A VISIT TO THE SEERESS
"When things are come to the execution, there is no secrecy
comparable to celerity."
"Ef hit hain't done turned plumb warm ag'in! Lord, that jest suits me to
a T!"
Quick changes come in the weather in Kentucky, and when, at four o'clock
the next morning after the visit of her whilom son-in-law, Mrs. Doggett
poked her head from the door over which the gaunt pine leaned, a
summer-like breeze met her thin cheek.
She began her preparations for a journey with a rejoicing spirit, and by
the time the men arose, her gallon tin bucket of butter, and half-peck
basket of eggs were weighed, counted, and safely packed under the seat
of the rickety "no-topped" buggy that occupied the leaky shed,--formerly
the kitchen of the house; her kitchen that shone with cleanliness was
swept and dusted, and a hot breakfast of coffee, biscuit, and fried
slices of a shoulder of fresh pork, smoked on the green-figured
oil-cloth.
"You're up a half-hour ahead o' time, hain't you, Ann?" mumbled Mr.
Doggett, with his face in the meal-sack towel which hung at the end of
the kitchen mantel.
"Yes," assented Mrs. Doggett, "I am. I got to studdyin' in the night
about pore Bob Ed House. Susie said when Gil wuz over thar last week,
Bob Ed tuck a sinkin' spell, and they like to 'a' never brought him to!
Sometimes they'll live deceivin' with consumption, but he might drap off
any time and me never see him no more, so I tuck a notion I'd go today:
I been threatenin' to go long enough. Jest step out and ring the bell
fer me, will you?"
The boys had come in from the barn lot, and were on the porch, but the
big farm bell that came to be her's when the Castles moved to town, and
which she had had hung in the top of the highest locust in her back
yard, was Mrs. Doggett's crowning glory of possessions; it gave her a
certain feeling of equality with "well-off" people, and she would have
sooner sat down to her table without plates, than to have omitted the
ringing of the bell.
"Gona take Bob Ed anytheng to eat, Ma?" asked Dock, using a big biscuit
for a gravy swab.
"I'm gona take him a sack o' sausage, and that squirrel Joey killed
yistiddy, to make him a nice stew, and considerin' I have to pass the
store, I thought I'd as well take my butter'n aigs. I've got ever'thing
ready in the buggy, and jest as soon as somebody gits Big Money hooked
up fer me, I'll be off. Hit's a good five miles over to Bob Ed's, hain't
hit, Eph?"
"Six, nigh about," corrected her husband: "hit's a mile yonside town;
but, old lady," he looked at her in surprise, "hain't you a goin' to
take Lily Pearl?"
Mrs. Doggett looked out of the window, contemplating the clear sky.
"I'm afeerd we're a gona have fallin' weather afore I git back," she
averred: "and I wouldn't have Lily Pearl to git wet fer nothin'. She's
puned around so much lately, I 'lowed maybe the worms is sorter workin'
on her. You can take her over to the strippin'-house with you, and she
can take her doll quilt and piece on hit.
"They's plenty victuals in the press,--I baked three dried apple pies
last night, and thar's stewed punkin, and a dish o' lye hominy, and a
cold hog's head, and sorghum molasses, and plenty milk and butter. The
corn-bread'll be cold by dinner, but I made dodgers, and put a whole lot
o' cracklin's in hit, so hit'd eat good, anyhow. Thar won't be nobody
here to ring the bell fer you, but you can hear Mrs. Bratcher's. Sence
we got ourn, she rings hern at half-past 'leven."
At half-past six, Mr. Doggett held open the back gate for Mrs. Doggett's
exit.
"Well, old lady," he congratulated her, "this time next year, you'll be
settin' on a different lookin' set o' wheels, ef them two peegs thar
keeps a growin' like they're a growin' now!"
Mrs. Doggett looked proudly toward the hovel in the corner of the
yard--the habitation of her pet pigs, "Baby" and "Honey"--which together
with their progeny were dedicated to the cause of a new buggy.
"Hain't they a growin'!" she agreed. "Eph, fer goodness sake, don't
fergit to slop 'em at dinner, and see the door is shet. Them smart
thengs, they know I'm a goin' away," she added, as a succession of
melancholy squeals came over the half door of the piggery.
"Big Money," named by Lily Pearl, who heard her grandfather say when he
was a new acquisition, that he was "worth big money," was raw-boned and
angular, and his coat was an unbeauteous dirty white, but he was a horse
of spirit, and in a half hour's time, Mrs. Doggett had crossed the
pasture field, passed the rocky "dirt-road," and was well on her way on
the turnpike toward the store.
The merchant was a slow clerk, and her trading occupied considerable
time, however, so that the two who purposed to accompany her on her
journey, had ample time to overtake her. When she came out on the
platform of the store-house, she was horrified to see two familiar
glossy-backed creatures rubbing against the rear wheels of her equipage.
"Great day in the mornin'!" she exclaimed, "ef thar hain't my pigs! The
outdacious pieces has rooted their door open and trailed me down! The
wind shorely blowed the pastur gate open, and now what _am_ I to do?"
"Better just let them follow you on, Mrs. Doggett," suggested the
pleasant-faced keeper of the store, "if you haven't far to go, and you
can shut them up until you get ready to go back home."
"Oh, I hain't goin' but a little ways," lightly equivocated Mrs.
Doggett, "jest yonside the covered bridge, and I guess I can hold Big
Money to a walk, that fur."
Once well past the bridge, seated in her present carriage, with her
future carriage tagging contentedly behind, Mrs. Doggett in real
vexation, drew rein to consider. Her intention had been to stop a few
minutes at the house of sickness, then to continue her travels two miles
further; but by leaving off her visit to the sick man, crossing the
river at a deep ford a hundred yards below the bridge, and driving over
a fearfully rocky and steep road, she could cut off three miles of the
way.
"Now hain't that the awfulest fix a body ever wuz in!"
She shook her fist at the two black scape-graces that had lain down
contentedly when she stopped. "Ef I wuz to go on by town, I wouldn't git
to whar I'm goin' by dinner, let alone reskin' bein' tuck up fer a
wanderer from the ejut-house! Ef I wuzn't afeerd o' them mean thengs a
drowndin' I'd cross the river and take the nigh cut to ole July's. I
b'leeve I'll resk hit anyhow!"
She lifted the bundles to the seat beside her, and with shaking fingers
clutched the reins, and turned her horse down the steep slope into the
river. It was both wide and deep, and in her ignorance of the exact
ford, Mrs. Doggett drove a yard below it. The water rose in the bed of
the buggy, baptizing her feet: Big Money, when his front feet went down
in an unexpected hole, floundered momentarily, but in an instant, he
recovered himself and breasted the water gallantly.
When, from the safety of the opposite bank, Mrs. Doggett dared to look
back, she was filled with new consternation. The pigs had not crossed,
but were running along the bank in evident search of a less watery
highway!
"O mercy goodness!" she lamented, "a body can't have no luck, no how!
Now Hewitt Jefferson--a claimin' ever'theng that's loose--he'll come
along and swear they're his, and I'll never see 'em ag'in! I ought to
'a' tuck 'em back home anyhow!"
In an agony of apprehension, she leaped from her vehicle from whose bed
the water was running off in streams.
"Come on Baby! Come on Honey!" she pleaded shrilly: "come on to Mammy!"
The pigs heard and, after a moment's hesitation, came to the edge of the
water, plunged in and swam across. When they crawled up the bank and
shook themselves, Mrs. Doggett, unmindful of their wet hides, hugged
them in her delight, climbed into her buggy, wiped her eyes, and
chirruped to Big Money. It was a long hard pull; the highway was a
succession of rocky ledges up hill a quarter of a mile, and down hill
there was more than a mile of the same rugged road. But the aged and
twine-mended harness had mercy on the shaken driver, and held together:
Big Money did his best, and the pigs climbed valiantly.
Mrs. Doggett was quite herself again when the foot of the hill reached,
she came in sight of a mud-daubed log-cabin in the valley, with a mighty
clump of cedar trees a hundred yards to the left of it, and a section of
scattered beeches and undergrowth to the right. The hut was set quite in
the open, with no yard fence about it, and looked a lonely and
melancholy place.
Hanging on the front wall of the cabin, under the newly-built lean-to
porch, with its pillars of cedar trunks, from the freshly cut knots of
which came a pungently sweet smell,--a long snake's "shed" dangled, and
beside it swung a dried beef's gall.
In lieu of a porch floor, flat rocks were placed irregularly about. The
door of the cabin hung open, revealing walls papered with newspapers. A
corner cupboard occupied one corner of the room: a lounge covered with a
calico quilt, another, and, drawn up before the blazing wood fire, over
which smoked a steaming pot, were a wooden stool and a small table. A
little baking-oven, covered with live coals, sat on one end of the
hearth, and over everything was a decent air of cleanliness.
As Mrs. Doggett neared the cabin, a fat old negress, wearing a faded
black calico mourning-dress, and carrying a bundle of sticks, came out
of the wood. This was July Pullins, whose living was her pension, and
whose pastime was fortune-telling. Her seamed light-brown face wrinkled
itself in smiles when she recognized her old acquaintance.
"_Is_ dat you, Mis' Doggett?" she cried, as she waddled up. "I am shoah
a proud crittur to see you! Laws, I sees you ain't had no easy time a
gittin' heah!" she added in ready sympathy, noting Mrs. Doggett's wet
skirts, her sweating horse, and panting swine.
"Law mercy, July, I hain't had sech a time sence I was borned!"
exclaimed Mrs. Doggett, and while old July unharnessed Big Money, and
blanketed him with an ancient linsey quilt, she related her trials.
"I knows what you come for: you's worried about a marriage, and wants to
consultify me about hit, doan' you?" cackled July, as she helped her
guest unlace her wet shoes in front of the fire: "but wid yoah
p'mission, dat'll keep ontwell de last theng after dinner. I wants to
talk ober de news some wid you! Lawd, 'scuse me, Mis' Ann, heah I is,
settin' up, talkin' to white folks wid my head-rag on!" She lifted her
hand to pull the white rag from her wrapped hair, but Mrs. Doggett
interposed.
"Now, Aunt July, let your head-rag alone! Eph says he can tell when
hit's comin' winter by _my head_. I take to wearin' a rag on my head in
the house then!"
"Ef yoah foots and skeerts is done dry," remarked the old negress,
breaking a half pod of pepper from the string suspended from the end of
her mantel, "I'll set you a bite on de table."
She lifted the lid of the boiling pot and dropped in the pepper pod with
a chuckle. "Heah my honeys, cool yoah moufs wid dis."
"Man alive, Aunt July!" Mrs. Doggett's face assumed a look of horror.
"Ef you are a fortune-teller, you hain't tuck to eatin' cooked snakes,
have you?"
"Mussy, no!" laughed Aunt July. "Them's chit'lin's--hog guts. Ain't you
never et none? I's plumb ashamed o' my poah eatin's, Mis' Ann," she went
on when she had spread the table with a piece of embroidered damask, and
set on a steaming bowl of the chitterlings, a pone of brown cornbread
from the oven, a pitcher of buttermilk, and a jar of blackberry jam from
the cupboard, and had poured coffee from a little pipkin: "but I ain't
got no flour this week. I got mighty little use for wheat-bread, myse'f,
but I loves to have hit for company! Set up, dough, and eat: hit'll take
de aidge offen yoah honger, and lay yoah stomach 'tel you git home: I'll
go corn de beasties."
While she was engaged in feeding Big Money and the pigs, the mistress of
the house heard a shriek from within. Blowing like a scared sow, she
rushed to her guest. Mrs. Doggett stood in her stocking feet on the
stool.
"I've put my foot on a snake!" she screeched: "hit's under the table! I
feel like I'm bit!"
Aunt July reached under the table and, grinning, lifted out an enormous
brown toad. "Hit's Jeremiah, my pet," she explained soothingly:
"Jeremiah, hain't you 'shamed yo'se'f, skeerin' de lady!"
[Illustration: "Hit's Jeremiah, my pet," she explained soothingly.]
"Did you 'broider this cloth, Aunt July?" asked Mrs. Doggett when the
old negress was folding the cloth.
"Naw'm, I wuz a field gal in de ole times: I nuvver larnt much o' de
needle. Dis heah kiver," she said oracularly, "_come_ to me! Hit used to
belong to a town lady what allus has a passel o' gal company a hankerin'
after dey fortunes!"
"_I_ used to do 'broidery and all sech," sighed Mrs. Doggett. "I made
ever' thread o' my onderclothes 'broidered; but, after I married and got
to havin' chillern, I quit all nice work!"
"You's had yoah sheer o' hard times wid work and young uns, ain't you?"
commiserated the old negress, with her eyes on Mrs. Doggett's long
slender hands, with their big veins, and curved thumbs.
"Hain't I, though!" agreed Mrs. Doggett: "not two years between none o'
'em. I'd 'a' ruther had five pairs o' twins than ten chillern so clost
together, but I didn't have my ruthers. I used to have to put the bed
post on the baby's dress when I went to the spreng, to keep hit from
crawlin' in the fire, and lead the next youngest one with me! Law,
hain't chillern warryin' on a woman!
"They plague a body worse'n the each a gittin' in thengs! 'Ma,' I'd say
when I used to go to my mother's, and she'd have to put up her aigs and
ever' theng out'n the way o' the chillern: 'Ma, I'd give anytheng ef my
chillern wuz all grown! I'd have so much more pleasure a visitin' you!'
And Ma'd say: 'Aw hush, Ann, they're a trompin' on your toes now, but
after a while they'll be a trompin' on your heart!'
"But 'tain't turned out that way altogether with me. My boys hain't got
no education, nary un but Joey, and he used to slip off to school, and
learnt some. They all spent their school days in the terbaccer. I used
to bag Eph a many a time to quit raisin' hit, and let the chillern git
some schoolin', but he wouldn't, and ef I hadn't jest spread out and
nigh killed myse'f, a doin' all the work at the house myse'f, so's the
girls could go to school in the falls, they'd 'a' been like the boys.
"Eph, he never insisted on the girls workin' none in the terbaccer like
a heap does, but pore Callie, she wuz the oldest of our chillern, and
she wanted to holp her pap when the others wuz little, and she'd work in
the patch in the summers, and after she quit goin' to school. And
gittin' wet all over ever' mornin' after the terbaccer got up, a wormin'
and a suckerin' while the dew wuz on, wuz the startin' o' the
consumption that killed her--I know hit wuz.
"I used to say when she come in, sengin', makin' like she wuzn't tired
ner warried, so's not to pester me,--'Callie, child, I'm afeerd fer you
to git wet this away,'--but she'd jest say, 'Ma, I don't reckon hit'll
hurt me, and maybe ef we have a good crop this year I can save enough
from hirin' to git us a new sewin'-machine!' But we never have got able
to git no new machine yit, and Callie, my little Callie--"
Mrs. Doggett's lips quivered and the tears streamed down her face.
"Doan' grieve, Mis' Ann, honey, doan' grieve," besought old July, laying
a soothing hand on Mrs. Doggett's slender shaking shoulder,--a tear of
sympathy standing on each withered cheek: "de chile ain' seein' no moah
hard times, nuvver no moah."
Mrs. Doggett wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. "Callie wuz my best
child, but my chillern are all good chillern, and," she added, a little
pathetic note of defiance as to the world's opinion in her voice,
"they've got pride about their clothes, and they know how to behave in
comp'ny, ef they hain't got schoolin',--though some the boys is learnin'
some sence they married: their wives is a teachin' 'em a little."
"Well, anyway," broke in Aunt July, "dey's de mannerest boys I knows.
'Scuse me for sayin' so, Mis' Ann, 'foah you, but most dem ole 'baccer
folks, dey don't teach dey young uns _nothin'_. De old uns ain't got a
speck o' manners deyselves. Sometimes I passes 'em out on de road, and
dey'll be drunk, reelin' and a fallin' in fence corners. Dey'll holler
at me disrespectful like, 'How are you, honey? Hi da', granny!' I nuvver
'turns 'em no answer--jest looks t'other way.
"But ef one yoah boys is out anywha' and don't see no moah o' me dan my
coat-tail, he'll holler at hit, and speak and axe me how I comes on, and
lif' his hat when he goes on, as respectful as you please; and de gals
is jest de same. How is de gals gittin' along now, Mis' Ann?"
"The best kind, both of 'em!" replied Mrs. Doggett. "Johnny, Hattie's
man, he's a clerkin' in a store now, and gits her a heap o' new thengs.
Don't you thenk, he's got her a new orgin! Got hit cheap on account o'
one o' the peddlers bein' a little out o' prepare; but 'tain't one o'
them cheap orgins that don't sound no better'n a hog rubbin' agin a
splinter! Hattie can't play on hit, but then company can, and an orgin's
nice furnichur anyway."
"Yes, 'tis dat!" agreed Aunt July. "I seed one when I wuz on my trip. I
reckon you ain't heerd 'bout me bein' on a trip 'foah Christmas? I rid'
on de cyar-train for de fust time!"
"O mercy goodness, you know you didn't!" Mrs. Doggett gaped
incredulously. "Did you go to see your gran'chillern in Indianopolus?"
A look of the liveliest scorn enveloped Aunt July.
"What'd I go to see dem black rapscallions for? _Dey_ don't keer nothin'
for dey folks now,--done gone off after style and fast livin'! Last
spreng when dey pap, my Jimmy, wuz sick in town wid de typhoot fever, I
had a letter son't 'em, and Jimmy mout 'a' died and been th'owed to de
buzzards for all dem ciderette-smokin' clothes hosses keered. Dey nuvver
son't de scratch o' a pen p'int _den_ nor _sence_ to esquire about his
edition!
"Naw'm! I went to see Bru'h. Bru'h, he'd been desistin' on me comin' for
a long time, but I wuz feerd--feerd de cyar-train. Dat big storm dey had
down da' las' Februray wuz a year, blowed down de meetin'-house,--de ole
one wha' Bru'h kep' his membership--plumb demoralized hit, hit bein' on
a hill top, and when dey got de shengles on dey new meetin'-house, Bru'h
writ me be shoah to come down, dey wuz gwine offer dey new church to de
Lawd, and gwine hold a big 'traction meetin' right after de
des'cration--and son't me a ticklet to come on. Jimmy--he desisted so, I
give up and went."
"I do thenk!" ejaculated Mrs. Doggett.
"Yes'm," continued Aunt July: "my cousin what sweeps at de depot-house,
he offered resist me on de cyar-train, bein's I's sorter stove up wid de
rheumaty, and can't clamb extry. When de cyar-train kim a steamin', a
tootin', and a cavortin' up, I looked 'round for de conductor man he
said would holp him resist me in de cyar-train; but I didn't see nobody
but a big soldier man and atween 'em, dey resisted me to climb de steps,
and den de Gineral, he toted in my cyarpet satchel.
"Lawd, I wuz so skeered! My laigs give way and I sunk down on one de red
cordumeroy sofys, limber as a piece o' rennet what's been in soak. When
de startin'-out pull kim, I cotched hold dem wooden arms of de divan and
held on like a bull-dog to a hog's hind leg. Den de conductor man (him I
mistook for a Brigadier Gineral) axed me for my ticklet.
"'Gineral,' I managed to sorter gasp out, dough my dry tongue wuz stuck
to de ruff o' my mouf, '_you_ kin look in my cyarpet-satchel, I dast
resk lettin' go!'
"Den he say when we git to de next stop, he'll come back and I kin git
hit out myse'f. O mortal man, how I suffered in my mind whilst we wuz
flyin' along! Ever' onct in a while, I'd look out'n de winder and ef
you'll believe me, Mis' Ann, de cabbage heads in folks' patches we
passed didn't pear no bigger dan good-sizes marbles! De train run 'long
all right 'bout fifteen minutes, and my top insides 'gun to sorter ease
down out'n my swallow, when we kim to a bridge; den I seed a little
thread o' water 'way down below de trussle works.
"Den a young man who had been doin' a power o' laughin' and talkin' to a
young gal settin' 'longside him on de sofy behind me, he axed de gal
didn't she know de bridge we wuz on been condemned as dangerous. I
'lowed ef dat wuz de trufe, we wuz gone den, shoah. I give one sque'l,
'good-bye, world!' Den I let go de sofy arms and slid down on de floah
and hid my head onder de sofy.
"Terrectly de conductor man teched me on de shoulder. 'Aunty, are you
skeered?' he said. I wuz so bad off in my feelin's, I couldn't answer.
Den a nice white lady on de settee in front (she had on sech elegant
clo'se, I know she must 'a' been de richest woman dat ever wore a
dress!) she kim 'round and told me da' wouldn't nothin' hurt me, and
'suaded me to git upon de divan ag'in: den she tuck some lemon pie out'n
a little basket (de best pie I ever wrapped lip around), and I kindah
come to myse'f and wiped my eyes. And befoah I knowed hit, de sun wuz
nigh down, de conductor wuz a hollerin' out 'Mansfield!' and we wuz da'!
"I wuz so happy I blowed out real hard, and I wuz mighty oneasy for fear
I'd busted de band o' my cashmere skeert, but de stitches helt tight. De
fust theng I done after I sot my foots on de firm groun' wuz to set my
cyarpet satchel down on de platform and feel o' my arms and laigs to see
ef dey wuz all da after dat forty miles churnin'.
"'Thank de lawd, I's all heah!' I says sorter loud like, and den sich a
titterin' as come from dem cyar-train winders from dem young folks what
sot behind me, I nuvver heerd. I says, 'Missy be shamed! Who gwine
b'leeve but what de fust time _you_ rid' on de cyar-train, you felt to
see ef you wuz all da too!' And, ef you will b'leeve me Mis' Ann, de
tightness o' his skin wuz all dat kept dat young man settin by her from
bustin' hisse'f!"
"The onmannerly theng!" scoffed Mrs. Doggett, sympathetically. "Some
them town folks is mighty biggety."
The subject on her mind was pressing, and she hastened to lead up to it
by a judicious question.
"Have any them town gals been out lately to find out about their
futures, Aunt July?"
"Dat gal o' de widow Russell's--she wuz de last one out. Da's a new
young man what's come to de town, and she's got acquainted wid him at
one dem church s'ciety meetin's. I nuvver kin call de name right, so I
jest gives hit de _sound_, and lets hit go at dat--de Christian devil
s'ciety. I could see she'd be willin' to give all de shoes in her shop
for him. Her high-steppin' ma, dough, she said 'foah she'd see her gal
married to a poor man like him, she'd ruther see her dead, and buried in
de colored folks' graveyard, wid only one mouner to foller her to de
grave and dat one her mother, on foot a walkin'!"
"Did the young lady go home satisfied with what she heerd from you?"
queried Mrs. Doggett.
"Did de moon change las' month? Do de ground git wet when hit rain?"
laughed the old negress.
"I got some terbaccer and a squirrel, and a sack o' sausage on the buggy
seat fer you, Aunt July: s'pose we breng 'em in, and then I'll git you
to tell me some thengs. Hit's gittin' late, and I'll have to git along
soon."
"De weddin' trouble! Dat's hit--dat's hit!" nodded the old seeress, when
after a voluble flow of thanks for the presents, she brought out a
coffee-cup and peered solemnly at the grounds in its bottom. "I sees a
dark-haared woman, a kind woman, wid two beaux. One of 'em a slim man,
t'other un's a big man. De woman gwine marry one dem men, but not widout
de resistance o' a black-haared woman. Dis black-haared woman bound to
resist de makin' o' dis marriage. She jest _can't_ holp hit. A
brown-haared woman too, gwine resist de makin' o' de marriage. I sees
letters in de cup. Dar's gwine be found and handed over to de right
person a letter dat'll hasten de marriage."
"Can you see which _one_ the men'll git the woman, Aunt July?" Mrs.
Doggett leaned forward eagerly.
"De most worthy man--he gwine win her--dat man dat's travelled much,
dat's seed a heap o' de country, _he_'s de one!"
"What will the black-haired woman have to do, Aunt July?" besought Mrs.
Doggett.
"Why, she'll jes hab to keep her eyes open, and do what she kin. She'll
hab to walk and talk, and bofe bemean and brag! But she must be cunnun'
like de sarpent, and act quick like de sarpent, or what she tryin' to
breng about won't come to pass."
"But hit _will_ come to pass, ef the woman acts right?" persisted Mrs.
Doggett.
"Yes, I sees a marriage. I sees a man half distracted 'long 'bout de
time de blue grass gits ripe, but he'll git her, he'll git her. I sees a
couple standin' afore de preacher. He'll make her a good livin'."
"Like he's done his wife afore this one?" suggested Mrs. Doggett,
hopefully.
"I don't see no marriage befoah dis un," said July, vaguely: "de grounds
is too black to see back, but I see from de weddin'-day on, dey gwine
live in happiness and contempt!"
Mrs. Doggett drove homeward in a state of ecstasy. In the prophetess'
vague words she saw the certain marriage of Miss Lucy James and Mr.
Galvin Brock. Of a surety Mr. Brock was the man who would "make a good
living" for her, and was he not the most worthy? Perhaps Mr. Lindsay had
travelled as much as Mr. Brock, but Mrs. Doggett cast this uneasy
thought aside. Surely Mr. Brock was the fortunate man.
Mrs. Doggett reached her home in a drizzling rain: her bonnet was
drooping, and her vehicle, and dress were heavily splashed with mud,
when she drove slowly in the yard, the pigs trotting placidly behind.
"How's Bob Ed?" asked Mr. Doggett as he assisted her to alight.
"Now Eph," Mrs. Doggett's voice was full of remonstrance, "did you thenk
I wuz a goin' yonside town with them pigs a trailin' me?"
"I hadn't missed them peegs: did they foller ye?" Mr. Doggett's grin
irritated Mrs. Doggett.
"I reckon they _did_!" she complained, "and I jest had to creep! I wuz
afeerd ef I went through town they'd be picked up on Wild Cat Row,
maybe, so I jest went across the river to see old July Pullins, and tuck
the pigs with me."
"Over that road? Well, I do know!"
"Yes, over that road!" Mrs. Doggett jerked out resentfully: "and I had a
plumb skeer a comin' back. Don't you thenk, yonside the bridge, I met
one them aut'mobile waggins--a red painted one--the reddest theng this
side o' predition! Big Money, he 'lowed that horn the feller blowed when
he seed us, wuz old Gab'el's trump, I reckon. He come a one o' killin'
me! He tuck to backin', and ef that man hadn't jumped out and ketcht
holt the bridle, and helt him while t'other man driv' that red devil
past us, he'd 'a' backed plumb over into the river!"
"Well, that wuz kind o' him!" remarked Mr. Doggett.
"He wuz a mighty polite, takin' kind o' man," continued Mrs. Doggett.
"They must 'a' been a couple them Northern milli'n'ers out on a ja'nt.
They wuzn't our kind o' people. I wished I'd 'a' asked that un that helt
Big Money, who he wuz, but I wuz so pestered, hit never come in my mind
onct!"
"I thought after you started, I'd ort to 'a' went with you," condoled
Mr. Doggett, "although the terbaccer needed me mighty bad; but you got
back all right fer all your trouble, ef I didn't go. A body has a heap
to be thankful fer, now don't they?"
"Well hit hain't no matter now," Mrs. Doggett philosophized, taking off
her forlorn bonnet, "though ef I'd 'a' knew hit wuz a gona rain I
wouldn't 'a' went."