he call his wil’ lan’. He say he got two thousan’ acres down dar in de
wire-grass, an’ ef he kin sell it, he be mighty glad ter do so. Well,
suh, one day, long to’rds night, a two-hoss waggin driv’ in at de side
gate an’ come in de back-yard. Ol’ Ben Sadler wuz drivin’, an’ he ’low,
‘Heyo, Minervy Ann, whar you want deze goods drapped at?’ I say, ‘Hello
yo’se’f, ef you wanter hello. What you got dar, an’ who do it b’long
ter?’ He ’low, ‘Hit’s goods fer Major Tumlin Perdue, an’ whar does you
want um drapped at?’ Well, suh, I ain’t know what ter say, but I run’d
an’ ax’d Miss Vallie, an’ she say put um out anywheres ’roun’ dar, kaze
she dunner nothin’ ’bout um. So ol’ Ben Sadler, he put um out, an’ when
I come ter look at um, dey wuz a bairl er sump’n, an’ a kaig er sump’n,
an’ a box er sump’n. De bairl shuck like it mought be ’lasses, an’ de
kaig shuck like it mought be dram, an’ de box hefted like it mought be
terbarker. An’, sho’ ’nuff, dat what dey wuz—a bairl er sorghum syr’p,
an’ a kaig er peach brandy, an’ a box er plug terbarker.
[Illustration: “Here come a nigger boy leadin’ a bob-tail hoss.”]
“I say right den, an’ Miss Vallie’ll tell you de same, dat Marse Tumlin
done gone an’ swap off all his wil’ lan’, but Miss Vallie, she say no; he
won’t never think er sech a thing; but, bless yo’ soul, suh, she wan’t
nothin’ but a school-gal, you may say, an’ she ain’t know no mo’ ’bout
men folks dan what a weasel do. An den, right ’pon top er dat, here come
a nigger boy leadin’ a bob-tail hoss. When I see dat, I dez good ez
know’d dat de wil’ lan’ done been swap off, bekaze Marse Tumlin ain’t
got nothin’ fer ter buy all dem things wid, an’ I tell you right now,
suh, I wuz rank mad, kaze what we want wid any ol’ bob-tail hoss? De
sorghum mought do, an’ de dram kin be put up wid, an’ de terbarker got
some comfort in it, but what de name er goodness we gwine ter do wid dat
ol’ hoss, when we ain’t got hardly ’nuff vittles fer ter feed ourse’f
wid? Dat what I ax Miss Vallie, an’ she say right pine-blank she dunno.
“Well, suh, it’s de Lord’s trufe, I wuz dat mad I dunner what I say, an’
I want keerin’ nudder, bekaze I know how we had ter pinch an’ squeeze fer
ter git ’long in dis house. But I went ’bout gittin’ supper, an’ bimeby,
Hamp, he come, an’ I tol’ ’im ’bout de ol’ bob-tail hoss, an’ he went out
an’ look at ’im. Atter while, here he come back laughin’. I say, ‘You
well ter laugh at dat ol’ hoss.’ He ’low, ‘I ain’t laughin’ at de hoss.
I’m laughin’ at you. Gal, dat de finest hoss what ever put foot on de
groun’ in dis town. Dat’s Marse Paul Conant’s trottin’ hoss. He’ll fetch
fi’ hunder’d dollars any day. What he doin’ here?’ I up an’ tol’ ’im all
I know’d, an’ he shuck his head; he ’low, ‘Gal, you lay low. Dey’s sump’n
n’er behime all dat.’
“What Hamp say sorter make me put on my studyin’-cap; but when you come
ter look at it, suh, dey wan’t nothin’ ’tall fer me ter study ’bout. All
I had ter do wuz ter try ter fin’ out what wuz behime it, an’ let it go
at dat. When Marse Tumlin come home ter supper, I know’d sump’n wuz de
matter wid ’im. I know’d it by his looks, suh. It’s sorter wid folks like
’tis wid chillun. Ef you keer sump’n ’bout um you’ll watch der motions,
and ef you watch der motions dey don’t hatter tell you when sump’n de
matter. He come in so easy, suh, dat Miss Vallie ain’t hear ’im, but I
hear de do’ screak, an’ I know’d ’twuz him. We wuz talkin’ an’ gwine on
at a mighty rate, an’ I know’d he done stop ter lisn’.
“Miss Vallie, she ’low she ’speck somebody made ’im a present er dem ar
things. I say, ‘Uh-uh, honey! don’t you fool yo’se’f. Nobody ain’t gwine
ter do dat. Our folks ain’t no mo’ like dey useter wuz, dan crabapples is
like plums. Dey done come ter dat pass dat whatsomever dey gits der han’s
on dey ’fuse ter turn it loose. All un um, ’cep’ Marse Tumlin Perdue. Dey
ain’t no tellin’ what he gun fer all dat trash. _Trash!_ Hit’s wuss’n
trash! I wish you’d go out dar an’ look at dat ol’ bob-tail hoss. Why dat
ol’ hoss wuz stove up long ’fo’ de war. By rights he ought ter be in de
bone-yard dis ve’y minnit. He won’t be here two whole days ’fo’ you’ll
see de buzzards lined up out dar on de back fence waitin’, an’ dey won’t
hatter wait long nudder. Ef dey sen’ any corn here fer ter feed dat bag
er bones wid, I’ll parch it an’ eat it myse’f ’fo’ he shill have it. Ef
anybody ’speck I’m gwine ter ’ten’ ter dat ol’ frame, deyer ’speckin’ wid
de wrong specks. I tell you dat right now.’
“All dis time Marse Tumlin wuz stan’in’ out in de hall lis’nin’. Miss
Vallie talk mighty sweet ’bout it. She say, ‘Ef dey ain’t nobody else ter
’ten’ de hoss, reckin I kin do it.’ I ’low, ‘My life er me, honey! de
nex’ news you know you’ll be hirin’ out ter de liberty stable.’
“Well, suh, my talk ’gun ter git so hot dat Marse Tumlin des had ter make
a fuss. He fumbled wid de do’ knob, an’ den come walkin’ down de hall,
an’ by dat time I wuz in de dinin’-room. I walk mighty light, bekaze ef
he say anything I want ter hear it. You can’t call it eave-drappin’, suh;
hit look ter me dat ’twuz ez much my business ez ’twuz dern, an’ I ain’t
never got dat idee out’n my head down ter dis day.
“But Marse Tumlin ain’t say nothin’, ’cep’ fer ter ax Miss Vallie ef she
feelin’ well, an’ how eve’ything wuz, but de minnit I hear ’im open his
mouf I know’d he had trouble on his min’. I can’t tell you how I know’d
it, suh, but dar ’twuz. Look like he tried to hide it, bekaze he tol’ a
whole lot of funny tales ’bout folks, an’ ’twan’t long befo’ he had Miss
Vallie laughin’ fit ter kill. But he ain’t fool me, suh.
“Bimeby, Miss Vallie, she come in de dinin’-room fer ter look atter
settin’ de table, bekaze fum a little gal she allers like ter have de
dishes fix des so. She wuz sorter hummin’ a chune, like she ain’t want’
ter talk, but I ain’t let dat stan’ in my way.
“I ’low, ‘I wish eve’ybody wuz like dat Mr. Paul Conant. I bet you right
now he been down town dar all day makin’ money han’ over fist, des ez
fast ez he can rake it in. I know it, kaze I does his washin’ and cleans
up his room fer ’im.’
“Miss Vallie say, ‘Well, what uv it? Money don’t make ’im no better’n
anybody else.’ I ’low, ‘Hit don’t make ’im no wuss; an’ den, ’sides dat,
he ain’t gwine ter let nobody swindle ’im.’
“By dat time, I hatter go out an’ fetch supper in, an’ ’tain’t take me
no time, bekaze I wuz des’ achin’ fer ter hear how Marse Tumlin come by
dem ar contraptions an’ contrivances. An’ I stayed in dar ter wait on de
table, which it ain’t need no waitin’ on.
“Atter while, I ’low, ‘Marse Tumlin, I like ter forgot ter tell you—yo’
things done come.’ He say, ‘What things, Minervy Ann?’ I ’low, ‘Dem ar
contraptions, an’ dat ar bob-tail hoss. He look mighty lean an’ hongry,
de hoss do, but Hamp he say dat’s bekaze he’s a high-bred hoss. He say
dem ar high-bred hosses won’t take on no fat, no matter how much you feed
um.’
“Marse Tumlin sorter drum on de table. Atter while he ’low, ‘Dey done
come, is dey, Minervy Ann?’ I say, ‘Yasser, dey er here right now. Hamp
puts it down dat dat ar hoss one er de gayliest creatur’s what ever make
a track in dis town.’
“Well, suh, ’tain’t no use ter tell you what else wuz said, kaze ’twan’t
much. I seed dat Marse Tumlin want gwine ter talk ’bout it, on account er
bein’ ’fear’d he’d hurt Miss Vallie’s feelin’s ef he tol’ ’er dat he done
swap off all dat wil’ lan’ fer dem ar things an’ dat ar bob-tail hoss.
Dat what he done. Yasser! I hear ’im sesso atterwards. He swap it off ter
Marse Paul Conant.
“I thank my Lord it come out all right, but it come mighty nigh bein’ de
ruination er de fambly.”
“How was that?” I inquired.
“Dat what I’m gwine ter tell you, suh. Right atter supper dat night,
Marse Tumlin say he got ter go down town fer ter see a man on some
business, an’ he ax me ef I won’t stay in de house dar wid Miss Vallie.
’Twa’n’t no trouble ter me, bekaze I’d ’a’ been on de place anyhow, an’
so when I got de kitchen cleaned up an’ de things put away, I went back
in de house whar Miss Vallie wuz at. Marse Tumlin wuz done gone.
“Miss Vallie, she sot at de table doin’ some kind er rufflin’, an’ I sot
back ag’in de wall in one er dem ar high-back cheers. What we said I’ll
never tell you, suh, bekaze I’m one er deze kinder folks what ain’t no
sooner set down an’ git still dan dey goes ter noddin’. Dat’s me. Set
me down in a cheer, high-back er low-back, an’ I’m done gone! I kin set
here on de step an’ keep des ez wide-’wake ez a skeer’d rabbit, but set
me down in a cheer—well, suh, I’d like ter see anybody keep me ’wake when
dat’s de case.
“Dar I sot in dat ar high-back cheer, Miss Vallie rufflin’ an’ flutin’
sump’n, an’ tryin’ ter make me talk, an’ my head rollin’ ’roun’ like
my neck done broke. Bimeby, _blam! blam!_ come on de do’. We got one
er dem ar jinglin’ bells now, suh, but in dem times we had a knocker,
an’ it soun’ like de roof fallin’ in. I like ter jumped out’n my skin.
Miss Vallie drapped her conflutements an’ ’low, ‘What in de worl’! Aunt
Minervy Ann, go ter de do’.’
[Illustration: “He been axin’ me lots ’bout Miss Vallie.”]
“Well, suh, I went, but I ain’t had no heart in it, bekaze I ain’t know
who it mought be, an’ whar dey come fum, an’ what dey want. But I went.
’Twuz me er Miss Vallie, an’ I want gwine ter let dat chile go, not dat
time er night, dough ’twa’n’t so mighty late.
“I open de do’ on de crack, I did, an’ ’low, ‘Who dat?’ Somebody make
answer, ‘Is de Major in, Aunt Minervy Ann?’ an’ I know’d right den it
wuz Marse Paul Conant. An’ it come over me dat he had sump’n ter do wid
sendin’ er dem contraptions, mo’ ’speshually dat ar bob-tail hoss. An’
den, too, suh, lots quicker’n I kin tell it, hit come over me dat he been
axin’ me lots ’bout Miss Vallie. All come ’cross my min’, suh, whiles I
pullin’ de do’ open.
“I ’low, I did, ‘No, suh; Marse Tumlin gone down town fer ter look atter
some business, but he sho ter come back terreckly. Won’t you come in,
suh, an’ wait fer ’im?’ He sorter flung his head back an’ laugh, saft
like, an’ say, ‘I don’t keer ef I do, Aunt Minervy Ann.’
“I ’low, ‘Walk right in de parlor, suh, an’ I’ll make a light mos’ ’fo’
you kin turn ’roun’.’ He come in, he did, an’ I lit de lamp, an’ time I
lit ’er she ’gun ter smoke. Well, suh, he tuck dat lamp, run de wick up
an’ down a time er two, an’ dar she wuz, bright ez day.
“When I went back in de room whar Miss Vallie wuz at, she wuz stan’in’
dar lookin’ skeer’d. She say, ‘Who dat?’ I ’low, ‘Hit’s Marse Paul
Conant, dat’s who ’tis.’ She say, ‘What he want?’ I ’low, ‘Nothin’ much;
he does come a-courtin’. Better jump up an’ not keep ’im waitin’.’
“Well, suh, you could ’a’ knock’d ’er down wid a fedder. She stood dar
wid ’er han’ on ’er th’oat takin’ short breffs, des like a little bird
does when it flies in de winder an’ dunner how ter fly out ag’in.
“Bimeby, she say, ‘Aunt Minervy Ann, you ought ter be ’shame or yo’se’f!
I know dat man when I see ’im, an’ dat’s all.’ I ’low, ‘Honey, you know
mighty well he ain’t come callin’. But he wanter see Marse Tumlin, an’
dey ain’t nothin’ fer ter hender you fum gwine in dar an’ makin’ ’im feel
at home while’s he waitin’.’ She sorter study awhile, an’ den she blush
up. She say, ‘I dunno whedder I ought ter.’
“Well, suh, dat settled it. I know’d by de way she look an’ talk dat she
don’t need no mo’ ’swadin’. I say, ‘All right, honey, do ez you please;
but it’s yo’ house; you er de mist’iss; an’ it’ll look mighty funny ef
dat young man got ter set in dar by hisse’f an’ look at de wall whiles
he waitin’ fer Marse Tumlin. I dunner what he’ll say, kaze I ain’t never
hear ’im talk ’bout nobody; but I know mighty well he’ll do a heap er
thinkin’.’
“Des like I tell you, suh—she skipped ’roun’ dar, an’ flung on ’er Sunday
frock, shuck out ’er curls, an’ sorter fumble’ ’roun’ wid some ribbons,
an’ dar she wuz, lookin’ des ez fine ez a fiddle, ef not finer. Den she
swep’ inter de parlor, an’, you mayn’t b’lieve it, suh, but she mighty
nigh tuck de man’s breff ’way. Mon, she wuz purty, an’ she ain’t do no
mo’ like deze eve’y-day gals dan nothin’. When she start ’way fum me,
she wuz a gal. By de time she walk up de hall an’ sweep in dat parlor,
she wuz a grown ’oman. De blush what she had on at fust stayed wid ’er
an’ look like ’twuz er natchual color, an’ her eyes shine, suh, like
she had fire in um. I peeped at ’er, suh, fum behime de curtains in de
settin’-room, an’ I know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. It’s de Lord’s trufe,
suh, ef de men folks could tote derse’f like de wimmen, an’ do one way
whiles dey feelin’ annuder way, dey wouldn’t be no livin’ in de worl’.
You take a school gal, suh, an’ she kin fool de smartest man what ever
trod shoe leather. He may talk wid ’er all day an’ half de night, an’ he
never is ter fin’ out what she thinkin’ ’bout. Sometimes de gals fools
deyse’f, suh, but dat’s mighty seldom.
“I dunner what all dey say, kaze I ain’t been in dar so mighty long
’fo’ I wuz noddin’, but I did hear Marse Paul say he des drapt in fer
’pollygize ’bout a little joke he played on Marse Tumlin. Miss Vallie ax
what wuz de joke, an’ he ’low dat Marse Tumlin wuz banterin’ folks fer
ter buy his wil’ lan’; an’ Marse Paul ax ’im what he take fer it, an’
Marse Tumlin ’low he’ll take anything what he can chaw, sop, er drink.
Dem wuz de words—chaw, sop, er drink. Wid dat, Marse Paul say he’d gi’
’im a box er terbarker, a bairl er syr’p, an’ a kaig er peach brandy an’
th’ow in his buggy-hoss fer good medjer. Marse Tumlin say ‘done’ an’ dey
shuck han’s on it. Dat what Marse Paul tol’ Miss Vallie, an he ’low he
des done it fer fun, kaze he done looked inter dat wil’ lan’, an’ he ’low
she’s wuff a pile er money.
[Illustration: “Marse Tumlin ’low he’ll take anything what he can chaw,
sop, er drink.”]
“Well, suh, ’bout dat time, I ’gun ter nod, an’ de fus news I know’d Miss
Vallie wuz whackin’ ’way on de peanner, an’ it look like ter me she wuz
des tryin’ ’erse’f. By dat time, dey wuz gettin’ right chummy, an’ so I
des curl up on de flo’, an’ dream dat de peanner chunes wuz comin’ out’n
a bairl des like ’lasses.
“When I waked up, Marse Paul Conant done gone, an’ Marse Tumlin ain’t
come, an’ Miss Vallie wuz settin’ dar in de parlor lookin’ up at de
ceilin’ like she got some mighty long thoughts. Her color wuz still up. I
look at ’er an’ laugh, an’ she made a mouf at me, an’ I say ter myse’f,
‘Hey! sump’n de matter here, sho,’ but I say out loud, ‘Marse Paul Conant
sho gwine ter ax me ef you ain’t had a dram.’ She laugh an’ say, ‘What
answer you gwine ter make?’ I ’low, ‘I’ll bow an’ say, “No, suh; I’m de
one dat drinks all de dram fer de fambly.”’
“Well, suh, dat chile sot in ter laughin’, an’ she laugh an’ laugh twel
she went inter highsterics. She wuz keyed up too high, ez you mought say,
an’ dat’s de way she come down ag’in. Bimeby, Marse Tumlin come, an’ Miss
Vallie, she tol’ ’m ’bout how Marse Paul done been dar; an’ he sot dar,
he did, an’ hummed an’ haw’d, an’ done so funny dat, bimeby, I ’low,
‘Well, folks, I’ll hatter tell you good-night,’ an’ wid dat I went out.”
At this point Aunt Minervy leaned forward, clasped her hands over her
knees, and shook her head. When she took up the thread of her narrative,
if it can be called such, the tone of her voice was more subdued, almost
confidential, in fact.
“Nex’ mornin’ wuz my wash-day, suh, an’ ’bout ten o’clock, when I got
ready, dey want no bluin’ in de house an’ mighty little soap. I hunted
high an’ I hunted low, but no bluin’ kin I fin’. An’ dat make me mad,
bekaze ef I hatter go down town atter de bluin’, my wash-day’ll be broke
inter. But ’tain’t no good fer ter git mad, bekaze I wuz bleeze ter go
atter de bluin’. So I tighten up my head-hankcher, an’ flung a cape on my
shoulders an’ put out.
“I ’speck you know how ’tis, suh. You can’t go down town but what you’ll
see nigger wimmen stan’in’ out in de front yards lookin’ over de palin’s.
Dey all know’d me an’ I know’d dem, an’ de las’ blessed one un um hatter
hail me ez I go by, an’ I hatter stop an’ pass de time er day, kaze ef
I’d ’a’ whipt on by, dey’d ’a’ said I wuz gwine back bofe on my church
an’ on my color. I dunner how long dey kep’ me, but time I got ter
Proctor’s sto’, I know’d I’d been on de way too long.
[Illustration: “I hatter stop an’ pass de time er day.”]
“I notice a crowd er men out dar, some settin’ an’ some stan’in’, but I
run’d in, I did, an’ de young man what do de clerkin’, he foller me in
an’ ax what I want. I say I want a dime’s wuff er bluin’, an’ fer ter
please, suh, wrop it up des ez quick ez he kin. I tuck notice dat while
he wuz gittin’ it out’n de box, he sorter stop like he lis’nin’ an’ den
ag’in, whiles he had it in de scoop des ready fer ter drap it in de
scales, he helt his han’ an’ wait. Den I know’d he wuz lis’nin’.
“Dat makes me lis’n, an’ den I hear Marse Tumlin talkin’, an’ time I hear
’im I know’d he wuz errytated. Twa’n’t bekaze he wuz talkin’ loud, suh,
but ’twuz bekaze he wuz talkin’ level. When he talk loud, he feelin’
good. When he talk low, an’ one word soun’ same ez anudder, den somebody
better git out’n his way. I lef’ de counter an’ step ter de do’ fer ter
see what de matter wuz betwix’ um.
“Well, suh, dar wuz Marse Tumlin stan’in’ dar close ter Tom Perryman.
Marse Tumlin ’low, ‘Maybe de law done ’pinted you my gyardeen. How you
know I been swindled?’ Tom Perryman say, ‘Bekaze I hear you say he bought
yo’ wil’ lan’ fer a little er nothin’. He’ll swindle you ef you trade wid
’im, an’ you done trade wid ’im.’ Marse Tumlin, ’low, ‘Is Paul Conant
ever swindle _you_?’ Tom Perryman say, ‘No, he ain’t, an’ ef he wuz ter
I’d give ’im a kickin’.’ Marse Tumlin ’low, ‘Well, you know you is a
swindler, an’ nobody ain’t kick you. How come dat?’ Tom Perryman say, ‘Ef
you say I’m a swindler, you’re a liar.’
“Well, suh, de man ain’t no sooner say dat dan _bang!_ went Marse
Tumlin’s pistol, an’ des ez it banged Marse Paul Conant run ’twix’ um,
an’ de ball went right spang th’oo de collar-bone an’ sorter sideways
th’oo de p’int er de shoulder-blade. Marse Tumlin drapt his pistol an’
cotch ’im ez he fell an’ knelt down dar by ’im, an’ all de time dat ar
Tom Perryman wuz stan’in’ right over um wid his pistol in his han’. I
squall out, I did, ‘Whyn’t some er you white men take dat man pistol ’way
fum ’im? Don’t you see what he fixin’ ter do?’
“I run’d at ’im, an’ he sorter flung back wid his arm, an’ when he done
dat somebody grab ’im fum behime. All dat time Marse Tumlin wuz axin’
Marse Paul Conant ef he hurt much. I hear ’im say, ‘I wouldn’t ’a’ done
it fer de worl’, Conant—not fer de worl’.’ Den de doctor, he come up, an’
Marse Tumlin, he pester de man twel he hear ’im say, ‘Don’t worry, Major;
dis boy’ll live ter be a older man dan you ever will.’ Den Marse Tumlin
got his pistol an’ hunt up an’ down fer dat ar Tom Perryman, but he done
gone. I seed ’im when he got on his hoss.
[Illustration: “Hunt up an’ down fer dat ar Tom Perryman.”]
“I say to Marse Tumlin, ‘Ain’t you des ez well ter fetch Marse Paul
Conant home whar we all kin take keer uv ’im?’ He ’low, ‘Dat’s a _fack_.
Go home an’ tell yo’ Miss Vallie fer ter have de big room fixed up time
we git dar wid ’im.’ I say, ‘Humph! I’ll fix it myse’f; I know’d I ain’t
gwine ter let Miss Vallie do it.’
“Well, suh, ’tain’t no use fer ter tell yer de rest. Dar’s dat ar baby in
dar, an’ what mo’ sign does you want ter show you dat it all turned out
des like one er dem ol’-time tales?”
VIII
THE CASE OF MARY ELLEN
It came to pass in due time that Atlanta, following the example of
Halcyondale, organized a fair. It was called the Piedmont Exposition,
and, as might be supposed, Aunt Minervy Ann was among those attracted
to the city by the event. She came to see whether the fair was a bigger
one than that held at Halcyondale. Naturally enough she made my house
her headquarters, and her coming was fortunately timed, for the cook,
taking advantage of the heavily increased demand for kitchen servants,
caused by the pressure of strangers in the city, had informed us that
if we wanted her services we could either double her wages or dispense
with her entirely. It was a very cunningly prepared plan, for there was
company in the house, friends from middle Georgia, who had come to spend
a week while the exposition was going on, and there would have been no
alternative if Aunt Minervy Ann, her Sunday hat sitting high on her
head, had not walked in the door.
“I hope all er you-all is well,” she remarked. “Ef you ain’t been
frettin’ an’ naggin’ one an’er den my nose done been knocked out er
j’int, kaze I know sump’n ’bleeze ter be de matter.”
The truth is, the lady of the house was blazing mad with the cook, and
I was somewhat put out myself, for the ultimatum of the servant meant
robbery. Aunt Minervy Ann was soon in possession of the facts. At first
she was properly indignant, but in a moment she began to laugh.
“Des come out on de back porch wid me, please’m. All I ax you is ter
keep yo’ face straight, and don’t say a word less’n I ax you sump’n’.”
She flung her hat and satchel in a corner and sallied out. “I don’t
blame cooks fer wantin’ ter quit when dey’s so much gwine on up town,”
she remarked, in a loud voice, as she went out at the back door. “Dey
stan’ by a stove hot wedder er col’, an’ dey ain’t got time ter go ter
buryin’s. But me! I don’t min’ de work; I’m ol’ an’ tough. Why, de well
ain’t so mighty fur fum de steps, an’ dar’s de wood-cellar right dar. How
much you pay yo’ cooks, ma’am?”
“What wages have you been getting?” asked the lady of the house.
“Wellum, down dar whar I come fum dey been payin’ me four dollars a
mont’—dat de reason I come up here. Ef you gi’ me six I’ll stay an’ you
won’t begrudge me de money. Tu’n me loose in de kitchen an’ I’m at home,
ma’am—plum’ at home.”
The lady seemed to be hesitating, and the silence in the kitchen was
oppressive.
“I’ll decide to-day,” she remarked. “Our cook is a good one, but she has
been thinking of resting awhile. If she goes, you shall have the place.”
“Den she ain’t gone?” cried Aunt Minervy Ann. “Well, I don’t want de
place less’n she goes. I ain’t gwine ter run my color out’n no job ef I
kin he’p it. We got ’nuff ter contend wid des dry so.” Then she turned
and looked in the kitchen. “Ain’t dat Julie Myrick?” she asked.
“How you know me?” cried the cook. “I b’lieve in my soul dat’s Miss
’Nervy Ann Perdue!”
With that Aunt Minervy Ann went into the kitchen, and the two old
acquaintances exchanged reminiscences for a quarter of an hour.
After awhile she came back in the sitting-room, stared at us with a
half-indignant, half-quizzical expression on her face, and then suddenly
collapsed, falling on the floor near a couch, and laughing as only an
old-time negro can laugh. Then she sat bolt upright, and indignation,
feigned or real, swept the smiles from her countenance, as if they had
been suddenly wiped out with a sponge.
“You know what you got in dat kitchen dar? You ain’t got nothin’ in de
worl’ in dar but a Injun merlatter; dat zackly what you got. I know’d
her daddy and I know’d her mammy. Ol’ one-legged Billy Myrick wuz her
daddy, an’ he wuz one part white an’ one part nigger, an’ one part Injun.
Don’t tell me ’bout dem kind er tribes. Dey ain’t no good in um. Hamp’ll
tell you dat hisse’f, an’ he b’longed ter de Myrick ’state. Merlatter is
bad ’nuff by itse’f, but when you put Injun wid it—well, you may hunt
high an’ you may hunt low, but you can’t git no wuss mixtry dan dat. I
tell you right now,” Aunt Minervy Ann went on, “I never did see but one
merlatter dat wuz wuff a pinch er snuff, an’ she wuz so nigh white dat de
ol’ boy hisse’f couldn’t ’a’ tol’ de difffunce. Seem like you must ’a’
knowed Mary Ellen Tatum, suh?” she suggested, appealing to my memory.
I had heard the name somehow and somewhere, but it was as vague in my
recollection as a dream.
“Maybe you didn’t know ’er, suh, but she was born an’ bred down whar I
cum fum. Dat’s so! She wuz done gone fum dar when you come. Wuz ol’ Fed
Tatum dead? Yasser! ol’ Fed died de year dey quit der battlin’, an’ ’twuz
de year atter dat when you come; an’ you sho did look puny, suh, ter what
you does now. Well, ol’ Fed Tatum, he wuz one er deze yer quare creeturs.
He made money han’ over fist, an’ he had a sight er niggers. He had a
place sorter close ter town, but he didn’t stay on it; an’ he had a house
not fur fum Marse Bolivar Blasengame, but he’d des go out ter his place
endurin’ er de day, an’ den he’d come back, git his vittles, an’ walk ter
de tavern an’ dar he’d take a cheer an’ go off by hisse’f, an’ set wid
his chin in his coat collar, an’ look at his foots an’ make his thum’s
turn somersets over one an’er. Ef you wanted ter talk wid ol’ Fed Tatum,
you’d hafter go whar he wuz settin’ at an’ do all de talkin’ yo’se’f.
He’d des set back dar an’ grunt an’ maybe not know who you wuz. But when
he come huntin’ you up, you better watch out. Dey say dey ain’t nobody
ever is make a trade wid ol’ Fed but what dey come out at de little een’
er de horn.