HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS.
I could hardly believe that it was I, Page Allison, who had been off to
boarding school. Bracken was so exactly as I left it and I dropped so
easily into my old habits and customs, that I felt as though I had only
dreamed I had been away. The dogs almost ate me up for joy, and Mammy
Susan had three kinds of hot bread for supper. Father and I chatted away
for dear life for a while, and then we just as naturally settled down to
a quiet evening of reading, as though I had merely been over to Milton
to mail a letter. He was vastly pleased to have me back, and every now
and then looked over his glasses at me with a very happy smile on his
dear, old, lean, weather-beaten face; and I lay curled up in a big
Sleepy-Hollow chair simply devouring the last "Saturday Evening Post"
that I had bought on the train coming from Gresham, feeling that I had
about the pleasantest home and the best father and kindest Mammy Susan
and the finest dogs on earth.
"Mr. Tucker tells me you have asked him down to hunt," I said as I
surprised a loving glance from Father.
"Yes, yes, I thought it would be nice if he could come when his girls
pay you their promised visit. He is mighty good company. I declare he
can keep a whole party in a good humor," and Father chuckled, evidently
in remembrance of some witticism of Mr. Tucker's. "We are thinking of
getting up a deer hunt over in the swamp. Jo Winn shot a good-sized buck
last month and I am told a great many persons have seen deer in the
distance lately."
This was over in a corner of our county where many small rivers and
creeks formed a perfect network, making very inaccessible, marshy land.
The hunting was as a rule pretty good and during the winter we feasted
quite royally on wild turkey, partridge and rabbit. Deer, of course,
were not so plentiful, but an occasional one was shot. It seems strange
that Virginia, the first state settled, should still be boasting big
game.
"I wish you could take us. Dum and Dee would like it a lot."
"And you, I fancy, would just go along out of politeness," he teased.
"Well, you know I'd rather get killed myself than kill anything, but the
Tuckers have their own guns and often go hunting with their father. I
believe they are very good shots."
"If you think they can stand the trip, we'll take them. I know you can
stand what I can stand, unless boarding school has made you soft. Let me
feel your arm--ah, as hard as ever."
"That's basketball and gym work. I'd have been soft, indeed, if I hadn't
gone in for athletics. I'm so glad we can go. I'll write to the twins to
bring their guns and rough clothes."
Christmas day came and went with plenty of good cheer and happiness, but
none of the hurry and bustle of the present-day Christmas in town. At
Bracken we knew nothing about white tissue paper and Christmas seals and
bolts of red and green ribbon. Our simple gifts to one another were
exchanged without much ceremony; and then Father and I got into his
buggy, with the colt ready to run twenty miles if he could get the bit
between his teeth, and distributed baskets and bags of candy, nuts and
oranges to our many poor neighbors, colored and white. We always had a
box of oranges for the holidays and simple candy and mixed nuts by
wholesale quantities.
"I'd like to take these things around on Christmas Eve and let the
little children think Santa Claus brought them, but I know the mothers
would give them their share right away and then there would be nothing
for Christmas day."
"Well, I believe they think 'Docallison' is a kind of Santy, anyhow," I
said, as we whizzed up to a particularly poor-looking cabin that seemed
to be simply running over with little nigs. The grimy window was black
with their dusky faces and the doorway was so full that the children in
front were being pushed out onto the rickety excuse for a porch.
"Howdy, Aunt Keziah! I hope you and your family are well this beautiful
morning," called Father, pulling in the colt and taking from between his
knees a large hamper literally running over with sweets.
"Chris'mus gif'! Chris'mus gif'!" came in a chorus from all the little
mouths. Aunt Keziah hobbled out, smacking the little blacks as she came
with a very horny hand; but they seemed to take it as a kind of
pleasantry and bobbed up grinning from ear to ear.
"Shet ep, yer lims er Satan! Cyarn't yer see Docallison's colt ain't
go'nter stan fer no sich yellin's? Chris'mus gif', Docallison! Chris'mus
gif', Miss Page!"
This last came with a voice as soft as the wings of a dove, while the
tone in which she had admonished the little darkies had been as rough as
a nutmeg grater. You could hardly believe the two voices had issued from
the same lips. Aunt Keziah was the neighborhood "Tender": that is, she
minded the children whose natural guardians had gone away for one reason
or another,--sometimes to work in the cities, sometimes as house
servants for the county families, where such encumbrances as offspring
were not welcome. She was paid a small sum for each child and always
spoke of them as "bo'ders."
Aunt Keziah had her charity, too, (as who has not?) and supported
several orphans. These she treated with especial kindness, and always
made the "bo'ders" wait until the objects of charity were helped to
"ash-cake an' drippin's."
Father lifted out the heavy basket and the pickaninnies swarmed like
flies around a molasses barrel.
"Git back, thar, you kinky-haided Gabe. You know you ain't nothin' but a
bo'der. You let dis here lil orphant Minnie git fust grab," and Gabe got
back and Minnie came proudly up and got her bag of candy and nuts. We
had tied the treat up in separate packages so there could be no broken
hearts. Mammy Susan had reported that Aunt Keziah had two new ones,
Milly Jourdan's twins, making fourteen in all.
"What did you name the twins, your new boarders, Aunt Keziah?" I asked.
Aunt Keziah demanded one thing from her patrons and that was that she
be allowed to name her charges. No matter what their names had been up
to the time they entered her domain, they had to be rechristened. A big
boy who had been called Bill for eight winters was now known as
Clarence. Mary Banks was Chrystobel and Mump Davis, a raw-boned,
fiery-looking boy, part Indian, seethed and chafed under the _nom de
guerre_ of Fermentation. The charity orphans kept the names their
mothers had seen fit to give them, out of respect for the departed.
"Well, Miss Page, I studied a long time 'bout them thar twins. Naming is
moughty important fer boys special, sence matrimony cyarn't in no way
improve 'em, an' I done decided to call 'em Postle Peter an' Pistle
Paul."
"Capital, capital!" laughed Father. "I hope Postle Peter and Pistle Paul
are healthy. You raise the strongest children in the county, Aunt
Keziah."
"Yassir, Docallison," said the old woman with a toothless grin. "They's
a right likely pair. The reason my bo'ders an' all is so healthy is
'cause I make 'em wash theyselves. An' ev'y las' one er 'em is gotter
have two shuts or shifts to they backs er I won't tend 'em. An' what
they ain't a wearin', I puts in a pot an' biles. De boys gits a big
washin' on Chusdays an' Fridays, an' de gals on Wednesdays an' Sat'days.
Sometimes whin de lil gals all gits washed of a Sat'day night, it looks
like it's a kinder pity to was'e all them hot suds what ain't ter say
dirty, so I picks out a boy er so dat done got siled some, and makes him
take a extra scrub, jist fer luck. As fer eatin's, dey don't git nothin'
but corn braid an' drippin's wif lasses on Sunday ef I kin make out to
have 'em, but dey gits a plenty of what dey do git and de victuals
'grees wif 'em, an' I don't never have a nigger a month 'fo he's as fat
as a possum."
"Well, Aunt Keziah, you are doing a fine work, raising healthy citizens.
I hope you will have a happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year. There
are toys enough to go around in the bottom of the basket and here's a
pound of tea for you and some tobacco for your pipe and some chocolate
drops that are easy to chew."
"Thank yer, thank yer. Docallison, specially fer de sof' candy. I always
did useter have a sweet tooth but now I ain't got nothin' but a sweet
gum, but I's got dat all right."
Just then the colt, tired of standing, made a bolt and all we could do
was to wave good-by to the funny old woman and her fourteen charges.
"Old Aunt Keziah is bringing up those children according to the
teachings of modern science, even to sterilizing their shirts and
shifts, and she doesn't know there is such a word as germ. I fancy the
many cracks in the cabin wall where you can see daylight are partly
responsible for the health of the 'bo'ders.' I find more sickness among
the colored people where their cabins are better built and airtight.
Ventilation is avoided like the plague," said Father as he got the colt
under control and we went spinning off to some more "pensioners," as he
called them.
The doctor's buggy was finally emptied of its load and we skimmed back
home with the colt as fresh as ever, agreeing that we would not give up
horses for all the automobiles under the sun. There is an exhilaration
that comes from driving a good horse that I do not believe a car can
give one, no matter how fine the car or expert the driver.
Mammy Susan had a dinner for us that was fit for kings and queens. It
seemed a pity to cook so much for just Father and me, but some of that
dinner found its way to many a cabin where Father felt it was most
needed; and then on Christmas Day the dogs were given extra rations and
not limited to their one big feeding of corn meal and salt, scalded and
baked in a great pan until it was crisp. On this day of days they had a
bone apiece and all kinds of good scrapings.
After dinner we settled ourselves to enjoy the Christmas books, of which
there were many, as our tastes were well known. Father's patients were
considerate enough not to send for him all afternoon. Not a soul got
sick on this happy Christmas day. Even poor Sally Winn did not try to
die.