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BYPATHS IN DIXIE

[Illustration: "DES LIKE SHE RUB'IN ON YORN."]

BYPATHS IN DIXIE

Folk Tales of the South

by

SARAH JOHNSON COCKE

With an Introduction by Harry Stillwell Edwards

New York

E·P·Dutton & Company

31 West Twenty-Third Street

Copyright, 1911

By E. P. Dutton & Company

Reprinted, May, 1912

TO MY HUSBAND

INTRODUCTION

When Thomas Nelson Page began his stories of the old South in the early

"Eighties," the reading people of America suddenly aroused to the

realization that a vein of virgin gold had been uncovered. There was a

rush to the new field and almost every Southerner who had a story to tell

told it, many of them with astonishing dramatic force and power. As by

magic a new department was added to American literature and a score of new

writers won their way to fame. From a notably backward section, in point

of expression, the South stepped easily, with the short story, into the

front rank and has held her place ever since. The field once entered was

explored faithfully, the eager minds of her sons and daughters running

through the Ante-Bellum, Revolutionary and Colonial eras, and when Joel

Chandler Harris developed the "Brer Rabbit" stories, "The Little Boy" and

"Uncle Remus," it seemed as though future work must lie in refining for

the ore was all in sight.

But there was one lead almost entirely forgotten or undervalued in the

scramble for literary wealth and this lead was into the Southern nursery

where the real black Mammy reigned. With the better lights before us now

we realize the astonishing fact that the very heart center of the Southern

civilization had not been touched.

Mrs. Cocke in the charming stories contained in this volume is the happy

pre-emptor of the new find. Every Southerner old enough will recognize the

absolute truthfulness of the scenes and methods therein embalmed, and

applaud the faithfulness with which she has reproduced that difficult

potency, the gentle, tender, playful, elusive, young-old, child-wise mind

of the African nurse in the white family; the mind to which all things

appeal as living forces and all lives as speaking intelligences.

The naturally developed mind of the African slave had no leaning to

violence. The influence of the wildness of nature, the monotones of

forests, fields and running waters, the play of shadows and the wind

voices lingered in it and the tendency to endow all life surrounding it

with human or god-like powers as strong in an humbler way as with the

early Greek. But the Greeks were warriors; the African slave tribes,

never. Where one worshipped force, the other bowed to shrewdness and

cunning and by these lived within a hostile environment. The rabbit that

survives and multiplies was to the African slave always mightier than the

lion that fell to the hunter's gun or spear, and the rabbit was and, to a

large degree still is, the best personification of the negro mind in its

method of approach and treatment. Brer Rabbit in the stories retold by

Harris is really the child-wise, world-old mind of Uncle Remus, himself a

type. The absence from them of some of the moral laws is in itself one

proof of faithful reproduction.

But in the nursery we had by necessity the moral laws grafted on the

African mind by master and mistress through daily association and the

singular application of these is within the memory of many grown-up

Southern children. I take issue with those who declare that the black

Mammy did have equal authority in the punishment of refractory children. I

have never known an instance in which punishment by her was inflicted in

blows. A child might be dragged forcibly to its nursery, restrained by a

turned key or remorselessly carried away to solitude, in arms, but struck,

never! Blows were unnecessary with the wise-old Mammy. There were the

cupboard and pantry, the fruit orchard, the kitchen stove, and there were

the birds, beasts and fowls to be invoked in song and story. Thus were the

children restrained, guided and taught, and doubtless many a flower in

our literary gardens to-day is but an old-time seed matured. This is the

best side of the picture. The seed was not always well chosen; the

impression, a good one. All black Mammies were not good and superstitions

fertilized with fear were often sown in childish minds never to be

eradicated. The writer to this day could not under any temptation bring

himself to touch a spider or sleep in the dark and somehow feels that life

will not be entirely complete without a chance to even up with the female

Senegambian who filled his mind with weird stories Saturday nights and

prepared him for religious service Sunday mornings.

Mrs. Cocke's work speaks for itself. It is a difficult work presented with

but few of the stage accessories. But I believe it is admirably done and

will endure in a niche of its own. Certain it is that those to whose

memories it appeals will receive it gratefully.

HARRY STILLWELL EDWARDS.

Macon, Ga.,

April 10, 1911.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I THE ROOSTER TELEPHONE 21

II OLD MAN GULLY'S HANT 37

III JACK O'LANTERN AND THE GLOW WORM 57

IV MISS RACE HOSS AN' DE FLEAS 79

V MISS RACE HOSS'S PARTY 91

VI NED DOG AND BILLY GOAT 107

VII HOW THE BILLY GOAT LOST HIS TAIL 121

VIII SHOO FLY 139

IX ELECTION DAY 153

X MISTER BAD 'SIMMON TREE 177

XI BIG EYE BUZZARD 197

XII MISS LILLY DOVE 219

XIII MISTER GRAB-ALL SPIDER 243

XIV MISTER RATTLESNAKE 261

XV MISS QUEEN BEE 281

XVI MISTER TALL PINE'S CHRISTMAS TREE 301

XVII AN AFTERWORD 319

ILLUSTRATIONS

(From drawings by Duncan Smith.)

"Des like she rub'in on yorn" _Frontispiece_

PAGE

"Dat ole roost'r squattin' und'r de baid

ain' nuv'r tak'n his eyes off'n Abe" 50

"Hep! Hep!--Somebody come hope me!" 60

"Wid dat dey all uv 'em lose dey manners

an' start ter 'busin' Brer Bar scand'lous" 102

"Shoo Fly holl'r, 'Look out fur m' legs!'" 148

"Bimeby he git ax'd ter be er pawl b'arer

ter all uv 'em" 206

"Mist'r Grab-All, 'cose you gwine jine de

Yall'r Jackits' side, ain't yer?" 244

[Illustration: The ROOSTER Telephone]

BYPATHS IN DIXIE

I

THE ROOSTER TELEPHONE

The telephone had just been mended again, and the man suggested as he left

that the little boy find another plaything. Phyllis indignantly protested

that Willis had done no damage to the instrument, and that the frequent

defects were due to the failure of the workman to put it in proper

condition. Being thus defended by so strong an ally, Willis lost no time

in attacking the forbidden object as soon as the door was closed.

"Let de ole telerfome erlone, baby," said Phyllis in a tone of

sympathetic protest. But the boy could not resist such an opportunity.

"Dat table tiltin' right now." She caught her breath as the table righted

itself. "An' dat telerfom'll bus' yo' haid wide op'n."

"I'm going to talk to my papa."

"You gwinter talk ter er bust'd haid, dat's who you--" At that moment,

table, telephone, boy and all fell to the floor with a bang. "What'd I

tell yer?"

Willis answered with a succession of screams that admitted of no argument

or consolation. Phyllis offered none until she had satisfied herself that

a bumped head and a much frightened little boy were the extent of the

damage.

"Mammy gwine whup dat telerfome," she continued, "an' de flo' too, caze

dey hu't her baby." And she proceeded to execute the threat.

"Don't whip the telephone--whip the table!" he screamed.

"Dat's right," striking the table with a towel; "'twas dat ole table done

all de mischuf--Mammy gwina rub camfer on dat telerfome's haid des like

she rub'in on yorn, an' beg his pard'n too," looking for the raised place.

"Come on ov'r ter de wind'r so Mammy kin see her baby's haid good!"

"I don't want you to see it good!" And the wails redoubled.

"Lawsee! Look at dat ole rooster in de yard!" half dragging the little

fellow to the window; "he's done gone an' telerfome ter Miss Churchill's

rooster 'bout you holl'rin' an' kicken' up so!"

"No, he shan't!" blubbered Willis.

"He done done it, an' he fixin' ter do hit ergin!"

Another crow from the rooster: "I tole yer so! heah 'im? An' Miss

Churchill's rooster done telerfome ov'r ter Miss Coxe's roost'r, an' dey

keeps on telerfomin' ter de nex' yard tell all de roost'rs in dis whole

place'll know you settin' up hyah cryin' an' yellin' like you wus Ma'y

Van."

"I don't want 'em to tell," said the little boy, burying his face on her

shoulder.

"I doan speck yer does, but he done tole hit!" A fresh burst followed,

which Phyllis strove to quiet. "Hyah, eat dis nice butt'r'd biskit Mammy

bin savin' fur yer." Willis pushed the bread away. She coaxed, "I speck ef

you eats er lit'le, an' thows er lit'le out yond'r ter ole man Roost'r,

he'll git in er good humor (like all de men fokes does whin dey eats),

an' he'll telerfome ter Miss Churchill's roost'r dat he jes foolin' him,

an' Miss Churchill's roost'r'll keep de wurd passin' erlong dat way tell

all de roost'rs'll know our ole Shanghi jes pass er joke off on you."

"Where's his telephone?" sniffled the boy, only partly diverted by the

chicken pecking up the crumbs of bread.

"He keep hit in his th'oat whar de Lawd put hit."

"How can he eat?" Willis turned from the window to gaze into the old

woman's face.

"Pshaw, boy, you think er stool an' er table wid er telerfome on hit's in

dat roost'r's th'oat?" and she laughed aloud. Moistening the handkerchief

again with camphor, she parted the curls and tenderly pressed the cloth

to the bumped place. "Nor suhree! dey ain' no sich er thing in dat

roost'r's th'oat. Mist'r Man put dat un in hyar fur yo' ma," pointing in

the direction of the 'phone, "but de Lawd hook up dat un out yond'r in ole

man Roost'r's th'oat. Yas, Lawd! He put hit in dar fur Roost'rs ter talk

wid an' fur fokes ter lis'n ter whut dey talks. You 'member de uth'r night

when you wus took sick in de night, an' Mammy keep er tellin' yer ter stop

cryin' 'bout de cast'r oil, an' lis'n ter de roost'rs crowin'? Well, our

ole roost'r wus jes gittin' news fum Peter's roost'r den."

"Who's Peter?" Willis shook the camphor cloth from his head. "Who's Peter,

Mammy?" he insisted.

"Lemme see how I kin 'splain ter yer who Peter is," scratching her head

under the bandana. "Lemme see--Peter wus er gent'mun de scriptur speak

erbout dat trip hissef up on de 'Bridge er Trufe' an' fell er sprawlin'

flat; an' de Lawd sont er roost'r 'long 'bout dat time ter pick 'im up.

Cose you know de roost'r didn't pick 'im up wid his foots, but he raise

him up wid er speeret de Lawd put in 'im fur dat 'speshul 'casion. Oh, I

tell yer, de Lawd talks er heap er talk ter fokes thu fowels an' beastes,

but nobody doan take no notice uv 'em; dey 'pears ter fergit how dat fowel

hope Peter up, an' pint'd de road ter Glory fer 'im."

"Mammy, can roosters talk show nuf?"

"Roosters kin talk good es you kin,--hits jes fokes ain' got nuf speeret

in 'em ter heah whut dey says. Way back yonder time whin hants an' bible

fokes projeck' wid one nuth'r, beastes an' speerets confabs wid fokes,

jes like me an' you talkin' now! Yas, suh, an' fokes lis'ns ter de confab

dem sorter creeters talks too! Whar you speck ole man Balim wud er bin

terday ef hit hadn't er bin fur dat mule er his'n? But screech owels an'

jay birds an' er heap mo' 'sides chicken roosters is got speerets in 'em

in dese days too. Some fokes calls 'em hants!"

The door opened and little Mary Van, who had caught the last word, tripped

quickly to the old woman's side and whispered in suppressed excitement:

"Where's the hants, Mammy Phyllis?"

"Nem'ine whar de hants is terday. I'm talkin' 'bout de rooster telerfome.

Yer see Peter's rooster's settin' up in rooster heb'n keepin' his eye out

fur all de news. He nuv'r do go ter sleep reg'lar; sometime at night he

sorter nod er lit'le, but he nuv'r do git in bed, caze he feer'd Mist'r

Sun wake up 'fo' he do. Well, whin he heah ole man Sun gap loud, an' turn

hisself ov'r an' scratch, he know he fixin' ter git up, an' dat minit he

flap his wings an' telerfome loud es he kin 'de break er day is

c-o-m-i-n'' (imitating the rooster). Ole man Diminicker down yonder on yo'

gran'pa's rice plantation, down on de aige er de oshun, is de fus ter git

de news. He stir hissef erbout an' flop his wings, an' telerfome loud es

he kin, 'de break er day is c-o-m-i-n'.' De rooster on de nex' plantation

gits de wurd an' dey passes hit on tell our ole rooster gits hit way up

hyah in de mountains. Den our ole Shanghi keeps de wurd er gwine, tell

ev'ry chickin fum one side de country ter de uth'r knows day fixin' ter

break."

"Mammy, Mister Rooster wants some more biscuit."

"I 'speck he do; did yer ev'r know er man dat wus satisfied wid what wus

give him? Yas, Lawd! dat rooster'll stan' dar an' peck vit'als long es you

thows hit ter 'im, eb'n whin he feel hissef bustin' wide op'n; he'll

stretch his neck ter git one mo' bite whilst he's dyin'."

"Who's dyin?"

"Nobody ain't dyin', caze dat rooster ain' gwina git ernuf fum me an' you

ter do him no harm."

"Make him telephone again."

"Nor, he say he want ter pass er lit'le conversation wid Sis Hen, an' Miss

Pullet, an' tell 'em, mebbe ef dey scratch hard ernuf, dey'll fine some

crum's er his but'r'd biskit."

"Why didn't Mister Rooster save 'em some?"

"Who, dat rooster?" Phyllis shook her head. "Dem wimmen hens doan git

nuthin' but whut dey scratches fur," then thoughtfully she added: "Cose

all roosters ain' 'zackly erlike. Dey's er few, but recoleck I says er

pow'ful few, dat saves mos' ev'ything fur de hens an' chickens; den der's

some uv 'em dat saves right smart fur 'em; den der's er heap uv 'em dat

leaves 'em de crum's, but de res' er de rooster men fokes doan leave 'em

nuthin', an' de po' things hatt'r scratch fur der sefs."

"Less give Sis Hen and Miss Pullet some biscuit too," Mary Van insisted.

"You think Willis's pa got ter feed all de po' scratchin' hens in dis

worl'?--well, he ain't."

"Give 'em this piece. It hasn't got any butter on it." Willis handed her

the bread.

"Lawsee," she threw up the disengaged hand and brought it down softly on

the little boy's head, "but ain't you 'zackly like all de uth'r

roosters--an' hens too fur dat matt'r--willin' ter give 'em dat ole crus'

atter you done eat all de sof but'r'd insides out'n it!"

A lusty crow sounded from the rooster in the yard.

"Mammy, what did Mister Rooster say?"

"He say 'dey's er good little boy in h-y-a-h,'" trilled Phyllis, imitating

the rooster's crow.

Willis smiled while his hands unconsciously clapped applause. Slipping

from her lap, he ran about the room flapping his arms and crowing:

"There's a good little boy in h-e-r-e, there's er good little boy in

h-e-r-e."

Mary Van started in the opposite direction: "There's a good little girl in

h-e-r-e."

"Hush, Mary Van," commanded Willis; "you can't crow, you've got to

cackle."

"I haven't neether; I can crow just as good as you. Can't I, Mammy

Phyllis?"

"Well," solemnly answered Phyllis, "it soun' mo' ladylike ter heah er hen

cackle dan ter crow, but dem wimmen hens whut wants ter heah dersefs crow

is got de right ter do it," shaking her head in resignation but

disapproval, "but I allus notice dat de roosters keeps mo' comp'ny wid

hens whut cackles, dan dem whut crows. G'long now an' cackle like er nice

lit'le hen."

[Music:

Cack-le, lack-le, lack-le, lack-le ear-ly in de

dawn-in'; Nice fresh aigs for yer brek-fus' ev-'y

mawnin'; Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck caw caw caw an' er

cock-er doo-dle doo (Cock crows............

..............) An' er cock-er doo-dle doo.]

[Illustration]

II

OLD MAN GULLY'S HANT

"Put some bread crumbs on top of the barrel, Willis, and less see if he

can peck it off," suggested Mary Van in baby treble.

The Langshan seemed to understand, for he watched Willis with interest as

he crumbled the bread; and after due consideration, and with an almost

human scorn towards the hens, measured his steps to the barrel, and

stretching his long neck, removed every crumb from the top. After this he

slowly raised one foot as though to return to the company of hens, but

changing his mind, stood with the foot poised in air and one eye

apparently fixed upon Phyllis.

"Come on, chillun, I ain' gwine stay hyah an' let dat ole chicken conjur

me."

"I don't want to go, Mammy, I want to stay and feed the chickens,"

protested Willis.

"I want to see him eat off the barrel some more," pleaded Mary Van.

"Dat rooster ain't no chicken, I tell yer, 'tain' nuthin' in dis worl' but

er hant."

This closed the argument, for they felt the mysterious influence of

"hants" that was upon Phyllis, hence they followed like the meekest of

lambs until she stopped at her own room in the yard. After stirring some

embers to a flickering sort of blaze, she looked insinuatingly about her

and broke into an excited whisper: "Whinsomev'r yer sees enything right

shiny black, widout er single white speck on hit nowhar, you kin jes put

hit down in yo' mine, _dats er hant_! 'Tain' no use ter argufy erbout it;

dem's de creeturs dat speerets rides whin dey comes back ter dis worl'.

An' 'twas one er dem same black, biggity Langshans dat ole man Gully's

hant come back inter." Phyllis had taken her seat by this time, and the

children had scrambled into her lap. "Sakes erlive! You all mos' claw me

ter death. How yer 'speck erbody ter be hol'in' two growd up fokes like

youall is?" But the children continued to climb, one on each knee. Phyllis

put out her foot and dragged a chair in front of her. "Hyah stretch yer

foots out on de cheer, an' mebby ef yer sets still, I kin make out ter

hole yer."

"Mammy, where do hants stay?" asked Willis.

"Hants is ev'r whars," she looked about her; "dis hyah room right full

uv 'em now."

Mary Van's head was immediately buried on the old woman's shoulder, while

Willis's arms locked tightly around her neck.

"Yas," she continued, in low mysterious tones, "dis whole wurl's pack'd

full uv 'em, but 'tain' no use ter git skeer'd, long es dey ain' got no

bisnes' wid you. De time ter git skeer'd is whin _you sees 'em_!" (A

scream from Mary Van answered by a tremor from Willis.) "Some fokes doan

git skeer'd den, kaze dey knows 'tain' no use ter git skeer'd er good

speerets--hit's jes dese bad hants dat does de damage."

"Tell us about a good, good spirit, Mammy," came in muffled tones from

Mary Van.

"Cause we don't want to hear about bad old hants," finished Willis.

"How yer speck me ter tell yer enything wid you chokin' me, an' Ma'y Van

standin' on her haid on m' should'r. Set up like fokes--you hole dis han'

an' let Ma'y Van hole dis un, an' I'll tell yer 'bout old man Gully's

hant."

"Ole man Gully wus de biggites' creetur' you ev'r seed; he jes nachilly so

biggity he 'fuse ter do er lick er wurk. Plantin' time er harves' time

ain' make no diffunce ter ole man Gully. He set up on his front po'ch an'

smoke his pipe, an' read de newspaper an' eat same es one dese ole

buckshire hogs, whilst his old lady, an' de chilluns, an' der ole nigg'r

Abe, done all de wurk.

"Ole Miss Gully wus pow'ful sot on de ole man; she think he's de mos'

pow'fules' gran' man in de wurl. Ef he say 'I wants er chaw er 'bark'r,'

de ole lady'd break her neck runnin' ter de fiel' ter tell Abe ter take

de mule out'n de plow an' fly ter town fur de 'bark'r. Den she'd git de

old broke down steer an' go ter plowin' tell Abe come back. All dis time

ole man Gully snoozin' on de po'ch in de cool. Ef er rainy spell come an'

spile de wheat, er ef fros' come an' kill de fruit, ole man Gully 'buse de

ole lady an' de chilluns, an' say ef dey had er done like he tole 'em hit

nuv'r wud er hap'n'd.

"One day long 'bout de mid'le er de sum'r, Mist'r Gully say he bleeg ter

have some possum vit'als. Cose nobody doan eat no possum dat time de ye'r,

an' 'taint' no time ter hunt 'em nuthe'r, but ole man Gully says, 'I wants

de possum,' an' dat wus 'nuf fur de Gullys. Abe an' de chillun stops all

de wurk on de farm an' go possum huntin'. Dey hunts all day, an' dey hunts

all night 'fo' dey so much es come 'crost er single possum track. Bimeby,

att'r day had mos' give out, hyah come er big lean, lank ole possum up er

'simmon tree full er green 'simmons. Dey runs home quick an' giv' hit ter

dey ma, an' Lawsee! by de time dat possum an' tat'rs 'gun ter cookin' up

good, de smell uv hit jes nachally make Abe an' dem chilluns mouf dribble

tell dey can' do er lick er wurk fur standin' 'roun' de kitchen smellin'

dat possum. Miss Gully had er plenty er fat meat an' sop fur de chillun,

but dat big deesh er possum an' tat'rs at de haid er de table done steal

all der appertite, an' dey wus settin' dar turnin' ov'r in der mines which

one gwine git de bigges' piece.

"Pres'ntly Mist'r Gully sorter cla'r his thoat an' push his plate erway

an' pull de deesh closter ter 'im an' cas' er eye 'roun' de table sorter

mad like, an', honey, dem chillun know right den an' dar dat dey got ter

eat fat meat an' sop fur sup'r, er dee doan git no sup'r. De bigges' boy

sorter wipe his eyes er lit'le, an' de nex' two chillun, dey out an'

sniffle. De ole lady twis' her mouf like she tryin' ter say 'doan spile

yo' pa's sup'r.' An' de ole man make out he ain' heah nuthin' nur see

nuthin'. Pres'ntly he look up wid his mouf right full er tat'rs an' possum

an' see de chillun's eyes feas'in' on 'im, an' der moufs wurkin' like

his'n, an' he feel sorter 'shame. He swaller hard he do, like he's fixin'

ter give 'em some, den he change his mine an' say, 'G'long in de yard,

chillun,--Pappy's sick, let Pappy eat de possum.'"

"Make Mister Gully give them some, Mammy," said Willis indignantly.

"He hatt'r go back like Niggerdemus an' be born'd ergin ef he do. Nor

suhree, he eat up ev'y speck er dat possum, an' he sop up ev'y drap er dat

gravy too; den he stretch hissef an' say he 'speck he'll g'long ter bed

an' try ter git er good night's res'. Den all de fambly hatt'r g'long ter

baid too, so de old man kin git ter sleep. Bimeby, long' 'bout time de

moon sot, hyah come sump'in' nuth'r knockin'--knockin'--knockin', on de

wind'r blines.

"'Who dat?' sez ole lady Gully.

"Sumpin' nuth'r keep er knockin' an' er knockin'. Bimeby de old dog 'gun

ter howlin', an' de chickens 'gun ter crowin', an' de pigs 'gun ter

squealin', an' de kitchin do' blow'd wide op'n, an' de sumpin' nuth'r come

tippitty, tippitty, tip, 'long up de hall.

"'Who dat?' sez ole lady Gully ergin.

"De sump'in' nuth'r keep er comin' tippitty, tippitty, tip, right 'crost

de ole lady's foots on de baid. She holl'r an' squall fur de ole man an'

de chillun' ter come kill hit. De chillun an' Abe come er runnin' but de

ole man ain' stirry er speck.

"'Lawsee mussy! Light de candle quick,' sez she.

"An' whut 'twus you 'speck dem chillun foun'?"

"What, Mammy?" came in a chorus.

"Er big ole Langshan rooster, jes like dat varmint out yond'r. Yas suh,

dar hit sot on de foot er de baid, quoilin' an' grumblin' like fokes. De

ole lady tell Abe ter run Langshan out 'fo' he wake up de ole man, but

Lawd er mussy! Abe 'gun ter howlin': 'Oh! my Lawd, Marst'rs daid!

Marst'rs daid! an' dis hyahs his hant!' Sho' nuff de ole man wus layin'

dar stiff an' stark daid!"

"Is Papa's rooster old man Gully, Mammy?" whispered Willis.

"Hit mout not be dis same ole man Gully, son, but hit's some ole man

Gully, sho' es you born. Well, de ole lady she 'gun ter moanin' an' takin'

on tur'bl', she did, an' de Langshan he settin' up cluckin' an' quoilin'

tell nobody can' heah der own ye'rs. Dey darsn't ter drive 'im out--nor

suh, eb'n de und'r tak'r skeerd ter do dat, so 'tain't long 'fo' dat ole

Langshan chick'n boss ev'ythin' on de farm. Yas suh, I tell yer, Abe an'

dat ole 'oman act scand'lous ter dat chickin. De ole lady, she love hit,

but Abe, he jes nachelly skeer'd er de hant. Dey nuv'r raise sich er crap

b'fo', 'caze dat rooster scratchin' all ov'r de fiel', an' Abe say he

know whut you doin' wheth'r he lookin' at yer er not.

"Ev'y time Langshan 'ud speak sof' ter de hens, Miss Gully'd holl'r ter

Abe, 'Yer marst'r want some fresh wat'r, run quick,' Whinsomev'r

Langshan'd crow, she run an' git him mo' vit'als. Oh, I tell yer dem

dominicker hens whut kep' comp'ny wid him sholy got fat an' lazy eatin'

all day an' doin' nuthin' but cacklin' conversation wid him. An' dey's er

heap er fokes in dis town too, dat doan do no mo' dan dem hens does."

"Did the children call Langshan papa?" interrupted Willis.

"Nor, darlin', dem boys doan b'leef in hants, an' dey tell dey ma dat de

rooster jes foolin' her, but she crack 'em crost de haid wid de broom

stick, an' dey darsn't say so no mo'.

"Long 'bout Chris'mus time Miss Gully wus took down wid de rumatiz. She

can't lif' er finger, let lone git up, so she tell Abe ter bring de ole

man up in de house. Yas suh, dat rooster strut hissef all ov'r dat house.

He peck at hissef in de lookin' glass, an' he light up on de pianny in de

parler; he fly up on de baid an' peck Miss Gully's nose, an' she tell Abe

de ole Man's lovin' her. Hit sho' wus cur'us 'bout dat rooster, caze ev'y

time de doct'r come, he hop up on de foot er de baid an' cluck, an' cluck

tell de doct'r git up an' go. One day de doct'r tell Miss Gully she gwine

die. She sorter cry 'bout hit er spell, den she sont fur de ole man's

hant. Abe he go an' shoo de roost'r in de room, but he can't make him fly

on de baid. Abe he tiptoe an' wave his han's sof' like b'hime him, but de

rooster run und'r de baid an' cackle, an' cluck, an' make so much fuss

dat de boys wanter run him out, but Miss Gully say he talkin' ter her. She

answer back ter him, 'Yas, suh,--dat's right,--yas, suh, I'm gwine do jes

like you says.' She keep er gwine on dat erway er long time, tell bimeby

she tell Abe ter go git lawyer Clark ter make her er will. She say de ole

man say she got ter give him all de money, dat de chillun'll spen' hit ef

she don't. De lawyer argufy wid her 'bout doin' sich er trick es dat, but

he thowin' 'way his bref, caze by de time he git thu' wid dat speech, Miss

Gully wus done daid."

The children took a long breath. "Did the hant kill her, Mammy?"

"Hit conjur her so she dunno whut she doin', jes like dat ole chickin try

ter do me."

[Illustration: "DAT OLE ROOST'R SQUATTIN' UND'R DE BAID AIN' NUV'R TAK'N

HIS EYES OFF 'N ABE."]

"Did the children cry when their mama died?" came tremulously from Mary

Van.

"Dey car'ied on right sharply, caze she wus er good ole 'ooman 'fo' she

got conjured, an' she wus jes doin' what she think wus right den; but der

cryin' wusn't nuthin' ter dat nigg'r Abe howlin' an' moanin' ov'r in de

cornd'r. Yer see dat ole roost'r squattin' und'r de baid ain' nuv'r tak'n

his eyes off'n Abe, an' Abe want 'im ter g'long an' keep comp'ny wid

somebody else sides him. So he holler', 'Mistis, fur de Lawd's sake make

Marst'r g'long wid yer.' Den de ole rooster start ter cluckin' an'

fussin', an' hit 'pear dat he fixin' ter go to'ards Abe. Abe he start ter

hol'rin': 'Nor suh, nor suh, I doan want yer ter g'way fum hyah! I wants

Mistis ter come back in one dese big Langshan hens, so you won't git so

lonesome, dat's whut I wants.' De rooster keep on er cacklin' an' er

fixin' ter fly out'n de wind'r, but Abe think he gwine jump on him, an' he

yell, 'Please suh, doan hu't Abe, Marster, caze whin I dies, I'm gwine

come back in one dese fine gooses, an' wait on yer plum tell jedgement.'"

"Did old Langshan get all the money, Mammy?" the financial side appealing

to Willis.

"He git much uv hit es hit take ter buy pizen ter make er conjur pill ter

kill him wid."

"Can you kill a hant?" he asked incredulously.

"Yer can't kill 'em 'zackly, but yer kin run 'em inter sum uth'r creet'r,

dat is ef de conjur pill wurk."

"Mammy," began both children at once.

"Hole on,--jes one ax at er time--let de lady have de fus time, caze

you'se Mammy's man. Now den, ax yer sayso, Ma'y Van."

"Did Miss Gully turn to a hen?"

"She done bin eat up long ergo ef she did," then turning to Willis,

"Whut's Mammy's man got ter ax?"

"I want to know how Abe turned to a goose."

"Abe didn't hatt'r turn ter no goose ertall, caze de Lawd done alreddy

born'd him er goose.--Come on now, an' less play in de yard."

III

JACK O' LANTERN AND THE GLOW WORM

"Mammy, you cut m' Jack-my-Lantern for me." Willis was struggling to carve

features in a huge pumpkin.

"I tole yer ter let Zeek make dat foolish lookin' thing," grumbled

Phyllis, faithfully striving however to cut the pumpkin according to

Willis's instructions.

"Make Mary Van one too," he demanded.

"I got one," and Mary Van blew into the kitchen door with a gust of chilly

wind, "and Papa's made a pretty one for you too, Willis--ain't you glad?"

"Whut you all think dem Jacky-Lanterns is enyhow?" Phyllis asked with an

air of mystery.

"They are--" Willis hesitated, "they are--funny pretties," he finished.

"Dey ain' nuthin' funny 'bout er show nuff Jack-my-Lantern, I kin tell yer

dat fur sartin an' sho!" Her face assumed a grave expression, "and--take

keer, boy, Kitty'll spill hot greese on yer," making a dive at Willis in

time to save the cook from stumbling. "Come on out er dis hyah

kitchen,--'tain' no place fur chillun no how."

"Mammy, less go over to Mary Van's and get m' Jack-my-Lantern," coaxed

Willis, as Phyllis directed the way toward the nursery.

"Nor, yer doan need hit tell dark. Jack-my-Lanterns doan come out 'cep'in'

at night. Leastways fokes doan see em."

"Jack-my-Lanterns ain't anything but big old pumpkins, are they, Mammy

Phyllis?" Mary Van asked to reassure herself.

"Dat dey is," the old nurse's expression grew fearful and cunning. "Dey's

de wuss sorter hants--dat's whut dey is."

This ended the contention of going to Mary Van's.

"You memb'rs," she began after an ominous silence, "ole man Gully's hant,

doan yer?"

"Old Langshan rooster, Mammy?" Willis whispered.

"Dat's de ve'y hant--yas suh--ole lady Gully ain't skeercely in her grave

'fo' dat rooster hant start ter gwine down in de cellar--an' peckin'

'roun' like he huntin' fur sumthin'.

"Abe tell de boys he seen de ole man take er bag er gole down dar onct,

an' he 'speck old Langshan know whar he berry hit--but howsumev'r dat

is--one thing wus sho'--dat rooster peck in one cornder er dat celler,

tell dem boys pis'n him."

The children moved closer to Phyllis. "Mammy, did he come back in another

rooster?"

"No, ma'm, he didn't,--he say he nuv'r speck ter come back in no mo'

creeturs ter git pis'n'd ergin. 'De nex' time I comes back,' sez he,

'hit's gwine be in sumthin' nuth'r fokes can't projick none er der

dev'ment wid.' Ahah,--an' yer knows whut dat is, doan yer?"

Both little heads shook a trembling negative.

"Well, hit's er Jack-my-lantern!" said Phyllis, and at her solemn

statement the children looked aghast.

[Illustration: "HEP! HEP!--SOMEBODY COME HOPE ME!"]

"Yas, ma'm,--an yas, suh," she bowed to each in turn, "he come back

straight es he kin float hissef ter de swamp down yond'r on yo' granpa's

rice plantation." She waited for this to be entirely absorbed by her eager

little listeners, then added: "I seen 'em m'sef winkin', an' blinkin' all

erbout dar," suiting facial contortions to her words.

"One day Miss Gully's bigges' boy went down in de cell'r ter git some

tat'rs fur dinn'r, an' fus' thing yer know he start ter yellin' 'Hep!

hep!--Somebody come hope me!'

"Abe an' de uth'r boys wint down dar, an' seed de boy layin' flat on de

floo' whar de hant thow'd him--"

"Mammy, lemme get in your lap," begged Mary Van, while Willis jumped on

one of her knees. Mary Van followed suit, and before Phyllis could reply

they had cuddled upon her, almost taking her breath.

"Sakes erlive! you all gittin' 'way wid me wusser'n dem hants done de

Gully boys."

"Go on, Mammy," they both urged.

"Well, Abe an' de uth'r two boys fotch him up sta'rs an' lay him on his

ma's baid. Dey lef' him er minute ter go git some cam'fer, an' when dey

come back, dar sot er crow on de haid er de baid tellin' de boy:

"'Go foll'r de light,

Don' feer ter fight,

An' yer'll git er bag er gole!'

"He git up, he do, an' go out de do', but hit's s' dark he tell de crow he

can't see how ter git erlong. Jes den Jacky-Lantern flash up an' say:

"'Foll'r me, sonny,

I got de money.'

"De boy run up ter de light, but hit go out jes es he git clost up ter

hit. He say: 'Hole on dar, whar yer takin' me?' Jacky-Lantern say

"'Foll'r me, sonny,

I got de money.'

"Johnny Squinch Owel fly b'fo' him an' say:

"'Unch-oo, unch-oo,

Doanchu go, doanchu go!'

"Boy tell him, 'Git out'n m' way, Johnny, I'm atter money--I ain' got no

time ter talk ter you.'

"Johnny, he keep er foll'rin' de boy an' holl'r:

"'Unch-oo, unch-oo,

Doanchu go, doanchu go.'

"Jacky-Lantern light up ergin, an' de boy start up runnin'. 'I'll git yer

dis time,' he say; but Jacky-Lantern drap down in de groun' ev'y time he

git enywhars near 'bouts him, an' Willie Wisp pop up way ov'r de uth'r

side."

"Who was Willie Wisp, Mammy?"

"He wus er nuth'r hant dat tak'n up wid ole man Gully. When de boy see

Jacky-Lantern pop up hyah, an' Willie Wisp pop up dar,--he jump fus' dis

erway, an' dat erway tell--"

"What was the boy's name?" asked Willis.

"Lemme see, I b'leef dat boy name Jack."

"No, Mammy, Jacky-Lantern's name, Jack," Willis reminded her.

"Dat's so." She dropped her head on one side: "Dat Gully boy's name,

Bill--Bill Gully's his name. Dem uth'r two boys an' Abe takes atter Bill

an' holl'r ter him ter let dem hants erlone, but Bill tell 'em ter 'ten'

ter der own biznes, dat he atter gole.

"Dey holl'r back, 'Dey's er plenty er gole in de cell'r--come on back an'

hope dig hit out.'

"'I doan want no lit'le gole you fines at home,' sez Bill.

"Abe he holl'r back ergin, 'Please, suh, come back, dar's er heap mo' hyah

dan you kin git dar.'

"But he so tie'd runnin' fus' atter Jacky-Lantern, an' den atter Willie

Wisp, dat he hatt'r stop an' blow er lit'le. Abe an' de boys dey kotch up

wid him, an' dey tussels consid'rble tryin' ter git him back, but dat boy

Bill skuffle scand'lus. He thow ev'y one uv 'em flat in de mud.

"'You all ain' nuthin' but er passel er gooses,' he say, 'talkin' 'bout

huntin' gole at home. Don't yer know yer got ter fight an' scratch, an'

run, an' keep er gwine tell yer gits ter whar dese hyah gol' lights

lives--den yer fines de bag er gole?'

"Fo' de boys an' Abe kin git dersefs up of'n de groun' whar Bill knock

'em, Bill wus gwine like er race hoss atter Jacky-Lantern. Bimeby de

groun' 'gun ter git pow'ful sof', an' Bill, his foots 'gun ter sink down

tur'bul. He can't go fas' no mo',--I tell yer de trufe, hit wus all Bill

cud do ter pull hisse'f erlong."

"What was the matter with Bill, Mammy Phyllis?" whispered Mary Van.

"He in de swamp, honey, whar de groun' wus mirey,--an' hit wus full er

hants too. Bill feel er hot flash pass him, an' er Jacky-Lantern'd pop

up--hyah come ernuth'r hot sumthin nuth'r, an' Willie Wisp 'u'd pop up

right 'long side er him.

"Bill say, 'Is dis whar yer lives?'

"Jacky say:

"'Foll'r me, sonny,

I got de money.'

"Johnny Squinch hoot up in de tree: 'Unch-oo, Doanchu go.'

"Brer Bull Frog holl'r: 'Go back, go back.'

"Ole lady Gully's hant come up in er big ball er light, an' she moan ter

Bill:

"'Foll'r yer track,

Ef yer wanter git back.'

"Bill say: 'Who is you?'

"Miss Gully say:

"'I'm yo' Mar--

Doan go so far.'

"Bill say, 'I done start atter dis gole, an' I'm gwine see de race out.'

"Jacky-Lantern an' Willie Wisp, an' all de res' er de bad hants down in de

swamp jes er poppin' up ev'y which er way, an' all uv 'em holl'r:

"'Foll'r me, sonny,

I got de money!'

"'Foll'r me, sonny,

I got de money.'

"Bill he dunno which way ter go, so he ax 'em: 'Which one got de money sho

nuf?' But dey keeps er bobbin' up:

"'Foll'r me, sonny,

I got de money.'

"'Foll'r me, sonny,

I got de money.'

tell Bill say ter hissef: 'I'm gwine foll'r de one look like he got de

mostes.' He take er step dis er way, an' he sink down so fur dat he pull,

an' pull, an' pull, tell he pull his shoe off. Some mo' Jackys calls him

way ov'r yond'r:

"'Foll'r me, sonny,

I got de money.'

"'Foll'r me, sonny,

I got de money.'

"So he try ter take er long step ov'r ter dem, but he sink so fur dis time

dat he pull, an' pull, an' pull, an' pull, but he can' git his foots up.

"His ma's hant ris' up den, an' bus' out cryin':

"'Yer done los' yer sole,

An' yer ain' got de gol'.'

"'Yer done los' yer sole,

An' yer ain' got de gol'.'

"Bill he keep tryin' ter pull hisse'f up, but he done sink down ter his

gallus straps."

"Please, Mam, pull him out, p-l-e-a-s-e," pleaded the little girl.

"Doan yer worry yose'f, his ma's wid dat boy."

"Yes, but she's only a spirit."

"Doan keer ef she is er hant, she's his ma,--an' de Lawd nuv'r do let dat

part die out in no 'ooman. Well, dar wus Bill jes er sinkin' an' er

sinkin'--"

"But he wusn't any deeper than his waist, you said, Mammy," begged Mary

Van.

"He bleeg ter be er lit'le deep'r by dis time, but his ma wus cryin' an'

beggin' de Lawd so hard ter spar' de boy an' give him er-nuth'r chanct,

dat er big thorney bush grow up quick 'long side er Bill an' retch out

hits arms,--an' de thorney part stick right thu Bill's close, so

Jacky-Lantern, an' Willie Wisp an' de res' er de bad hants can't pull 'im

no fur'r. Bill 'gun ter see dat he wus hangin' ov'r torment, an' dat wus

de place de gole he bin runnin' atter stay, so he rech out an' grab de

thorney bush, he did, an' de blood come tricklin' down on his han's whar

de briers stick him, but his ma's speeret come out on de thorney bush in

er big, big, big ole glow wurm, an' she say:

"'Hole fas',

Hit can' las'.'

"'Hole fas',

Hit can' las'.'

"He notice den dat all de uth'r lights poppin' up an' poppin' out, an'

hoppin' erbout, but de glow wurm's light wus studdy."

"Did Bill know it was his mama?" Bill's safety was uppermost in Mary Van's

mind now.

"He doan 'zackly know hit, but he think he do, caze he know nobody ain'

gwine stick ter him atter dey's in heb'n cep'n his ma. Darfo' he keep his

eye on de glow wurm, he do. He know dat studdy light wus his ma's

speeret."

"Don't let his hands bleed any more, Mammy," she begged.

"Doan yer git too skeer'd er de blood uv 'pentence, chile. Bill done sin,

an' he got ter be born'd ergin, thu suf'in an' mis'ry. Howsumev'r he

foll'rin' de studdy light er dat glow wurm, so 'tain' long 'fo' she show

him er tree on t'oth'r side dat wus smooth an' strong, an' Bill tu'n

loose er de bush an' grab holt er de tree--Bob Wind he come an' hope de

tree ter lif' Bill up,--an' Bob give one er ole man Harricane's blows dat

take Bill clean out'n de mirey clay, an' lan' him on de rock."

"Was he clear out of the swamp?"

"And where was his mama?" both children pressed their questions.

"He wusn't clean out, but he wus clost on ter de aige--all he need is er

lit'le mo' uv his ma's studdy light ter show him de way home,--an' he got

hit too, fur dar she wus by him on de rock, whin he come thu. She crawl

'long mouty slow b'fo' him, caze Bill wus in er pow'ful bad fix, but her

light ain' flick'r, an' hit keep bright an' studdy, an' bimeby atter er

long time she lan' him at home safe an' soun'."

"How could it take long?" Willis was keeping tab on the time.

"Yer see, baby, yer kin nachelly fly wid Bob Wind when yer's on de road

ter Satan wid Jacky-Lantern, an' Willie Wisp lightin' hit up so purty fur

yer; but whin yer starts back, an' de road's dark--an' yer got jes one

lit'le light, hit take er long time ter fine yer way erbout."

"Was Abe and the boys waiting for Bill?" Mary Van desired to see the home

reunited.

"Dey wus waitin', but dey wusn't settin' down waitin'. Abe an' dem boys

had done dig dat gole out'n de cell'r an' buy 'em er passel er mules, an'

cows, an' chick'ns, an' bilt 'em er fine house, an' raise sich craps, dat

de ole farm tu'n out ter be de bigges' plantation in dem parts."

"Did Bill get home?"

"Ter be sho', son, ain't I done tole yer de glow wurm gwine p'int out de

road fur him?"

"Did they give Bill some money, too?"

"Cose dey did, gal, der ma's speeret light up der h'arts so bright dat dey

ain' see no rees'n ter keep all de money jes' 'caze dey stays at home an'

fines hit.--Sut'nly dey give Bill his sheer."

"Did the glow worm stay with them?"

"Dey ma's speeret stay's dar, but de glow wurm hatt'r g'long back ter de

swamp ter hope de res' er de po' sinn'rs dat gits tang'led up runnin'

atter Jacky-Lanterns an' Willie Wispes."

IV

MISS RACE HOSS AN' DE FLEAS

"Come on hyah, baby! Let de dog er loose--sleepy time done come ter us."

"No, Mammy, I ain't goin' ter sleepy!"

"Who say you ain't?"

"I say so, 'caus' my papa says I'm er man! My papa don't go ter sleepy in

the day time!"

"Lordee! I bet he do if he gits er chanct. Dat dog gwine bite yer if you

don't quit foolin' wid es tail."

"Bray ain't goin' ter bite me--Mammy, you tie the bow."

"Tie er ribbin bow on er dog's tail?"

"Oom hoo!"

"Ooom hoo? Is dat de way you speaks ter yo' ole Mammy?"

"I says, yes, ma'm."

"Well, gimme de ribbin!--but what you wanter tie er bow on er dog's tail

fur? Folks puts bows 'round dey necks."

"But I want ter fool Bray, and make him think this is his head."

"You'se er sight, you is! Who on earth but you'd er thought er tryin' ter

make er dog think es tail was es head! Nev' mind! Yer bett'r take keer dat

he don't play er wusser joke on you, like ole Sis' Cow, an' Sis' Dog, an'

Sis' Sow, an' Sis' Cat done ter ole Miss Race Hoss when she try ter pass

off one er her jokes on dem!"

"Did they hurt Miss Race Hoss, Mammy?"

"Dey mos' driv her crazy, dat's what dey done!--but you wait tell I ties

dis heah bow, an' den we gwinter slip off up-stairs 'fo' Bray wake up an'

ketch us."

"All right, Mammy."

Most elaborately Phyllis tied and patted the soiled blue bow.

"Now, den, Bray's sho' gwine hatt'r strain 'es mind ter fine out which

een' his head stays on! Jump up hyah in Mammy's arms, so we kin run fas'

'fo' Bray wake up!"

Quite out of breath, Mammy reached the room up-stairs. Little Willis,

interested only in the flight from Bray, did not realize the ruse she had

played upon him until he found himself in his little crib bed. Open

rebellion began.

"Boo hoo, boo hoo!"

"Ssho boy! You gwine wake Bray, an' den he's jes es sho' es sho' kin be

ter play dat trick on us dat his Gran' Mammy Dog play'd on ole Miss Race

Hoss," remonstrated Phyllis.

"Boo hoo, boo hoo, I don't wanter--"

"Hush, now! Lawsee! I b'lieve I heahs er race hoss comin' down de road

now! You hears him, don't yer?"

"Oom hoo!" sobbed the little boy.

"Oom hoo?"

"Yes, ma'm!"

"Well, dat's de way ole Miss Race Hoss soun' when she come er

single-footin' down de road, an' seed ole Sis' Cow layin' ov'r in de

cornder er de pastur' chewin' her cud, an' talkin' ter ole Sis' Sow, an'

Sis' Dog, an' Sis' Cat. She look' in de pastur', she do, an' see Sis'

Cow's little calf jes' er jumpin' an' er kickin' out his b'hime legs; so

she holler she do:

"'Law, Sis' Cow, whatchu doin' wid my little colt ov'r dar?'

"Sis' Cow say, 'Law, Miss Race Hoss, you sholy ain't callin' my po' little

calf yo' colt?'

"Miss Race Hoss say, 'Sis' Cow I sho' is s'prised you can't tell er calf

frum one er my fine colts! Jes' look how he's prancin'. I'm gwine jump

ov'r dis fence, an' prance 'long side him an' let you see if we ain't

'zackly like.'

"Wid dat, she tuck er sorter back-runnin' start, an' jump blip! right in

de middle er de pastur'. Sis' Cow's little calf was so proud when Miss

Race Hoss 'gun ter caper her fancy steps 'long side him, dat he clean

furgit 'es ma, an' try ter fancy step 'long side er Miss Race Hoss down de

middle er de field.

"Po' Sis' Cow beller' an' beller' fur Mister Cow ter come an' run Miss

Race Hoss off, but law, Mister Cow bizzy tendin' ter 'es bizness an' he

don't hear ole Sis' Cow. Jes' den, Sis' Dog an' Sis' Sow an' Sis' Cat

sorter whisper 'mongst deysefs. Pres'ntly dey all jumps up an' starts ter

shakin' deyse'fs whensomever Miss Race Hoss git clost ter 'em. Fus' thing

yer knows, Miss Race Hoss stop' her fancy steppin' an' holler, 'How 'pon

earth come dese fleas ter git on top er me?' She jump' an' she roll', she

jump' an' she roll', an' I speck she'd bin er jumpin' an' er rollin' plum

tell now, ef dem fleas teeth had er bin strong nuf ter er bit thu Miss

Race Hosses hide, but yer see wid all de bitin' dey bin doin', dar wasn't

one uv 'em dat got er good clinch on Miss Race Hoss. So Sis' Sow's fleas

say dey gwine back home ter vit'als dey wus rais'd on, an' Sis' Dog's

fleas say dey wus gwine back whar de meat wus tender, an' Sis' Cat's fleas

say dey don't see no use tryin' ter git er livin' off'n hoss hide when dar

wus plenty er kitten meat dat would melt in yo' mouf. So wid dat, all uv

de fleas give er jump, an' lands back on Sis' Sow an' Sis' Dog an' Sis'

Cat; an', honey, dem fleas ain't no sooner jumpt, dan Miss Race Hoss jump,

too. She give er back-runnin' start an' wus ov'r dat fence 'fo' you know'd

it; an' bless yo' heart, she come mouty nigh ter jumpin' on her own little

colt dat had done foller' her onbeknownst. De colt nev'r seed es ma mirate

an' car'y on so b'fo', an' he got so occipi'd watchin' her dat he plum

fergit ter mention he was dar. Howsomev'r, when Miss Race Hoss come er

flyin' ov'r dat fence she come so close ter de little colt dat whil'st he

was er gittin' outen de way, he trip' es own sef an' fell er sprawlin'

flat.

"Po' little colt commenc' ter whinnyin' an' cryin', an' his ma was so

sorry an' miserbul dat she tuck him in her arms an' 'gun ter pattin' an'

er singin' ter him jes' like dis:

"'Mama luvs de baby,

Papa luvs de baby,

Ev'ybody luvs de baby,

Hush yo' bye, doan you cry,

Go ter sleepy lill'e baby.

De lill'e calfee an' de lill'e colt, too,

Dey keeps mighty close ter dey mama,

Caze Jack Frost's out er huntin' all erbout,

Ter ketch lill'e chillun when dey holler.

Hush yo' bye, doan you cry,

Go ter sleepy lill'e baby.

Mama luvs de baby,

Papa luvs de baby,

Ev'ybody luvs de baby.

All dem horses in dat fiel'

B'longs ter you lill'e baby:

Dapple, gray, de white an' de bay,

An' all de pretty lill'e ponies.

Hush yo' bye, doan you cry,

Go ter sleepy lill'e baby.

Mama luvs de baby,

Papa luvs de baby,

Ev'ybody luvs de baby.'"

Softer and softer grew the crooning, until the little boy dropped into

peaceful slumber.

"Now, den, de ole man's drapt off at las'. Bless de chile, he is er man

sho' nuf; an' de way he prove he gwine be jes' like de res' er de men

folks, is de way he lets de wimmen fool him; eb'n er old black 'ooman like

I is!"

[Music:

Mam-ma luvs de ba-by, Pa-pa luvs de ba-by,

Ev-'y bod-y luvs de ba-by: Hush yo' bye

doan you cry; Go ter sleep-y li-'le ba-by

Mam-ma luvs de ba-by, Pa-pa luvs de ba-by,

Ev-'y bod-y luvs de ba-by. De

li'le.. ca-fee, an' de li'le.. colt too, Dey

keeps might-y close ter dey mam-ma, Caze

Jack Frost's out er hunt-in' all er-bout, Ter

ketch li-'le chil-len when dey hol-l'r. Hush yo' bye,

doan you cry, Go ter sleep-y li-'le ba-by.]

V

MISS RACE HOSS'S PARTY

Willis drank his soup noisily, insisted upon eating with his knife, upset

a glass of milk on Jane's new Easter dress, and in the end was carried

from the table kicking and screaming.

Mammy's attempts to pacify him proved futile, and fearing the wrath of his

father, she gathered up the squirming, screaming boy as best she could and

ran to her own room in the rear. Letting him fall upon the bed, she

breathlessly dropped into a chair, and wiped the perspiration from her

face with the corner of her apron.

"Now, den, jes' holl'r an' kick, tell you hollers an' kicks yo'se'f plum

out."

This the boy did at a length and with a violence unbelievable, Mammy

sitting all the while at the side of the bed to see that he did not roll

off and humming broken pieces of song as though perfectly unconcerned.

When the screaming had spent itself, and naught remained of it but long

hard sniffles, Mammy began mumbling, "Well, bless de Lawd, I bin thinkin'

I wus nussin' er fuss class qual'ty chile all dis time, an' hyah it tu'n

out I bin wor'in' m'se'f wid one er Sis' Sow's mis'r'ble little pigs."

A low wail was the only answer to this thrust.

"Hit's de trufe! An' I done make up m' mine I ain't gwine do it no longer.

What's de use er me stayin' hyah, nussin' er pig chile, when I kin g'long

an' nuss er fuss class qual'ty chile like Mary Van, an' I'm gwine do it,

too!"

One little arm reached out to the old woman:

"Mammy!"

But she continued: "M'ye'rs is broke wid all dat pig holl'rin'! I don't

speck I ev'r is ter heah no mo', neither!"

Sobbing and sniffling, the little boy crawled to her lap, and tried to

look into her ear. She continued obstinately: "Can't heah er thing! I

knows you'se in m' lap, but les'n I seed yo' face I cudn't tell ef you wus

laffin' er cryin'."

Both arms went tight around her neck:

"Mammy, I won't be bad no mo'!"

Pretending to weep, Mammy said pathetically:

"I wush I cud heah! I speck Miss Lucy'll tu'n me out now, 'caze m'ye'rs

won't hear no mo', an' den I'll hatt'r go off ter de woods an' die by

m'se'f 'mongst de beastes; an' I speck dey'll kill me, 'caze I can't heah

'em comin'! Boo hoo!"

At this, Willis's suffering became so intense she feared to continue the

punishment and so began another strain.