THE HUMBLE PETITION
Billy, sitting in an old buggy in front of the livery stable, had just
engaged in a long and interesting conversation with Sam Lamb.
He was getting out of the vehicle when the sharp wire around a broken
rod caught in the back of his trousers and tore a great hole. He felt
a tingling pain and looked over his shoulder to investigate. Not being
satisfied with the result, he turned his back to the negro and anxiously
enquired, “Is my breeches tore, Sam?”
“Dey am dat,” was the reply, “dey am busted Fm Dan ter Beersheba.”
“What I goin' to do 'bout it?” asked the little boy, “Aunt Minerva sho'
will be mad. These here's branspankin' new trousers what I ain't never
wore tell today. Ain't you got a needle an' thread so's you can fix 'em.
Sam?”
“Nary er needle,” said Sam Lamb.
“Is my union suit tore, too?” and Billy again turned his back for
inspection.
His friend made a close examination.
“Yo' unions is injured plum scanerous,” was his discouraging decision,
“and hit 'pears ter me dat yo' hide done suffer too; you's got er
turrible scratch.”
The child sighed. The injury to the flesh was of small importance,--he
could hide that from his aunt--but the rent in his trousers was a
serious matter.
“I wish I could git 'em mended 'fore I goes home,” he said wistfully.
“I tell you what do,” suggested Sam, “I 'low Miss Cecilia'll holp yeh;
jest go by her house an' she'll darn 'em up fer yuh.”
Billy hesitated.
“Well, you see, Sam, me an' Miss Cecilia's engaged an' we's fixin' to
marry jes' 's soon's I puts on long pants, an' I 'shame' to ask her. An'
I don't berlieve young 'omans patches the breeches of young mans what
they's goin' to marry nohow. Do you? Aunt Minerva ain' never patched no
breeches for the Major. And then,” with a modest blush, “my unions is
tore too, an' I ain't got on nothin' else to hide my skin.”
Again he turned his back to his friend and, his clouded little face
looking over his shoulder, he asked, “Do my meat show, Sam?”
“She am visible ter the naked eye,” and Sam Lamb laughed loudly at his
own wit.
“I don't believe God pays me much attention nohow,” said the little
boy dolefully; “ev'y day I gets put to bed 'cause sumpin's all time
a-happenin'. If He'd had a eye on me like He oughter they wouldn't a
been no snaggin'. Aunt Minerva's goin' to be mad th'oo an' th'oo.”
“May be my of 'oman can fix 'em, so's dey won't be so turrible bad,”
suggested the negro, “'taint fer, so you jes' run down ter my cabin an'
tell Sukey I say fix dem breeches.”
The child needed no second bidding,--he fairly flew. Sam's wife was
cooking, but she cheerfully stopped her work to help the little boy. She
sewed up his union suit and put a bright blue patch on his brown linen
breeches.
Billy felt a little more cheerful, though he still dreaded confessing to
his aunt and he loitered along the way till it was nearly dark. Supper
was ready when he got home and he walked into the diningroom with his
customary ease and grace. But he took his seat uneasily, and he was so
quiet during the meal and ate so little that his aunt asked him if he
were sick. He was planning in his mind how to break the news of the
day's disaster to her.
“You are improving, William,” she remarked presently, “you haven't got
into any mischief to-day. You have been a mighty good little boy now for
two days.”
Billy flushed at the compliment and shifted uneasily in his seat. That
patch seemed to burn him.
“If God'd jest do His part,” he said darkly, “I wouldn't never git in no
meanness.”
After supper Miss Minerva washed the dishes in the kitchen sink and
Billy carried them back to the dining-room. His aunt caught him several
times prancing sideways in the most idiotic manner. He was making a
valiant effort to keep from exposing his rear elevation to her; once he
had to walk backward.
“William,” she said sharply, “you will break my plates. What is the
matter with you to-night?”
A little later they were sitting quietly in Miss Minerva's room. She
was reading “The Christian at Home,” and he was absently looking at a
picture book.
“Sam Lamb's wife Sukey sho' is a beautiful patcher,” he remarked,
feeling his way.
She made no answering comment, and the discouraged little boy was silent
for a few minutes. He had worn Aunt Cindy's many-colored patches too
often to be ashamed of this one for himself, but he felt that he would
like to draw his aunt out and find how she stood on the subject of
patches.
“Aunt Minerva,” he presently asked, “what sorter patches 'd you ruther
wear on yo' pants, blue patches or brown?”
“On my what?” she asked, looking at him severely over her paper.
“I mean if you's me,” he hastily explained. “Don't you think blue
patches is the mos' nat'ral lookin'?”
“What are you driving at, William?” she asked; but without waiting for
his answer she went on with her reading.
The child was silent for a long time, his little mind busy, then he
began, “Aunt Minerva?”
She peered at him over her glasses a second, then dropped her eyes to
the paper where an interesting article on Foreign Missions held her
attention.
“Aunt Minerva, I snagged--Aunt Minerva, I snagged my--my skin, to-day.”
“Let me see the place,” she said absently, her eyes glued to a paragraph
describing a cannibal feast.
“I's a-settin' on it right now,” he replied.
Another long silence ensued. Billy resolved to settle the matter.
“I's gettin' sleepy,” he yawned. “Aunt Minerva, I wants to say my
prayers and go to bed.”
She laid her paper down and he dropped to his knees by her side. He
usually sprawled all over her lap during his lengthy devotions, but
to-night he clasped his little hands and reared back like a rabbit on
its haunches.
After he had rapidly repeated the Lord's prayer, which he had
recently learned, and had invoked blessings on all his new friends and
never-to-be-forgotten old ones, he concluded with:
“An', O Lord, You done kep' me f'om meddlin' with Aunt Minerva's hose
any mo', an' you done kep' me f'om gittin' any mo' Easter eggs, an'
playin' any mo' Injun, an' You done kep' me f'om lettin' Mr. Algernon
Jones come ag'in, an' now, O Lord, please don't lemme worry the very
'zistence outer Aunt Minerva any mo' 'n You can help, like she said I
done this mornin,' an' please, if Thy will be done, don't lemme tear the
next new breeches what she'll gimme like I done ruint thesehere what I
got on.”