MAMMY’S STORY
One cold, rainy night a little group were assembled around a crackling
wood fire in the nursery; Mammy was seated in a low chair, with Tot in
her arms; Dumps was rocking her doll back and forth, and Diddie was
sitting at the table reading; Aunt Milly was knitting, and the three
little darkies were nodding by the fire.
“Mammy,” said Dumps, “s’posin you tell us a tale.” Tot warmly seconded
the motion, and Mammy, who was never more delighted than when
astonishing the children with her wonderful stories, at once assumed a
meditative air. “Lem me see,” said the old woman, scratching her head;
“I reckon I’ll tell yer ’bout de wushin’-stone, ain’t neber told yer
dat yit. I know yer’ve maybe hearn on it, leastways Milly has; but den
she mayn’t have hearn de straight on it, fur ’taint eb’y nigger knows
it. Yer see, Milly, my mammy was er ’riginal Guinea nigger, an’ she
knowed ’bout de wushin’-stone herse’f, an’ she told me one Wednesday
night on de full er de moon, an’ w’at I’m gwine ter tell yer is de
truff.”
Having thus authenticated her story beyond a doubt, Mammy hugged Tot a
little closer and began:
“Once ’pon er time dar wuz a beautiful gyarden wid all kind er nice
blossoms, an’ trees, an’ brooks, an’ things, whar all de little chil’en
usen ter go and play, an’ in dis gyarden de grass wuz allers green, de
blossoms allers bright, and de streams allers clar, caze hit b’longed
to er little Fraid, named Cheery.”
“A ‘little Fraid,’” interrupted Diddie, contemptuously. “Why, Mammy,
there’s no such a thing as a ’Fraid.’”
“Lord, Miss Diddie, ’deed dey is,” said Dilsey, with her round eyes
stretched to their utmost; “I done seed ’em myse’f, an’ our Clubfoot
Bill he was er gwine ’long one time—”
“Look er hyear, yer kinky-head nigger, whar’s yer manners?” asked
Mammy, “’ruptin’ uv eld’ly pussons. I’m de one w’at’s ’struck’n dese
chil’en, done struck dey mother fuss; I’ll tell ’em w’at’s becomin’ fur
’em ter know; I don’t want ’em ter hyear nuf’n ’bout sich low cornfiel’
niggers ez Club-foot Bill.
“Yes, Miss Diddie, honey,” said Mammy, resuming her story, “dar sholy
is Fraids; Mammy ain’t gwine tell yer nuf’n’, honey, w’at she dun know
fur er fack; so as I wuz er sayin’, dis little Fraid wuz name Cheery,
an’ she’d go all ’roun’ eb’y mornin’ an’ tech up de grass an’ blossoms
an’ keep ’em fresh, fur she loved ter see chil’en happy, an’ w’en dey
rolled ober on de grass, an’ strung de blossoms, an’ waded up an’ down
de streams, an’ peeped roun’ de trees, Cheery’d clap ’er han’s an’
laugh, an’ dance roun’ an’ roun’; an’ sometimes dar’d be little po’
white chil’en, an’ little misfortnit niggers would go dar; an’ w’en
she’d see de bright look in dey tired eyes, she’d fix things prettier’n
eber.
“Now dar wuz er nudder little Fraid name Dreary; an’ she wuz sad an’
gloomy, an’ neber dance, nor play, nor nuf’n; but would jes go off
poutin’, like to herse’f. Well, one day she seed er big flat stone
under a tree. She said ter herse’f, ‘I ain’t gwine ter be like dat
foolish Cheery, dancin’ an’ laughin’ foreber, caze she thinks such
things ez flowers an’ grass kin make folks happy; but I’m gwine ter do
er rael good ter eb’ybody,” so she laid er spell on de stone, so dat
w’en anybody sot on de stone an’ wush anything dey’d hab jes w’at dey
wush fur; an’ so as ter let er heap er folks wush at once, she made it
so dat eb’y wush would make de stone twice ez big ez ’twuz befo’.
“Po’ little Cheery was mighty troubled in her min’ w’en she foun’ out
’bout’n hit, an’ she beg Dreary ter tuck de spell off; but no, she
wouldn’t do it. She ’lowed, do, ef anybody should eber wush anything
fur anybody else, dat den de stone might shrink up ergin; fur who, she
sez ter herse’f, is gwine ter wush fur things fur tudder folks? An’ she
tol’ de little birds dat stay in de tree de stone wuz under, when
anybody sot on de stone dey mus’ sing, ‘I wush I had,’ an’ ‘I wush I
wuz,’ so as ter ’min’ ’em ’bout’n de wushin’-stone. Well, ’twan’t long
fo’ de gyarden wuz plum crowded wid folks come ter wush on de stone,
an’ hit wuz er growin’ bigger an’ bigger all de time, an’ mashin’ de
blossoms an’ grass; an’ dar wan’t no mo’ merry chil’en playin’ ’mong de
trees an’ wadin’ in de streams; no soun’s ob laughin’ and joy in de
gyarden; eb’ybody wuz er quarlin, ’bout’n who should hab de nex’ place,
or wuz tryin’ ter study up what dey’d wush fur; an’ Cheery wuz jes ez
mizer’bul as er free nigger, ’bout her gyarden.
“De folks would set on de stone, while de little birds would sing, ‘I
wush I had,” an’ dey’d wush dey had money, an’ fren’s, an’ sense, an’
happiness, an’ ’ligion; an’ ’twould all come true jes like dey wush
fur. Den de little birds would sing, ‘I wush I wuz,” an’ dey’d wush dey
wuz lubly, an’ good, an’ gran’; un’ ’twould all come ter pass jes so.
“But all dat time nobody neber wush nobody else was rich, an’ good, an’
lubly, an’ happy; fur don’t yer see de birds neber sung, ‘I wush _you_
wuz,’ ‘I wush _dey_ had,” but all de time ‘I wush _I_ wuz,’ ‘I wush _I_
had.’ At last, one day dar come inter de gyarden er po’ little cripple
gal, who lived ’way off in er ole tumble-down house. She wuz er little
po’ white chile, an’ she didn’t hab no farder nor mudder, nor niggers
ter do fur her, an’ she had to do all her own wuck herse’f.”
“Bress de Lord!” ejaculated Aunt Milly, who was becoming very much
interested in the story, while tears gathered in Dump’s blue eyes; and
even Diddie was seen to wink a little at the forlorn condition of “de
po’ white chile.”
“Yes, indeed,” continued Mammy, “she done all her own wuk herse’f, an’
nobody ter say er blessed word ter her, nor he’p her a bit; an’ she
neber eben hyeard ob de wushin’-stone, but had jes come out fur er
little while ter enjoy de birds, an’ de fresh air, an’ flowers, same as
de quality folks; fur she was mos’ all de time sick, an, dis wuz jes de
same as Christmus ter her. She hobbled erlong on her crutches, an’
atter while she got ter de stone; an’ hit so happened dar wan’t nobody
dar, so she sot down ter res’. Well, mun, she hadn’t mo’n totch de
stone when de little birds began, ‘I wush I had,’ ‘I wush I wuz.’
“‘Oh, what er sweet, pretty place!’ de little gal said; ‘an’ what nice
little birds! I wush dat po’ old sick man what libs next ter us could
come out here and see it all.’
“‘I wush I had,’ ‘I wush I wuz,’ sung de little birds. ‘I wush all de
po’ chil’en could come an’ spen’ de day here,’ said de little gal;
‘what er nice time dey would hab!’
“‘I wush I wuz,’ ‘I wush I had,’ sung de birds in er flutter, hoppin’
all ’bout ’mong de branches.
“‘An’ all de lame people, an’ sick people, an’ ole people,’ said de
little gal, ‘I wush dey could all git well, an’ strong, an’ lib in er
beautiful place jes like dis, an’ all be happy.’
“Oh, de little birds! what er bustle dey wuz in to be sho’! Dey sot
upon de bery topes’ branches, an’ dey sung like dey’d split der troats,
“‘I wush _I_ had,’ ‘I wush _I_ wuz.’
“But de little gal neber min’ ’em. She was rested, an’ hobbled on all
by herse’f; but now, sence she done wush fur blessin’ fur tudder folks,
de spell was loosenin’ an’ de stone all drawerd up ter a little bit er
stone, den sunk away in de groun’ clar out o’ sight. An’ dat wuz de
last ob de wushin’-stone.”
“Dar now!” exclaimed Aunt Milly.
“De truff, sho’! jes like I ben tellin’ yer,” said Mammy.
“But, Mammy, what about the little girl? did she ever get well an’
strong, an’ not be lame any more?” asked Dumps.
“Well, honey, yer see de Lord, he fixes all dat. He sont fur her one
night, an’ she jes smiled, bright an’ happy like, an’ laid right back
in de angel’s arms; an’ he tuck her right along up thu de hebenly
gates, an’ soon as eber he sot her down, an’ her foot totch dem golden
streets, de lameness, an’ sickness, an’ po’ness all come right; an’ her
fader, an’ her mudder, an’ her niggers wuz all dar, an’ she wuz well
an’ strong, an’ good an’ happy. Jes like she wush fur de po’ folks, an’
de sick folks, de Lord he fixed it jes dat way fur her. He fixed all
dat hisse’f.”