UNCLE JEFFERSON
A red rose, while ever a thing of beauty, is not invariably a joy
forever. The white bulldog, as he plodded along the sunny highway, was
sunk in depression. Being trammeled by the limitations of a canine
horizon, he could not understand the whims of Adorable Ones met by the
way, who seemed so glad to see him that they threw both arms about him,
and then tied to his neck irksome colored weeds that prickled and
scratched and would not be dislodged. Lacking a basis of painful
comparison, since he had never had a tin can tied to his tail, he
accepted it as condign punishment and was puzzledly wretched. So it was
a chastened and shamed Chum who at length wriggled stealthily into the
seat of the stranded automobile beside his master and thrust a dirty
pink nose into his palm.
John Valiant lifted his hand to stroke the shapely head, then drew it
back with an exclamation. A thorn had pricked his thumb. He looked down
and saw the draggled flower thrust through the twist of grass. "Oh, pup
of wonders!" he exclaimed. "Where did you get that rose?"
Chum sat up and wagged his tail, for his master's tone, instead of
ridicule, held a dawning delight. Perhaps the thing had not been
intended as a disgrace after all! As the careful hand drew the misused
blossom tenderly from its tether, he barked joyously with recovered
spirits.
With the first sight of the decoration Valiant had had a sudden memory
of a splotch of vivid red against the belted gray-blue of a gown. He
grinned appreciatively. "And I _warned_ her," he chuckled. "Told her not
to be afraid!" He dusted the blossom painstakingly with his handkerchief
and held it to his face--a live brilliant thing, breathing musk-odors of
the mid-moon of paradise.
A long time he sat, while the dog dozed and yawned on the shiny cushion
beside him. Gradually the clover-breeze fainted and the lengthening
shadows dipped their fingers into indigo. On the far amethystine peaks
of the Blue Ridge leaned milky-breasted clouds through which the sun
sifted in wide bars. A blackbird began to flute from some near-by tree
and across the low stone wall he heard a feathery whir. Of a sudden Chum
sat up and barked in earnest.
Turning his head, his master saw approaching a dilapidated hack with
side-lanterns like great goggles and decrepit and palsied curtains. It
was drawn by a lean mustard-tinted mule, and on its front seat sat a
colored man of uncertain age, whose hunched vertebrae and outward-crooked
arms gave him a curious expression of replete and bulbous inquiry.
Abreast of the car he removed a moth-eaten cap.
"Evenin', suh," he said,--"evenin', evenin'."
"Howdy do," returned the other amiably.
"Ah reck'n yo'-all done had er breck-down wid dat machine-thing dar.
Spec' er graveyahd rabbit done cross yo' pahf. Yo' been hyuh 'bout er
hour, ain' yo'?"
"Nearer three," said Valiant cheerfully, "but the view's worth it."
A hoarse titter came from the conveyance, which gave forth sundry
creakings of leather. "Huyh! Huyh! Dat's so, suh. Dat's so! Hm-m. Reck'n
Ah'll be gittin' erlong back." He clucked to the mule and proceeded to
turn the vehicle round.
"Hold on," cried John Valiant. "I thought you were bound in the other
direction."
"No, _suh_. Ah'm gwine back whah I come f'om. Ah jus' druv out hyuh
'case Miss Shirley done met me, en she say, 'Unc' Jeffe'son, yo' go
'treckly out de Red Road, 'case er gemman done got stalled-ed.'"
"Oh--Miss Shirley. She told you, did she? What did you say her first
name was?"
"_Dat's_ huh fus' name, Miss Shirley. Yas, _suh_! Miss Shirley done
said f' me ter come en git de gemman whut--whut kinder dawg is yo' got
dar?"
"It's a bulldog. Can you give me a lift? I've got that small trunk
and--"
"Dat's a right fine dawg. Miss Shirley she moughty fond ob dawgs, too."
"Fond of dogs, is she?" said Valiant. "I might have known it. It was
nice of her to send you here, Uncle Jefferson. You can take me and my
traps, I suppose?"
"'Pens on whah yo' gwineter," answered Uncle Jefferson sapiently.
"I'm going to Damory Court."
A kind of shocked surprise that was almost stupefaction spread over the
other's face, like oil over a pool. "Dam'ry Co'ot! Dat's de old Valiant
place. Ain' nobody lives _dar_. Ah reck'n ain' nobody live dar fer mos'
er hun'erd yeahs!"
"The old house has a great surprise coming to it," said Valiant gravely.
"Henceforth some one is going to occupy it. How far is it away?"
"Measurin' by de coonskin en th'owin' in de tail, et's erbout two mile.
Ain' gwineter live dar yo'se'f, suh, is yo'?"
"I am for the present," was the crisp answer.
Uncle Jefferson stared at him a moment with his mouth open. Then
ejaculating under his breath, "Fo' de _Lawd_! Whut folks gwineter say
ter dat!" he shambled to the rear of the motor and began to unship the
steamer-trunk.
"By the way,"--John Valiant paused, with the portmanteau in his
hands,--"what do you ask for the job?"
The owner of the hack scratched his grizzled head. "Ah gen'ly chahges er
quahtah er trunk f'om de deepo' less'n et's one ob dem ar rich folks
f'om up Norf."
"I don't happen to be rich, so we'll make it a dollar. What makes you
think I'm from the North?"
Again the aguish mirth agitated the other, as he put aboard a hamper and
one of the motor's lamps, which Valiant added as an afterthought. "Ah
_knows_ et," he said ingenuously, "but Ah don' know _why_. Ah'll jes'
twis' er rope eroun' yo' trunk. Whut yo' gwineter do wid dat-ar?" he
asked, pointing to the car. "Ah kin come wid ole Sukey--dat's mah
mule--en fotch it in in de mawnin'. Ain' gwineter rain ter-night
nohow."--
This matter having been arranged, they started jogging down the
green-bordered road, the bulldog prospecting alongside. A meadow-lark
soared somewhere in the overarching blue, dropping golden notes; dusty
bumble-bees boomed hither and thither; genial crickets tuned their
fiddles in the "tickle-grass" and a hawking dragon-fly paused for an
impudent siesta between the mule's gyrating ears.
"S'pose'n de Co'ot done ben sold en yo' gwineter fix it up fo' de new
ownah," hazarded Uncle Jefferson presently.
Valiant did not answer directly. "You say the place hasn't been occupied
for many years," he observed. "Did you ever hear why, Uncle Jefferson?"
"Ah done _heerd_," said the other vaguely, "but Ah disremembahs. Sumpin
dat happened befo' Ah come heah f'om ol' Post-Oak Plantation. Reck'n
Majah Bristow _he_ know erbout it, er Mis' Judith--dat's Miss Shirley's
mothah. Her fathah wus Gen'l Tawm Dandridge, en he died fo' she wus
bawn."
Shirley Dandridge! A high-sounding name, with something of long-linked
culture, of arrogant heritage. In some subtle way it seemed to clothe
the personality of which Valiant had had that fleeting roadside glimpse.
Uncle Jefferson stared meditatively skyward whence dropped the bubbling
lark song. "Dat-ar buhd kin _sing_!" he said. "Queeh dat folkses cyan'
do dat, dey so moughty much smahtah. Nevah knowed nobody _could_, dough,
cep'n on'y Miss Shirley. Tain' er buhd nowhah in de fiel's dat she cyan'
mock."
"You mean she knows their calls?"
"Yas, suh, ev'y soun'. Done fool me heap er times. Dah's de cook's li'l
boy et Rosewood dat wuz sick las' summah, en he listen ev'y day ter de
mockin'-buhd dat nes' in one ob de tulip-trees. He jes' love dat buhd
next ter he mammy, en when et come fall en et don' come no mo', he ha'at
mos' broke. He jes' lay en cry en git right smaht wussur. Et las' seems
lak de li'l boy gwine die. When Mis' Shirley heah dat, she try en try
till she jes' git dat buhd's song ez pat ez de Lawd's Prayah, en one
evenin' she gwine en say ter he mammy ter tell him he mockin'-buhd done
come back, en he mammy she bundle him all up in de quilt en open de
winder, en sho' nuff, dah's Mistah Mockin'-buhd behin' de bushes, jes'
bus'in' hisse'f. Well, suh, seems lak dat chile hang on ter living jes'
ter heah dat buhd, en ev'y evenin', way till when de snow on de groun',
Mis' Shirley she hide out in de trees en sing en sing till de po' li'l
feller gwine ter sleep."
Valiant leaned forward, for Uncle Jefferson had paused. "Did the child
get well?" he asked eagerly.
The old man clucked to the leisurely mule. "Yas, _suh_!" he said. "He
done git well. He 'bout de on'riest young'un roun' heah now!
"Reck'n yo'-all come f'om New York?" inquired Uncle Jefferson, after a
little silence. "So! Dey say dat's er pow'ful big place. But Ah reck'n
ol' Richmon's big ernuf fo' me." He clucked to the leisurely mule and
added, "_Ah_ bin ter Richmon' onct. Yas, _suh_! Ah nevah see sech
houses--mos' all bigger'n de county co'ot-house."
John Valiant expressed a somewhat absent interest. He was looking
thoughtfully at the blossom in his hand, in an absorption through which
Uncle Jefferson's reminiscences oozed on:
"Mos' cur'ousest thing wus how e'vybody dar seem ter know e'vybody else.
Dey got street-kyahs dar, no hoss en no mule, jes' shoot up de hill en
down ergen, lak de debble skinnin' tan-bahk. Well, suh, Ah got on er
kyah en gib de man whut stan' on de flatfawm er nickel, en Ah set dar
lookin' outen de win'ow, till de man he call out 'Adams,' en er gemman
whut wah sittin' ercross f'om me, he git up en git off. De kyah start
ergen en de nex co'nah dat ar man on de flatfawm he yell out 'Monroe.'
En Mistah Monroe, he was sittin' up at de end, en he jump up en git off.
Den de kyah took anuddah staht, en bress mah soul, dat ar man on de
flatfawm he hollah 'Jeffe'son!' Ah clah' ter goodness, suh, Ah nebbah
skeered so bad en mah life. How dat man know me, suh? Well, suh, Ah jump
up lak Ah be'n shot, en Ah says, 'Fo' de _Lawd_, boss, Ah wa'n't
gwineter git off at dis co'nah, but ef yo' _says_ so, Ah reck'n Ah _got_
ter!' So Ah git off en Ah walk erbout fo' miles back ter de deepo!"
Uncle Jefferson's inward and volcanic amusement shook his passenger from
his reverie. "En dat ar wa'n't de wust. When Ah got ter de deepo, Ah
didn' have mah pocketbook. Er burglar had 'scaped off wid it en lef me
es nickelless ez er convic'."