IN AN OLD KENTUCKY HOME
The cabin of Sis Minerva and Brer Abe was so picturesque that Josie
regretted not having a camera with her. It was of logs with a stone
chimney, that leaned outward as though bowing an invitation to Santa
Claus to enter. Bright geraniums peeped from the windows, where
hung wreaths of holly and swamp berries. A hound barked as they
approached and then ran under the house, routing out a hog that had
been comfortably scratching his back on the joists of the floor of the
lean-to summer kitchen. Several coon skins were nailed to the side of
the house, there to tan in the wind and sun--a natural method often
employed in the country.
The old couple were at home, enjoying themselves according to their
respective tastes. Sis Minerva was stirring up a custard, which she
intended to freeze with the timely snow and Abe playing on his old
accordion, which was so much the worse for wear it was necessary to
bribe several of the many grandchildren to stand by and pinch the
cracks together to extract anything like a tune from the ancient
instrument.
“I done mended and mended ’til ’tain’t no use in mendin’ no mo’. Fas’
as I mends in one place she bus’ out in another, an’ bein’ as I’s
got mo’ gran’babies dan I is time I jes uses ’em stid er glue,” Abe
explained.
The interior of the cabin was even more picturesque than the exterior.
Brer Abe, in his clean Christmas shirt and long tailed brass-buttoned
coat, a relic of his coachman days, sat in an arm chair, his feet in
grey yarn socks stretched to the cheerful burning logs piled up in the
great fireplace. He was playing a sad and mournful hymn on the cracked
accordion with three little children hanging desperately to the places
that were beyond mending. Sometimes the air demanded that he must
stretch his arms far apart and then one little girl would be lifted
almost from her feet in her endeavor not to let the “chune git out de
wrong way.”
Teddy and Josie peeped in the window for a moment before knocking. The
barking of the dog had not been noticed, because of the wailing hymn,
and all unconscious of an audience the old man squirmed out his melody.
Sis Minerva appeared at the door of the kitchen, a huge yellow bowl in
her arms.
“Hi, you, Abe, cain’cha play a perkier chune? My cake dough am likely
ter fall with me tryin’ to keep time ter sech a buried-an’ dug-up song.
This yer cake air gotter be beat fas’ an’ stiddy so you jes’ change yo’
chune or quit playin’.”
“How kin I carry a fas’ chune when every time I draws out for wind I
haster carry two, three gran’babies?” whined the old husband.
“Here, gimme that aircawjun!” exclaimed Sis Minerva, putting down
her bowl of cake batter on the highboy out of reach of the many
grandchildren. “I’ll mend it in no time. I done saved more’n a sheet or
so o’ dat tangle-yo-foot fly paper an’ I boun’ it’ll stick fas’ as yo’
hide.” She produced the fly paper and mended the instrument while Josie
and Teddy peered through the flowering geraniums on the homely, happy
scene.
Teddy’s knock on the door silenced the noise of the grandchildren, but
old Abe must finish his tune, explaining later with many apologies that
it was “wuss ter quit in the middle of a chune than ter lay off befo’
a sneeze wa’ properly snuz.”
“Please go on with your tune,” begged Teddy.
“And don’t stop stirring your cake,” Josie insisted when Sis Minerva
prepared to remove the yellow bowl to the lean-to. “Let me stir it for
you. I know how, really and truly.”
She took the bowl from the old woman and, with a practiced hand, began
a rhythmic beat that satisfied Sis Minerva her guest was no idle
boaster.
“I smell ’possum roasting,” sniffed Teddy.
“Deed an’ you do, an’ sweet ’taters ’long with. I been a-fattenin’ dat
’possum fo’ nigh onter two months, not dat he wa’ no spindle shanks
when I cotched him. De trouble am de chilluns done got so ’tached ter
de animule I feel kinder like I’d done skun a gran’baby fo’ Chris’mus
dinner. De smell of him a cookin’ air put heart in us all, an’ I
reckons by de time we sets up to de table we won’t feel so like we’s
a-eatin’ of kinfolks.”
“We done ruminated right smart ’bout whether we’d make a burnt offerin’
of de tame possum or my ol’ gander an’ I puts in a word fo’ de gander
an’ cas’ my vote for de ’possum,” Sis Minerva explained. “You see dat
ol’ gander air already so tough he cain’t git no tougher an’ de ’possum
wa’ so fat he couldn’t git no fatter, so all things bein’ ekal we skun
de ’possum.”
“I’ve been sent to you by your cousin in Louisville, Aunt Mandy at Miss
Lucy Leech’s. She tells me you weave carpets and make quilts and that
Uncle Abe can make those lovely brooms with the handles formed of the
broom straw wrapped with split oak,” said Josie.
“Well, ain’t it the trufe? Lawsamussy chil’, Mandy am right. Me’n Abe
keeps right well, with me a plaitin’ rugs an’ patchin’ quilts an’ him
a-fashionin’ brooms dat one time folks scorned when fact’ry brooms got
so plentiful like, but now air come back inter fashion sence white
folks took ter livin’ in one story houses what they calls bugaboos,
with open fire-places an’ brick hearths what has ter be swep’ up.”
Josie must see the quilts Sis Minerva had on hand and admire the
log-cabin, pine-tree and rising-sun patterns. Orders were given
for several quilts and rugs and as many brooms as Uncle Abe could
spare. The shipping of the wares to another state seemed to be an
insurmountable obstacle to the old couple, but Teddy promised to
attend to it for them and their minds were set at rest.
“I’ll have ter git busy an’ raise mo’ broom straw,” sighed Uncle Abe.
“I’s gittin’ right stiff in de jints fer breakin’ up lan’ an’ I ain’t
got a single gran’baby big enough ter mo’n han’le a hoe.”
“But where there are so many grandchildren there must be some
children,” suggested Josie. “Haven’t you any sons and daughters?”
“Plenty of ’em, but dey’s mos’ly lef’ dese parts. We hears from some er
’em now an’ den an’ dey ’members us when dey gits flush an’ when dey
gits broke an’ evy now an den one er de litter turns up with a baby fer
de ol’ folks ter raise. De gals all got married but mos’ of ’em is out
in service an’ nobody don’t want ter hire ’em with ’cumbrances. An’ de
boys dey all got married but looks lak dey wives air all time dyin’ or
something an’ den de offspring lands up here at Peewee Valley. Me’n my
Minervy ain’t a kickin’. De chilluns air right smart comp’ny fer us an’
we air a bringin’ ’em up ter wuck. De bigges’ gal kin make the purties’
baskets out’n biled honeysuckle vines you ever seen. Dey done sol’ de
whole lot in Lou’ville befo’ Chris’mus so they ain’t got none on han’,
but I’s a-wonderin’ if you ain’t wantin’ some er dem too.”
“I certainly do,” said Josie. “No doubt they could be shipped with the
other things and I am sure there would be a sale for the baskets in
Dorfield.”
The young basket maker grinned with delight. “Does you fancy big uns
or lil’ uns?” she asked with an air of being ready to go to work
immediately.
“Both, and medium-sized ones, too.”
The price for the various commodities being settled upon, Teddy
suggested it might be time to eat their own turkey and let Uncle Abe
and Aunt Minerva eat their ’possum. With many protestations of mutual
satisfaction from buyer and sellers, Josie was tucked in the cutter and
the eager horses started on their homeward journey.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll stop at the post office on my way home,” said
Teddy. “The postmistress is mighty nice about letting you have mail on
holidays if she happens to be around.”
She did happen to be around and Teddy came out bearing the letter from
Ursula to Mrs. Trask.
“Do you know I’ve more than half a mind not to give this to Mother yet?
She’d be so full of it she couldn’t help giving herself away to old
Cheatham and he mustn’t know we know a thing about Ursula yet.”
“Young man, Uncle Sam needs you in the diplomatic service and needs
you badly,” declared Josie. “May I ask what you do when you are not
befriending female detectives?”
“I am a lawyer,” answered Teddy. “Some day I intend to be a justice of
the Supreme Court, but up to this time I have collected a few bad debts
and sued the Louisville and Nashville Railroad for one cow belonging
to a disreputable family living over by the crossing. I won my case
and the disreputable family not only got paid for the cow but had
beefsteaks to burn, to say nothing of the hide which they sold to a
tanner.”
“Good!” laughed Josie. “I wish I had studied law, too. I am really
contemplating taking it up if I can ever get time to spare. It might
have been a good stunt if I had put my imaginary time at Cornell on law
instead of domestic science.”
“Well, please don’t mix me up on what you did at Cornell. I’ve got it
firmly fixed in my mind that psychology and domestic science were your
tickets and I mustn’t get involved in my story.”
“All right, I’ll keep dark about the law if you wish me to, but I
certainly do wish I might have taken even an imaginary course.”