dey lit out fum dar, an' de Bizzy Bees come down on Jack Donkey. Jack he
had jump de fence an' come up in de upper lot ter git er lit'le
watermillon rine he seen by de back porch, an' I tell yer he kick out
consid'rble whin dem bees drap derse'fs on him. He tak'n out fur de stable
ter git Brer Dur'am Cow ter rake de bees off'n him,--ev'y one Brer Dur'am
rake, light on his own se'f an' 'tain' long 'fo' him an' Jack takes out
fur Mist'r Man's, an' ax him fur de Lawd's sake ter cl'ar 'em uv de bees.
Mist'r Man's old lady, an' de lit'le boy come out ter see whut ail de
beastes, an' I tell yer de bees start dem ter holl'rin' an' dancin',--An'
Polly Parrit, she come out ter git de news, an' I tell yer de ole lady
git in de hottes' part er de fracus, too."
"Did they sting Mister Man's little boy much?" Mary Van pushed Willis, who
was dancing all around Phyllis, out of her way. "Sit down, Willis."
"Lawdee," continued Phyllis, gently forcing the little boy into his chair
again, "doan yer heah dat boy squallin' right now? Dem bare legs er his'n
right full er bees. Mist'r Man, he run an' start ter smokin' de bees, fas'
es he kin, an' bimeby, atter er long time, de Bee boys goes back ter dey
ma."
"Mammy, you tell Miss Queen Bee to tell John Mocking Bird to eat old
Grab-All up," pleaded Mary Van, putting her arms around Phyllis's neck.
"Ain' I done tole yer Miss Queen ain' gwine ax nobody fur nuthin', an'
she ain' gwine give nobody nuthin' neether? She tell her chillun ter
scuf'le hard an' make er heap er honey, an' den hit doan make no diffunce
whut happ'n. One day, one er her boys come out uv er flow'r so full er
honey dat he come _blump_ on de groun'. Ev'y time he try ter fly, hyah he
come back _blump_ on de groun' ergin. Nancy Hummin' Bird tell him ter git
up on her back an' she'd give 'im er lif'. He crawl on Nancy's back an'
she tuk 'im home. Whin Miss Queen seed him, she ax 'im how he got dar wid
sich er load er honey. He tell his ma Nancy fotch 'im. Hoopee! she buzz on
him I tell yer. Yas, suh! She say: 'Yer go straight es you kin an' pay fur
dat ride.'"
"Did he pay five cents money, Mammy?" Willis rocked over backwards but was
up before Phyllis could rise. "It didn't hurt. Did she give him five
cents, Mammy?"
"Nor, he give Miss Nancy some honey, whut she love good es de bees does,
but Nancy got nuf mann'rs ter tell him she doan charge 'im, but Bizzy pay
her enyhow, 'caze his ma done tole 'im dey ain' keerin' ter make no
'quaintance wid nobody 'cep'n wid flow'rs. Miss Queen say: 'Hit's all
right ter mix up wid de flow'rs, 'caze dat's biznes', but de res' er de
woel kin g'long whar dey's er mine ter.' Miss Queen totin' her haid
pow'ful high dese days, 'caze dat gum's full er honey an' she ain' owin'
nobody er cent. She say she ain' got no use fur nuthin' 'cepin' biznes'.
Dey g'long ter bed mouty biggity, an' feelin' pow'ful rich, but 'long in
de night er bad old man come an' take'n ev'r speck er honey in de gum.
Miss Queen think she done dremp er nightmar', but whin she git up in de
mawnin' sho' nuf dey ain' got er Lawd's bite er brekfus'. Miss Queen, she
say: 'G'long in de fiel', chillun, an' git us some brekfus'. 'Tain' gwine
be long 'fo' we'll git rich ergin.'
"But Jack Frost meet 'em at de do', an' say, 'I'll bite de fus' man dat
sticks his nose out.'
"Miss Queen say, 'Lawdy, Lawdy, whut we gwine do? De idee er rich fokes
like we all wus, settin' hyah waitin' fur po' fokes ter hope us.'
"Jack Frost say, 'You done slip up right dar, Sis' Queen Bee, de Lawd ain'
nuv'r make nobody so big dey kin git 'long by derse'f, an' ef you had er
drapt er lit'le er dat honey 'long side de road whilst yer wus er makin'
so much uv hit, you'd er had some uv hit layin' 'round whar Mist'r Bad
Man cudn't er foun' hit.'"
"Make old Mister Bad Man give 'em back some honey," Willis insisted.
"Mister Bad Man done sole dat honey an' got hisse'f er pa'r er shoes ter
keep Jack Fros' fum bitin' his foots."
Both children were clamoring for the rescue of the bees.
"Nor, suh, dey done live by derse'fs whilst dey wus rich, an' now mis'ry
done ketch up wid 'em, dey got ter perish in de same way."
"Boo hoo, boo hoo," wailed both, "I don't want Miss Bizzy Bee's children
to perish."
"Hush cryin'."
But they continued in genuine sympathy.
"Y'uall cryin' so hard, yer can't see Mist'r Good Man comin' wid his han's
right full er bee vit'als. But dat ain' gwine be no less'n ter dem bees.
Dey gwine do de same thing dis time nex' ye'r, 'caze dey's dem kine er
fokes."
XVI
MISTER TALL PINE'S CHRISTMAS TREE
"Mammy, I wanter telephone Santy Claus," fretted Willis, seeking excuse to
leave the nursery.
"Nor, he done gone erway fum home ter hunt up whar de good chilluns stays
at," as she moved about putting the room to rights; "you an' Ma'y Van fix
dat lit'le Chrismus tree ov'r yond'r fur Ma'y Van's dolls, an' you be ole
man Sandy."
"I got ter telephone Santy Claus about little Leonora--he don't know she's
come," insisted Willis.
"I dunno whut's de rees'n--he brung her hisse'f dis mawnin'," still
moving briskly about.
"I got to telephone Santy what to bring her," he persisted.
"Dat baby ain' got her eyes op'n yit."
"Yes, she has, Mammy," and Mary Van crossed the room and looked into
Phyllis's face, "they're big brown ones, 'caus I went over to Uncle Hugh's
house and looked at 'em good m'self."
"Well, I doan keer nuthin' tall 'bout dat, Sandy Claus say she too lit'le
fur him ter fool wid yit."
Mary Van turned to Willis, "Less us fix this tree for little Leonora."
"No, I'm got to telephone to Santy Claus." He clung to the knob of the
locked door.
"Well, ef yer 'bleege ter pass er wurd wid 'im, holl'r up de chimbly--he
settin' up dar lis'nin' ter see ef you'se er good boy."
"No, I want to go downstairs and see my mama!" and he kicked violently
against the door.
Instead of coercing him, Phyllis took her seat by the fire, and placing
her elbows upon her knees, spoke with her face towards the chimney: "Suh?"
pausing a moment to listen; "yas, suh--yas, suh, dat's Willis, but he ain'
no bad chile,--yas, suh, dat's him kickin' 'gainst de do', but he jes'
playin' foot ball wid hit--nor, suh, Willis ain' bad, he's de bes' boy in
dis town."
Immediately both children were climbing into her lap asking and answering
their own questions. "Lawdy mussy 'pon me! Set down like fokes--whut's dem
lit'le cheers fur?" They, however, seated themselves upon the rug, and
pulled her down with them so as to be more convenient for further chimney
discourse.
"Mammy, did he say he was going to bring my drum, an' billy goat wagon,
an'--"
"An' my dolly with long hair that can talk, an' my--"
"He say," she interrupted quietly, "he gwine bring yer all dem things you
done writ erbout, ef yer be's good chillun. De speshul news he giv' me
den, is 'bout de beastes; an' creeters' Crismus tree. He say Tall Pine
gwine be de Crismus tree, an' Mist'r Race Hoss gwine read out de names on
de pres'nts."
"Mammy, can Mist'r Race Hoss climb up Tall Pine Tree?"
"Whut he hatt'r clime hit fur? Ain't Mist'r Wile Cat dar ter scale de tree
an' ain' Doct'r Peckerwood settin' up dar wid his doct'r sissors, jes'
waitin' ter clip de strings?"
"But Mister Wild Cat might eat up Doctor Peckerwood," said Mary Van,
distrustfully.
"Honey, Mist'r Wile Cat's like er heap er slick fokes in de woel--he'll
wurk pow'ful good an' squar' long es he know fokes watchin' 'im. All de
beastes an' creeturs come ter de tree--an' I tell yer dar wus er Crismus
gif' fur all de good ones."
"Mister Rattlesnake didn't get any, did he?" asked Mary Van.
"Rattlesnake say Decemb'r too late fur him ter be settin' up, an' he say
he'd ruth'r sleep dan go ter enny ole Crismus tree ennyhow."
"Tishy Peafowl was too bad, too, wasn't she, Mammy?" Mary Van remembered
the bad ones.
"You slip up right dar, yas, mam, you is, fur Tishy done got 'ligion an'
jine de church."
"Did her pretty feathers grow out again?"
"No, mam! sin done eat 'em out by de roots, but de Lawd hang er mouty
prutty fe'th'r coll'r on de tree fur her, jes' ter show Tish he know she
tryin'."
"And Tishy never was bad any more," assisted Willis.
"Dat she wus, sin ketch'd up wid her er heap er times, but she recoleck
'bout de col'r, an' fight de bes' she kin, an' de Lawd doan ax fur no
mo'."
"Was Jack Donkey too bad to come?"
"Jack Donkey wusn't no wusser'n er heap uv 'em dat gits ter Crismus trees.
Jack he writ'n an' ax Sandy ter bring him er fine kiv'r so fokes can't
fine out he's er donkey. Sandy, he sen' him de kiv'r wid all sort er fine
doin's on hit, but whin Cap'n Goat fling hit on Jack, dar wus his b'hime
legs prancin' erbout, an' his long ye'rs still er stickin' out. Cap'n
Goat, he pull an' pull ter stretch de kiv'r, but hit won't stretch, den de
Cap'n tell him, 'Jack,' sez he, 'long es you keeps dem b'hime foots
wurkin' like you does, an' dem long ye'rs gwine ev'y which er way, yer
mout jes' es well call yo'se'f donkey, 'caze no kiv'r ain' gwine stretch
big nuf ter hide dem p'ints.'"
Willis pushed her knee: "Give Cap'n Yellow Jacket and Cap'n Hornet
something nice 'cause old Grab-All got all their cider,--they didn't do
anything bad."
"Lawdy, boy, dem fokes done kilt one nuth'r long ergo. Doan yer 'memb'r?
But der wid'rs got ax ter come, an' dey nev'r went, 'caze Grab-All Spid'r
tryin' ter dance 'tendance fus' on one, den tuth'r uv 'em."
"Don't let old Grab-All get any present."
"Lawsee, I mos' fergit ter tell yer 'bout de axdent dat hap'n ter ole
Grab-All, whin he come er sneakin' up de side er Mist'r Tall Pine. Yassuh,
Mist'r Wile Cat an' Doct'r Peck'rwood tryin' ter handle dat buckit er hot
cowpeas an' pot licker fur Sis' Cow, whin de whole thing slip an' come
down _blump_, on ole Grab-All."
"Did it kill him?"
"Nor, dorter, he too mean ter die, but dat's whut he got off'n de Crismus
tree."
"Didn't Sis' Cow get some more peas?" asked Willis.
"Nor, she say her an' Brer Dur'am 'ud jes' lick up whut dey cud off'n de
groun'. Sis' Cow say she willin' ter lose de peas jes' ter see ole
Grab-All git fixt. I tell yer de tree lookin' mouty fine by de time ole
Crismus night come. Yer see de beastes hatt'r have der doin's on ole
Crismus night."
"What's Old Christmas?"
"I donno whut 'tis, son, 'cep'n I allus heah dat twelve days atter
Crismus, 'zackly at twelve erclock in de night time, all de beastes an'
creeturs falls on der knees an' glorifies de Lawd,--an' I allus heahs
fokes call hit 'Ole Crismus.'"
"Birds can't kneel, Mammy Phyllis," announced Mary Van.
"Dey kin put der haid on de groun', an' make der cross mark, I reckin."
"Where was Miss Queen Bee; you left her out?"
"Miss Queen lef' herse'f out, she say she feer'd her rumaticks 'ud git
wusser, but dat ain' so--she feer'd sumbody gwine ketch her 'Crismus
gif'."
"Did God fix their eyes like Johnnie Squinch's, so they could see the tree
good at night?"
"Whut he got ter do dat fur, son? Ain' you seed de candles dat grows on de
een' er ev'y pine tree branch?"
"No, Mammy Phyllis, I haven't," Mary Van insisted upon an explanation.
"Shucks, gal, ain' yer seed dis hyah lit'le light green candle sorter
lookin' things comin' out'n de bushy een' er de pine tree branches?"
"Are they candles?" the little girl did not quite remember.
"Whut else is dey ter light up de Lawd's birfday party wid? I'll show yer
dem candles de nex' time we goes on Tink'r Knob. I tell yer whin de
Roost'r telerfome: 'Come on ter de Crismus t-r-e-e-,' 'Come on ter de
Crismus t-r-e-e-!' dey all comes er tar'in'. Ole man Roost'r, he fly up
ter de highes' rock on Tink'r Knob, an' watch de clouds. Miss Moon, she
bus' th'u er big Black bank uv 'em an' tetch off ev'y candle on dat
tree--an' ole man Roost'r say, 'Blessed be de L-a-w-d,' an' all de beastes
draps on der knees, an' says der pra'rs. Den dey gits up an' ketches one
nuth'r Crismus gif', an' den dey gits der pres'nts."
"Mammy, did Ned Dog, an' Lilly Dove, an' Big Eye Buzzard get sumthin'?"
Willis wanted to remember all.
"No," interrupted Mary Van, shaking her finger at Willis. "Mammy said the
bad ones couldn't come, and Big Eye was bad."
"Well, I tell yer, dey let Big Eye come an' clean up de scraps fur 'em,
'caze he done name hisse'f Buzzard ergin, an' he wus gittin' long bet'r."
"Mammy, did everyone that was good get something?"
"Not ev'y single one, baby. Hit hap'n dat Sandy Claus make some mouty bad
meestakes, ev'y now an' den. Some time he give bad fokes de things de good
fokes orter have. You 'memb'rs dem fire crack'rs dat lit'le yaller dog ax
us ter take off'n his tail las' Crismus? Well, dat Weed boy's ole bad bull
dog gits er heap mo'n him."
"Mammy, let Yellow Doggie come to Mister Tall Pine's Christmas Tree,"
begged Willis.
"He say he ruth'r eat Crismus dinn'r wid Ned Dog. But dar's er heap er
yall'r dogs 'mongst fokes I tell yer. Dat po' white 'ooman come beggin'
hyah las' week, wid dat raggity boy tryin' ter hope car'y de po' lit'le
ha'f froz' baby. No, Lawd," she shook her head, "dem fokes ruth'r have er
piece er corn bread, an' er han'full er fier'n all de Crismus tree yer kin
stick at 'em." The mental picture of the woman was still vivid, for she
continued: "I speck dat 'ooman got dat quilt yer ma give her, wrop roun'
her right now, squattin' close ter some hot ashes in de fierplace, wid de
baby squose up right clost ter her, an' dat boy gittin' clost es he kin
ter her und'r de quilt--an' I speck he say,
"'Ma, doan yer wush we had er stockin' ter hang up, so Sandy Claus 'ud
bring us sumpin'?'
"I speck his ma hug him tight wid one arm, an' moan, an' moan, an' moan,
an' I speck de boy say:
"'Ma, yer reckin' Sandy 'ud give us er piece er bread, ef I wuster go down
ter de sto' wind'r an' ax him fur hit?'
"An' I speck his ma jes' keep on er moanin', 'caze she know dat ole sto'
man's Sandy Claus ain' no bett'r'n de sto' man hisse'f.
"He say, 'Ma, yer reck'n May Van an' Willis 'ud lemme look th'u de wind'r
at der nice warm fier, an' all der good sump'in' ter eat, an' de purty
Crismus tree?'
"An' his ma mos' bus' her heart in two, 'caze she can' do nuthin' but jes'
luv 'im."
"Mammy," trembled the little girl's voice, "why didn't the little boy
write to Santy like me and Willis?"
"'Caze he nuv'r had no stamp ter put on de let'r. I tell yer hit takes
money ter buy Sandy Claus stamps."
"We just sent ours up the chimbly," refuted Willis.
"Dat boy didn't had ernuf fire ter make his'n go up de chimbly."
"Why didn't his mama ask God?" half whispered Mary Van, as she laid her
head on Phyllis's shoulder.
"Dat po' creetur's moanin' an' groanin' wus er heap loud'r'n enny pra'r
she cud pray."
"Couldn't God hear her?" Willis clutched her by the arm. "Ask God to lis'n
good, Mammy."
"De Lawd know his biznes', baby, bet'r'n we does. Dat 'ooman got ter set
dar an' shiv'r tell de Lawd git somebody ter het her up ergin."
"Mammy," said Willis, his lips quivering, "le'ss weall take 'em some of
our goodies an' things."
Mary Van begged, "Please."
"Dar now!" She placed a hand on each baby head: "De Lawd done he'rd dat
po' creet'rs pra'r right now. He want you chillun ter go fix dat po'
'ooman's fier, an' give her sump'n' ter eat, so you won't nuv'r fergit how
good He is ter you, an' whin you kicks at de do', an' holl'ers loud,
you'll 'member ter fight sin like Tishy Peafowel do."
Her suggestion went to each eager little heart.
"Yas, suh, an' de Lawd say: 'Doanchu both'r no mo', lit'le boy, er ole
black mammy comin' roun' hyah terreckly wid er lit'le boy an' gal, an' dey
gwina bring all der ole toys, an' some der warm close too, 'long wid some
nice vit'als, an' der pa gwine sen' yer some fier, ter make er fier wid.'"
There was no need to lock the nursery door on Christmas Eve afternoon, for
Phyllis and two radiant little children were in the rockaway, fairly
packed in under the good things they carried to some of the homes Santa
didn't know about. And when the happy little boy said his, "Now I lay me"
that night, he asked, "An' please tell Santy not to forget m' goat harness
and m' goat, an' m' drum, an' bring Mary Van a harness like my race hoss
harness with bells, an' please show Santy the way to all the lit'le poor
children's houses, an' give 'em some stamps for their letters, too. An'
please God tell Santy to hurry up an' come on. Amen."
XVII
AN AFTERWORD
Expressions of regret have reached me that "Bypaths in Dixie" does not
open with a tribute in verse to old Mammy. Let me confess I share this
regret. It, therefore, occurs to me that the sympathetic readers who have
missed "Lines to Mammy" from my little book may be interested in the
following faithful account of the author's failure to furnish this tribute
to the heroine of these stories. I am, indeed, the more persuaded to offer
this personal experience of authorship, because I believe it explains in
no mean degree the missing poems from the pages of many women who follow
Art for Art's alluring sake along various pleasant byways, but who
journey for the most part on the broad highway of a very practical life.
Moreover, those who hold that poets are born, not made, may by the
following true story be constrained to add to their creed that born poets
may by some circumstances be unmade.
The poem above referred to was thought of but not until the manuscript was
on the press, hence when the publisher wired "send at once" the would-be
poet succumbed to a nervousness calculated to destroy rather than inspire
poetic impulse. A chair from the chimney corner was drawn closer to the
fire in hopes that the odor of burning logs might woo association away
from radiators back to the old wood-pile, the chip basket, and the
lightwood knot. Nor did this simple ruse fail of expectation, for soon
the old home took shape in the flames. I could see the heavy green
shutters that tempered the summer sun in the nursery, and through these,
flung wide, I could look into the high pitched room, big and square, not
crowded for all the crib-beds of varying sizes, and Mammy with a child in
one arm stumbling over toys to the bedside of a rebellious charge: "Bett'r
shet yer eyes 'fo' ole Mist'r Grab All come an' git yer." And so the
pencil moved:
In dreams I see thee bending o'er me.
To the old plantation home we rove,
Where--
At this moment Aunt Ellen opened the door and waited. Seeing she was
unnoticed, she began:
"You ain' tole me er Lawd's thing 'bout dinn'r er bre'kfus, er supp'r."
"Oh, Aunt Ellen, don't ask me what to have--fix anything."
In dreams I see thee bend--
"Yassum, but yer got ter have sump'thin' ter fix 'fo' yer kin fix hit."
"Mercy me," I fretfully turned, "have that roast from yesterday,--it was
scarcely touched." Then again over the fire:
In dreams I see thee--
"Cose I kin heat de roas', an' put taters 'roun' hit, an'--"
"Aunt Ellen," an idea seized me, "you know that old black dress of mine
you've been begging me for? Well, I'll give it to you if you will arrange
everything nicely and not ask me a thing."
In dreams I see thee bend--
"All right, honey, I'll do hit too, att'r I tells you dey ain' no flour in
de house."
"That barrel of flour gone?"
"Good Lawd, Miss Sa', how long you 'speck flour ter las' an' you all
eatin' like yer does?"
"Well order a sack, and I'll see about another barrel when I go down
town."
In dreams--
"Now, Aunt Ellen, go on."
"Yassum, but I'm bleeg'd ter tell yer de kitchen b'iler's leakin'."
"Oh, for pity's sake!" I started for the kitchen, then remembered: "Go
tell the man working on the furnace to fix it,--and remember, no dress
for you if you keep interrupting me." Once more to the fire I turned,
trying to conjure back the nursery, bedtime, Mammy, or anything. I bit my
pencil and read once more:
In dreams I see thee bending o'er me,
To the old plantation home we rove,
Where--
"Miss Sa', dat man say he ain' got nuthin' ter do wid kitch'n fixin's.--He
say he's er furniss man. An' Tom done cut de wat'r off, an' I can't git
dinn'r tell de plumb'r come."
A prolonged telephonic agony ensued with the plumber, which entirely
dispelled the charm I had half invoked. On the way back to the library, I
heard Tom at the front door: "Yassum, dat's her, but she's pow'ful busy
ter day." The next moment Tom's tall figure appeared at the library door,
and over his shoulder peered the taller one of a woman whose masculine
features were shaded by a hat of garish variety.
"I simply could not pass without recalling myself to you, and getting one
more peep," exclaimed my visitor as she brushed past Tom, "into this
old-fashioned library with shelves up to the ceiling."
"Will you have this seat?" I murmured, trying to recall a previous
meeting.
"Oh, no, I'll just sit in this seat in the corner."
This she did, upsetting pencil and paper on the table near-by. Both of us
reached over,--I to rescue my lines, she to raise her skirt, from the
narrow confines of which also she drew forth a book of dimensions that I
hesitate to specify.
"I have here some literature," she drew forth yards of pasteboard arranged
in economic design, "that I--"
"Madam," I raised a hand in protest, "let these over-crowded shelves be my
answer," my mind the while dipping again into the past where Mammy Phyllis
seemed to whisper: "Bett'r look out, dat's Cap'n Yall'r Jackit's ole lady
youse foolin' wid." Thus, while my visitor rehearsed the merits of "The
American People in Literature and Art," and differentiated between book
agents and traveling educators, I listened to Mammy telling about Cap'n
Hornet and Cap'n Yall'r Jackit and Mist'r Grab-All Spider, until finally
Mammy and I sat together out under the old cherry tree and watched their
famous battle.
"Being a traveling educator, may I see what books these shelves are lined
with?"
"Certainly," I subconsciously assented, while the muse ran:
Thy hand my toddling steps did guide,
Thy soft voice crooned to gentle sleep--
no; that will not do:
Thy wisdom oft my--
"Why on earth did you not tell me you had the books and save me this time
and effort?" burst furiously from the far end of the room, putting to
blush even Cap'n Yall'r Jackit's old Lady, "But you did not know it--did
not know that such books as these existed, much less in your own library."
All the while she was nervously repacking the wonderful hidden pocket.
"I bid you good morning," now perfectly attired for another social call,
"and ask you to pardon my emotion when I see such a library in the
possession of a woman who does not know even the titles of her own books!
I have heard of such ignorance, but never believed it until now!"
"Good-bye, Miss Yall'r Jackit," I felt, and back in the chimney corner I
dropped to dream again with the publishers' wire commanding me from the
mantel-piece.
In dreams again thy hand doth guide
Through meadow land where kine doth--
Tom so softly entered that his presence was unknown until he apologized:
"De Bank Man say please ter step ter de telerfome."
"Hello! Well?"
"Did you get the notice of your overdraft yesterday?"
"Indeed I did, and I was going to see you about it this morning and tell
you there was some mistake."
"In what way?" chillingly interrogated this voice of superior business
intelligence.
"You have me overdrawn ten dollars when I know I have twenty dollars and
thirty-five cents to my account."
"I am very sorry," he loftily and pityingly apologized, "but our books,
according to your checks, show an overdraft."
"Well," I sighed, perfectly sure I was right and perfectly sure he would
convince me I was not, "I cannot attend to it to-day. Just let it stand
until I come down town. I am very busy to-day."
Oh! for an uninterrupted moment!--What so simple as lines to write, if
only one has the time.
I found a stingy blaze struggling up the chimney: "Do, Tom, run get some
kindling and chips quick."
"Kin yer wait, Miss Sa', tell I gits thu settin' de table? Hit's near
'bout dinn'r time."
Alas! even as he spoke the family began to assemble, and the library
quietly and naturally changed into a family gathering room, where real
people crowded out the dreams in a mother's mind.
At length the meal ended, the house cleared, once more I turned to the
lines. A seat was chosen by the window this time, in hopes that a view of
the mountains would call up the spirits of Mist'r Bad Simmon Tree, Miss
Wile Grape, de Reed gals, and their forest companions.
Thou lessons teachest through tree and vine
A crookèd twig's to thee a sign
For moral lect--
In the dim perspective of the street a flying object arrested my thoughts.
An instant more and it developed into one of my hopefuls tearing like mad
on a four-year-old colt, without saddle or bridle. "Help! Catch him!" I
cried, as I threw up the window sash. Passers-by rushed to the rescue as
the colt took the hedge, crossed the lawn, and halted under the window
without a quiver.
"Mama! just look at these people! Send them away--the colt is as gentle as
a cat."