PART I_The Bishop and the Boogerman

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THE BISHOP AND THE BOOGERMAN

Being the Story of a Little Truly-Girl, Who Grew Up; Her Mysterious

Companion; Her Crabbed Old Uncle; the Whish-Whish Woods; a Very Civil

Engineer, and Mr. Billy Sanders the Sage of Shady Dale

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

Drawings by Charlotte Harding

New York

Doubleday, Page & Company

1909

into Foreign Languages, Including the Scandinavian

Published, January, 1909

[Illustration: "They paused--then she pointed to the darkest corner"]

ILLUSTRATIONS

"They paused--then she pointed to the darkest corner"

"It seemed to Adelaide that it held a whole bushel of fried chicken and

biscuits"

"The child stared at her uncle so seriously that he was actually

embarrassed"

"Old Jonas would listen by her bedside to convince himself that she was

really breathing"

"They began to creep forward, making as little noise as possible"

"'You are pouting,' she said, 'or you'd never be sitting in this room

where nobody ever comes'"

"'That's why you see these shoes lookin' like they're spang new'"

"Mr. Sanders went from the courthouse with a sweeping stride"

THE BISHOP AND THE BOOGERMAN

PART I

The old Pig went to wander,

The other went far to roam

And, at last, when night was falling,

And a little Pig was calling

Never a one came home.

--_Rhunewalt's Ballads of Life_.

Adelaide and I have come to the conclusion that if you can't believe

anything at all, not even the things that are as plain as the nose on

your face--if you can't enjoy what is put here to be enjoyed--if you are

going to turn up your nose at everything we tell you, and deny things

that we know to be truly-ann-true, just because we haven't given you the

cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die sign--then it's your own fault if we

don't reply when you try to give the wipple-wappling call. And more than

that, if you know so much that you don't know anything, or less than

anything, you will have to go somewhere else to be amused and

entertained; you will have to find other play-fellows. You might

persuade us to play with you if you had something nicer than peppermint

candy, and sweeter than taffy, and then Adelaide would show you things

that you never so much as dreamed of before, and tell you things you

never heard of.

Adelaide! Doesn't the very sound of the name make you feel a little bit

better than you were feeling awhile ago? Doesn't it remind you of the

softest blue eyes in the world, and of long curly hair, spun from summer

sunbeams that were left over from last season's growing? If all these

things don't flash in your mind, like magic pictures on a white

background, then you had better turn your head away, and not bother

about the things I am saying. And another thing: Don't imagine that I am

writing of the Right-Now time, for, one day when Adelaide and I were

playing in the garden, we found Eighteen-Hundred-and-Sixty-Eight hiding

under a honeysuckle vine, where it had gone to die. Adelaide picked the

poor thing up and put it in the warm place in her apron that she keeps

for all the weaklings; and now when we want to remember a great many

things, both good and bad, we go back to the poor thing we found under

the honeysuckle vine.

It was a very good thing that old Jonas Whipple, of Shady Dale, had a

sister who married and went to Atlanta, because Adelaide was in Atlanta,

and nowhere else; it was the only place where she could have been found.

Old Jonas's sister had been in Atlanta not longer than a year, if that

long, when, one day, she found Adelaide, and appeared to be very fond of

her. At that time, Adelaide had hardly been aroused from her dreams. She

may have opened her eyes sometimes, but she seemed sleepy; and when she

snored, as the majority of people will, when they are not put to bed

right, everybody said she was crying. It was so ridiculous that she

sometimes smiled in her sleep. But the most mysterious thing about it,

was that old Jonas's sister knew she was named Adelaide almost as soon

as she found her. Now, how did old Jonas's sister know that? Adelaide

and I have often tried to figure it out when we were playing in the

garden, but no matter how many figures we made in the sand, there was

always something or other in the top row that stood for No-Time, and we

didn't know how to add that up.

One day, Adelaide's father, who had been ailing a long time, became so

ill that a great many people came to the house in carriages and took him

away so that he might get well again. Adelaide hardly had time to forget

that her father had gone away, before her mother went to bed one night,

and, after staying there a long time, was carried away by the people who

had been so kind to her, only this time there were a great many more

women in the house, and some of them went about acting as though they

had been taking snuff. And there was a very nice old gentleman, with a

smooth face, and a big ring on one of his fat fingers. As well as

Adelaide could remember, this was the Peskerwhalian Bishop, and he was

just as kind as he could be. He had a pink complexion just like a woman.

He took Adelaide in his arms, and told her all about Heaven, and

everything like that, and then he felt about in his pockets and found

some candy drops.

Adelaide knew very well that the people who came to the house were very

much concerned about her. They talked in whispers when she was in

hearing, but she knew by their sad faces that they were troubled about

something, and she wished that they would get over it, and laugh and

talk as they used to do. When she went on the street, the little girls

she met turned and looked at her curiously, and though they were very

friendly indeed, they had the inquisitive look that older people have

such a dread of. At first she thought her nose must be smutty, or her

bonnet on crooked, or her frock torn; but when it turned out that

everything about her was according to the prevailing fashions of

cleanliness and correctness, she was quite content to be the observed of

all observers in her neighbourhood.

And then, one day (can it ever be forgotten by anybody who was living at

that time?), a lovely man, looking so much like the Bishop that Adelaide

named him so, came after her and said that she was to go to Shady Dale,

and live with her Uncle Jonas. This was Mr. Sanders--Billy Sanders, of

Shady Dale. "I ain't sorry for you one bit," Mr. Sanders declared--I was

there when he said it--"bekaze the first time I saw you, you made a face

at me."

"How did I look, and what else did I say?" Adelaide asked.

"You looked this way," replied Mr. Sanders, puckering up his

countenance, "an' you said 'W-a-a-a!'"

"Then what did you say?" inquired Adelaide.

"Why, I shuck my fist at you an' said I never saw anybody look so much

like your Uncle Jonas." Adelaide took all this very seriously, as she

did most things.

It turned out that she was to go to her Uncle Jonas, and that Mr.

Sanders had come after her; and then, my goodness gracious! she was so

full of anticipation and joy that she was frightened for herself. The

kind ladies who had had charge of her told her not to be frightened, and

to be very good, but she just rolled her big blue eyes, and had long,

long thoughts about things of which she never breathed a word. She

started at last, and went with Mr. Sanders on the choo-choo train, and

such a time as the two had buying tickets to Malvern, and laughing at

the people they saw, and getting their baggage checked, and getting on

the train, and watching the station slide back away from them so they

could get a good start--such a time has hardly been repeated for anybody

from that day to this.

A man caught a cinder in his eye, and ran with such speed to the

water-cooler that he turned the whole thing over; and it came down with

such a crash that everybody was frightened except Mr. Sanders and

Adelaide. Women screamed, babies squalled, and all the time the cinder

man was saying things under his breath, and some of them sounded to

Adelaide like the words that her good friend, the Peskerwhalian Bishop,

used in his sermon, only they were not so fierce and emphatic. The child

glanced around, and remarked with a satisfied smile: "It didn't scare

Cally-Lou." "I reckon not," Mr. Sanders remarked, although he had no

idea what Adelaide meant.

Well, they reached Malvern in due time, and there, right at the station,

was the stage-coach, which was driven by John Bell. Mr. Sanders

introduced Adelaide to the driver, who took off his hat and bowed very

gravely, and after that it was only a few minutes before they were on

their way to Shady Dale. If the choo-choo train had been fine, the

stage-coach was finer; it was like getting in a swing and staying there

a long time. There were a few passengers in the coach, and they all

appeared to be very sleepy. When they nodded, as the most of them did,

they fell about somewhat promiscuously--though Adelaide didn't think of

that word--and made it somewhat uncomfortable for the child, who was

wide awake and alert. But when they came to the place where the horses

were watered, John Bell leaned from his seat, and saw at a glance what

Adelaide's trouble was. In a jiffy he had her up on the swaying seat

beside him. It would have been a frightful position for most children,

but Adelaide thought it was the grandest thing in the world. She was

seated almost directly above the two wheel horses, and not very far from

the leaders. She could see their muscles rise and fall as they whirled

the coach along; she could see the flecks of foam made by the harness,

and--well, it was just glorious! She had what Mr. Sanders called the

Christmas feeling--the feeling that is ever ready to become awe or

delight--and the swing of the stage-coach kept her alternating between

the two.

It was wonderful, too, how one man could manage four great big horses,

how he could guide them by merely touching one of the reins with the end

of a finger; and then, when John Bell gave his long whip wide play,

sending it through the air with a swish, and bringing it down as gently

as a breath of wind on the back of the horse he desired to warn,

Adelaide could have screamed with delight. There was a half-way house

where the horses were changed, and when the coach stopped for that

purpose, most of the passengers went into a near-by inn for their

dinner. One or two of them, however, had brought a lunch along. One of

them offered Adelaide a share, saying: "Won't you have some of my

dinner, Sissy?" Her mother had called her many fond names, but nothing

like that. John Bell glanced at her, and the expression on the little

face opened his eyes. "No, I thank you," he replied, "she'll go snucks

wi' me." She snuggled up to John Bell--"Did you hear him?" she asked;

"he called me Sissy." "I heard him," said John Bell; "I heard every

word, and just how he said it."

The lunch-basket that John Bell found under the seat was a wonder to

see. It seemed to Adelaide that it held a whole bushel of fried chicken

and biscuits with yellow butter on the inside of each. "Now," said John

Bell, "there ain't enough vittles here for one, much less six." "Six!"

cried Adelaide. "Yes'm; you and yourself, Mr. Sanders and his self, and

me and myself." "Ef you're countin' me in," remarked Mr. Sanders, "jest

add three more figgers to the multiplication table." "And then," said

Adelaide very solemnly, "there's Cally-Lou and herself. Cally-Lou's

herself is just big enough to be counted," she went on, "but Cally-Lou

is bigger than I am. She's sitting right here by me; you could see her

if you could turn your head quick enough. She dodges when she thinks

anybody is going to look at her, because she is neither black nor white;

she's a brown girl with straight black hair that wavies when you brush

it."

[Illustration: "It seemed to Adelaide that it held a whole bushel of

fried chicken and biscuits"]

"Why, of course," said John Bell; "I'd know her anywhere. I was afraid,

once or twice, that I'd put out her eye with my whip-lash."

"Oh, did you really see Cally-Lou?" cried Adelaide, with an ecstatic

smile.

"Didn't you hear what he said about the vittles?" remarked Mr. Sanders.

"Do you think he'd 'a' said that ef he'd 'a' seed only us three? I'll

say this much for John Bell before I eat all his chicken an'

biscuits--he's nuther stingy ner greedy. Now, then," he went on, "jest

shet you eyes, an' grab, bekaze the one that grabs the quickest will git

that big hind leg there. My goodness! I can shet my eyes an' see it!"

Whereupon Mr. Sanders and John Bell closed their eyes, and reached into

the basket, and one drew a back and a biscuit, and the other grabbed a

neck and a biscuit. "We dassent shet our eyes any more," remarked Mr.

Sanders, "bekaze if we do, Cally-Lou will git all the chicken!"

Talk about picnics or barbecues, or parties where you have to wear your

best clothes, or receptions where you have tea-cakes and ice-cream! Why,

this banquet on top of the stage-coach, where no strange person could

look over your shoulder, and no one tell you not to eat with your

fingers, and not to tuck your napkin under your chin, like--like I don't

know what--why, it was just simply a true fairy story, not one of the

make-believe kind--the kind that grows out of the weariness of

invention.

The feast was over much too soon, though all had had much more than was

good for them. John Bell covered the treasure basket with a towel, and

stowed it away in the big hollow place under the seat; then he beckoned

to a negro who was helping with the horses. "Run down to the spring and

fetch us some water, and be certain to get it out of the north side of

the spring, where it is cold and sweet." The negro did this in a jiffy,

and such water Adelaide had never before tasted. There was a whole

bucketful, too. When they had all drunk their fill, Adelaide looked at

Mr. Sanders and John Bell with a frown. "What can we do for you now,

ma'am?" Mr. Sanders asked.

"Why, I want you to turn your heads away. Cally-Lou says she is nearly

famished for water, and she won't drink when any one is looking."

All this being done, everybody was ready to go. Mr. Sanders got in the

stage, declaring that he must have his own warm place, John Bell took

the reins that were handed to him by the hostlers, gave a harmless swish

with his long whip, and away they went to Shady Dale. It was all so

strange, and so pleasant that Adelaide could have wished the journey to

continue indefinitely. But after a while, the houses they passed became

larger and more numerous, and then the stage-coach made its appearance

on the public square that was one of the features of Shady Dale. It

rolled and swung toward the old tavern, and just when Adelaide thought

that John Bell was going to drive right into the house for her benefit,

he gave a little twist to his wrist, and the leaders swung around. Even

then it seemed that they would assuredly run headlong into the big

mulberry tree, and trample to death the man who was leaning against it

in a chair; but just as the leader was about to plant his forefeet in

the man's bosom, John Bell sent another signal down the tightly held

reins, and the leaders swung around until the child could look right

into their tired faces. And, oh, the thrill of it! Adelaide felt that

she could just hug John Bell, but the man who had made such a narrow

escape from the horses' feet had an entirely different view of the

matter.

"You shorely must be tryin' to show off," he growled to John Bell; "an'

what for, I'd like to know? The next time you kill me, I'll have the law

on you!"

"Quite so," remarked John Bell, with a grin that showed his white teeth.

"But I want you to know that I've got company; let folks that ain't got

company look out for themselves! Have you seen Mr. Jonas Whipple around

here?"

"You don't want to run over old Jonas, do you?" replied the man. "All

I've got to say is, jest try it! Old Jonas is a lot tougher than what I

am."

"I'd run over him in a minnit if it would give my company any pleasure,"

said John Bell. "I've got a package for him that come all the way from

Atlanta, an' I reckon the best thing to do is to take it right straight

to his house. It's wropped in cloth, an' he's got to give me a receipt

for it!"

"Oh, I know!" cried Adelaide, pouting a little; "you are talking about

me!"

"Drive on!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders, who was sitting on the inside of the

stage-coach. "I'll have my ride out ef I have to set in here ontell

to-morrer."

"Quite so!" exclaimed John Bell, and with that, he signalled the

leaders, all the other passengers having got out by this time, and in

less than no time the coach was whirling in the direction of old Jonas

Whipple's house.

I'd like to show you how the neighbours came to their doors and stared;

I can't describe it on paper, but if you were sitting where you could

see my motions and gestures you'd laugh until you cried. The way the

horses swept down that long red hill, leading from the tavern to old

Jonas's, was assuredly a sight to see; and not only the neighbours saw

it. Old Jonas saw it, and Lucindy saw it, too. Lucindy tried hard to be

two persons that day; she'd look at old Jonas and frown, and then she'd

look at the stage-coach and smile all over her face. She was mad on one

side and glad on the other--mad because old Jonas wasn't as excited as

she was, and glad because the child was coming. But old Jonas had a very

good reason for his lack of excitement; he had such a cold that he could

hardly talk for coughing, and such a bad cough that he could hardly

cough for wheezing. And before he would come to the door, he wrapped his

neck in a piece of red flannel. He tried to smile when he saw Adelaide

waving her flower-like hand, and the smile came near strangling him. But

Lucindy, the cook, was more than equal to the emergency; she whipped off

her big apron and waved it up and down at arm's length, which was quite

as hearty a welcome as any one would wish to have. I am sure that no one

else ever received such a welcome at old Jonas's door. Up swept the

stage, around it swung, and then, "All out for Whipple's Cross-roads!"

Mr. Sanders had his head out of the window, and saw Adelaide lift her

lovely face and kiss John Bell. It must have been a great strain on John

Bell to stoop so low, for when he straightened himself he was very red

in the face.

"That," said Mr. Sanders, who was a close observer, "is the first time

anybody has kissed John Bell since he was a baby. That's what makes him

sweat so!"

"Much you know about such things," exclaimed John Bell, mopping his face

with a red bandana. Nobody knows to this day how Lucindy managed to take

the trunk from the boot of the stage, and place it in the veranda in

time to run back and seize Adelaide and pull her through the window of

the coach before any one could open the door. But such was the feat she

performed in her excitement. Mr. Sanders appeared to be so surprised

that he could do nothing but pucker up his face, pretending he was

crying, and yell out: "Lucindy's took Miss Adelaide, an' now who's gwine

to take me out'n this stage. Ef you don't come an' git me, Jonas, I'll

be took off by John Bell, an' you won't never see me no more!" Old Jonas

looked at Mr. Sanders as if he were in a dream, and had not heard

aright. Observing this, Mr. Sanders kept up the pretence, and he cried

so loudly, and to such purpose, that the neighbours on each side of the

street came running to their front doors to see what the trouble was.

And then old Jonas became furiously angry. "Take him away, John Bell!"

he commanded; "I hold you responsible! Confound you! why don't you drive

on." With that he went into the house.

Mr. Sanders cared not a whit for old Jonas's irritation, and so he

alighted from the coach and followed the rest into the house. He was

just in time to hear Adelaide begin her course of instruction to old

Jonas.

"Nunky-Punky," said she, very solemn, "why didn't you wait for

Mr.----oh, I know who he is, he's the Peskerwhalian Bishop!--why didn't

you wait for the Bishop?"

"Much he looks like a bishop!" replied old Jonas, when he could control

his cough. "Did you ever hear a bishop boo-hooing and carrying on in

that way?"

The child stared at her uncle so seriously that he was actually

embarrassed. He rubbed his hand over a sharp chin that needed a razor

very badly, and really forgot that he was angry with Mr. Sanders. Then

something quite shocking occurred to Adelaide's nimble mind.

[Illustration: "The child stared at her uncle so seriously that he was

actually embarrassed"]

"Oh, Nunky-Punky!" she cried, "you didn't kiss me when I comed, and

everybody said you would, cause I asked 'em particular."

"Honey," said Mr. Sanders, "le' me stand in Nunky-Punky's shoes while

the kissin' is gwine on, bekaze he ain't shaved in two days, and his

whiskers'll scratch your face."

But Adelaide ran to old Jonas, and held out her little arms to be lifted

up. Jonas hesitated; he looked at Lucindy, then at Mr. Sanders, and

finally allowed his glance to fall on the sweetly solemn face of the

child. He tried to say something, to make some excuse, but he could

think of none. He was not only dreadfully embarrassed, he was actually

ashamed. Not in forty years had any one ever asked to kiss him and,

whether you count it backward or forward, forty years is a long time.

Mr. Sanders tried to pilot him through the deep water--so to speak--in

which he found himself. "Sit down, Jonas, and take Miss Adelaide on your

knee, an' let the thing be done right. Kinder shet your eyes an' pucker

your mouth, and she'll do the rest."

"Sanders," said old Jonas, bristling up again, "if you really want to

hurt my feelings just say so. You have no real delicacy about you. How

do you know some one hasn't told the little girl that it is her duty to

pretend to want to kiss her uncle, whether she wants to or not? Tell me

that!" Old Jonas's eyes glistened under his overhanging brows, and if

"looks" could kill a man, Mr. Sanders would have fallen down dead.

Adelaide dropped her arms, and stood close to old Jonas's knee, looking

quite forlorn. "Well, come on, Cally-Lou, Uncle Jonas has a very bad

cold and a headache, and we mustn't bother him."

"No, no, no!" cried old Jonas, screwing up his face until it looked like

the seed-ball of a sweet-gum tree. "There are some things a man has to

do whether he's used to them or not. Come here and kiss me if you really

want to." Adelaide turned, tossing her head as if she were growner than

a grown woman, and went toward old Jonas with the queerest little smile

ever seen. Her feelings had been dreadfully hurt, but not a quiver of

mouth or eyelid disclosed the fact, and only Cally-Lou knew it. Old

Jonas sat down in his favourite chair, and took the child on his knee.

If he had to be a martyr, he would go through the performance as

gracefully as he could. Adelaide made great preparations. She felt of

his chin with one hand, while she threw the other around his neck. She

seemed to know instinctively that old Jonas was rather timid when it

came to kissing people, and she went to his rescue. "Now, I'm not going

to kiss him until all you people turn your heads away. No, that won't

do! You've got to turn clean around, and look the other way!" She waited

until she had been obeyed, and then, as nimbly as a humming-bird kisses

a flower, she kissed the grim old man, and slid from his knee.

"Ten-ten-double-ten-forty-five-fifteen!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders. "All

eyes open! I'm gwine to peep!"

Adelaide laughed joyously, and when Mr. Sanders turned around she was

standing in the middle of the floor.

"You're It!" he said to Jonas. Then the smile disappeared from his face.

"Lucindy," he said, "do you reckon Mr. Whipple would buss me ef I was to

ast him?" The question was a little too much for Lucindy, and she

disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, bent double with laughter.

"Sanders, why do you make a joke out of everything? Did you ever reflect

that there is somewhere a limit to some things?"

"I certainly do, Jonas, an' you come mighty nigh reachin' it wi' me

awhile ago. Ef you hadn't 'a' let that child kiss you when she wanted

to, I'd 'a' went out'n yon' door an' I'd 'a' never darkened it

ag'in--not in this world."

"Well, your common sense should tell you, Sanders, that people ain't

made alike. What you are keen to do I have no appetite for, and what I'm

fond of, you have no relish for. That's plain enough, I reckon."

"Ef that's a conundrum, Jonas, I thank my Maker that the answer is

plain, yes!"

Old Jonas looked hard at Mr. Sanders as though he wanted to say

something. He stuck out his chin, and looked toward the ceiling; then he

looked at the floor, and began to rub his hands briskly together. Then

his thought came out: "Sanders," he said, almost hospitably, "suppose

you stay to supper to-night; or, if you can't stay until supper's ready,

suppose you come back to supper? How will that suit you? I----"

"Well, I'll tell you the truth, Jonas: ef you think you need me for to

pertect you from that child, you're mighty much mistaken. I don't

believe that Miss Adelaide would harm a ha'r on your head, few as you've

got."

"Nonsense, Sanders! you twist every mortal thing around in your mind,

and you are never happy until you set your best friends up as a target

for your folly. Answer my question: will you take supper with--with us?"

Mr. Sanders regarded old Jonas with real interest. His mild but fearless

blue eyes studied the other's face as if they would read there the

solution to some mystery. "Yes, Jonas; I'll not stay to supper, but I'll

come back in time for supper. But don't publish it; ef the public know'd

anything about it, they might think I was tryin' for to wheedle you out

of a loan, an' then what'd happen? Why, all my creditors would come

swarmin' aroun' me like gnats aroun' a sleepin' dog. I could jest as

well stay right here tell supper time, but I'm oblidze for to git out

an' walk about a little, an' git the amazement out'n my system. Off an'

on, Jonas, I've been a-knowin' you mighty nigh thirty year, an' this is

the fust time you've ast me to take a meal in your house. I feel as

funny as a flushed pa'tridge!"

Jonas stalked out of the room pretending to be very angry, but he began

to chuckle as soon as his back was turned. "Sanders is out of his

sphere," he said to himself. "More than half the time he should have a

big tent over his head and be rigged up like a clown." Mr. Sanders

watched the door through which old Jonas had gone, as if he expected him

to come back. Then he called out to him: "Jonas! be shore to have

somethin' for supper that me an' that child can eat!"

Old Jonas heard the voice of Mr. Sanders, but he paid no attention to

its purport. He went on into the kitchen where Adelaide and Lucindy were

having a conversation. He tried to smile at the child, but he realised

that his face was not made for smiles. It may have been different in the

days of his boyhood, and probably was, but since he had devoted himself

to the heartless problems that beset a man who is money-mad, the facial

muscles that smiling brings into play had become so set in other

directions, and had been so frequently used for other purposes, that

they made but a poor success of a smile. Realising this, he turned to

Lucindy, with a business-like air. "Lucindy, Mr. Sanders is coming to

supper; I reckon he knows how you can cook, for he jumped at the

invitation. And then there's the little girl; we must have something

nice and sweet for her," he went on.

"No, Mr. Jonas!" Lucindy exclaimed; "nothin' sweet fer dis chile; des a

little bread an' milk, er maybe a little hot-water tea."

"Well, you know about that," remarked Jonas, with a sigh; "we shall have

to get a nurse for the child, I reckon."

Lucindy drew a deep breath. "A nuss fer dat chile! Whar she gwineter

stay at? Not in dis kitchen! not in dis house! not on dis lot! No, suh!

Ef she do, she'll hafter be here by herse'f. I'll drive her off, an' den

you'll go out dar on de porch an' call her back; an' wid dat, I'll say

good bye an' far'-you-well! Yes, la! I kin stan' dis chile, here, an' I

kin 'ten' ter what little ten'in' ter she'll need--but a new nigger on

de place! an' a triflin' gal at dat! No suh, no suh! you'll hafter

scuzen me dis time, an' de nex' time, too."

Old Jonas walked from one end of the kitchen to the other, his face

puckered up with anger, and looking as if he were on the point of

bursting into tears. "Well, by the livin' Jimminy! can't I do what I

please in my own house? Can't I get my own niece a nurse if I want to?"

Lucindy placed both hands under her apron, and looked as if she were

swelling up. "Yasser," she exclaimed; "yasser, an' yasser, an' yasser.

An' whiles you're gittin' a nurse, don't let it 'scape off'n your min'

dat you'll want a cook!" She turned to the child, and the tone of her

voice couldn't have been more different if it had come from the lips of

another woman: "Honey, don't git too close ter de stove; ef yo' frock

ketches afire you won't need no nuss. Mr. Billy Sanders'll be a-knockin'

at dat do' present'y, an' supper ain't nigh ready--an' dey won't be no

supper ef I got ter be crowded outer my own kitchen."

Adelaide looked and listened, and finally she said: "Aunt Lucindy,

Cally-Lou says she doesn't like to be where people are mad and

quarreling. She's afraid she'll have to go off somewhere else."

"Whar is Cally-Lou, honey? an' how big is she?"

"Oh, she's lot's bigger than me," replied Adelaide, very primly, "and

she's sitting on the floor right by me. She says that fussing gives her

nervy posteration."

"You say dat Cally-Lou is settin' on de flo' by yo' side?" Lucindy

asked, opening her eyes a little wider. "Den how come I can't see her?"

"Well," said Adelaide, turning her soft blue eyes on the negro woman,

and speaking with what seemed to be perfect seriousness, "she isn't used

to you yet, and then she has had such a bad day!"

Lucindy paused in her work and took a long look at the pretty face of

the child. "I can't see her, honey, but dat ain't no reason she ain't

dar whar you say she's at. Let 'lone dat, it's a mighty good reason why

she _is_ dar!"

After a little Adelaide went into the sitting-room, and there found her

Uncle Jonas sitting in the twilight that came dimly through the windows.

She crept to his side, and leaned her head with its long golden curls

against his arm. She may have wondered why he failed to take her on his

knee, but she said nothing, and he, being busy with some old, old

thoughts that came back to him, was as silent as the fat china dog that

sat peacefully by the fireplace.

Presently Lucindy came in to light the lamps, and saw the child standing

by old Jonas. "Honey!" she exclaimed in a startled tone, "ain't you

tired to death? Ain't yo' legs 'bout to give way fum under you? I bet

you Cally-Lou done gone ter bed----"

"No," said Adelaide; "she's very tired, but she's standing up just like

me." The next thing to happen was the entrance of Mr. Sanders, who

seemed to bring the fresh breezes with him. He seized Adelaide in his

arms, and carried her into the dining-room. When all were seated,

Adelaide waited a moment, as though she was expecting something. Then

she placed her little hands over her face, leaned her head nearly down

upon the table, and said grace silently; and but for the audible amen,

the men would never have guessed what she was doing.

"I hope you mentioned my name," said Mr. Sanders, with due solemnity.

The child paid no attention to the remark, nor did she even glance at

any one at the table, until the genial guest turned to the host and made

a polite inquiry. "Jonas, do you button these napkins on before or

behind? I don't want to make any blunder if I can help it."

At this, Adelaide looked up and saw that Mr. Sanders was trying to tie a

corner of the tablecloth around his neck. The sight was so unexpected

that she gave forth a peal of the merriest laughter ever heard, and

Lucindy gave a snort of discomfiture.

"I declar' ter gracious!" she exclaimed, "ef I ain't done gone and

fergit de napkins!"

The oversight was soon remedied, and everything went along all right

until Mr. Sanders, taking a spoon in his hand, said to the child:

"Miss Adelaide, I'll bet you and Cally-Lou can't do this."

He placed the spoon so far in his mouth that nothing could be seen but a

small part of the handle. Lucindy had to leave the room, and the child

laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. When she could control

herself, she said, reproachfully:

"Bishop, some day you'll choke yourself--you may ask anybody--and then

what will the people do?"