"You's flighty, boss, but you ain't bad. You is goin' ter be lucky in
love, 'n then you is goin' ter be unlucky. You is goin' ter risk
gettin' shot, but dere ain't goin' ter be no shootin'. When summer
come around you is goin' ter have sorrer in you' breas', and when
winter comes around dere'll be de same ole sorrer, a twistin' and a
gnawin'."
"What sort of a sorrow, Auntie?"
"Sorrer like when you strikes a lil chile what ain't done no harm, only
seem like he done harm, sorrer like you feels w'en you baby dies, 'case
you is too close-fisted ter sen' fer de doctor, sorrer like----"
She broke off short, looking a little dazed and foolish.
"You've had your share of sorrow, Auntie, I can see that."
"Is I a beas' o' de fiel'?" she exclaimed indignantly, "or is I a
humanous bein'?"
"Must all human beings have sorrows?"
"Yes, boss, but each has he own kin'! Big man has big sorrer, little
man have little sorrer, and dem as is middlin' men dey has middlin'
sorrers."
"It's all one," I said, "each gets what he can stand and no more. Put
a big sorrow on a little man and he'd break under it; put a little
sorrow on a big man and he wouldn't know that he was carrying it. What
else can you tell me, Auntie?"
"I ain't goin' ter tell yo' no mo'."
"Not for another half-dollar?"
"No, boss."
"Well, there it is anyway. Good evening."
"Good evening, boss."
She had made me feel a little shivery and I rode off at the gallop.