Green Thursday

Missie

THE day was almost gone. Rose was cooking supper when a shadow darkened the doorway. She looked around quickly. Who was there? Killdee always came in with heavy steps that could be heard.

A strange little figure stood on the top step. A girl who was small and dirty and ragged. A broken, rusty dishpan filled with fat light-wood splinters was balanced on her head. Thin, trembling, black hands steadied it as the child looked up into Rose’s face with a diffident smile and said softly:

“Dese is some fat chip I fetch fo’ you.”

Rose looked at the rich pine chips piled high on the pan. Then she searched the child’s narrow face. Her keen eyes noted the pointed chin, the curve of the purplish, dark-red lips, the delicate, bluish bloom on the black cheeks. A stranger. Who?

“Who is you, gal?” she asked abruptly. “Whe’ you come f’om?”

Rose knew everybody in this part of the world and she had never seen or heard of this child before.

“I name Missie,” the child answered. “My mammy an’ all o’ we come f’om ober de ribber fo’ pick cotton. None ain’ mek to we home.”

“Whe’ you git dem chip?” Rose asked after a moment’s thought.

“I cut dem off a stump back o’ we house,” was the prompt reply.

“Whe’ you house dey?” Rose asked again.

The child turned and pointed across the field to a dark line of woods that showed a jagged edge under the sunset sky.

“We house is yonder,” she said simply.

“Great Gawd,” Rose said, “I know em. Da ol’, broke-down house. Da’s a bad-luck house, gal. Too much a people dead een em. I wouldn’ trust fo’ stay dey. I too faid o’ hants.”

Missie’s big eyes glistened in the firelight as she heard, but she did not answer.

“Put de chip down by de fireplace,” Rose bade her. “I glad to git em. Wha’ you want fo’ em?”

Missie dropped her eyes and said shyly.

“Please, ma’am, gi’ me a lil piece o’ bread.”

Rose scanned the thin face, the slight body. Was the child hungry? She went to the safe and looked in a pan there. She broke off a piece of corn pone left from dinner and handed it to Missie, who took it eagerly and started out of the door.

“Wait,” Rose said. “You ain’ got no manners? You ain’ gwine say ’Tank you’?”

Missie bowed and pulled a foot back to make a curtsey and said solemnly:

“Tank you, ma’am.”

“Da’s right,” Rose laughed. “You kin cutsey good fo-true. But look how you drap crumbs on de clean flo’.”

Missie gave a quick look around the room and spied a field-straw broom in the corner. She laid her bread carefully on the table and, getting the broom, swept all the crumbs into the fire with a few deft strokes.

“Why, you is a smart lil gal,” Rose approved. “You kin sweep nice. When you gits hongry again, fetch me some mo splinters an’ I’ll gi’ you bread.”

Missie took up her bread and made another curtsey.

“Good ebenin’, ma’am,” she said respectfully.

Rose laughed again and responded:

“Good ebenin’.” But as an afterthought she called to the child:

“Come back heah a minute. Wha’ you las’ name, gal?”

Missie reflected seriously and answered:

“I dunno, ma’am. Ma ain’ nebber tell me.”

“I don’ reckon you got none,” Rose pronounced severely.

Missie seemed not to understand, for she gave a puzzled look at Rose, then went away down the path.

In the fading light Rose saw that a thin, yellow cur dog walked beside her and that Missie fed him bits of her bread.

When Killdee came in from the field and saw the fat splinters and heard how Missie swept up crumbs off the floor and curtseyed when she said good-by, the thought flashed into his mind that Missie would be the very person to come and stay with Rose and help her take care of Jim.

“Let’s git em,” he said.

“You reckon ’e mammy would gi’ em ’way?” Rose considered.

“Sho ’e will. Anyway, I kin go ax em.”

The next day at noon when Killdee and Mike came home for dinner, Missie and the yellow cur dog were walking behind them. Both waited outside by the stable door until Mike was fed, then they walked slowly behind Killdee into the house.

“I got em,” Killdee announced brightly. “I got you a lil gal.”

Rose’s eyes were on the dog. Killdee saw she disapproved.

A string of fresh egg-shells hung on a nail by the chimney dangled in the draught. Rose had put them there this morning. Strung like that and hung beside the fire, egg-shells would make her hens lay.

Missie looked from them to Rose, then at the dog.

“Son don’ suck egg. No’m,” she defended.

“Don’ tell me no lie, gal,” Rose warned.

“No’m, Son ain’ suck a egg een e life. We raise em,” Missie affirmed.

“Wha ’e name?” Rose asked sternly.

“We call em ’Son,’ ma’am.”

“You gi’ de dawg to me, Missie. I eber did want a coon dawg. I bet e is a good one,” Killdee intervened. “An’ I’ll kill em ef e suck one o’ Rose eggs.”

Missie looked up quickly, but the expression on Killdee’s face reassured her. Rose saw something like a message pass between Killdee and Missie and she retorted:

“Ef ’e suck eggs you won’ hab a chance to kill em. I’ll tend to em my own se’f,” she threatened. Her tone was sharp.

Killdee drew a chair forward and sat down.

“Come heah, gal,” he said. “Lemme look at you good. I ain’ had time tell now.”

Rose stood with arms akimbo and watched Missie come forward. The small bare head with its sunburned wool was bowed humbly. The slim, black fingers plucked nervously at the soiled, ragged dress. One ashy toe of a slender foot dug at a line of a crack in the floor.

“Look een my eye, gal. Don’t be faid. Tell me you name,” Killdee coaxed with an amused smile on his face.

“Come heah, close to me, gal,” he repeated.

“Don’ plague em, Killdee,” Rose chided him.

“I ain’ plaguin’ em,” Killdee declared. “I des axin’ em ’e name. I haffer know ’e name, enty?”

Missie lifted her eyes timidly. They met Killdee’s and her curved lashes flickered and dropped. Killdee saw that the dark-red lips quivered and a dimple came and went in the pointed chin. The child was shy as a wild bird. The little breast was heaving with a sudden sob and a bright tear fell with a tiny pat on Rose’s clean floor. Missie quickly put up an arm to wipe away the others that were following it.

Killdee was distressed. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. No.

“Don’ cry, lil gal. Don’ cry. I wasn’ makin’ fun o’ you. No. Come heah close to me. I like lil gals like you.”

He put out a big hand and pity made his deep voice very gentle.

“Come heah, lil gal. Come close to me. I had a lil gal one time.”

Missie raised her eyes again and, though there were tears on her long lashes, her lips parted and Killdee saw teeth white as rice grains showing between them.

“Da’s right,” he encouraged. “Da’s right. Try fo’ laugh, gal. Don’t cry. I can’ stan’ fo’ see a gal-chillen cry. Come stan’ close to me and tell me yo’ name.”

Missie came closer, but when Killdee put an arm around her and drew her up to him, her heart beat fast with fear. He was so big. So strong. So different from anybody she had ever seen in her life before.

Yet mingled with the fear was a thrill of something like joy. She sensed that in the strength of this man she would find safety. Protection. And she sensed in the sharp tone of Rose’s voice something that made her afraid and unhappy.

Yes, Killdee was her friend. It was good to lean right against him so. To feel his arm around her. And she leaned with simple trust and wiped her eyes and cheeks dry with her sleeve.

Rose was shocked. The girl was filthy. More than likely, full of lice. Killdee was a thoughtless man. He didn’t know how to look after himself.

“You le’ da gal git close you, Killdee?” she cried out. “Wait tell I scour ’em an’ put clean clo’es on em. Gawd! I wouldn’ le’ em touch me no-how.”

Killdee laughed and drew his arm away, saying:

“You reckon e’s lousy?”

“Sho ’e is,” Rose affirmed. She pointed to the shelf.

“Look on de shelf, gal. Git dem two buckets an’ go to de spring fo’ water. I gwine hotten a potful and scrub you hide good.”

As Missie started for the buckets, Killdee shook his head.

“No, Rose. One bucket is plenty fo’ a lil gal to fetch up da steep hill. You ain’ fo’ strain a gal-chillen. Missie ain’ had no dinner. E don’ know de way to de spring. You fo-git. Missie ain’ nuttin’ but a baby.”

“Baby!” Rose scoffed. “Baby nuttin’! E might lil an’ dry, but shucks! e’s plenty ol’ fo’ go to de spring an’ fetch two buckets o’ water.”

“Gi’ em some dinner fus’, Rose. When I finish my own, I’ll git you de water.”

Rose said no more. She fixed a pan of food for Killdee, then one for Missie and one for herself, and they all sat down to eat. There was a strange silence. Somehow the little girl’s presence made a difference already.

When Killdee finished eating, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and got up.

“I’ll git you all de water you want now. Ef Jim ain’ wake when I come back, I gwine wake him. I haffer play wid em a lil befo’ I go back to de fiel’.”

“No, you ain’ gwine wake em nuttin’,” Rose declared, looking over at the bed, and a tender smile softened her heavy mouth.

“Yes I is,” Killdee returned playfully. “You got a gal to nuss em fo’ you now. I wan’ see how Jim like dis gal anyhow.”

Missie ate her dinner hungrily. It tasted good, for she had never had many full meals in her life.

After Killdee had gone to the field again, Rose and Missie washed the pots and pans together. Rose showed the child where each thing stayed when it was clean.

“You is fo’ do dis ebey day, Missie,” Rose said simply, and Missie nodded assent.

When all the pots and pans were put away, Rose sat down to rest and smoke her pipe.

“Sweep de flo’, gal. Sweep easy, too. Don’ wake Jim.”

But Jim did wake and when Missie started toward him with an eager, happy smile, Rose stopped her.

“No,” she said, “don’ touch em. You’s full o’ lice. I don’ want Jim to git none on em. No, my Gawd! Wait tell I git you clean. Den you kin mind em all you want.”

When Killdee came home at dark, a queer, comical little figure stood by the hearth helping Rose cook supper. Missie, after Rose had cleaned her.

Every bit of wool had been clipped from her small head. The only garment she wore was one of Killdee’s own shirts. The sleeves were cut off the right length for the thin arms, and the neck-band, lapped over and pinned together, hung awkwardly. The child glanced shamefacedly at him when he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Fo’ Gawd’s sake, Rose! Dis gal look like a skinned rabbit.”

Killdee looked at Missie again and held his sides. Rose stood looking and laughing too.

“I had to do em so, Killdee,” Rose explained. “E was pure lousy. ’E dress was sewed on em. I cut off ebyting e had on an’ bu’nt em up. Den I clip ’e haid. Dat ol’ shu’t o’ you’ own been too ol’ fo’ patch any mo’. But de gal is clean. An’ Jim is pure crazy ’bout em. ’E play so much ’e gone sleep by fus’ dark.”

Killdee walked over to the hearth where Missie stood and put a hand on her shoulder. How pitiful that poor little bare head was! He didn’t know just what to say.

“Nemmine, Missie,” he murmured, “You haih’ll soon grow back. I’m gwine to de sto’ nex’ Sat’day an’ I’ll buy you a dress. A purty dress. An’ some o’ dese days I’m gwine buy you some shoes fo’ wear on Sunday, too.”

Missie could not look up. Two bright tears dropped on the clean white sand of the hearth.

Killdee leaned and took her hand and led her with him to a chair.

“Jim is gone to sleep, lil gal. I got to hol’ some kinder chillen een my lap. Lemme hol’ you a minute.”

“No-suh,” Rose objected, “Missie ain’ no baby fo’ you to spile. Go git me a pan out de safe, gal. You too big fo’ set een Killdee lap.”

Missie went to the safe and Killdee sat down in the doorway. He took out his pipe and lit it and smoked in silence.

The day was gone. A slender, young moon guarded the evening star. Crickets chirped a few trial notes together. A cow bell jangled down in the pasture. A whippoorwill called uneath words. The hot breeze that fanned his face blew the smoke from his mouth back into the cabin.

A sudden weariness seemed to sap his strength. A feeling of loneliness darkened his heart. The fields out there, the woods beyond them, all lay quiet. Peaceful. Why could he not be so? Why must he always strive, struggle with something inside his heart? Rose didn’t understand. No.

His pipe was finished. Looking inside, he asked:

“Whe’ is Missie gwine sleep, Rose?”

“I gwine mek em a pallet on de flo’,” Rose answered cheerfully. “I got plenty o’ quilt.”

When Missie was curled up on one folded quilt on the floor and covered over with another, she knew she must not let Rose and Killdee hear her crying. But when she thought of her Mother, of Sis, of all of them at home, her heart felt likely to burst with longing for them.

Could she bear to stay here? When everybody got sound asleep, she’d get up and slip out of the door and go back to her mother. She wouldn’t be afraid of the dark with Son. He’d go with her and keep anything from hurting her.

But her clothes were burned up. Her hair was clipped off. She had nothing on but Killdee’s old shirt. She couldn’t let them see her like that. Not like that.

Sobs wrenched her. She was afraid. Misery made her ache all over.

Killdee leaned over her, patting her gently, saying: “Good night.”

She slipped a hand into his big, warm one and held to it. If he would just stay here by her a little!

“You mus’ dream a good dream to-night, lil gal. Dis is de fus’ night you sleep in dis house. All you dream’ll come true,” he whispered.

Missie looked at him and tried to smile. She would never be afraid of him any more. No. And if he wanted her, she’d stay here and try to be happy with Rose.

“Do, Killdee,” Rose scolded. “Le’ de gal go to sleep.”

Next morning Missie woke early. She tried to recall her dream. What was it? She couldn’t quite remember. But it was something pleasant. It seemed to be something about Killdee.

Meeting

WHEN Missie came to live with Rose and Killdee, she had never been to church or to prayer-meeting in her life, and the first time she went to the quarters for meeting with Rose her heart thrilled at what she saw.

The night was dark, and as they got nearer Maum Martha’s cabin where meeting was held every Wednesday night, the light from the open door shone out on black people who stood in the yard, laughing and talking.

As they went up the weak old steps, Rose warned her:

“Mine you’ eye an’ don’ fall. Don’ le’ dese steps broke you leg de fus’ time you come to meetin’.”

Narrow wooden benches filled the room. Missie took her seat on one of those back near the door. Rose had explained to her on the way that only members could sit up in front near the fire. Sinners had to sit far back. And Missie was a sinner, for she had never sought to find peace, nor had she been baptized.

As Rose sat on the front bench, it creaked with her weight.

“Jedus! Do don’ fall!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Dese bench is gittin’ too ol’ fo’ be trusted.”

Maum Martha, an old, fat woman who sat on one on the opposite side of the fire, sighed:

“Lawd, yes. Dey is ol’. My own daddy, Champagne, mek dem befo’ my time. Da’s how-come dey stay under my house. Da’s how-come meetin’ is heah wid me. Dey ain’ gwine las’ much longer ef de mens ain’ ca’ful how dey tote em. Mens is change sense I was young. Dey don’ keer ef dey broke de meetin’ bench. Dey ain’ got prays een de back side o’ dey head. Dey mind run too fas’ on gals an’ dancin’ an’ sin. Dey povoke me!”

Maum Martha’s eyes narrowed as she peered through the half-light at Missie.

“Who dat gal a-settin’ by de do?” she asked.

“Dat de gal Killdee git fo’ me to raise,” Rose owned it proudly.

“I declea!” Maum Martha approved. “You hab luck fo’ git sich a big gal. E big ’nough fo’ mind you baby, enty?”

“Sho,” Rose agreed. “E ain’ so big, but e strong. E kin hoe, too. An’ cut wood. An’ fetch water f’om de spring. E kin put one bucket on e head an’ tek one een each hand and walk right up dat steep hill. E stronger’n me.”

People were coming in. Men, women, children, followed Daddy Cato, an old man, who took his place at the little pine table in the center of the room. With a splinter from the hearth, he lit the small glass kerosene lamp.

What a strange-looking person he was! His arms seemed too long. The sleeves of his greenish black coat left his bony wrists naked. His vest was too short. It left part of his shirt showing above his big, loose pantaloons.

He rested the finger-tips of his great hands on the table in front of him and looked over the crowd of quiet people that filled the room.

One eyelid drooped and covered an eye. One side of his kind old mouth was twisted.

“Chillen,” he said in a deep, booming voice, “hell ain’ no hole.”

The silence was tense. The congregation listened attentively.

“A hole would ’a’ been full long time ago,” he continued.

“Do Jedus!” somebody exclaimed, but most of the people stayed silent.

Daddy Cato rubbed the scattered white hairs on his chin thoughtfully.

“Chillen,” he said solemnly, “I dunno e-zactly wha’ hell is.” He hesitated and cleared his throat before he went on. “But I tink e mus’ be a lake.”

“Yes, my Gawd! E mus’ be,” somebody answered fervently.

Missie felt uncomfortable. Rose had told her a lot about hell and God since she came. God lived in heaven. He loved Christians and hated sinners. He burned sinners in a place he called hell.

All the fire in the world came from hell. God swam it through seven rivers to cool it before he brought it here. Seven wide rivers.

The fire in the chimney behind Daddy Cato was so hot that sweat ran out on his forehead and drops fell from his face. Hell fire is seven times hotter than that fire. God must be terrible. It scared her to think about him.

Killdee was a sinner, Rose said. Killdee laughed when Rose said it. Killdee wasn’t afraid of God or hell or anything. How could he be so bold!

Wind through the open door fluttered the fringe of cut newspapers that covered the mantelshelf. They began a funny, wild dancing behind Daddy Cato’s back.

“De do haffer shet,” he said, and Andrew got up and closed it and put up the bar to hold it in place.

Soon somebody knocked and Andrew had to open it again. Maum Hannah came in, and old Daddy Cudjoe. They hurried past the sinners and went to the benches where the members sat, away from the draughty back walls. As Maum Hannah warmed her hands by the fire, she looked behind her.

“E too col’ to-night fo’ mek de sinners set so far f’om de fire. Gawd mek de win’ blow. Him know good how col’ e is. Le’ dem chillen come up an’ warm. Po’ lil creeter. Gawd ain’ gwine be bex ’bout dat.”

But the members looked serious and shook their heads and the sinners stayed where they were.

Newspapers that were pasted all over the walls swelled out when the wind blew a hard gust. The paste that held them must be stout! Brown spots showed where rain had beaten in through cracks and stained them. Age had yellowed them. But to Missie they looked very fine.

The rafters overhead were almost hidden with newspapers tied to barrel hoops and cut into fringes. These swung gently like blossoms.

Pictures were tacked around the walls. Over the mantelshelf a beautiful wild bay horse pranced with all four of its feet lifted high.

A white lady with a pink dress on was near him. She laughed and looked at a bottle of something brown in her hand.

On the opposite wall was a double row of large pictures. Awful pictures. Negroes naked to the waist. All of them broken out with an ugly sickness. Missie did not know that they were pictures of small-pox victims sent out by the State, but she felt sick inside to see such swollen cheeks and bodies.

What did Maum Martha want with them there? Maybe they were sinners——

Daddy Cato was singing. The people were getting to their feet, and joining in the song. How solemn it sounded! Chills ran over her as she listened.

“Roll, Jordan, roll,” were the only words she could make out, but these were sung over and over.

Daddy Cato held up his hand and sang some words alone. His deep voice filled the cabin and roused an aching in Missie’s heart.

“Roll, Jordan, roll,” he sang, and the firelight flickered over the low, dark walls. Nobody else made a sound. His voice was enough. So sad. So pitiful. Missie could hardly keep from crying.

Poor Daddy Cato, old gray-headed man, was crying out to something for help. Was he singing to God?

Then Maum Hannah joined with him and the two old voices swelled upward. The others swayed from side to side and hummed low. Where was God?

Missie had never felt so lonely before. She had never felt sorrow before. But in the cry of those two old voices she felt her own helplessness, her insecurity against some unknown, strange power. She wished Killdee could have come. He was yonder at home taking care of little Jim. But then, Killdee was sinner. God was going to burn Killdee if he didn’t repent. Rose said so. There seemed to be no escape from this God. None.

“Sing, chillen, sing,” Daddy Cato bade, and the whole congregation united in a heaving flood of sound that pressed against the very walls and deadened the moaning of the wind outside.

“Roll, Jordan, roll.”

Missie’s lips moved with the words. Her heart moved with something like prayer. God must be hearing now. Everybody was singing. Calling to Him.

Daddy Cato began praying. Missie shut her eyes. In her darkness her mother’s face came before her. How she wished her mother were here to hold her hand! To keep her from being afraid! For she was afraid. Yes. Of God. Of this singing. Of those sick people on the walls. Of the darkness. Of everything. Yes, everything.

Cold, or maybe it was fear, made gooseflesh break out on her body.

“Chillen,” Daddy Cato said.

The congregation answered: “Yessuh.”

“Dey’s a stranger een de lan’,” he told them.

“Enty?” they answered in surprise.

“Somebody duh meet da stranger eby day.”

What was Daddy Cato talking about? A stranger. Who? The members facing Missie from the other side of the fire had their eyes fixed on Daddy Cato’s face. Maum Hannah nodded sorrowfully at him. She understood him.

“Chillen, da stranger pass me by, mighty close one time,” Daddy Cato said.

“Enty?” they mumbled back.

“So close tell I felt e breat’,——”

Somebody cried out: “Do, Jedus!”

“Yinner see my face—— how e lef’ em——”

A tremble cramped Daddy Cato’s black lips. He held up the smoky lamp and pointed to his motionless cheek. His face was wrong. One whole side of it. It was still. It didn’t move at all. Even when the other side cried it was quiet.

“E pa-lyze,” somebody whispered. “Da wha’ ’e duh talk ’bout——”

There were grunts of sympathy.

“Chillen——” Daddy Cato’s voice broke, then he went on earnestly: “When da stranger kiss you—an’ e gwine kiss eby one—eby one!”

The good side of his face began crying. It twisted like a child’s. The members on the front benches began praying and groaning and moaning: “Do, Jedus! Hab mussy, Lawd!”

Some of them rocked from side to side and begged Daddy Cato to go on.

“Tell em, brudder! Tell em! Heah em, sinners! Heah em fo-true!”

Missie shivered. She was a sinner. Rose said so. A sinner. And it made her afraid to look at Daddy Cato’s face, all crooked—wrong——

“Chillen,” he began again with his voice low and tight in his throat, “yinner know wha’ da stranger leab when e kiss you?”

“No, suh,” they answered him softly. The firelight shone bright in their wide-opened eyes.

“When da stranger kiss you—’e ain’ gwine leab nuttin’—nuttin’!”

Daddy Cato’s lips stumbled with what he wanted to say. “Nuttin ain’ leab but a box o’ col’ meat. Col’ meat!”

His words fell cold. Flat. There was no answer to them. A gust of wind shrilled around the corner of the cabin. The newspaper fringes on the mantelshelf shook with a smoky draught that sucked down the chimney. The heavy, black log made a crunching, frying sound. It had burned through, and it broke in the middle and sent a shower of sparks crackling up the wide, black chimney.

Daddy Cato wiped his eyes on his sleeve and one of the members began to sing: “Hush! Hush! Somebody’s a-callin’ my name.”

Missie thought at first he meant what he said. He said it solemnly. But the others began saying it with him. They sang it. Over and over again they sang it, and a wailing chorus followed it:

“Oh, Lawd, what am I gwine do?”

It was so pitiful. They sounded so humble. So helpless. The little children got closer together. Their lips moved too, as they sang the words. When the song was ended, Daddy Cato called out:

“Come an’ pray, Brudder Andrew.”

Missie knew Andrew. He was Rose’s cousin. She watched him as he came forward to the table and knelt down. He stepped in a slow, easy, careless way, and after he knelt by the table the light of the kerosene lamp in his wide-open eyes made Missie think of a rattlesnake’s eyes in the sun. His head came out from a stoop in his big shoulders. As he folded his arms on the table, his lean, sinewy hands grasped his elbows firmly. His hair was clipped close from his head. The ridges in it showed plain. His nostrils swelled out and his thin lips quivered with the words that burred over them. And his eyes—maybe talking to God made them shine so and glitter—and stare——

Sweat oozed from his smooth black forehead. From his flattened nostrils. He held his words to a smothered singing that almost ran them together.

Missie stood up to see his face better, but somebody touched her and she sat down again and let the words flow over her.

Andrew’s black eyes were staring at something beyond the wall. His big, strong teeth were bared. They ground together harshly, and his hands strained at each other.

The room was still. Too still. Maybe Andrew was in a trance. Rose said people went into a trance when they looked on the face of God.

But suddenly Andrew smiled and said: “Amen!”

He got up and walked slowly back to his seat, and wiped his face on his sleeve as he went. The congregation sat up straight and Daddy Cato began singing:

“Jedus is my maul and wedge——”

Everybody sang it with him. Then Daddy Cudjoe was called on to pray.

Daddy Cudjoe is old and crooked. His face was lined and creased with deep wrinkles. His teeth were all gone so he speaks with a funny, childish lisp.

Everybody smiled in a kindly way when he went forward and knelt by the table. He bent over so low that his head almost touched the floor. The lamplight fell on his snow-white hair and he rubbed his knotted, old, trembling, black hands together.

Some of the children grinned when his thin cracked high voice cried out:

“Massuh Jedus—dis duh me—ol’ Cudjoe——!

I know good fo’-true I ain’ nuttin’!

Des’ a po’ ol’ black nigger!

But de Book say You know all dem lil sparrow-bud an’ ting——

Dat how-come me, Ol’ Cudjoe, hab de hea’t fo’ ax You fo’ don’ fo-git me.

I don’ be f’aid—not liken I nusen to be.

Seem lak—sometime—de grabe’ll be sweet——”

He began to sob, but the members encouraged him to go on.

“Go on, Daddy! Talk wid Him! E ain’ gwine fo-git you! E know you!”

Heartened by them, the old man tussled on with his prayer.

“When I git to heab’n I wan’ leddown an’ res’ tree week. On a big white counterpane bed. Da’s all I wan’ do. Dis res’.

I ain’ no count, not fo’ wuk, no mo—I all de time wanter set down. Yessuh.

I don’ wan’ no gol’ shoe, please, Suh—Shoe eber did hu’t my feet—Don’ gi’ me no okra an’ tomattus soup fo’ eat, Suh—I so lub clabber and sweet milk. An’ honey an’ white flour bread.”

The children laughed out loud at this. Daddy Cato looked at them and shook his head, then he said:

“Dat’ll do now, Cudjoe. You done talk wid Him good. You done say a-plenty. Say ’Amen’ now.”

And Daddy Cudjoe did. He got up painfully from his curved knees and went hobbling back to his seat by the fire, brushing the tears out of his eyes.

Andrew began a spiritual, clapping his hands slowly together as he sang,

“Push de bench back, chillen,” Daddy Cato directed.

There was a great fuss and clutter and rattling. Everybody was moving. Missie felt dazed by the crowding and cramming. The benches were hurried outside and put back under the house, except those placed around the walls.

Sinners and Christians were all mixed together, the men singers in one corner, and the women forming a ring in the middle of the room where the table had been.

The shouting was starting.

Missie didn’t see Rose, so she got close beside Maum Hannah in a corner out of the draught.

Women in the circle took short, shuffling steps and their hands were held out in front of them limp from the wrist.

As the men’s singing and handclapping went faster, the women’s short, shuffling steps became nimbler.

Mothers with babies in their arms stood close to the wall and sang in sharp, high, piercing voices and shook the babies in time. Little children with round, black eyes and spindling bare legs moved their lips earnestly and beat time with small, bony palms and heels.

The cupped hands of the men in the corner made deafening claps. Their knees bent and stiffened with frantic jerks. How could they do it? Their strained throats were corded. Veins swelled in their temples. Their set eyes glared. Sweat poured off their faces. Over and over they shouted fiercely:

Keen treble voices chimed above the thundering rhythm. Missie felt terrified.

“Send de sperit, Jedus!” Daddy Cato cried, and the good part of his face laughed with joy.

Rose was in the ring of shouters with her hat in her hand.

“Hol’ my hat tell I done,” she yelled to Missie as she passed. The hat was tossed forward.

The exhausted singers stopped with a breathless laugh. The door was choked with people trying to push out into the yard for air.

“I decla’ to Gawd, I ain’ got a dry t’read on.” Rose patted her thick wet body as she said it.

“But you sho is shout nice, Cun Rose,” Andrew assured her politely.

There were two ways home. At Maum Hannah’s cabin, the road divided. One way went around the fields and the other dwindled to a path that ran through the woods and across the duck-dam gully.

“Le’s don’ go home t’rough dem woods, not to-night,” Rose suggested to Missie, who was holding fast to her hand. “I ain’ ’f’aid de da’k, but dem woods always hab a kinder strange look when de moon is young lak e is to-night.”

Missie was glad to go around the long way, even if it did lead by the graveyard. God was everywhere, Rose said, but the fields couldn’t hide Him the way thick woods might do. As they walked on, Rose talked pleasantly.

“You know, gal, ef you trabble roun’ at night, ’specialty een de spring endurin’ de small o’ de moon, you more’n likely to see a plat eye,” Rose changed to a husky whisper.

“Long up yonder by Gilliken’s sto’ at de cross-road, close by de two notch mile post, a lil dawg’ll come runnin’ up by you and kinder rub hisse’f up on you’ leg. Ef you shoot em e’ll tu’n to a hog. You shoot em agin an’ e’ll tu’n to a hoss. Shoot em agin, an’ e’ll tu’n to a man ’thout no haid. Ef you keep on a shootin’ em e’ll tu’n to a fog—to dis something nudder kinder like a cloud.

“Den you better run hard ez you kin. Dey say: ’A cowardly man don’ tote no broke bones.’”

Missie listened, and shivered. A plat eye was as bad as God.

Mount Pleasant

THE next Saturday morning Rose said to Killdee:

“I ain’ been to Mount Pleasant Church een so long, man. Lemme hab ol’ Mike an’ de wagon. Me an’ Missie could go by an’ tek Maum Hannah long, too. Missie is a ign’ant gal. E ought to go to a reg-lar preachin’ one time.”

“Sho. Go ef you wanter,” Killdee agreed cheerfully.

And so on Sunday morning before noon, Rose and Missie were dressed, ready to go. Missie’s dress was white and a red ribbon was tied around her waist. Rose washed her face clean and greased it with nice white hog lard. It shone, Killdee said, and he laughed out loud when he looked at her all ready to go.

Missie hardly knew Rose in her fine flowered purple muslin. It stayed in the trunk in the shed room. Rose had on a corset, too, and her wrapped hair was completely covered with a black, wool wig she had bought from the cross-roads store. This fitted smooth and tight and it had a knot right in the back. It made Rose’s black sailor hat almost too small for her head, but it looked very grand.

Rose had no shoes that were whole, so she borrowed a pair from Mary West, and Mary sent along her gold-rimmed spectacles, too, for Rose to wear. Mary was a sinner. She hardly ever bothered to go to church, but she was very kind about lending her things.

Rose’s feet were short and thick and Mary’s were long and narrow, but that didn’t make much difference, because Rose didn’t put the shoes on until she got in sight of the church. Shoes were just for looks.

Killdee helped them into the wagon and handed Rose the rope lines.

“Wait,” she said. “Git a quilt offen de bed fo’ put ober my lap. Dese lines ain’ so clean.” Killdee hurried in and got the prettiest one, the log-cabin one, red and blue and white and yellow.

Missie, sitting up on the plank seat beside Rose, covered her lap, too. Her dress was so beautiful and clean and white she could not bear for dust to get on it.

Maum Hannah was ready and waiting for them when they reached her cabin. She wore a black sailor hat, too, over her black and white head-handkerchief. She had on shoes and stockings, and a big, white apron over her plain black calico dress. She was so neat. So clean. So kind.

“See my new shoe?” she asked happily, holding out a foot. “I git dem f’om de sto’ yestiddy. I been want a slim nine, but I had to tek a wide eight, by de man ain’ had nuttin’ else.”

Mike stood patiently and switched his close-clipped tail at the stinging flies, while Maum Hannah climbed up into the wagon and took her seat beside Rose. Missie sat on a box behind them.

“Lawd, dis is settin’ up mighty high, enty! It good Mike duh walk slow or we-all sho would fall out.”

Mike did walk slow, and Rose and Maum Hannah talked as they rolled on over the rough, dusty road.

They said that Reverend Duncan was getting mighty old, and he was too fat. But where would they ever get another pastor like him? He and his wife were so large they had to ride in two buggies and drive two horses. But he did preach powerful sermons.

Rose thought the assessment of a dollar and a chicken and a peck of corn for each member was too heavy, for there were nine hundred members at Mount Pleasant Church alone, and he had two other churches. But Maum Hannah thought the price was cheap enough to hear the word preached as Reverend Duncan could preach it. Every other Sunday, too. Not once a month, as many churches had.

Rose thought a preacher ought to know how to read, but Maum Hannah said reading out of books wasn’t good. It was better Reverend Duncan couldn’t do it. There were other ways to read. So many things in books were not so. If Reverend Duncan could read, he might get a lot of wrong notions. As it was, he had to think things out by himself. He had to ask the Father up-yonder to tell him what to say. He knew all the hymns. He could line them out good as if he read them. He could marry people word for word like it was in the book. He always held the book open in front of him, and it did as well as if he were reading out of it.

Young people thought a lot about reading, but she was raised to know it wasn’t good for everybody to be reading so much. Let the white people do it if they wanted to take a chance, but the colored people didn’t know enough about books to know what was good to read and what was good to leave alone. There were plenty of other ways to find out about things besides reading out of books. Plenty. All these schools and things were foolish.

A sudden bend in the road brought Mount Pleasant Church into sight. There it stood, facing the big road. A long, low, whitewashed building with a grove of pines at its back. Mules and wagons and buggies and people were thick around it.

Mike walked so slow that other wagons passed them. Clouds of red dust rose and floated over them, then drifted away to the cotton fields on each side of the road. Rose jerked at the rope lines. She tried to make Mike hurry, but he paid no attention at all. He walked steadily, slowly, quietly.

Missie wished for the quilt to put over her clean white dress. This dust would soon spoil it. And she was hot. The sun shone blinding bright down on them.

“Jedus, my haid sho is hot! I wish I ain’ wore my haih to-day,” Rose complained.

“I decla’!” Maum Hannah exclaimed. “I been settin’ heah a-lookin’. I wonder how you git you haih fix sich a way. You buy em outen de sto’, enty? ’E look nice, fo’ true. But den, I rudder see natchel haih wrop’ an’ tie’ een a head-hank’cher. Da’s by I’m ol’, I reckon.”

At last the churchyard was reached. Mike turned in and walked up to one of the trees. He stood while Andrew came and helped Rose and Maum Hannah get out of the wagon.

Missie felt dazed by all she saw. There, right close to the well, with its long pole sweep for drawing the water, was a square pool of water sunk in the ground. How still and deep and green it looked in the gray cement sides that held it. What was it?

Rose was looking at her and laughing.

“Lawd! Looka de gal. E ain’ know de baptizin’ pool. E tink people baptize een de ribber! Git out, Missie. Come heah. Lemme show you wha’ ’e is.”

Other black people stood around and listened and smiled while Rose explained to Missie that this was a watery grave. Sinners buried in it rose up out of it with all their sins left behind them. It did look strange. Queer. Green. Full of sins.

There was to be a baptizing to-day. The pool was filled to the brim. There were steps at one end—for the candidates to step down into it.

Andrew said that all the candidates to-day were young people, not much older than Missie. Rose shook her head sadly and declared that older people became hard in sin. Hard. They thought more of dancing and singing reels than of being saved from everlasting fire and torment. Killdee was in sin right now. Nobody could turn him. Missie must listen to-day. Listen! Reverend Duncan would tell her how to escape hell.

Missie stood and thought while Rose and Maum Hannah greeted their friends. The watery grave looked terrible. She couldn’t exactly understand just all that Rose meant. Killdee was living in sin. Rose wasn’t. And yet Killdee was better in every way.

There was a stir. Reverend Duncan was coming. Missie looked down the road, where all eyes were turned. It was so dusty she could hardly see.

First a roan pony came trotting feebly along with a rattly buggy. A big, fat, black man was driving. Right behind came a gray pony pulling another buggy. A big, fat, black woman drove that.

“Yonder dey come,” Rose said, laughing. “All two so fat dey can’ ha’dly set een de buggy. Good ol’ people, too. Good Lawd, who dat wid Miss Duncan? Who?”

The people crowded around the preacher and his wife and helped them to alight. Everybody bowed politely and shook hands with them.

“I wan’ mek yinner acquainted wid Reveren’ Felder,” Reverend Duncan said, indicating a younger, slenderer, lighter-colored man, who was with them.

“Dis gentleman is de child ob Gawd. ’E’s come to gib de people de message of salwation to-day.”

Missie could hardly see for the crowd, but she held to Rose’s hand and went up the aisle into Mount Pleasant Church. The house of God, Rose said. Where was God?

Rose let her sit between Maum Hannah and herself. Both Reverend Felder and Reverend Duncan went up into the pulpit and sat in the two chairs there. The people who sang at meeting went up and sat on the front bench.

Reverend Felder whispered to Reverend Duncan, then he got up and said: “Breddern! Sistern! We will sing hymn number 524.”

Reverend Duncan stumbled forward anxiously.

“We ain’ hab book, Brudder Felder. De people can’ read. Line em out. Gi’ ’em two line at a time.”

Reverend Felder seemed to cover a smile with his hand, then he read slowly, distinctly:

“Welcome, sweet day of rest, that saw the Lord arise.”

Andrew raised the tune. The whole church was filled with the hymn. Some voices were deep and low, some high. The sound of it all made something inside Missie’s breast quiver. When the two lines were sung, Reverend Felder read two more, and so on to the end of the hymn.

“Let us pray,” he said then, and while everybody stood hushed, quiet, with heads bowed and eyes closed, he spoke to God.

Missie had to look at him. His teeth were shiny, like gold. His eyeglasses were brighter than the ones Mary West lent Rose to wear. His voice boomed like a bumblebee. Talking to God. He was telling God many things. He said these people were going straight to hell! He stamped with a foot on the pulpit floor. He yelled and shouted. Missie held to Rose’s skirt. Reverend Duncan kept saying “Amen” all the way through. It all must be so. Rose said Killdee was a sinner. Killdee would burn—she would too, for she had never been baptized.

When the prayer was over, the people sang another hymn, then the sermon began. Missie tried to listen, but she couldn’t stay awake. She had on a wide-brimmed hat and leaning her head forward made her neck ache. She was sleepy. She nodded. Maum Hannah took her hat off and whispered: “Put you haid een my lap, chile, an’ go sleep.”

When she woke, the people were singing a pitiful tune. It made her cry. The words were:

“Ne-ro—my—Gawd to Dee—— Ne-ro—to Dee——”

Rose shook her by the arm, and put a hot hand over her mouth.

“How-come you duh cry, gal? Shet you’ mout’.”

But Maum Hannah leaned over and patted her and said:

“Da’s all right, Honey. You ain’ wake up good yet. Set back down on de bench.”

Missie did, but she thought of her mother and her brothers and sisters and wondered where they were and if she would ever see them again, and she sobbed on and on, until Rose said impatiently:

“Git up, gal! It time fo’ go to de baptizin’. Don’ wipe you’ dirty face on you’ dress. You gwine ruint ’em.”

She had forgotten all about her fine dress. She didn’t want to spoil that. She brushed the tears away with her bare hands and followed Rose through the steamy crowd to the churchyard where Old Mike stood waiting to take them home.

Reverend Felder and Reverend Duncan and the candidates for baptism hurried around to the back of the church where a little shed served as a dressing room. They came out dressed in long, white robes. They and the deacons and the members formed a line and marched around the church singing:

“We’re marching to Zion, the beautiful city of God.”

Maum Hannah had a painful knee that kept her from joining the marchers, though her voice chimed in with them. Missie stood holding her hand.

When the hymn was finished, the marchers stood still while Reverend Felder stepped down into the pool. Its green depths quivered. A sudden playful breeze fluttered under his robe and parted it so everybody could see his store-bought undergarments. He went waist-deep into the pool, and while the congregation sang a solemn spiritual, one of the candidates, a slim black boy, stepped doubtfully into the watery grave. His face was ashy under the white cloth tied around his head. His fingers clutched nervously at the front opening of his white robe.

“Come on, brother,” Reverend Felder exhorted him. “Soon you sin will be washed white ez snow!”

“Amen!” shouted Reverend Duncan.

There was a sudden splash and strangled cough and a snort. A double spurt of water sprang from his nostrils. He gasped for breath and broke away from the preacher’s grasp.

“Wait, son! Come on back! You haffer dip again! You dis been dip een de name of de Fader and de Son. You haffer dip een de name ob de Holy Ghost.”

The members caught the unwilling, frightened candidate by the arms and led him back to have his baptism completed.

Once more he was dipped. In the name of the Holy Ghost. That finished it. He was a saved sinner. Saved from hell. One after another, all the candidates were dipped three times.

When the baptizing was finished, Rose and Maum Hannah shook hands with the preachers and curtseyed as they said good-by to everybody else. Andrew came forward and politely helped them climb into the wagon and they started home to Killdee and Jim and the little new baby. Maum Hannah went along home with them, for the new baby had thrash in its mouth and Rose didn’t know what to do for it.

Killdee came out to the wagon and helped them get out.

“How was meetin’?” he asked pleasantly.

“Fine! Fine!” Rose answered. “But I too glad fo’ git home.”

“Lawd, you sho ain’ look like de same ’oman lef’ heah,” Killdee laughed.

Rose didn’t. Missie held her hat and the wig of thick wool. Maum Hannah held Mary West’s spectacles. Rose crawled out of the wagon in her stocking feet, saying:

“Gawd, I too rabin’ fo’ git off dis heah cosset. It pure got my stomach a-huttin’. Hurry, Missie, an’ git my pipe. I wan’ smoke too bad. Whe’ de baby, Killdee?”

The baby was asleep, so Maum Hannah and Rose sat down to smoke a pipeful while they told Killdee all about Reverend Felder and the wonderful sermon he preached.

He was coming back when the crop was laid by to hold a revival meeting. He knew a man who owned a moving picture of hell and he was going to get him to come bring it. The people could see the misery that was ahead of them in the next world in that wonderful picture.

Killdee asked thoughtfully:

“Who dat mek da picture? Who dat see hell an’ come back fo’ draw ’em?”

Neither Maum Hannah nor Rose knew, but Reverend Felder did. He knew about it all. Killdee would have to go see it when it came. He’d change his mind then about being a member. He’d join the church then.

Killdee laughed. He said he was willing for Rose to go whenever she liked. He’d stay at home and keep Jim and the baby any time for her, but he couldn’t go to church with her. He hadn’t time, he said.

Missie slipped into the shed room and took off her white dress and folded it up carefully and put in back into Rose’s trunk. She lovingly wrapped the red ribbon around her fingers and laid it smooth and shining on top of the dress. Killdee was the best man in the whole world. He bought the cloth for that dress and the red ribbon to wear with it, too.

Rose called her. The baby was awake. Missie hurried to the bed and took the child up.

“Bring em heah, Missie. Le’ Auntie look at ’e mout’. ’E got de t’rash so bad ’e can’ res’.”

Missie laid the tiny, black thing in Maum Hannah’s arms. Maum Hannah peeped through the soft lips at the tender gums that were covered with whitened patches.

“T’rash, fo-true. Po’ lil creeter,” she said, pulling the small chin down so she could see inside better.

“’E so little, ’e can’ stan’ strong treatment. I dunno wha’ fo’ say. Ef we had somebody heah—somebody wha’ ain’ nebber look on dey daddy face—da’ somebody could cure dis t’rash good——”

Rose beamed. “Looka Missie, Auntie. I doubt ef Missie eber see ’e daddy face een ’e life. We could try Missie—enty?”

Maum Hannah turned her bright, old eyes to meet Missie’s puzzled ones.

“Mebbe ’e ain’ nebber see ’e daddy, fo-true. Who you daddy, honey? Is you know?”

But Missie had no daddy. She never had had one. And she shook her head.

“Le’ Missie try, Rose. Mek em tek ’e finger an’ run em roun’ all een de baby mout’ eby mawnin’. Ef Missie ain’ nebber look on ’e daddy face, dat’ll do de baby all de good. You try dat, Missie. ’E ain’ gwine hu’t nuttin’ fo’ try.”

Rose repeated, “You heah, Missie, enty? Eby mawnin’ you do like Auntie say. Don’ fo-git. Sis mout’ is so so’ ’e can’ eat, eder sleep. You wan’ em fo’ git well, enty?”

Missie promised not to forget and she ran to the spring to get a fresh bucket of water while Rose fed the baby and Maum Hannah helped Killdee take the dinner from the pots on the hearth.

As Missie ran lightly down the hill, she was very happy. She had seen so much to-day. She had worn her new dress and red ribbon. She had heard how to be saved from hell. How to pray. She must seek forgiveness until Jesus gave her a sign.

As the water filled the bucket, she thought some day she’d be a member, too. And now if she could cure “t’rash” in babies’ mouths, Rose would be glad to have her here all the time. Sometimes Rose seemed cross with her and beat her for almost nothing. After this, Rose would like her better. When she became a member, maybe Rose would never beat her again.

With the bucket on her head, she climbed the hill thoughtfully. Reverend Felder was fine-looking. He wore fine clothes and he could read, but nobody was fine like Killdee. Nobody in the world. Killdee was so good. So easy. He never got vexed like Rose and said hard-sounding things.

She’d rather have Killdee for her daddy and look on his face than be able to cure all the sickness in the world. But he wasn’t, so there wasn’t any use to think about it.

Yet Killdee was a sinner. When he died he would go to hell. Rose said so. He would burn and burn always. Forever. He would never stop burning. Daddy Cato said that the fire in hell is seven times hotter than the fire people have here. God swam it through seven rivers to cool it before He brought it into the world.

What a strange man God must be!

When Missie thought about Him, she hurried and stumped her toe on a root in the path and the water spilled, and she had to pick up the bucket and hurry back to the spring for more. How cross Rose would be because she was taking so long! But Maum Hannah was there. Maybe Rose wouldn’t scold her much.