: 
 
 L 
 
 roF | NOTICE 
 
 AUFORNIA 
 
 \N DIEGO 
 
 _Xm/Book i* the Property of 
 
 Mrs. W. E. Halsell. Vinita; Oklahoma. 
 
 When it is loaned no privilege except 
 that of reading it is extended. 
 
 YOU are requested to read it PROMPTLY 
 and RETURN AT ONCE DIRECTLY TO 
 THE OWNER.
 
 . 
 
 
 C3 
 
 XX
 
 'SHAKE HAN'S WITH ME, WON'T YOU?'"
 
 CARLOTTA'S INTENDED 
 
 AND OTHER TALES 
 
 BY 
 
 RUTH McENERY STUART 
 
 AUTHOR OP f 
 "A GOLDEN WEDDING, AND OTI1KK TALES " ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright, 1894, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 All rigktt racned. 
 
 Cwlotta's Intended " Copyright, 1891, bj J. a Limxrorr Co
 
 TO 
 
 MY DEAR SISTER 
 
 AND BEST-LOVED FRIEND 
 
 SARAH STIRLING McENERY
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CAELOTTA'S INTENDED 1 
 
 BUD ZUNTS'S MAIL . . 103 
 
 s 
 " CHRISTMAS GEESE '' - 143 
 
 C.ESAR 181 
 
 AUNT DELPHI'S DILEMMA ....... 227 
 
 DUKE'S CHRISTMAS 243 
 
 POEMS 
 
 ROSE 269 
 
 WINNIE 271 
 
 VOICES ........ 275
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " ' SHAKE HANDS WITH ME, WON'T YOU ?' " . . . Frontispiece 
 
 "SEE THE MERCANTILE HOUSE OF DI CARLO " . Facing page 4 
 " SHE LOOKED NOT UNLIKE THE STATUES OF THE 
 
 VIRGIN MOTHER AND CHILD" " "26 
 
 " AND THE THREE FOLLOWED THE CHILDREN 
 
 HOME " - " "60 
 
 "THE IIKAVY TIMBERS ABOUT HIM WERE NOT 
 
 MORE STILL THAN HE " " "98 
 
 " ' SEEM I.IKE i CAN'T RICOLLEC' TO WIND UP 
 
 THAT CLOCK 1 " " " 128 
 
 " ' THEY DON'T NEITHER ONE KNOW I'VE AST THE 
 
 OTHER ONE TO DINNER'" '' " 146 
 
 " ' IT'S ALWAYS A PLEASURE TO SET AND WATCH 
 
 THAT CHIMBLY DRAW ' " " " 150 
 
 " ' YOU WON'T MIND EF I HOLLKR " MERRY CHRIST 
 MAS " TO YOU?'" " "154 
 
 '" i DON'T SAY BUT i AM LONESOME SOMETIMES' " " " 158 
 
 " ' I WANT TO KNOW EF MISS LUCETTY AN 1 DR. 
 JIM WAS TO ASK A QUESTION O 1 THE 
 GOOSE"' . " " 178
 
 CARLOTTA'S INTENDED
 
 CARLOTTA'S INTENDED 
 
 A SHORT, swarthy, gray - haired old man who 
 swung his little legs on both sides of the barrel 
 upon which he sat, who smoked a stumpy old 
 pipe, whose one heavy eyebrow ran clear across 
 his forehead, who wore tiny gold ear-rings and 
 seldom cut his hair, who spoke in monosyllables 
 such was Carlo Di Carlo, " the dago." 
 
 A tall, fat, blooming brown creature, loud- 
 talking and voluble, full of fun and temper, luxu 
 riant to coarseness, whose bust-measure and age 
 were both somewhere in the early forties, who 
 seemed fashioned for laughter and unlimited ma 
 ternity, who sat every evening on the front door 
 step of the shop opposite her husband this was 
 the signora Di Carlo. 
 
 A dainty 'bit of a girl, radiant as petite, dark as 
 her father, symmetrical as her mother of twenty 
 years ago, whose lithe figure was just throwing 
 out hints of future perfections, whose long black 
 hair was straight as an Indian's, but fine as the 
 down upon the head of the babe who lay crowing 
 upon the mother's lap, who was reticent like her
 
 father, but whose mother's fire flashed from her 
 eye on occasion, a girl to love, to hate, to do and 
 dare behold the sweet daughter, Carlotta Di 
 Carlo! The discerning eye beheld in her promise 
 of romance, possibilities of tragedy, and he who 
 looked upon her once paused to look again. 
 
 A row of little black-eyed dagoes of various 
 ages and sexes, of various degrees of beauty, but 
 all handsome, a healthy, picturesque, noisy lot, 
 quarrelsome without pugnacity these were the 
 little Di Carlos. 
 
 A small square front room, with a low shed 
 around its two sides over the banquette, an oyster- 
 counter along its partition - wall, a fruit - stand 
 spread beneath its sheds opening on two streets, 
 a red lantern hung out at the corner for a sign 
 see the mercantile house of Di Carlo. 
 
 Within a front corner of the shop in winter, 
 and out on the banquette in summer, his chair 
 placed so as to command a view of the fruit- 
 shelves on both sides, sat a one-legged cobbler, 
 surrounded by his professional litter of old shoes, 
 strings, and scraps of leather. 
 
 Fourteen years ago Patrick Rooney took this 
 chair, engaging to pay for the rent and privileges 
 of the same by doing the family cobbling a fair 
 enough arrangement with a circle of three when 
 Carlotta was wearing" her first shoes, but, to quote 
 from Pat, "There's been niver a time since but 
 the madam's been aither afther raisin' the rint on 
 me or threaten in' to do that same, an' sure I'd
 
 've deserrted long since if she'd iver sint me a no 
 tification be an ugly messenger ; but whin she 
 sleeps out, 'erself bloominer 'n iver, wud anither 
 wan o' thim black-eyed beauties forninst her buz- 
 zom, I do put by a fresh batch o' little scraps for 
 patches an' trate mesilf to a dozen on the half- 
 shell, on the strength o' the new-customer to the 
 thrade." 
 
 The Di Carlos doubtless knew a good bargain 
 when they had it, and so Pat had been encour 
 aged to remain by perquisites in the way of oys 
 ters and fruit. 
 
 This, however, was a scant offset to an increase 
 from one to nine healthy shoe-wearing boys and 
 girls. 
 
 If Pat had begun to think seriously of the matter 
 some years ago, the christening of a new-comer 
 when Pat had hobbled all the way up the aisle at St. 
 Alphonse's one morning and recorded a sponsor's 
 vows for a diminutive little beauty by the name 
 of Patrick Rooney Di Carlo held him firm to his 
 chair for some time, and then well, the signora 
 counted on th,is, and became reckless, and there 
 were twins, and in a year another. There's no 
 telling what discontent might have begun to fer 
 ment in Pat's breast had it not been that Carlotta 
 began to grow so startlingly beautiful, and young 
 men and old men and boys began hanging about 
 the shop when there was nothing to buy, or buy 
 ing things they evidently did not want, and all 
 the time looking at Carlotta.
 
 Pat had petted the child, called her his " svvate- 
 heart," trotted her on his one knee and sung her 
 to sleep to " Lanigan's Ball," from the time tie 
 came to the Di Carlo shop. 
 
 Only within the last year, however, since the 
 halo of radiant womanhood had been hovering 
 about her, had a tender solicitude for the girl en 
 tered his heart; and, although the signora, fort 
 unately, did not suspect it, no added duty would 
 have driven him from his post now. 
 
 And yet the Di Carlos had not been entirely 
 unreasonable. Later concessions had been made. 
 A room, the entire garret over the shop, had been 
 placed at Pat's disposal, and here he had finally 
 moved his few belongings a cot, a chair or two, 
 a huge green box which held his surplus clothing 
 in a fraction of its space (such a wooden bin as 
 the poor Irish emigrant usually dignifies by the 
 name of trunk, and which one need not be Eng 
 lish to call a box), a gaudy picture of the Virgin 
 Mother with her heart aflame, a much-framed 
 photograph of Carlotta in her first-communion 
 dress, a rosary and a crucifix, and hanging across 
 the rafters the moth-eaten remains of a bright 
 uniform and a broken torch-lamp. For before his 
 accident Pat had been an Irishman, a Fenian, an 
 American ward-politician, and a festive leader in 
 torch-light processions, pat-riot-ism, and the like. 
 
 Nobody ever knew just how or by whom the 
 shot was fired that made him a cripple and a cob 
 bler (and, he always added, " a Dutchman and a
 
 dago, to boot," laughing alone at his final pun). 
 But it was a fearful row. Three men were shot, 
 and all came near dying but didn't die, and, as 
 all the wounded carried weapons more or less 
 spent, they considered discretion the better part 
 of valor, and instigated no investigations. 
 
 All this was before the days of telephones and 
 hospital ambulances, and Pat was carried into 
 the shop of a German shoemaker, next door to 
 the saloon where the shooting was done. He 
 would probably have been sent to the Charity 
 Hospital next day, however, excepting that his 
 host, Hans Schmidt, had happened to be in the 
 saloon .at the time of the disturbance, and, his 
 recollection of the matter being somewhat hazy, 
 he had feared possible implications, and insisted on 
 nursing the wounded man through his trouble. 
 
 The neatness of this arrangement lay in the 
 fact that as soon as the convalescent was able to 
 hold up his head, here was a trade for him, right 
 under his eyes and hands. The ward-politician 
 became an artisan, and, as he characteristically 
 expressed it, " his first tool was his last." 
 
 " An' ye niver seen an Irishman a-mindin' shoes 
 afore ?" he was wont to say on occasion. "Mebbe 
 not ; an' yet divil a wan ud turrn 'is back on a 
 cobbler ! 'Tis thrue enough, in the ould counthry, 
 'tis the prastes that do be savin' our sowls for us, 
 an' I'm worrkin' at the same thrade, savin' soles 
 to feed me body. But the edge of the joke is, 
 'twas losin' me fut that set me to shoemakin'."
 
 Thus by light and witty speech did he cover what 
 he firmly believed to be a broken spirit. 
 
 A tedious convalescence, with enforced ab 
 stemiousness, had given him ample time for re 
 flection, and by the time he had been nourished 
 back to strength on apple-pie, cinnamon cake, 
 nudels, and smierkcise, and found himself practi 
 cally apprenticed to a shoemaker, he felt that he 
 was no longer, even at heart, "one of the boys." 
 
 As soon as his period of invalidism was safely 
 over, however, when his cautious and worthy host 
 was assured that his life was no longer in jeopardy, 
 things were rearranged on a business basis, and 
 the terms were not satisfactory to the 'prentice, 
 who, with a true Celtic alacrity, had mastered the 
 trade to a degree that surprised himself. 
 
 Before the occupation of the corner shop by 
 the Di Carlos, a cobbler had carried on a busi 
 ness here, by which he and a small barefoot fami 
 ly had managed to live ; and when Pat discovered 
 the change of tenants, the bright idea of slipping 
 into this trade had occurred to him : hence the 
 proposition, conveyed by an interpreter, to oc 
 cupy a cobbler's chair in the new fruit-shop. 
 
 The arrangement had much to recommend it. 
 On wash-days, when the father and the boys were 
 out peddling over-ripe stock, Pat often represent 
 ed the entire business, calling " Shop !" on occa 
 sion, or even effecting a trade when there were 
 no complications. 
 
 " Picayune o' lemons, is it ?" he would say, for
 
 instance, to the small-boy customer. " Fetch yer 
 silver heer,till I feel the heft av ut. That's solid 
 rings like the bells o' heaven ! Drop it beyant on the 
 counter so. Now, pick two big lemons or three 
 little wans. That's a man ; takes three middlin' 
 sizes. He's got a business fist on 'im '11 be a Van- 
 derbilt yet nades a shoe-string for lagniappe" 
 And to himself, as the embryonic Vanderbilt de 
 parted, he would continue after this fashion : 
 
 " Faith, an' be the time I do worrk up me Dutch , 
 thrade wud a dago's business, an' throw in a Creole 
 lagniappe, I do have to run me hand forninst me 
 flabby pockut-book to know mesilf for a Paddy." 
 And his soliloquy held as much truth as humor ; 
 for, notwithstanding the fact that he soon com 
 manded a neat little custom, Pat's heart and hand 
 were those of a true son of the Emerald Isle. 
 
 From the day she first put up her pretty red lips 
 for the shaggy old fellow to kiss, his whole heart 
 and purse had belonged to the baby Carlotta. 
 As his mind had begun to run on shoe-leather, his 
 first spare dollar had gone for a pair of little red 
 shoes for her when she was barely able to toddle. 
 
 This was the beginning ; and then there were 
 other things trinkets, a pair of gold ear-rings set 
 with turquoises (and he had locked himself in the 
 coal-house and stopped his ears while they were 
 put into her little ears), and then, later, a thimble, 
 then a prayer-book and mother-of-pearl rosary ; 
 and so it went. 
 
 As he petted the little thing and the other
 
 10 
 
 babies as they came, he accused himself of an old 
 man's fondness ; though when this story begins 
 he was in fact but forty years old. 
 
 " Little Lottie " came to stand in his life in 
 place of all he had lost, and he took comfort in 
 her, calling himself "an ould grandmother" while 
 he buttoned her tiny gowns or washed her pretty 
 little hands and face for her. 
 
 "Say, Carlo," said the signora, one day this 
 was when Carlotta was about six years old " wad 
 you say eef we geev-a C'lotta to Meester Pad fo' 
 wife wan day, eh ?" 
 
 " Indade, me respicted mother-in-law," Pat had 
 replied, laughing, " sure ye're too late shpakin' ! 
 Lottie an' me's engaged six months, come Moddy 
 Graw." 
 
 And so it gradually came about that he called 
 the pretty dark-eyed child " me swateheart," " me 
 intinded," " me future," and the like, while she 
 would always leave her father or mother to go to 
 " Woona " (her best baby effort at his name in 
 the early days when he was "Mr. Rooney " in the 
 Di Carlo household). 
 
 Within the last year, however, while as unfail 
 ingly attentive and gentle, he called her only 
 Lottie, and any allusion to the old jests was wit 
 tily turned aside. 
 
 In the evenings, after dark, Pat generally 
 formed one of the family circle on the banquette 
 about the doors, flavoring the conversation with 
 his invariable humor and mirth.
 
 11 
 
 Usually at about eight o'clock the little father 
 would jump down from his barrel, and, rubbing 
 the leg that had "gone to sleep," hop around 
 limping while he closed in the fruit-shelves, took 
 down the lantern, and prepared to lock up the 
 shop. 
 
 At his first movement Pat hobbled in, carrying 
 his chair with him, the signora following, and 
 bending over her sleeping bundle with a maternal 
 " Sh-h-h !" as she passed in. 
 
 Finally, just before entering himself, the father 
 called, "Toney ! Pasquale ! Joe! Anita! Neek!" 
 and a crowd came rushing noisily in from the con 
 gregation of children half-way down the block, 
 one or two of whom generally pursued them to 
 the door for a "last tag" and "good -night," 
 while a voice or two from the foremost Di Carlos 
 answered from, within, " Sleep tight." 
 
 As they flocked in, passing the little old father 
 standing in the doorway, he looked proudly upon 
 them and grunted his approval. They were a 
 royal lot, and they were his. 
 
 The scene reminds one of a familiar barn-yard 
 group a little game rooster, a fine Brahma hen, 
 and their brood of handsome chicks. The dimin 
 utive but pompous father struts around with a 
 most important proprietary air, and, flattering 
 himself, forgets to look at the mother. So it was 
 with little Di Carlo. Men and roosters are so 
 thoughtless. 
 
 It was true, Carlotta was a beauty, and every
 
 12 
 
 one said she was the image of her father ; and so 
 she was his image inspired. And the mother was 
 the inspiration. 
 
 If the little husband reminded one of a rooster, 
 a rooster who never crowed, it was not so much 
 because the wife persisted in doing the family 
 crowing, as well as cackling, as that it pleased 
 him to sit by and smoke while she toyed with his 
 prerogative. One always felt that the crow was 
 in him, and that he had full confidence in the vol 
 ume of it. Such is the value of reserve. 
 
 In deference to Pat, the language of the even 
 ing circle was usually English. But though he 
 had never attempted the Italian speech or pro 
 fessed a comprehension of it, fourteen years of 
 such familiarity with it as the shop afforded had 
 opened the doors of his understanding, and noth 
 ing less than a subtlety of meaning as far beyond 
 the Di Carlos as himself would have eluded him 
 now. 
 
 A sort of delicacy, however, forbade his reveal 
 ing this to those who sometimes chose to speak in 
 his presence without inviting his participation. 
 
 Among the occasional frequenters of the shop 
 had been for some time an old man, Pietro Socola 
 by name, for whom Pat had always felt an in 
 stinctive dislike. 
 
 During the past few months Socola had be 
 come a frequent guest, and while he sat on a box 
 at the father's side in the evenings and spoke in 
 a low tone in Italian, he was observed to cast
 
 13 
 
 frequent covert glances towards the daughter, 
 Carlotta. 
 
 Now, Socola was rich, according to the Di Carlo 
 standard, and a widower, and so Pat was not super- 
 suspicious in interpreting these glances as ominous 
 of meaning to Carlotta. 
 
 The suspicion quickened his hearing, but the 
 most assiduous eavesdropping had as yet dis 
 closed nothing to confirm his fears. Gossip about 
 the men on the luggers or at the Picayune Tier, 
 discussions as to the rise or fall in prices of fruit 
 or oysters, interspersed with long tobacco-flavored 
 silences, seemed to constitute all their social in 
 tercourse ; and yet why did the ugly old fellow 
 keep looking at Carlotta? 
 
 Socola was of the one essentially homely Italian 
 type. His blue-gray eyes and reddish hair were 
 bereft of any leaning towards beauty by a heavy 
 swarthy skin, while the entire absence of upper 
 front teeth gave a touch of grotesqueness to his 
 ugly visage. Short-necked and square of build, 
 he had nevertheless a stoop, producing an effect 
 as if his face arose from his chest. The edges of 
 his grizzly -red mustache were further colored 
 from the tobacco which he perpetually chewed, 
 and his hairy little hands bore about their blunt 
 finger-tips similar suggestions of the weed. 
 
 Socola was plain, as well as distinctly deficient 
 in the subtle charm which we call personal mag 
 netism. 
 
 His wife had been dead but three months when
 
 14 
 
 he first came on Sunday afternoon to the Di 
 Carlos'. For three successive Sundays he re 
 turned thus, and then he began dropping in in 
 the late evenings, until now almost any night he 
 could be seen propped up on his box at Di Carlo's 
 side, and whether Carlotta sat on the door-step 
 working on her "sampler" or promenaded the 
 banquette with one of the twins astride her hip, 
 old Pietro's eyes followed her. 
 
 This, which Pat had been observing for some 
 weeks, culminated one day in a tangible occasion 
 for alarm. 
 
 He was sitting inside the shop, putting a finish 
 ing-stitch to a patch, when he saw Socola pass the 
 door to join the circle about the steps without. 
 
 A moment later Carlotta hastily entered the 
 shop, her face black as a storm-cloud. 
 
 " Come heer, Lottie," he called, quickly ; and, 
 as she approached him, " Whut ails ye ?" 
 
 He had never seen her so angry. It was a mo 
 ment before she spoke. 
 
 "Shpake out, Lottie, me girrl, an' tell me who 
 done ye onythink." 
 
 "I don't like ol' Pietro Socola," she said, finally, 
 her eyes flashing. 
 
 " Norr me nayther," he answered, shaking his 
 head. " But tell me whut 'e done ye." 
 
 "He mashed my chin." 
 
 " Squazed yer chin, did 'e ? An' may the divil 
 snatch 'is mother from heaven !" 
 
 " Yas, an' try to kiss me. I hate 'im !"
 
 15 
 
 " Thried to kiss ye, did 'e ? Bad luck to 'is 
 lonesome mouth ! An' who seen urn ?" 
 
 "My paw an' my maw was a-talkin'. I don' 
 know ef my maw seen 'im or not. She laughed. 
 I hate 'im !" 
 
 " See heer, Lottie." He was much excited, but 
 spoke low, lest he should be overheard. " There's 
 throuble a-brewin' for ye, me beauty. Don't ye 
 say northin' to nobody, but ef that low-down, 
 dirrty, blue-eyed nagur av a dago lays the heft 
 av 'is finger-tip on ye again, ye go for um: d'ye 
 heer?" 
 
 She was silent, and he continued: "Wull ye 
 do whut I tell ye, Lottie ?" 
 
 " Yas." 
 
 "Well, take me advice an' kape out av arrm's 
 length av 'im whin ye can ; but whin ye can't, 
 an' he so much as blows 'is breath on a hair o' yer 
 head, ye come down on 'im wud a regular thun- 
 derin' polthogue like this !" 
 
 He placed his closed fist against his own temple. 
 
 " See heer, colleen," he resumed, with some.hes- 
 itancy, " I c'd lather 'im for ye a couple o' hefts 
 o' me peg 'd land 'im pantin' in the gutther but 
 'twould do ye no good." 
 
 " 'F 'e turn 'is sassy ol' eyes on me again, I'm 
 goin' slap 'is face good," she said, as she turned to 
 serve a customer. 
 
 A suppressed sigh escaped the cobbler, and his 
 fingers moved nervously as he finished his patch. 
 
 His worst fears were materializing. Socola,
 
 16 
 
 the rich, the honored guest, was coming for Car- 
 lotta. 
 
 His cobbling finished for the day, he rose to go 
 to his room. He had not the heart to join the 
 circle about the doors to-night. He hesitated a 
 moment, and glanced without. 
 
 The signora had crossed from her seat on the 
 step, and drawn a stool opposite the men her hus 
 band and Socola. 
 
 The guest was speaking very earnestly in a low 
 voice in Italian, and his audience listened with ev 
 ident deference. 
 
 Pat heard distinctly Carlotta's name. Who can 
 blame him for lingering, just a moment, to be 
 doubly sure he was not mistaken ? 
 
 But no, he heard it again, and then something 
 about money "a thousand dollars" and the 
 mother and father of the girl smiled, and, while 
 they exchanged glances, nodded assent. 
 
 For the first time since he had been a teetotaler 
 Pat staggered as he walked to the staircase, and 
 when he reached his attic room he sank into his 
 chair, trembling as if an ague possessed him. 
 
 He was bewildered as much at his own sensa 
 tions as at that which had produced them. What 
 did it mean ? It was bad enough, but why were cold 
 chills running all over him? Why did he think 
 of the night he heard of his mother's death ? Why 
 was he sobbing before he could control himself ? 
 
 Oh, Patrick Rooney, is it possible that you are 
 in love ?
 
 17 
 
 It was even so; and the sudden revelation of the 
 truth to himself seemed to seize and shake him to 
 the foundations of his being. 
 
 The exquisite agony of the first discovery soon 
 spent itself in emotion, but all night long he sat 
 as one dazed, lost in wonder, bewildered. 
 
 II 
 
 When at last the day broke, when the explain 
 ing sun's rays lifted the veil that the moonlight 
 imposes, and instead of shadows Pat began to see 
 things clearly, he cast his eyes about him, as if to 
 reassure himself and get his bearings. Every 
 thing in his meagre apartment seemed to hold 
 some association with the child, Carlotta. Hang 
 ing upon the wall were the little worn red shoes, 
 his first gift to her, bearing yet the impress of her 
 baby feet. Within the lid of his big trunk, open 
 before him, swung the tiny brass hook he had 
 placed there so that she might safely fasten her 
 self within, and, hiding here until the storm was 
 over, she had escaped many a whipping from her 
 mother. A row of auger-holes along the back, 
 ruining the trunk, had further fitted it for her 
 safe retreat. And she had never told. She had 
 always been a rare child. 
 
 Every picture summoned by the associations 
 was charmingly pretty, and when finally he cast 
 his eyes down upon himself upon his toil-stained
 
 18 
 
 garments, his rough hands, his one untidy shoe 
 he felt as if he were blushing at a sense of his utter 
 unfitness for her. 
 
 Seizing his mirror, a triangular fragment, he 
 closely scrutinized his unshaven face and unkempt 
 hair, and as he laid the glass down he turned his 
 vision inward and backward upon the years of his 
 life at the Di Carlos' and before. He thought of 
 Carlotta when first he saw her, and of the years 
 since. She had sweetened and cheered his life 
 ever since he had known her. 
 
 She and this sacred love that had come to him 
 were holy things, but what should he do with 
 them he, a poor, miserable, penniless, clumsy 
 old cripple ? It was a terrible, terrible folly, this 
 love; and yet, despite the hopelessness of it, de 
 spite the vivid ludicrous view of it which his Irish 
 perception afforded, he felt transported by it into 
 a state of painful ecstasy. What should he -do 
 with himself where go ? 
 
 For one thing, he must bathe and shave and cast 
 off these ugly, dusty garments. The sacred thing 
 that had come to him required this much of him. 
 
 It was late in the morning before his toilet was 
 complete. His ordinary hurried ablutions "for 
 dacency's sake" were performed with reference 
 to the world. To-day his own consciousness de 
 manded that he should be clean. Even his old 
 wooden leg received its first baptism, the rite be 
 ing applied with soft soap and a scrubbing-brush. 
 The hard old oak, polished from long use, shone
 
 19 
 
 like the Di Carlo biscuit-board and it must be 
 understood that the signora was of the clean sort, 
 unfortunately in the minority among her class. 
 
 Pat had just readjusted his peg with new leath 
 er straps, when two little black eyes appeared 
 above the stairway. 
 
 "Mr. Pat, dey got a colored lady down-stairs 
 what want her shoes mend." It was the boy Pas- 
 quale, and he was all the way up now. 
 
 "Tell 'er I'm not worrkin' to-day, Pasquale, me 
 b'y. I'm very sick." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Pat, you scared me awful ! I thought 
 you was a man up here." 
 
 " An' did ye r'a'ly ? Sure an' ye made a terri 
 ble mishtake, for there's northin' up heer but 
 three-quarrters av an ould divil av a fool." 
 
 " Oh, you look awful white, Mr. Pat ! You 
 sick f o' true ? Mus' I call my maw ? Is dey got 
 anybody dead, Mr. Pat ?" 
 
 Pat's only previous rigorous toilets had been 
 made to attend an occasional funeral of some for 
 mer comrade. 
 
 " Plaze God, there's a fraction of a Joaf er dead, 
 sonny, an* I'm dthressed for the buryin'. Call no 
 body, but go now, don't be delay in', and tell the lady 
 below I'm tuck suddintly ill an' I'm not worrkin'." 
 
 It was with manifest reluctance that the little 
 fellow at last withdrew his eyes from the gentle 
 man in the attic to deliver his message. 
 
 In a moment the signora's voice was heard at 
 the foot of the stairs :
 
 20 
 
 " Oh, Meester Pad ! Pasquale say god-a sorae- 
 theen the matther weeth-a you. 'F you f eel-a sig, 
 mus-a shore call-a some6oc?y." 
 
 "Much obliged, ma'am, but sure I'm takin' a 
 day off, jist, an' I'm in nade o' northin' but a 
 broom, if ye'll lind me the loan av one." 
 
 Pat was not an artist, and his hands were 
 clumsy, yet the result of a single effort in the di 
 rection of respectability wrought a transformation 
 in his apartment. After he had swept, dusted, 
 and rearranged his shabby belongings, he took 
 from his box a little old-fashioned daguerreotype 
 of his mother and gazed upon it in silence for 
 some minutes. When finally he spoke, his voice 
 was tremulous and tender : 
 
 "Indade an' yer b'y's in great throuble, mam 
 my dear. Ye always said I was the biggest fool 
 o' the dozen, an' sure I want to take back me 
 sassy conthradiction." 
 
 He drew his sleeve clumsily over it, wiping a 
 tear from the face of the picture, and, hobbling 
 across the room, placed it open upon the shelf that 
 served for a mantel. 
 
 He did hot go down -stairs that day. Though 
 cleansed and clothed, he was not assured of being iu 
 his right mind. He dreaded to meet Carlotta, lest 
 she should detect the insanity that possessed him, 
 and despise him as he despised himself for it. Of 
 course this nonsense would die out in time, and he 
 would always be just the same old " Woona" to her 
 as of yore, and when the time and the right man
 
 21 
 
 should come he would do his best to have her suit 
 ably married. It was absurd that right here at the 
 outset he should be having trouble with himself. 
 
 For three days he felt constrained to put off 
 "till to-morrow" his going down -stairs. While 
 he could not treat with this exquisite, delicate 
 thing without purifications of himself and sur 
 roundings, it was yet only a something to be sure 
 ly overcome. A few days' banishment and fast 
 ing would restore him to himself. The fasting, 
 it is true, he practised only because he could not 
 eat, and the banishment on a similar principle, yet 
 he counted on this discipline, with time and reso 
 lution, to quell a passion which could bring him 
 only ignominy, and to the girl, should she suspect 
 it, but embarrassment and estrangement from her 
 best friend. But she should never know it. 
 
 In a few weeks, at furthest, Socola would press 
 his suit; for was there not every reason to expect 
 haste ? He was old (old men are always in a 
 hurry), a widower (who ever knew a widower to 
 dally with a proposal ?), and he came from Sicily, 
 from Palermo, that warm clime of impatient love 
 and ardent adorers. 
 
 In a few weeks Carlotta might have need of a 
 friend. Socola was rich. The Di Carlos' one 
 weakness, in Pat's eyes, was love of money. The 
 signora had laughed when the old man tried to 
 kiss Carlotta. It was a bad omen. She would 
 favor his suit. 
 
 It was on the morning of the fourth day that lit-
 
 22 
 
 tie Pasquale reappeared at the head of the stairs, 
 bearing this time in his hands a half-worn shoe. 
 
 "Back wud ye, now!" exclaimed Pat, anticipat 
 ing the application. "Sure an' I'm on the re 
 tired lisht for a couple o' days. Fetch me no 
 more ordhers." 
 
 "Who's a-talkin' 'bout orders?" drawled the 
 pert boy. "Give a fellow time to talk, won't 
 you ? My maw sez, she sez C'lotta's feet's on de 
 groun', and somebody haf to sew 'er shoe." 
 
 The old shoe, torn and muddy, which the boy 
 laid in Pat's hand, bearing the unmistakable im 
 press of the physical vigor and undiscriminat- 
 ing step of a growing girl, was neither small nor 
 shapely, but Pat's hand trembled visibly as he 
 touched it, and he felt so queer that he was fright 
 ened. He seemed to see Carlotta standing in the 
 flesh before him. 
 
 "An' my maw sez, she sez if yoti'll sew it righd 
 away, 'cause C'lotta ain't got no more shoes, an' " 
 
 " All right. Tell 'er she'll have a new shoe 
 built around the patch I'll putt on it, an' off wud 
 ye, now." 
 
 As the boy disappeared, Pat turned the shoe 
 about in his hands slowly, and, perceiving the 
 trembling of his fingers, exclaimed : 
 
 " The divil's grandmother! Sure an' I wouldn't 
 know mesilf from a shakin' Quaker or a quakin' 
 Shaker, I'm that rattled ! But I'll kiss the f ut 
 av 'er, onyhow!" And he laid the old shoe against 
 his lips with a caressing movement.
 
 23 
 
 It needed many stitches, and Pat was still at 
 work upon it an hour later when he heard the sig- 
 nora trudging up the stairs. 
 
 "Hello, Meester Pad; 'rn-a come talk weeth-a 
 you," she began, while still invisible. " God-a so 
 much-a troub', haf to spik weeth-a you." And as 
 she finally reached the landing she exclaimed, 
 looking about her, " Name o' God! Well, I swea'! 
 Pasquale ees-a tell me you was-a pud on-a plenny 
 style up here." Crossing, she dropped into a seat 
 at Pat's side, putting the baby which she carried 
 upon the floor before her. 
 
 "Fo' God sague ! Never was-a seel you so 
 fine-a biffo'. B'lief you goin' a ged-a marry, Mees 
 ter Pad!" 
 
 "Arrah, thin, I may's well confess; Carlotta an' 
 me's plannin' to shtep over to S'int Alphonse's 
 some fine morrnin', an' run across to Algiers for 
 a weddin'-tower an' back again be the Magazine 
 Marrket f'r a bridal breakfasht. Sure an' we're 
 only tarryin' for me mother-in-law's perrmission." 
 
 This bravado helped him immensely. He had 
 said the same thing substantially a hundred times 
 before, but not for a long time. Instead of laugh 
 ing as of yore, however, the signora grew serious. 
 
 "Dthaz-a just-a fo' wad I'm-a goin '-a talk 
 weeth-a you, Meester Pad. Of-a coze I know you 
 god-a nobody an-a northeen, you haf to mague a 
 lill-a fun some time, but know sometheen ? Young 
 gal ligue-a C'lotta ees-a god-a no senz. C'lotta 
 b'lief thad. She thing you ees-a lov' weeth-a her."
 
 24 
 
 " An' who sez she does ?" 
 
 " I am-a sho', sho' she b'lief thad." 
 
 "An' who sez she does?" he repeated, with 
 keen vehemence. 
 
 "Nobody, only 'erselve ees-a say it." 
 
 "An' who did she say nt to? She niver said 
 it, ma'am !" 
 
 "My God, you thing me I'm a liar? C'lotta 
 sez to me, sez I don'-a lov-a no man bud-a just-a 
 Woona. Wad yon call-a thad ?" 
 
 "Begorra, an' I suppose she loves her father 
 betther yet. Who the divil shud she like betther 
 nor me she that's afther cutt'n' 'er eye-teeth on 
 me thumb-nail ?" 
 
 " Of-a coze ; dthaz-a thrue ; bud-a you don' 
 un'erstan', Meester Pad. God-a so much-a troub' 
 weeth-a thad chil'. Now ees-a raise 'er so big, an' 
 she sassy me to my face. God knows, I weesh me 
 I was-a dead ! God-a so much-a troub'. Fo' two 
 days, can' d do northeen weeth-a C'lotta. God-a fine 
 chanz, C'lotta, an' she don' care northeen 'boud." 
 
 "A fine chance, has she? An' whut is it?" 
 His heart stood still. 
 
 " Pietro Socola ees-a wan reech-a man, Meester 
 Pad. Wan'-a marry weeth-a C'lotta /" 
 
 " The divil's pitchfork ! An' whut does whut 
 does she say ?" 
 
 " Say she won'-a marry weeth-a heem. Can'd 
 do northeen weeth-a C'lotta. Her pa ees-a w'ip 
 'er, me, I ees-a w'ip 'er, an' the mo' we ees-a beat 
 'er the mo' she ees-a sassy me to my face."
 
 25 
 
 Pat was speechless with surging emotion, and 
 the mother continued : 
 
 " Pietro Socola ees-a prormis me an' Carlo a 
 t'ousan' dollah, an'-a tague 'eem een-a pardners, 
 'f 'e can-a ged C'lotta. Oh, 'ees-a crazy fo' C'lot- 
 ta lov' er so hard." 
 
 " An' did 'e shpake love to 'er ?" 
 
 " One time 'ees-a try speak weeth-a C'lotta, an' 
 C'lotta ees-a slap 'is face." 
 
 " An' whut did he say ?" 
 
 "He ees-a just laugh. Lov-a C'lotta so hard 
 'e don' care. Want 'er all-a same. Theng God 
 fo' thad. Tell you, Meester Pad, plenny troub' 
 een theze-a worl'. Come-a talk weeth you 'boud 
 C'lotta. 'M goin-a call 'er talk weeth-a you. You 
 muz-a please talk-a senz weeth 'er. Tell 'er she 
 haf to marry Socola. C'lotta do anytheen-a fo' 
 you." 
 
 Pat was diplomat enough to see the worse than 
 futility of opposition. He let her call Carlotta. 
 
 Paler than he had ever seen her, her pallor ex 
 aggerating a dark bruise upon her cheek, but with 
 her head erect, she appeared before them. 
 
 " Whut ails yer face, Lottie ?" said the man, 
 gently, as, drawing a stool to his side, he mo 
 tioned to her to be seated. 
 
 She remained standing, however, and the moth 
 er answered : 
 
 " When somebody slap-a company in-a face, 
 muz-a show 'er how it feel to have-a face slap." 
 
 " An' who done ut ?"
 
 26 
 
 "Me raysclve done it. Slap 'er face good fo' 
 her ! Muz-a teach-a ray chil' some manners. Lill- 
 a mo' would-a pud C'lotta's eye oud. Hit 'er good 
 weeth a tin cup. Take plenny pains, yas, teach-a 
 C'lotta manners an-a raise 'er nice." 
 
 The tension of the situation here was happily 
 relieved by the signer Di Carlo, who called loud 
 ly in Italian for his wife to come and light up the 
 shop. She would have hesitated, but an impera 
 tive " Won posso sestare! Spicciatevi T warned 
 her that her lord was impatient. 
 
 She rose hastily, slipping her feet deftly from 
 under the child who had crept up against her and 
 fallen asleep, and, bidding Carlotta "min'-a the 
 baby," hurriedly descended the stairs. 
 
 The child, disturbed, began to fret. Seating 
 herself, Carlotta raised the little one upon her 
 lap, where in a moment it slept again. 
 
 She sat opposite Pat, in the seat her mother 
 had vacated. Sitting thus, with the beautiful 
 babe in her arms, in the tender twilight which 
 was further sensitized by the subtle insinuation 
 of light from a new moon which hung just with 
 out, she looked not unlike the statues in the 
 churches of the Virgin Mother and Child. 
 
 Even Pat saw it, and felt like crossing himself 
 as he looked upon her. 
 
 He had never seen her look like this before. 
 The habitual spirit of joyous childishness had 
 passed out of her face, which seemed clothed 
 with modesty and sadness.
 
 27 
 
 She had not spoken since she entered the gar 
 ret. She had not even looked at Pat. 
 
 Though silent also for a time, he was first to 
 speak : 
 
 " Well, mavourneen, me poor child o' sorrow, 
 the throuble's come quicker nor I thought for. 
 Betune the two av us, ye've got a black eye, for 
 yer mother only paid ye for takin' me advice. 
 Forgive me me share o' the blame while I talk 
 to ye plain, Lottie." 
 
 Raising his eyes, he muttered to himself, "The 
 Lord o' light give me courage this night !" Then 
 he turned to her : 
 
 "An' y.e must answer me plain, Lottie. Ye 
 must shpake to-night plainer nor ye iver shpoke 
 since yer firrst confession. Answer me questions 
 like the Holy Virgin, whose image ye are, an 
 swered the angel o' the Lord, kapin' northin' hid. 
 Wull ye do ut, Lottie ?" 
 
 She turned and looked at him. 
 
 " Wull ye answer me questions an' kape north- 
 in' back, mavourneen ?" 
 
 She gave assent by an inclination of her head, 
 keeping her eyes upon his face. 
 
 " 'R ye goin' to marry Peter Socola, Lottie ?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " No? An' why not? D'ye know he has riches 
 an' jew'ls an '11 make a fine lady av ye ? I'm 
 kapin' northin' back from ye, an' ye must answer 
 me thrue. D'ye know all that, Lottie ?" 
 
 "Yas."
 
 28 
 
 " An' ye don't want 'im, nohow ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Not if 'e was tarred wud melted gold an' 
 feathered wud diamonds till Vd shine like a gov 
 ernment light-house ! Ye don't want 'im noway, 
 sick norr well, alive norr dead, raw norr cooked, 
 mummied norr shtuffed, divilled norr on the half- 
 shell ! If I'm not mishtaken, I know yer sinti- 
 mints on the Chinese question, an' that's about 
 the size av ut ! Ye don't want Peter, not if he 
 does come wud the golden keys o' the kingdom o' 
 this airth ! Ain't that so ?" 
 
 "Yas." 
 
 "Yis whut?" 
 
 " I don't want." 
 
 " That's it ; ye don't want an' sha'ri't have the 
 antiquated ould pill coated for a sugar-plum! Ye 
 sha'n't have um, an' nayther shall he have you. 
 That much is settled, an' the hows an' the whins 
 an' the wheres come aftherr. An' now for the 
 next question: Is there onybody else ye like? 
 that ye'd like to marry, I mane ?" 
 
 She looked straight into his eyes and answered 
 not a word. 
 
 How his heart thumped ! 
 
 " Shpake, Lottie. Out wud ut ! Is there ony 
 body else ye like betther nor all the worrld ?" 
 
 But still she, looking into his eyes, answered 
 not. 
 
 He flinched visibly as he put the next question : 
 
 " Is it Joe Limongi, Lottie ?"
 
 29 
 
 His heart was dancing a highland fling now. 
 
 With an almost imperceptible, but steady move 
 ment, she shook her head. 
 
 It was not Limongi Limongi who sold canta 
 loupes for her father and liked to talk to Carlotta. 
 Maybe it was 
 
 " Is it Antonino ? Shpake out an' answer me 
 thrue. Is it Toney ?" 
 
 Another head-shake. 
 
 "Norr yer cousin Nicolo ? Sure I niver seen 
 'im shpakin' wud ye." 
 
 The Madonna head shook again. 
 
 " Arrah, musha, an' sure an' it can't be Pat 
 Murphy, the bit av a grocery-b'y at Keenan's be- 
 yant a freckled, red-headed, blue-eyed Paddy, 
 wud a brogue on 'im as thick as a mush poultice. 
 Sure ye wudn't care for the likes av a blazin' divil 
 av an Irishman, wud ye ?" 
 
 He waited, but she answered nothing nor moved 
 her head. 
 
 He was frightened. His voice was lower when 
 he spoke again : 
 
 " In the name o' God, Lottie, answer me, me 
 child. Ye're not demanin' yerself wud love for 
 Pat Murphy, are ye ?" 
 
 No, it was not Pat Murphy. The head shook 
 now with solemn decision. 
 
 " Thin who, in the name o' the Poydras Marr- 
 ket ? I don't know no more a-comin' round heer. 
 Sure it can't be the cross-eyed baker's man wud a 
 crooked "
 
 30 
 
 It was not the baker's boy, nor yet the young 
 American who lived at the corner. 
 
 Pat could think of no other. 
 
 "An' fo' the love o' Heaven, is it onybody, 
 Lottie ?" 
 
 She did not answer. It was surely some one. 
 
 "An* does he love ye, me child? An' are ye 
 engaged to um ?" 
 
 "I don't know." This slowly, after a pause. 
 
 " Don't know if ye're engaged ? Is it af ther 
 makin' a fool av me ye are, Lottie ?" 
 
 He was wounded. The girl saw it, and was 
 suddenly roused. 
 
 "You don't like me no more!" she exclaimed, 
 her eyes flashing. "Since two years you never 
 call me no more * intend ' - never say you want 
 me -never, never say nothing I I don't care, me. 
 If you want, I'll marry ol' Pietro Socola. Any 
 how, he loves me speak with me kind, an' talk 
 with my maw an' my paw fo' me. An' you you 
 say nothing ! Anybody can come, say love- words 
 an' get me you don't care ! It's all right. Me, 
 I don't care neither, only fo' what you took me 
 when I was little an' know no better, an' speak 
 love-words with me say I am for you fool me 
 like that an' now, now when I am mo' bigger an' 
 know better, now when I know to love, you turn 
 your back! like to see me marry some strange 
 man ! My God, if I thought some bad man do 
 like that to my lill sister here, me, I'd throw 'er 
 right now out the window! Better so than like
 
 31 
 
 me me to love always one, to think only fo' one, 
 since I am like this baby, an' you pet me, make 
 like you love me, buy me every pretty thing an' 
 then when I am mo' older, say I am f o' you call 
 me always your ' intend ' before my maw an' my 
 paw an 1 everybody call me so an' never in all my 
 life speak no cross word with me* an' now, when 
 I am only for you, an' you know it, you hate me /" 
 
 " Whist! Sh-h-h!" Pat fairly hissed, raising his 
 arm wildly. " Hush, mavourneen! Ye're shpakin' 
 blasphemy. Hush-h-h! Fo' the love o' God say 
 no more !" 
 
 For a moment he was silent. Then, raising 
 hands and face heavenward, he said, reverently : 
 
 "Holy Mary, Mother av God, an' all the saints 
 an' angels, pass out in a full-dthress parade this 
 day, an' wutness this mericle in the little shanty 
 on S'int Andthrew Street !" 
 
 A sob stopped his throat for a moment, but pres 
 ently, in a voice pitifully weak and low, he said : 
 
 "An' did ye think yer ould 'Woona' turned 
 ag'in' ye, me purrty he that was kissin' the sole 
 av yer dirrty shoe this minute ! Sure I love ye 
 betther nor I love me mother that's in heaven, an' 
 God knows I'm not takin' 'er down a peg from 'er 
 high station in me recollection whin I do be sayin' 
 ut all honor to 'er name, though she's left me a 
 couple o' shpankin's shorrt in me ginteel educa 
 tion ! Sui'e 'twas the love in me heart that sint 
 me on a retrate from ye, colleen bawn. For two 
 yeers yer name thrimbled on me lips, an' yet I
 
 32 
 
 feered to own the truth, an' since I knowed ut for 
 a fact sure I was afeered to show me face, lest the 
 whole story'd lake out through the pores o' me 
 skin if I kept me lips shut, an' ye'd hate me for a 
 dizzy ould fool. An' now I fale I fale my God, 
 I do fale like a pig in a puddle, when somebody 
 frown 'im a bookay sure he ate it up ! Fo' the 
 love o' God, gi' me the baby to howld, Lottie, 
 afore I do take ye for a bookay!" 
 
 Reaching forward, he actually took the sleep 
 ing child from her arms. 
 
 " Sure I'll howld 'er for ballast, to kape me from 
 risin' into the air, till I do talk wud ye sinsible! 
 I'm that delerious I'm like a dthrunken man wud 
 the William o' Thrimities ! An' did ye think I 
 loved ye since ye were like this to fool ye ? Oh, 
 but I must talk wud ye like a major to-night, Lot 
 tie." He hesitated, and when he spoke again his 
 voice was touchingly tender : 
 
 " Ye're but a child, darlint. I niver th rifled wud 
 ye in me life, an' I won't thrifle wud ye now. Sure 
 an' if I tuck all ye're sayin' to me to-night, an' 
 held ye to ut, all I'd nade 'ud be a pitchfork an' a 
 tail for me rigimintals ; but I'm not lookin' fo' 
 that line o' promotion ! If I was half or a quarr- 
 ter fit for ye, I'd thry to qualify the remainder, 
 but vud three-quarrters o' unfitness an' the ither 
 quarrter beyant redimption in a jar o' alcohol, sure 
 I'd be a dog to thry for ye." 
 
 " You don't want" 
 
 Her eyes flashed again.
 
 33 
 
 " Sh-h-h ! My God, I do want, I tell ye, an' 
 from this night for'ard, till he comes that ye like 
 betther nor me, ye're mine promised an' pledged 
 over the head o' this slapin' image o' yerself when 
 firrst ye thricked me ould heart! I'm bound to 
 ye, remimber, Lottie mavourneen, be me own will, 
 to love ye, to help ye, to fight for ye to die for 
 ye, the day me grave 'II be a safe bridge over yer 
 throubles ! But ye must be free yet, me purrty 
 little innocent free till ye've listened to love at 
 its best. The old man Socola can't give ye a 
 sample o' the geniuwe arrticle, through his emp 
 ty gums. Sure it's stale an' warrmed over in a 
 cracked oven an' all out o' shape afore ye do get 
 it from him. Let purrty young lips tell the story 
 an'. purrty young eyes thry to hide ut from ye in 
 vain. Let one sing ut in rhyme an' anither clinch 
 'is fists an' swear ut to ye, an' then come an' tell 
 yer ould Woona all about ut. Ye see, ye can't 
 fully undtherstand till ye've had the best lessons 
 in the language, no more nor I c'd polly fronsay 
 wud a Frinchman. Take yer own time, me dar- 
 lint, an' remimber, whativer comes, Pm yer in- 
 tinded! (I'll say ut, if me ears grow six inches 
 to the minute, to designate ass-ification !) Wull 
 ye thrust me now, an' do what I say, an' kape 
 northin' from me ?" 
 
 " Yas ; but I don't want no French lessons." 
 " Aha, but sure I insist upon ut !" he replied, 
 laughing heartily at the unconscious humor of her 
 na'ive reply. 
 
 3
 
 34 
 
 " Sure an' I've waked the baby wud me thrum- 
 pet's voice. Take 'er, darlint, an' go, afore yer 
 mother calls ye, an' if she asks ye, tell 'er I urrged 
 ye to marry ould gum-drops, but ye'll die firrst. 
 If I do show me hand I b'lave she'd put me out ; 
 an' I think ye may nade me manoeuvrin' more norr 
 a skirrmish. Ye just come down like a thousand 
 o' brick on him an' the whole lot, an' say ye 
 won't an? nobody can make ye! An' I'll see 
 ye through ut. Good -night, an' God bless ye. 
 Sh-h-h-h !" 
 
 This last was to the baby, who fretted again in 
 the transfer to Carlotta's arms. Placing one of 
 her hands over the other about the shoulders of 
 the sleeping child, Pat laid his lips against them 
 reverently. 
 
 " God bless ye an' God bless ye," he said, and 
 agarin as she went down the stairs, " God bless 
 ye," and he hobbled back to the open window, 
 sank upon a chair, and in a moment was sobbing 
 and sobbing. 
 
 He felt so old, so dilapidated, so lonely and for 
 lorn, so rough and uncouth, so far removed from 
 his ideal of the man who should dare aspire to the 
 love of Carlotta Carlotta, whose exquisite youth 
 and vestal beauty stood her in stead of all the 
 graces and refinements of life; and yet he was so 
 madly in love, so deliriously jubilant over her loy 
 alty, which, no matter what should come, was now 
 wholly his, that he wept from a full surrender of 
 himself to his conflicting emotions.
 
 He had sat here an hour, perhaps, when the 
 sound of excited talking below drew him to the 
 head of the stairs. It was the mother's voice. 
 " Ogly !" she was screaming. " Ogly ! Fo' God 
 sague, Carlo, list'n ad C'lotta ! Sayce Signer Pie- 
 tro Socola ees-a wan ogly ol' man ! Ogly ees-a 
 northeen ! Ogly ees-a good fo' wan man, pritty 
 ees-a for a woma'. 'F a man ees-a pritty, ees-a no 
 coun'. 'Z god-a too strong eye fo' pritty, haf to 
 look all-a day een-a glass. Talk aboud-a ogly ! 
 My God, loog ad yo' pa ! You thing me I ees-a 
 marry heem f o' pritty ?" 
 
 The voice passed out into the other room. This 
 was only an argument by the way. Pat turned, 
 and, going to his shelf, lit his candle, and, raising 
 his . glass, moved it from one angle to another, 
 studying his own face: 
 
 "An' I do wondher, fo' the love o' God, does 
 the little darlint think me purrty ? Faith an' 
 mebbe I am, but me style is peculiar a rustic 
 landscape forninst a turrkey-egg background, a 
 mammoth cave, a natural bridge surrounded by a 
 dinse perrarie on fire, wud chips o'snow in among 
 the blazes throuble on the borrders, but refuge 
 in the middle ! An' mebbe that's what the poor 
 child sees in ut !" 
 
 The interpretation was touching in its mingling 
 of humor and modesty. The face, while perhaps 
 a stranger to recognized elements of beauty, was 
 yet more than attractive to the observer who cared 
 to read its meanings. Generosity, tender-hearted-
 
 36 
 
 ness, intelligence, wit can the face on which these 
 are written be called ugly ? 
 
 The little blue eyes twinkled anew as he dropped 
 the glass and, fastening a last thread in Carlotta's 
 shoe, hurried down-stairs. There was no longer 
 occasion for retreat, as there was nothing to hide, 
 naught to reveal. 
 
 A general murmur of welcome from the family 
 greeted him when he appeared in the shop. Even 
 Socola, who had just come in, grunted a pleasant 
 inquiry as to his health. 
 
 " Sure an' I'm convalescent, Misther Socola," he 
 said, his eyes dancing as he turned to the old man 
 with a friendliness entirely new to him. "An* 
 how's yersilf this day o' the wake ?" 
 
 " Oh, me, I am-a all-a-way kip well. Feel-a mo' 
 young efera day." 
 
 " Droth an' they're all alike," said Pat to him 
 self, as he passed out. "There's northin' like a 
 wife's grave for makin' over ould min. Sure if 
 I'd had the foresight to marry lame Biddy O'Shea 
 afore ould Brindle hooked 'er into purrgatory, I'd 
 be as much too young as I am too ould for love. 
 It takes an ould codger like Socola to shtand sich 
 a h'avin' set-back an' land out av the cradle." 
 
 Instead of joining the group at the door this 
 evening, Pat preferred to walk abroad, to get the 
 fresh open air and to find a quiet retreat to think 
 over things. 
 
 Hailing a passing car at Jackson street, he rode 
 out to its terminus at the river, and, passing be-
 
 37 
 
 yond the ferry -landing into a shadowy corner 
 behind high piles of freight, he sat down. 
 
 In the new retrospect, Socola and his little affair 
 dwindled into utter insignificance as a trivial in 
 cident by the way. 
 
 He sat here until past midnight, absorbed in 
 his own thoughts, which, no matter which way he 
 turned, seemed punctuated with interrogation- 
 points. " Would Carlotta always love him ? 
 Was it fair to her to hope for this ? Was it hu 
 man not to hope ? What should he do now ?" 
 
 The last question was that which remained with 
 him. What should he do ?" 
 
 He knew that these revived energies and ambi 
 tions that filled him to his finger-tips were not 
 transitory thrills unless the whole were a dream ; 
 and, even so, he would dream out an honorable so 
 lution. 
 
 If he were really a man worthy a true girl's 
 passing fancy even to put it safely and not the 
 " ould granny " as which he had posed to himself 
 for all these years, surely there must be standing- 
 room for him somewhere in the world ; not in the 
 rollicking, frolicking world he had left, perhaps,' 
 where two feet on which to stand often fail to 
 keep its inhabitants erect, but in the industrial 
 world of workers on the edge of which he had 
 dozed so long. 
 
 During the week following, while he worked at 
 his bench in the Di Carlo shop, he was so en 
 grossed with his own schemes that, but dimly
 
 38 
 
 conscious of his surroundings, he saw the old 
 suitor, Socola, come and go, and the young men 
 congregate about the shop and disperse, with but 
 a passing smile. It was only the diverting by 
 play in his own drama and Carlotta's the 
 drama for whose leading part he must equip 
 himself. 
 
 Strange to say, the signora had never interro 
 gated him in regard to his interview with Car- 
 lotta, presumably in behalf of Socola. The girl's 
 sustained attitude of resistance was evidence 
 enough of its result. So far as Pat observed, the 
 affair was drifting without special incident. 
 
 The little father Di Carlo still opened his best 
 old wine for Pietro on Sundays, and the signora 
 made up in attention for whatever was lacking in 
 Carlotta. , 
 
 So a week passed, during which Pat had had 
 scarcely a private word with the girl. 
 
 "Pst! Come heer, Lottie," he called, as she 
 was passing through the shop on Saturday after 
 noon. 
 
 "Sit down an' putt up yer fut till I take yer 
 measure." 
 
 She obeyed, coloring as she did so, for she 
 knew the request was only a ruse. Did he not 
 have hanging behind his door a row of lasts made 
 for her feet at every stage of growth from her in 
 fancy till now ? 
 
 " Now," said he, "while I do thrick the inquis 
 itive wud me tape-line, Lottie, I want to talk wud
 
 39 
 
 ye. Don't say northin' to nobody norr let on ye 
 know ut, but I'm goin' off for a thrip for a wake 
 or so. I'll say I'm goin' for me health, but sure 
 it's wealth I'm afther. (Faith an' if I do lie 
 about the firrst letter o' the worrd, I do spind the 
 remainder in repintance.) I'm lookin' out for a 
 betther job norr the exterrnal tratement av corrns 
 an' bunions poulticin' over wan man's worrk in 
 the cornier av anither man's shop." 
 
 " I'm glad," she said, and the rosy color in her 
 face turned to scarlet. 
 
 "I knowed ye'd be glad, mavourneen." 
 
 " Where you goin' ?" she added, quickly. 
 
 " I'm goin' up the Jackson railroad to visit me 
 frind the Dutchman, jist. They tell me he has a 
 boomin' thrade at Chattawa in the shoe business, 
 an' he's only a yeer there, an' sure an' begorra 
 where Hans Schmidt '11 go I'm safe to vinture, 
 for he an' 'is ould frau are but two solid lumps 
 o' prudence." 
 
 " When you goin' ?" 
 
 " I'm off airly o' Monda' morrnin', plaze God, 
 an' look for me back whin ye do heer me peg on 
 the banquette. I'm goin' a - scrimmagin' an' a- 
 skirrmishin' till I find what I want a barefutted 
 town a-wailin' for a wan-legged shoemaker ; an' " 
 lowering his voice " Lottie mavourneen, be a 
 good girrl till Woona comes back, d'ye heer ? An' 
 let no one bully ye into listenin' to the ould man's 
 complaint. Remimber, nobody can make ye, if ye 
 won't. If they belt ye up afore the praste, sure
 
 40 
 
 yc cud shtiffen out into a dead faint an' they'd be 
 compelled to carry ye out, Miss Di Carlo an' 
 don't ye forget that." 
 
 "I'm not 'fraid. My maw an' my paw knows 
 me. They won't try nothin' like that on me." 
 
 "Ye're solid on that, colleen. An' now I'll 
 1'ave me adthress on a shlip o' paper, an' in case 
 ye do nade a friend, sind me a line. An' now," 
 in a louder tone, raising his tape-line " nine 
 inches an' a quarrter across the inshtep the same 
 from heel to toe." And lower again, " I seen the 
 madam a-peepin' twice-t ; rnebbe ye betther run 
 off now me purrty little intinded." 
 
 The last, in a whisper, just reached her ear, 
 spreading a fresh blush over her face as she 
 arose. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Pat's business tour extended itself from one to 
 two weeks. The idea of establishing himself in 
 some suburban town was not new to him, but 
 it had never before seemed quite worth while. 
 His really worthy but conservative friends, the 
 Schmidts, though evidently quietly prosperous, 
 were non-committal, and would give no advice. 
 His impressions were favorable, however, and he 
 returned to New Orleans buoyant with promising 
 schemes. 
 
 It was after dark when he reached the city, and
 
 41 
 
 as he approached the Di Carlo's a row of carriage- 
 lights before the door startled him so that he felt 
 in danger of falling. Something unusual was 
 happening. If any one had died he would have 
 heard: besides, who ever heard of a night funeral, 
 except under extraordinary circumstances ? Could 
 it be a wedding ? He had had a strange forebod 
 ing of ill. Why had he left Carlotta ? 
 
 Reaching the house, he hesitated without, in 
 the shadow of an open shutter. He must have a 
 moment to still the mad beating of his heart. 
 
 The window was up, and through the Venetian 
 blinds the scene which greeted him was of the 
 utmost confusion. 
 
 Socola, attired in his dress suit and white kid 
 gloves, bloodless as yellow wax and blue of lip, 
 was excitedly walking up and down the room. 
 About him, standing in squads or sitting in groups, 
 whispering, was a gathering of people, among 
 whom Pat recognized some of the Di Carlo kin 
 dred, while others were strangers. All were in 
 tensely excited. 
 
 Just as Socola reached a point near the window, 
 a young woman crossing from the other side of 
 the room stopped him. 
 
 Pat recognized her immediately as a cousin of 
 Carlotta, and, by a coincidence, one who bore her 
 full name. 
 
 " I'm-a shore I woun'-a grief myself 'boud-a 
 Carlotta, signor," she said, as she excitedly fanned 
 her dark fat face with a light-blue feather fan.
 
 42 
 
 And so Carlotta was dead! Pat leaned against 
 the house for support. 
 
 But wait. The old man was answering in 
 Italian : 
 
 " Grief ! I grieve not for her. She may go to 
 the devil. I care not for her, but for myself ! It 
 is the disgrace! I have come here to marry her, 
 and if I wait all night I will have her ! Money 
 is nothing to me. I can pay the police order 
 the detective force out scour the city." 
 
 The girl shrugged her shoulders. " Oh, well, 
 'z-god-a just-a so good fish in the riv' 'z-a come 
 oud." 
 
 "But I am not to be mocked!" The old man 
 was hoarse with passion. There was a majesty 
 in his wrath which might even have won respect 
 from Carlotta could she have seen him. 
 
 "She shall not mock me!" he continued. "Every 
 laborer down at the Picayune Tier every man on 
 the luggers all my business comrades everybody 
 knows the name of Carlotta Di Carlo, and that I 
 come to marry her to-night. I have her mother's 
 promise. She must be found !" 
 
 "Carlotta Di Carlo ees-a no gread-a name," 
 she replied, still in English, toying with her fan. 
 " Z-a my name just-a the same ligue-a my cous'n. 
 Neva ees-a bring me sudge-a so gread-a good- 
 luck." Just here the door opened at Pat's side, 
 and a man stepped out. Fearing discovery, he 
 immediately entered the house, where a chorus of 
 exclamations greeted him :
 
 43 
 
 " Carlotta ces-a run away !" 
 
 "Z-a jump oud-a window !" 
 
 " runoff!" 
 
 " Cand fine-a no place." 
 
 In the back room the mother was noisily be 
 moaning her misfortune, sometimes in Italian and 
 then in English. 
 
 " Come in, fo' God sague, Meester Pad !" she 
 cried, when she saw him. " Come-a see wad-a 
 troub' we god-a theeze day. Come, loog !" Draw 
 ing him into the back room, she pointed to the 
 bed, upon which was spread an array of finery. 
 
 " Loog loog here ! All-a fine silg dress, silg 
 pock-a-hankcher silg stockin' silg hat keed-a 
 glove keed-a shoe gol' watch-a chain gol' ring 
 loog ! Everytheen-a so fine Signer Socola ees-a 
 bring' Carlotta fo' marry weeth-a heem to-nighd 
 an' C'lotta ees-a run away! Sez to me, ' Mus-a 
 lock-a door fo' wash-a myselve ' just a ligue 
 thad an' ees-a climb oud-a window an' gone ! 
 Oh, my God, me I'm-a crezzy !" 
 
 "An'. had she given her consint, ma'am?" Pat 
 managed to ask, at last. He had only listen 
 ed yet. 
 
 " Consen' ! Geev - a consen' ! No ! Geev - a 
 northeen ! C'lotta ees-a god on'y six-a-teen year. 
 Wad-a chil' ligue that knowce aboud-a man ? 
 Don' know northeen boud-a consen' !" 
 
 "That's whut I say, ma'am!" It was all he 
 could do to hold himself, but he remembered her 
 he loved, and in her interest was silent.
 
 44 
 
 His only fear, and this was slight, was that they 
 should find her. 
 
 A half -hour passed slowly. At any unusual 
 sound in the front room every one looked anx 
 iously towards the door, as in a church when the 
 bridal party is due. 
 
 Presently a distinct and sudden movement and 
 a renewed hum of voices indicated that something 
 had happened. 
 
 It was true. Something was happening. 
 
 The old man Socola, leading by the hand the 
 other Carlotta, the cousin, entered the room and 
 approached the bed. With a dignified inclination 
 of his head to the company, and pointing to the 
 display of gifts, he said (he spoke always in 
 Italian) : 
 
 " I present to Carlotta Di Carlo those presents 
 which are marked in the name of Carlotta Di 
 Carlo, and when she is dressed as my bride we 
 will drive to the church. The announcement in 
 to-morrow's papers shall prove that Pietro Socola 
 has not been disappointed." 
 
 Hesitating here, and gathering emphasis by a 
 lowered voice, as he glanced with menacing brow 
 about him, he continued : 
 
 "What happens here to-night is in the bosom 
 of Mafia society !" They could have heard a 
 pin drop now. "Mafia's children can keep her 
 secrets," He paused again and looked from one 
 to another. "But if there is a Judas here if 
 one word passes that door the knives of a hundred
 
 43 
 
 of Mafia's sons are ready to avenge it ! And I am 
 Pietro Adolpho Socola who speaks !" 
 
 Pat was the first to break the death-like silence 
 which followed. 
 
 "An' accept me warrmest congratulations, 
 Misther Socola," he said, stepping forward and 
 grasping the old man's white-gloved hand. 
 
 Others followed closely. Congratulations were 
 now in order, the new bride-elect receiving her 
 accidental honors with ill-concealed pride. 
 
 A fresh wedding-stir arose, but beneath it all 
 was a suppressed moan, like the irresistible under 
 tow of a playful sea. The missing girl, the lost 
 wealth, the mystery, the humiliation, Mafia's 
 authoritative command of secrecy, with its death- 
 penalty all these, as elements of possible tragedy, 
 were felt, even by the satellites of the new bride, 
 and showed themselves in the subdued air and 
 blanched faces of the family of the supplanted. 
 
 Pat was the happiest person present, excepting 
 perhaps the fat little creature who in the next 
 room was holding her breath and panting while 
 one squeezed, another fanned her, and a third 
 burst off hooks and eyes in the determined effort 
 to prove that the bridal gown designed for Car- 
 lotta Di Carlo had not proved a misfit. 
 
 It was a relief to all when finally the wedding- 
 party started off. 
 
 Those who came in the back carriages rode 
 now in front, the family of Carlo Di Carlo bring 
 ing up the rear as relations of the bride " like
 
 46 
 
 the asses which always follow on the tail of the 
 Rex procession on JVlardi Gras," Pat heard the 
 little father say in Italian to the signora, adding, 
 as he and his sons got into the last carriage, "You 
 have made us a pretty pack of fools !" 
 
 There was that in the husband's tone that made 
 the wife keep silent, but when they had gone she 
 turned to Pat and burst into violent weeping. 
 
 For once a woman's tears were powerless to 
 move him. Turning abruptly, he left her with 
 out a word, and mounted the stairs to his own 
 room. 
 
 In a moment, however, he heard her following. 
 She was not to be so easily eluded. She must 
 have an audience. Her habit of finding relief by 
 pouring her complaint into Pat's ears was too 
 firmly fixed to be given up at this crisis, when her 
 ignominious failure seemed more than she could 
 bear. Her cup had been spared no possible dreg 
 of bitterness, even to the summoning of the hated 
 family of her brother-in-law Di Carlo to witness 
 and reap a triumph in her defeat. This was the 
 refinement of cruelty ; and then, as a finishing- 
 touch, came Mafia's command. They dare never 
 explain. Those stuck-up Toney Di Carlos might 
 give the world any story they chose but the true 
 one the one they would love to keep. 
 
 When she appeared before him, panting from 
 her hasty ascent, Pat thought she resembled noth 
 ing so much as a hyena at bay. 
 
 " Haf to lis'n ad me, Meester Pad," she began,
 
 47 
 
 dropping into a chair. " God Almighty ees-a 
 turn 'is back on me to-nighd pud-a me down 
 ligue wan dog biffore all-a doze nasty Toney Di 
 Carlos !" 
 
 "God Almighty done ut, d'ye say? Ye're 
 payin' yersilf a purrty round complimint for a 
 wake-day, Misthress Di Carlo ! I'd kape that for 
 a Sunday, till we cud buy ye a tin halo an' putt 
 on our Sunday clothes an' say our beads to yer 
 Holiness." 
 
 His wrath oiled his tongue. Of course she did 
 not understand. 
 
 " 'Z-a no time fo' play, Meester Pad. Fo' God 
 sague, you god-a no heart? See wan-a poor 
 woma' in-a so gread-a troub'!" 
 
 " I have, ma'am, a palpitator in the vicinity 
 o' me left lung, but it's engaged at prisent in be 
 half o' the slip av a child that's turrned out av 'er 
 father's house on a darrk night to escape worrse 
 nor a livin' death at the hand av 'er mother. 
 'Tis a black night, ma'am, an' where is the child ?" 
 
 " My God !" her whisper was heavy with pas 
 sion, "you tague-a side weeth-a C'lotta? Me, I 
 don' care where ees ! Hof e-a the dev's got 'er !" 
 
 " An' I'll warrant ye, ma'am, he has an orrgan- 
 ized detective forrce out in searrch o' the likes 
 av her to-night, ye, may be sure o' that ! An' 
 plinty illuminated transums above hell's sky- 
 parrlors '11 open their thrap-doors to welcome 'er 
 in, wud music borrowed from heaven to entrap 
 an angel !" His voice trembled with wrath. "Sure
 
 48 
 
 they'll give 'er 'er pick av bridal dresses, an' a 
 sate at a faste where the bread she'll ate '11 be as 
 honest as that ye offered 'er raised from the same 
 leaven an' at the same price !" 
 
 " Wad you talk, Meester Pad ? ' Brida ' dress' 
 an'-a same price !' Thing yo' head ees-a gone 
 wrong ! 'Z no mo' rich-a man's wan'-a C'lotta. 
 Wad-a you say ?" 
 
 "I say the divil has a shtandin' ordther out for 
 brides, ma'am, an' the city strates av a darrk night 
 are his harvest-field, an' whin an angel is thrapped 
 unbeknowinst to his bed, he does mock heaven 
 wud fresh fireworrks an' ring the bells o' hell for 
 a holiday ! 'Tis tin o'clock, mother Di Carlo, an' 
 rainin' cats an' dogs this minute. Ye have a 
 child, a fair bit av a daughter, out hidin' from ye. 
 She knows no people. 'Tis the firrst time nine 
 o'clock iver missed 'er from her little thrundle- 
 bed. Can ye tell me in whose back alley I'll find 
 'er skulkin', like an odd cat, an' bring 'er home to 
 the mother that's grievin' after 'er ?" 
 
 His passion calmed the woman. She looked 
 dazed, but answered him nothing. 
 
 " If yer Divinity '11 parrdon me shirrt-slaves 
 till I do putt on me rain-coat, I'll shtep out 
 mesilf an' see if bechance her ould granny can 
 thrace 'er." 
 
 Crossing the room, he proceeded to raise the 
 lid of his trunk, but it resisted. It was fastened 
 on the inside ! 
 
 For a second only voice and wit failed him.
 
 49 
 
 " Ye'll excuse me manners, ma'am, fer lavin' 
 me saloon-parrlor whin I've company, but I've 
 a call to enlist on the opposition to the divil's 
 forrce," he said, and, with a bow, " Wull ye walk 
 firrst, Misthress Di Carlo ?" 
 
 Sniffling, but silent, the woman arose and pre 
 ceded him down the stairs. 
 
 Following, he hurried into the street, but re 
 turned in a moment. 
 
 " Betther go back for me rubber boot an' me 
 bumberel," said he. " Sure the strates are flowin' 
 wud wather." And hastily he reascended the 
 stairs. 
 
 " Whst !" he called, tapping gently upon the 
 trunk, and " sh-h-h !" as the girl's head pushed 
 up the lid. 
 
 "Glory be to God Almighty!" he whispered, as 
 he carefully aided her to rise from her cramped 
 position, though she remained sitting in the 
 trunk. 
 
 " An' did me ould box harber ye again, me little 
 wan ? An' why didn't ye write me the letther ?" 
 
 " I never knowed I haf to get married till to 
 night. My maw sez to me I mus' marry Socola, 
 on 'coun' o' my po' lill brothers an' sisters an' " 
 
 "Sh-h! Spake aisy, mavourneen." 
 
 " Then I seen my only chance was to run away. 
 It was dark outside. I was afraid. So then I 
 thought about the trunk, an' I climbed up over 
 the back shed " 
 
 " Niver mind now, daiiint. I musht go ; the
 
 50 
 
 madam '11 be af ther missin' me. But you stay beer. 
 Make yersilf at home to-night in me ould din. I'll 
 shlape below in the shop, an' tell thim I'm on the 
 watch for ye, which '11 be God's truth. Ye're not 
 to make yer appeerance till she's wapin' an wailin' 
 for a sight av ye. Shtrike no light, an' off wud 
 yer shoes. I'll mano3tivre below -stairs, an' ye 
 kape silence above." 
 
 " You think the old man '11 come back for me to 
 morrow again ?" she asked, anxiously. 
 
 " Heavens above ! An' didn't ye know he's mar 
 ried to yer cousin Carlotta?" 
 
 The tension had been so great that, at this sud 
 den relief, the girl, trembling, bent her head upon 
 her arm over the edge of the trunk, and fell to 
 sobbing hysterically. 
 
 Pat was frightened lest she should be overheard, 
 for he dreaded the mother's unspent rage. He 
 laid his hand tenderly upon her head. 
 
 " Sh-h ! The throuble's over now, darlint, an' 
 Woona's heer to thrash onybody but yer mother, 
 an' it's she that mustn't heer ye !" 
 
 A sound of loud talking below reassured him, 
 however. The father and brothers had returned 
 from the wedding. 
 
 Carlotta heard it, and the distraction soon quiet 
 ed her. With Pat's aid she presently arose, and 
 together they cautiously approached the opening. 
 
 In the tumult the father's voice- prevailed. He 
 spoke in Italian : 
 
 " What am I, that my wife lies to me ? You
 
 51 
 
 said the child consented. You lied, lied! I told 
 you you should not compel her. You are paid. 
 I am glad. But I want my daughter. Where is 
 the child ? What can I do ? Where I go to seek 
 her I spread an ugly tale Carlotta, the pretty 
 daughter of Di Carlo, is not in her father's house 
 at night. A sweet story, that ! Oh, my wife is a 
 fine schemer got a rich husband for Toney's 
 ugly girl with the pimply face. Ha ! she is 
 kind, yes I am glad, but, only, I want my lit 
 tle girl." 
 
 In the midst of this, but not heeding it, the 
 woman was contesting her position in broken Eng 
 lish an appeal for sympathy to the English- 
 speaking boys, her sons. 
 
 "Fo' who ees I lie?" she screamed, between 
 sobs. " Wad ees-a money f o' me ? Rich or po' 
 ees-a all-a same to me. God-a rock-a cradle fo' 
 you dthaz all ! 'F I lie, 'z fo' you, an' fo' C'lotta 
 selve. An' now everybody ees - a blame me ! 
 Weesh, me, I was dead. You ees-a curse me, 
 Meester Pad ees-a sassy me to my face, an' all on 
 'coun' o' C'lotta !" 
 
 "Slip !" hissed the old man. "No more! Show 
 me my child, and we speak never of this again. 
 I am not blameless. I consented, but not to force 
 her. You were tempted, and she saved you. It 
 is well. We have not sold our first babe to feed 
 the last. But I want her here. I want my little 
 girl." 
 
 " I'm goin', Woona," said Carlotta, starting sud-
 
 52 
 
 denly. She would have descended the stairs, but 
 Pat held her arm. 
 
 " Not from beer, darlint. Ye've kept the thrunk 
 secret for a dozen years " 
 
 She understood, and, agile as a cat, had dashed 
 by him in the other direction, and was out the win 
 dow on the roof before he realized her intention. 
 She would return as she had come. 
 
 Pat hobbled after her to the window. She had 
 just reached the corner of the low shed (where 
 an' overhanging fig-tree afforded safe and pri 
 vate transit to the ground), when she suddenly 
 returned and laid her hand on the Irishman's 
 arm. 
 
 "Don't be mad. You are good. I like you, 
 WoonS,, but I never knowed 
 
 She began to cry. 
 
 " I never knowed my paw liked me before ; haf 
 to go to him." 
 
 Pat was choked with emotion, and before he 
 could answer her the slim shadow of the girl had 
 flitted down, and was merged into the broad shad 
 ow of the tree. 
 
 Though the rain was over, the night was dark. 
 
 Pat's heart was thumping so when he returned 
 to his vantage-ground at the head of the stairs 
 that he had to sit down. 
 
 Soon he heard a timid knock at the street door 
 Carlotta was a cute one then a rush of boys' 
 heavy feet, a clank of iron as the hook was raised, 
 and now, through the open door, loud crying, like
 
 53 
 
 the heart-sobs of a little child. So Carlotta met 
 her father. 
 
 By ducking his head very low, Pat saw, for a 
 second only, the little reticent old man with out 
 stretched arms going to meet her ; and he, sitting 
 alone on the top step, blubbered like a school-boy, 
 but no one heard him. 
 
 Pat could scarcely realize that he had been home 
 hardly three hours when, a few minutes later, he 
 looked at his watch to find it but eleven o'clock. 
 
 So far as he could discover, the affair was never 
 alluded to in the household afterwards ; but for a 
 long time between himself and the signora a dis 
 tinct coldness was felt which made him uncom 
 fortable. 
 
 His anger towards her had soon melted, but he 
 wanted it forgotten. She was no worse than many 
 rich mothers. Her methods were only a little 
 more crude. 
 
 He had easily forgiven her, since she had failed. 
 Though she had had no conception of the force of 
 his words, she realized that he had blamed and 
 silenced her had " sassied her to her face " and 
 it was hard to forget it. And then, too, her re 
 lations were somewhat embarrassed with all who 
 knew of the affair. 
 
 "I wonder," said he one evening a few weeks 
 later, as he sat near her at the door "I Avonder 
 wud the madam wear a pair o' shoes o' my makin' ? 
 I'll guarantee I cud make ye a bully pair '11 do ye
 
 54 
 
 through the next christening an' ye'll be dthrag- 
 gin' 'em slip-shod till the wan afther that ag'in." 
 
 "Oh, you ees-a so bad, Meester Pad!" she ex 
 claimed, with a hearty laugh delightfully like the 
 familiar ring of old times. "How much-a price 
 you goin'-a charge me ?" 
 
 " Charrge ye ! Well, I'll be dog-goned if ye're 
 not complimintary ! I'll charrge ye enough, sure, 
 whin ye do bring me yer ordher for a pair, but 
 whin I do make ye a presint I'll ask ye a returrn 
 o' what I do putt into the job a free confession 
 o' frindly feelin', jist. Whut do ye say, ma'am?" 
 
 Laughing, she stuck out her heavy foot. " 'Z big 
 'nough speak fo' heemselve !" 
 
 And so the old relations were restored. 
 
 Pat had been especially desirous of this recon 
 ciliation because of his contemplated change of 
 residence, which of course the signora did not sus 
 pect. 
 
 Exactly what arrangement would result from 
 his reconnoitring tour he did not yet know, but 
 the matter was unexpectedly decided one day by 
 the receipt of a formal business proposal of part 
 nership with his German friend, Hans Schmidt. 
 
 The old fellow was growing decrepit, and wished 
 to rest. The offer was framed with characteristic 
 caution, and its terms were hard, but in his pres 
 ent mood Pat was all the better pleased, and so 
 the matter was settled. 
 
 He would still call the Di Carlo garret " home," 
 and would come on Sunday mornings and stay
 
 55 
 
 until Monday. Chattawa was but a few hours' 
 run from the city. 
 
 All the signora's sentiments towards him were 
 sensitized and perfumed with the generous odor 
 of fresh shoe-leather when Pat told her of his 
 plans, and she said so many touching things about 
 breaking up the family, and the like, that he add 
 ed forgetf ulness to his forgiveness of her sin, and 
 they almost wept upon each other's bosoms when 
 he went away. 
 
 IV 
 
 Time dragged rather heavily at the Di Carlos' 
 after Pat's departure. There was no one now al 
 ways ready to give a humorous turn to common 
 place things to raise a playful breeze over the 
 dull monotony of every-day life. Whether the 
 baby bumped her head or a customer quarrelled 
 over his bill, the occurrence, served up with Pat's 
 piquant wit, had always become a delightful 
 joke. 
 
 It is possible that not even Carlotta missed him 
 more than did the signora. And the little family 
 toes missed him! Dainty -pink buttons that had 
 not been allowed to see the light came all the way 
 out, as if to inquire for the absent Pat, and grew 
 familiar with the floor and the banquette, like other 
 little dago children's toes. And yet the signora 
 vowed that she had done nothing but pay out
 
 56 
 
 money for shoe-patching ever since Mr. Pat went 
 away. 
 
 In the evenings the young men and boys still 
 came and laughed and talked with Carlotta. 
 
 At first there had been occasional expressions 
 of surprise, with inquisitive glances, at Socola's 
 marriage to the other, but the mother's flat and 
 surprised denial of her Carlotta's ever having been 
 thought of in so absurd a connection soon silenced 
 all concern about the matter. 
 
 Pat came usually on Saturday night or Sunday, 
 and was always an honored guest. " The mad 
 am" never tired of rehearsing to him the events 
 of the week or exhibiting the baby's last tooth or 
 promising gums, nor did she ever fail to hold out 
 for his inspection "the mos'-a easy-walkin' pai' 
 shoe ees-a ever was-a wear." 
 
 And so weeks lapped over weeks until months 
 had passed and folded likewise one upon the other. 
 
 Carlotta was still to her fond old lover a dainty 
 little saint within a high niche, and when he said 
 his " Hail Mary " at night, as he had tried to do 
 ever since he had confessed himself in love, he 
 kept seeing her picture sitting in the garret win 
 dow in the moonlight, and wondering how far his 
 piety was at fault. Even irreligious men say 
 prayers when they are honestly and purely in 
 love. Pat was only unreligious. 
 
 He still told himself, as he told her, that she 
 was free, and must listen untrammelled to any 
 story of love that should please her; and yet,
 
 57 
 
 when he laid by small sums of money, he thought, 
 "How purrty it'll shtuff out 'er little pockut- 
 book !" or, "I wondher wull she lave ut in a dhry- 
 goods shop or hide ut in an ould shtockun' ! but, 
 savin' or shpindin', sure she'll be handlin' 'er own, 
 God bless her." 
 
 He expected to find young men sitting around 
 the shop in the evenings when he came home, and 
 the sound of an accordion or flute or tambourine 
 or familiar laughter reaching him, as he approached 
 the house, served but to identify the crowd. 
 
 It was only when the accordion became his in 
 variable greeting, when, even descending upon 
 the family in the middle of the week, he found it 
 still there, that he began to consider that Carlotta 
 had never told him about this young musician, 
 except to give his name in answer to a question. 
 
 It seemed absurd to think seriously of so trivial 
 a matter ; and yet, when a long time passed and 
 the accordion, long-winded or short of breath ac 
 cording to the player's mood, sent its voice out 
 panting or trilling to meet him, he began to hate 
 the sound of it, and to wish that Carlotta would 
 sometimes talk upon the subject. 
 
 She had told him how young Alessandro Socpn- 
 neti, who won a prize in the lottery, had wanted 
 her, and how Joe Zucca, the peanut-vender, had 
 vainly insisted on her love, and even of her cousin 
 Angelo, who had tried to coax her to forget his 
 kinship. Why had she forgotten to mention this 
 strange boy who played the accordion ?
 
 58 
 
 Pat seldom saw her alone now excepting when 
 occasionally on Sunday afternoons he would take 
 her with the children for a ride up to the park, as 
 had been his habit for years. While the little 
 ones played under the oaks or braided clover 
 wreaths near, he would sit at her feet on the 
 gnarled roots of the old trees and tell her about 
 his life at " the Dutchman's," and sometimes, 
 though not often, he would speak of how he had 
 missed her out of his daily life. 
 
 He avoided this as much as possible, however. 
 It was so hard to be a little tender when in his 
 Irish heart was smouldering a fire that at the 
 lightest breath would flare into a flame. 
 
 He had promised himself and her to wait until 
 she should pass her eighteenth year before allow 
 ing her to bind herself by solemn promise. 
 
 She knew that he loved her that he was work 
 ing early and late, living with people who were in 
 touch with him only in their determination to 
 make money and that it was all for her. 
 
 Sometimes, growing weary of his silence, she 
 would invite a declaration by some naive question 
 put in monosyllables, as when she said, one Sun 
 day, as they rose to start home : 
 
 " You like me yet, Woona ?" 
 
 " Like ye yet ! Arrah, musha, an' whut 're ye 
 sayin', darlint ? Like ye ? Sure I love ye, from 
 the crown av yer purrty little black head to the 
 sole av yer two feet, an' all the way back, wud a 
 lap over ! An' why d'ye ask me that ?"
 
 59 
 
 But instead of answering him, she only colored 
 like a rose, and saidr 
 
 "I'm glad." 
 
 And Pat, lifting the children into the car, felt 
 like kicking his wooden leg to the winds and fly 
 ing ; but he only said, as he sat beside her: 
 
 " Begad, an' I'm glad ye're glad, mavourneen. 
 Sure sorrow '11 dim my day whin ye're sorry." 
 And as he raised his eyes he saw, sitting opposite, 
 a young man who smiled and tipped his hat to 
 Carlotta and under his arm he carried an accor 
 dion. 
 
 As he looked upon him, Pat felt a shiver pass 
 over him, for he thought he had never seen a 
 youth so beautiful as he. 
 
 " That's Giuseppe Rubino," said Carlotta, look 
 ing into his eyes with the directness of a child. 
 
 " Is it, indade ? Sure I tuck 'im for a vision of 
 S'int Joseph or wan av the angels. An' isn't he a 
 beauty?" 
 
 " He sings pritty," replied the girl, as she might 
 have said, "It is growing cold," or, " The river is 
 rising." 
 
 Pat regarded her with covert scrutiny for a 
 moment. Could it be possible that she did not 
 see that this tall brown boy, with his soft red lips 
 and white teeth, his lofty movement and languid 
 grace, was a creatur'e of rare and poetic beauty ? 
 
 Had she too not seen the red deepen beneath 
 the olive of his cheek when his eye met hers? 
 Had she not learned in all the summer evenings
 
 GO 
 
 what Pat had caught in a twinkling that the 
 youth loved her with all the fresh ardor of a nat 
 ure fashioned for romance ? 
 
 It seemed not; for she remarked, in the same 
 even tone : 
 
 " He comes ev'ry evenin' pass the time away. 
 He plays nice." 
 
 If she had been saying she hated the boy, it 
 would not have kept Pat's heart from thumping 
 against his waiscoat while his eyes rested on the 
 beautiful youth who was helping the girl he loved 
 to "pass the time away" during his absence. 
 
 " An' whut does he do for a livin' ? Sure 
 there's little money in the machine he carries, 
 wud all its puffin' an' blowun'. " 
 
 " He's pore. He works fo' ol' Socola. He hates 
 him, too. He's savin' up. Bimeby he's goin' to 
 start for 'isself." 
 
 " An' who told ye all that, Lottie ?" 
 
 " He tol' me." 
 
 " An' where did ye meet um ?" 
 
 " He come to fetch my paw a note from ol' So 
 cola. He say he seen me first in his sleep one 
 night. He talks funny. I don' pay no 'tendon." 
 
 It was time to stop the car; but before Pat 
 could do so the young man had pulled the strap 
 and was going out. 
 
 " Please to make you 'quainted wid Mister Ru- 
 bino, Mister Rooney," said Carlotta, as Giuseppe, 
 smiling; joined them, and the three, Carlotta in 
 the middle, followed the children home.
 
 "AND THE THREE FOLLOWED THE CHILDREN HOME"
 
 61 
 
 If Pat appeared at a disadvantage, no one was 
 half so conscious of it as himself as he hobbled 
 beside the youthful pair on his wooden peg. 
 
 Ever since he had loved the girl, he had been 
 keenly sensitive in regard to his lameness. In 
 deed, he had even once gone so far as to try to 
 repair it by wearing an artificial leg, but, as Car- 
 lotta had shrunk away from it as something un 
 canny, declaring that it "made her think about 
 dead people," he had discarded it after a single 
 experiment. 
 
 It seemed but natural that Pat should sit with 
 "the old folks" while Carlotta and the youth 
 joined the young group at the other door to-night ; 
 it was quite natural that Giuseppe should presently 
 be playing the accordion for the crowd the same 
 thing had happened before, many a time; and yet 
 to-night Pat felt it all as he had never done be 
 fore. 
 
 "A fine -lookin' chap is this young man Ru- 
 bino," he said, presently, to the signora. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " And who is 'e ?" he pursued. 
 
 " Carlo sayce ees - a wan good steady young 
 man; bud me, I know northeen 'boud who ees-a 
 keep-a comp'ny weeth-a C'lotta." And the shoul 
 ders shrugged again, a movement so distinctly 
 reminiscent of the previous affair that Pat thought 
 it discreet to change the subject. 
 
 As the evening wore on, he grew restless. 
 
 " Well, I b'lave I'll thry a promenade for me
 
 62 
 
 complexion," said he, rising finally. "Sure me 
 left fut is itchin' for a walk." And, with this 
 characteristic allusion to the missing member, he 
 started down the street. He had not gone far, 
 however, when he came upon a crowd of young 
 men, Italians most of them, sitting upon the steps 
 outside the closed doors of a shop a common 
 Sunday -evening congregation and, as a familiar 
 voice accosted him, he had soon seated himself 
 with them. 
 
 Several of the habitues of the Di Carlo shop 
 were present, and were bantering one another in 
 Italian about Carlotta. Pat was not supposed to 
 understand. 
 
 All went smoothly for a time, until young Tra- 
 monetti, an ugly, heavily-set fellow who had been 
 the target of several sallies on the score of his 
 well-known unsuccessful suit, suddenly turned in 
 anger. 
 
 " I could marry her to - morrow if I had 
 money !" he exclaimed, with a sneer. 
 
 " Psh-h-h ! You'd have to get a new face on 
 you first !" came a quick retort. 
 
 " I think my face is just as pretty as old Pietro 
 Socola's ; and she tried hard enough to get him, 
 all the same !" 
 
 "You better say he tried for her, yes," was the 
 reply. 
 
 Pat, although talking quietly aside, caught and 
 understood every word. 
 
 " Tried nothing !" continued Tramonetti. " He
 
 63 
 
 never wanted her. Married her rich cousin, yes ! 
 But Carlotta tried pretty hard to get him. My 
 self saw her every minute pass before him in the 
 shop and make sheep's-eyes !" 
 
 Pat could stand no more. 
 
 " An' I say ye're a liur!" he exclaimed, rising 
 and facing the speaker. 
 
 The effect of his words was magical. A still 
 ness fell upon the assembly. After an interval, an 
 old man, Tramonetti's uncle, broke the silence. 
 
 " Wath-a you knowce 'bouth ?" he asked, turn 
 ing languidly to the Irishman with that apathetic 
 manner beneath which anything may lurk. 
 
 "Sure an' I do jist happen accidintally to know 
 that that young man is a liur !" 
 
 The object of his accusation quietly lit a ciga 
 rette. 
 
 " How ees-a you knowce ? Socola selve ees-a 
 tell evera-body neva ees-a lov'-a tall. Wath-a you 
 knowce ?" 
 
 And now another spoke a cousin of Tramo- 
 netti. 
 
 " Socola ees-a tell all-a mans on Picayune Tier 
 she ees-a try for 'eem all-a same." 
 
 Grunts of assent in several directions testified 
 that the story was familiar. 
 
 "An' he's another liur, an' I'd tell ut to 'is 
 gums, the toothless ould macaroni-sucker ! Sure 
 an' I've had me two eers pricked for this same lie 
 this twelvemonth, an', bedad, I've laid low an' kep' 
 shtill for ut! An' did 'e say she timed to catch
 
 64 
 
 'im the contimptible little river shrimp he that 
 had 'is two eyes set out like yung telescopes af- 
 ther 'er!" 
 
 " Fo' God sague, don'-a mague-a no troub' ! 
 Blief Socola ees-a just talk fo' play !" suggested 
 another. 
 
 " Thin I'm playin' when I tell ye that he thried 
 wud all the iloquent perrsuasion av his money 
 bags to buy 'er! offered the ould man a thousand 
 dollars down for 'er, an' pitched 'imself in at the 
 end o' the thrade, like a punkin-colored chromo 
 for lagniappe ; but the girrl sure I do raise me 
 hat whin I do sphake 'er name " every hat fol 
 lowed as he lifted his own " but the girrl wudn't 
 look ut um ! An' the night he married 'er pug- 
 nosed cousin, sure he kem in the kerridge wud all 
 'is crowd for 'erself, an' she shkipped out the win 
 dow an' hid. So whin he cudn't get corrn 'e took 
 shucks, as mony o' ye '11 do af ther 'im ! Now, putt 
 that in yer pipe an' shmoke ut !" 
 
 He turned now again to Tramonetti. 
 
 "An' this yung gas-chandelier heer, who sez 'e 
 seen 'er wink at 'im, is a dirrty black " 
 
 " Ah-h-h-h! Ged oud! 'M just a mague a lill-a 
 fun!" drawled the boy. 
 
 " An' ye take ut back, wul ye ?" 
 
 The men were all laughing now at the new ver 
 sion of the Socola marriage. 
 
 " So the ol' man got fooled, eh ?" said one. 
 
 " But I say, d'ye take ut back ?" persisted Pat. 
 
 " Ain't I sayce was-a play'n' ? Fo' God sague,
 
 65 
 
 how rauch-a mo* you wan' ?" And he rose 
 to go. 
 
 The storm was past, and by twos and threes 
 the men dispersed, laughing and talking as they 
 went. 
 
 As Pat moved away, an old man who had sat 
 apart in the shadow stood up, and the light from 
 the gas at the corner fell upon a visage sinister, 
 one-eyed, and lowering. 
 
 Pat instantly recognized it as the face of a man 
 who had been present at the Di Carlos' on the 
 night of the Socola wedding. Indeed, it was he 
 who had been sent to Pat as interpreter, on this 
 occasion, of the Mafia anathema. Pat thought of 
 this, but he did not care. 
 
 As he turned his back, another man arose out 
 of the shadow at the other end of the shed. He 
 too had been a guest at the wedding. 
 
 The two Sicilians, who were presently left alone, 
 regarded each other in silence for a moment, when 
 the last to rise made the sign of the Mafia. The 
 answering motion was given, and the two, still 
 silent, sat down together again in the shadow. 
 
 They were bound by oath to report this disclos 
 ure to Socola, and they knew what the inevitable 
 result would be : the Irishman's words would 
 prove his death-sentence. 
 
 Under the vow of perfect obedience, either or 
 both of them might become the executors of an 
 old man's personal vengeance. 
 
 It was an ugly business, and neither of the men 
 
 5
 
 66 
 
 welcomed it. Both knew Pat's cordial relations 
 with many of their countrymen, among whom, in 
 deed, he had not a single enemy. Even the old 
 man Socola liked him. But they understood too 
 well the imperious pride of the vindictive old Si 
 cilian to hope that a personal friendship, or even 
 a tie of blood, would protect any man who dared 
 betray his dignity. Certainly the casual feeling 
 of negative good-will which he felt towards Pat 
 would melt like snow beneath the hot breath of 
 his wrath when he should learn that the Irishman 
 had given his secret to the common herd of his 
 countrymen. The indomitable pride which had 
 led him to marry an ugly, unattractive woman the 
 first time he met her, rather than brook the odium 
 of a disclosure of his rejection, would not spare 
 him who, although forewarned, had dared di 
 vulge it. 
 
 It was some moments before either of the men 
 spoke, and then one said, in Italian : 
 
 Well" 
 
 " Well " was the answer. And, after a pause: 
 
 " I wish I had gone home to-night." 
 
 " And me too. I wish I had stayed at the cof 
 fee-house." 
 
 " He's a good friend to all the Carlo Di Carlos, 
 that old Irishman." 
 
 " Yes, I know. Last year, when all the babies 
 took the small-pox and the shop was shut up, 
 he signed for the rent ; and he paid every cent 
 since three months' rent."
 
 67 
 
 " Yes, and old Di Carlo says Carlotta's school 
 ing never cost him a dollar. This cripple paid 
 it all." 
 
 " And when the old man was stung with a taran 
 tula hidden in a bunch of bananas, while every 
 body cried and ran every way, they say the shoe 
 maker threw his hat on the spider and sat on it 
 quick, while he took little Di Carlo across his 
 knee like a baby and sucked the poison from the 
 back of his neck. Di Carlo was carrying the 
 bananas on his shoulder when the little devil 
 stung him." 
 
 " Yes, I heard that. And all the people laughed 
 while they cried, because when he was sucking 
 the poison he said, ' Let me kiss you for your 
 mother.' " 
 
 They were silent again for a time. 
 
 "If Tramonetti had only kept his big mouth 
 shut" 
 
 " Yes, I wish he had choked before he spoke 
 to-night. He made all the trouble." 
 
 Another silence. 
 
 Well" 
 
 Well" 
 
 " It's a bad world, this. One minute we play 
 an organ at the corner for any beggar to dance, 
 the next minute maybe we get orders to file our 
 stilettos and put on a black mask." 
 
 " Me, I am tired. I wish I was out of it." 
 
 " And me too. Tell the truth, I've never been 
 the same since that job you and I did at the old
 
 68 
 
 Basin. I see, a thousand times a day, that young 
 man's face the way it looked in the moonlight. 
 Sometimes I am playing my organ laughing, and 
 he comes and stands before me with his neck so. 
 And, I swear before God, I believe the monkey 
 sees him. Many times when he is dancing he 
 looks up and runs and crawls behind me, crying, 
 and I look around, and I see the young man with 
 his neck cut. I kiss the cross, but it's true. 
 Four times last week Jocko did that, and I trem 
 bled so I missed the time in my music. You 
 don't believe it's true ?" 
 
 " Yes, I believe you. I've seen them again, 
 too. But now they are too many. They don't 
 frighten me. I laugh in their faces, and they 
 dance and run one through another, like clouds 
 of smoke. I am an old man, and I have struck 
 many a blow, but not one for hate, thank God 
 only obedience." 
 
 " Nor me either. Only twice I have been on 
 duty. Once my partner did the work, and the 
 other time you know. And now, my God ! if 
 I have to listen all my life to that Irishman's 
 wooden leg, * tap, tap, tap? in my ears, I'll go 
 crazy ; I'll drown myself." 
 
 The other man laughed. 
 
 " Oh, don't hurt yourself. Maybe old Socola '11 
 put somebody else on this job. And the next 
 time that young fellow we finished at the Basin 
 comes fooling around you, showing you the cut 
 in his neck, you send him to me. I believe I gave
 
 69 
 
 him his send-off, anyway. 'Twas good enough 
 for him. His tongue was too long." 
 
 " No, no ! They know whom to follow and 
 I know. I am left-handed, and the hole in his 
 neck was here; and sometimes my left hand 
 burns like hell. You can laugh," he continued, 
 rising, " but it is no fun to me. But I am not a 
 teething baby. Easy or hard, I am good for my 
 duty." 
 
 " Well," said the other, " dimani" (to-morrow). 
 
 " Dimani" was the answer. 
 
 And so they parted. 
 
 As the younger man walked away, the older 
 sighed. 
 
 " Poor boy !" (he spoke still in Italian), " I was 
 like him too, once. The first drop of blood on 
 a man's hand burns like a coal of fire, and a ghost 
 stands beside it always, blowing upon it to keep 
 it burning. The only relief is more blood. When 
 once he is bathed in blood he burns the same all 
 over, and he knows himself for af devil, and the 
 air of hell feels good to him. All around him 
 are ghosts blowing upon him, and he likes their 
 breath and laughs because he is solid fire and 
 they are like a roaring wind around him. If they 
 would go and leave him to cool he would go all 
 to gray ashes and fall to pieces. He would go 
 crazy and kill himself. Anyhow, I am sorry for 
 this business." 
 
 He rose, and, as he started home, curiosity led 
 him somewhat out of his way to pass the Di
 
 70 
 
 Carlo shop. He walked on the other side of the 
 street. He looked over. 
 
 Pat stood among the children on the banquette, 
 throwing a little one into the air and catching 
 her, while the others stood waiting and begging : 
 
 " Take me, Mr. Pat !" 
 
 " Teresa had four turns." 
 
 " Little Pat always gets the most." 
 
 It was a pretty picture. 
 
 "Well, I'm sorry," the man repeated to himself 
 as he passed on. " In the name of God, why can't 
 men keep their tongues ? But, anyhow, I am 
 sorry." x- 
 
 The picture of the amiable man in the bosom 
 of the family of his countryman playing with his 
 children, unconscious of impending evil, remained 
 with the Sicilian as he walked home. Indeed, 
 Pat's offence seemed to him more than half a 
 virtue ; for was it not provoked by his stanch 
 championship of the young Italian girl, Carlotta? 
 
 If only Socola would be made to see it in this 
 light ! 
 
 Before reporting the case, even, this man of 
 the sinister face, who had never before troubled 
 himself with a personal concern for his victims, 
 summoned his best English and wrote a word of 
 warning to the Irishman. 
 
 It ran about like this : 
 
 " ME. ROONEY AT CARLO Di CARLO, This warn 
 you to run for your life. Leaf New Orleans rite
 
 71 
 
 way. It is not in power off man to safe you neith 
 er God if you remane before the eye of Mafia. 
 
 " One man's spite it is whitch marc you to die. 
 If you remaine a nife go throught your heart. It 
 is true. I swear before God." 
 
 When he passed through the shop early Mon 
 day morning on his way home, Pat found this 
 note with another slipped in beneath the edge of 
 the front door. 
 
 The other was shorter, but, as if to add weight 
 and solemnity to its almost affectionate warning, 
 across the top of the sheet were written the words 
 "Jesus, Mary, Joseph." 
 
 Both notes were unsigned. Pat read them hast 
 ily, and, chuckling, as he slipped them into his 
 pocket, started out. 
 
 He had proceeded but a few steps, however, 
 when he suddenly hesitated, took off his hat, 
 scratched his head for a moment, and, turning, 
 went back into the house. 
 
 Five minutes' reflection had sufficed to decide 
 him as to what he should do. 
 
 It was two hours later when Pat started out 
 again, and this time he went directly down to the 
 fruit-shop of Pietro Socola, where a most unex 
 pected and festive scene greeted him.
 
 The little old man, surrounded by a dozen or 
 more of his countrymen (and others were coming 
 and going), was opening bottles of wine and drink 
 ing freely. 
 
 As Pat entered, Socola bowed delightedly, and, 
 filling a glass, presented it to him. 
 
 Everybody was laughing and drinking, and the 
 host, although it was yet scarce ten o'clock in the 
 morning, showed the effect of many glasses in his 
 flushed face and hilarious spirits. 
 
 Not understanding in the least, but unable to 
 resist so social a spirit, Pat, at the signal, raised 
 the glass to his lips. It was only when some one 
 pronounced the name " Pietro Socola Junio " that 
 the situation flashed upon his comprehension. 
 
 Unto the house of Socola a son had been born. 
 
 The last time Pat had met the old man, a year 
 ago, on the night of his wedding, he had grasped 
 his hand in congratulation, and he did so again now. 
 
 "Accept me congratulations, Misther Socola," 
 he exclaimed; and, with a twinkle in his eye, rais 
 ing his glass again, "Heer's luck to the junior 
 partner in the future firrm av Socola an' Son. 
 May he niver cross 'is father an' niver boss 'is 
 mother, an' be a shinin' example to all 'is yunger 
 brothers an' sisters !" 
 
 Hearty laughter greeted this toast, and the old 
 man insisted on refilling the glasses all round, 
 saying, in Italian, to the men as he did so, "He 
 has come a great distance to wish me joy. Keep 
 his glass full."
 
 Socola was not a heavy drinker, and his voice 
 was already growing unsteady. 
 
 While they stood here, the one-eyed man whom 
 Pat had recognized in the shadow the night be 
 fore joined the group. He winced visibly, Pat 
 thought, on perceiving him in this crowd, and 
 while he and Socola touched glasses, Pat with 
 drew, and, joining some of the men whom he 
 knew, walked out upon the levee. 
 
 When he returned, an hour later, he glanced 
 into Socola's shop. The hitherto childless old 
 man, translated by his tardy honors into a state 
 of gleeful irresponsibility, had by this time got 
 ten right royally drunk, and now some friends 
 were trying to induce him to go home. 
 
 Pat laughed to himself as he saw him stagger 
 up to the carriage door. "Arrah, musha!" he 
 exclaimed, "sure an' it's a holy thing to be a 
 father ! Faith an' he waddles like a puddle- 
 dthrake on a hatchin' day ! I hope the young 
 duck '11 be big enough to crowd murdher out avi 
 the ould dthrake's heart, if ut's in ut." 
 
 The truth was, Pat had gone down to Socola to 
 propose that they confess themselves mutually 
 aggrieved, and proceed to settle the matter at 
 once by a square hand-to-hand fist-fight. 
 
 He had withheld the facts about the wedding 
 until Socola had first lied about it. He was will 
 ing to fight for the truth. If Socola wanted to 
 fight for the lie, let him come and " have it out " 
 then and there ; or if the old man preferred to
 
 have a subordinate member of the Mafia to rep 
 resent him in the affair, let him send any one of 
 them to him. 
 
 It was only as a vague intangibility that Pat 
 objected to deal with the Mafia. 
 
 He was sure that as soon as Socola should see 
 that all he demanded was a " fair showing " they 
 could come to a satisfactory understanding: so 
 little did he comprehend the nature of the man 
 with whom he had to deal, or the character of the 
 organization which threatened him. 
 
 As Pat surmised, Socola had not yet even heard 
 of his offence. The two men who went to make 
 their reports were, like himself, treated to wine, 
 and saw their host carried home hors cle combat. 
 
 As Pat hesitated at Socola's door, the one-eyed 
 man was coming out, and they met, face to face. 
 
 Pat touched his hat. The Sicilian responded by 
 a like salutation, and would have passed on, but 
 Pat detained him: 
 
 " Shtop a bit, Misther ; sure, I don't know 
 
 yer name, but whilst no one's by I'd like to thank 
 ye for the bit of a love-letther ye sint me last 
 night." 
 
 The man shrugged his shoulders. " Loaf-a-let- 
 ther ?" he asked, with inimitable blandness. " Me, 
 I no write-a northeen." 
 
 "Mebbe ye don't call it a love-letther itself. 
 Now I do think again, I belave it's not a heart 
 wud a dart run through ut for a bookay at the 
 top o' the sheet, but a couple o' shin-bones for-
 
 75 
 
 ninst a graveyard photograph wud a company 
 shmile on 'im. But sure what's left out av the 
 crest is indicated in the text. Ye've hinted purty 
 clear at the piercin' o' me palpitator at the end o' 
 the po'm." 
 
 Fumbling in his pocket, he now brought out the 
 two letters. 
 
 "Pity ye cudn't get ould Socola to set for a 
 Cupid aimin' wud his bow an' arrer at me hearrt. 
 Ye see, Irish litherature is different ag'in from 
 Ttalian. Sure an' if a bunch o' Paddies wint into 
 the tinder correspondence like this, like as not 
 they'd have me in a picture, peg an' all, shlapin' 
 in the heart av a rose, like they do be in Hoyt's 
 Gerrman Cologne advertizemints, an' mebbe a 
 bumble-bee wud ould Socola's face on 'im threat- 
 enin' the unconscious shlaper wud wan av his reg 
 ular breech-loaders ! Ye see, it 'd be a bit cheer 
 ful, but aqually to the point. Sure there's no life 
 nor joy in a bare shin - bone, lest ye'd have it 
 raised like a fearless sprig o' shillelah." 
 
 By this time he had opened both letters. 
 
 "Now," he continued, " droth an' I don't know 
 which o' these two shtate dokimints ye sint me, 
 or whether ye're wan o' thim scriptural chaps that 
 kapes yer right hand in ignorance o' the thricks 
 o' the left, an' yer two hands unbeknowinst to 
 wan anither have sint me a frindly warrnin'; 
 but r'a'ly and truly I'm very much obliged 
 to ye." 
 
 Pat had given him no chance to reply, but now
 
 76 
 
 he saw that the Italian's attitude was one of pro 
 test. 
 
 "Know northeen 'bouth," he was saying, 
 gently. 
 
 " Whut! D'ye mane to say ye niver sint me 
 nayther wan o' dthese letthers ?" 
 
 "Know northeen 'bouth," he repeated, with an 
 apathy of manner that was almost convincing. 
 
 Pat scratched his head. 
 
 "Mary Ann's mother-in-law!" he exclaimed, 
 and, after a pause : 
 
 " Thin who in the name o' Donnybrook Fair 
 done ut ? Ye're the only mon who cud write ut. 
 Sure none o' thim chaps last night knowed north- 
 in' about the throuble at Socola's marriage till I 
 towld ut, an' faith ye're the only mon there that 
 knowed I shpoke the truth." 
 
 The old man shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Me, I no know 'f ees-a thrue." 
 
 This was too much. 
 
 " Don't know if ut's thrue ! The divil ye don't! 
 An' didn't ye come the night o' the marriage an' 
 explain to me, worrd for worrd, the way Socola 
 put the Mafia currse on him that 'd tell?" 
 
 The Sicilian smiled. "Me, I know northeen 
 'bouth-a Signor Socola northeen 'bouth-a Mafia 
 northeen 'bouth-a northeen 1" 
 
 "An' ye weren't at the Di Carlos' this night 
 twelvemonth past ?" 
 
 " Scuza me, my f rien', 'f you please. 'M in-a 
 gread-a hoary. Me, 'm-a allawa fo' business."
 
 77 
 
 He hesitated here, and, looking round cautious 
 ly, lowered his voice as he took Pat's hand. 
 
 " Tell-a you thrue," he said, with a nearer ap 
 proach to animation than he had yet shown 
 " tell-a you thrue, 'f I was-a ged a ledther ligue 
 thad, me, I would-a theng God I haf time run quig 
 hide-a myselve. Well goo'-by ! Hofe-ayou good 
 lug." And he turned away. 
 
 A sudden light came into the Irishman's face. 
 
 " Howld on a bit!" he exclaimed. " Howld on 
 a bit ! I've a purrty thick shkull on me, but 
 I do begin to see the dthrift 'f yer iloquence. 
 Plaze to presint me complimints to the gintleman 
 that sint me the letthers, if ye do chance to run 
 aground av 'im on the boulevards, an' tell 'im I'll 
 not run, nor hide nay t her /" 
 
 Gathering emphasis here by a moment's si 
 lence, he leaned forward and looked the Sicilian 
 squarely in the eye. 
 
 " There's a bit av a song we do sing in the ould 
 counthry. Perchance ye've niver heerd ut, but 
 I'm that interested in the cultivation av yer mind 
 I'll tell ut out to ye partly : 
 
 " ' S'iut Patthrick was a gintleman, 
 
 And kem av dacent people ; 
 He built a church in Dublin town 
 
 An' on ut put a shteeple. 
 His father was a Gallagher, 
 
 His mother was a Brady, 
 His aunt was an O'Shaughnesay, 
 
 His uncle was O'Grady.
 
 78 
 
 So success attind S'int Patthrick's fat, 
 
 For lie was a saint so clever 
 Oh, he gave the slmakes and toads a twist 
 
 That bothered thim forever.' 
 
 " Ye see, that's a beautiful po'm, Misther Mis- 
 tber Know-northin', wild solud Irish sintimints, 
 an' the whole moral law jellied down into shtand- 
 in'-shape in the chorus." 
 
 He moved backwards a step here, and touched 
 his own breast as he continued: 
 
 "The 'umble perrson ye do see before ye is a 
 fractional descindant along 'th bein' a namesake 
 o' the gintleman, S'int Patthrick himself, an', up 
 to the prisent moment, sure success has always at- 
 tinded his fist ! We're av a pedigree that has no 
 use for toads norr shnakes, norr onything toadyin' 
 norr shnakin' beyant givin' thim a twist that'll 
 bother thim forever. Sure I kem down this 
 morrnin with the 'onerable intintion o' latherin' 
 the bit av a varmint, Socola, wud me fist, but the 
 wave o' prosperity or posterity, whichiver ye 
 like lifted him beyant me entirely. But I'll be 
 down again, plaze God, in a couple o' days, wud 
 S'int Patthrick 's weapon /" 
 
 He held up his clinched fist. " And now," he 
 added, extending his hand, " I do wish ye good- 
 day!" 
 
 The Sicilian stood and looked after him a mo 
 ment in bewilderment, and then he said some 
 thing, presumably in Anglo - Italian ; at least, it 
 sounded like "Damfool," a word not found in
 
 79 
 
 English print even in the new Century Diction 
 ary. 
 
 By a strange coincidence, Pat s^id the same 
 word as he turned the corner. He had picked up 
 a good deal of the colloquial patois of these peo 
 ple. 
 
 When Socola returned to his shop on the next 
 day, a little withered grotesque impersonation of 
 bilious pomposity, his inner consciousness never 
 theless corresponded to his own best ideal of a 
 noble, dignified, and tender father. 
 
 Indeed, he felt father to all the world, except 
 ing, of course, the dear woman to whom he was 
 husband ; and this exception was as distinct and 
 as tender and sensitive as only this particularly 
 potent occasion could make it. 
 
 He had hitherto known nothing so exquisitely 
 refined as the almost reverential tenderness with 
 which his intensely masculine heart went out to 
 the sallow little mother and the tiny yellow man- 
 child who lay upon her breast to-day. The com 
 bination was something to live for, to fight for, to 
 die for almost. 
 
 And Pat's offence was against this embodiment 
 of sacredness this woman this infant. 
 
 The accidental wife the incidental babe ! How 
 the thought would cheapen the sacred possessions 
 in the vulgar mind ! To Socola himself, when it 
 all dimly recurred to him, it seemed almost a dream 
 which he no longer more than half believed. If 
 he were choosing again, he could choose no other
 
 80 
 
 woman of all the world ; and surely be would have 
 no other babe than this ! 
 
 When the.two men, the one with the blind eye 
 and the other, came together in the shop on this 
 second day and gave to Socola, separately, as op 
 portunity offered, the sign of the Mafia, it was a 
 signal to withdraw hastily with them into his pri 
 vate office. 
 
 A subordinate gives the summons to his chief 
 only when a communication of importance is pend 
 ing. 
 
 When he returned to the shop, an hour later, the 
 old man was still blue about the lips, and his hands 
 trembled as he swore promiscuous oaths indis 
 criminately at the employes of the shop for im 
 aginary offences. 
 
 The two men had gone silently together out of 
 the side door with their heads down. 
 
 Although Pat was restless in view of an im 
 pending row and eager to have it over, gaug 
 ing the probable duration of an Italian's spree 
 by the Hibernian standard, he did not think it 
 worth while to return to the city for several 
 days. 
 
 The gentleman from Palermo had in the mean 
 time had much time for sober reflection. He had, 
 of course, heard of Pat's projected visit, and was 
 ready for him with an extended hand. 
 
 Indeed, no crafty diplomat ever confounded an 
 adversary with a more gracious and smiling suav 
 ity than that with which he greeted and disarmed
 
 81 
 
 his ingenuous guest when, on the Thursday fol 
 lowing, Pat re-entered his shop. 
 
 Socola's English vocabulary, at best a matter of 
 a few hundred words, seemed to-day to have 
 shrunken until it was less only than his compre 
 hension. 
 
 He failed utterly to understand that there could 
 be anything disagreeable in his visitor's mission. 
 
 The interview, a ludicrous pantomimic affair 
 throughout, ended by a mutual hand-shaking con 
 fession of friendly feeling, and Pat went away en 
 tirely satisfied that either a mistake had been 
 made, the Sicilian had forgotten his oath, or the 
 coming of the babe had indeed crowded murder 
 out of the father's heart. 
 
 He had personally no longer a quarrel with the 
 old man. He had refuted the lie, and was simply 
 willing to stand by the refutation. 
 
 If he had glanced backwards as he left the shop 
 and seen the menacing scowl that followed his re 
 ceding figure, he would perhaps have understood. 
 
 From Socola's presence he went up " home," to 
 the Di Carlos'. Here, to his dismay, two more 
 notes of solemn warning awaited him. 
 
 Both were unsealed. Indeed, they were written 
 on unfolded scraps of paper, and were found 
 slipped in beneath the door, just as the first had 
 been. 
 
 When the signora had called Pat into an inner 
 room, she closed the door and turned gray with 
 pallor as she handed them to him. 
 
 6
 
 Her fear of the law, of death, of purgatory, of 
 hell, was vague and as nothing to her terror of 
 the vengeance of the Mafia. None of her family 
 were members of the dread organization, but she 
 remembered only too vividly how the husband of 
 her first-cousin had years ago received just such 
 a warning as this, and one day he had gone as 
 usual to his work and had never come home 
 again. 
 
 Ever since she had had the letters in her pos 
 session she had felt as if the angel of death were 
 hovering over the house. 
 
 As she stood at Pat's side and saw him read the 
 words of warning she began to cry. 
 
 "Fo' God sague, Meester Pad, wad you ees-a 
 been do ?" she moaned. 
 
 Pat laughed. 
 
 "Well, ma'am," said he, "at the present mo 
 ment I'm jist afther a second visit to yer yung 
 frind, Socola. We're that thick ye'd think we 
 were twins or thriplets mebbe, an' I was two an' 
 he only wan the way he does bow an' schrape 
 right an' left to me." 
 
 "Socola!" 
 
 If Pat had said he had just returned from a 
 visit to his Satanic majesty, she would not have 
 been much more startled. " Socola ! You ees-a 
 been see Socola ! Fo' God sague, how you ees-a 
 fin' 'im?" 
 
 " Find 'im ! Faith an' he's as well as cud be ex 
 pected afther havin' a fine b'y a-Sunda' night. Ye
 
 83 
 
 see, it does be very dangerous whin a firrst b'y is 
 borrn to an ould man. It does fly to his head an' 
 set 'im ravin' crazy. I b'lave the docthers do call 
 it puerile faver. Did ye niver heer av ut ?" 
 
 The woman was too much concerned even to 
 realize that he was jesting. 
 
 " Wad 'e sayce to you ?" she asked, eagerly. 
 
 "Sure an' he sez he wants to name the yung- 
 sther af ther me ; but I'm that proud I won't allow 
 ut. Ye see, the shtyle av beauty in the Rooney 
 family has been preserrved through thick an' thin 
 wud great pains, an' I'd niver consint to take a 
 risk on Socola's f 'atures, wud no promise av relafe 
 from her loyal accidency the madam. Ye see, a 
 proud man must protect his name as well as his 
 fame." 
 
 This bantering, really only a ruse to gain time 
 to reflect a little on the situation, was becoming 
 very trying to the signora. Pat became suddenly 
 conscious that there were genuine tears in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Niver mind, now, niver mind," he said, with 
 real feeling. " Don't fret yersilf because a couple 
 o' cranks do sind me a valentine. Faith, there's 
 northin' in ut, but mebbe a thrick o' the shoe 
 thrade to dthrive me out o' the competition." 
 
 He then briefly reviewed his two visits to the 
 old Sicilian, omitting the occasion of his going, 
 and laying special stress on all the pleasant feat 
 ures of their meetings. 
 
 But she was not to be so easily appeased. She
 
 84 
 
 lowered her voice almost to a whisper when she 
 spoke again : 
 
 " Tell-a you thrue, Meester Pad, me an' Carlo 
 ees-a been hear sornetheen." 
 
 "Heerd something, did ye? An' whut was ut?" 
 
 " Plenny young mans ees-a tell me an' Carlo 
 you ees-a say sometheen 'boud-a C'lottaan' Signer 
 Socola. All-a peoples ees-a talkin' 'boud." 
 
 " They are, are they ? An' whut if I did ? An' 
 whut did ye say ?" 
 
 "Me ? Of-a coze I sayce ees-a no true : Socola 
 ees-a neva was-a lova-a C'lotta." 
 
 " Ye did, did ye ? An' whut did 'er father say?" 
 
 "Carlo sayce you ees-a just a mague-a lill fun ; 
 '2 no true." 
 
 Pat scratched his head. " An' betune the two 
 av yez ye've made me out a bloomin' liur, now 
 haven't yez?" 
 
 "'F I mague you oud a lie, I mague you just-a 
 pardner fo' myselve. Fo' God sague, lis'n ad me, 
 Meester Pad. 'Z no time fo' talk 'boud lie. 'Z-a 
 time fo' business. You muz-a go just-a so quig as 
 you can-a go an' tell all-a doze young mans you 
 was-a just-a playV." 
 
 Even the strong friendship evinced by her in 
 tense anxiety failed to palliate the affront of her 
 proposition in Pat's eyes. He looked at her, bit 
 his lip, and, without a word, turned on his heel 
 and left her* 
 
 As he passed out the door the sound of a sob 
 reached his ear. He was back in a moment.
 
 85 
 
 x ' Fo' the love o' shad, ma'am, don't don't fret. 
 Niver mind, now, I tell ye. If ye cry anither dthrop 
 I'll howl out a high tenor mesilf to match ye. Sure 
 it '11 be all right now, I'll promise ye. I'll shtep 
 out by-an'-by till I do find the crowd, an' I'll make 
 a bit av a spache that '11 silence thim, an' they'll 
 niver lay a hand on me. I'll promise ye that. 
 Come on out, now." 
 
 " Tell 'm ees-a no true, Meester Pad. Say you 
 was just-a mague fun. An' anyhow, I b'lief ees-a 
 bedder you go 'way." 
 
 She sobbed again. 
 
 " Well, I declare, ma'am, I'm that ashamed av 
 ye! Ye.' re frettin' yersilf about northin' an' 
 Socola an' me like two peas, a, green wan an' a 
 dthry wan, in wan pod. Come on out, now. Sure 
 the crowd around the shteps are all half ashlape, 
 an' they'll have no fun till ye do come an' wake 
 thim up wud a good laugh. Come, now. The 
 royal consorrt an' all yer majesty's loyal subjects 
 '11 not dare open parliamint till the queen does 
 arrive." 
 
 With a comical bobbing courtesy he made way 
 for her to pass out. Sniffling and wiping her eyes, 
 she escaped to her own room for a moment, but it 
 was not long before she joined the circle on the 
 banquette. 
 
 It was a sultry summer afternoon, and the scene 
 about the doors was drowsy enough indeed. The 
 little father Di Carlo nodded on his barrel. The 
 baby, a mosquito-netting stretched over her face,
 
 lay sleeping in her willow cradle at his side. Sev 
 eral men lounged on the benches, talking lazily in 
 Italian, and fighting the flies with their red cotton 
 kerchiefs. 
 
 Within the shop the boy Pasquale stood lan 
 guidly opening oysters for a black girl, who, lean 
 ing with half her tall length spread over the 
 counter, indolently chewed a cud of gum as she 
 waited with bovine patience while her bucket was 
 slowly filling. 
 
 Half-way down the block a chattering group of 
 neighborhood children, among whom was a gen 
 erous sprinkling of Di Carlos, were playing in the 
 doubtful shade of a tallow -tree. Some sat with 
 their laps piled high with china blossoms, which 
 they strung on threads into fragrant purple neck 
 laces. A pair of girls played "jack-stones" on 
 the fronts of their dress - skirts lapped one over 
 the other on the ground, while others, arm in arm, 
 promenaded up and down, shading themselves, 
 after the fashion of Paul and Virginia, with tall 
 green banana leaves, purloined from over a neigh 
 boring fence. 
 
 Somewhat apart from the other children, and 
 nearer the shop, two taller girls sat crocheting 
 cotton lace, while their toddling charges slept at 
 their sides. 
 
 Pat, whose seat commanded a view of them, was 
 not long in discovering that the smaller of these 
 two was Carlotta, and, while he passed idly from 
 one subject to another, challenging conversation at
 
 87 
 
 random with his drowsy company, he delighted to 
 watch her as the oblique rays of the sun revealed 
 her each moment more clearly to him. 
 
 "Five times thim two childer have dropped 
 their nadles to measure their lace, or fringe, or 
 whativer ye call it," he said, presently, laughing. 
 "Sure I'm gom' to watch thim now, an' the sev- 
 
 O * 
 
 enth time they do measure ut I'll up an' be off. 
 I've a call to make a spache to some o' me con 
 stituents, an' I must hunt thim up. I do fale as 
 lazy as the fly on the banana here at me elbow. 
 See him walk like a bug from wan black ind to 
 take a sup at the ither, too lazy to raise his wings 
 an' fly. There they go again, the childer, God 
 bless thim ! measurin' again ! Six times in forrty 
 minutes. Sure they've harrdly time to put a tuck 
 in ut betune the two measures." 
 
 The signora laughed heartily. "Lis'n ad -a 
 Meester Pad! Pood a tug in -a lace! I swea' 
 you would-a mague a dead dog laugh." 
 
 Her laughter did Pat good. " Sure a tuck or a 
 him are all wan to a tailor in leather," he replied, 
 unconsciously coming into the domain of Carlyle's 
 thought. 
 
 " But tell me, ma'am," he continued, " how do 
 ye ladies him fringes, ony way ? I cudn't forr the 
 life av me him a fringe, nor scallop it nayther." 
 
 She screamed with laughter now. " My God ! 
 Hem a fringe ! Nobody can-a hem a fringe." 
 
 " Is that so ? An' d' ye fringe the hims ? I'm 
 not jokin'. Faith I niver so much as fringed a
 
 scallop in me life, let alone a him. Tell me, now, 
 d' yez dthraw threads, orr dthrop stitches, or puck 
 er it on the bias ? Och, there now ! I must go ! 
 the two girrls beyant are measurin' their scallops 
 again. Well, so long, ma'am ! I'll be back in the 
 autumn, plaze God, ' whin the 1'aves begin to 
 fall.'" 
 
 She was laughing so that she could not speak 
 when Pat rose to go. 
 
 "Since ye do insist upon ut," he added, as he 
 turned away, "I b'lave I'll change me summer 
 plans an' come back be supper-time. Put an ex- 
 thra sup av coffee in the dthripper, plaze, an' 
 dthrop the name av Rooney promiscuously in the 
 pots." 
 
 "All -a righd! Muz-a be shore, shore come to 
 supper. Prormus you sometheen good." 
 
 This was a thing Pat rarely did; and she was 
 delighted. Even had she not known that he 
 would come in laden with paper bags full of good 
 things to add to the supper-table, she would have 
 been just as glad to set his plate in between little 
 Pat's and Carlotta's. 
 
 Pat had no trouble in finding the " constitu 
 ents " whom he wanted to meet. He knew that 
 at this hour certain Italians would be sure to con 
 gregate at their favorite rendezvous, a coffee 
 house. near the levee. He was glad to find Tra- 
 monetti, and others who were present on the form 
 er occasion, already there. 
 
 It took but a few moments to repeat his former
 
 89 
 
 account of the Socola wedding, which he colored 
 with new drolleries in the narration, and to add 
 and this was the object of his visit the item 
 carelessly omitted before viz., Socola's threat 
 that the Mafia would avenge a betrayal of the 
 affair. 
 
 This, he carefully explained, was the reason his 
 good friends the Di Carlos had felt constrained 
 to deny it. They were afraid of the Mafia. They 
 couldn't understand how he and Socola under 
 stood each other perfectly now, and, after all, it 
 was a small matter whether Socola had been jilted 
 or not: who cared ? It was a thing of the past. 
 For himself, he only mentioned it again to prove 
 that he hadn't lied before. The whole business 
 was, he finally declared, "a timpest in a tay-pot," 
 and the sooner forgotten the better. He ended 
 by begging them not to "worry the madam" 
 by saying anything more about it at the Di 
 Carlos'. 
 
 " Sure the madam's been wapin' an' vvailin' for 
 feer I'll be kilt entirely. She thinks I'm out this 
 minute tellin' ye all I was jokin' an' thryin' to 
 back out av the whole shtatemint. Sure I'd back 
 out in a minute if I knowed a back-shtep ; but 
 when I tuck dancin'- lessons in Paris whin I was 
 a yungshter, I niver learrned the craw-fish move 
 ment, an' faith it's too late in life now to dthrag 
 me wooden peg into a new figure. There's but 
 three-quarrters av me left, onyhow, but it's three- 
 quarrters av a man's shape, praise God, an' I'll
 
 90 
 
 not disgrace the fraction, for the likeness it does 
 bear me mother, God rest her." 
 
 The crowd were rather still and subdued for 
 some time after Pat left them. 
 
 " I'm sorry I ever opened my lips about Socola's 
 business," said one, finally, in Italian; "but, any 
 how, I told where I heard it." 
 
 " I never said anything to anybody," said an 
 other, "and I'm glad. I don't want any of his 
 flock of vampires following me in the dark." 
 
 " But I'd hate to be in that Irishman's shoes !" 
 
 " In his one shoe, you mean. And me too. So 
 would I." 
 
 VI 
 
 For several months after this things seemed to 
 drift along as usual. 
 
 Pat's prosperity, already assured though plod 
 ding, had been unexpectedly accelerated by the 
 sudden death of his partner, whose widow had 
 preferred a settlement in cash to the possible risk 
 of an investment subject to the vicissitudes of 
 trade. This left Pat in sole possession of a prom 
 ising little business, and he was doing well. 
 
 He still went " home " nearly every Sunday ; 
 and, as Carlotta had of late been especially kind 
 to him, he began to feel that the materialization of 
 his hopes was not far distant. 
 
 The youth Rubino still hung about the shop
 
 91 
 
 with his accordion, and once Pat had found him 
 and Carlotta out walking together when he came 
 on Sunday afternoon. He said to himself that it 
 was all right for her to be happy in her own 
 youthful way, and he tried to feel glad. Indeed, 
 if he were not wholly so at the time, her hearty 
 greeting when she came home in a little while 
 made him forget it all. 
 
 So the winter passed a second since the Socola 
 affair. In a month Carlotta would pass her eigh 
 teenth birthday. Things were coming very close. 
 
 Pat feared no opposition from the Di Carlo 
 parents. Indeed, the signora, in her relation of 
 unconscious mother-in-law elect, was a joy to his 
 Irish heart. She had evidently no suspicion of 
 the truth, and, in face of Pat's blossoming out 
 into a successful gentleman, had been unable to 
 refrain from throwing out occasional hints recall 
 ing his early fancy for Carlotta. And Pat, the 
 while laughing in his sleeve, kept her in continual 
 suspense by hinting at other possible alliances, 
 as when he said : 
 
 " Sure an' I wush ye cud see the widder 
 Schmidt, how purrty an' yung she is since the 
 ould man's gone. Troth an' ye may heer any day 
 av an elopemint in high life. Sure I tould 'er we 
 betther wait till the Berrmuda is firrmly rooted 
 on the ould gintleman's grave God rist 'im! 
 an' wud ye bel'ave? she does northin' but 
 shprinkle it wud a watherin'-pot since." 
 
 " Oh-h-h, 'z-a shame fo' you, Meester Pad, talk
 
 92 
 
 like tliad! Can get plenny pritty young-a woma' 
 yed." 
 
 "I've not fully made up me mind yet, ma'am, 
 sure, till I do see wull she turrn back all the cap 
 ital she dthrew out av the thrade an' promise me 
 a day off once a wake from cinnamon-cake till I 
 do fale me pulse an' starrt fresh." 
 
 It was no wonder the signora missed Pat out of 
 her daily life. He made so much fun. Was it 
 strange she wanted to secure him ? 
 
 It was at last Carlotta's birthday. Pat had 
 come to town rather earlier than usual, intend 
 ing to take her alone for the first time out 
 for a ride. They would go up to the Carrollton 
 Garden and sit on one of the little benches to 
 gether under a tree ; and when they came home 
 they would tell " the madam " and ask her bless 
 ing. 
 
 He knew just the funny things he would say as 
 he would present the little bald spot on his head 
 for her maternal blessing. And then they would 
 have to tell or rather to ask the father. He 
 scratched his head a little nervously at this thought, 
 and wished the ordeal were over; yet he would 
 get through somehow, and "carry it off" with 
 whatever inspiration the moment should bring. 
 
 He was dressed in his very best, and would have 
 given much to wear his artificial leg for the occa 
 sion. He would have liked to appear as a whole 
 man walking at her side to-night. 
 
 It was just merging into twilight when he ap-
 
 93 
 
 preached the shop, and the family sat, as usual, 
 about the doors. 
 
 " An' where's Lottie ?" he asked, as he joined 
 the circle. 
 
 He had never called for her in this way before, 
 but he was too near the edge of things to-night 
 to care to think. 
 
 " C'lotta ees-a just now gone oud-a walk weeth 
 Giuseppe Rubino. Sid down, Meester Pad." And 
 the signora lifted her foot from the rung of a 
 stool and pushed it towards him. 
 
 He sat down, but he was uneasy. 
 
 After a little while, during which, the signora 
 afterwai'ds said, he had never been more lively or 
 witty, he rose and left them. 
 
 For the last three Saturday evenings Carlotta 
 had been out with Giuseppe when he came, but he 
 had tried not to think seriously of it. But to 
 night ! Had she not remembered? Did she not 
 realize that to-day meant much to him and to 
 her ? He would pass the hour until he should be 
 sure to find her at home in his favorite retreat on 
 the river-bank, alone. There would be no demand 
 upon him here, and he could get himself together 
 again ; for he was keenly hurt. 
 
 As he left the Di Carlos', he could not see that 
 two men Sicilians they were who stood to 
 gether in the shadow of the wall across the way 
 moved slowly after him until he stopped the car, 
 when, quickening their paces, they also jumped 
 aboard, one seating himself within, while the
 
 94 
 
 other passed out to the platform with the driver. 
 Neither could he know when he crossed the wharf 
 that these two men watched and by separate routes 
 followed him at a distance as he disappeared 
 among the shadows between the, piles of freight 
 along the pier. 
 
 The river was high, and when he reached his 
 accustomed seat the floating wharf which was 
 chained to the heavy timbers attracted him. He 
 had never been down here, but a pair of hanging 
 steps invited the folly of his descent to-night, and 
 he had soon hobbled down and seated himself on 
 the inner edge of the raft, and thus within the 
 shadow of the pier above. It pleased his mood to 
 get thus near the turbulent, restless waters for a 
 while. 
 
 To sit in a little black shadow while he waited 
 for Carlotta to come home with Giuseppe suited 
 him to-night ; while the booming, swelling, resist 
 less river that lifted him upon its bosom and 
 seemed threatening to submerge everything was 
 typical of his love. 
 
 His thoughts had hardly begun to cool and 
 shape themselves when, first vaguely, as at a dis 
 tance, and now nearer, clearer, came the sound of 
 an accordion. 
 
 On summer evenings, almost anywhere along 
 the river-bank one may expect to find a sprink 
 ling of accordion-players usually German kitch 
 en-courtships out for an airing and there should 
 have been nothing very startling in the sound ;
 
 95 
 
 yet its first note made the Irishman's heart stand 
 still. He knew the most distant reach of Giu 
 seppe's accordion. It had come out to meet him 
 too often in the evenings for him to mistake it now. 
 It was coming very near, and soon he began to 
 hear voices Carlotta's and the youth's. They 
 were sitting down on the wharf just above his 
 head. Broken snatches of tunes proved that 
 Giuseppe was toying thoughtlessly with his in 
 strument, and while he played he was earnestly 
 talking. Soon the music stopped altogether, the 
 voice fell lower, more serious, more indistinct. It 
 seemed to Pat that the boy talked for an age; but 
 he could distinguish nothing. 
 
 But presently Carlotta spoke, clearly : 
 
 " No, no, Giuseppe. Hush ! I can't lis'n at 
 you !" 
 
 Then again Giuseppe muttered in a tone indis 
 tinct as to words, but full of pleading. 
 
 And now Carlotta again : 
 
 "Hush, I say, Giuseppe ! I mus'tit lis'n at you! 
 I wish I was dead ! I hate you ! I hate myself ! 
 I hate your music! I hate everything! Before 
 you came, I was satisfied. Everything was prom 
 ise good,, an' I never knowed no better. Now, 
 when I put my finger in my ears, I hear you sing 
 I hear that music. Oh, I hate it all ! To-night 
 I ought to be home, and I am here with you al 
 ways with you." 
 
 He spoke more clearly now in Italian : " But 
 why do you speak so, Carlotta? It is not true
 
 96 
 
 that you hate me. You love me I know it, I 
 feel it. Since first I saw you, I knew we were for 
 each other." 
 
 "But no, Giuseppe. Hush, I say ! I can't be 
 for you. Since two years I am promised. My 
 word is passed." 
 
 "And who is it that holds a child by her word 
 when she loves him not?" 
 
 " Oh, hush, Giuseppe ! He don't hold me. I 
 hold myself. He is the best man in all the world. 
 He loves me more than even my maw. Since I 
 was so big he loved me and I loved him good ; 
 but since you came I am not the same. I am not 
 fit. I run away with you, and then when I see 
 him I am sorry, and speak kind with him, but all 
 the time I see you. He trusts me, Giuseppe, same 
 like I trust the blessed Mother he even put my 
 name by her name once and you have all broken 
 me hearted, Giuseppe, an' made me turn away 
 from him. I wish I was dead ! and you ! and 
 him !" 
 
 There were tears in her voice. 
 
 "But listen, Carlotta. You don't understand. 
 Nothing is true but love. Everything else comes 
 after promises, mistakes, all everything ! Love 
 is from God Almighty. He never sends love like 
 mine but he sends the answer too. For two 
 months I have read my answer in your eyes, and 
 was satisfied ; but it was sweet to wait, to sing, to 
 play, to laugh all around it, making believe I was 
 not sure. But I am sure. You are mine!"
 
 97 
 
 " Oh, but no, no, no, Guiseppe ! I am not for 
 yon. If I was that mean, God would never bless 
 me nor you. It would be a curse. You cannot 
 understand." 
 
 " Who is this coward who holds you ?" 
 
 " But hush ! He is no coward, Giuseppe. Me, 
 I am a coward but not him. It was me what 
 made him speak love. You talk about God ! For 
 what does God let us make mistakes ! How can 
 we be sure? I was crazy for him, and in my 
 heart I felt sure sure it was love, and I told him, 
 Giuseppe. I made him to love me. And now 
 if only you go away, Giuseppe ! If you love me 
 true, go, and let me have peace and not trouble. 
 Go far, and let me forget the sound of your mu 
 sic let me forget your eyes let me not see your 
 shape in the air which way I turn. Then it will 
 all pass away, and I will be like before. I love 
 him good, Giuseppe. I am not a liar. Only now 
 I am like in a dream, and in my dream I see 
 only you. Now I see, I know, what you meant, 
 Giuseppe, when you said in your sleep I stood 
 before you. But soon I will wake. I will see 
 his kind eyes, and it will pass. He will never 
 know." 
 
 "And who is this man for whom you put me 
 away ?" 
 
 " It is time enough, Giuseppe ; but better if 
 you never know him. Go far away." 
 
 " I go not away without you, Carlotta. Every 
 day I will come till I get you. I will walk by your
 
 98 
 
 side before this man, and when he looks at us he 
 will see he is a fool." 
 
 " I walk with you no more, Giuseppe. To-night 
 finishes. Come, let us go. I heard a noise, and 
 just now over there a shadow moved. I am afraid. 
 Come." 
 
 As they rose to go, the accordion, which Giu 
 seppe grasped hastily in rising, opening by its 
 own weight, sent out an attenuated discordant 
 wail. And to Pat, sitting alone in the shadow be 
 neath, it sounded like a weird Banshee's shriek 
 coming from far over the seas. 
 
 The tender tremor in Carlotta's voice when first 
 she spoke Giuseppe's name had struck his heart 
 like a death-knell, and the words which followed 
 were but as clods falling upon a coffin. The girl's 
 loyalty through it all seemed to mock him like a 
 hymn at a grave. It was as the silver sheen upon 
 the silken fabric of a shroud the smile upon the 
 face of death. 
 
 For a long time after they had gone the heavy 
 timbers about him were not more still than he. 
 
 Once he thought he heard soft steps above him. 
 If he had risen, he might have seen two da^k fig 
 ures peering stealthily about as if looking for 
 some one. They might have been assassins in 
 ambush. 
 
 But Pat did not even glance upward. 
 
 Can any one, by simply imagining, be sure he 
 half understands how this man felt ? or must he 
 have passed through the shades of a like sorrow
 
 "THE HEAVY TIMBERS ABOUT HIM WERE NOT MORE STILL THAN HE"
 
 to know its black, bleak depths and the hopeless 
 ness of it ? It is hard to say. 
 
 His first movement was to cast his eyes about 
 him upon the water. It was all around him so 
 near so inviting. It seemed almost to call him. 
 It would have been so easy, from where he sat, 
 just to lean over and over, like Maupassant's little 
 blue-and-red soldier, as if he were trying to drink. 
 There would be only a few bubbles fit emblems 
 of his life and its story and so it would end. 
 
 Had he not promised her his grave whenever it 
 would be a safe bridge over her troubles ? The 
 time had come. Or had it come? Would the 
 plunge be for her sake or his own ? Was he, 
 after all, a coward he who had never run from 
 a foe in his life who had even fought and van 
 quished his potheen with a flask in his pocket? 
 
 Distinct rapid footsteps above startled him, and 
 he raised his eyes. As he did so, a bundle fell at 
 his side into the water, and the steps retreated. 
 
 He seemed to see a struggle as the dark object 
 twisted for a second within the rings of the eddy 
 that swallowed it down; but he could not be sure. 
 In a moment, however, he heard, quite near, the 
 thin, wiry cry of a young kitten. He looked about 
 him and above, but could see nothing of it, though 
 the sound came again and again. Finally, how 
 ever, a desperate wail located the sufferer. 
 
 On the outside of the heavy timbers, caught 
 in its fall by a protruding splinter or spike, the 
 wretched little creature hung suspended, its own
 
 100 
 
 weight and struggles imprisoning it more securely 
 each moment within the notch. 
 
 The struggling contents of the whirling bundle 
 were explained. This little unfortunate had slipped 
 out of the open bag in its fall, to perish high and 
 dry in the night wind, or to be scoi-ched by the 
 sun should it survive the night. 
 
 Pat regarded the writhing little form a moment 
 only. 
 
 "Sure we're in the same boat, kitty, you an' 
 me," he said, aloud ; " we're wan too many in a 
 crowded worrld. But, plaze God, I'll give ye the 
 same chance I'll take meself in the name o' Him 
 that shaped the two av us." 
 
 With this, seizing the fragment of a broken oar, 
 he swung himself outside the timbers. 
 
 At the sound of his voice two black shadows 
 rushed noiselessly across the wharf, and, quickly 
 reaching the edge, peered over. 
 
 What they saw was only a whining young kit 
 ten crawling feebly along the raft. 
 
 The upward reach with the oar which liberated 
 the little beast and sent him back to life had 
 thrown his deliverer accidentally backward. The 
 grip of his one leg about the post had served only 
 to let him down, down, gently, noiselessly, into the 
 eddying current, which sucked him under the raft 
 without even a twirl or a twist. There was not 
 so much as a gurgle of the waters as he sank. 
 
 The black figures waited a long time, lying on 
 their faces and listening, and two stilettos were
 
 101 
 
 drawn and ready. When the voice should speak 
 again, they would do their work quickly; for the 
 emissaries of the Mafia are wont to use despatch. 
 
 It was past midnight, and the moon was rising, 
 when at last, despairing and mystified, they sep 
 arated reluctantly, and by different routes went 
 to report another failure to old Pietro Socola, 
 their chief. 
 
 The Di Carlos wondered with great anxiety 
 why Pat did not come home, and all during the 
 night the signora started at every sound, fancy 
 ing she heard his wooden peg ascending the 
 stairs. 
 
 It was on the second day afterwards when a boy 
 in the shop read from the daily paper that the 
 body of a one-legged man had been washed up 
 against a coal-barge floating in the river near 
 Canal Street. 
 
 The father Di Carlo went immediately to in 
 vestigate the matter, and when he came home an 
 hour later, and the family gathered about him, 
 anxious to hear the news, he only shook his head 
 sadly, and, taking from his handkerchief an old 
 red baby shoe, he said, " It was in his inside 
 pocket." 
 
 Customers who came in at the time, and people 
 passing by, thought from their distress that a 
 member of the family was dead. 
 
 Carlotta, trembling and white as marble, went 
 away alone. 
 
 An investigation of Pat's affairs and effects dis-
 
 102 
 
 closed a will, made some years before, bequeath 
 ing to Carlotta all his worldly goods. 
 
 A large proportion of this which proved quite 
 a neat competence she expended, despite her 
 mother's frugal protest that it could do him no 
 good, in a handsome marble shaft to his memory. 
 In its unique inscription, which was of her own 
 dictation, she sought to make some sort of repa 
 ration for the sin of which she accused herself. 
 
 The monument still stands in the corner of St. 
 Patrick's Cemetery, and reads: 
 
 IN MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 
 Patrick ttooncn, 
 
 INTEND OF CARLOTTA Dl CARLO, 
 AGE. 42 YEARS. 
 
 And on any All - Saints' Day, Carlotta and Giu 
 seppe, with their flock of beautiful children, may 
 be seen to stop there for a while, leaving a bou 
 quet of plush -topped coxcombs and a cross of 
 white chrysanthemums.
 
 BUD ZUNTS'S MAIL
 
 BUD ZUNTS'S MAIL 
 B IRomance of tbc SfmpfctnsvUle ff>ost*otfice 
 
 " ' NOTHIN' for you, Bud Zunts !' Seem like I 
 ought to've heerd that often enough to know it 
 by this time but I don't. I don't even to say 
 half b'lieve it when I do hear it no, I don't." 
 
 Bud Zunts had just come out of the Simpkins- 
 ville post-office, and, mounting the seat of his 
 wagon, he turned his oxen's heavy heads slowly 
 homeward. 
 
 "Th'ain't been a night sence she's been a-sayin' 
 it," he continued, as the ponderous beasts made 
 a lunge out of the deep ruts "th'ain't been a 
 night in three year sence she's been a-sayin' it 
 but I've mo'n half expected to see her han' out a 
 letter, an' I c'n see the purty blue veins in 'er 
 han's when she'd be handin' it out " He 
 chuckled. " 'N' I c'n see 'er smile like 's ef she 
 was tickled to see me paid at last for stoppin' 
 every night in all these year t' inquire. 'Tis purty 
 tiresome some nights but of co'se when a 
 man's a-co'tin' he can't expec' he can't expec' 
 Tell the truth, I reck'n I dun'no' nothin' 'bout 
 co'tin'. I wush 't I did know. Seem like ma
 
 106 
 
 tried to teach me a little bit of every kind o' 
 learnin' she knew about, but don't seem like she 
 could 've knew much about co'tin', nohow. 
 
 "Th'ain't never been a time, turn my min' free 
 ez I can, thet I c'n understan' how in creation pa 
 ever co'ted ma th'ain't, for a fac'. I've 'magined 
 it every way I c'n twis' things, an' I've made 'er 
 young an? purty, 'n' I've plumped 'er out pore 
 ma was awful thin and rawboned, jest like me, 
 ever sence I c'n ricollec' but I've plumped 'er 
 out in my min', 'n' I've frizzled 'er hair, 'n' 
 smoothed down 'er cowlick, but even then I 'ain't 
 been able to see 'er bein' co'ted 'thout fussin' 
 noways. Pore ma. She cert'n'y was the best 
 an' the most worrisome woman thet God ever 
 made. 
 
 "I won't say she had was the best neither, for 
 I been a-co'tin' Miss C'delia now three year 'n' six 
 mont's an' three nights to-night, 'n' watchin' 'er 
 constant, an' I Vlieve she's ez good a woman ez 
 ma was ever' bit 'thout 'er worrisome ways, 
 too pore ma." 
 
 Bud Zunts mused here a few moments, but 
 presently he chuckled again : 
 
 "Here I set a-talkin' 'bout co'tin', 's ef every 
 body knowed it, 'n' I dun'no' ez anybody do but 
 me. Wonder ef Miss C'delia think I'd stop every 
 night for fo' year goin' on 'n' ast for letters 
 'n' never git a one, 'n' wait tell the las' person 
 goes out every night, 'n' stop 'n' lock the gate 
 'n' climb over the pickets (she thinks I lock the
 
 107 
 
 gate on the outside V fling the key back she 
 m.ns' think I take a mighty good aim to hit the 
 aidge o' the do'-sill every time). Wonder ef she 
 do think I do that-a-way ever' night, th' way I 
 do, jest to be a-doin' ? 'N' I wonder ef she ever 
 heerd me a-tryin' the winder-shetters to make 
 shore nobody 'd bother 'er du'in' the night ?" 
 He laughed softly. 
 
 " Move on, Bute ! Bute 'n' Fairy 's about ez 
 down-hearted a pair o' oxen to-night ez ever I 
 see." 
 
 The roads were heavy and wet, and man, beasts, 
 and wagon were old, so the equipage moved slowly, 
 bogging and sputtering occasionally in soft spots 
 like the soliloquy. 
 
 " Yas," he resumed, presently, " I been a,co'tin 
 Miss C'delia for fo' year goin' on 'n' I 'ain't 
 never spoke yet many nights ez I've laid off to. 
 Ef she didn't keep the pos'-office, so's I c'n see 'er 
 every evenin' an' aSund'ymornin's thoo the little 
 winder, 'n' get my daily 'wcour'gements 'n' dis- 
 cour'gements, I'd 've spoke long ago 'n' maybe 
 'stid o' me an' Bute 'n' Fairy trudgin' 'long so 
 slow in the mud to-night, not keerin' much 
 whether or when we git home, I might be we 
 might be she might 
 
 "I do declare, the way I do set up here 'n' 
 giggle is redic'lous ! 
 
 " Wo, Bute ! These here slushy ruts is awful 
 mud clean up to the hub !" 
 
 So Bud Zunts proceeded on his lonely way,
 
 108 
 
 until he finally reached his own gate the humble 
 entrance to the two-roomed cabin that dignified 
 his meagre little farm, lying on the edge of Simp- 
 kinsville. 
 
 After the front door was closed to-night, Miss 
 Cordelia Cummins, the post-mistress, stood for a 
 long time behind her pigeon-hole barrier, looking 
 over the remaining mail. 
 
 " Here's mo' letters 'n enough for Kate Clark 
 'n' papers, too," she said, audibly. " Some o' 
 the papers got 'er po'try printed in 'em, an' some 
 'ain't. Here's one o' hers now ' A Midnight 
 Monody'; wonder what that means? It's hers, 
 I'm shore, 'cause it's signed by her pen-nondy- 
 plume, ' Silver Sheen.' 
 
 " I s'pose that is mo' suited for a po'try-writer's 
 name 'n ' Kate Clark ' 'd be ; but seem to me I 
 wouldn't deny my name, noways po'try or no 
 po'try ! 
 
 " These paper- wrappers stick mighty tight. I 
 'mos' split this 'n gettin' it back on. 
 
 " I see she's got two letters from the telegraph 
 station. Funny how thin an' fine that young man 
 does write like he craved to whisper. He writes 
 precizely like a lady. Ef ever I did get a letter 
 from a male person, I'd choose for 'im to have a 
 mannish handwrite 'clare I would. 
 
 "Two fom 'im to-day an' one to 'im. Well, 
 I'm proud to see Kate's a-keepin' 'm where he 
 b'longs. I dun'no', either ; come to feel 'em, I
 
 109 
 
 b'lieve her one letter's heavier'n both o' hisn ; V 
 it's writ on pink paper, too ; V it's got smellin' 
 stuff in it shore's I've got a nose ! 
 
 " I do wonder ef Kate writes love-verses to 'im ! 
 I hardly b'lieve it of 'er though I dun'no'. 
 
 "Here's at least fo' love-letters in a row, V I 
 don't doubt the las' one of 'em is so sweet inside 
 thet ef they was lef open in the sun the honey 
 bees 'd light on 'em. 
 
 " Sometimes I do wush 't I'd get a letter myself 
 jest a reel out-'n'-out love-letter, same ez ef I 
 wasn't pos'-mist'ess not thet I'd b'lieve any writ- 
 ten-out foolishness, of co'se but jest for the fun 
 of it. Maybe ef I didn't handle so many I wouldn't 
 think about it. 
 
 " I do hones' b'lieve thet th' ain't another per 
 son a-livin' in the county that is, no grown-up 
 person black nor white, but's got a letter some 
 time 'r other less'n, of co'se, Bud Zunts. 
 
 " But I'm jest a leetle bit ahead o' you, Bud, on 
 that. I know you 'ain't never got none, V you 
 don't know how many I get. 
 
 " Sometimes I do hate to tell 'im th' ain't nothin' 
 for 'im, pore boy ! Lis'n at me a-callin' 'im boy, 
 W he a month 'n' three days older'n me, an' I'm 
 jest to think, I'm purty nigh ez ole ez Bud Zunts, 
 an' he gray ez a rat ! But I reck'n his ma wor- 
 reted 'im all but gray. 
 
 "Pore Mis' Zunts! She was a good woman, 
 Mis' Zunts Avas, but I've seen some worse ones I'd 
 a heap ruther live with.
 
 110 
 
 " She cert'n'y was worrysome but I don't doubt 
 Bud is the best-trained young man in the county 
 to-day. He turned out 'is toes, V said 'ma'am' 
 an' ' sir,' when he warn't no mo'n knee-high to a 
 toad-frog. An' he knew the whole Shorter Cate 
 chism 'fore he could pernounce a half o' the words; 
 but as for understandin' it well, I often think 
 maybe that's reserved for Heaven, anyway. 
 
 "I do wonder what pore Bud does when he 
 goes home of nights? It mus' be awful lonesome 
 for 'im when the lamp's lit ef he lights a lamp. 
 You never can tell jest how low down a man lef 
 to hisself will get. Pore Bud ! They's jest one 
 thing his ma didn't teach him an' that's cour'ge. 
 Sometimes the most c'rageous person agoin' 'li 
 seem to squench all the cour'ge out of another 
 person, 'n' not mean to do it, neither. 
 
 " Now I know Bud's a-yearnin' to speak to me 
 ef I know anything 'n' sometimes I'm a'mos' 
 tempted to help 'im out, but I'd never half re 
 spect 'im ef I did nor myself neither. 
 
 "I did start one night to say, 'Pm sorry th' 
 ain't nothin' fo' you to-night, Bud Zunts,' 'n' then 
 I wouldn't art I won't ! I won't have it said I 
 give 'im that much encour'gement. 
 
 " 'Ef he's a womanish man, I won't match 'im 
 by bein' a mannish woman. But I do wush 't I 
 knew ef he was wearin' woollen next to 'is skin or 
 not." She sighed. "Ef ef Bud was to take the 
 
 O 
 
 pneumony to-morrer well, I dun'no' what I'd do, 
 but I reck'n, knowin' what's on his miu' an' what's
 
 Ill 
 
 on mine, it 'd be my abounding duty to go, 'thout 
 sayin' a word, an' nurse 'im thoo it to sort o' fin 
 ish out the pantomime he's done started. But it 
 'd pleg me awful 'deed it would. I've laid awake 
 mo'n one col' spell jest a-prayin' the Lord not to 
 make it my clair duty to go an' nurse Bud thoo a 
 spell o' sickness befo' he's foun' cour'ge to speak 
 'is min' to me. I would o' prayed the Lord to give 
 'im cour'ge but I won't do it! Ef it's come to 
 sech a pass thet a man has to ask me to marry 'im 
 with the cour'ge I prayed for then I'll keep pos'- 
 office all my days, V jest live along with Polly 
 like I do." As she spoke she glanced up at a par 
 rot, who sat half asleep on his perch near. 
 
 " I won't give Bud no encour'gement ; no I 
 won't, Poll nor myself neither. I won't even 
 make a extry yard o' tattin' tell he's spoke 'deed 
 I won't. But I do wush 't I knew 'bout his wearin' 
 good flannen next to 'is skin. These red-headed 
 V red- whiskered folks is mighty thin an' deli 
 cate-skinned, 'n' Bud's been so watched over 'n' 
 preserved by 'is ma, he ain't never took none of 
 his diseases in proper season, not even the whup- 
 pin'-cough, 'n' the first heavy col' he gets '11 go 
 purty hard on 'im. I do b'lieve Mis' Zunts wouldn't 
 o' let 'im cut 'is teeth ef she could o' helped it 
 jest so she could o' had the excitement o' chewin' 
 for 'im. 
 
 " I declare ! Ef Sally Ann Brooks ain't a-send- 
 iu' a postal-card to New York to order a ready- 
 inade night-gownd ! I do vow some folks 'ain't
 
 112 
 
 got a bit o' modesty V her own name mentioned, 
 V her measure too; 'n' everybody 'twixt here 'n' 
 New York liable to read it 'n' most o' the postal 
 clerks young men at that ! 
 
 " They's a good many postals thet I disapprove 
 of lef this office, but this is the worst. 
 
 " I've got a good notion to put it in a envelope 
 n' 'dress it over again not for Sally Ann's sake, 
 ef she wants to discuss her night-gownds with the 
 readin' public gen'ally, but for the sake o' Simp- 
 kinsville's reputation in New York city. I'm 
 a-goin' to do it !" 
 
 Seizing an envelope, she proceeded forthwith to 
 clothe and readdress the offensive card, and then 
 clapping a stamp upon it, she exclaimed, with sat 
 isfaction : 
 
 "Now, you're decent!" 
 
 Then she took up a letter. 
 
 "I see Miss Sophia Falena Simpkins is gett'n' 
 letters right along f'om Washin'ton city. Like 
 ez not some ef not every one o' them all-devourin' 
 Yankees 're sett'n' up to 'er for 'er fortune but 
 I do hope she won't give in ! 
 
 " I see she's taken to puffin' 'er hair lately, but 
 maybe that's on account o' its gettin' skimpy. A 
 holler puff makes a little hair go a long ways. 
 'T wouldn't do mine any harm to puff it a little 
 'n' I'd do it ef 'twasn't for Bud Zunts. I said I 
 wouldn't turn a hair to encour'ge him an? I 
 wont ! 
 
 "He's jest about gettin' home now I see it's
 
 113 
 
 eight o'clock 'n' like ez not he's a-sneezin' 'is 
 head off this minute pore Bud !" 
 
 During this prolonged monologue, much of 
 which was scarcely audible, Miss Cordelia had 
 assorted all the outgoing mail, stopping only once 
 to set her coffee-pot on the fire. 
 
 Turning now, she seated herself before the sin 
 gle plate upon the table, and had dropped her head 
 for a silent grace, when there came a rap at the 
 door. This narrow portal opening on a side- 
 street answered for " front " of her humble dom 
 icile, whose former front was on government duty, 
 as we have seen. 
 
 "I'm a-comin' right now," she responded, some 
 what Hurriedly, as she opened the door. 
 
 " Why, howdy, Mis' Brooks ! Come in, Sally 
 Ann !" 
 
 " I do declare, Miss Cordelia, you an' Polly 're 
 as cozy as two bugs in a rug," said Mrs. Brooks, 
 unwinding a rose-colored " fascinator " from her 
 head as she sat down. " I thought I'd run in V 
 set awhile. The children 're so fussy, I jest slipped 
 out to let their pa get a tas'e o' the picnic I have 
 every day. I left 'im a-playin' horsy, crawlin' on 
 all-fo's on the flo', with the baby on 'is back, chas- 
 in' little Sally Ann, with the twins a-whippin' 'im 
 up behin' with a towel, 'n' I thought it was a good 
 time for me to take a vacation. I did have a let 
 ter to pos', but of co'se I could o' slipped that in 
 the box f'om the outside 'n' run right back. Fo' 
 goodness' sake, look! There's somebody a-slip-
 
 114 
 
 pin' in a letter now. I heard it, V saw it too. 
 Wonder, for gracious' sakes, who it was ? Don't 
 it make you feel sort o' creepy, Miss Cordelia, 
 settin' here by yoreself some nights, jest you an' 
 Polly, to see a letter come a-droppin' in ?" 
 
 Miss Cordelia had set a second cup on the table, 
 and was pouring out the coffee. 
 
 " It did seem sort o' funny at first, Sally Ann, 
 'n' I ricollec' I used to push up the winder V 
 try to see who dropped it, but I foun' they was 
 mo' neuraligy than satisfaction to be got out o' 
 that, 'n' I c'n gen'ally tell who drops mail now 
 'thout lookin.' Draw up yo' chair, Sally Ann, 'n' 
 take some coffee, 'n' I'll go see what letter that is." 
 
 She rose and stepped to the box. She was 
 thinking of Sally Ann's postal, and a sense of guilt 
 in the matter made her somewhat nervous. 
 
 "Law sakes!" she exclaimed, bringing forward 
 the letter. " This here's a ole nigger's mail. Jest 
 s'posin' I'd o' bumped my head an' maybe broke 
 a winder-pane (both o' which I've did a-many a 
 time) jest to see the tail of old Solon's mule ez he 
 ambles down the road wouldn't I feel cheap? 
 You know Solon's wife, Hannah, is cookin' down 
 to the telegraph station, an' they write to one an 
 other jest the same ez white folks." 
 
 " You don't say !" 
 
 " Why, yas; th' ain't a week but one letter goes 
 each way; an' I don't reck'n they's one but's got 
 po'try in it. Every time / write for 'im he makes 
 me put it in, I know"
 
 115 
 
 "For the land sakes! I wouldn't think he knew 
 any." 
 
 " He dorit know but two pieces ' Rose 's red,' 
 and, 
 
 " ' Ez shore's the vine grows roun' the stump, 
 You is my darlin' sugar lump.' 
 
 Seem like he don't keer much which one I put in, 
 an' sometimes he jest leaves it to me, an' I write 
 either 'How firm a foundation,' or '"When I can 
 read my title clair,' an' he seems jest as much 
 tickled ; V I'm shore she's likely to get more good 
 out of 'em. Didn't you say you had a letter to 
 mail?" 
 
 " Yas, 'm; here 'tis; an' I want to ast you, Miss 
 C'delia, ef I couldn't get back a postal I sent this 
 mornin' that is, of co'se, less'n it's already gone." 
 
 Miss Cordelia caught her breath. "Why, no, 
 Sally Ann, 'tain't to say gone, but but " 
 
 " But you've done put it in the bag an' it fast 
 ened?" 
 
 " Well, yas, Sally Ann ; tell the truth, the bag 
 it's in is fastened up secure." 
 
 " I thought maybe 'twould be, V I'm half glad. 
 I spent all yesterday tryin' to decide whether to 
 order a night - gownd with lace let in or a solid 
 Hamburg yoke, 'n' ever sence I ordered the lace 
 one I've had the fidgets for the other. So now 
 I've wrote 'em to sen' both, 'n' ef they get the 
 postal too, I reckon I'll have three; an', Lordy, 
 won't I be fine ?"
 
 116 
 
 Now was Miss Cordelia's chance for her moral 
 lecture, but so had conscience conscripted her 
 into its legion of cowards that she sat with thump 
 ing heart, silent, until it was given her to remark, 
 by way of escape, " I see you an' Lucy Jones 're 
 correspondin' agin." 
 
 " Not again, but yet. We're jest as thick as 
 ever. We've jest been changin' wrapper patterns 
 again. She sent me this'n last summer. Look 
 how purty it sets." 
 
 Mrs. Brooks rose and turned around. "It does 
 set lovely, Sally Ann Mother Hubbard front, an' 
 sort o' bas' back ain't it? with a what's this?" 
 
 " Why, that's a Watter pleat. They're all the 
 
 go-" 
 
 " Mh-hm. It's mighty purty. Funny how they 
 get names, ain't it? Now I s'pose they call that 
 a water pleat on 'count of its a-fallin' all the way 
 down like a water-fall." 
 
 "I don't reely know. 'Tain't spelled that a- 
 way. It's W-a-t-t-e-a-u, printed on the pattern, 
 but maybe that's French. Come to think, e-a-u 
 is French for water, that much I know. 
 
 "But guess what's a-comin' in nex', Miss Cor 
 delia. Ole Mis' Bradley '11 lead the style at last." 
 
 " You don't mean hoops !" 
 
 "Guessed it the first pop! Yas, I do mean 
 hoops, too. They're jest a-sailin' in, big as life." 
 
 "But tell me, does Mis' Bradley know it?" 
 
 " I don't know 's she does. I'd go an' tell 'er, 
 but she's so deef I can't talk to her. Don't she
 
 117 
 
 look too funny when she comes in church a-Sun- 
 days with 'er same old hoops, an' that silk man 
 tilla an' shoulder-pins, 'n' that curtain on the back 
 of her bonnet? She shorely is a sight. 'N' yet 
 seem like Simpkinsville wouldn't be like Simp- 
 kinsville 'thout Mis' Bradley." 
 
 " Mis' Bradley is a mighty nice lady, Sally Ann, 
 an' a good Christian." 
 
 "An' don't I know it? Th' ain't anybody 
 thinks mo' of 'er 'n I do, but that don't make me 
 borry 'er cape patterns. But she's a Christian, 
 shore. Do you know, she's taught my children 
 nearly, every prayer in the prayer-book not to 
 mention hymns. She gets 'em over there Sunday 
 evenin's, an' has a reg'lar Sunday-school for 'em. 
 She makes 'em come up, one by one, an' say their 
 verses right in 'er ear - trumpet, 'n' the young 
 ones 're tickled to death over it. She ast Bud 
 Zunts to come an' help her, an' sort o' be super'n- 
 tendent. But I reck'n she was jest a-tryin' to 
 get Bud interested. They say he don't show in- 
 teres' in nothin' much but writin' letters sence 'is 
 ma's gone, 'n' they do say he's a-co'tiri 1 somebody 
 by mail, 'n' thet he never goes to sleep 'thout 
 comin' in town for 'is letters. Is that so, Miss 
 Cordelia ?" 
 
 " Well, Sally Ann, sence you ask me, Bud does 
 call for 'is mail purty reg'lar." 
 
 "You don't say thet he gets a letter every 
 day?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't say he does, an' I don't say he
 
 118 
 
 don't. Even ef I kep' a 'count o' Bud's mail in a 
 book, which I don't, 'twouldn't be right for me to 
 tell mo'n he choose to tell 'isself." 
 
 "Well, I've begged Teddy to watch an' see 
 what he gets of evenin's, an', tell the truth, I've 
 come myself ; but seem like Bud waits till purty 
 near the last one, an' I've got jest enough man 
 ner's mixed up with my curiosity to make me go 
 out with the crowd." 
 
 "Well, you see, Sally Ann, when folks wait 
 their turn, I give 'em their mail where they b'long 
 in the A B C's, 'n' Zunts, you know that comes 
 purty far down in the alphabet, 'n' Bud never 
 pushes 'isself. 'F anybody was to stay a Z out, 
 it 'd look like they wasn't no mo'n a sort o' so 
 fo'th no 'count on earth excep'n' to foller behin' 
 somethin' thet does count. You'd get yore mail 
 purty soon, anyway, bein' a B." 
 
 Miss Cordelia could be severe on occasion. 
 
 " An' so ole Bud's a-co'tin' ! I do declare ! I 
 s'pose it's all right fo' ole folks to co't, but it does 
 seem to strike my funnybone, somehow." 
 
 Mrs. Brooks laughed merrily. Miss Cordelia 
 cleared her throat. 
 
 "Mind you, Sally Ann, I never said Bud Zunts 
 was a-co'tin'. Ef he is, he 'ain't never tol' me." 
 
 At this point both women were startled by a 
 shrill scream quite near. In a high falsetto voice 
 came the exclamation "Nothin' for you, Bud 
 Zunts!" Whether Poll the parrot had been study 
 ing over this oft -repeated sentence, keeping it on
 
 Ill) 
 
 deposit for timely utterance, or, as seems more 
 probable, the only connection in which he had 
 ever heard the name was to him a complete form, 
 which he instinctively recalled on hearing a part 
 of it, would be hard to say; but there was some 
 thing distinctly uncanny in the opportune deliv 
 ery, an effect decidedly heightened by the dark 
 corner from which the voice came, as well as by 
 the peal of ringing bird-laughter which followed. 
 
 Mrs. Brooks drew her shawl over her head, and, 
 falling upon her knees, put her face in Miss Cor 
 delia's lap. 
 
 " Lord have mercy !" she exclaimed. " I b'lieve 
 that bird is the ole boy 'isself ; 'deed I do. Good 
 gracious, Miss Cordelia ! An' did you hear that? 
 Another letter in the box ! I heard it fall V 
 the clock's a-tickin' like thunder 'n' I hear foot 
 steps ; I declare I do !" 
 
 " Cert'n'y, Sally Ann ! How'd the letter come 
 in the box 'thout footsteps ?" Miss Cordelia man 
 aged to say, finally; but it was with much effort, 
 as she was far the more seriously startled of the 
 two. 
 
 The sentence she had been saying daily for 
 years that had become, indeed, a sort of refrain 
 in her own life had burned deeper into her sensi 
 bilities than she knew, and to hear it from other 
 lips even would have startled her, but coming 
 from this weird bird, just at the critical moment 
 when she was struggling between veracity and 
 loyalty to Bud Zunts, filled her with something
 
 120 
 
 akin to terror. It seemed an imperative challenge 
 to her for the whole truth. If she would not tell 
 it, Poll would. 
 
 There is no telling where it might have led had 
 Sally Ann kept silent ; but she had soon taken 
 the floor figuratively as well as literally, and was 
 presently laughing and crying in so hysterical a 
 fashion that Miss Cordelia felt it necessary to 
 chafe her hands and temples, and finally to ac 
 company her across the field, where she cringed 
 at every shadow until she reached her gate. 
 
 When Miss Cordelia returned to her own door 
 she touched its latch for the first time in her life 
 with trembling fingers. She felt almost afraid to 
 enter her room. The secret she had scarcely 
 turned over in . her own breast had been glibly 
 spoken by a senseless bird, and in the confusion 
 of the first shock she had half believed the prat 
 ing creature a thing of evil, as Sally Ann had 
 said. 
 
 Mrs. Brooks had turned white and "gone to 
 pieces " simply to hear the bird supply a sentence 
 fitting exactly into the theme of conversation. 
 He knew they were talking of Bud Zunts's mail. 
 To Miss Cordelia he knew all the years of wait 
 ing, the silent courtship, her resolution to stand 
 firm at her end of the line, her present dilemma. 
 
 She stood some moments irresolute, her hand 
 upon the latch; but finally, with a determined 
 movement, she walked in. The room was nearly 
 dark, the candle burning low in its socket, and
 
 121 
 
 flaring up occasionally, only to throw out hints 
 of grotesque shadows. 
 
 Miss Cordelia locked the door, and, seizing a 
 match, lit first the two candles standing on either 
 end of the mantel, and then the lamp, which she 
 turned up to its highest point; and now she thi-ew 
 an armful of pine knots upon the fire. For one 
 thing, she would have plenty of light. Then 
 walking directly up to Poll's perch, and regard 
 ing him sternly, she said, in a voice almost as 
 metallic as his own: 
 
 " Well, Polly Cummins, you an' I might ez 
 well have it out first ez last. I wouldn't talk to 
 no sech unearthly figgur ez you in the dark, but 
 I've done struck a good light, 'n' I'm bigger 
 'n you are, 'n' I reckon I'm older. It's al 
 ready come to words between us, 'n' maybe it'll 
 come to worse; but whatever it is, I'm ready 
 for it." 
 
 She approached a step nearer, and folding her 
 hands behind her and looking keenly into the 
 bird's eyes, said: "Now I want to know, how 
 much do you know ?" 
 
 Poll, curious at the novel proceeding, craned 
 his neck, turning upon her first one eye and then 
 the other. The sudden glare no doubt made him 
 blink. 
 
 "No, you needn't to wink at me, Polly, 'n' you 
 needn't put out yore paw to shake hands, 'n' you 
 needn't to make out like you don't understand. 
 You've done committed yoreself, 'n' you can't
 
 122 
 
 back out of it. Speak out this minute when I tell 
 you. How much do you know, I say ?" 
 
 The silence that followed was broken finally by 
 Miss Cordelia. Her voice had lost somewhat of 
 its severity when she spoke again. 
 
 " I've mistrusted you befo' to-night, Polly Cum 
 mins. Many a night when you've said 'Good 
 night, Cordelia,' an' ' Pleasant dreams,' an' * God 
 bless you !' I've felt mighty quare about you, ef I 
 did teach it to you myself. It's made me feel 
 mighty shivery an' quare, I tell you, an' many's 
 the night I've gone to sleep with a pretty creepy 
 feelin' with yore human words a-ringin' in my 
 ears. But with it all I've been mighty fond of 
 you, an' proud of you too, an' th' ain't a livin' soul 
 ez knows thet you say ' Good-night, Cordelia,' to 
 me 'thout the 'Miss ' to it, 'n' thet I call you Polly 
 Cummins. That's jest a little sociability 'twixt 
 you an' me, an' I've allowed it an' encour'ged it 
 jest because I icas fond of you, 'n' I've reckoned 
 you to be the most consolin' bird for a lonely 
 person thet ever I see, not to say the smartest. 
 That much I knew by what I could teach you to 
 do an' to say. But ez to what you've held back 
 from me though I've had my suspicions, I've 
 never reelly b'lieved it tell to-night. But you've 
 had yore chance to play smarty, an' you've done 
 it! You know thet of all the people in town th' 
 ain't nobody thet 'd make more o' what you said 
 'n Sally Ann Brooks will. She'll put on one o' 
 them catarac' wrappers o' hers 'n' run over to the
 
 123 
 
 'xcbange quick ez she's swallered her breakfast, 
 'n' she'll tell that tale to everybody thet comes in 
 'n' what she don't add to it they will, V you 
 know it. 
 
 "Ef you know ez much ez you've showed you 
 know, why didn't you talk it over with me by 
 ourselves, an' not make me an' him both cheap 
 befo' the whole o' this gapin' town ? Answer me, 
 Polly Cummins, how much do you know about me 
 art Bud Zunts ?" 
 
 At mention of this name, Poll raised his head 
 and exclaimed, as before, " Nothin' for you, Bud 
 Zunts !" 
 
 Standing thus near, Miss Cordelia caught, as 
 she had not done before, a something in the repe 
 tition that made her start and turn suddenly 
 white. It was the exact reproduction of her own 
 intonation. In it she discerned all the pent-up 
 tragedy of the long waiting, the tenderness, the 
 resolve to be unyielding, which she had felt safe 
 ly concealed by the oft-repeated form. 
 
 Turning suddenly, she staggered to a chair, and 
 dropping her face into her hands over the table, 
 she sat a long time, thinking. When finally she 
 raised herself, her whole manner was changed. 
 
 " He don't know nothin'," she said, sadly. " He 
 don't know a thing but what I've learned him. 
 He's only a bird, after all pore Poll! But ef my 
 voice has been that encouragin', it's a wonder 
 Bud ain't spoke long ago. Pore ole Polly !" she 
 repeated. "He's jest said what I've been a-
 
 124 
 
 learnin' 'im for goin' on f o' years. But he's got -to 
 be unlearned that's what he's got to be ! 'N' it's 
 got to be did right away, 'n' I might ez well be 
 gin now. Ef Poll has got to talk about Bud, I'll 
 see to it thet he says somethin' to 'is credit, that 
 I will, 'n' the Simpkinsville folks can make what 
 they choose out of it. They've done give 'im 
 credit for gettin' love-letters, an' I'll see thet he 
 keeps it." 
 
 Rising, she went back to the perch, and said, 
 slowly and distinctly, " They's a love-letter for 
 you, Bud Zunts." 
 
 "Nothin' for you, Bud Zunts!" answered 
 Polly. 
 
 "A love-letter for you, Bud Zunts!" repeated 
 Miss Cordelia, calmly. 
 
 "Nothin' for you, Bud Zunts," insists Poll 
 again ; and while he laughs, Miss Cordelia, rais 
 ing her voice, reiterates: 
 
 " A love-letter for you, Bud Zunts !" 
 
 " Nothin' for you" 
 
 " A love-letter " 
 
 " Nothin' for you " 
 
 " A love-letter" 
 
 "Nothin'" 
 
 "A love-letter" 
 
 Miss Cordelia, in her growing excitement, raised 
 her voice higher and higher, until it was a shrill 
 scream, while Poll, not to be outdone, screeched 
 his loitdest. It was a fierce argument dramati 
 cally sustained on both sides, and there in the
 
 125 
 
 blazing light woman and bird appeared at their 
 best. 
 
 Poll, safely perched somewhat above his oppo 
 nent's head, had perhaps the best of it. He did 
 not grow red in the face nor lose his poise, and 
 his back hair of course could not come down, as 
 did poor Miss Cordelia's, from the insistent shak 
 ing of her head. 
 
 There is no telling just how long the contest 
 might have continued or how it would have re 
 sulted had not a sudden swishing sound just be 
 hind her told Miss Cordelia that somebody was 
 dropping a letter in the box. There was some 
 one, of course, just outside the door. Would he 
 notice the blazing light ? Had he heard? Start 
 ing suddenly, she quickly turned down the lamp 
 and blew out both candles. Then she hurriedly 
 got into bed. She did not so much as say her 
 prayers. She did not even look at the letter in 
 the box. She was too much frightened. 
 
 Poll, - awe-stricken into silence by the sudden 
 darkness, made no sound for some minutes, and 
 then, in a somewhat querulous voice, he ventured, 
 "Nothin' for you, Bud Zunts!" And Miss Cor 
 delia did not contradict him. 
 
 But when after a prolonged silence Poll said, 
 " Good - night, Cordelia!" she answered, feebly, 
 " Good-night, Polly !" 
 
 "Happy dreams!" continued Poll. 
 
 " Happy dreams !" responded a weak voice 
 from under the covers.
 
 126 
 
 " God bless you !" said the bird. But Miss 
 Cordelia could not answer. She was crying. 
 
 When Bud Zunts got home that night he sat 
 for a long time looking into the fire. He did not 
 light a candle. He rarely did, in truth ; but wiser 
 men than he have eschewed candles when they 
 could sit and weave gold and silver life webs be 
 fore a fire of friendly logs. 
 
 Bud's evening reveries took much of their mood 
 and color from the temper of the fire upon his 
 hearth, but he did not know it. He never got far 
 enough from himself to get a perspective on 
 things belonging naturally to the only home life 
 he knew, as do the dear wise ones who enrich the 
 world with charming and poetic studies of logs 
 and fireside reveries. But Bud did feel sensibly 
 to-night that the logs were wet and burned badly, 
 and that little narrow blue flames curled over their 
 mossy barks. These blue jetting blazes he always 
 felt unpleasantly, as if their meaning were bad 
 perhaps because of their likeness to the ignition 
 of brimstone matches. Bud faithfully believed 
 in the old-fashioned hell. 
 
 His clock had stopped. There had been times 
 when he had felt rested to have the old clock 
 stop. Such a lapse had never occurred during the 
 nearly forty years of his life with his mother. It 
 had been as incessant as her voice, as faithful and 
 unswerving, but just a little wearing. But to 
 night, when the wood sputtered and the wind
 
 127 
 
 rustled around the corners of the house, it made 
 him feel lonely. 
 
 " Somehow, I miss ma to-night," he said, wear 
 ily, at last. " But I know she'd scold ef she was 
 to come in sudden an' see the way things are. 
 Seem like I can't ricollec' to wind up that clock 
 reg'lar, noways. 'N' ef she was to see ole Domi- 
 nicker a-sett'n over yonder on the flour-bar'l 
 well, I dun'no' what she icould say. How ma has 
 wrastled with that hen! Lay an' set on that flour- 
 bar'l top she would, spite o' the devil V pore 
 ma jest ez set on breakin' 'er ! 
 
 " How I have begged 'er to let me nail a little 
 strip aroun' the top to keep the eggs f'om rollin' 
 off ! But she wouldn't, an' jest ez reg'lar ez her 
 back was turned seem like Dominicker 'd up an' 
 lay a egg, an' it 'd roll off an' smash, 'n' ma'd 
 whup 'er but of co'se she whupped 'er so easy 
 it didn't hurt an' nex' day, maybe jest a hour 
 sooner or later, jest quick ez ma'd get both han's 
 in the dough, or maybe be tiltin' the wash-kittle, 
 she'd up an' perform, 'n' they'd have the same 
 picnic over agin. Lordy ! but it was tur'ble. I've 
 begged 'er to kill Dominicker a-many a time when 
 the preachers 'd come out to dinner, but 'twasn't 
 no use. She 'lowed thet she'd kill 'er after she'd 
 conquered 'er, an' not befo' 'n' then she'd make 
 me go an' kill some easy-goin', Christian-sperited 
 hen, an' she'd continue to wrastle with Domi 
 nicker. I do b'lieve ma's read passages o' Scrip- 
 tur' an' prayed over breakin' up Dominicker f'om
 
 128 
 
 sett'n on that flour-bar'l. An' it would shorely 
 pleg her mightily to know I'd fixed 'er nes' there, 
 jest the way she wanted it. But I 'lowed thet 
 maybe ma wouldn't know it, an' when she was 
 here she had her way, V now th' ain't no con- 
 trairy person roun' but Dominicker, an' I 'low to 
 let 'er have her turn at hers. 
 
 " Wonder ef Miss Cordelia 'd mind 'er sett'n' 
 on the flour-bar'l ? She mightn't like it right 
 here in the house but I b'lieve ef she saw me 
 a-favorin' it she'd let 'er 'lone though she 
 mightn't. Th' ain't no flour in the bar'l they 
 wasn't when ma was here. It's jest filled up with 
 pa's ole saddle an' things yet, the way she packed 
 it ten year ago. 
 
 " Reck'n Miss Cordelia 'd I declare, lis'n at 
 me a-talkin', 's ef I'd clair forgot what she's jest 
 said to me; but I ain't, nor the way she said it, 
 neither. ' Nothin' f o' you, Bud Zunts.' It's a ring- 
 in' in my ears yet. Seem like, when I look back, 
 it's been said in my ear all my life, 'n' I didn't 
 seem to hear it. 'Nothin' fo' you, Bud Zunts.' 
 Ricollec' when I wanted to go off to school 'n' 
 was goin' 'n' then pa died, 'n' I couldn't leave ma. 
 'N' then when I went a-soldierin', 'n' expected to 
 come back on a white horse, holdin' a Confedrit 
 flag in one han' an' knockin' at the Cummins gate 
 with the other 'n' 'stid o' that I come in a ambu 
 lance, 'th a s'oe leg, 'n' I was puny an' ragged, 'n' 
 they wasn't no Confedricy 'n' 'n' ma met me 
 at the cross-roads, 'n' took me home roun' the
 
 " ' SEEM LIKE i CAN'T RICOLLEC' TO WIND UP THAT CLOCK ' "
 
 129 
 
 other way. 'N' then Miss Cordelia she was teach- 
 in' school, 'n' ma needed me constant 'n' 'n' 
 then she got the pos'-office, 'n' 'n' ma died 'n' I 
 started out to co't Miss Cordelia, 'n' 'n' then she 
 started sayin' it to me, 'n' she's said it to me ev'ry 
 day sence * Nothin' fo' you, Bud Zunts.' That's 
 jest the way she says it. 
 
 " I do wush 't the clock 'd tick ! I'd wind it up 
 an' set it, ef I knowed the time. I'd do it any 
 how ef I could forgit what ma used to say : ' Any 
 body that 'd set a clock wrong, 'd tell any other 
 lie.' Now I wouldn't lie not ef I know myself 
 but I'd set that clock agoin', 'n' resk gittin' it 
 right in a minute, ef I didn't know thet the first 
 tick it 'd give, seem like I'd hear ma start to scol' 
 me fur it. 
 
 " I didn't half try them shetters o' Miss Corde 
 lia's to-night. Sence the boys 've started to pleg 
 me about gittin' letters, seem like I think some 
 body's a-watchin' me all the time. But I don't 
 reck'n anybody 'd trouble 'er. Ef ef I could 
 jest say the first word to 'er, seem like the rest 
 'd come easy. I've made up my min' a hund'ed 
 times, 'n' 'n' then when she comes out with 
 'Nothin' fo' you ' I jest can't do a thing but 
 turn roun' an' walk out, to save my life seem 
 like." 
 
 Miss Cordelia rested very little during that 
 night, waking often from short snatches of sleep 
 haunted by vivid and harrowing dreams. Once
 
 130 
 
 she seemed to see Bud with Poll's face, standing 
 in his accustomed place and saying in the bird's 
 hard voice," Won't you marry me,Cordelia ?" And 
 then when she started up, and turning over, slept 
 again, it was only to see Poll a woman grown, 
 dressed in one of Polly Ann Brooks's wrappers, 
 sitting in the exchange talking so loud and fast 
 that no one could stop him and so the night 
 passed. 
 
 The bed had yielded her so little rest that she 
 rose at the first gleam of day, and as she moved 
 about her room she seemed to see things more 
 clearly. The more she thought upon it, the more 
 important it seemed that Poll should forget the 
 fateful sentence. She felt heartily ashamed of 
 her excitement of last night. 
 
 " 'Tis awful pervokin', though, to have anybody, 
 even a human person, conterdic' you to yore face, 
 but I ought to had better sense 'n to get riled at 
 pore Poll the way I did. He cert'n'y is a mighty 
 smart bird, Poll is, 'n' I'm shore, ef I half try, I 
 can teach 'im the way I want to." 
 
 Feeling the room chilly, she bared a bed of 
 coals and threw fresh kindling upon them, and 
 when Poll stirred on his perch she said, slowly, 
 not moving from her chair, " They's a love-letter 
 for you, Bud Zunts." 
 
 "Nothin' for you " responded the bird, 
 promptly. 
 
 Miss Cordelia allowed him to finish the sen 
 tence, and then again, calmly, she repeated the
 
 131 
 
 new form. Over and over again, as fast as Poll 
 reiterated the old sentence, Miss Cordelia submit 
 ted her amendment. 
 
 She bore it well, and, excepting that two crim 
 son disks soon appeared upon her pallid cheeks, 
 she gave no sign of agitation. She had never in 
 her life undertaken anything with a firmer resolu 
 tion, and never had she felt so hurried by the ex 
 igences of circumstance. She was afraid for the 
 day's routine to begin, lest Poll should air his new 
 accomplishment for the entertainment of the first- 
 comer into her door. 
 
 When finally the day was fully come she set 
 about her duties with an abstracted air, reciting 
 his new lesson to Poll every few moments. So 
 all during the day, whenever she felt sure no one 
 was hanging about the open door, she said, or 
 sometimes even sang, the simple sentence; and 
 once, when a prolonged hum of voices without 
 forbade this, she went close to her pupil and whis 
 pered it; but Poll did not whisper his retort, and 
 so she did not try this again. The day was long, 
 but it was at last safely passed. Only one ordeal 
 more, when Bud should come in and wait, and 
 then, that over, she would close her door and go 
 early to bed. 
 
 There was a heavy mail to-night, and she was 
 kept pretty busy. When finally the crowd dis 
 persed, and ere she in the least realized it, Bud 
 alone stood without, backing with his usual diffi 
 dence against the opposite wall, she opened her
 
 lips to say the familiar words, when Poll, close at 
 her elbow, happened to duck his head and look 
 through the window at Bud Zunts. A sudden 
 panic seized poor Miss Cordelia. The bird had 
 seemed to challenge her, and before she knew it 
 she had said, defiantly, "They's a love-letter for 
 you, Bud Zunts!" 
 
 Bud jumped as if he had been shot, while Poll, 
 as if realizing the mistake, shrieked at the top of 
 his voice, "Nothin' for you, Bud Zunts !" 
 
 There followed now a critical moment for all 
 three, and Poll's last words seemed to proclaim 
 him master of the situation. If Miss Cordelia 
 had not had a healthy heart, she would certainly 
 have dropped dead then and there. 
 
 Poor Bud's face was as red as his hair as he 
 staggered forward, grinning nervously. Seeing 
 his eager countenance approach the window, Miss 
 Cordelia stammered, " Th' ain't a thing for you, 
 Bud. I don'no' how on earth I come to say that. 
 My min' my min' 's been considerable worreted 
 to-day, an' I did't sleep very good las' night, an' 
 Poll fretted me consider'ble, an' an' I I tell 
 the truth, I dun'no' what in the world put sech a 
 word ez that into my mouth " 
 
 Bud was as awkward as she, but he had gained 
 confidence during her apology, and his voice was 
 firm, though a little husky, when he said, leaning 
 in the window upon his folded arms: 
 
 " Ef you want to know my thoughts about it, 
 Miss C'delia, I reck'n God A'mighty put it there.
 
 133 
 
 He knowcd thet it was about time I was gitt'n' a 
 love-letter ef ever I'm goin' to git one an' He 
 knowed there wasn't but one person I'd keer to git 
 it from, an' He knowed thet you was that special 
 partic'lar person, an' He knowed mo'n thet He 
 knowed thet I was such a chicken-hearted ejiot thet 
 less'n some sign come fo' me to speak, I'd 've 
 come an' gone out o' this Simpkiusville pos'-office 
 eternal 'thout openin' my head to you I'm jest 
 that big of a dummy." 
 
 He hesitated only a second, as if to gain breath. 
 
 " Th' ain't no love-letter waitin' f o' me to-night, 
 I reck'n. Even Poll knowed that much didn't 
 you, Poll ? But maybe they's a leetle bit mo' to 
 it thet Poll don't know. He don't know thet I 
 been a-comin' here ev'ry night fo' three years an' 
 six mont's an' fo' nights to-night, jest a-hopin' to 
 fix things so's they would be a love-letter a-comin' 
 to me. You didn't know that, did you, Poll ?" 
 
 During all this time Miss Cordelia had stood as 
 if petrified before Bud, her face rigid and white. 
 
 "And you didn't know it neither, Miss Cor 
 delia," he continued, lowering his tone. "You 
 didn't know it neither did you, honey?" 
 
 At this, Miss Cordelia, covering her face with 
 her hands, protested desperately. 
 
 " Oh, don't, Bud ! Don't, I beg you ! I'm dis 
 graced enough already, 'thout " 
 
 Bud misunderstood, and was wounded. 
 
 " Of co'se I'll hursh ef you say so," he said, 
 sadly. " I wouldn't o' started ef I'd knew it 'd
 
 134 
 
 pleg you that a-way. I reck'n it do seem a sort o' 
 disgrace for a nice ejercated lady to be co'ted by 
 a outlandish ole tacky like me I reck'n 'tis." 
 
 There were great tears rolling down between 
 Miss Cordelia's thin fingers now. 
 
 " 'Tain't that, Bud," she sobbed. " 'Tain't that, 
 'n' you know it 'n' you know thet what I've 
 done to-night is jest ez much ez askin' you to 
 speak love to me 'n' you know thet ef I'd o' had 
 any manner o' shame, I'd 've died befo' I'd 've 
 said it but it all come o' me tryin' to teach Poll 
 to tell a story an' now I'm paid I've done dis 
 gusted you fo'ever, 'n' I know it." 
 
 " Disgusted who, honey ?" 
 
 " Why of co'se I've disgusted you the way I've 
 acted. After me standin' up here an' encour'gin' 
 you to speak, night after night for fo' years, goin' 
 on, an' you've not done it fo' me to out an' out 
 say love-letter to you. Oh, Bud, what to say I 
 dorUt know but it's awful/" 
 
 She sobbed again. Bud seemed somewhat dazed. 
 
 " What's awful, honey ?" he asked, vaguely. 
 " Th' ain't nothin' awful been did thet I can see 
 but the way I've done acted, like a plumb ejiot, 
 time out of min' but ez to yo' encour'gin me I 
 don't want to conterdic' nothin' you say, but reely, 
 less'n you'd o' put me out, I don't jest see ho\v 
 you could o' give me less encour'gement ''deed I 
 don't." 
 
 " 'Tain't what what I've said, Bud. I know I 
 ain't said much, but it's ifs the way Fve said it."
 
 135 
 
 Bud shifted his position. 
 
 " An' did you 'low thet you was a-sayin' it 
 sweet, honey ? Jiminy crackers ! But I wush 't 
 I'd 've knew it. Seemed to me jest the other way 
 'n' all the way home every night yore words 'd 
 be a-ringin' in my ears 'n' 'n' " 
 
 He chuckled softly. 
 
 " 'n' ef they hadn'j o' been sweetened by yore 
 mouth, they'd o' been the mos' efo'scour'gin' words 
 I ever hear." 
 
 Miss Cordelia wiped her eyes slowly. 
 
 " Well, Bud," she replied, evidently somewhat 
 mollified, " I'm mighty glad you can say so but 
 it did seem to me some nights thet my voice 'd get 
 so persuadin', in spite of all I could do, thet ef 
 they was anything on yore min' you'd 've spoke it 
 out, then an' there. But, tell the truth, Bud, it 
 was mo'n half worrymint over yore takin' them 
 long rides in the col' win' an' not knowin' ef you 
 wore flannen under under-garments nex' to yore 
 yore skin." 
 
 She blushed crimson. 
 
 "Th' idee o' you a-frettin' 'bout my ole skin! I 
 do declare I've growed a inch in the las' minute 
 I know I have." 
 
 He chuckled again. 
 
 "An' you do wear 'em, do you, Bud good 
 warm ones ?" 
 
 He drew his flowered kerchief from his deep 
 pocket and wiped his eyes, as betwixt laughter 
 and tears he answered her.
 
 136 
 
 "Th' idee o' her a-keerin'!" he began. " Yas, 
 honey, co'se I wear 'em good thick ones, all ma- 
 knit; 'n' I've got a pile o' new ones tall ez this 
 winder thet she's stacked away for me some knit 
 narrer and some wide, so's ef I growed ole like 
 either side o' the fambly, fat or slim, I'd never go 
 col' nor tight nor bulgy neither. Pore ma! She 
 never forgot nothin' in her life, I don't reck'n. 
 'N' I've got perserves enough to do us too, honey," 
 he resumed, after a pause. " I ain't never opened 
 no perserves sence she's went. I've been a-savin' 
 'em for whenever you'd but never min', I see 
 you're gitt'n' plegged agin, 'n' I ain't a-goin' to 
 say another word to-nigh t not a one; 'n' I'm a- 
 goin' out 'n' see ef yore winder's bolted good, 'n' 
 then I'm a-goin' to lock the gate 'n' go home, 'n' 
 when I get there I'm a-goin' to write you the 
 neares' to a love-letter thet I can write, 'n' I'm a- 
 goin' to mail it in the mornin', an' I'm a-comin' for 
 my answer to-morrer 'bout this time you hear ?" 
 
 Miss Cordelia colored afresh. 
 
 "But," continued Bud, " they's jest one thing I 
 do ast you to do to-night bef o' I go. Shake han's 
 with me, won't you, thoo the winder, jest ez lovin' 
 ez you know how ?" 
 
 If Miss Cordelia's usually pale face was already 
 aglow, it flamed a brilliant scarlet now as she 
 timorously presented her thin hand. Bud took it 
 in both his and held it tight for one brief mo 
 ment ; then, without a word, he turned and walked 
 out.
 
 137 
 
 He found it necessary to wipe his eyes before 
 lie mounted his wagon seat, and at intervals all 
 along the road a tear rolled down his cheek, 
 though it usually found him chuckling. 
 
 " I do declare," he was saying when he passed 
 the first mile-stake, " seem like I c'n see 'er han' 
 yet, the way she put it out to me so modes' an' 
 shy, 'th all the purty blue veins in it jest like the 
 rivers on a geogerphy map. How I have studied 
 'em these fo' years ! I could see 'er ban's, 'n' she 
 couldn't see me. 'N' I know every vein on 'em, 
 'n' jest where the two little moles set like little 
 towns on the aidge o' the rivers. 'N' to think o' 
 me a-holdin' 'em! Th' ain't a bit o' use in putt'n' 
 it off, 'n' I'm a-goin' to say so in the letter. She 
 won't need mo' clo'es 'n she's got. She might 
 want to sew a little trimmin' roun' I think a 
 little lace or ruffle 'd look mighty purty. Ma 
 never had no trimmin' on none o' her inside things, 
 'n' I ricollec' I use ter wush 't she would. She 
 could sew on lace afterwards jest as well, an 1 better. 
 That pos'-office mus' hinder 'er consider'ble. 
 
 " I'm glad I saved all the perserves, 'n' never 
 opened none. That's one thing I do believe ma'd 
 praise me for. 'Cept'n' thet I've jest put off 
 speakin' f'om day to day, though I don't reck'n 
 I could o' held out 'n' they all put up in thick 
 syrup, too, 'n' ef they's one thing I do love 
 
 " I vow I don't see how I'm a-goin' to stan' it 
 'n' not tell nobody all day to-morrer I don't 
 reely. B'lieve I'll git out an' walk 'longside o'
 
 138 
 
 Bute V Fairy. Seem like I ought to 'umble ray- 
 self some way, God's been so good to me." 
 
 Bud actually descended from his seat and 
 trudged along beside the oxen, talking to them as 
 he went ; 
 
 "Nemmine, Bute 'n' Fairy, we ain't a-goin' to 
 keep up these night trips much longer no, we 
 ain't; 'n' Mis' Brooks '11 have to hunt up some 
 new joke in place o' me an' my fiery untamed 
 steeds a-passin' her house every night yas, she 
 will. I have knew tongues in my day thet was 
 purty fiery 'n' untamed thet 'd do well to take a 
 lesson f 'om a stiddy-goin' ox thet min's 'is own 
 business ; but 'twouldn'fr do to say so, I reck'n, 
 bein' ez they was ladies' tongues, mos'ly. But 
 we ain't a-goin' to take a-many mo' o' these trips, 
 I say, 'cause we goin' to fetch the " he giggled 
 "we goin' to fetch the pos'-office out home 
 that's what we goin' to do so's we won't have to 
 go to it; 't least, we'll fetch all of it thet's any 
 good; the letter part can stay where 'tis." 
 
 No one will ever know what was written in the 
 letter that Bud spent that entire night in shaping, 
 and over the difficulties of which he by turns 
 groaned, chuckled, bit his lip, and walked the 
 floor; but when it was finally written, it was a 
 living, breathing love-letter, which, if innocent of 
 protestation or impassioned avowal, was redolent 
 of the timid heartrblossoms of a long life of un 
 spoken devotion.
 
 139 
 
 Bud knew about capital I's, and he knew that 
 honey was a common noun to be spelled with a 
 small h, but how can one remember all these 
 trifles when one is in love? Such substitution of 
 values is not infrequent, we are told, in Cupid's 
 repository of authentic MSS. 
 
 No one will ever know what was written in the 
 perfumed pink-papered answer that Bud received 
 on the second day afterwards. Yes, it is true, 
 Miss Cordelia did her part with all the dainty ac 
 companiments she had learned through years of 
 close observation. Only of the inside of love-let 
 ters was she ignorant; and so, guided simply by 
 the promptings of her maiden heart, she wrote 
 the womanly and brief epistle which, Bud declared 
 to her afterwards, "knocked off twenty years of 
 his age at a single pop." 
 
 The Cummins- Zunts courtship, albeit it was a 
 brief one, must have been carried on with excep 
 tional discretion, as, though Bud had given abun 
 dant evidence of his approaching nuptials in 
 sundry improvements about his home, no one sus 
 pected the future bride in Miss Cordelia, until she 
 actually went over and asked Miss Sophia Falena 
 Simpkins to " stand up " with her. Mrs. Brooks 
 never did recover from her consternation over the 
 affair, nor did she ever feel entirely sure that Miss 
 Cordelia quite forgave her remark about "ole 
 folks a-co'tin'." 
 
 The Zunts cottage sits like a smiling expression
 
 140 
 
 of domestic bliss by the road- side. The cedars 
 that stand about its front yard, and which had 
 grown riotous and disorderly in the interregnum, 
 hold up shapely tapering heads that defer in the 
 soft breeze to their new mistress like well- 
 ordered ladies-in-waiting while the pair guard 
 ing the front gate have fallen upon one another's 
 shoulders for the shaping of a triumphal arch 
 through which in her comings and goings she may 
 pass. 
 
 There are flowering plants in season standing 
 in tins and earthen pots about the little porch, 
 where two rocking-chairs are generally to be seen 
 swaying, very close together. 
 
 In the late evenings, while his wife sets her 
 bread to rise, or, rocking softly, plies her crochet 
 needle, Bud sits with his pipe musing in the chair 
 opposite, but he seldom speaks, having said all he 
 had to say. But his eyes beam with a peaceful 
 light as he chuckles to himself ; and when she 
 asks, " What you so tickled at, Bud ?" he replies, 
 "I was jest a-thinkin'"; or sometimes he adds, 
 " I was jest a-thinkin' this, thet * a ole fool is the 
 wors' kind o' fool.' " And then he rises, and, cross 
 ing over, kisses her, and quietly goes back to his 
 seat ; or perhaps he stops to pull down the lamp 
 shade a little, so that it may not shine in Domi- 
 nicker's eyes, for the old hen still pursues her ma 
 ternal vocation unmolested on the flour -barrel, 
 and is in no wise disquieted because her indulgent 
 mistress has insinuated the braided rim of an old
 
 141 
 
 basket scoured to whiteness, around the edges of 
 her nest, while her pedestal is arrayed in a gath- 
 ei'ed flounce of Turkey-red calico. 
 
 It is quite immaterial to her virtuous ladyship 
 that she has come to be regarded, as she sits thus 
 aesthetically enthroned, as an article of virtu quite 
 worthy its place on the shining floor of a room 
 grown beautiful through a woman's touch. 
 
 Poll drowses blinking on his perch until he falls 
 nearly asleep, and when the clock strikes, he starts 
 up from a nod like a child, and says : " Good 
 night, Cordelia!". . . "Happy dreams!". . . "God 
 bless you!". . . pausing after each salutation until 
 he is satisfactorily answered, and then he adds, 
 "They's a love-letter for you, Bud Zunts." 
 
 And Bud answers, " I know it, Poll, 'n' I've 
 done taken it out o' the pos'-office, too." 
 
 And then Poll, satisfied, goes to sleep.
 
 "CHRISTMAS GEESE"
 
 "CHRISTMAS GEESE" 
 
 " EP Lucetty an' Dr. Jim wasn't both so pig- 
 beaded an' set, tbey might jest ez well o' been 
 married ten year ago ez not," said Mr. Brantley, 
 looking over his spectacles at his wife. 
 
 Mrs. Brantley was seeding raisins, and her hus 
 band liked to sit and watch the agile movement 
 of her fingers as she deftly extracted the pits from 
 the crinkled skins. 
 
 " Yas," she replied, "you better say fifteen year 
 ago, an' I s'pose they'll set up there stiff ez ram 
 rods nex' door to one another for another fifteen 
 year tell they both dry up of ol' age an 1 contra 
 riness. I dunno which a one I want mos' to 
 whup. Sometimes, when Dr. Jim comes in to 
 'tend on the children when they're sick, an' I see 
 how kin'-hearted an' good he is, I seem to know 
 it's Lucetty's fault, an' then ag'in, I'll maybe run 
 agin some of her Christian ac's like her 'doptin' 
 that po' fitty Joe when his ma died, an' takin' keer 
 of 'im clear through his epilepsy tell he passed 
 away an' then I feel shore it must be Dr. Jim's 
 fault thet they ain't married ; not thet he bein' a 
 good doctor an' she a charitable Christian 'd go to 
 show thet either one was gifted at love-makin',
 
 146 
 
 which I reck'n they ain't. It's a mighty strange 
 case, to my mind. Everybody knows thet neither 
 one of 'em 'ain't never looked at nobody else sence 
 they've been two barefeeted children playin' in 
 the creek together." 
 
 "They're jest 'bout of an age, ain't they? 
 Look out, wife; you dropped one 'thout takin' no 
 seed out." 
 
 " Th' wasn't no seed in that 'n I jest broke the 
 skin so's 'twouldn't plump out in the puddin' like 
 a seedless. I do hate them seedless raisins. They 
 get in a person's mouth like sort o' roly-polies, an' 
 give a nervous person the fidgets. Yas, Lucetty 
 an' Jim 're of an age, lackin' a week an' she's got 
 it, too. They'll both be forty 'twix' Christmas 
 an' New-Year ; an' to think o' them a-holdin' off 
 from one another all these years jest on ac 
 count o' family nonsense ! It's jest simple re- 
 dic'lous !" 
 
 " Don't you reck'n ef either one was brought to 
 death's do', they might give in ?" 
 
 " Ef they thought they was goin' to die, like ez 
 not they would. The only reason they don't mar 
 ry, so the story goes, is thet neither one is willin' 
 to live in the other one's house. Dr. Jim he says, 
 't least so they tell me, thet it's a wife's place to 
 come to her husban's home ; an' she 'lows thet 
 'fore she'd go an' live in ol' Judge Morgan's house, 
 after all thet's passed between the ol' folks, she'll 
 live an' die Lucetty Ann Jones." 
 
 "I declare, wife, you dropped in a seed that
 
 147 
 
 time. .So it is caked sugar. Reck'n yoi'e fingers 
 're better 'n my eyes, anyway. Seem to me that 
 W be easy got over. Why don't he build 'er a 
 house ?" 
 
 " He's offered to, a thousan' times, but she holds 
 out for 'im to build it on her Ian', an' that he won't 
 't least that's what they say an' so there they 
 set. They say the subjec' 'ain't been mentioned 
 between 'em now for ino'n five year. He jest 
 drops in to see 'er, an' talks off-han', reg'lar twice-t 
 a week, less'n she's sick an' then, of co'se, he 
 stops t' inquire every day; but you know she has 
 Dr. Beasley for her doctor." 
 
 " Well, I s'pose that's nachel enough. No girl, 
 ol' or young, wants her beau for her doctor. 
 Somehow pills an' plasters an' love don't seem to 
 go together. A couple has to be spoke over by a 
 minister o' the gospel befo' sech ez that an' love 
 '11 seem to gee." 
 
 " Yas, an' even then it's tryiri' at first. It was 
 bad enough for Lucetty to hoi' out the way she 
 done while she was well an' had a-plenty o' money 
 but now, sence that no-'count brother o' hers 
 has done gone an' married an' took the lion sheer 
 of everything, an' she's started to be laid up with 
 first one thing an' then another, it does seem, with 
 a good man within a stone's throw of her, able an' 
 anxious to take keer of her, which actions speaks 
 louder than words, an' everybody knows he is, it 
 does seem like a pity. Tell the truth, in these 
 tight days o' men -famine, sence the wah, it's a
 
 148 
 
 pity for one good man to go to loss that's how 
 I look at it." 
 
 " An' you think a heap o' both of 'em, I reck'n, 
 wife, don't you ?" 
 
 "Well, I should say I do, 'r I wouldn't be 
 sett'n' up here seedin' raisins like I am jest be 
 cause the Joneses seem to think it 'd be a sacer'lige 
 to eat a Christmas dinner 'thout a plum-puddin'. 
 They don't neither one know I've ast the other 
 one to dinner. I begged 'em sep'rate not to men 
 tion to anybody bein' invited fact, I told 'em 
 both thet they wasrft invited they're jest expect 
 ed to drop in. I've got a good min' to pleg 'em 
 right out at the dinner-table 'bout the way they're 
 actin' like plumb geese. I've got a roas' goose 
 for dinner, an' I wish 't I could think up some 
 good joke thet 'd sort o' throw them in with it in 
 some way I'd do it in a minute." 
 
 " I declare, wife, you're too funny to live. But, 
 shore 'nough, how'd it do to ask 'em, jest off-han', 
 like ez ef you didn't to say mean it, what cotation 
 it 'd be suitable for Miss Lucetty an' the doctor 
 to ask o' the goose ; and when they all git tired 
 guessin' of co'se nobody wouldn't guess the an 
 swer why, you could jest well I reck'n you'd 
 jest have to refuse to tell 'em what." 
 
 " I can't jest see where the fun 'd come in, hard- 
 ly maybe I'm slow, but " 
 
 " Well, it 'd be some fun jest a-mentionin' them 
 in with the goose that 'd sort o' make a laugh, 
 wouldn't it ?"
 
 149 
 
 "But they'd have to be some joke at the end 
 of it, William ?" 
 
 "So they is; but it's like the popper at the end 
 of a whup you have to snap it keerful. I reck'n 
 when they all git up from the table it wouldn't 
 hurt for you to sort o' whisper it to 'em both to 
 gether, would it ?" 
 
 " I declare, William, I don't know. What is it 
 you're drivin' at ?" 
 
 "Well, how'd it do to sort o' hint thet they 
 might say to the goose, 'When will we three 
 meet again ?' jest like they say about donkeys ?" 
 
 Mrs. Brantley laughed. 
 
 " It '11 jest do 'em up brown that's what it '11 
 do. An' ef they act any way stupid about it, I'll 
 jest pitch into 'em an' explain the p'int don't 
 reck'n they'll ast many questions, though. I'd 
 o' argued with Lucetty long ago, but I knew 
 'twouldn't be no use. She'd begin to cote Script 
 ure to me. I never could argy with Scripture- 
 cotin' persons. Somehow I feel like ez ef I was 
 sassin' the Lord back, an' I can't do it." 
 
 " Seem to me you could cote back, wife. You 
 know a-plenty, I'm shore." 
 
 " Yas, I know enough, but I might cote it amiss 
 like many a well-meanin' person does. Some o' 
 the meanest things I've ever heerd said has been 
 twisted Scripture-cotin'. Sence the ol' boy made 
 sech a bad out at it in the Bible, I 'low to 'ply 
 mine to myself, an' not dole it out to my neigh 
 bors that is, not in jedgment. Of co'se when a
 
 150 
 
 person has a chance to speak it for comfort, that's 
 different. But I'd give a heap to see them two 
 married an' settled. What she's to do I don't 
 know, an' nobody can't give 'er nothin', she's that 
 proud. They say Dr. Jim has dumped wood on the 
 back end of her wood-pile at night tell it's graj'elly 
 moved from close to the kitchen-do' clean down 
 mos' to the cow-lot, an' she don't seem to notice it. 
 Of co'se she always burns it from the front side. 
 An' with it all she's as techy an' independent ez 
 the next one. In askin' 'er to dinner I had to be 
 jest ez keerful to say we wanted 'er for comp'ny. 
 Ef I'd o' once even hinted at her enjoyin' the din 
 ner she never would o' come in the world." 
 
 While she was being thus amiably discussed 
 by her prospective host and hostess, Miss Lucetta 
 sat in her little parlor entertaining the gentleman 
 in question. There had been a dearth of conver 
 sation between them this evening. Possibly the 
 recurring anniversary brought to both, in a vague, 
 unexplained way, a fresh consciousness of their 
 somewhat strained relations. A long - confessed 
 " understanding " between two persons is apt to 
 feel a sort of stress on occasions which mark the 
 passage of time. During all his visit to-night 
 Dr. Jim felt the restraint always following upon 
 the imposed avoidance of certain subjects. 
 
 " It's always a pleasure to set and watch that 
 chimbly draw," he remarked, late in the evening, 
 after a prolonged pause. " Somehow the blazes 
 seem to roah up it so cheerful."
 
 151 
 
 " Yas 'tain't never smoked but once-t an' that 
 was fault o' the wood. Some wood seem to be 
 grudge its own smoke, don't make no diff'rence 
 what you do with it." 
 
 " It's ino' like to be fault o' the weather when 
 the smoke do that a-way. Take a good chimbly 
 an' good wood, an' a ill wind '11 make 'em quare, 
 spite of everything. My chimbly at home is 
 mighty fastidious an' notionate. It '11 draw cer 
 tain wood - smokes in certain winds, an' it 'ain't 
 got no mo' conscience about switchin' around an' 
 vomitin' smoke it's done swallered 'n nothin'. I 
 often thought I'd have it fixed, but seem like ef 
 I didn't have that to bother about I'd have some- 
 thin' else, so I thought I'd let my troubles begin 
 in smoke, anyway. I on'y wish 't they ended that 
 a-way." 
 
 He sighed. 
 
 " I hate to hear you talk so down-hearted, Jim. 
 Reck'n you an' I 've both got a heap to be thank 
 ful for, 'f we only thought about it. Any man 
 thet can raise the sick the way you are providen 
 tially enabled to do ought to be happy." 
 
 " Well, reck'n I'm 'bout ez happy ez anybody 
 in my conditions could be well. I never worry 
 about that. The thing I do fret over is not bein' 
 able to make them I'd like to make happy ez happy 
 ez seem like I could make 'em ef they'd let me." 
 
 Miss Lucetta did not answer. She stirred the 
 fire instead. 
 
 " It does me good to see yo' arm out o' the sling
 
 152 
 
 ag'in," her guest continued. " Don't reck'n it ever 
 aches any mo', does it?" 
 
 " Thet's jest about all it does do out o' the way. 
 It jest sort o' has the dead ache in it half o' the 
 time. Co'se the jumpin' pain is all gone out o' 
 my thumb, an' it's all healed up." 
 
 "I'd 'vise you to use it mighty keerful for 
 a while. Treat that hand like company ; give 
 it a easy time, an' don't ast no favors of it. I 
 s'pose ol' Aunt Judy waits on you good, don't 
 she ? Better let 'er do all the lif tin' an' carry in' 
 for you tell that arm forgets all about how it 
 feels. She tends on you good, don't she Aunt 
 Judy?" 
 
 "She does everything I ast her to do good ez 
 she can." 
 
 " That's right. I'm glad to know it. It's bad 
 enough for you to be a-livin' here in this lonesome, 
 crepe - myrtle grove by y oreself , with no comp'ny 
 but a half -blind ol' nigger an' a deef dog, not to 
 mention a lapwing mockin' - bird, an' I'm glad to 
 know the ol' nigger does her part by you. I've 
 missed yore piano-playin' awful sence you've had 
 the felon. Many's the night I've sat in my study 
 there at home an' caught them purty slidin'-down 
 notes of the 'Maiden's Prayer' when the wind 
 come from this way, an' it has eased my mind 
 consider'ble. I know when you play that a-way 
 you ain't frettin'. An' of co'se when yoiCre sat 
 isfied it 'd it 'd be mighty ungrateful for me not 
 to be," he sighed. " But they's some mysteries
 
 153 
 
 in this worl' thet I don't reck'n '11 be made plain 
 this side o' the gulch." 
 
 " Yas that's jest what I often say to myself. 
 Here we see ez men, darkly, but there we shall 
 see face to face." 
 
 " But it does seem don't it never seem to you 
 thet maybe ef some o' the mists was cleared away 
 we might have the pleasure o' seein' mo' clear in 
 this worl' ? Now of co'se I'm not a-goin' to tech 
 on fo'bidden things to-night, no mo'n to say thet 
 ef I was to express myself ez I've did a many a 
 time, it 'd all be jest ez true ez it ever was. I 
 could shut my eyes an' not insinuatin' thet I'd 
 like to do it, of co'se but I could shet my eyes 
 an' take a holt of yore han' an' tell you jest them 
 same identical facts thet I related to you a Christ 
 mas Eve seventeen year ago, a-walkin' home from 
 Mrs. Gibbs's quiltin' party ; an' they'd be jest ez 
 precious to my soul and jest ez true ez they ever 
 was which I have reminded you, ez delicate ez I 
 could, every Christmas sence 'thout breakin' my 
 promise not to pester you no mo' about it, either." 
 
 Miss Lucetta looked steadily into the fire. Pres 
 ently she said : " Well, Jim, I don't say you've 
 broke your promise ; an' ef you 'ain't, th' ain't 
 nothin' for me to say, ez I can see. Reck'n we 
 both been raised to know our own minds, an' we 
 ain't weather-vanes, neither one of us." 
 
 " No, I reck'n we ain't," said he, rising from 
 his chair. "Sometimes I wish-t we was either 
 one of us, or both. I'm goin' to ride over to ole
 
 154 
 
 Judge Jarvis's, an' see how he is, jest about day 
 light to-morrer, an' reck'n you won't mind ef I hol 
 ler ' Merry Christmas ' to you, will you ? Reck'n 
 anybody could say that to you, couldn't they?" 
 
 " Th' ain't nobody I'd ruther hear sayin' it, 
 Jim, an' you know it," she replied, extending her 
 hand. "An' I say 'God bless you!' to-night, 
 too, an' look down in mercy upon us both. Good 
 night, Jim." 
 
 Dr. Jim did not answer, but, dropping her hand 
 suddenly, turned away. Closing the door, Miss 
 Lucetta stood watching his retreating figure from 
 the window as he crossed the moonlit yard, until 
 he mounted his horse at the gate and disappeared. 
 The wind blew from the direction of the Morgan 
 place, and for a long time she heard the tramp 
 of the horse's feet upon the hard road. When 
 the sound died in the distance she turned and 
 went back to the fire. 
 
 " I do wish-t Jim wouldn't fret about me the 
 way he does," she said, presently, with a sigh. It 
 seems to fret him for me to trus' myself right 
 here where I been born an' raised, jest because ol' 
 Aunt Judy is half blind and half foolish an' Rover 
 is deef. That comes o' not havin' proper faith. 
 Ef I didn't have the religious faith I've got, may 
 be I might be lonesome or skeered. I don't say 
 but I am lonesome sometimes, an', tell the truth, 
 to-night's one o' the times. Seem like sence my 
 bone felon's stopped painin' me I feel mo' lone 
 some 'n what I did when I walked the flo' all
 
 YOU WON'T MIND KF I HOLLER "MERRY CHRISTMAS" TO YOU?'"
 
 155 
 
 night with it. What short-sighted mortals we 
 are, anyhow ! Many's the lonely hour a good 
 throbbin' pain saves us, ef we only knew it. Still, 
 turn about's fair play, an' I'm jest ez pleased to 
 rest off from my bone felon an' take a turn at 
 lonesomeness for a spell. I'm mighty proud this 
 thumb j'int didn't shed. Somehow nobody don't 
 seem to have proper respec' for their thumbs, 
 nohow, tell somethin' goes wrong with one of 
 'em, an' they ee what a gift for discipline lays 
 in the little things ef they once-t get their backs 
 up. To look at this little underhanded, hump- 
 shouldered stub, a person couldn't believe it could 
 strike the terror it did. They wasn't a atom in 
 me for two solid weeks thet didn't pay its respec's 
 to that thumb. But I'm mighty glad to 've had 
 that bone sound. I'd hate to be in any part 
 mislaid at the resurrection. Seem like it's bad 
 enough for sech ez have been called on to ex 
 plode, or to be exploded, to lay around in all 
 p'ints o' the compass, much less 'n for a quiet, 
 home-stayin' somebody like me to lose the run 
 o' my bones. They wouldn't be no earthly ex 
 cuse for it, an' ef I was a bone short, I'd feel that 
 I oughtn't never to let it get away from me, less'n 
 somethin' might happen 'fore I'd get it back. I 
 spent three whole nights tryin' to Revise a place 
 to keep that thumb bone about me in case it was 
 to shed, an' I never did hit on any place that was 
 cheerful an' safe. Pore doctors ! They both 
 think they saved it, but they little know. Dr.
 
 156 
 
 Beasley he lanced it, an' Jim he consulted with 
 him an' poulticed it, an' not a thing eased it rao'n 
 water on a duck's back tell well, tell I come to 
 my senses. It was mighty hard for me to prom 
 ise the Lord I wouldn't play dance music for par 
 ties any mo', and I wrastled purty severe with 
 the sperit 'fore I give in. An' ez long as I helt 
 out that bone kep' loosened up, ready to drop 
 out, an' the night I give my word it settled back 
 in its socket, an' there it's stayed. That shows 
 the beauty of divine justice. The good Lord lets 
 me have the comfort an' the credit of lettin' go 
 of sin, when, to look at it straight, they wasn't 
 nothin' else for me to do. The only question was 
 would I stop playin' party music with or without 
 my thumb bone couldn't play it 'thout it an' 
 I had the sense to give in in time. Of co'se, not 
 playin' at parties '11 be a heavy loss to me. Two 
 dollars and a half every time come in mighty 
 handy ; I don't reck'n anybody knew jest how 
 handy it did come in. 
 
 " Reck'n ef the worst come to the worst well, 
 I dunno what I would do. They's jest one per 
 son I'd hate worst in the worl' to know I'm pressed^ 
 an' that's Dr. Jim. He can fret ez much ez he's 
 a mind to about me livin' by myself, 'cause he 
 knows I've laid off to do it, but I wouldn't have 
 him to s'picion thet I 'ain't tasted wheat bread f o' 
 mo'n a month not for a purty. It kind o' struck 
 me ez funny for him to fetch me that loaf o' stale 
 bread for my poultice like ez ef he knew I didn't
 
 157 
 
 have any but of co'se when he said thet it 'd 
 make a better poultice 'n any fresh bread I might 
 have, I couldn't take exceptions. So I jest used 
 'bout a inch or so off o' the loaf, an' sent the res' 
 back. It's jest ez well to let him see thet in as- 
 rnuch ez he's a neighbor an' a doctor, an' of co'se 
 a good friend, I'm perfectly willin' he should 
 bread my hand but he can't han' me bread, least 
 ways not bread leavened in ol' Dr. John Morgan's 
 kitchen. 
 
 "It's a hard thing for folks to have to live out 
 other people's fusses, an' keep on the right side of 
 partitions they never made, but so it is an' sence 
 they are made, an' I know who made 'em an' how 
 well ! Jim an' me 're landed purty high an' 
 dry on each side of a family row, an' pa's grave is 
 on this side an' here I intend to stay less'n, of 
 co'se, anything was to happen to Jim, an' they 
 couldn't move 'im and sometimes reck'n I'm a 
 awful sinner, but I do wish 't 
 
 " Wonder what that was moved ! I don't see 
 why 'tis, but I'm jest ez skeery to-night ! Ef that 
 wasn't a step, it sounded mightily like it. I do 
 wish 't Rover wasn't deef ; but of co'se, ef he'd o' 
 had his hearin', Buddy would o' took 'im, an' he's 
 a heap o' comp'ny. Reck'n 'twasn't nothin' but 
 the fire poppin'. Even po' Richard looks sort o' 
 droopy to-night. His lame wing seems to flag 
 mo'n common. I often wish 't he could lif that 
 wing, but of co'se ef he hadn't o' fell out o' the 
 crepe myrtle -tree an' broke it, I wouldn't have
 
 158 
 
 him. The ill wind thet upset his nest has brought 
 me many a sweet song. I wish 't he'd sing to 
 night. 
 
 " Funny how I always set up Christmas Eves. 
 Sence I been livin' to myself I can't go to sleep a 
 Christmas Eve, save my life. Th' ain't a stockin' 
 I ever hung up, nor a present I ever got or give, 
 nor one o' the folks thet give 'em or took 'em, 
 but 'd come an' pass befo' my face quick ez I'd 
 shet my eyes to-night. But when twelve o'clock 
 is once-t passed, I can lay down an' sleep jest like 
 a baby. It's mos' twelve now. I'm a-goin' to slip 
 Richard's new drinkin'-cup in his cage, an' put his 
 big egg-ball by him, so's when he wakes up he'll 
 find his Christmas breakfast-table a'ready set 
 an' b'lieve I'll hang Rover's new collar right by 
 him, too -it's a mighty nice collar, considerin' it's 
 made out o' ol' shoes. Goodness ! what is that a- 
 rumblin' on that back gallery ? The matter with 
 me to-night is jest thet I've clean neglected my 
 duty. That's what it is, an' I'm a-goin' this min 
 ute an' get my Bible an' read my chapter, an' 
 maybe my nerves '11 be less nervous. I feel 's ef 
 I could laugh or cry jest ez easy ez not. 
 
 Miss Lucetta drew her chair to the table before 
 the fire and opened the Book. While she sat thus 
 seeking tranquillity of mind in her lonely room, 
 her lover, in his study, scarce more than out of 
 sight beyond the grove, was restlessly pacing the 
 floor, his hands nervously clasped behind his back. 
 In the centre of the room, upon the floor, lay a
 
 ' I DON'T SAY BUT I AM LONESOME SOME'JIMES ' "
 
 159 
 
 huge cotton sack, closely filled with sundry parcels 
 of various sizes and shapes. Ever and anon, as he 
 walked, he stopped before the bag, thinking. He 
 was evidently worried. 
 
 " Jest how to get it there I don't know," he 
 said aloud, in one of these pauses, " less'n I jest 
 go an' dump it on the back gallery an' run V 
 then ten to one she'd seek the dog on me, V I'd 
 have to own up or get bit. The idea of her not 
 tellin' me thet she'd let Aunt Judy take holiday ! 
 Never was so 'stonished in my life ez when I 
 sneaked roun' to ast Judy to listen for me an' he'p 
 me out, to find her do' shet an' locked, an' she 
 gone. How to do now I don't know. I got a 
 great mind to rig up like a peddler an' sneak roun' 
 to the back do' with my pack, an' then, ef she 
 hears me an' I'm put to it, I'll jest act it out. 
 Don't reck'n it 'd skeer 'er I wouldn't frighten 
 'er for nothin'. That's jest the way I'll work it. 
 Like ez not she won't heal' me, an' I'll leave the 
 pack right outside 'er 'do' an' ef she does, reck'n 
 I'm that good of a actor to play it out. Do wish 
 't I knew some special, pertic'lar thing she'd like 
 for Christmas. I daresn't put too many drug-sto' 
 things in, less'n she'd s'pect me. I've done 
 wrapped the flesh-bresh up in the bolt o' caliker, 
 an' put the sweet soap in with the sardines an' 
 buckwheat heap o' the groceries sells sweet- 
 smellin' soap. An' the pills I'm most afeerd to 
 put them in at all ; but the Avhites of her eyes is 
 a mighty yaller color ; reck'n they better go in ;
 
 160 
 
 they're jest dropped in, accidental like, in among 
 the nutmegs an' things. I'm mighty glad I thought 
 about this air-pillar. She won't never s'pect this, 
 cause th' 'ain't never been one sold in this town. 
 This 'n is jest a sample they sent me for the sto', 
 an' it '11 be mighty nice for 'er to lay 'er lame arm 
 on to sort o' rest it an' cool it. Better blow it up, 
 I reck'n, so she'll know what it is. She might 
 mistake it for a hot-water bag. That's it," he 
 added, with satisfaction, surveying the inflated 
 pillow " that's jest about solid enough to feel 
 good. It '11 be mighty nice for the hammock, 
 too. Hope she'll like a red hammock. I could o' 
 got a blue one, but I thought when she'd lay in it 
 in the summer under the trees the red would sort 
 o' match the crepe-myrtle flowers. Th' ain't a 
 thing mo' I can think of fhet I'd like to put in the 
 bag, less'n it's mo' physic, an' reck'n I don't dare 
 to. An' now I'm a-goin' to rig out. Pa's ol' wig 
 an' ol' Uncle Mose's blanket-overcoat, an' an' 
 reck'n I better button a piller in the front o' this 
 overcoat 'n' then it's full loose. I'll put a little 
 o' this chimbly black on my eyebrows, an' won 
 der ef she wouldn't know my walk ? She's often 
 tol' me she did. If I had a crutch or no, here's 
 the thing ! Here's the thick-soled shoe I've jest 
 got made for Jim Toland's short leg I'll put 
 that on. That's the ticket ! Anybody thct 'd 
 know me now 'd be welcome to own me. Jim- 
 miny ! But it's awkward an' clumsy liftin' that 
 bundle with this shoe on. Reck'n I better take
 
 161 
 
 off the shoe tell I get the bag 'cross my saddle, 
 less'n I'll break my neck." 
 
 It was the work of full half an hour to steady 
 the cumbersome bag across the pommel of his 
 saddle, replace the discarded shoe, and, with many 
 a narrow escape from slipping disastrously, finally 
 poise himself safely behind his burden, the diffi 
 culty being considerably aggravated by the fact 
 that the right stirrup refused to accommodate the 
 foot with a four-inch sole, so that to maintain the 
 equilibrium of the structure was no mean test of 
 horsemanship. 
 
 " Purty way, this, for a man to take his Christ 
 mas gifts to his sweetheart," he said, with a ner 
 vous chuckle, as finally he started into the footpath 
 across the narrow wood. "Purty way, creepin' 
 roun' like a thief in the dark ; but I reck'n it's 
 jest about in keepin' with the rest o' my co'tin'. 
 For the first time in my life I'm glad that dog's 
 deef," he added, as finally he halted a moment, 
 listening at the back gate. 
 
 Dr. Jim Morgan was a dignified figure, of an 
 erect slenderness of person, and an air that only 
 his extreme kindliness of manner redeemed from 
 pomposity. There could have been nothing more 
 out of keeping with his own personality than his 
 present disguise nothing more characteristic than 
 that in his eagerness to serve another he should 
 have lost all thought of himself. With the ut 
 most caution he deliberately opened the gate and, 
 leading his horse now, stealthily crossed the yard.
 
 162 
 
 He had just reached and mounted the steps, when 
 he remembered the chance of having to speak. 
 His voice would surely betray him, unless He 
 took hastily from his vest-pocket a stick of lico 
 rice and bit off a piece. The chewing itself would 
 help the disguise. And now, steadying himself 
 against the horse a moment, he reached over and 
 lifted the sack from the saddle. He would not 
 essay to carry it up to the door. The heavy shoe 
 was as noisy as a crutch. He dare not risk a sin 
 gle step upon the porch, but, turning cautiously, 
 would deposit his burden at the head of the steps, 
 and springing into his saddle, make good his es 
 cape. He did turn cautiously, but, alas for a leg 
 suddenly grown long, a bulky weight, a time-worn 
 floor ! Suddenly as he turned, never so cautious 
 ly, something slipped then everything! The col 
 lapse which shook the house frightened the horse, 
 who wisely took to his heels with a bound into the 
 darkness. Before Dr. Jim could recover himself 
 or gather his scattered senses, not to mention his 
 hat and wig, the key turned in the door. In a 
 moment more Miss Lucetta stood in the opening. 
 
 "What '11 you have, sir?" she asked, steadily 
 peering out upon the towering figure that reared 
 itself before her, dimly outlined in the darkness. 
 
 If she was frightened she did not show it. The 
 Bible lay open on the table behind her. 
 
 Advancing laboriously, in mortal terror of a 
 second tumble, Dr. Jim turned the licorice in his 
 mouth and spat upon the floor. Then he spoke :
 
 163 
 
 " Would the good people thet lives here let a po 1 
 way farm' man lay his burden down for the night?" 
 
 The form of speech was Biblical. Whether 
 consciously so or not, it was a stroke of genius. 
 
 " My 'amble do' is always open to shelter a way- 
 farin' pilgrim," she replied, as, stepping back, she 
 produced a candle. 
 
 The wayfarer made a movement as if to deposit 
 his load outside the door, but with a swift motion 
 of the hand she invited him in. 
 
 " It might rain du'in' the night. Better lay it 
 on the side o' the hearth," she said, kindly. 
 
 " Thanky mightily, ma'am," he responded, send 
 ing a licorice - colored spray over the reddened 
 bricks as he spoke. 
 
 His extremity was desperate, and this volley 
 was wholly defensive. Turning, and hobbling 
 grotesquely now, he prepared to depart. 
 
 "Ef you'd like to stay yourself, I can let you 
 have the key of a good yard - room," she added, 
 following him to the door. 
 
 " Thanky; no, 'm no, thanky, ma'am ; I've got 
 cover for myself, thanky. Good -night, ma'am. 
 I'll call roun' in the mornin', ma'am." 
 
 And before she knew it, her grotesque midnight 
 visitor had hobbled down the steps and was gone. 
 In the bestowal of sympathy she had forgotten 
 all fear now, and, turning back, she closed and 
 mechanically lockedthe door. But the incident 
 had restored her drowsing faculties to full wake- 
 fulness. It was well past midnight ; but instead
 
 164 
 
 of going to bed, she threw an armful of wood 
 upon the fire and took her seat. No sooner had 
 she sat down, however, than, naturally scanning 
 the bag, she was seized with a sudden fear. It 
 was so much larger than she had realized. It 
 had rolled over heavily. What was it ? 
 
 In a twinkling it seemed that the clock was run 
 ning a race with her heart, and the strokes of both 
 were terrific like those of a blacksmith's anvil. 
 Then she felt her face grow red and pale, as 
 breathlessly she watched the bag. She watched 
 in silence while the clock ticked sixty seconds, 
 a hundred and twenty she never knew why she 
 counted them, but she did one hundred and 
 twenty and then she lost count. She had 
 reached a decision. And now she rose, and, mov 
 ing alertly, piled wood upon the fire, as much as 
 the chimney would accommodate, and drawing 
 forward a pot - hook, she suspended upon it the 
 teakettle, ready filled with water for the morn 
 ing's coffee. Then she sat down again, and the 
 clock hammered forty-seven times while she stud 
 ied the bag again. Then rising once more, she 
 tried all the windows, secured their bolts, and, lift 
 ing the heavy iron hook, rarely used now, she 
 doubly fastened the door. Returning to the ket 
 tle, which had by this time begun to sing, she 
 tied a long twine to its handle, and moving back 
 wards, drew it taut, and sat down again and stud 
 ied the bag. As she watched it she felt sure that 
 she saw it move just a little, as one cautiously
 
 165 
 
 breathing, with occasionally just the suspicion of 
 a quiver. But she was not frightened now. She 
 was only patiently, alertly awaiting developments. 
 The fire was roaring, and the room grew hot. She 
 moved back her chair, retaining the end of the 
 twine, Avhich in its passage from the kettle to her 
 hand extended over the bag. How long she would 
 have sat thus it is impossible to say, had there not 
 occurred a sudden unmistakable movement in the 
 bag. With a swishing sound, distinctly like an 
 unsuppressed sigh, there was a sinking in the out 
 line of the figure before her. For a moment she 
 felt as if she should smother, so fast did her heart 
 flutter; but this soon passed, and before she knew 
 she had spoken, she had said aloud : 
 
 "I'm compelled to tell you, sir, thet they's a 
 kittle full o' b'ilin' water right over yore head, an' 
 ef you move I'll be fo'ced to douse you all over 
 with it, so don't stir! An' now good-evenin', 
 sir," she continued, pausing. "Maybe you don't 
 see me, 'cause I can't see jest which way you're 
 a-layin', but don't pretend you don't hear. I say 
 good-evenin', sir !" 
 
 Another pause. 
 
 " You don't lay off to speak, don't you ? Well, 
 I can't say I'm s'prised much, though I have heerd 
 thet sech ez you was mighty polite an' mannerly. 
 But ef you ain't settin' out to be civilized, that 
 don't hender me none an' you're in my house, an' 
 though I've got to say some plain things to you, 
 I lay to say 'em jest ez polite ez ef they wasn't so
 
 166 
 
 plain. Of co'se, I take it you're a man. Th' 
 ain't no woman got quite so far down ez to be 
 where you are, ez far ez I've heerd tell ; an' ef 
 they was to do it, they'd take some other night 
 than Christmas Eve for it. So I nachelly take it 
 you're a man, though not a very big one, less'n 
 you're considerable cramped, the way you're doub 
 led up; but you're a male person, of the sex 
 planned an' executed that is to say, made for 
 the special pertection of women-folks an' children, 
 instead o' which you've deliberately started out 
 to pester an' rob, ef not to murder, a lone, unper- 
 tected woman. You 'lowed thet she'd get to bed 
 purty early, an' you'd get out o' yore sack an' 
 open the do' for yore crowd. Th' ain't nothin' 
 very new in yore plan. I've heerd about burglars 
 brought in by peddlers in packs 'fore to-night, an' 
 stowed away under oak staircases ; but I 'ain't 
 never heerd of none takin' so much trouble less'n 
 they was mo' to steal 'n what I've got. I don't 
 say I 'ain't got nothin', mind you, but what I 
 have got I don't ca'culate to let you have. I 
 s'picioned you was in that sack most ez quick ez 
 yore pardner went out, 'n' I was pretty shore I 
 seen you trimble long befo' you sighed out aloud. 
 I don't wonder you're low-sperited, an' I'm glad 
 to see it. It make me have hopes thet you're not 
 wholly give over to evil. Ef you'd o' chuckled, 
 layin' there the way you are, I'd hardly had the 
 heart to pray for you, much less to reason with 
 you ez I hope to do. The kittle o' b'ilin' water is
 
 167 
 
 bangin', ez I said, on a pot-hook purty nigh over 
 yore head or yore feet, one, an' I've got a string 
 tied to it, so's a quick jerk 'd give you a mighty 
 fiery baptism ; but I don't ca'culate to spring it on 
 you less'n you move. So ef you feel a sneeze or 
 anything sudden comin' on you, I'd advise you to 
 tell me befo'hand, 'cause ef you was to stir sud 
 den I might souse you 'fo' I'd be able to stop my 
 self. When I first seen you trimble I don't deny 
 I was purty tolerable skeered, not havin' no man 
 'round, but my skeer didn't last long, 'cause I 
 mighty soon reelized thet ef anybody in a tight 
 place ever had cause for gratitude, I was that 
 person. I don't reck'n there ever was a lone per 
 son that was attackted by a burglar thet wouldn't 
 o' give a heap to 've had 'im tied up in a bag 
 same ez I've got you even ef you have got the 
 way to get out, you'd have to fumble consider'ble 
 to do it. So, stid o' frettin' over it, I jest rea 
 soned thet you wouldn't nachelly stir tell I was 
 asleep, 'cep'n' I let on I saw you, which of co'se I 
 didn't 'low to do tell I was prepared to entertain 
 you. So now I've piled on a good fire, an' I've 
 hung on two pots o' water besides the kittle, an' 
 I've b'iled a pot o' coffee while I been talkin' to 
 you, so even ef you ain't very sprightly I won't 
 get sleepy. I 'ain't never scalted no live thing 
 'cep'n' my own foot once-t, an' I know how it 
 feels an' ef I do have to douse you it '11 pain 
 me mightily. 
 
 Now I reck'n we both understand one another,
 
 168 
 
 an' I tell you what I lay off to do. I don't reck'n 
 you've been to no religious service much lately; 
 'n' ef you have, you've perverted their teachin' 
 sinfully, and I reckon I couldn't put in this time 
 'twixt now an' time yore crowd comes better 'n 
 by a little Scripture readin' an' prayer. Now I'm 
 a-holtin' on to the kittle rope while I open the 
 Bible, an' I needn't to tell you it's a-b'ilin', 'cause 
 you can hear it, less'n you're deef, even ef yore 
 head's the other way, which I don't think it 
 is, come to look close-t. I reck'n the kittle 'd 
 upset jest about over yore eyes ef I'd jerk it easy ; 
 an' ef I'd give it a hard snap yore stummick an' 
 maybe yore legs 'd get it ; but, howsoever, I trust I 
 won't be called to give you no sech warm reception, 
 bein' ez you're my comp'ny. Of co'se, all I'm a-say- 
 in' is said 'thout a bit o'pers'nal feelin's; not even 
 knowin' who you be, it couldn't well be otherwise. 
 I don't even know ef you're black or white that 
 is, 'cep'n my sense tells me you're white. They's 
 a plenty of our colored folks thet's up to a heap 
 o' meanness, but this ain't their sort. No, you 
 ain't no nigger an' you ain't a woman. You're 
 some pore misguided man or boy. Of co'se, I 
 hope you ain't none of our county boys. Th' 
 ain't but two thet you could be an' on'y one o' 
 them because you ain't big enough for Tommy 
 Towns. But maybe you're Ned Jenkins not 
 accusin' you, Ned, ef it shouldn't be you but ef 
 it is I want to say a few words to call to mind 
 yore raisin'. I knew yore mother before you was
 
 169 
 
 born, Ned, an' her mother before her, leastways 
 her step-mother, 'n' they wasn't better folks no 
 where 'n they was. Yore mother died a Christian 
 death, exultin' in the faith an' oh, Lordy, ef it 
 should be you, Ned, I'd like to know it, so 's I 
 could reason with you ez I should. Ef I knew 
 for shore it was you, I'd be mos' tempted to let 
 go this string an' let you out decenter 'n' how you 
 come in ; but even ef you was to confess, I'd have 
 no call to believe you. You might be lyin', so 
 'twouldn't do no good, cep'n' for the relief of 
 yore own soul. Now, the first thing I'm agoin' 
 to do is to read a po'tion of scripture to you, an' 
 ef you are anybody else, I trust you'll apply it 
 to yoreself jest the same. 
 
 " What's that smell ?" Starting suddenly, Miss 
 Lucetta nearly upset the kettle in her fright. 
 " You're a-tryin' to chloroform me, are you ?" 
 
 There was undoubtedly a sudden revelation 
 throughout the room of a strange heavy odor. 
 Miss Lucetta laid down her book, and, going to 
 the window, retaining the string the while, lifted 
 the sash. Then she drew back the table, and set 
 her chair near it. 
 
 " I reck'n I can set here an' sniff enough o' the 
 air ez it comes thro' the cracks to spile that game. 
 An' I'll take a good whiff o' coffee, too. They 
 say it '11 outdo chloroform ef it's took in time, so 
 I'll take it right now. I'm a-keepin' the string, 
 mind you, while I po' the coffee. It does seem un 
 mannerly to drink it down 'thout offerin' you
 
 170 
 
 none, 'specially after you passin' yo' refreshments 
 roun' the way you're doin'." 
 
 She drank the coffee. 
 
 " Now I'm wide enough awake to sniff a pint 
 of yore stuff 'thout feelin' it, an' I'd advise you, 
 ez a Christian, to stop up that bottle. Befo' 
 readin', let's both of us spend a moment in silent 
 prayer. Ef you're partly on yore knees already, 
 I reckon that '11 do, an' ef you ain't, I'll promise 
 not to jerk the cord tell you kneel down ef you 
 can ; an' ef you can't, I reck'n the Lord '11 excuse 
 yore attitude, even ef sin did put you there." 
 
 She inclined her head, and her moving lips had 
 begun a silent invocation, when suddenly Rover 
 sprang from his sleep with a bound and a yelp. 
 A coal had popped from the fire upon him. With 
 a terrified ejaculation, Miss Lucetta sprang to her 
 feet, the kettle of boiling water deluging the sack. 
 
 For a moment she came near fainting. Then a 
 new terror seized her. There was no response to 
 the fiery bath. Manifestly the occupant of the 
 sack had died some moments before. The sigh 
 she had heard was no doubt a dying gasp. The 
 old man who had deposited him upon her hearth 
 was his murderer. ,A terrible fear seized her. 
 She sank into her chair, trembling like an aspen 
 leaf, the twine falling from her hand upon the 
 floor. How long she sat thus she never knew. It 
 seemed an age that, never taking her eyes from 
 the uncanny thing that lay before her, she pa 
 tiently waited for the dawn. Indeed, sitting thus
 
 171 
 
 within the closely fastened room, impenetrable by 
 the first weak rays of the morning, she knew not 
 that the end of her weary wake was approaching, 
 until suddenly, just behind her, outside the front 
 window, she heard the welcome and cheery voice 
 of Dr. Jim : 
 
 "A merry Christmas to you, dearie !" 
 
 Starting, she hardly knew how, she strode to 
 the front door, raised its heavy hook, and turned 
 the key. 
 
 It was nearly an hour later when she opened her 
 eyes, to find herself lying upon the parlor sofa. Dr. 
 Jim was kneeling beside her, chafing her hands. 
 
 " An' to think of me not knowin' the pore man 
 was dyin' tell it was too late !" She began to 
 cry wildly. " But I did talk to him ez serious 
 ez I could, Jim but, oh, ef I could just 've con 
 verted 'im ! I'd think maybe I had, ef he hadn't 
 o' tried to chloroform me the las' thing he did on 
 earth, so I know he died in sin right befo' my 
 face, and me threatenin' 'im with hot water." 
 
 Poor Dr. Jim thought that some unexplained 
 tragedy had bereft her of her reason. It was only 
 after she had recovered herself sufficiently to rise 
 and speak coherently that the truth began slowly 
 to dawn upon him. 
 
 "An' to think of me a-spendin' half o' the 
 night, Jim, a-arguin' with a corpse. I'm 'feerd 
 to see you open the bag, less'n it might be any 
 body we know." 
 
 " But it ain't, honey, I 'shore you it ain't." He
 
 172 
 
 sat beside her, and his arm, for the first time in 
 thirteen years, supported her shoulders. " Th' 
 ain't nobody in there I'll wager they ain't," he 
 insisted, soothingly. 
 
 " But I saw 'im die, I tell you, Jim. I saw 'im 
 breathe his last, and heerd 'im. I'm not a foolish 
 child, Jim. I tell you they's a terrible deed been 
 did, V the sooner it's found out the better." 
 
 The situation was too tragic for laughter. 
 
 " They's some mighty foolish things been did, 
 I don't deny, honey, an' I been a-doin' a few my 
 self," he said, tenderly. " But they's some sen 
 sible things goin 1 to be did an' I'm goin' to 
 come in for a sheer o' them, too. Now, Lucetty, 
 honey, you're all overwrought an' worked up, an' 
 I'm goin' to do yore thinkin' for the next hour or 
 two. Go get your hat, honey or letnme get it." 
 
 " What you want with my hat, Jim an' a dead 
 man lyin' on the flo' not even laid out decent ?" 
 
 " Here, now, honey. Here's yore hat, an' I've 
 got my buggy out here, an' you're comin' with me." 
 
 She turned and looked at him. 
 
 " Come on, now ; they ain't no time to lose. 
 Ef the strength of mind the Lord's jest give me 
 ain't used quick, it might forsake me. Come on, 
 honey f You don't want another thing but just 
 what you've got on. That's it. 1 ' 
 
 She had obediently risen, and, silently wonder 
 ing, walked to the buggy with him as one in a 
 dream or hypnotized by sheer force of will. 
 
 " Where you goin' now, Jim ?" she asked, fee-
 
 173 
 
 bly, when they were safely within and driving 
 down the road. 
 
 " I'm a-goin' in here for jest a minute," he said, 
 presently, "an' I want you to hold the reins, 
 please, till I come out." 
 
 They were at the judge's gate. Miss Lucetta 
 held the reins. In a few minutes he returned, 
 smilingly folding a slip of paper in his hand. 
 
 "An' now we're goin' over to the preacher's," he 
 said, calmly, as he turned the horses the other way. 
 
 " What for, Jim ?" In her voice was no faint 
 suggestion of protest. She asked it as a child 
 " What for, Jim ?" 
 
 " We're goin' over to 'range things so's I can 
 say whether or not strange fool men can dump 
 their dog-gone foolishness into yore bedroom all 
 hours o' the night that's what we're goin' to do. 
 'N' 'ef I'd o' had any mo' sperit 'n a baked bis 
 cuit-man, it 'd o' been did long ago." 
 
 " But, Jim" 
 
 " Th' ain't no ' buts ' to it, honey, this time. 
 It's jest come down to good solid horse-sense be 
 havior on my part the way I ought to 've be 
 haved time out o' mind." 
 
 " But, Jim, where 're we goin' to to stay ?" 
 
 She was recovering her bearings. 
 
 " Stay ! Why, honey, we'll stay wherever we 
 happen, I reckon. I'll go to stay with you tell 
 you pack up, an' you can stay with me a spell 
 or we won't stay no place, ef you say you. What's 
 stayirf got to do with it ? I'll stay with you, an'
 
 174 
 
 you'll stay with me less'n we get divo'ced, which 
 we never will, world without end, amen ! That's 
 the way I feel about it. 'N' now, honey, how do 
 you feel ?" 
 
 For answer she laid her hand in his. 
 
 " But s'pose they lay that murder on me, Jim 
 an' we don't even know who it is ? We'd both 
 be in disgrace." 
 
 " Never mind about who it is. 'Tain't nobody, 
 I tell you. An 1 don't you mention a word about 
 it in here do you hear, honey ?" 
 
 They had arrived at the minister's door. The 
 marriage ceremony is short and it even shrinks 
 on occasions such as these. A half-hour in the 
 parlor on Christmas morning, just at the time 
 when the little ones are discovering old Santa's 
 gifts, is a terrible interruption to a family man, 
 such as the Rev. Mr. Franklin ; but so happy 
 was he over this morning's work that he declared 
 it was " worth mo' to him than the whole o' Christ 
 mas to see such faithful hearts united at last." 
 
 The news was too good to be kept, but bride 
 and groom would not leave until they carried his 
 reluctant promise of secrecy until such time as 
 they should themselves make it known. Not 
 even the terrible secret of her bosom, the con 
 viction that a murdered man lay upon her hearth, 
 could keep the happiness that had come to her 
 from shining in Miss Lucetta's pallid face as they 
 turned towards home. 
 
 " I brought the buggy out a-purpose this morn-
 
 175 
 
 in', honey, to beg you, whether or no, to get in 
 it an' go with me but I didn't 'low to run off 
 with you the way I did ; an' as 'tis, I didrit ask 
 you, an' it's did anyhow." 
 
 " You wouldn't of ast me again, after your prom 
 ise, would you ? Jim, I don't believe it of you." 
 
 " Co'se I'd of did it ! Ef I had to take my 
 choice o' crimes I'd o' did that ruther 'n let you live 
 an' die 'fore my very eyes, 'thout anybody to look 
 after you co'se I would ! All last night, sence I 
 found out that Aunt Judy wasn't on the lot " 
 
 "An' how did you find it out, I like to know?" 
 
 " I jest found it out, I tell you, an' it set me 
 to thinkin' s'pose some dare-devil was to come in 
 an' scare the wits out of you whose fault 'd it 
 be ? An' I said to myself same ez Nathan said to 
 David, ' Thou art the man.' An' with that I com 
 menced to think, an' the mo' I thought the fool- 
 isher I 'peared to myself. You an' me 've been 
 settin' up here frettin' ourselves about a lot o' 
 nonsense, honey. We've talked about my pa and 
 yore pa an' their little friendly disputes, an' they 
 bein' on each side o' this blamed fence, an' all 
 sech ez that ; an' when you come to think about 
 it, the fence don't run down mo'n two feet in the 
 groun', an' they're a-layin' side by side away 
 down below it not frettin' 'bout fences no mo'n 
 they do 'bout the grass that grows over 'em." 
 
 There was yet quite a little ordeal to undergo 
 in introducing her to the contents of the fateful 
 bag ; and even when this was done Miss Lucetta
 
 176 
 
 was still mystified at the strange and unexplained 
 phenomenon of the breathing which, she declared, 
 she saw and heard. For a time Dr. Jim was in 
 clined to laugh at her fancy, but presently the mys 
 tery was cleared. The flabby remains of the air- 
 pillow with a round hole burned in its side told 
 the tale. It had breathed its last from a coal of 
 fire which burned into its very vitals, and had 
 given up the ghost most becomingly, with a gasp. 
 
 " An' who in creation you reckon it was thet 
 fetched the thing, Jim ; an' what you reckon he'll 
 say 'bout its bein' half burned up an' wet the way 
 it is ?" said Miss Lucetta, when finally her wonder 
 was spent. 
 
 *' Like ez not he won't never come for it, honey. 
 Like ez not he's some " 
 
 "But for gracious sakes, Jim, look a-here!" 
 
 She had taken from the floor a slip of paper, 
 upon which was written, in a cramped backhand : 
 " Miss Lucetty Jones. Merry Christmas from 
 Santa Glaus !" It had evidently fallen out of the 
 mouth of the sack. . 
 
 "Now, who in kingdom do you think, Jim?" 
 
 Dr. Jim scratched his head. How had he for 
 gotten the inscription written by his own hand? 
 
 " Well, honey, I think this, ef you want to 
 know. I think some dern good-hearted fool, with 
 mo' good intention than brains, has made a jack 
 of 'isself that's what I think. I s'pose he 'lowed 
 thet you wouldn't min' havin' a few little handy 
 things roun' the house, an' Christmas was a good
 
 177 
 
 time for 'em to drop in ; an' he knew for certain 
 that the weak-kneed somebody thet wears men's 
 cloes an' perfessed all his blame life to love an' 
 cherish you, wouldn't have the grit to come in the 
 front do', an' claim his own, an' pervide for it; so 
 he snook up the back steps an' . played Santa 
 Glaus an' fool at the same time the weak-mind 
 ed, chicken-hearted " 
 
 Miss Lucetta had listened attentively all the 
 way through ; but now, going to his side, she laid 
 her hand upon his lips. 
 
 " That '11 do now, Jim. Don't call yoreself no mo' 
 names. You ain't no mo' fool than the one you've 
 done married ; not a bit. I never would o' knowed 
 you in creation, an' I wouldn't 've guessed it now 
 'f it hadn't o' been for yore strong language. You 
 never would abuse another person that-a-way, no 
 matter what he done ; 'n' you haven't washed that 
 enduin' brown stuff off o* yore lips good, Jim." 
 
 " 'Ain't I, shore enough ?" he replied, as he 
 took her in his arms. " I wouldn't do this," he 
 added in a moment, as he kissed her lips, " but 
 we've swapped liquorish -root too many times in 
 school for me to think you'll mind the teenchy 
 tinechy bit on my lips. So you didn't know me, 
 didn't you ? An' you forgive me for skeerin' 
 you ; an' it's all right ?" 
 
 " Yas, Jim, it's all right ; an' you forgive me 
 for puttin' you to it the way I did, tell you was 
 obliged to stoop to all sorts o' foolishness to do 
 
 yore part by me. Reck'n you better put half o' 
 12
 
 178 
 
 them things back in the drug-sto', though this 
 flesh-bresh, for instance." 
 
 lie chuckled. 
 
 " Reck'n a flesh-bresh was a funny present for 
 a man's sweetheart but they was some so much 
 mo' outlandish things a-layin' roun' the show-case 
 thet it looked mighty suitable to me." 
 
 Neither Dr. Jim nor his wife ever told the 
 true story of their Christmas wedding, nor how 
 Miss Lucetta labored for the conversion of her 
 novel burglar; but the doctor often assures her 
 that her night's devotions were not in vain. 
 " For," he declares, " ef any po' fool sinner ever 
 was suddenly lifted out o' plumb darkness an' 
 his eyes opened unto the light through human 
 agency, I was that person ; an' ef you wasn't the 
 agent, I dunno who else it was." 
 
 Bride and groom went by mutual agreement 
 separately to the Brantley dinner to avert possi 
 ble suspicion. The occasion was more than ordi 
 narily brilliant, for, in spite of a weary, sleepless 
 night, the guest of honor was animated beyond 
 her habit ; while Dr. Jim, as Mr. Brantley after 
 wards remarked, was " positively giddy, ef not to 
 say silly." 
 
 The goose joke came in, in good time, during 
 the discussion of the lordly bird. 
 
 "An' now," said mine host, plunging the fork 
 into the rotund breast, " I want to know ef Miss 
 Lucetty an' Dr. Jim two intelligent, sensible 
 Christians was to ask a question o' the goose
 
 179 
 
 or to put a cotation to it I want to know what 
 'd be a suitable thing for 'em to say." 
 
 There was a full minute's pause, and then, hav 
 ing exchanged glances with his wife and read her 
 consent in her eyes, Dr. Jim rose to his feet. The 
 bare mention of a goose is a menace in provincial 
 repartee, and the objects of the evident threat 
 were quick to perceive the situation. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Brantley, sense you've put the ques 
 tion," said Dr. Jim, "I'll tell you. Seems to me 
 thet the mos' suitable thing ice could do, under 
 the circumstances, might be to fall on the goose's 
 bosom an' say, 'Farewell, Mr. Goose, we've jest ' 
 Stand up, honey, an' help me out, won't you?" 
 Lucetta rose, her face scarlet. " Would be, I say, 
 to fall on his neck an' say, ' Farewell, Mr. Goose, 
 we've just married out o' yore family.' Ladies an' 
 gentlemen, cm' the goose, let me interduce my wife, 
 Mis' Dr. Jim Morgan, M.D. An' mo' than that," 
 he resumed, as soon as he could recover a hearing 
 amid the din of congratulations "an' mo' than 
 that," he insisted, his face now in a broad grin, 
 " Mis' Morgan and me we wish right now to pre 
 sent our compliments to the goose, an' to say thet 
 we're sorry his untimely fate makes it impossible 
 for us to expect him, but thet all of his family circle 
 now present are corjally invited to partake of New- 
 Year's dinner with us one week from to-day !" 
 
 An invitation unanimously and uproariously ac 
 cepted.
 
 C^ESAK
 
 CAESAR 
 
 THE moon made a pretty picture, one summer 
 night, out of a lot of commonplace things : two 
 shabby old men on the bank of the Mississippi 
 River, a jagged dark line where young willows 
 grow close to the water's edge < on one side, and 
 beyond, where the stream doubled its width in a 
 sudden turn, a suggestion of almost sea -space, 
 marked by a shimmering line. 
 
 A keen adjuster of artistic values, when she 
 wills it, is the moon. She knows just what to 
 hold in safe shadow, where to lend herself in deli 
 cate silver edging, where to spend her glory like 
 a prodigal. 
 
 One of the men, a portly old gentleman whose 
 flowing hair was gleaming silver to - night, and 
 whose face showed a patrician uplifting even in 
 the half-revelation of the moon, walked slowly up 
 and down at the water's edge, halting occasion 
 ally and muttering. 
 
 The other man was black. Had the moon been 
 less an artist, she would have ignored his humble 
 personality, blending it with the shadows, and 
 the picture would have lacked its story. 
 
 He sat flat upon the levee, beside an empty
 
 184 
 
 rocking-chair, and solicitously watched the walker 
 near the water. Rising presently and seizing a 
 straw hat that lay in the chair, he approached 
 the white man. 
 
 "Marse Taylor," he said, presenting the hat 
 with some trepidation, " you thinks a heap o' de 
 Taylor blood, doncher ?" 
 
 The old gentleman paused. 
 
 " Taylor blood ?" he repeated, absently. Then, 
 firing suddenly, he added : " Who says anything 
 about the Taylor blood ?" 
 
 "Me. I seh, Marse Taylor, seem lak you done 
 los' intruss in de Taylor blood, de way you f eedin' 
 it out ter fatten 'bout a million o' muskitties 
 a-swarmin' roun' yo' haid. Deze heah gallinip- 
 pers ain't got no mo' rispec' fur a'stokercy 'n hon- 
 gry cannibal-eaters ; but dey sha'n't start a bobbe- 
 cue on yo' haid, not whiles Caesar's heah ter haid 
 'em orf. Heah, Marse Taylor, four Gord sake, 
 please, sir, put on yo' hat." 
 
 Instead of taking the hat, however, the gentle 
 man addressed said : 
 
 " Go and get your own hat, you black, bald- 
 headed rascal, you !" 
 
 Caesar laughed. 
 
 "Hursh, Marse Taylor, hursh. Any gallinip- 
 per dat kin meek a square meal off'n my haid, de 
 way I done swivelled up an' all gone ter dandruff, 
 kin teck it an' welcome. Ef dey'd all come 
 an' breck orf dey punctuatiom-p'ints in my hide 
 'fo' dey samples de Taylor blood, I wouldn't keer.
 
 185 
 
 Dey puts in dey pipes on yo' white skin, an' turn on 
 de suction tell dey mos' busses open, den come set 
 roun' on my haid an' pick dey toof s an' hiccough. 
 I done watched 'em, an' I des' shoos 'em off fo' 
 dey impidence." 
 
 Still the white man did not take the hat, but 
 resumed his promenade, Caesar following at his 
 side now, and talking incessantly while furtively 
 watching his face. 
 
 Finally the old gentleman turned suddenly, 
 and, with a weary sigh, sank into the rocking- 
 chair. As he sat, Csesar, by a quick movement, 
 dropped the hat upon his head. 
 
 "What do you mean, sir, by your imperti 
 nence?" he exclaimed. But the negro had already 
 started forward, and was pointing excitedly into 
 the air while he cried : 
 
 " Look, four Gord sake, Marse Taylor ! Is you 
 see dat great big gallinipper fly off my haid an' 
 knock yo' hat right out'n my hand? Yonder he 
 goes, todes de river ! I tell yer, sir, a gallinipper 
 is de meanes' thing on top dis roun' worl' sence 
 de wah! 'Fo' de wah, dey was nex' in meanness 
 ter a nigger slave-owner. Dem was de meanes'! 
 You ricollec' ole Kinky Jean Baptiste, wha' used 
 ter tie 'is niggers up an' whup 'em wid briars ?" 
 
 The old man had taken his seat at his master's 
 feet, and, ignoring the hat which still rested for 
 gotten where he had dropped it, continued with 
 out a pause : 
 
 " Who-ee ! Don't talk ter me 'bout no nigger
 
 186 
 
 slave -owners! Dey warn't nothin' but a cross 
 twix' a vampire an' an' a wil'-cat dat what dey 
 was! An' now ole Kinky Jean a-settin' up in a 
 jedge's cheer, a-dolin' out jestice lak he knowed 
 it when he seed it! He don't know no mo' 'bout 
 jestice 'n 'n I does 'bout grammar not a bit. 
 He twis' it ter spress 'is own intruss, des' same as 
 I does speech. Pusson what git in tight passages 
 can't stop to reg'late speech by books, I tell yer ! 
 He boun' ter talk 'is way out'n de tunnel, gram 
 mar ur no grammar. But eh, Lord ! Ef I had 
 V had education!, I'd 'a' made things whiz roun' 
 heah sence de wah! Ricollec' how you used ter 
 try ter teach me readin' out'n a Bible-book, Marse 
 Taylor ? I d'know huccome I 'come so thick- 
 skulled. Look lak my min' done tooken sich a 
 lodgmint in my haid, dat I can't th'ow it out inter 
 a book ter save my good-fur-nothin' black skin ! 
 Tell de trufe, I'd a heap ruther wrastle wid a 
 tiger 'n a book any day, 'caze I'd know 'is lan 
 guage an' give 'im good as he sen' ur miss it, 
 one. But a book ! A book's des' de same ter 
 me as Gord. Look lak hit's a-settin' in jedgmint 
 over me, 'caze hit's got a wisdom dat I can't tech. 
 Dat's what meek me git so still-moufed in de 
 evenin's, Marse Taylor, settin' on de hyarth in yo' 
 libr'y. I des' looks roun' dem walls an' views de 
 still knowledge an' keep silence." 
 
 The old man was borne onward into uncon 
 scious eloquence by an awakening interest in the 
 theme into which he had drifted in his effort to di-
 
 187 
 
 vert the mind of his master, who had not spoken 
 again. Caesar was anxious at this long silence. 
 
 " Look lak you's low-sperited to-night, mars- 
 ter," he resumed, presently. "Fur Gord sake, 
 boss, don't let go yo' grip ; 'caze time you give 
 up Caesar gwine let down too, an' dat '11 be a 
 purty howdy-do ! Is you got any news in a letter, 
 Marse Taylor ?" 
 
 " No news, Caesar. It's only the old story 
 hard times hard times." 
 
 Caesar laughed. 
 
 " De.idee o' you talkin' 'bout hard times, boss, 
 settin' up heah wid a whole gol' toof a-shinin' in 
 yo' mouf dis minute ! Hyah ! Look a' me, wid 
 nothin' but two ol' snags lef ', an' dey nex'-do' 
 neighbors. I des' gums it fur all I's wuth, an' 
 bless Gord fur de soup-pot." 
 
 Caesar's heart was relieved. If poverty were 
 all, there was little to worry about. He had 
 never been able to understand how genuine qual 
 ity white-folk could be really poor. There were 
 plenty of " poor white trash " within his ken who 
 had been born to poverty and poor ways who 
 talked long, dipped snuff, went barefoot, and 
 who, mannerless and moneyless, were entirely be 
 neath the contempt of a quality negro such as 
 himself. He could comprehend how such as these 
 could actually feel hard times and privation, con 
 ditions treated only in the abstract by aristo 
 crats. 
 
 In a certain way, of course', he apprehended
 
 188 
 
 that money difficulties formed an important fac 
 tor in the post-bellum situation ; but they were 
 big difficulties gentlemen's straits arising peri 
 odically at the annual reckonings, and in no way 
 affected the ultimate question of wealth, excepting 
 possibly to enhance its dignity. A financial 
 strength that, rising superior to high-sounding 
 debts, could survive year after year was a thing 
 to respect. 
 
 If his old master had grown careless about his 
 toilet, if the house needed paint and the fences 
 were tottering, were not these merely the signs 
 of the passage of time, which had borne them all 
 into the period of old age ? old age, that pro 
 verbially scorns outwardnesses, concentrating its 
 last vitalities on inward considerations, spiritual 
 or otherwise. 
 
 Colonel Taylor's time - sharpened proclivities 
 were not spiritual. They were otherwise. As a 
 young man he had loved the chase, the oar, a 
 dozen books, his pretty wife, a good story with 
 his wine and water and venison steaks. Now all 
 but the last things had passed away. His wife 
 had long been but a memory. Horses and boats 
 were for the young. The raconteur is lost with 
 out his audience. 
 
 But health, appetite, and an environment rich 
 in material for its gratification were left him, with 
 Caesar for gleaner, trapper, hunter, fisher, caterer, 
 cook Caesar, whose culinary fame during four 
 years of army service had gone abroad through-
 
 189 
 
 out the regiment. The truth was that there were 
 scarcely now, in all Louisiana, two greater old 
 epicures than old Colonel Dunbar Taylor, of Ink- 
 land plantation, and his negro servant, Caesar. 
 For ten years they had lived without other com 
 panionship in this old plantation-house. For as 
 many summers Caesar had carried the rocker out 
 on the levee outside the gate every evening, and 
 returned with it upon his head behind his master 
 when the plantation-bell rang for nine o'clock. 
 
 As he did so to-night he noticed for the first 
 time that peculiar little lurch in the colonel's gait 
 that suggests mental weakening. Stopping short 
 in his path to reassure himself, he exclaimed : 
 
 " Good Gord !" And again noting the flurried 
 movement : "Rub yo' eyes, nigger, an' look ag'in! 
 Yo' ole marster done tooken a new graveyard 
 step, sho's you born! Hoi' on ter 'im tight, ole 
 man, an' min' 'im good 'fo' he slip away f'om 
 you. Dey ain' no mo'*Mai*se Dunbar Taylors in 
 the Taylor fact'ry. Dis is de las' drap o' de 
 Dunbar-Taylor blood a-walkin' down dat levee ; 
 an' ef yer don't nuss it good an' keep it warm, 
 dey's one ole nigger gwine be settin' on a green 
 grave, de onies' one lef' ter tell de tale." 
 
 With this he hurried forward, and, joining the 
 old gentleman, touched his elbow gently as if to 
 steady him. 
 
 For some time Caesar had suffered moments of 
 anxiety about his master, seeing him preoccupied 
 and silent, or, as to-night upon the bank, mutter-
 
 190 
 
 ing to himself. The truth was that the white 
 man had a sorrowful secret the only formulated 
 secret which he held from the black and it was 
 telling on him. He had, of course, certain re 
 serves, and there were passages in his life mem 
 ories now in which the old negro had no part. 
 But these were matters of course rather than 
 conscious reservations. The agonizing feature of 
 his present secret was that it could no longer be 
 kept. Caesar must soon know it. 
 
 It was this : for several years he had main 
 tained his position on the plantation, after a 
 foreclosed mortgage, only by grace of the new 
 owner, as a salaried overseer. None of the ne 
 groes knew this. Caesar need never have discov 
 ered it had the arrangement held. But it was to 
 end : he had been asked to resign. This was his 
 secret. 
 
 It was not this specific fact which he so dread 
 ed to confess. It was rather the question that 
 would follow upon its heel which disturbed him : 
 What should he do about Caesar? For himself, 
 he was strangely devoid of apprehension. He 
 would go to the city, where there was "always 
 room for one more." The world owed him a liv 
 ing, and he would get it. 
 
 Comforting himself with such trite philoso 
 phies of the unfortunate, he felt no fear. But 
 Caesar ! He could not take him. How could he 
 leave him ? The question had preyed upon his 
 mind until, in sheer desperation, he had resolved
 
 191 
 
 upon a plan that came as an inspiration. He would 
 run away. Just before the new management 
 should take possession, he would slip out in the 
 night and hail a passing boat. He would leave a 
 note explaining to the old man in terms of affec 
 tion that business had called him away, and, hat 
 ing to say good-by, he had not waked him. He 
 would close by wishing him a prosperous connec 
 tion with the new administration. The note he 
 would enclose with a personal line to the post 
 mistress, begging her to read it to the old man. 
 
 We have seen that, on the evening when this 
 story opens, Caesar had gotten a first inkling that 
 a serious matter was disturbing his master. The 
 suspicion, once lodged within his brain, took unto 
 itself eyes and ears. If real trouble were brew 
 ing he would discover what it was. 
 
 During the month following this no suspected 
 criminal was ever more closely watched than was 
 the old gentleman who was summoning all his 
 craft a quality nearly extinct from disuse to 
 prepare for clandestine flight. Whether he rode 
 into town, remained an hour beyond his habit in 
 field or sugar - house, or repaired at an unusual 
 hour to his library, Caesar invented some ruse to 
 dog his footsteps. 
 
 The old man, despite his own habit of talking 
 to himself, could not prevent a creepy feeling 
 from spreading over him when his master's voice 
 in monologue floated out the library window or 
 announced him even in advance of his attenuated
 
 192 
 
 shadow, as he came with irregular step up the 
 western walk in the afternoons. There was in it 
 something uncanny, confirming the impression of 
 an impending crisis. 
 
 He was destined soon, however, to discover a 
 clew giving shape and direction to his suspicions. 
 An old sole-leather trunk, unused for a decade, 
 was transferred during his absence from the gar 
 ret to his master's room, secreted behind his bed, 
 and carefully covered with folds of drapery. 
 
 His next discovery was of money in the colonel's 
 purse great rolls of greenbacks. The first thrill 
 of pleasure at this unprecedented vision was fol 
 lowed by increased apprehension. Money could 
 scarcely be said to be current in these parts in 
 these days, wealth being solely a matter of credit. 
 Pen - scratches on slips of paper floating into the 
 storehouses provided all life's necessaries. Writ 
 ten orders sent to the great city rebounded in 
 supplies by tierce or barreh The familiar use of 
 money might almost be said to have been in dis 
 repute. It was the only hope of the poor whites 
 or such irresponsible negroes as lived from hand 
 to mouth without contract. Even the blacks 
 whose thrift had lifted them into the outer circle 
 of commercial standing were laboriously inditing 
 certain charmed words on paper bits, keeping their 
 money respectably out of sight. 
 
 His discovery of this cash possession disturbed 
 Caesar more and more as he thought upon it. 
 
 His next clew was an important one gleaned
 
 193 
 
 from snatches which he overheard of conversation 
 with a neighbor. They were negotiating for the 
 sale of the colonel's horse. 
 
 "He's an old horse, sir, and I'll give you sev 
 enty-five dollars for him, and promise you he shall 
 die mine," were the visitor's words. 
 
 "He's yours, sir, on that condition," was the 
 reply. " You take him the day I go. I'd rather 
 sell him to you with this assurance than to get 
 double the sum without it. Tell you the truth, 
 sir, there's only one living thing I think more of 
 than my horse, and that's that old black rascal 
 Caesar. I love that darkey. The day I leave this 
 plantation I sneak away like a runaway nigger 
 because I can't tell him good-bye; And recollect, 
 I trust you to be silent." 
 
 Caesar, eavesdropping, crouched on all -fours 
 behind the honeysuckle vine, rolled over back 
 ward, and retreated sobbing at this point. The 
 mystery was solved. From his hiding-place he 
 hastened, sniffling as he went, to the river- bank. 
 It was he now who, walking up and down, talked 
 to himself. 
 
 " De idee !" he sobbed. " I knowed it knowed 
 it des' as well 'fo' I heerd it as I does now. De 
 idee ! An' a Taylor, too an' a D unbar Taylor at 
 dat to to to ac' des' lak a sneak -thief ! Well, 
 Caesar, my boy, look lak yo' wisdom -toofs ain't 
 come an' gone fur nothin'. You ain't got but des' 
 one ob 'em lef in yo' jaw ; but I reckin, wid hit, 
 Caesar kin keep up wid Marse Dunbar Taylor, ef 
 
 13
 
 194 
 
 he is able ter outdo Gord an' cut gol' toofs in 
 place o' bone ones. So you gwine travelling is 
 you, Caesar ? Seem lak you is. An' you better 
 hump yo'se'f, nigger, 'caze dat trunk o' yo' mars- 
 ter's is half packed now." 
 
 Thus he talked on until the visitor was seen to 
 depart, when he hastened within his master's call. 
 
 That very night it was that, leaving the colonel 
 snoring, he betook himself straightway to the 
 house of Kinky Jean Baptiste, the parish judge. 
 They had been in close converse for an hour 
 when Caesar said for about the tenth time : " You 
 see, I come ter you, jedge, 'caze you got de papers 
 in de co't-house, an' you knows. I don't owe no 
 body a cent. An' I'll sell you my mule an' wagon 
 an' plough an' de spotted yearlin' an' de red heifer 
 an' dat brindled steer an' " 
 
 "An'yo'dog?" 
 
 " No, sir. I ain't name de dog. I seh I'll sell 
 what I done said an' my crop, which is three acres 
 o' bottom-Ian' all in cotton, for three honderd dol 
 lars ; an' you kin meek out de papers to suit yo' 
 se'f, des' so you pays me de money cash down an' 
 write in de paper dat dis here's a secret sale. An' 
 ef you tell it 'fo' I go, de sale's done broke." 
 
 " But what unf reward succumstance has befell 
 you, Caesar, to predispose you to exchange yo' 
 domicile so suddently?" pompously demanded 
 the lettered administrator of justice. 
 
 "Dis is des' a little business 'twix' me an' 
 Marse Taylor, jedge, an' I never tells out d*e
 
 195 
 
 fam'ly business. An' I wants de money to-morrer 
 night. You kin 'quire 'bout m,e at de sto'e in de 
 mornin', an' see how I Stan's all roun'. An' to- 
 morrer, please Gord, 'bout dis time, I'll be back 
 heah." 
 
 On the second day after this another clandes 
 tine trunk - packing was under way. Like his 
 shadow Coasar followed his old master. Not 
 knowing the date of the proposed flight, he was 
 nervous at the passage of every boat going either 
 way. To the three hundred dollars realized from 
 the first, sale he had added about fifty more from 
 minor transactions; and on the last day as it 
 proved on counting the contents of the colonel's 
 purse during the old gentleman's sleep, he chuck 
 led to find that his own held just one dollar more. 
 
 It was on the evening of this same day that 
 something occurred which convinced Cassar that 
 the departure was near at hand. Following the 
 colonel at a safe distance through the garden 
 across a meadow, he saw him approach his wife's 
 grave, and, laying a flower upon it, turn with 
 bowed head and slowly retrace his steps. 
 
 It was a delicate and dignified act, and Caesar 
 was much impressed. Instead of proceeding on 
 the errand on which he had been sent, he turned 
 into a path leading through a pine thicket to the 
 left. Gathering wild roses as he went, which 
 he mixed, regardless of color antagonisms, with 
 clumps of golden - rod, he turned towards the 
 plantation cemetery, a stone's-throw beyond.
 
 19G 
 
 "'You is a low-down nigger, Caesar," he said to 
 himself as he walked. "You better bless Gord 
 fur white folks dat kin show you manners. I bet 
 you two bits you can't fin' yo' ole 'oman's grave 
 now, you ornery no-'count nigger, even arter yo' 
 marster done showed you de motions o' manners. 
 I bet you hit's done growed up wid jimsen-weeds 
 an' cockle-burs tell you won't know it. But don't 
 you let on, nigger. Ef you can't fin' it, des' step 
 up manful in de presence o' de dead an' meek per- 
 ten' lak you is foun' it." 
 
 Halting presently beside a weed-grown heap, 
 and laying thereon his floral tribute, he continued, 
 with measured formality : 
 
 "Heah, Calline, ole 'oman, ef you ain't layin' 
 heab, deze few flowers b'longs whar you is, honey. 
 An' good-by so long! Praise Gord, I say. An' 
 Lor-rd, I do pray, keep a eye on dis po' skittish 
 no-'count ole nigger ; an' ef he loose hisse'f f'om 
 You, don't You loss Yo'se'f f'om him, I pray, 
 Lord, 'caze he's a-gittin' ready fur a jump in de 
 dark, an' he dunno which way nur whar he gwine!" 
 
 Turning slowly, he moved sadly homeward, 
 overtaken with emotions that surprised himself. 
 He felt sure the hour of parting with familiar 
 scenes was at hand. During the approaching 
 night a boat was due, descending the river. 
 When it should whistle at the bend five miles 
 above he would watch the colonel's movements, 
 and he was ready to follow. So absorbed was he 
 in reflection that he had proceeded some distance
 
 197 
 
 before he descried in the gathering twilight, just 
 before him against the sky, a dark column of 
 smoke spangled with ascending sparks. 
 
 The boat was at the landing. There had been 
 no announcing bell nor even the customary whis 
 tle. He was being outwitted by a conspiracy. 
 With a single agonized ejaculation he sprang 
 forward, and, clearing outer fence and wood-pile 
 with running leaps, he bounded towards the house. 
 
 "You fool nigger you fool, you you blame 
 ole black fool !" he cried, beating his breast as he 
 went and sobbing aloud. 
 
 A flying tour through the rooms confirmed 
 the truth. The bird had flown. Even the little 
 trunk was gone. 
 
 Out over the gallery, down the steps, across 
 the garden, he ran towards the fiery cloud, scream 
 ing aloud as he went. 
 
 Five minutes later, as the boat pushed out into 
 the stream, the half-dozen men at the wharf fell 
 back in alarm as the figure of a slim black man, 
 emerging from the wood behind them, dashed 
 madly into their midst, and, before they could 
 interfere, had bounded with a single spring across 
 the widening gap. 
 
 A unanimous scream of alarm ashore was 
 echoed by a chorus on board ; but, in a breath, 
 a second shout went up a deafening cheer as 
 the little old man landed on his feet atop a cot 
 ton-bale on the lower deck. 
 
 He was a shabby little hero, and, as the crew
 
 198 
 
 gathered about his tattered figure, he felt need 
 of all the dignity he could command. His first 
 movement was to mop his forehead and fan him 
 self with his brimless hat. 
 
 " What kind o' tug ur flat-boat ur skif t ur what 
 is y'all a-runnin', dat you can't 'ford no whistle 
 ter give a gemman time ter dress 'isse'f ?" he 
 said, finally, surveying his rags with the air of a 
 gentleman surprised en deshabille. 
 
 " Cap'n's orders," was the laconic reply from 
 several voices. 
 
 " What kind o' sort o' cap'n is y'all got so 
 stingy wid 'is steam ? If he'd V sont me word, 
 I'd 'a' g?n 'im a load o' pine, des' ter feed dat one 
 whistle. What does I look lak, ter go ter go " 
 
 " Whar you gwine ?" asked several voices at 
 once. 
 
 Ca3sar suddenly remembered that he did not 
 know. 
 
 "Whar I gwine? I gwine trabblin' dat's 
 whar I gwine. Yer reck'n I'd V stepped 'crost 
 dat gap 'f I was gwine stay home ? But I wants 
 ter know huccome dis heah lorg raft ain't blowed 
 no whistle, an' I means business ! I got de money 
 fur my passage in my waistcoat pocket ; an' I 
 done lef all my trunks an' ban'-boxes, 'count o' 
 yo' deef-an'-dumb nornsense to-night." 
 
 " Look heah, nigger," exclaimed a portly ebony 
 swell standing near : " ef you got any bluflin' an' 
 cussin' ter do, s'pose you step up on deck an' call 
 out de cap'n. We ain't never stopped at yo' little
 
 199 
 
 one-mule settlemint befo', nohow. Cap'n des' run 
 in dar to-night 'count o' ole Colonel Dunbar Tay 
 lor wantin' ter go down ter Noo 'Leans. Whar 
 is you boun' fur, anyhow ?" 
 
 " Who me ? I boun' fur Noo 'Leans dat's 
 whar I boun' fur ; an' I wants ter settle my 
 trav'lin' spenses now, too. I'm a cash man, I is ! 
 Whar's do conductor what c'lects de small change 
 on dis canoe, anyhow ?" 
 
 With a deliberate nonchalant movement he 
 drew from his pocket a heavy roll of greenbacks. 
 
 A change passed over his audience. The iden 
 tical man who a moment ago had resented his 
 bravado now exclaimed : 
 
 "You fellers standin' roun' heah better stop 
 yo' grinnin'. Some day, when you in swimmin', 
 somebody '11 steal yo' clo'es, an' you'll be wuss 
 off 'n dis gemman is. Jes' walk up wid me, mis 
 ter, an' I'll conduc' you ter de desk ter 'posit yo' 
 fare." 
 
 As the old man proceeded up-stairs beside the 
 dazzling personage, who proved to be the steward, 
 it was hard to decide which was the more pom 
 pous of the two ; and when, an hour later, Caesar 
 reappeared with the same escort, it was indeed a 
 question which was the greater swell. 
 
 From a wealth of discarded garments of as 
 sorted conditions, styles, and sizes the legiti 
 mate perquisites of the steward's office Caesar 
 had, through the intervention of a goodly share 
 of his money-roll, become a splendid gentleman
 
 200 
 
 of so many toilet suggestions that the effect was 
 bewilderingly non-committal. 
 
 If the lavender trousers that adorned and some 
 what embarrassed the freedom of his thin legs 
 were coarsened in effect by a gaudy plaid waist 
 coat, both were duly reproved and subdued by a 
 long black coat of clerical pattern, which in its 
 turn was robbed of any undue austerity by a 
 polka-dotted four-in-hand tie and a Derby hat. 
 
 But Caesar was not altogether happy. After 
 he had carefully wrapped and tied his discarded 
 clothing in his plaid kerchief and deposited it be 
 neath the mattress of his bunk, after he had se 
 cretly divided his money into several small rolls 
 which he concealed about his person, after he had 
 sprayed his shirt-front with the magic bulb of the 
 perfume-bottle which his benefactor had thrown 
 in as lagniappe at the end of his trade, he began 
 to feel restless for a sight of his master. 
 
 His intimate relations with the steward made 
 this a comparatively easy matter. It was embar 
 rassed, however, by Caesar's fear of recognition 
 a needless apprehension, as his own mother, meet 
 ing him unexpectedly, would not have recognized 
 him. 
 
 It was not until late at night that he ventured, 
 standing in the darkness outside the door of the 
 gentlemen's cabin, to peep timorously within. 
 The sight that greeted him here filled his old 
 heart with honest pride. The lordly colonel, a veri 
 table grandee in appearance, was the centre of a
 
 201 
 
 listening circle, while an ofttold tale was renew 
 ing its youth under the combined stimulus of re 
 covered opportunity and the departed contents 
 of sundry conspicuous glasses upon the table 
 round which the company were gathered, whereon 
 also a moving pack of cards and a heap of coins 
 added their suggestions of sport and peril to dis 
 cerning eyes. 
 
 But Caesar, standing in the shadow, saw only 
 that his master was a happy lordling, unembar 
 rassed by all the gorgeousness of gilding and up 
 holstery that was dazzling his own bewildered 
 eyes. 
 
 Drawing the heavy folds of the portiere about 
 him to conceal himself more fully, he sat down 
 to feast his eyes on the sight. 
 
 " Umph !" he exclaimed, mentally. " De Tay 
 lors nachelly fits in granjer. Des' look at 'im ! 
 Lis'n, chillen : he tellin' 'bout how he fooled do 
 conscrip' gyards. Wonder ef he tol' 'em yit 
 'bout de Georgy major. No, heah it come now 
 wid a new cuss-word ev'y time he tell it." 
 
 Cesar's pleasure in the scene was great, but 
 the folds of the curtain were soft and warm 
 against his back ; it was growing late ; the ex 
 citement of the day was telling upon him. Look 
 ing in upon them, he beheld the figures with les 
 sening distinctness, until they seemed afar off at 
 the end of a lengthening vista. The voices grew 
 indistinct. His head bobbed. He was asleep 
 asleep suddenly, profoundly, as only old people
 
 202 
 
 and little children drop instantaneously into the 
 downy regions of rest. 
 
 For several hours the old man had slept, unob 
 served, that sweet, deep sleep of the two child 
 hoods, when suddenly he heard in thunder-tones 
 his own name : 
 
 " Caesar !" 
 
 He was on his feet in a moment, and the next 
 found him in the centre of the gay saloon, shout 
 ing in a high-noted voice of command : 
 
 "Teck yo' han's off dat gemman, I say! Leave 
 go, I tell yer ! Who say it's yo' money ? How 
 dast you lay yo' good-fur-nothin' pink fingers on 
 dis gemman ? Han's off, I tell you, 'fo' I fo'gits 
 myse'f ! You heah me talkin' ? Hoi' up, Marse 
 Taylor ! Stiddy yo'se'f on me ! Gimme de mon 
 ey !" 
 
 At this the intoxicated old colonel, holding the 
 disputed possession aloft in his clinched hands, 
 turned upon the negro. 
 
 "Who are you, you impertinent black pea 
 cock ?" he cried, livid with rage. " One of the 
 gang, in your checkered livery one of their 
 blasted confederates ! Out with him ! Hold ! 
 Help !" 
 
 Overpowered at last by two agile little men, 
 who, scaling his tall figure as a ladder, seized the 
 treasure, he fell to the floor with a despairing 
 cry : 
 
 "Murder! Thieves! My God ! Where's 
 where's Caes-ur-a ? Caesar !"
 
 Caesar was, for the moment, non est, but now 
 returning, breathless, he cried : 
 
 " Heah me, marster ! I done flung dat blue- 
 breeches one over de banisters. Whar's de yethers? 
 Gorn, is dey ? But I'll ketch up wid 'em yit. 
 Open yo' mouf, Marse Taylor, an' drink dis." 
 
 The old gentleman opened his eyes for a sec 
 ond only, and, shrinking visibly, cried in terror : 
 
 "Hands off, you rascally black confederate 
 you black 
 
 Caesar began to cry. 
 
 " Yas, I is Confedrit, marster. We all is. You 
 know we is. Ain't I fit wid you all indu'in' de 
 wah? Open yo' eyes, marster, an' look ag'in !" 
 
 But he did not look again. His tongue was 
 heavy as he said : 
 
 " Here, sir ! I hear him. Come here, Caesar, you 
 old fel-fl-fellow, and take off this rasc'ly " 
 
 He began to snore. 
 
 Seeing him sleeping, Caesar seized a pillow from 
 the divan, and, slipping it under his head, peered 
 cautiously about the apartment. The gentlemen 
 of the game were nowhere visible, but in the 
 doorway, his face in a broad grin, stood his friend 
 the steward. 
 
 " Seem lak de ole sport got de wust of it, ain't 
 he ?" was his ill-timed and irreverent greeting. 
 
 "Ole what?" Caesar moved towards him with 
 clinched fist. 
 
 " I say, seem lak de ole gernman got de wust o' 
 de game," he repeated.
 
 204 
 
 " Look heah, nigger ! I'll have you know dis 
 here game ain't but des' started. De colonel's 
 des' teckin' a res', an' I'm gwine leave 'im fur a 
 minute whits' I tends ter a little business." 
 
 "Yas, you better go an' let gemmen's fusses 
 alone. Dat's my legal advice ter you. Dey was 
 a yo'ng man th'owed over the gyards des' now, on 
 dis boat ; an' ef dey ketch you meddlin' up heah, 
 dey li'ble ter treat you lakwise." 
 
 " Dey is, is dey ? Mh - hm ! You see, I hap 
 pens ter know de gemman what th'owed dat yo'ng 
 man over de railin'. He's des' teckin' a nap yon 
 der on de flo' res'in' 'isse'f ; an' ef you'll des' 
 set down an' bresh de muskitties off'n 'im tell I 
 come back, hit'll be wuth a couple o' dimes ter 
 you." 
 
 If the steward took his pay in the dollars which 
 he found scattered around the floor, instead of in 
 dimes as agreed, Caesar was none the wiser. 
 
 When presently the little old man returned, he 
 was clad again in all his plantation rags, even to 
 the faded kerchief about his neck. Forgetful of 
 the steward, he knelt at his master's side. 
 
 " Heah's Caesar, Marse Taylor," he said, touch 
 ing his shoulder. " Week up, marster, an' look. 
 Come, let Caesar he'p you ter bed." 
 
 Caesar could not rouse him, however ; and it 
 was only when, with the steward's aid, he had 
 lifted him up, that he opened his heavy eyes, and, 
 with quivering lips, cried : 
 
 "Wh-why, Caesar! Why didn't you come
 
 205 
 
 before ? I needed needed you, you black black 
 rascal, you " 
 
 Caesar had 119 voice left ; but by prompt ac 
 tion, now no longer resisted, the two men had 
 soon gotten the old gentleman on his feet and 
 virtually carried him to his state-room. 
 
 The colonel had lost nothing of his prestige 
 in the steward's regard because of the present 
 incident. Such were the ways of many pop 
 ular "big men" such the ups and downs of 
 many gentlemen of his ken who travelled the 
 river. Nor had Caesar lost, but rather gained in 
 importance by establishing his connection with 
 Colonel Dunbar Taylor, even though he had 
 donned, his honors on his knees in a livery of 
 rags. 
 
 On the day ensuing, when by his negative con 
 sent and feeble recognition Caesar was duly in 
 stalled as the colonel's body-servant with upper- 
 cabin privileges, an improved toilet became ob 
 viously imperative. Although unwitnessed, it 
 was a pathetic spectacle when he proceeded by 
 slow stages, watching the effect of each garment 
 in turn, to rearray himself. 
 
 The old gentleman kept his berth during the 
 rest of the trip ; and when Caesar felt the shiver 
 of the boat, as she seemed to steady herself pre 
 paratory to landing, he was seized with an inter 
 nal panic. Bills had come in for the colonel's 
 passage and for wine and cigars on that fateful 
 night bills which by a little strategy he had
 
 206 
 
 settled in his master's name, with fabricated mes 
 sages of regret at the delay ; and the finances of 
 the firm were very low. 
 
 The silent partner in the firm the unrecog 
 nized contributor of both the money and the ex 
 perience as he trod the gang-plank with his 
 master's arm, beset by doubt, ignorance, fear, not 
 knowing which way to turn, walked yet with the 
 resolute step of one with a fixed resolve. This 
 resolve was, in the unexpressed phraseology of 
 his heart, to " keep his eyes skinned an' look out 
 four ole marster." 
 
 His only hope lay in following the crowd. As 
 they threaded their way through the throng upon 
 the levee, the old man, with more fervor than was 
 his wont, muttered a prayer like unto this : 
 
 " O Lor-rd, four Gord sake, lead deze two po' 
 ole pilgums an' show 'em whar ter go " 
 
 "What do you say, Cassar?" asked his com 
 panion. 
 
 " Who me ? I des' hummin' a chune, Marse 
 Taylor." 
 
 "And you are going to the St. Charles Hotel, 
 as I ordered ?" 
 
 " Yassir, co'se I is. Hit's down dis way a little 
 piece." Then mentally, "An' oh, my Gord, for 
 give me four lyin,' 'caze you know my money 
 wouldn't hoi' out a week at no S'in' Charles Hotel. 
 You know it wouldn't, Gord, Yo'se'f an' ole 
 marster callin' fur champagne all de time. You 
 know his haid ain't nuver come straight fur two
 
 207 
 
 days, an' I bleeged ter lie to-night, Gord, an' don't 
 You charge me wid it." 
 
 In this fashion, formulating every thought as a 
 prayer, he stumbled blindly on. It was dark, and 
 the city lights were lit. They had proceeded a 
 half-dozen squares, perhaps, when something hap 
 pened. A man walking ahead stopped and read 
 a sign upon a door. 
 
 " Furnished rooms to rent," were the charmed 
 words Cassar heard. 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation, he mounted 
 the narrow steps jutting out over the banquette 
 and raised the iron knocker. The colonel's pro 
 test was disregarded. 
 
 " Set down on de step a minute, marster, tell I 
 go in an' 'quire de way," he said, with a finality 
 of tone not to be opposed. 
 
 A moment's conference with the copper-colored 
 landlady within long enough, nevertheless, for 
 the prepayment of a week's rent resulted in her 
 returning with Caesar to assure monsieur : 
 
 " Oh yas, 'tis de Sen' Charle' Hotel, yas, of 
 co'se de side do'. De gentleman's room is all 
 prepare. Egscuse me, monsieur, if I assis' you. 
 Doze step is so very much slippy." 
 
 And so, before he could frame a protest, the 
 old colonel felt himself lifted firmly and gently 
 up and assisted into the "side door of the St. 
 Charles Hotel." 
 
 If the low portal of this modest house of 
 Chambres Garnies fell short of his memory-picture
 
 208 
 
 of the brilliant rotunda of the St. Charles Hotel, 
 where in years past he had always been greeted 
 by a convivial welcoming crowd, the discrepancy 
 was soon forgotten in the presence of immediate 
 comfort. 
 
 Though among the less prosperous of her class, 
 Ma'm Zulime was an artist to a degree, and she 
 knew her people. The gentleman with a body- 
 servant, able to prepay, was instantly recognized 
 and taken in. 
 
 From its interior, the apartment in which our 
 friends found themselves might have been a mod 
 est chamber in any fairly appointed provincial 
 hotel. Here were velvet carpets and upholstery 
 faded, it is true gas-lights, a pitcher of ice- 
 water presented with a tap at the door yes, 
 surely, after all, it was the St. Charles Hotel. 
 
 This thought one minute, forgetf ulness the next, 
 now realization of a want a toddy, less light 
 or more, a cigar, a third pillow, another blanket 
 over his feet a dim sense of confusion, then a 
 snore. 
 
 Caesar, sitting alone beside the bed, breathed 
 a sigh, half relief, half of apprehension, at the 
 sound. The snoring, mingled with the roar of 
 the city without, seemed a resumption of the 
 stentorian breathing of the boat. 
 
 He knew intuitively that his master's condition 
 was serious. He had seen him prostrate from 
 over-much wine, at rare intervals, in years past ; 
 but the symptoms were more fleeting and differ-
 
 209 
 
 ent. He felt very lonely, and his little lavender- 
 clad legs ached. The situation was really too 
 tragic to contemplate seriously. 
 
 Rising from his seat, he crossed the room, and, 
 approaching an old mirror opposite, regarded him 
 self, chuckling : 
 
 " Well, Caesar, ole gemman, look lak you in a 
 tight place, ef you is got on good clo'es. You 
 better be dressed up, you ole plantation moke, 
 you, ter match dat roa'in' granjer outside. Des' 
 lis'n ! Z-z-z-z ! R-r-r-r ! Gol' granjer rollin' on 
 silver wheels ! ' Silks a-swishin' ! Corks a-pop- 
 pin' ! Bells an' toot-horns an' whistles all th'owed 
 in together ! Des' lis'n at de city ! Lis'n what 
 it say, ole man ! ' Z-z-z ! I know you ! You's a 
 country nigger ! Can't fool me, if you is got on 
 secon'-han' finery ! Z-z-z ! Ef yer want ter keep 
 up wid me, yer better walk fas', ole man !' Dat 
 what it say, an' you better read yo' lesson right 
 ter-night, Caesar ! Tune yo'se'f up ter de city 
 music, an' don't forgit you's a Taylor nigger, an' 
 a Dunbar - Taylor nigger at dat. How much 
 money you got lef , anyhow, Caesar ?" 
 
 Sitting flat upon the floor before the glass, he 
 soon produced from various hiding places about 
 his person a half-dozen rolls of bills, which he pro 
 ceeded to count. 
 
 " Well," he exclaimed, finally, " hit mought be 
 better ; an' den ag'in, it mought be wus." 
 
 Soliloquizing in this fashion, he sat here until 
 finally, growing drowsy, he threw himself back- 
 
 14
 
 210 
 
 ward upon the cot provided for him, and fell 
 asleep. 
 
 His first days in the strange city were times of 
 sore trial. The old colonel grew mentally worse 
 rather than better ; but it was not until a week 
 had passed that Caesar made the startling dis 
 covery that his feet were dead to sensation and 
 he could not stand. 
 
 Though choking with emotion, the old man's 
 exclamation was one of thanksgiving at the reve 
 lation. 
 
 " Praise Gord, I say, fur turnin' de key on 'is 
 foots tell He onlock 'is haid. Praise Gord, I 
 say !" were his words, uttered with a sob. 
 
 The old man's constant dread had been lest his 
 charge, difficult and unreasonable enough as things 
 were, should some day sally forth on a tour of 
 investigation. It was enough that he daily swore 
 against the new management of the St. Charles 
 Hotel, and demanded delicacies difficult and often 
 impossible to procure. 
 
 Caesar had soon won his way into the modest 
 kitchen of Ma'm Zulime, who was pleased to yield 
 a corner of her stove to the artist who could fabri 
 cate so many epicurean delicacies. And Caesar 
 was so funny, so droll, so entertaining ! In the 
 evenings, when the colonel went to sleep early, 
 he would sit on the floor beside her and relate 
 most marvellous stories of the magnificence of his 
 plantation home. His tales were like those of the 
 "Arabian Nights," not only in gorgeousness of
 
 211 
 
 coloring, but in each night's recital excelling the 
 preceding in grandeur. 
 
 It was needful that he should have some relief 
 for the panic that raged within him; and since he 
 could not vent it in kind, he continued consistent 
 ly to translate it into a note of bravado. The 
 lower the market - money dwindled, the funnier 
 grew his jokes, the more extravagant his stories. 
 
 The day he changed his last twenty-dollar bill 
 at a game-stall, he was so facetious over the trans 
 action that the market-folk were in a roar of laugh 
 ter when he left them; and as he crossed the street 
 he stepped rhythmically into a dancing measure 
 while he sang the plantation medley beginning : 
 
 "My white folks is rich as a cup o' cream. 
 
 Come along. Miss Nancy ! 
 Dey money flows out in a silver stream. 
 
 Come along, Miss Nancy ! 
 Dey'll give us all a dance ev'y Sa'ddy night, 
 An' a boat on the river when de moon is bright, 
 An' you won't know de diffunce but what you's white. 
 
 Come along, Miss Nancy ! 
 
 This was followed by a shout of applause, amid 
 which a man from the saloon at the corner threw 
 the performer a nickel. 
 
 Quick as a flash he picked it up and dropped it 
 into his hat, which forthwith he proceeded to pass 
 round, singing as he went : 
 
 "Oh, Nancy Ann is hard to beat. 
 Come along, Miss Nancy !
 
 212 
 
 Shuffle right along an' twis' yo' feet. 
 
 Come along, Miss Nancy ! 
 She wears number 'leven, but it fits her neat, 
 An' her mouf is a rose, an' her lips is sweet 
 As de sugar-cane juice when it turns to cuite. 
 
 Come along, Miss Nancy !" 
 
 The chorus which follows, rendered in a voice 
 altered to suit the changed jig movement and end 
 ing with a high kick, was no mean performance. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Nancy, 
 You's my fancy. 
 You is de neates' 
 An' de fleetes' 
 
 An' de sweetes' 
 Gal in town." 
 
 At its close several volunteered coins were 
 thrown towards him ; and when the old man 
 finally clapped the hat, contents and all, upon 
 his head, and with a bow turned homeward, there 
 was a new idea within his woolly pate that sent 
 a fresh spring into his gait a bona-fide impulse 
 of hope untainted by bravado. 
 
 The five coins earned in as many minutes by 
 drawing upon an inexhaustible fund of planta 
 tion-lore were answering the momentous question 
 of the immediate future. If city white folk would 
 pay for such as this, they should have all they 
 wanted. 
 
 His eagerness for the experiment could not pos 
 sess itself in patience till the morrow; and on this
 
 213 
 
 same evening, as soon as his charge was asleep, 
 he slipped noiselessly away and was soon prancing 
 up and down, singing at the top of his voice be 
 fore a gay saloon, now coquetting in interpreta 
 tion of a love-ditty, now grotesquely hopping up 
 and down as he sang : 
 
 "Ole Mister Frog ain't much ter sing, 
 But he cl'ars a log wid a single spring." 
 
 The morning's earnings were soon more than 
 doubled, and when Caesar crept on tiptoe into the 
 room that night he was so exhilarated that sleep 
 was impossible. No prospective millionaire after 
 an initial success in Wall Street was ever more 
 inflated than he. 
 
 The old colonel was sleeping heavily when he 
 entered. Turning up the gas, the negro stood 
 beside him a moment, studying his face. 
 
 " I got good news fur we all, marster," he said, 
 audibly, yet secure in the knowledge that no or 
 dinary voice would penetrate that heavy slumber. 
 " Yo' ole nigger done struck riches. Look heah!" 
 He took from his hat a handful of nickels. " Deze 
 heah same ole songs I used ter sing fur you on de 
 levee done reached Heaven an' pierced de golden 
 streets ter let down de golden showers. I ain't 
 gwine fool you no mo' now, marster, wid no 
 cheap cat-fish fur red -snapper no, I ain't ; an' 
 dat ole bare porter-house steak bone what I done 
 cooked up wid roun' cuts so long ter lay on yo' 
 plate, I gwine th'ow it away now, yer heah?
 
 214 
 
 Gwine see ef we can't work up de style o' dis 
 here S'in' Charles Hotel table dat I is ! Po' ole 
 marster ! Des' look at 'im. Ev'ything 'bout 'im 
 layin' dar des' as nacbel but 'cep* 'isse'f. Look 
 lak whiles Gord was a-teckin', he mought des' as 
 well 'a' tooken his appertite. 'Tis a hard case, 
 Lord, ter teck a man's sense an' jedgmint an' 
 money, an' leave 'im a wide-awake appertite. 
 But nemmine ; I'm glad I -done moved 'im back 
 heah in dis cheap room, anyhow. Hit's des' as 
 good an' two bottles o' champagne a month better. 
 Dem's des de figgers. Po' ole marster ! Doctor 
 seh he ain't gwine come ter 'isse'f no mo', an' I's 
 glad of it. Hisse'f done got too fur down ter 
 come back ter, dat's a fac'. An' ef he was ter 
 come ter 'isse'f, de fus' thing he'd do 'd be ter 
 discharge me fur lyin' an' I'd deserve it, too : 
 but how'd he git along? I could loosen up 'is 
 laigs wid mullein leaves b'iled down in lard an' 
 rubbed in onder 'is knees good. I could do it, 
 don't keer what de doctor say ; but I ain't gwine 
 do it, less'n 'is haid come straight. Gord knowed 
 His business when He turned de lock on bofe de 
 same day. Yas, You is, Lord. 
 
 Ter-morrer I gwine put on my ole plantation 
 clo'es an' go out an' .dance a break -down fur 
 'em. Deze heah blue breeches, I'm tired of 
 'em, anyway. Dey bags at de knees tur'ble. 
 I'd a heap ruther have pants bag all over 'n 
 bag at de knees. Hit gives a pusson a ongodly 
 figgur dat it do. Well, Cresar, you's done good
 
 215 
 
 work to-day, an' I pats you on de haid ; but you 
 better hush talkin' now, ole man, an' go ter baid 
 dat what you better, so good-night." 
 
 Parting with himself thus, he lowered the gas, 
 and, with slight preparation, was soon asleep. 
 
 If in the portrayal of Caesar's character that of 
 old Colonel Dunbar seems but a misty outline, it 
 is only because his erst active and interesting per 
 sonality was already passing into the shadows 
 which yet envelop him when first we beheld him 
 in the dim moonlight by the river. It would be 
 an unfriendly hand that, pursuing him through 
 all the abnormal developments of gathering ad 
 versities, would vividly portray him in the depths 
 of his humiliation. For every encounter with his 
 present unreasonableness, irritability, or selfish 
 ness, Caesar cherished a hundred tender memories 
 of the past. 
 
 With varying success the old negro pursued his 
 new calling, and in the course of several months 
 
 O<* 
 
 had become quite a local celebrity as street-singer 
 about the French market; and it is freely said 
 since, by those who knew the circumstances, that 
 more than one tempting offer came to him during 
 this period to appear before the foot-lights ; but 
 he always declined, saying his master was rich 
 he didn't need money. 
 
 "I des' tecks de small change dee gimme," he 
 would add, " 'caze I so 'stravagant. I laks ciggars 
 an' champagne. Boss won't gimme much cham 
 pagne ; 'feerd I'll git de gout, lak he got. An' I
 
 216 
 
 laks fine onderclo'es, too des' look;" and, rolling 
 up his sleeve, he would display a silken under-, 
 sleeve, old finery of the colonel's, protesting : " I 
 des' wears deze outside plantation-cloe's fur style, 
 dat's all. Dat's de style o 1 gemman I is -planta- 
 tion-riz f om de grouti up!" 
 
 During this period, the life-long attachment be 
 tween these two old men, intensified on one side 
 by utter dependence, and on the other by the 
 very nature and constancy of his ministrations, 
 was strengthening, insensibly to both, into a tie 
 that can be likened unto nothing less than the love 
 between mother and child. 
 
 Csesar did not even realize that he had grown 
 to address his old master in " baby-talk " now 
 adays, nor that, when he would approach his 
 bedside, tray in hand, the eager eyes of his charge 
 would fill with tears as he laughed nervously, 
 even as a babe with tear -brimmed eyes crows 
 aloud as his mother approaches the cradle. 
 
 " Deze heah mush-a-roons is solid money," he 
 would say. " You chew 'em good wid yo' gol' 
 toof, honey," and, turning away, he would add : 
 " I wouldn't sell out dat gol' toof fur nothin'. 
 Hit has ter stan' fur all de 'fo'-de-wah granjer, 
 dat gol' toof do." 
 
 So their lives drifted for a brief period only. 
 
 One day, when Casar approached the bed with 
 steaming tray, the shining tooth of gold between 
 the parted lips was his only greeting. A second 
 stroke, noiseless and mysterious as the first that
 
 217 
 
 had clipped life's cord to the point of unravelling, 
 had now cut it in twain. 
 
 An accidental intrusion at the moment of the 
 discovery moved even Ma'm Zulime to close the 
 door softly and go away sobbing ; and that night, 
 as she stood at the fence, talking to her neigh 
 bor, she declared : 
 
 " Me, I never see somet'ing lique dat. For two 
 hours dat ole nigger ees cryne sem lique a mud- 
 der loss a chile. An' de breakfas' he ees prepare, 
 he ees just set it outside, so ; an' me, I haf to eat 
 it myself fine chevrette all pack in mash ice, an' 
 poach egg on toas', an' chop an' coffee haf to eat 
 it all myself or give it to de flies. So now I haf 
 to change tenant again. Well, 'tis a hard worl'. 
 Was a good tenant, an' I'm goin' charge for de 
 full munt' ; biccause a de't', dat injure yo' house, 
 yas. Well, hany'ow, de ole nigger, he's got 'im 
 lay out nice. He's lay out Protes'ant, dough 
 no candle, no nutting, po' man. Well, God is 
 good ; maybe He take 'im so. He is nutting to 
 me, but God forgive me if I done wrong I chris 
 ten } im las' week, w'ile 'e was sleepin'. I seen 
 de't' on 'im. Well, I ain't got much, but t'ank 
 God I know my rilligion ; an' if I didn', I blief 
 some good Cat'lic '11 do dat much for me w'en I 
 was dyin'. De ole man, he's gone out now. Blief 
 maybe ees gone for license for buryin'. Well, 
 Ma'm Jacques, w'en you know somebody need a 
 room, I put dat one down cheap de first munt', 
 till I run de ghos' out."
 
 218 
 
 While M'm Zulime gossipped with her neigh 
 bor, Caesar, in his shabby plantation -rags, was 
 making his way towards the saloon near the mar 
 ket. After first outburst of grief, during which, 
 sobbing aloud, he had fallen upon his knees, lain 
 upon the floor, hugged his master's feet, and cried 
 to Heaven for mercy, the old man had wiped his 
 face and proceeded to perform the last sad duties 
 to the dead. 
 
 When he had lovingly arranged the body for 
 burial he covered the face with a square of mos 
 quito-netting purloined from the back of the bed- 
 drapery, and, locking the door, started out to 
 make arrangements for the home journey ; for 
 he would lay his master among his kindred in 
 the old Taylor graveyard. 
 
 He had tried to anticipate this crisis, but some 
 how he had failed. Even after depositing the 
 colonel's watch at a certain mont de pi'ete at the 
 corner, in exchange for sixty dollars and a re 
 demption-ticket, the augmented sum in hand 
 proved inadequate to death's demands. 
 
 He had easily arranged to work his own pas 
 sage up the riverj but a coffined passenger must 
 pay full fare. The second-hand furniture-dealer 
 would carry the casket to the boat for half the 
 cost of an undertaker's wagon, but since they 
 were going home where familiar friends would 
 meet them, a handsome burial-case was impera 
 tive. He would gladly have borne it on his shoul 
 der to the boat, among strangers in New Orleans,
 
 219 
 
 had it been possible thereby to add a bit of tin 
 sel to its decoration. 
 
 For a month past two rival saloon-keepers had 
 been offering Caesar tempting sums to sing ex 
 clusively at their doors, but he had preferred the 
 fun of carrying the crowd with him. 
 
 But to-night he would capitulate. Wiping his 
 eyes and tipping back his hat as he stepped into 
 its blaze of light, he entered the first saloon. A 
 welcoming exclamation greeted him ; but step 
 ping up to the bar and displaying a roll of money, 
 he quietly called for a schooner of beer. 
 
 He had counted on the crowd that soon sur 
 rounded him, and, as he calmly emptied his glass, 
 he remarked : 
 
 " Well, it's Sunday, an' I ain't nuver is danced 
 on Sunday yit ; but I got' sech a dancin'-fit on 
 me ter-night, I gwine ter Tony's coffee-house, 
 whar de nickels is thick, an' I'm gwine dance dis 
 fit off, ef it tecks me all night." 
 
 Kicking his feet impatiently as he went, he 
 started out, when, as he intended he should do, 
 the proprietor called him back. In a few mo 
 ments he had been persuaded to accept prepay 
 ment in cash, to sing every evening of a week 
 following exclusively at this corner the arrange 
 ment not to interfere with the usual collections, 
 and the performance to begin to-night. 
 
 As he folded the few bills in with the others 
 and involuntarily measured the roll against the 
 home needs, he began to feel that singing would
 
 220 
 
 come hard to-night. Still, he did not hesitate 
 beyond a lordly demand for another drink, when, 
 with a bow, he faced the company. 
 
 It was only when some one said, " Sing ' All 
 alone on the shore to-night,'" one of his most 
 popular performances, that for a moment he felt 
 in danger of utter failure. A sudden convulsive 
 sob surprised him before he could master him 
 self ; but, quickly pulling his hat down over his 
 eyes and reaching in his pocket for his " bones," 
 he struck out into a dance, saying to himself as 
 he went : " Hush, you ole fool, you dance ! 
 Dance, I say, Caesar, dance ! Up wid yo' foots ! 
 Kick de air !" 
 
 He never did the corn -shucking break -down 
 better ; and when it was finished he volunteered 
 and with a steady voice sang " I'm all alone on 
 the shore to-night" with such tenderness that 
 several old men, listening, wiped their eyes and 
 turned away. 
 
 Having fulfilled his engagement here with un 
 usual profit, Caesar turned ostensibly homeward, 
 only to proceed by a circuitous route to the 
 rival saloon, where he unblushingly entered into 
 a similar contract, to take effect on the mor 
 row. 
 
 It may seem strange that these two men should 
 have trusted him to this extent ; but the manifest 
 advantage of commanding him, should he come 
 into the neighborhood, made it worth the risk, 
 which indeed seemed small, in face of the well-
 
 221 
 
 feigned reluctance with which the money was 
 accepted. 
 
 It was late now, but yet Caesar made another 
 detour to-night, a journey involving no little per 
 plexity. 
 
 The deaths in the Taylor family had, time im 
 memorial, been matters of honorable announce 
 ment in the local papers ; and the family record 
 in the old Bible in the colonel's trunk held print 
 ed tributes opposite each sad entry during a pe 
 riod of more than half a century. When Caesar 
 should carry the old Book to the minister at home, 
 to have the last name registered upon its tablet, 
 he would not be without the printed accompani 
 ment to paste against it. 
 
 At no point were his ignorance and sagacity, 
 his loyalty and unscrupulousness, his pride and 
 poverty, more pathetically displayed than in this 
 visit to the newspaper office. After much parley 
 ing, however, he declared himself satisfied with 
 the notice, which should pay a concise tribute to 
 the families of Taylor and Dunbar, flatteringly 
 note the colonel's rank as a Confederate officer, 
 and close by cordially inviting friends to the 
 funeral, from the family city residence, on the 
 morrow at five o'clock. 
 
 True, by this hour Caesar would be steaming 
 up the river, with a copy of the paper folded in 
 his pocket ; but so much the better. When the 
 implied funeral cortege should fail to materialize, 
 even though there should be no interested wit-
 
 222 
 
 nesses, he would be glad to be out of the way. 
 He would prefer, too, to be unembarrassed by 
 any facts in the account he should give at home 
 of the funeral procession. 
 
 After breakfast the next morning, Ma'm Zu- 
 lime donned her best black gown, in simple re 
 spect to the presence of death beneath her roof ; 
 and though its dread embodiment lay in a back 
 upper chamber, she walked softly about the 
 house, and started at every sudden noise. So, 
 when upon the abrupt stopping of wheels before 
 her door there followed the clang of its iron 
 knocker, she called the names of a half-dozen at 
 tributes of divinity in a breath, and with con 
 sciously beating heart opened the door. 
 
 Somehow, although 'her mysterious tenant had 
 never had a visitor, she was not surprised when 
 the foremost of the three well-dressed men who 
 stood without pronounced the name of Colonel 
 Duubar Taylor. 
 
 It was nearly dark in the evening when Ma'm 
 Zulime stood again talking with Ma'm Jacques 
 at the back fence. 
 
 "Tell de troot, Ma'm Jacques," she was say 
 ing, "'twas jes' good-luck dey di'n 'ketched me 
 wid nutting but my camisole. 'Twas hot to-day, 
 yas, fo' dat alapaca dress ; but I say to myself, 
 <Po' man, I'll do dat much fo' heem, hany'ow 
 put a black dress till dey carry eeni out I do dat 
 fo' whatever rillation he ain't got ; he had, any- 
 'ow, once, a mudder so, w'en fo' nobody else, I
 
 223 
 
 do it fo' her.' So, like I tell you, I hadn' no mo'n 
 jes' hook de las' heye on my belt, w'en I lis'n 
 de w'eel stop, an' I look hout an' see t'ree fine 
 gen'lemans read somet'ing in de paper an' look de 
 nombre to my 'ouse. Who you t'ink ees put dat 
 de't'- notice in de paper, Ma'm Jacques ? I ax de 
 ol' nigger, an' he tell he know nutting 'bout it 
 he say some o' doze gen'ral an' capt'in wa't fight 
 in de war wid eem, maybe dey hear it an' pay 
 it in. Well, maybe 'tis true, biccause doze was 
 sure fo' fine carri'geful o' gen'lemans wa't come 
 at de funeral. 
 
 " Well, w'en doze t'ree gen'lemans ees come in 
 an' set down, an' I tole dat de ol' colonel an' de 
 nigger is live in my back yard since six munt', 
 dey was 'stonish, yas, an' dey question me close 
 till I tell all since de foginnin'. Wile we talk 
 so, de ol' nigger he's come in, an' maybe you t'ink 
 it's a lie I'm tellin' you, Ma'm Jacques, but God 
 can strike me dead if two o' doze fash'nible mans, 
 w'en dey see de ol' nigger, dey begin to cry an' 
 talk nutting but war-time. So much was true, 
 hany'ow, dat de ol' nigger always tell me 'ow he 
 was fight in de war. Well, m'am, terreckly all 
 de four ees gone up-stairs an' talk, talk, talk wid 
 de ol' man ; an' w'en dey go hout, de ol' nigger 
 ees gone too, an' bimeby he ees come back, dressed 
 everything new hat, shoes, all an' ees got a goP 
 watch, too ; an' me, I blief mais, I am not sure, 
 but I blief 'twas de watch of de colonel. 
 
 " Well, Ma'm Jacques, since doze strange mans
 
 224 
 
 ees come, everyt'ing ees change ; even de coffin 
 w'ere ee was layin' ees sen' back, an' dey put eem 
 again in wan fine wan wid all silver handle, an' 
 yo'self ees see de fine corbillard wid doze high 
 pompon w'at ees come carry eem at de boat. 
 Wen I was so big, dey had halways doze big 
 pompon on all de fine char funetre. Now dey 
 come back again. Well, dey got fashion f o' every 
 t'ing. I blief, w'en I get to heaven if I'm dat 
 lucky I'll fin' some fashion, too, honly every 
 body can follow : not like here some got no 
 chance. 
 
 " Well, I'll miss dat ol' nigger, yas. Since de 
 t'ird day he come I ain't never make no fire, 
 needer bring a bucket o' water. Dat ol' man, he's 
 got a black skin, 'tis true ; but his insides ees 
 w'ite, you take my word. Well, you see me so, 
 Ma'm Jacques, I hate to go in de 'ouse to-night. 
 Fo' w'at you can't come an' set down wid me till 
 ees time fo' make de gas ? Come, an' hany'ow I'll 
 ope a couple o' ginger-pop. "Pis warm, yas ; I 
 blief it mdke rain to-morrow." 
 
 Ma'm Zulime had spoken the truth when she 
 said that since the arrival of the three gentlemen 
 everything had been changed. 
 
 When they had met the old negro beside his 
 master's body in the upper gallery chamber of 
 death there had been little left for him to tell ; 
 for if M'am Zulime had told half the pitiful story, 
 the other half was written all about the cheap 
 appointments of the mean little apartment above.
 
 225 
 
 To "change everything," to send an old com 
 rade honorably and decently home to his last rest, 
 and his faithful friend and servant proud and re 
 joicing on his melancholy journey, was the easy 
 result of a moment's whispered conference. 
 
 The home funeral, prearranged by telegraph, 
 was all that Csesar's fondest ambition could have 
 desired ; and as his withered little figure turned 
 away from the covered grave, lonely and heart- 
 sore though he was, he trod the earth with head 
 erect, in full consciousness of the dignity that had 
 descended to him as " de las' one o' de Dunbar- 
 Taylor a'stokercy lef ter tell de tale." 
 
 Such, indeed, were his exact words, as, sur 
 rounded by a gaping circle of his plantation com 
 rades, he told over and over again the marvellous 
 tale of his master's social triumphs in- the great 
 city. 
 
 " Why, sir," he would say, " you - all on dis 
 plantation ain't nuver rightly knowed who Marse 
 Dunbar Taylor was. Why, I kin go myself down 
 yonder ter Noo 'Leans to-morrer, an' kin draw my 
 five dollars a day dey lookin' fur me now ter fill 
 a ingagement in two big houses 
 
 "Five dollars a day ter do what sort o' work?" 
 asks an old man near, with doubtful credulity. 
 
 " Work ! Who you talkin' ter, nigger? I ain't 
 done a stroke o' work sence I struck de city. 
 Look at my han's sof as a baby's. Wages ter 
 walk up an' down an' talk an' sing an' spit, ef I 
 feel lak it dat what dey'd pay me wages fur. I 
 
 15
 
 226 
 
 seen de day I been doin' dat-a-way, walkin' up an' 
 down, singin', wid my ban's in my pockets, an' 
 dey'd th'ow money at me in de streets " 
 
 " Umh ! Shet yo' mouf , Caesar. What 'd dey 
 tb'ow money at you fur ?" 
 
 " Caze dey knowed I b'longed ter ol' Colonel 
 Dunbar Taylor, an' live wid him in de big stone 
 house whar de two big iron dogs stan' fo' de do', 
 an' de fountains play in de gyard'n an' dey 
 knowed I useter wait on de table when all de 
 guvners an' mayors useter teck champagne din 
 ner wid we-all, while de brass ban' played 'fo' de 
 do' ; dat what dey th'owed money at me fur 
 fur cormplimint ter Colonel Dunbar Taylor ! Yer 
 don't reck'n dey th'owed it at me 'count o' my ole 
 swivelled-up black face, is yer ? Ef any o' y'-all 
 is ca'culatin' ter teck yo' black faces ter de city 
 fur targets fur 'em ter th'ow money at, I 'vize you 
 ter stay home dat I does."
 
 AUNT DELPHI'S DILEMMA
 
 AUNT DELPHI'S DILEMMA 
 B plantation UnctDent 
 
 OLD "Aunt Delphi," a superannuated crone of 
 two hundred avoirdupois or thereabouts, was a 
 privileged character on Honeyfield plantation. 
 
 A pensioner upon the bounty of her former 
 owners, she had not an earthly responsibility ex 
 cepting the self-assumed care of a thriving vege 
 table garden and poultry -yard, the proceeds of 
 which, sold to her benefactors, supplied her with 
 pocket-money. 
 
 Aunt Delphi had been a belle in colored society 
 in her day and generation, and, if the whole truth 
 must be told, the history of her matrimonial al 
 liances is rather a tangled skein. 
 
 She was now a widow as truly as she had ever 
 been a wife, excepting on a first occasion, when 
 the legal bond had proven all too brittle for her' 
 playful handling. Since old age with its wither 
 ing processes had overtaken her, Aunt Delphi had 
 surrendered all her waning vitalities to religion, 
 thus springing at a single bound from the posi 
 tion of a warning to that of a Christian example 
 on the plantation. So, again, is the angle of re 
 flection equal to the angle of incidence. The
 
 230 
 
 woman so recently notorious as a fisher of men 
 for the mere sport of the angling had become a 
 quoter of Scripture, a spiritual exhorter, even a 
 visitor among the sick and the dying, a closer of 
 the eyes of the dead. 
 
 Since her conversion, her new peace had, as was 
 befitting it should, seemed to permeate all her hu 
 man relations, and she regarded the whole world 
 benignly, both upward and downward. She car 
 ried counsel and delicacies to the humble cabins 
 of the distressed or ailing with the same serene, 
 beaming face that she bore when she wended her 
 way to the great house with a nest of empty tin 
 cans upon her arm, ostensibly to seek the advice 
 of " Ole miss " upon some trivial subject. 
 
 The advice was given or withheld according to 
 the indications, but the cans were always taken 
 from her to the pantry, filled, and returned. 
 
 These visits were generally paid just before 
 dinner, and after her conference with "the white 
 folks " the old woman would repair to the kitchen 
 "to he'p thoo de dish-washin'," though she al 
 ways consented with becoming hesitation to re 
 main for a social meal with her chum, the cook. 
 
 As the usual interval between these social over 
 tures was a week or ten days, Mrs. Stanley was 
 somewhat surprised one summer morning to see 
 Delphi trudging up the front walk three days 
 after a former visit ; and as she approached, a most 
 mournful expression of face declared that she was 
 in great distress of mind. Her ample lips were
 
 231 
 
 puckered into a royal purple flower set upon the 
 most doleful of faces. She carried no petition in 
 the shape of can or basket, and as she laboriously 
 seated herself on the inverted top of the sewing- 
 machine beside her mistress, the purple blossom 
 declared her to be in great tribulation. 
 
 "Look lak I can't see my way straight dis 
 morn in', mistus. Won't you please, ma'am, gim 
 me a little drap o' some'h'n' 'nother ter raise my 
 cour'ge tell I talks ter yer?" 
 
 The servant was called to bring some water, 
 whereupon, with an indescribable play of features 
 that resembled nothing so much as summer light 
 ning, Aunt Delphi turned upon her mistress a 
 look half reproach, half protest. 
 
 " What I wants wid water, mistus ?" she plead 
 ed. "You knows yo'se'f, ef you po's water in 
 anything hit weakens it down. I's weakened 
 down too much now. My cour'ge needs strenken- 
 in', mistus, an' you knows dey ain't no cour'ge in 
 water." 
 
 The "courage" being duly supplied from a bot 
 tle labelled "Blackberry Cordial," Aunt Delphi 
 proceeded with her story. "You knows jestice 
 an' 'ligion, ole miss," she resumed, " an' I wants 
 ter insult you 'bout how I gwine ac' in dis heah 
 trouble what's come ter me. How far down do a 
 step-mammy's juties corndescend ?" 
 
 The young ladies of the family had by this time 
 drawn their chairs near, and the old woman had 
 looked from one face to another as she put her
 
 232 
 
 question. As no one in the least understood her 
 meaning, she proceeded to explain. 
 
 " Well, yer see, babies, I got a letter f'om the 
 pos'-orfice las' night, an' Yaller Steve he read it 
 out ter me, an' hit's f'oni my step-son, Wash. I 
 ain't heerd tell o' Wash sence 'fo' de wah; but he 
 done written ter tell me dat he done got married, 
 an' he got two sets o' twin babies, an' now he's 
 wife she up an' dies, an' he got de unmotherless 
 twins on 'is han's. An' Wash he say, bein' as I 
 allus tole 'im I'd be a good mother ter 'im ef he'd 
 commit me he say he gwine trus' me ter raise 
 dem sets o' twins." 
 
 Fumbling in her pocket, she presently produced 
 a yellow envelope. 
 
 " You say there are four children ?" said her 
 mistress, by way of filling a pause. 
 
 " Yas, mistus, two full sets o' twins, 'cordin' ter 
 what he say. Wash allus was a double-dealin' boy." 
 
 It was hard to repress a rising smile, but the 
 old woman's disturbance of soul was so genuine 
 that her mistress remarked, sympathetically, 
 
 " But Wash is only your step-son, if I remem 
 ber rightly, Delphi ?" 
 
 " Oh, yas, 'm. He's my fus' husban's boy. He's 
 pa's a-livin' down in de Ozan bottom now. He 
 an' me we been parted too long ter talk about, 
 an* you know, mistus, I been married an' unmar 
 ried, off 'n' on, sence den. But, in co'se, all deze 
 circumstancial go-betweens dey don't meek Wash 
 ain't my step-son. Yer see, mistus, I stood up in
 
 233 
 
 de church icid his daddy, an' I wants tcr do my 
 juty by Wash, mo' inspecial caze I done put 'im 
 out'n de house on de 'count o' 'im a-raisin 1 his han' 
 ter me, an 'I 'ain't nuver is laid eyes on 'im sence. 
 An' sence I foun' peace in 'ligion I 'ain't done 
 nothin' but pray Gord ter lemme meek up wid 
 Wash, an' now seem lak de answer done come ; 
 but hit's come loaded up purty heavy." She 
 sighed, even wiped her eyes, as she continued : 
 " I 'ain't see de way I kin raise dem f o' twins 
 no, I 'ain't." 
 
 " How old are they ?" asked several at once. 
 
 " He 'ain't sign dey ages down by no special 
 figgur, but, de way de letter run, I knows dey's 
 des 'bout runnin' roun' an' cryin' size. Cat's des 
 whar de trouble come in. Yer see I got nigh 
 onter two honderd fryin'-size chickens in my lit 
 tle yard, an' ef I has ter turn fo' cryin'-size chil- 
 len in 'mongst 'em, hit '11 be tur'ble. 'Caze I 'ain't 
 nuver is seed a cryin'-size yit wha' 'ain't love ter 
 chase de fryin'-size. Tell me, chillen, an' ole miss 
 you knows 'ligion an' jestice how fur down 
 do de step-mammy's juties corndescend ?" 
 
 The question seemed so absurd that it was with 
 difficulty that Mrs. Stanley, by assuming her look 
 of greatest severity, forbade even an exchange of 
 glances between her daughters. The old woman, 
 in the meantime, had presented the letter to one 
 of the young ladies to read. It proved to be 
 in substance as she had quoted, and was signed 
 " Yore Truely Son, Gorge Washington Brown."
 
 234 
 
 " Dat soun' mighty sweet ' your truly son,' " 
 said the old woman, as she heard the words read 
 " dat soun' mighty sweet an' yit an' yit I 
 'sputes de jestice. I wants ter be cancelized wid 
 Wash, an' yit when he come ter me, fo'-in-han' like, 
 an' offer me de whole load tell de trufe, I don' 
 know. Seem like we mought 'vide up de 'sporn- 
 serbility some way, an' I'd even gin 'im he's ch'ice 
 o' sets. Den agin, look lak dat ain't riverind jes 
 tice nuther, bein' as I ain't nothin' but he's step- 
 mammy, an' ain't in no way 'spornserble fo' dem 
 twins. Ef I was h'es reel nachel mammy, in co'se 
 I'd be, as yer mought say, backhandedly 'sporn 
 serble fur 'em. But as I is, I don't see it no, I 
 don't less'n me a puttin' 'im out'n de house in 
 a manner aggervated 'im ter it. I 'ain't done no- 
 thin' but walk de flo' all de endurin' night an' 
 pray, an' I 'ain't see no light yit." 
 
 " I'll attend to this whole matter for you, Del 
 phi," says her old mistress, taking advantage of a 
 first real pause. " Let me write to Wash for you, 
 telling him that you will take one of the older 
 children, but that as you are getting old, you 
 cannot do more." 
 
 The smile of relief and gratitude that spread 
 over the old woman's face was really touching as 
 she answered :"" Thank Gord, ole Miss ! I b'lieve 
 myse'f dat's de full jestice. I sho' do. I tries ter 
 squandei* my shubshance on righteous livin', good 
 as I kin, des lak de preacher say. An' you write 
 de letter, mistus, an' tell 'im I say seek de Lord
 
 235 
 
 while it's day." And with profuse expression of 
 gratitude, Aunt Delphi proceeded homeward with 
 a lighter step and a cleared brow. 
 
 " This arrangement will be just the thing," said 
 her mistress, as she moved away. " I have been 
 trying to secure a child to live with the old woman 
 and wait on her, but the mothers on the place 
 scorn to have their children serve one of their 
 own color. If old Delphi is at once appeasing 
 her conscience and securing needed service, I 
 shall congratulate myself upon helping her in 
 the matter." 
 
 The letter was duly written. 
 
 It was about two weeks later when one morn 
 ing after breakfast Aunt Delphi presented herself 
 again at the fi'ont steps of the great house. 
 
 Hesitating here and casting upward to the 
 group of ladies who sat within the hall door the 
 most woe -begone of faces, she groaned aloud. 
 Then, in a voice actually sepulchral in its deep 
 intensity, she exclaimed : 
 
 " Why'n't yer ax me some'hV, chillen ? Quiz- 
 zify me. Put de questioms. Ax me whar is I 
 trapped deze heah black rabbits." 
 
 With this she lifted into view four little black 
 children, starting them up the steps before her, 
 while she followed, actually groaning aloud. 
 
 " Why'n't yer talk, chillen ?" she continued, 
 addressing the ladies, still keeping the children 
 ahead of her. " Why'n't yer ax me is I see 
 double, ur is you see double, ur is Wash behave
 
 236 
 
 'issc'f double?" And throwing herself into a 
 chair, Aunt Delphi fell to actual weeping. 
 
 The little girls, absurdly alike even as to size, 
 though their ages were about four and five years 
 respectively, stood in a row, each sucking her 
 thumb, and in no wise embarrassed by the pres 
 ence of strangers ; and yet when in a moment one 
 of them began slowly to back from the company, 
 they all followed, until, touching the wall, they 
 sat down in a row. 
 
 " Are these Wash's children ?" asked her mis 
 tress, as soon as she could command her voice. 
 
 " Yas, Lord," she moaned, swaying her body to 
 and fro. 
 
 " And so he brought them all. Where is he ? 
 When did they come ?" 
 
 "Hoi' on, mistus," she exclaimed, waving her 
 hand to command silence. " Hoi' on an' lemme 
 start straight. In de searchin' hour o' midnight 
 las' night, when eve'y hones' pusson was buried in 
 Christian sleep, heah come ' a-rap-a-tap-tap !' on 
 my kyabin do', des easy lak an' sof', lak some 
 h'n' sperityal ; an' I retched up an' stricken a 
 match, an' open de do' an' listen, an' I 'ain't heerd 
 no soun' but 'cep' one o' deze heah onslcepless 
 morkin'-birds chantin' out secon'-han' music, an' 
 I commenced ter wonder is a pecker-wood done 
 riz me out'n my baid ter listen to free music ; an' 
 all de time my eyes was turned high, an' I nuver 
 'spicioned nothin', tell right onder my foots deze 
 heah fo' p'intedly matched babies come a-walkin'
 
 237 
 
 in, des lak you see 'ern now, ev'y one a-suckin' 'er 
 hV." 
 
 " But where did they come from ? Did Wash 
 bring them ?" 
 
 " What ails you, chillen, dat you don't heah 
 me what I say. I don't know no mo'n dey say, 
 an' dey 'ain't showed speech yit." 
 
 "And you haven't seen Wash?" 
 
 " Ain't I talkin' straight, baby ? I say I 'ain't 
 seed nothin', neither heerd nothin'. Tell de truf e, 
 'cep'n' fur de co'n-brade dey done et, I'd look fur 
 dem babies ter vanige out'n my sight des lak dey 
 come. Co'se I done set 'em down ter Wash, bein' 
 as he done 'nounced 'isse'f in de twins trade. But 
 eh Lord ! What I gwine do wid 'em? An' de 
 las' one o' 'em cryin'-sizes !" 
 
 The ladies call the children to them, and by 
 dint of coaxing learn that they " corned wid dad 
 dy to find mammy," and that they answer to the 
 endearing names of Shug, Pud, Hun, and Babe. 
 The conventional list of names had apparently 
 not been taxed for their designation. 
 
 It is evidently a deeply laid scheme. Wash's 
 letter was only a ruse to ascertain whether the 
 old woman Delphi still lived or not, and he had 
 cast his children upon her. 
 
 Poor old Delphi, chafing under the imposition, 
 and overcome with the weight of so heavy a re 
 sponsibility, sat softly weeping, while the ladies 
 assured her that she should be relieved. 
 
 Wash, the poltroon, had covered his tracks
 
 238 
 
 well. No one on the place had seen or heard 
 him, and the wheels whose tracks approached the 
 fence had soon returned to the old ruts, and left 
 no trace of their course. 
 
 Delphi's cabin was the same in which Wash 
 had lived as a child. This fact Mrs. Stanley had 
 unwittingly betrayed in her letter, in which she 
 pleaded its single room as added excuse for her 
 not taking more than one child. 
 
 During the two weeks following this, letters 
 of inquiry concerning his lordship, the delectable 
 sire George Washington Brown, were sent to 
 leading persons in the town from whence his 
 letter had been posted ; but though several citi 
 zens of color bore this identical distinguished if 
 not distinguishing name, no trace of the father of 
 the twins was found. 
 
 A party of negroes en route for Kansas had 
 recently passed within five miles of Honeyfield 
 plantation. Presumably Wash had been of this 
 number. Starting out to begin life afresh, he had 
 no doubt made good his proposal to his step 
 mother to " let by-gones be by-gones." 
 
 A month passed, and no news had come of the 
 recreant father, neither had the sensation caused 
 by Aunt Delphi's sudden acquisition of family 
 begun to abate. The children, through whom 
 she had been an object of interest far and near, 
 and whose presence had brought generous gifts 
 from all directions to the little cabin, were still 
 there awaiting developments, and pending a de-
 
 239 
 
 cision as to the best disposition to be made of 
 them. 
 
 Feeling that the matter had better be arranged 
 and the old woman relieved, Mrs. Stanley decided 
 one morning to call at the little cabin herself to 
 talk the matter over. She had found good homes 
 ready to welcome two of the children, and would 
 take a third herself until she could be permanent 
 ly provided for. 
 
 She found Aunt Delphi sitting on the door-step, 
 holding one of the four on either knee, while the 
 other two sat on the ground at her feet. All were 
 munching huge chunks of corn-bread and chatter 
 ing like magpies. At sight of her mistress the old 
 woman slipped the children to the ground, and, 
 with elaborate apologies for the state of her cabin, 
 which was indeed strewn with trash, improvised 
 rag babies, and pallets, she proceeded to wipe off 
 a chair with her apron before presenting it. 
 
 " Have you decided which one of the little girls 
 you are going to keep ?" Mrs. Stanley asked, after 
 the usual interchange of civilities. 
 
 The old woman had seated herself opposite her 
 mistress, and at the question she rolled her eyes 
 mysteriously a moment before answering. Final 
 ly she said : "I b'lieve you's a min'-reader, mistus, 
 I sho does, caze you done read out de subjec' dat's 
 been on my min' all day ; but yer 'ain't read it 
 straight, ole miss no, yer 'ain't." Turning, she 
 looked fondly upon the children and chuckled. 
 " Des look how happy dey is !" she said. " Dey
 
 240 
 
 des as happy as a nes' o' kittens, dat dey is ! Why, 
 mistus, I been overrun wid cats all my life, des 
 caze I couldn't say de drowndin' ur pizenin' word 
 ter air kitten what look ter me in weakness. I 
 done let a chicken-devourin' rat out'n a trap des 
 caze I ketched a prayer in 'is eye. De way a cock 
 roach run fur 'is life meek me draw back my bro- 
 gan an' let 'im go. How is I gwine part wid any 
 o' dem human babies ?" 
 
 " What do you mean, Delphi ? You surely can 
 not wish to keep four children to bring up at your 
 time of life. It would be absurd." 
 
 "Hoi' on, mistus, hoi' on don't go so fas' ! 
 Dem chillen done preached a heap o' sermons ter 
 me, an' dey all got de same tex' ; an' dat tex' hit 
 splains out a new set o' argimints ev'y time. How 
 yer reckon I feels, mistus, when I looks at dem 
 babies an' see how p'intedly dey favors dey 
 gramper? Lookin' at 'em ev'y day tecks my 
 min' way back ter my co'tin' days, when love 
 soun' in my ears lak a music chune picked on a 
 banjer. An' when I looks back on my life I see 
 how I loved de endurin' soun' so much I ain't 
 keer who play de music. So de by-gone pictur's 
 come back ter me one by one ; but de one dat 
 stay wid me is de one wha' show me my fus' hus- 
 ban', Dan ; an' I see how I done trifled wid 'im, 
 an' de quar'l we had, when I sassed back an' go 
 one better'n him ev'y time ('caze we was bofe 
 high-temprate). An' den I 'member de fight he 
 fit wid Abum Saunders, 'caze Abum's love chune
 
 241 
 
 please my hearin'. Den come back a yether 
 pictur ole Dan de way my min' see 'im now, 
 'cripit an' gray, maybe, an' lonesome an' failin', 
 an' me his lawful wedded wife, an' all o' deze 
 heah peart little gran'babies o' bis'n right heah 
 next do' ter 'im, de way Gord reckon space. Dat's 
 de way de sermon read, an' deze onconscious in- 
 fams dey preaches it at me, unbeknowinst, ter 
 meek up wid dey gramper, an? I ain't gwine zist 
 de sperit no mo\ I gwine meek de movemint ter 
 be cancelized wid Dan ; an' ef he's sick, I gwine 
 nuss 'im; an' ef he's cranky an' fussy, I gwine shet 
 my mouf an' say nothin ; but I gwine 'back ter 1 im 
 dat is, ef he'll teck me ! An' ef you got a argi- 
 mint agin it, mistus, don't spressify it in my hear- 
 in', please, ma'am, 'caze my min'' made up" 
 
 Mrs. Stanley realized that it would be some 
 what inconsistent with her own professions to op 
 pose a reconciliation between husband and wife, 
 and as soon as she could recover from her surprise 
 at the unexpected turn the affair was taking she 
 wished the old woman all possible success and 
 happiness in the step she had resolved to take. 
 Indeed, before she had left the cabin she had her 
 self written at her dictation the letter the old 
 wife sent the next day to the husband from whom 
 she had been estranged for thirty years or more. 
 
 A few days afterward there was an important 
 arrival at Delphi's cabin. The letter had brought 
 the old husband back to the feet of his early love. 
 
 A week later the departure took place. A ca- 
 
 16
 
 242 
 
 pacious plantation wagon was piled high with 
 bedding, boxes, and sundry household belongings, 
 laid upon a foundation of chicken - boops, out of 
 which curious feathered heads gazed in alternate- 
 eyed wonder at the unusual proceeding. On the 
 summit of the edifice sat the old couple in a verita 
 ble rose garden of little bobbing pink sun-bonnets. 
 
 They were going to the old man's home. 
 Delphi had made her formal adieux at the house, 
 and wept her parting tears, but through them the 
 sun of a new happiness was shining. 
 
 As the wagon moved out the gate the ladies 
 waved good-bye from the gallery of the great 
 house, and the old man, perceiving them, lifted 
 his hat, bowing his body in a manner that was 
 distinctly courtly. 
 
 Aunt Delphi up to this moment had been ab 
 sorbed in her maternal task of safely seating the 
 children, but now realizing that the supreme mo 
 ment of last leave-taking was come, she threw one 
 arm around her old husband, waving the other 
 high in air as she began to sing. The wagon 
 moved slowly down the road, and as the early sun 
 coming through the pines covered it at intervals, it 
 gleamed in the light, a bright bouquet of color. 
 An occasional gust of wind brought snatches of her 
 song even while the wagon was but a speck of color 
 in the vista, and the effect was much heightened 
 by the sound of a second voice, a wiry high ten 
 or, playing all around the wind-wafted words 
 
 "... to part no mo' no mo'."
 
 DUKE'S CHKISTMAS
 
 DUKE'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 "You des gimme de white folks's Christmus- 
 dinuer plates, time dey git thoo eatin', an' lemme 
 scrape 'em in a pan an' set dat pan in my lap an' 
 blow out de light an' go it bline ! Hush, honey, 
 hush, while I shet my eyes now an' tas'e all de 
 samples what 'd come out'n dat pan cramberries, 
 an' tukkey-stuffin' wid puckons in it, an' ham an' 
 fried oyscher an' an' minch-meat, an' chow-chow 
 pickle an' an' jelly ! Umh ! Don' keer which- 
 a-one I strack fust dey all got de Christmas 
 seasonin !" 
 
 Old Uncle Mose closed his eyes and smiled, 
 even smacked his lips in contemplation of the im 
 aginary feast which he summoned at will from 
 his early memories. Little Duke, his grandchild, 
 sitting beside him on the floor, rolled his big eyes 
 and looked ti-oubled. Black as a raven, nine years 
 old and small of his age, but agile and shrewd as 
 a little fox, he was at present the practical head 
 of this family of two. 
 
 This state of affairs had existed for more than 
 two months, ever since a last attack of rheuma 
 tism had lifted his grandfather's leg upon the 
 chair before him and held it there.
 
 246 
 
 Duke's success as a provider was somewhat 
 phenomenal, considering his size, color, and lim 
 ited education. 
 
 True, he had no rent to pay, for their one- 
 roomed cabin, standing on uncertain stilts out 
 side the old levee, had been deserted during the 
 last high-water, when Uncle Mose had " tooken 
 de chances" and moved in. But then Mose had 
 been able to earn his seventy-five cents a day at 
 wood-sawing; and besides, by keeping his fish 
 ing-lines baited and set out the back and front 
 doors there were no windows he had often 
 drawn in a catfish, or his shrimp-bag had yield 
 ed breakfast for two. 
 
 Duke's responsibilities had come with the win 
 ter and its greater needs, when the receding wa 
 ters had withdrawn even the small chance of land 
 ing a dinner with hook and line. True, it had 
 been done on several occasions, when Duke had 
 come home to find fricasseed chickens for dinner; 
 but somehow the neighbors' chickens had grown 
 wary, and refused to be enticed by the corn that 
 lay under Mose's cabin. 
 
 The few occasions when one of their num 
 ber, swallowing an innocent - looking grain, had 
 been suddenly lifted up into space, disappearing 
 through the floor above, seemed to have impressed 
 the survivors. 
 
 Mose was a church -member, and would have 
 scorned to rob a hen-roost, but he declared " when 
 strange chickens come a-f oolin' roun' bitin' on my
 
 247 
 
 fish -lines, I des twisses dey necks ter put 'em 
 out'n dey misery." 
 
 It had been a long time since he had met with 
 any success at this poultry-fishing, and yet he al 
 ways kept a few lines out. 
 
 He professed to be fishing for crayfish as if 
 crayfish ever bit on a hook or ate corn! Still, it 
 eased his conscience, for he did try to set his 
 grandson a Christian example consistent with his 
 precepts. 
 
 It was Christmas Eve, and the boy felt a sort of 
 moral responsibility in the matter of providing a 
 suitable Christmas dinner for the morrow. His 
 question as to what the old man would like to have 
 had elicited the enthusiastic bit of reminiscence 
 with which this story opens. Here was a poser! 
 His grandfather had described just the identical 
 kind of dinner which he felt powerless to procure. 
 If he had said oysters, or chicken, or even turkey, 
 Duke thought he could have managed it; but a pan 
 of rich fragments was simply out of the question. 
 
 " Wouldn't you des as lief have a pone o' hot 
 aig-bread, gran'dad, an' an' an' maybe a nice 
 baked chicken ur ur a " 
 
 " TJr a nothin', boy! Don't talk to me ! I'd a 
 heap 'd ruther have a secon'-han' white Christmus 
 dinner 'n de bes' fus'-han' nigger one you ever 
 seed, an' I ain't no spring -chicken, nuther. I 
 done had 'spe'unce o' Christmus dinners. An' 
 what you talkin' 'bout, anyhow? Whar you 
 gwine git roas' chicken, nigger?"
 
 248 
 
 " I don' know, less'n I'd meek a heap o' money 
 to-day ; but I could sho' git a whole chicken ter 
 roas' easier'n I could git dat pan full o' goodies 
 you's a-talkin' 'bout. 
 
 "Is you gwine crawfishin' to-day, gran'daddy ?" 
 he continued, cautiously, rolling his eyes. " Gaze 
 when I cross de road, terreckly, I gwine shoo off 
 some o' dem big fat hens dat scratches up so much 
 dus'. Dey des a puffec' nuisance, scratchin' dus' 
 clean inter my eyes ev'y time I go down de road." 
 
 '* Dey is, is dey ? De nasty, impident things ! 
 You better not shoo' none of 'em over heah, less'n 
 you want me ter wring dey necks which I botin' 
 ter do ef dey pester my crawfish-lines." 
 
 "Well, I'm gwine now, gran'dad. Ev'ything 
 is done did an' set whar you kin reach I gwine 
 down de road an' shoo dem sassy chickens away. 
 Dis here 'bucket o' brick-dus' sho' is heavy," he 
 added, as he lifted to his head a huge pail. 
 
 Starting out, he gathered up a few grains of 
 corn, dropping them along in his wake until he 
 reached the open where the chickens were ; when, 
 making a circuit round them, he drove them slow 
 ly until he saw them begin to pick up the corn. 
 Then he turned, whistling as he went, into a side 
 street, and proceeded on his way. 
 
 Old Mose chuckled audibly as Duke passed out, 
 and baiting his lines with corn and scraps of meat, 
 he lifted the bit of broken plank from the floor, 
 and set about his day's sport. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Chicken, I'm settin' deze heah lines
 
 249 
 
 fur crawfish, an' ef you smarties come a-f oolin' roun' 
 'em, I gwine punish you 'cordin' ter de law. You 
 hcah me !" He chuckled as he thus presented his 
 defence anew before the bar of his own conscience. 
 
 But the chickens did not bite to-day not a 
 mother's son or daughter of them though they 
 ventured cautiously to the very edge of the cabin. 
 
 It was a discouraging business, and the day 
 seemed very long. It was nearly nightfall when 
 Mose recognized Duke's familiar whistle from the 
 levee. And when he heard the little bare feet 
 pattering on the single plank that led from the 
 brow of the bank to the cabin door, he coughed 
 and chuckled as if to disguise a certain eager 
 agitation that always seized him when the little 
 boy came home at night. 
 
 "Here me," Duke called, still outside the door; 
 adding as he entered, while he set his pail be 
 side the old man, "How you is to-night, gran'- 
 dad?" 
 
 " Des po'ly, thank Gord. How you yo'se'f, my 
 man?" There was a note of affection in the old 
 man's voice as he addressed the little pickaninny, 
 who seemed in the twilight a mere midget. 
 
 "An' what you got dyah?" he continued, turn 
 ing to the pail, beside which Duke knelt, lighting 
 a candle. 
 
 "Picayune o' light-brade, an' lagnappe* o' salt," 
 Duke began, lifting out the parcels, "an' pica 
 yune o' molasses an' lagnappe of coal ile ter rub 
 yo' laig wid heah hit in de tin can; an' picayune 
 * Pronounced Ian-yap.
 
 250 
 
 o' coffee an' lagnappe o' matches heah dey is, 
 fo'teen an' a half, but de half ain't got no fizz on 
 it. An' deze heah- in de bottom, dey des chips I 
 picked up 'long de road." 
 
 "An' you ain't axed fur no lagnappe fo' yo'- 
 self, Juke. Whyn't you ax fur des one lagnappe 
 o' sugar-plums, baby, bein's it's Christmus? Yo' 
 ole gran'dad ain't got nothin' fur you, an' you 
 know to-morrer is sho' 'nough Christmus, boy. 
 I ain't got even ter say a crawfish bite on my 
 lines to-day, much less'n some'h'n' fittin' fur a 
 Christmus gif. I did set heah an' whittle you a 
 little whistle, but some'h'u' went wrong wid it. 
 Hit won't blow. But tell me, how's business ter- 
 day, boy ? I see you done sol' yo' brick-dus' ?" 
 
 " Yas sir, but I toted, it purty nigh all day fo' I 
 is sol' it. De folks wharever I went, dey say no 
 body don't want to scour on Christmus Eve. An' 
 one time I set it down an' made three nickels cut- 
 tin' grass an' holdin' a white man's horse, an' dat 
 gimme a res'. An' I started out ag'in, an' I walked 
 inter a big house an' ax de lady ain't she want ter 
 buy some pounded brick. An', gran'dad, you know 
 what meek she buy it? Gaze she seh my bucket is 
 mos' as big as I is, an' ef I had de grit ter tote it 
 clean ter her house on Christmus Eve, she seh I 
 sha'n't pack it back an' she gimme a dime fur it, 
 too, stid a nickel. An' she gimme two hole-in-de- 
 middle cakes, wid sugar on 'em. Heah dey is." 
 Duke took two sorry-looking rings from his hat 
 and presented them to the old man. " I done et
 
 251 
 
 de sugar off 'em," he continued. " Gaze I knowed 
 it 'd give you de toofache in yo' gums. An' I 
 tol' 'er what you say, gran'dad !" 
 
 Mose turned quickly. 
 
 " What you tol' dat white lady I say, nigger ?" 
 
 " I des tol' 'er what you say 'bout scrapin' de 
 plates inter a pan." 
 
 Mose grinned broadly. " Is you had de face 
 ter tell dat strange white 'oman sech talk as dat ? 
 An' what she say ?" 
 
 " She des looked at me up an' down fur a min 
 ute, an' den she broke out in a laugh, an' she seh : 
 ' You sho' is de littles' coon I ever seed out fora- 
 gin' !' An' wid dat she seh : *Ef you'll come 
 roun' to-morrer night, 'bout dark, I'll give you as 
 big a pan o' scraps as you kin tote.' " 
 
 There were tears in the old man's eyes, and he 
 actually giggled. 
 
 " Is she ? Well done ! But ain't you feerd 
 you'll los' yo'self, gwine way down town at night?" 
 
 " Los' who, gran'dad ? You can't los' me in dis 
 city, so long as de red-light Pertania cars is runnin'. 
 I kin ketch on berhine tell dey fling me off, den 
 teck de nex' one tell dey fling me off ag'in an' 
 hit ain't so fur dat-a-way." 
 
 " Does dey fling yer off rough, boy ? Look out 
 dey don't bre'k yo' bones !" 
 
 " Dey ain't gwine crack none o' my bones. 
 Sometimes de drivers kicks me off, an' sometimes 
 dey cusses me off, tell I lets go des ter save Gord's 
 name dat's a fac'."
 
 252 
 
 " Dat's right. Save it when you kin, boy. So 
 she gwine scrape de Christmus plates fur me, is 
 she ? I wonder what sort' o' white folks dis here 
 tar-baby o' mine done strucken in wid, anyhow ? 
 You sho' dey reel quality white folks, is yer, 
 Juke ? Gaze I ain't gwine sile my mouf on no 
 po' white-trash scraps." 
 
 " I ain't no sho'er 'n des what I tell yer, gran'- 
 dad. Ef dey ain't quality, I don' know northin' 
 't all 'bout it. I tell yer when I walked roun' dat 
 yard clean ter de kitchen on dem flag-stones wid 
 dat bucket o' brick on my hade, I had ter stop 
 an' ketch my bref fo' I could talk, an' de cook, a 
 sassy, fat, black lady, she would o' sont me out, 
 but de madam, she seed me 'erse'f, an' she tooken 
 took notice ter me, an' tell me set my bucket 
 down, an' de yo'ng ladies, beatin' aigs in de 
 kitchen, dey was makin' spote o' me, too ax' me 
 is I weaned yit, an' one ob 'em ax me is my nuss 
 los' me ! Den dey gimme deze heah hole-in-de- 
 middle cakes, an' some reesons. I des fetched 
 you a few reesons, but I done et de mos' ob 'em 
 I ain't gwine tell you no lie 'bout it." 
 
 " Dat's right, baby. I'm glad you is et 'em 
 des so dey don't cramp yer up an' come 'long 
 now an' eat yo' dinner. I saved you a good pan 
 o' greens an' meat. What else is you et ter-day, 
 boy ?" 
 
 " De ladies in de kitchen dey gimme two burnt 
 cakes, an' I swapped half o' my reesons wid a 
 white boy fur a biscuit but I sho' is hongry."
 
 253 
 
 " Yas, an' you sleepy, too I know you is." 
 
 " But I gvvine git up soon, gran'dad. One mar 
 ket-lady she seh ef I come early in de mornin' an' 
 tote baskits home, she gwine gimme sonie'h'n' 
 good ; an' I'm gwine ketch all dem butchers an' 
 fish - ladies in dat Mag'zine markit ' Christmus 
 gif !' An' I bet yer dey'll gimme sonie'h'n' ter 
 fetch home. Las' Christmus I got seven nickels 
 an' a whole passel o' marketiu' des a-ketchin' 'em 
 Christmus-gif '. Deze heah black molasses I brung 
 yer home to-night how yer like 'em, gran'dad ?" 
 
 " Fust-rate, boy. Don't yer see me eatin' 'em? 
 Say yo' pra'rs now, Juke, an' lay down, caze I 
 gwine week you up by sun-up." 
 
 It was not long before little Duke was snoring 
 on his pallet, when old Mose, reaching behind 
 the mantel, produced a finely -braided leather 
 whip, which he laid beside the sleeping boy. 
 
 " Wush't I had a apple ur orwange ur stick o' 
 candy ur some'h'n' sweet ter lay by 'im fur Christ 
 mus," he said, fondly, as he looked upon the lit 
 tle sleeping figure. " Reck'n I mought bile dem 
 molasses down inter a little candy seem lak hit's 
 de onlies' chance dey is." 
 
 And turning back to the low fire, Mose stirred 
 the coals a little, poured the remains of Duke's 
 "picayune o' molasses" into a tomato -can, and 
 began his labor of love. 
 
 Like much of such service, it was for a long 
 time simply a question of waiting ; and Mose 
 found it no simple task, even when it had reached
 
 254 
 
 the desired point, to pull the hot candy to a fair 
 ness of complexion approaching whiteness. When, 
 however, he was able at last to lay a heavy, cop 
 per-colored twist with the whip beside the sleep 
 ing boy, he counted the trouble as nothing ; and 
 hobbling over to his own cot, he was soon also 
 sleeping. 
 
 The sun was showing in a gleam on the river 
 next morning, when Mose called, lustily, " Week 
 up, Juke, week up ! Christmus gif, boy, Christ- 
 mus gif !" 
 
 Duke turned heavily once ; then, catching the 
 words, he sprang up with a bound. 
 
 " Christmus gif, gran'dad !" he returned, rub 
 bing his eyes ; then fully waking, he cried, 
 " Look onder de chips in de bucket, gran'dad." 
 
 And the old man choked up again as he pro 
 duced the bag of tobacco over which he had ac 
 tually cried a little last night, when he had found 
 it hidden beneath the chips with which he had 
 cooked Duke's candy. 
 
 " I 'clare, Juke, I 'clare you is a caution,'" was 
 all he could say. 
 
 " An' who gimme all deze ?" Duke exclaimed, 
 suddenly seeing his own gifts. 
 
 "I don' know nothin' 't all 'bout it, less'n ole 
 Santa Glaus mought o' tooken a rest in our mud 
 chimbley las' night," said the old man, between 
 laughter and tears. 
 
 And Duke, the knowing little scamp, cracking
 
 255 
 
 his whip, munching his candy and grinning, re 
 plied : 
 
 " I s'pec' he is, gran'dad ; an' I s'pec' he come 
 down an' b'iled up yo' nickel o' molasses, too, ter 
 meek me dis candy. Tell - yer, dis whup, she's 
 got a daisy snapper on 'er, gran'dad ! She's wuth 
 a dozen o' doze heah white-boy ^o'^ps, she is !" 
 
 The last thing Mose heard, as Duke descended 
 the levee that morning, was the crack of the new 
 whip; and he said, as he filled his pipe, "De idee 
 o' dat little tar-baby o' mine fetchin' me a Christ- 
 mus gif !" 
 
 It was past noon when Duke got home again, 
 bearing upon his shoulder, like a veritable little 
 Santa Claus himself, a half-filled coffee-sack, the 
 joint results of his service in the market and of 
 the munificence of its autocrats. 
 
 The latter had apparently measured their gra 
 tuities by the size of their beneficiary, as their 
 gifts were very small. Still, as the little fellow 
 emptied the sack upon the floor, they made quite 
 a tempting display. There were oranges, apples, 
 bananas, several of each ; a bunch of soup-greens, 
 scraps of fresh meat evidently butcher's "trim 
 mings" odds and ends of vegetables ; while in 
 the midst of the melee three live crabs struck out 
 in as many directions for freedom. 
 
 They were soon landed in a pot ; while Mose, 
 who was really no mean cook, was prepai'ing what 
 seemed a sumptuous mid-day meal. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, while Mose nodded ia
 
 256 
 
 his chair, Duke sat in the open doorway, stuffing 
 the last banana into his little stomach, which was 
 already as tight as a kettle-drum. He had cracked 
 his whip until he was tired, but he still kept 
 cracking it. He cracked it at every fly that lit 
 on the floor, at the motes that floated into the 
 shaft of sunlight before him, at special knots in 
 the door -sill, or at nothing, as the spirit moved 
 him. A sort of holiday feeling, such as he felt on 
 Sundays, had kept him at home this afternoon. 
 If he had known that to be a little too full of good 
 things, and a little tired of ci'acking whips or toot 
 ing horns or drumming was the happy condition 
 of most of the rich boys of the land at that iden 
 tical moment, he could not have been more content 
 than he was. If his stomach ached just a little, 
 he thought of all the good things in it, and was 
 rather pleased to have it ache just this little. 
 It accentuated his realization of Christmas. 
 
 As the evening wore on, and the crabs and ba 
 nanas and molasses - candy stopped arguing with 
 one another down in his little stomach, he found 
 himself thinking, with some pleasure, of the pan of 
 scraps he was to get for his grandfather, and he 
 wished for the hour when he should go. He was 
 glad when at last the old man waked with a start 
 and began talking to him. 
 
 " I been wushin' you'd week up an' talk, gran'- 
 dad," he said, " 'ca/e I wants ter ax yer what's all 
 dishere dey say 'bout Christmus ? When I wus 
 comin' 'long ter-day I stopped in a big chu'ch, an'
 
 257 
 
 dey was a preacher-man standin' up wid a white 
 night - gown on, an' he seh dishere's our Lord's 
 birf-day. I heerd 'im seh it myse'f. Is dat so ?" 
 
 " Cose it is, Juke. Huccome you ax me sech 
 ignunt questioms? Gimme dat Bible, boy, an' 
 lemme read you some 'ligion." 
 
 Mose had been a sort of lay-preacher in his day, 
 and really could read a little, spelling or stum 
 bling over the long words. Taking the book rev 
 erently, he leaned forward until the shaft of sun 
 light fell upon the open page ; when with halting 
 speech he read to the little boy, who listened with 
 open-mouthed attention, the story of the birth at 
 Bethlehem. 
 
 "An' look heah, Juke, my boy," he said, final 
 ly, closing the book, "hit's been on my min' all 
 day ter tell yer I ain't gwine fishin' no mo' tell de 
 high -water come back you heah? 'Gaze yer 
 know somebody's chickens mought come an' pick 
 up de bait, an' I'd be 'bleeged ter kill 'em ter save 
 'em, an' we ain' gwine do dat no mo', me an' you. 
 You heah, Juke ?" Duke rolled his eyes around 
 and looked pretty serious. 
 
 " Yas, sir, I heah," he said. 
 
 " An' me an' you, we done made dis bargain on 
 de Lord's birf-day yer heah, boy? wid Gord's 
 sunshine kiverin' us all over, an' my han' layin' 
 on de page. Heah, la}' yo' little han' on top o' 
 mine, Juke, an' promise rne you gwine be a square 
 man, so he'p yer. Dat's it. Say it out loud, an' 
 yo' ole gran'dad he done said it, too. Wrop up 
 
 17
 
 '258 
 
 dem fishin'-lines, now, an' th'ow 'em up on de raf 
 ters. Now come set down heah, an' lemme tell 
 yer 'bout Christmus on de ole plantation. Look 
 out how you pop dat whup 'crost my laig ! Dat's 
 a reg'Iar horse-fly killer, wid a coal o' fire on 'or 
 tip." Duke laughed. 
 
 " Now ban' me a live coal fur my pipe. Dishere 
 terbacca you brung me, hit smokes sweet as sugar, 
 boy. Set down, now, close by me so.' 1 " 
 
 Duke never tired of his grandfather's reminis 
 cences, and he crept up close to the old man's knee 
 as the story began. 
 
 "When de big plantation -bell used ter ring on 
 Christmus mornin', all de darkies had to march 
 up ter de gre't house fur dey Christmus gif's ; an' 
 us what wucked at de house, we had ter stau' in 
 front o' de fiel' -ban's. An' atter ole marster axed 
 a blessin', an' de string-ban' play, an' we all sing 
 a song air one we choose boss, he'd call out de 
 names, an' we'd step up, one by one, ter git our 
 presents ; an' ef we'd walk too shamefaced ur too 
 'boveish, he'd pass a joke on us, ter set ev'ybody 
 laughin'. 
 
 " I ricollec' one Christmus-time I was co'tin' 
 yo' gran'ma. I done had been co'tin' 'er two 
 years, an' she belt 'er head so high I was 'feerd ter 
 speak. An' when Christmus come an' I marched 
 up ter git my present, ole marster gimme my bun 
 dle an' I started back, grinnin' lak a chessj^-cat, 
 an' lie calt me back an' he say : ' Hoi' on, Moses,' 
 he say, 'I got 'nother present fur you ter-day.
 
 259 
 
 Heah's a finger-ring I got fur you, an' ef it don't 
 fit you, I reckon hit'll fit Zephyr you know yo' 
 gran'ma, she was name Zephyr. An' wid dat he 
 run his thumb in 'is pocket an' fotch me out a 
 little gal's ring " 
 
 " A gol' ring, gran'dad ?" 
 
 "No, boy, but a silver ring ginniwine Ger 
 man silver. Well, I wush't you could o' heerd 
 dem darkies holler an' laugh ! An' Zephyr, ef 
 she hadn't o' been so yaller, she'd o' been red as 
 dat sky yonder, de way she did blush buff." 
 
 " An' what did you do, gran'dad ?" 
 
 " Who, me ? Dey warn't but des one thing fur 
 me to do. I des gi'n Zephyr de ring, an' she ax 
 me is I mean it, an' an' I ax her is she mean it, 
 an' an' we bofe say none o' yo' business what 
 we say ! What you lookin' at me so quizzical fur, 
 Juke ? Ef yer wants ter know, we des had a wed- 
 din' dat Christmus night dat what we done 
 an' dat's huccome you got yo' gran'ma. 
 
 " But I'm talkin' 'bout Christmus now. When 
 we'd all go home, we'd open our bundles, an' of 
 all de purty things, cm' funny things, an' jokes 
 you ever heerd of, dey'd be in dem Christmus 
 bundles some'h'n' ter suit ev'y one, and hit 'im 
 square on his funny-bone ev'y time. An' all de 
 little bundles o' buckwheat ur flour 'd have pica 
 yunes an' dimes in 'em ! We used ter reg'lar sif 
 'em out wid a sifter. Dat was des our white 
 folks's way. None o' de yether fam'lies 'long de 
 coas' done it. You see all the diffe'nt fam'lies had
 
 260 
 
 diffe'nt ways. But ole marster an' ole miss dey'd 
 think up some new foolishness ev'y year. We 
 nuver knowed what was gwine to be did nex' 
 on'y one thing. Dey attus put money in de buck 
 wheat-bag an' you know we nuver tas'e no buck 
 wheat 'cep'n on'y Christmus. Oh, boy, ef we could 
 des meet up wid some o' we's white folks ag'in !" 
 
 " How is we got los' f'om 'em, gran'dad ?" said 
 Duke, inviting a hundredth repetition of the story 
 he knew so well. 
 
 " How did we git los' f'om we's white folks ? 
 Dats a sad story fur Christinus, Juke, but ef you 
 sesso 
 
 " Hit all happened in one nightj time o' de big 
 break in de levee, seven years gone by. We was 
 lookin' fur de bank ter crack crost de river f'om 
 us, an' so boss done had tooken all ban's over, 
 cep'n us ole folks an' chillen, ter he'p work an' 
 watch de yether side. 'Bout midnight, whiles we 
 was all sleepin', come a roa'in' soun', an' fus' thing 
 we knowed, all in de pitchy darkness, we was 
 floatin' away nobody cep'n des you an' me an' 
 yo' mammy in de cabin floatin' an' bumpin' an' 
 rockin' <m' all de time dark as pitch. So we kep' 
 on one minute stiddy, nex' minute cher-phmk 
 gins' a tree ur some'h'n' nother all in de dark 
 an' one minute you'd cry you was des a weanin' 
 baby den an' nex' minute I'd heah de bed you 
 an' yo' ma was in bump gins' de wall, an' you'd 
 laugh out loud an' yo' mammy she'd holler all 
 in de dark. An' so we travelled, up an' down,
 
 261 
 
 bunkety-bunk, seem lak a honderd hours ; tell 
 treckly a termenjus wave come an' I had sca'cely 
 felt it boomin' onder me when I pitched, an' ev'y- 
 thing went travellin'. An' when I put out my 
 han', I felt you by me but yo' mammy, she 
 warn't nowhar. 
 
 " Hoi' up yo' face an' don't cry, boy. I been 
 a mighty poor mammy ter yer, but I blesses 
 Gord to-night fur savin' dat little black baby ter 
 me all in de win 1 an 1 de storm an 1 de dark dat 
 night. 
 
 " You see, yo' daddy, he was out wid de gang 
 wuckin' de levee crost de river an' dats huccome 
 yo' ma was 'feerd ter stay by 'erse'f an' sont fur 
 me. 
 
 " Well, baby, when I knowed yo' mammy was 
 gone, I helt yoti tight an' prayed. An' atter a 
 while seem lak a million hours come a pale 
 streak o' day, an' fo' de sun was up, heah come a 
 steamboat puffin' down de river, an' treckly hit 
 blowed a whistle an' ringed a bell an' stop an 
 took us on boa'd, an' brung us on down heah ter 
 de city." 
 
 " An' you never seed my mammy no mo', gran'- 
 dad?" Little Duke's lips quivered just a little. 
 
 " Yo' mammy was safe at Home in de Golden 
 City, Juke, long 'fore we teched even de low Ian' 
 o' dis yearth. 
 
 "An' dats how we got los' f'om we's white folks. 
 
 " An' time we struck de city I was so twis' up 
 wid rheumatiz I lay fur six munts in de Cha'ity
 
 262 
 
 Hospit'l ; an' you bein' so puny, cuttin' yo' toofs, 
 dey kep' you right along in de baby-ward tell I 
 was able to start out. An' sence I stepped out 
 o' dat hospit'l do' wid yo' little bow-legs trottin' 
 by me, so I been goin' ever sence. Days I'd go 
 out sawin' wood, I'd set you on de wood-pile by 
 me ; an' when de cook 'd slip me out a plate o' 
 soup, I'd ax fur two spoons. An' so you an' me, 
 we been pardners right along, an' I wouldn't swap 
 pardners wid nobody you heah, Juke? Dis- 
 here's Christmus, an' I'm talkin' ter yer." 
 
 Duke looked so serious that a feather's weight 
 would have tipped the balance and made him cry; 
 but he only blinked. 
 
 "An' it's gittin' late, now, pardner," the old 
 man continued, " an' you better be gwine less'n 
 you feerd ? Ef you is, des sesso now, an' we'll 
 meek out wid de col' victuals in de press." 
 
 " Who's afeerd, gran'dad ?" Juke's face had 
 broken into a broad grin now, and he was cracking 
 his whip again. 
 
 "Don't eat no supper, tell I come," he added, 
 as he started out into the night. But as he 
 turned down the street, he muttered to himself : 
 
 " I wouldn't keer, ef all dem sassy boys didn't 
 pleg me say I ain't got no mammy ur daddy 
 ur nothin'. But dey won't say it ter me ag'in, not 
 whiles I got dis whup in my han' ! She sting lak 
 a rattlesnake, she do ! She's a daisy an' a half ! 
 Cher-whack ! You gwine sass me any mo', you 
 grea' big over-my-size coward, you ? Take dat !
 
 263 
 
 An' dat ! An' dot ! Now run ! Whoop ! Heah 
 come de red light !" 
 
 So, in fancy avenging his little wrongs, Duke 
 recovered his spirits and proceeded to catch on 
 behind the Prytania car, that was to help him on 
 his way to get his second-hand Christmas dinner. 
 
 His benefactress had not forgotten her prom 
 ise ; and in addition to a heavy pan of scraps, 
 Duke took home, almost staggering beneath its 
 weight, a huge, compact bundle. 
 
 Old Mose was snoring vociferously when he 
 reached the cabin. Depositing his parcel, the 
 little fellow lit a candle which he placed beside 
 the sleeper ; then, uncovering the pan, he laid it 
 gently upon his lap. And now, seizing a spoon 
 and tin cup, he banged it with all his might. 
 
 " Heah de plantation-bell ! Come git yo' Christ- 
 inus gif's !" 
 
 And when his grandfather sprang up, nearly 
 upsetting the pan in his fright, Duke rolled back 
 ward on the floor, screaming with laughter. 
 
 " I 'clare, Juke, boy," said Mose, when he found 
 voice, " I wouldn't o' jumped so, but yo' foolish 
 ness des fitted inter my dream. I was dreamin' 
 o' ole times, an' des when I come ter de ringin' o' 
 de plantation-bell, I heerd cher-plang! An' it 
 nachelly riz me off'n my foots. What's dis heah? 
 Did you git de dinner sho' 'nough ?" 
 
 The pan of scraps quite equalled that of the 
 old man's memory, every familiar fragment evok 
 ing a reminiscence.
 
 264 
 
 " You is sho' struck quality white folks dis 
 time, Juke," he said, finally, as he pushed back 
 the pan Duke had long ago finished " but dis 
 here tukke3 r -stuffin' I don't say 'tain' good, but 
 hit don't quite come up ter de mark o 1 ole miss's 
 puckon stuffing* 
 
 Duke was nodding in his chair, when finally 
 the old man, turning to go to bed, spied the un 
 opened parcel, which, in his excitement, Duke 
 had forgotten. Placing it upon the table before 
 him, Mose began to open it. It was a package 
 worth getting just such a generous Christmas 
 bundle as he had described to Duke this after 
 noon. Perhaps it was some vague impression of 
 this sort that made his old fingers tremble as he 
 untied the strings, peeping or sniffing into the 
 little parcels of tea and coffee and flour. Sud 
 denly something happened. Out of a little sack 
 of buckwheat, accidentally upset, rolled a ten- 
 cent piece. The old man threw up his arms, fell 
 forward over the table, and in a moment was sob 
 bing aloud. 
 
 It was some time before he could make Duke 
 comprehend the situation, but finally, pointing to 
 the coin lying before him, he cried : " Look, boy, 
 look ! Wharbouts is you got dat bundle ? Open 
 yo' mouf, boy ! Look at de money in de buck 
 wheat-bag! Oh, my ole mistuss ! Nobody but 
 you is tied up dat bundle ! Praise Gord, I say !" 
 
 There was no sleep for either Mose or Duke 
 now ; and, late as it was, they soon started out,
 
 265 
 
 the old man steadying himself on Duke's shoul 
 der, to find their people. 
 
 It was hard for little Duke to believe, even 
 after they had hugged all 'round and laughed and 
 cried, that the stylish black gentleman who an 
 swered the door-bell, silver tray in hand, was his 
 own father ! He had often longed for a regular 
 blue-shirted plantation "daddy," but never, in 
 his most ambitious moments, had he aspired to 
 filial relations with so august a personage as this ! 
 
 But while Duke was swelling up, rolling his 
 eyes, and wondering, Mose stood in the centre of 
 a crowd of his white people, while a gray-haired 
 old lady, holding his trembling hand in both of 
 hers, was saying, as the tears trickled down her 
 cheeks : 
 
 "But why didn't you get some one to write to 
 us for you, Moses ?" 
 
 Then Mose, sniffling still, told of his long ill 
 ness in the hospital, and of his having afterwards 
 met a man from the coast who told the story of 
 the sale of the plantation, but did not know where 
 the family had gone. 
 
 " When I fixed up that bundle," the old lady 
 resumed, "I was thinking of you, Moses. Every 
 year we have sent out such little packages to any 
 needy colored people of whom we knew, as a sort 
 of memorial to our lost ones, always half-hoping 
 that they might actually reach some of them. 
 And I thought of you 'specially, Moses," she con-
 
 266 
 
 tmucd, mischievously, " when I put in all that 
 turkey-stuffing. Do you remember how greedy 
 you always were about pecan-stuffing ? It wasn't 
 quite as good as usual this year." 
 
 " No'm ; dat what I say," said Mose. " I tol' 
 Juke dat stuffin' warn't quite up ter de mark 
 ain't I, Juke ? Fur gracious sake, look at Juke, 
 settin' on his daddy's shoulder, with a face on 'im 
 ole as a man ! Put dat boy down, Pete ! Dat's 
 a business-man you foolin' wid !" 
 
 Whereupon little Duke man of affairs, fora 
 ger, financier overcome at last with the fulness 
 of the situation, made a really babyish square 
 mouth, and threw himself sobbing upon his fa 
 ther's bosom.
 
 POEMS
 
 ROSE 
 
 PLANTATION LOVE-SONG 
 
 On, my Rose ain't white, 
 An' my Rose ain't red, 
 
 An' my Rose don't grow 
 On de vine on de shed, 
 
 But she lives in de cabin 
 Whar de roses twines, 
 
 An' she rings out 'er clo'es 
 In de shade o' de vines. 
 
 An' de red leaves fall, 
 An' de white rose sheds, 
 
 Tell dey kiver all de groun' 
 Whar my brown Rose treads. 
 
 An' de butterfly comes, 
 An' de bumble-bee, too, 
 
 An' de hummin'-bird hums 
 All de long day thoo. 
 
 An' dey sip at de white, 
 An' dey tas'e at de red,
 
 270 
 
 An' dey fly in an' out 
 
 O' de vines roun' de shed, 
 
 While I comes along 
 An' I gethers some buds, 
 
 An' I mecks some remarks 
 About renchin' or suds. 
 
 But de birds an' de bees 
 An' de rest of us knows 
 
 Dat we all hangin' roun' 
 Des ter look at my Rose.
 
 WINNIE 
 
 A ROMANCE IN VERSE 
 
 WHEN Winnie steps out ter de stable 
 
 You nuver would know 'less you Jcnowed, 
 
 Dat she had been, sence she was able 
 
 Ter reach on tiptoe at the table, 
 De biggest humbugger dat growed. 
 
 'Gaze me, I ben riz tip wid Winnie 
 I'm talkin' 'bout dat what I know. 
 
 I'd have ter be wuss 'n a ninny 
 
 Ef I could forgit all de shinny 
 An' chinies * we played long ago. 
 
 When she warn't no bigger 'n a minute 
 
 I follered 'er roun' like a pup ; 
 We'd sneak ter de creek and wade in it 
 She'd tuck up 'er frock, an' I'd pin it, 
 
 An' dat's des de way we growed up. 
 
 Why, once-t, when she tromped on a briar, 
 'Way down by de gin-wagon track, 
 
 I stepped in de bramble right by 'er, 
 
 Wid my foots a-stingin' like fire, 
 An' toted 'er home on my back. 
 
 * Marbles.
 
 272 
 
 Of co'se I was des like 'er brother 
 
 (I'm fetchin' dis up des fur proofs). 
 We could o' sot down close-t together, 
 An' pulled out de thorns fur each other, 
 Excep'n' nair one had front toofs. 
 
 An' so she helt on ter my shoulder, 
 
 An' talked 'er sweet talk in my ear : 
 Let on dat she liked me ter hold 'er, 
 An' all sech as dat, tell I told 'er 
 Well, 'tain't 110 use tell in' it here ; 
 
 But when we got down ter de open, 
 
 Instid o' me cross-cuttin' short, 
 I tuck de long road, an' it slopin', 
 An' limped all de way, des a-hopin' 
 She'd 'preshuate me like she ought. 
 
 But after me packin' 'er keerful, 
 An' settin' 'er down at 'er do', 
 Instid o' her thankin' me cheerful, 
 De way she cut up was des fearful. 
 She slid f'om my back to de flo', 
 
 An' 'fo' I could gether my senses 
 Dat gal, she was dancin' a jig ; 
 
 She des had been makiri 1 pertences ! 
 
 An' hore I had clumb over fences 
 Wicl her an" 1 she weighed like a pig. 
 
 Of co'se dis was whiles we was chillen, 
 But when we growed up it was wuss ;
 
 273 
 
 Dec way she'd pervoke me was killin\ 
 Tell sometimes I'd feel like a villain, 
 An', Lord, but I'd in'ardly cuss ! 
 
 She'd ax me ter tote 'er pail for 'er, 
 
 An' walk by my side, an' she'd laugh, 
 An' tell me some joy or some sorrer 
 Dat fretted 'er min'. Den to-morrer 
 She'd git me ter hoi' off de calf 
 
 While Pete, a big boy dat I hated, 
 
 Would come an' stan' close-t by 'er side, 
 An' stiddy de cow, while I waited 
 'Way off 'cross de yard, so frustrated 
 Dat some 4ays I purty nigh cried. 
 
 Dey wasn't no principle in 'er, 
 
 Come down ter sech doin's as dat, 
 'Gaze Pete was a miser'ble sinner, 
 An' 'cep' I was littler an' thinner, 
 Some days I'd o' laid 'im out flat ! 
 
 Well, sir, dat's de way Winnie acted 
 
 She fooled me straight thoo all my life ; 
 An' when she had got me clair 'stracted, 
 Tell I run at Pete, an' got whackted, 
 
 She turned roun', an' well, she's my wife. 
 
 My 'spe'unce wid Peter was bitter, 
 But sometimes it pays ter git hit ; 
 
 18
 
 274 
 
 'Gaze Winnie's a curious critter, 
 An' 'cep' I had resked all ter git 'er, 
 I'd be holdin' off de calf yit.
 
 VOICES 
 
 I reckon I is, like you say, sir, 
 Pa'lized an' half-'stracted an' blin', 
 
 An' maybe de voice dat I hear is 
 De win' when it comes thoo de pine. 
 
 I can't 'spute no white pusson's knowledge, 
 I don't know de hows nur de whys, 
 
 An' when I hears heavenly voices 
 
 Dat seem like dey come f'om de skies, 
 
 I don't fret myse'f wid book-questioms, 
 But listens ter ketch eve'y note, 
 
 An' when a bird sings me harp-music, 
 Don't s'picion de shape of 'is th'oat. 
 
 De katydid close-t to my shoulder, 
 I knows he des saws wid 'is wings, 
 
 But when de Lord sends 'im to cheer me, 
 He sets in de vines an' he sings. 
 
 He sings songs I half disremember, 
 An' all o' my mammy's ole hymns 
 
 She used to sing while she was washin' 
 Right under dese same ole tree limbs. 
 
 An' even de brook dat's all dried up, 
 Dat used to run down f'om de springs,
 
 276 
 
 De katydid mixes its tricklin' 
 
 Right in wid de songs mammy sings. 
 
 An' often she'll stop in a measure, 
 An' I'll hear 'er dip down 'er clo'es, 
 
 An' wring 'em, an' bat 'em, an' reneh 'em- 
 All keepin' good time as she goes. 
 
 Yas, I knows de katydids' music 
 Ain't no mo' 'n shufflin' o' feet, 
 
 But dat nuver hindered 'em learnin' 
 To sing other folks's song sweet. 
 
 Dis ole pine-tree over my cabin, 
 
 Dat's growed thoo a hole in de shed, 
 
 I knows it's all blighted and knotted, 
 An' half of its needles is dead. 
 
 I know whar de thunder-bolt struck it, 
 Its heart is split open an' bare, 
 
 An' folks say de spiders is tuck it, 
 An' swung dey gray webs ever'where. 
 
 But when de night win' passes thoo it, 
 An' all de plantation's asleep, 
 
 It sings me some heavenly prormise 
 Dat 'minds me I'm in de Lord's keep. 
 
 Dey ain't a dry twig ur a needle 
 But sings its purticilar note,
 
 277 
 
 An' even de holler dat's blasted 
 Seem like it turns inter a th'oat. 
 
 Yas, I knows I's pa'lized an' blinded 
 An' half-'stracted, des like you say, 
 
 An' co'se I ain't got education! 
 To 'splain all my comforts away. 
 
 So, when a ole bumble-bee fetches 
 Some story 'bout when I was young, 
 
 Dat I done forgot, 'cep' in snatches, 
 I don't make 'im show me 'is tongue. 
 
 I don't ax no impident questioms, 
 But listens to ketch eve'y note ; 
 
 An' when a bird plays me harp-music, 
 Don't s'picion de shape of 'is th'oat. 
 
 THE KND
 
 BY EUTII MoENERY STUART 
 
 CARLOTTA'S INTENDED, and Other Talcs. Illus 
 trated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 50. 
 
 They all are simple, pathetic, and full of humanity. 
 They are told wonderfully well, and the author reveals her 
 self as exceptionally skilful alike in studying and describing 
 racial and personal characteristics. The volume is one of the 
 best and most entertaining of its class which we have read 
 in a long time. Congregationalist, Boston. 
 
 Mrs. Stuart has a way of her own to charm her readers 
 withal. In these stories she is at her best ; they are all 
 good, very good. Independent, N. Y. 
 
 A GOLDEN WEDDING, and Other Tales. Illus 
 trated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 50. 
 
 The ten or twelve sketches in "A Golden Wedding" re 
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 the dialect writing of the day. Only one thrown into inti 
 mate contact with the simple-hearted black people brought 
 up with them could have drawn their features and their 
 natures in outlines so true, steadfast, and dramatic. Critic, 
 N. Y. 
 
 Ruth McEnery Stuart lias not caught alone the lingual 
 qualities of the negro, but their emotional side. " The Gold 
 en Wedding " is touching in sentiment. N. Y. Times. 
 
 THE STORY OF BABETTE : A Little Creole Girl. Il 
 lustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 50. 
 
 The story is charming, and will be read as frequently by 
 grown people as by children. N. Y. Times. 
 
 Not only does "Babette" thrill with interest, but it is 
 sweet and wholesome in its attractiveness. Cincinnati Com 
 mercial- Gazette. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. 
 
 above works are for sale- by all booksellers, or will be sent 
 by the publishers by mail, postage 'prepaid, to any part of the United 
 States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price.
 
 BY MAEY E. WILKINS 
 
 MADELON. A Novel. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25. 
 
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 Mary E. Wilkins writes of New England country life, ana 
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 ness of one who knows it through and through, and yet never for 
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 It takes just such distinguished literary art as Mary E. Wil- 
 kins possesses to give an episode of New England its soul, 
 pathos, and poetry. N. Y. Times. 
 
 The charm of Miss Wilkins's stories is in her intimate ac 
 quaintance and comprehension of humble life, and the sweet 
 human interest she feels and makes her readers partake of, in 
 the simple, common, homely people she draws. Springfield 
 Republican. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK 
 
 K3~ The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the 
 publishers postage prepaid, on receipt of the price.
 
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