_Peculiar Divorce Proceedings._
"Dilsy Brooks, would you 'low me er few wurds wid you?"
Dilsy Harper, Bud's mother, paused in her knitting, pulled her
spectacles a little further down on her nose, and peered over them at
Silas Harper, her husband, who had just entered her room and stood with
his hat in his hand. He was low of stature, small and very bow-legged. A
short white beard graced his chin, while his upper lip was kept clean
shaven. His head was covered with the proverbial knotty, wool-like hair,
which was now the scene of a struggle for the mastery between the black
and gray. Since the moment that the news was brought to him that Bud was
accused of Alene's murder he had been acting rather queerly, even after
all things were taken into consideration, thought Mrs. Harper.
The tone of Mr. Harper's voice and his sober face led his wife to
believe that he was now about to unbosom himself. As he had seen fit to
call her by her maiden name, Mrs. Harper did not deign to reply.
"I is willin' ter 'cept yer silunce fer cunsent, as I feel I mus' say
whut air in me," Mr. Harper resumed. Continuing, he said: "Yer been
'ceivin' me, Dilsy; yer been 'ceivin' me."
Mrs. Harper could not stand that impeachment of her honor and she
quickly hissed,
"Yer air jes' a plain, orternary liah, Silas. I is er hones' 'oman
myself. But out wid yer pizen. I been knowin' 'twuz in yer."
"I 'peats ergin whut I dun sed. Yer hez been 'ceivin' me, Dilsy; yer
been 'ceivin' me, an I ken prove it."
Mrs. Harper cast a withering look of contempt at her husband, folded her
arms and leaned back in her chair, more puzzled than ever at his queer
course.
"Now, Dilsy, let me ax yer some queshuns. W'en I wuz a lad in slabery
time, didunt I dribe my young missus 'bout whar' eber she went? An' she
wuz safe. Didunt dis heah same Silas do dat?" said he, his voice rising
to a high pitch in his earnestness. "W'en de yankees wuz fightin' our
folks and our mens wuz ter de front in battul, didunt dese hans er mine
hole de plow dat brung de corn ter feed my missus? At night did I sleep
er wink wen dare wuz eny t'ing lackly ter pester de wimmins?" said he in
the same high tones.
[Illustration: "'Yer air jes' a plain, orternary liah, Silas. I is er
hones' 'oman myself. But out wid yer pizen. I been knowin'
't wuz in yer.'"
(114-115.)]
"De wimmins befoh de wah an' since de wah an' in de wah hez allus hed a
pertectur in old Uncle Silas, an' yer knows it!" said he, pointing his
index finger at his wife. "Wal, I'm comin' ter de p'int. Bud's done kilt
er 'oman. He ain't no blood uv min'. You ain't been er true wife ter me.
He's sumbody else's boy. He aint mine. My blood don't run dat'er way."
Not a muscle in Mrs. Harper's face moved as she listened to this
indictment on the part of her husband.
"An', now," he continued, "you needunt min' 'bout sayin' eny ting 'bout
dis. I aint gwine ter say nothin' 'bout yer ter skanderlize yer. I am
gwine ter nail up de doh 'twixt you an' me. You aint no wife er min' fur
Bud an me aint got de same blood. He kilt er 'oman."
Mrs. Harper looked steadily at her husband, her anger gone, now that she
understood all. She leaned forward and parted her lips as if to speak.
She seemed to take a second thought and slowly leaned back in her chair.
It was evident that a debate was going on in her mind.
"No, he talks too much," said she to herself. She adjusted her
spectacles, picked up her knitting and resumed work, a gentle look of
forgiveness upon her face.
Silas Harper with bowed head, and shoulders more stooped than common,
walked from the room. Procuring a hammer and nails he soon had the
entrance from his room to that of his wife securely barred. And every
lick that he struck was like unto driving a nail into his own heart, for
he loved Dilsy, the love of his youth, the companion of his earlier
struggles after slavery, the joint purchaser of their four-room cottage,
and the mother of the two boys whom he had hitherto regarded as his
sons.