then come back to bed. An' can't nobody ketch her tell one night her husban' watch her an' he see her jump outer her skin an' drop it on the he'rth an' turn to a 'normous black cat an' go up the chim'ly. An' he got outer the bed an' put some salt an' pepper an' vinegar on the skin an' she come back an' turnt to a 'oman an' try to git back in her skin an' she can't 'cause the salt an' pepper an' vinegar mos' burn her up, an' she keep on a-tryin' an' she can't never snuggle inter her skin 'cause it keep on a burnin' worser 'n ever, an' there she is a 'oman 'thout no skin on. So she try to turn back to a cat an' she can't 'cause it's pas' twelve erclock, an' she jest swivvle an' swivvle tell fine'ly she jest swivvle all up. An' that was the las' of the ole witch an' her husban' live happy ever after. Amen.”
“Once upon a time,” said Lina, “there was a beautiful maiden and she was in love, but her wicked old parent wants her to marry a rich old man threescore and ten years old, which is 'most all the old you can get unless you are going to die; and the lovely princess said, 'No, father, you may cut me in the twain but I will never marry any but my true love.' So the wicked parent shut up the lovely maiden in a high tower many miles from the ground, and made her live on turnips and she had nothing else to eat; so one day when she was crying a little fairy flew in at the window and asked, 'Why do you weep, fair one?' And she said, 'A wicked parent hath shut me up and I can't ever see my lover any more.' So the fairy touched her head with her wand and told her to hang her hair out of the window, and she did and it reached the ground, and her lover, holding a rope ladder in one hand and playing the guitar and singing with the other, climbed up by her hair and took her down on the ladder and his big black horse was standing near, all booted and spurred, and they rode away and lived happy ever after.”
“How he goin' to clam' up, Lina,” asked Billy, “with a rope ladder in one hand and his guitar in the other?”
“I don't know,” was the dignified answer. “That is the way it is told in my fairy-tale book.”
CHANGING THE ETHIOPIAN
Billy and Jimmy were sitting in the swing.
“What makes your hair curl just like a girl's?” asked the latter. “It's 'bout the curliest hair they is.”
“Yes, it do,” was Billy's mournful response. “It done worry me 'mos' to death. Ever sence me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln's born we done try ev'ything fer to get the curl out. They was a Yankee man came 'long las' fall a-sellin' some stuff in a bottle what he call 'No-To-Kink' what he say would take the kink outer any nigger's head. An' Aunt Cindy bought a bottle fer to take the kink outer her hair an' me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln put some on us heads an' it jes' make mine curlier 'n what it was already. I's 'shame' to go roun' folks with my cap off, a-lookin' like a frizzly chicken. Miss Cecilia say she like it though, an' we's engaged. We's goin' to git married soon's I puts on long pants.”
“How long you been here, Billy?” asked the other boy.
“Well, I don't know perxactly, but I been to Sunday-School four times. I got engaged to Miss Cecilia that very firs' Sunday, but she didn' know it tell I went over to her house the nex' day an' tol' her 'bout it. She say she think my hair is so pretty.”
“Pretty nothin',” sneered his rival. “She jus' stuffin' you fuller 'n a tick with hot air. It just makes you look like a girl. There's a young lady come to spend a week with my mama not long ago and she put somepin' on her head to make it right yeller. She left the bottle to our house and I know where 't is. Maybe if you'd put some o' that on your head 't would take the curl out.”
“'Tain't nothin' a-goin' to do it no good,” gloomily replied Billy. “'Twould jest make it yeller 'n what 'tis now. Won't I be a pretty sight when I puts on long pants with these here yaller curls stuck on topper my head? I'd 'nuther sight ruther be bal'headed.”
“Bennie Dick's got 'bout the kinkiest head they is.”
Bennie Dick was the two-year-old baby of Mrs. Garner's cook, Sarah Jane.
“It sho' is,” replied Billy. “Wouldn't he look funny if he had yaller hair, 'cause his face is so black?”
“I know where the bottle is,” cried Jimmy, snatching eagerly at the suggestion. “Let's go get it and put some on Bennie Dick's head and see if it'll turn it yeller.”
“Aunt Minerva don' want me to go over to yo' house,” objected Billy.
“You all time talking 'bout Miss Minerva won't let you go nowheres; she sure is imperdunt to you. You 'bout the 'fraidest boy they is.... Come on, Billy,” pleaded Jimmy.
The little boy hesitated.
“I don't want to git Aunt Minerva's dander der up any more 'n I jest natchelly boun' to,” he said, following Jimmy reluctantly to the fence; “but I'll jes' take a look at that bottle an' see ef it looks anything 't all like 'No-To-Kink'.”
Giggling mightily, they jumped the dividing fence and slipped with stealthy tread around the house to Sarah Jane's cabin in the back-yard.
Bennie Dick was sitting on the floor before the open door, the entrance of which was, securely barricaded to keep him inside. Sarah Jane was in the kitchen cooking supper; they could hear her happy voice raised in religious melody; Mrs. Garner had not yet returned from a card party; the coast was clear, and the time propitious.
Jimmy tiptoed to the house and soon returned with a big bottle of a powerful “blondine” in one hand and a stick of candy in the other.
“Bennie Dick,” he said, “here's a nice stick of candy for you if you'll let us wash your head.”
The negro baby's thick, red lips curved in a grin of delight, his shiny ebony face beamed happily, his round black eyes sparkled as he held out his fat, rusty little hands. He sucked greedily at the candy as the two mischievous little boys uncorked the bottle and, poured a generous supply of the liquid on his head. They rubbed it in well, grinning with delight. They made a second and a third application before the bottle was exhausted; then they stood off to view the result of their efforts. The effect was ludicrous. The combination of coal black skin and red gold hair presented by the little negro exceeded the wildest expectations of Jimmy and Billy. They shrieked with laughter and rolled over and over on the floor in their unbounded delight.
“Hush!” warned Jimmy suddenly, “I believe Sarah Jane's coming out here to see 'bout Benny Dick. Let's get behind the door and see what she's going to do.”
“'Hit were good fer Paul an' Silas,Hit were good fer Paul an' Silas,Hit were good fer Paul an' Silas,An' hit's good ernough fer me.'”
floated Sarah Jane's song nearer and nearer.
“'Hit's de ole time erligion,Hit's de ole time'”
She caught sight of her baby with his glistening black face and golden hair. She threw up her hands, closed her eyes, and uttered a terrified shriek. Presently she slowly opened her eyes and took a second peep at her curious-looking offspring. Sarah Jane screamed aloud:
“Hit's de handiwork er de great Jehoshaphat! Hit's de Marster's sign. Who turnt yo' hair, Benny Dick?” she asked of the sticky little pickaninny sitting happily on the floor. “Is a angel been here?”
Benny Dick nodded his head with a delighted grin of comprehension.
“Hit's de doing er de Lord,” cried his mother. “He gwine turn my chile white an' he done begunt on his head!”
There was an ecstatic giggle from behind the door.
Sarah Jane rushed inside as fast as her mammoth proportions would admit and caught a culprit in each huge black paw.
“What yer up ter now, Jimmy Garner?” she asked. “What yer been er-doing?”
Sudden suspicion entered her mind as she caught sight of the empty bottle lying on a chair. “You been er-putting' suthin' on my chile's head! I knows yer, I's er-gwine ter make yo' mammy gi' ye de worses' whippin' yer eber got an' I's gwine ter take dis here William right ober ter Miss Minerva. Ain't y' all 'shame' er yerselves? Er tamperin' wid de ha'r what de good Lord put on er colored pusson's head an' ertryin' fer ter scarify my feelin's like yer done. An' yer hear me, I's gwine see dat somebody got ter scarify yer hides.”
“If that ain't just like you, Billy,” said Jimmy, “you all time got to perpose to make nigger heads yeller and you all time getting little boys in trouble. You 'bout the smart Alexist jack-rabbit they is.”
“You perposed this here hair business yo'self, Jimmy,” retorted his fellow-conspirator. “You's always blamin' yo' meanness on somebody else ever sence you's born.”
“Hit don't matter who perposed hit,” said Sarah Jane firmly; “meanness has been did, an' y' all gotter be structified on de place pervided by natur fer ter lem my chile erlone.”
LO! THE POOR INDIANS
Billy had just decided to run down to the livery stable to pay Sam Lamb a visit when the gate opened, and Lina and Frances, their beloved dolls in their arms, came skipping in.
Jimmy, who had had a difference with Billy and was in the sulks on his own side of the fence, immediately crawled over and joined the others in the swing. He was lonesome and the prospect of companionship was too alluring for him to nurse his anger longer.
“Aunt Minerva's gone to the Aid Society,” remarked the host. “Don't y' all wish it met ev'y day 'stid 'er jes' meetin' ev'y Monday?”
“Yes, I do,” agreed Frances, “you can have so much fun when our mamas go to the Aid. My mama's gone too, so she left me with Brother and he's writing a love letter to Ruth Shelton, so I slipped off.”
“Mother has gone to the Aid, too,” said Lina.
“My mama too,” chimed in Jimmy, “she goes to the Aid every Monday and to card parties nearly all the time. She telled Sarah Jane to 'tend to me and Sarah Jane's asleep. I hear her snoring. Ain't we glad there ain't no grown folks to meddle? Can't we have fun?”
“What'll we play?” asked Frances, who had deliberately stepped in a mud puddle on the way, and splashed mud all over herself, “let's make mud pies.”
“Naw, we ain't a-going to make no mud pies,” objected Jimmy. “We can make mud pies all time when grown folks 'r' looking at you.”
“Le's's play sumpin' what we ain't never play, sence we 's born,” put in Billy.
“I hope grandmother won't miss me.” said Lina, “she 's reading a very interesting book.”
“Let's play Injun!” yelled Jimmy; “we ain't never play' Injun.”
This suggestion was received with howls of delight.
“My mama's got a box of red stuff that she puts on her face when she goes to the card parties. She never puts none on when she just goes to the Aid. I can run home and get the box to make us red like Injuns,” said Frances.
“My mother has a box of paint, too.”
“I ain't never see Aunt Minerva put no red stuff on her face,” remarked Billy, disappointedly.
“Miss Minerva, she don't never let the Major come to see her, nor go to no card parties is the reason,” explained the younger boy, “she just goes to the Aid where they ain't no men, and you don't hafter put no red on your face at the Aid. We'll let you have some of our paint, Billy. My mama's got 'bout a million diff'ent kinds.”
“We got to have pipes,” was Frances's next suggestion.
“My papa's got 'bout a million pipes,” boasted Jimmy, “but he got 'em all to the office, I spec'.”
“Father has a meerschaum.”
“Aunt Minerva ain't got no pipe.”
“Miss Minerva's 'bout the curiousest woman they is,” said Jimmy; “she ain't got nothing a tall; she ain't got no paint and she ain't got no pipe.”
“Ladies don't use pipes, and we can do without them anyway,” said Lina, “but we must have feathers; all Indians wear feathers.”
“I'll get my mama's duster,” said Jimmy.
“Me, too,” chimed in Frances.
Here Billy with flying colors came to the fore and redeemed Miss Minerva's waning reputation.
“Aunt Minerva's got a great, big buncher tu'key feathers an' I can git 'em right now,” and the little boy flew into the house and was back in a few seconds.
“We must have blankets, of course,” said Lina, with the air of one whose word is law; “mother has a genuine Navajo.”
“I got a little bow'narruh what Santa Claus bringed me,” put in Jimmy.
“We can use hatchets for tomahawks,” continued the little girl. “Come on, Frances; let us go home and get our things and come back here to dress up. Run, Jimmy, get your things! You, too, Billy!” she commanded.
The children ran breathlessly to their homes nearby and collected the different articles necessary to transform them into presentable Indians. They soon returned, Jimmy dumping his load over the fence and tumbling after; and the happy quartette sat down on the grass in Miss Minerva's yard. First the paint boxes were opened and generously shared with Billy, as with their handkerchiefs they spread thick layers of rouge over their charming, bright, mischievous little faces.
The feather decoration was next in order.
“How we goin' to make these feathers stick?” asked Billy.
They were in a dilemma till the resourceful Jimmy came to the rescue.
“Wait a minute,” he cried, “I'll be back 'fore you can say 'Jack Robinson'.”
He rolled over the fence and was back in a few minutes, gleefully holding up a bottle.
“This muc'lage'll make 'em stick,” he panted, almost out of breath.
Lina assumed charge of the head-dresses. She took Billy first, rubbed the mucilage well into his sunny curls, and filled his head full of his aunt's turkey feathers, leaving them to stick out awkwardly in all directions and at all angles. Jimmy and Frances, after robbing their mothers' dusters, were similarly decorated, and last, Lina, herself, was tastefully arrayed by the combined efforts of the other three.
At last all was in readiness.
Billy, regardless of consequences, had pinned his aunt's newest grey blanket around him and was viewing, with satisfied admiration, its long length trailing on the-grass behind him; Lina had her mother's treasured Navajo blanket draped around her graceful little figure; Frances, after pulling the covers off of several beds and finding nothing to suit her fanciful taste, had snatched a gorgeous silk afghan from the leather couch in the library. It was an expensive affair of intricate pattern, delicate stitches; and beautiful embroidery with a purple velvet border and a yellow satin lining. She had dragged one corner of it through the mud puddle and torn a big rent in another place.
Jimmy was glorious in a bright red blanket, carrying his little bow and arrow.
“I'm going to be the Injun chief,” he boasted.
“I'm going to be a Injun chief, too,” parroted Frances.
“Chief, nothing!” he sneered, “you all time trying to be a Injun chief. You 'bout the pompousest little girl they is. You can't be a chief nohow; you got to be a squash, Injun ladies 'r' name' squashes; me an' Billy's the chiefs. I'm name' old Setting Bull, hi'self.”
“You can't be named 'Bull,' Jimmy,” reproved Lina, “it isn't genteel to say 'bull' before people.”
“Yes, I am too,” he contended. “Setting Bull's the biggest chief they is and I'm going to be name' him.”
“Well, I am not going to play then,” said Lina primly, “my mother wants me to be genteel, and 'bull' is not genteel.”
“I tell you what, Jimmy,” proposed Frances, “you be name' 'Setting Cow. 'Cow' is genteel 'cause folks milk 'em.”
“Naw, I ain't going to be name' no cow, neither,” retorted the little Indian, “you all time trying to 'suade somebody to be name' 'Setting Cow'.”
“He can't be name' a cow,”—Billy now entered into the discussion—“'cause he ain't no girl. Why don' you be name' 'Settin' Steer'? Is 'steer' genteel, Lina?” he anxiously inquired.
“Yes, he can be named 'Sitting Steer',” she granted. Jimmy agreeing to the compromise, peace was once more restored.
“Frances and Lina got to be the squashes,” he began.
“It isn't 'squashes,' it is 'squaws,”' corrected Lina.
“Yes, 'tis squashes too,” persisted Jimmy, “'cause it's in the Bible and Miss Cecilia 'splained it to me and she's 'bout the high-steppingest 'splainer they is. Me and Billy is the chiefs,” he shouted, capering around, “and you and Frances is the squashes and got to have papooses strop' to your back.”
“Bennie Dick can be a papoose,” suggested Billy.
“I'm not going to be a Injun squash if I got to have a nigger papoose strapped to my back!” cried an indignant Frances. “You can strap him to your own back, Billy.”
“But I ain't no squash,” objected that little Indian.
“We can have our dolls for papooses,” said Lina, going to the swing where the dolls had been left. Billy pulled a piece of string from his pocket and the babies were safely strapped to their mothers' backs. With stately tread, headed by Sitting Steer, the children marched back and forth across the lawn in Indian file.
So absorbed were they in playing Indian that they forgot the flight of time until their chief suddenly stopped, all his brave valor gone as he pointed with trembling finger up the street.
That part of the Ladies' Aid Society which lived in West Covington was bearing down upon them.
“Yonder's our mamas and Miss Minerva,” he whispered. “Now look what a mess Billy's done got us in; he all time got to perpose someping to get chillens in trouble and he all time got to let grown folks ketch em.”
“Aren't you ashamed to tell such a story, Jimmy Garner?” cried Frances. “Billy didn't propose any such thing. Come on, let's run,” she suggested.
“'Tain't no use to run,” advised Jimmy. “They're too close and done already see us. We boun' to get what's coming to us anyway, so you might jus' as well make 'em think you ain't 'fraid of 'em. Grown folks got to all time think little boys and girls 'r' skeered of 'em, anyhow.”
“Aunt Minerva'll sho' put me to bed this time,” said Billy. “Look like ev'y day I gotter go to bed.”
“Mother will make me study the catechism all day to-morrow,” said Lina dismally.
“Mama'll lock me up in the little closet under the stairway,” said Frances.
“My mama'll gimme 'bout a million licks and try to take all the hide off o' me,” said Jimmy; “but we done had a heap of fun.”
It was some hours later. Billy's aunt had ruthlessly clipped the turkey feathers from his head, taking the hair off in great patches. She had then boiled his scalp, so the little boy thought, in her efforts to remove the mucilage. Now, shorn of his locks and of some of his courage, the child was sitting quietly by her side, listening to a superior moral lecture and indulging in a compulsory heart-to-heart talk with his relative.
“I don't see that it does you any good, William, to put you to bed.”
“I don' see as it do neither,” agreed Billy.
“I can not whip you; I am constitutionally opposed to corporal punishment for children.”
“I's 'posed to it too,” he assented.
“I believe I will hire a servant, so that I may devote my entire time to your training.”
This prospect for the future did not appeal to her nephew. On the contrary it filled him with alarm.
“A husban' 'd be another sight handier,” he declared with energy; “he 'd be a heap mo' 'count to you 'n a cook, Aunt Minerva. There's that Major—”
“You will never make a preacher of yourself, William, unless you improve.”
The child looked up at her in astonishment; this was the first he knew of his being destined for the ministry.
“A preacher what 'zorts an' calls up mourners?” he said,—“not on yo' tin-type. Me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln—”
“How many times have I expressed the wish not to have you bring that negro's name into the conversation?” she impatiently interrupted.
“I don' perzactly know, 'm,” he answered good humoredly, “'bout fifty hunerd, I reckon. Anyways, Aunt Minerva, I ain't goin' to be no preacher. When I puts on long pants I's goin' to be a Confedrit Vet'run an' kill 'bout fifty hunderd Yankees an' Injuns, like my Major man.”