er th'ee days. One night de noo mule got out'n de pastur', en went down
to de quarters. Dan wuz layin' dere on his pallet, w'en he heard sump'n
bangin' erway at de side er his cabin. He raise' up on one shoulder en
look' roun', w'en w'at should he see but de noo mule's head stickin' in
de winder, wid his lips drawed back over his toofs, grinnin' en snappin'
at Dan des' lack he wanter eat 'im up. Den de mule went roun' ter de
do', en kick' erway lack he wanter break de do' down, 'tel bimeby
somebody come 'long en driv him back ter de pastur'. W'en Sally come in
a little later fum de big house, whar she 'd be'n waitin' on de w'ite
folks, she foun' po' Dan nigh 'bout dead, he wuz so skeered. She 'lowed
Dan had had de nightmare; but w'en dey look' at de do', dey seed de
marks er de mule's huffs, so dey could n' be no mistake 'bout w'at had
happen'.
"Co'se de niggers tol' dey marster 'bout de mule's gwines-on. Fust he
did n' pay no 'tention ter it, but atter a w'ile he tol' 'em ef dey did
n' stop dey foolis'ness, he gwine tie some un 'em up. So atter dat dey
did n' say nuffin mo' ter dey marster, but dey kep' on noticin' de
mule's quare ways des de same.
"'Long 'bout de middle er de summer dey wuz a big camp-meetin' broke out
down on de Wim'l'ton Road, en nigh 'bout all de po' w'ite folks en free
niggers in de settlement got 'ligion, en lo en behol'! 'mongs' 'em wuz
de cunjuh man w'at own' de shote w'at cha'med Primus.
"Dis cunjuh man wuz a Guinea nigger, en befo' he wuz sot free had use'
ter b'long ter a gent'eman down in Sampson County. De cunjuh man say his
daddy wuz a king, er a guv'ner, er some sorter w'at-you-may-call-'em
'way ober yander in Affiky whar de niggers come fum, befo' he was
stoled erway en sol' ter de spekilaters. De cunjuh man had he'ped his
marster out'n some trouble ernudder wid his goopher, en his marster had
sot him free, en bought him a trac' er land down on de Wim'l'ton Road.
He purten' ter be a cow-doctor, but eve'ybody knowed w'at he r'al'y wuz.
"De cunjuh man had n' mo' d'n come th'oo good, befo' he wuz tuk sick wid
a col' w'at he kotch kneelin' on de groun' so long at de mou'ners'
bench. He kep' gittin' wusser en wusser, en bimeby de rheumatiz tuk holt
er 'im, en drawed him all up, 'tel one day he sont word up ter Mars Jim
McGee's plantation, en ax' Pete, de nigger w'at tuk keer er de mules,
fer ter come down dere dat night en fetch dat mule w'at his marster had
bought fum de po' w'ite man dyoin' er de summer.
"Pete did n' know w'at de cunjuh man wuz dribin' at, but he did n'
daster stay way; en so dat night, w'en he 'd done eat his bacon en his
hoe-cake, en drunk his 'lasses-en-water, he put a bridle on de mule, en
rid 'im down ter de cunjuh man's cabin. W'en he got ter de do', he lit
en hitch' de mule, en den knock' at de do'. He felt mighty jubous 'bout
gwine in, but he was bleedst ter do it; he knowed he could n' he'p
'isse'f.
"'Pull de string,' sez a weak voice, en w'en Pete lif de latch en went
in, de cunjuh man was layin' on de bed, lookin' pale en weak, lack he
did n' hab much longer fer ter lib.
"'Is you fotch' de mule?' sezee.
"Pete say yas, en de cunjuh man kep' on.
"'Brer Pete,' sezee, 'I's be'n a monst'us sinner man, en I's done a
power er wickedness endyoin' er my days; but de good Lawd is wash' my
sins erway, en I feels now dat I's boun' fer de kingdom. En I feels,
too, dat I ain' gwine ter git up fum dis bed no mo' in dis worl', en I
wants ter ondo some er de harm I done. En dat's de reason, Brer Pete, I
sont fer you ter fetch dat mule down here. You 'member dat shote I was
up ter yo' plantation inquirin' 'bout las' June?'
"'Yas,' says Brer Pete, 'I'member yo' axin' 'bout a shote you had
los'.'
"'I dunno whe'r you eber l'arnt it er no,' says de cunjuh man, 'but I
done knowed yo' marster's Primus had tuk de shote, en I wuz boun' ter
git eben wid 'im. So one night I cotch' 'im down by de swamp on his way
ter a candy-pullin', en I th'owed a goopher mixtry on 'im, en turnt 'im
ter a mule, en got a po' w'ite man ter sell de mule, en we 'vided de
money. But I doan want ter die 'tel I turn Brer Primus back ag'in.'
"Den de cunjuh man ax' Pete ter take down one er two go'ds off'n a
she'f in de corner, en one er two bottles wid some kin' er mixtry in
'em, en set 'em on a stool by de bed; en den he ax' 'im ter fetch de
mule in.
"W'en de mule come in de do', he gin a snort, en started fer de bed, des
lack he was gwine ter jump on it.
"'Hol' on dere, Brer Primus!' de cunjuh man hollered. 'I's monst'us
weak, en ef you 'mence on me, you won't nebber hab no chance fer ter git
turn' back no mo'.'
"De mule seed de sense er dat, en stood still. Den de cunjuh man tuk de
go'ds en bottles, en 'mence' ter wuk de roots en yarbs, en de mule
'mence' ter turn back ter a man,--fust his years, den de res' er his
head, den his shoulders en arms. All de time de cunjuh man kep' on
wukkin' his roots; en Pete en Primus could see he wuz gittin' weaker en
weaker all de time.
"'Brer Pete,' sezee, bimeby, 'gimme a drink er dem bitters out'n dat
green bottle on de she'f yander. I's gwine fas', en it'll gimme strenk
fer ter finish dis wuk.'
"Brer Pete look' up on de mantelpiece, en he seed a bottle in de corner.
It was so da'k in de cabin he could n' tell whe'r it wuz a green bottle
er no. But he hilt de bottle ter de cunjuh man's mouf, en he tuk a big
mouff'l. He had n' mo' d'n swallowed it befo' he 'mence' ter holler.
"'You gimme de wrong bottle, Brer Pete; dis yer bottle 's got pizen in
it, en I's done fer dis time, sho'. Hol' me up, fer de Lawd's sake! 'tel
I git th'oo turnin' Brer Primus back.'
"So Pete hilt him up, en he kep' on wukkin' de roots, 'tel he got de
goopher all tuk off'n Brer Primus 'cep'n' one foot. He had n' got dis
foot mo' d'n half turnt back befo' his strenk gun out enti'ely, en he
drap' de roots en fell back on de bed.
"'I can't do no mo' fer you, Brer Primus,' sezee, 'but I hopes you will
fergib me fer w'at harm I done you. I knows de good Lawd done fergib me,
en I hope ter meet you bofe in glory. I sees de good angels waitin' fer
me up yander, wid a long w'ite robe en a starry crown, en I'm on my way
ter jine 'em.' En so de cunjuh man died, en Pete en Primus went back ter
de plantation.
"De darkies all made a great 'miration w'en Primus come back. Mars Jim
let on lack he did n' b'lieve de tale de two niggers tol'; he sez Primus
had runned erway, en stay' 'tel he got ti'ed er de swamps, en den come
back on him ter be fed. He tried ter 'count fer de shape er Primus' foot
by sayin' Primus got his foot smash', er snake-bit, er sump'n, w'iles he
wuz erway, en den stayed out in de woods whar he could n' git it kyoed
up straight, 'stidder comin' long home whar a doctor could 'a' 'tended
ter it. But de niggers all notice' dey marster did n' tie Primus up, ner
take on much 'ca'se de mule wuz gone. So dey 'lowed dey marster must 'a'
had his s'picions 'bout dat cunjuh man."
My wife had listened to Julius's recital with only a mild interest. When
the old man had finished it she remarked:--
"That story does not appeal to me, Uncle Julius, and is not up to your
usual mark. It isn't pathetic, it has no moral that I can discover, and
I can't see why you should tell it. In fact, it seems to me like
nonsense."
The old man looked puzzled as well as pained. He had not pleased the
lady, and he did not seem to understand why.
"I'm sorry, ma'm," he said reproachfully, "ef you doan lack dat tale. I
can't make out w'at you means by some er dem wo'ds you uses, but I'm
tellin' nuffin but de truf. Co'se I did n' see de cunjuh man tu'n 'im
back, fer I wuz n' dere; but I be'n hearin' de tale fer twenty-five
yeahs, en I ain' got no 'casion fer ter 'spute it. Dey 's so many things
a body knows is lies, dat dey ain' no use gwine roun' findin' fault wid
tales dat mought des ez well be so ez not. F' instance, dey's a young
nigger gwine ter school in town, en he come out heah de yuther day en
'lowed dat de sun stood still en de yeath turnt roun' eve'y day on a
kinder axletree. I tol' dat young nigger ef he didn' take hisse'f 'way
wid dem lies, I 'd take a buggy-trace ter 'im; fer I sees de yeath
stan'in' still all de time, en I sees de sun gwine roun' it, en ef a man
can't b'lieve w'at 'e sees, I can't see no use in libbin'--mought's well
die en be whar we can't see nuffin. En ernudder thing w'at proves de
tale 'bout dis ole Primus is de way he goes on ef anybody ax' him how he
come by dat club-foot. I axed 'im one day, mighty perlite en civil, en
he call' me a' ole fool, en got so mad he ain' spoke ter me sence. Hit's
monst'us quare. But dis is a quare worl', anyway yer kin fix it,"
concluded the old man, with a weary sigh.
"Ef you makes up yo' min' not ter buy dat mule, suh," he added, as he
rose to go, "I knows a man w'at 's got a good hoss he wants ter
sell,--leas'ways dat's w'at I heared. I'm gwine ter pra'rmeetin'
ter-night, en I'm gwine right by de man's house, en ef you 'd lack ter
look at de hoss, I'll ax 'im ter fetch him roun'."
"Oh, yes," I said, "you can ask him to stop in, if he is passing. There
will be no harm in looking at the horse, though I rather think I shall
buy a mule."
Early next morning the man brought the horse up to the vineyard. At that
time I was not a very good judge of horseflesh. The horse appeared
sound and gentle, and, as the owner assured me, had no bad habits. The
man wanted a large price for the horse, but finally agreed to accept a
much smaller sum, upon payment of which I became possessed of a very
fine-looking animal. But alas for the deceitfulness of appearances! I
soon ascertained that the horse was blind in one eye, and that the sight
of the other was very defective; and not a month elapsed before my
purchase developed most of the diseases that horse-flesh is heir to, and
a more worthless, broken-winded, spavined quadruped never disgraced the
noble name of horse. After worrying through two or three months of life,
he expired one night in a fit of the colic. I replaced him with a mule,
and Julius henceforth had to take his chances of driving some
metamorphosed unfortunate.
Circumstances that afterwards came to my knowledge created in my mind a
strong suspicion that Julius may have played a more than unconscious
part in this transaction. Among other significant facts was his
appearance, the Sunday following the purchase of the horse, in a new
suit of store clothes, which I had seen displayed in the window of Mr.
Solomon Cohen's store on my last visit to town, and had remarked on
account of their striking originality of cut and pattern. As I had not
recently paid Julius any money, and as he had no property to mortgage, I
was driven to conjecture to account for his possession of the means to
buy the clothes. Of course I would not charge him with duplicity unless
I could prove it, at least to a moral certainty, but for a long time
afterwards I took his advice only in small doses and with great
discrimination.
SIS' BECKY'S PICKANINNY
We had not lived in North Carolina very long before I was able to note a
marked improvement in my wife's health. The ozone-laden air of the
surrounding piney woods, the mild and equable climate, the peaceful
leisure of country life, had brought about in hopeful measure the cure
we had anticipated. Toward the end of our second year, however, her
ailment took an unexpected turn for the worse. She became the victim of
a settled melancholy, attended with vague forebodings of impending
misfortune.
"You must keep up her spirits," said our physician, the best in the
neighboring town. "This melancholy lowers her tone too much, tends to
lessen her strength, and, if it continue too long, may be fraught with
grave consequences."
I tried various expedients to cheer her up. I read novels to her. I had
the hands on the place come up in the evening and serenade her with
plantation songs. Friends came in sometimes and talked, and frequent
letters from the North kept her in touch with her former home. But
nothing seemed to rouse her from the depression into which she had
fallen.
One pleasant afternoon in spring, I placed an armchair in a shaded
portion of the front piazza, and filling it with pillows led my wife out
of the house and seated her where she would have the pleasantest view of
a somewhat monotonous scenery. She was scarcely placed when old Julius
came through the yard, and, taking off his tattered straw hat, inquired,
somewhat anxiously:--
"How is you feelin' dis atternoon, ma'm?"
"She is not very cheerful, Julius," I said. My wife was apparently
without energy enough to speak for herself.
The old man did not seem inclined to go away, so I asked him to sit
down. I had noticed, as he came up, that he held some small object in
his hand. When he had taken his seat on the top step, he kept fingering
this object,--what it was I could not quite make out.
"What is that you have there, Julius?" I asked, with mild curiosity.
"Dis is my rabbit foot, suh."
This was at a time before this curious superstition had attained its
present jocular popularity among white people, and while I had heard of
it before, it had not yet outgrown the charm of novelty.
"What do you do with it?"
"I kyars it wid me fer luck, suh."
"Julius," I observed, half to him and half to my wife, "your people
will never rise in the world until they throw off these childish
superstitions and learn to live by the light of reason and common sense.
How absurd to imagine that the fore-foot of a poor dead rabbit, with
which he timorously felt his way along through a life surrounded by
snares and pitfalls, beset by enemies on every hand, can promote
happiness or success, or ward off failure or misfortune!"
"It is ridiculous," assented my wife, with faint interest.
"Dat 's w'at I tells dese niggers roun' heah," said Julius. "De fo'-foot
ain' got no power. It has ter be de hin'-foot, suh,--de lef hin'-foot er
a grabe-ya'd rabbit, killt by a cross-eyed nigger on a da'k night in de
full er de moon."
"They must be very rare and valuable," I said.
"Dey is kinder ska'ce, suh, en dey ain' no 'mount er money could buy
mine, suh. I mought len' it ter anybody I sot sto' by, but I would n'
sell it, no indeed, suh, I would n'."
"How do you know it brings good luck?" I asked.
"'Ca'se I ain' had no bad luck sence I had it, suh, en I's had dis
rabbit foot fer fo'ty yeahs. I had a good marster befo' de wah, en I
wa'n't sol' erway, en I wuz sot free; en dat 'uz all good luck."
"But that doesn't prove anything," I rejoined. "Many other people have
gone through a similar experience, and probably more than one of them
had no rabbit's foot."
"Law, suh! you doan hafter prove 'bout de rabbit foot! Eve'ybody knows
dat; leas'ways eve'ybody roun' heah knows it. But ef it has ter be
prove' ter folks w'at wa'n't bawn en raise' in dis naberhood, dey is a'
easy way ter prove it. Is I eber tol' you de tale er Sis' Becky en her
pickaninny?"
"No," I said, "let us hear it." I thought perhaps the story might
interest my wife as much or more than the novel I had meant to read
from.
"Dis yer Becky," Julius began, "useter b'long ter ole Kunnel Pen'leton,
who owned a plantation down on de Wim'l'ton Road, 'bout ten miles fum
heah, des befo' you gits ter Black Swamp. Dis yer Becky wuz a
fiel'-han', en a monst'us good 'un. She had a husban' oncet, a nigger
w'at b'longed on de nex' plantation, but de man w'at owned her husban'
died, en his lan' en his niggers had ter be sol' fer ter pay his debts.
Kunnel Pen'leton 'lowed he'd 'a' bought dis nigger, but he had be'n
bettin' on hoss races, en did n' hab no money, en so Becky's husban' wuz
sol' erway ter Fuhginny.
"Co'se Becky went on some 'bout losin' her man, but she could n' he'p
herse'f; en 'sides dat, she had her pickaninny fer ter comfo't her. Dis
yer little Mose wuz de cutes', blackes', shiny-eyedes' little nigger you
eber laid eyes on, en he wuz ez fon' er his mammy ez his mammy wuz er
him. Co'se Becky had ter wuk en did n' hab much time ter was'e wid her
baby. Ole Aun' Nancy, de plantation nuss down at de qua'ters, useter
take keer er little Mose in de daytime, en atter de niggers come in fum
de cotton-fiel' Becky 'ud git her chile en kiss 'im en nuss 'im, en keep
'im 'tel mawnin'; en on Sundays she 'd hab 'im in her cabin wid her all
day long.
"Sis' Becky had got sorter useter gittin' 'long widout her husban', w'en
one day Kunnel Pen'leton went ter de races. Co'se w'en he went ter de
races, he tuk his hosses, en co'se he bet on 'is own hosses, en co'se he
los' his money; fer Kunnel Pen'leton did n' nebber hab no luck wid his
hosses, ef he did keep hisse'f po' projeckin' wid 'em. But dis time dey
wuz a hoss name' Lightnin' Bug, w'at b'longed ter ernudder man, en dis
hoss won de sweep-stakes; en Kunnel Pen'leton tuk a lackin' ter dat
hoss, en ax' his owner w'at he wuz willin' ter take fer 'im.
"'I'll take a thousan' dollahs fer dat hoss,' sez dis yer man, who had
a big plantation down to'ds Wim'l'ton, whar he raise' hosses fer ter
race en ter sell.
"Well, Kunnel Pen'leton scratch' 'is head, en wonder whar he wuz gwine
ter raise a thousan' dollahs; en he did n' see des how he could do it,
fer he owed ez much ez he could borry a'ready on de skyo'ity he could
gib. But he wuz des boun' ter hab dat hoss, so sezee:--
"'I'll gib you my note fer' 'leven hund'ed dollahs fer dat hoss.'
"De yuther man shuck 'is head, en sezee:--
"'Yo' note, suh, is better 'n gol', I doan doubt; but I is made it a
rule in my bizness not ter take no notes fum nobody. Howsomeber, suh, ef
you is kinder sho't er fun's, mos' lackly we kin make some kin' er
bahg'in. En w'iles we is talkin', I mought 's well say dat I needs
ernudder good nigger down on my place. Ef you is got a good one ter
spar', I mought trade wid you.'
"Now, Kunnel Pen'leton did n' r'ally hab no niggers fer ter spar', but
he 'lowed ter hisse'f he wuz des bleedzd ter hab dat hoss, en so he sez,
sezee:--
"'Well, I doan lack ter, but I reckon I'll haf ter. You come out ter my
plantation ter-morrer en look ober my niggers, en pick out de one you
wants.'
"So sho' 'nuff nex' day dis yer man come out ter Kunnel Pen'leton's
place en rid roun' de plantation en glanshed at de niggers, en who sh'd
he pick out fum 'em all but Sis' Becky.
"'I needs a noo nigger 'oman down ter my place,' sezee, 'fer ter cook
en wash, en so on; en dat young 'oman'll des fill de bill. You gimme
her, en you kin hab Lightnin' Bug.'"
"Now, Kunnel Pen'leton did n' lack ter trade Sis' Becky, 'ca'se she wuz
nigh 'bout de bes' fiel'-han' he had; en 'sides, Mars Kunnel did n' keer
ter take de mammies 'way fum dey chillun w'iles de chillun wuz little.
But dis man say he want Becky, er e'se Kunnel Pen'leton could n' hab de
race hoss.
"'Well,' sez de kunnel, 'you kin hab de 'oman. But I doan lack ter sen'
her 'way fum her baby. W'at'll you gimme fer dat nigger baby?'
"'I doan want de baby,' sez de yuther man. 'I ain' got no use fer de
baby.'
"'I tell yer w'at I'll do,' 'lows Kunnel Pen'leton, 'I'll th'ow dat
pickaninny in fer good measure.'
"But de yuther man shuck his head. 'No,' sezee, 'I's much erbleedzd, but
I doan raise niggers; I raises hosses, en I doan wanter be both'rin'
wid no nigger babies. Nemmine de baby. I'll keep dat 'oman so busy she
'll fergit de baby; fer niggers is made ter wuk, en dey ain' got no time
fer no sich foolis'ness ez babies.'
"Kunnel Pen'leton did n' wanter hu't Becky's feelin's,--fer Kunnel
Pen'leton wuz a kin'-hea'ted man, en nebber lack' ter make no trouble
fer nobody,--en so he tol' Becky he wuz gwine sen' her down ter Robeson
County fer a day er so, ter he'p out his son-in-law in his wuk; en bein'
ez dis yuther man wuz gwine dat way, he had ax' 'im ter take her 'long
in his buggy.
"'Kin I kyar little Mose wid me, marster?' ax' Sis' Becky.
"'N-o,' sez de kunnel, ez ef he wuz studyin' whuther ter let her take
'im er no;' I reckon you better let Aun' Nancy look atter yo' baby fer
de day er two you'll be gone, en she'll see dat he gits ernuff ter eat
'tel you gits back.'
"So Sis' Becky hug' en kiss' little Mose, en tol' 'im ter be a good
little pickaninny, en take keer er hisse'f, en not fergit his mammy
w'iles she wuz gone. En little Mose put his arms roun' his mammy en
lafft en crowed des lack it wuz monst'us fine fun fer his mammy ter go
'way en leabe 'im.
"Well, dis yer hoss trader sta'ted out wid Becky, en bimeby, atter dey
'd gone down de Lumbe'ton Road fer a few miles er so, dis man tu'nt
roun' in a diffe'nt d'rection, en kep' goin' dat erway, 'tel bimeby Sis'
Becky up 'n ax' 'im ef he wuz gwine' ter Robeson County by a noo road.
"'No, nigger,' sezee, 'I ain' gwine ter Robeson County at all. I's gwine
ter Bladen County, whar my plantation is, en whar I raises all my
hosses.'
"'But how is I gwine ter git ter Mis' Laura's plantation down in
Robeson County?' sez Becky, wid her hea't in her mouf, fer she 'mence'
ter git skeered all er a sudden.
"'You ain' gwine ter git dere at all,' sez de man. 'You b'longs ter me
now, fer I done traded my bes' race hoss fer you, wid yo' ole marster.
Ef you is a good gal, I'll treat you right, en ef you doan behabe
yo'se'f,--w'y, w'at e'se happens'll be yo' own fault.'
"Co'se Sis' Becky cried en went on 'bout her pickaninny, but co'se it
did n' do no good, en bimeby dey got down ter dis yer man's place, en he
put Sis' Becky ter wuk, en fergot all 'bout her habin' a pickaninny.
"Meanw'iles, w'en ebenin' come, de day Sis' Becky wuz tuk 'way, little
Mose mence' ter git res'less, en bimeby, w'en his mammy did n' come, he
sta'ted ter cry fer 'er. Aun' Nancy fed 'im en rocked 'im en rocked 'im,
en fin'lly he des cried en cried 'tel he cried hisse'f ter sleep.
"De nex' day he did n' 'pear ter be as peart ez yushal, en w'en night
come he fretted en went on wuss 'n he did de night befo'. De nex' day
his little eyes 'mence' ter lose dey shine, en he would n' eat nuffin,
en he 'mence' ter look so peaked dat Aun' Nancy tuk 'n kyared 'im up ter
de big house, en showed 'im ter her ole missis, en her ole missis gun
her some med'cine fer 'im, en 'lowed ef he did n' git no better she sh'd
fetch 'im up ter de big house ag'in, en dey 'd hab a doctor, en nuss
little Mose up dere. Fer Aun' Nancy's ole missis 'lowed he wuz a lackly
little nigger en wu'th raisin'.
"But Aun' Nancy had l'arn' ter lack little Mose, en she did n' wanter
hab 'im tuk up ter de big house. En so w'en he did n' git no better, she
gethered a mess er green peas, and tuk de peas en de baby, en went ter
see ole Aun' Peggy, de cunjuh 'oman down by de Wim'l'ton Road. She gun
Aun' Peggy de mess er peas, en tol' her all 'bout Sis' Becky en little
Mose.
"'Dat is a monst'us small mess er peas you is fotch' me,' sez Aun'
Peggy, sez she.
"'Yas, I knows,' 'lowed Aun' Nancy, 'but dis yere is a monst'us small
pickaninny.'
"'You'll hafter fetch me sump'n mo',' sez Aun' Peggy, 'fer you can't
'spec' me ter was'e my time diggin' roots en wukkin' cunj'ation fer
nuffin.'
"'All right,' sez Aun' Nancy, 'I'll fetch you sump'n mo' nex' time.'
"'You bettah,' sez Aun' Peggy, 'er e'se dey'll be trouble. Wat dis yer
little pickaninny needs is ter see his mammy. You leabe 'im heah 'tel
ebenin' en I'll show 'im his mammy.'
"So w'en Aun' Nancy had gone 'way, Aun' Peggy tuk 'n wukked her roots,
en tu'nt little Mose ter a hummin'-bird, en sont 'im off fer ter fin'
his mammy.
"So little Mose flewed, en flewed, en flewed away, 'tel bimeby he got
ter de place whar Sis' Becky b'longed. He seed his mammy wukkin' roun'
de ya'd, en he could tell fum lookin' at her dat she wuz trouble' in her
min' 'bout sump'n, en feelin' kin' er po'ly. Sis' Becky heared sump'n
hummin' roun' en roun' her, sweet en low. Fus' she 'lowed it wuz a
hummin'-bird; den she thought it sounded lack her little Mose croonin'
on her breas' way back yander on de ole plantation. En she des 'magine'
it wuz her little Mose, en it made her feel bettah, en she went on 'bout
her wuk pearter 'n she'd done sence she 'd be'n down dere. Little Mose
stayed roun' 'tel late in de ebenin', en den flewed back ez hard ez he
could ter Aun' Peggy. Ez fer Sis' Becky, she dremp all dat night dat she
wuz holdin' her pickaninny in her arms, en kissin' him, en nussin' him,
des lack she useter do back on de ole plantation whar he wuz bawn. En
fer th'ee er fo' days Sis' Becky went 'bout her wuk wid mo' sperrit dan
she 'd showed sence she 'd be'n down dere ter dis man's plantation.
"De nex' day atter he come back, little Mose wuz mo' pearter en better
'n he had be'n fer a long time. But to'ds de een' er de week he 'mence'
ter git res'less ag'in, en stop' eatin', en Aun' Nancy kyared 'im down
ter Aun' Peggy once mo', en she tu'nt 'im ter a mawkin'-bird dis time,
en sont 'im off ter see his mammy ag'in.