“Come on hyah, baby! Let de dog er loose—sleepy time done come ter us.”
“No, Mammy, I ain’t goin’ ter sleepy!”
“Who say you ain’t?”
“I say so, ’caus’ my papa says I’m er man! My papa don’t go ter sleepy in the day time!”
“Lordee! I bet he do if he gits er chanct. Dat dog gwine bite yer if you don’t quit foolin’ wid es tail.”
“Bray ain’t goin’ ter bite me—Mammy, you tie the bow.”
“Tie er ribbin bow on er dog’s tail?”
“Oom hoo!”
“Ooom hoo? Is dat de way you speaks ter yo’ ole Mammy?”
“I says, yes, ma’m.”
“Well, gimme de ribbin!—but what you wanter tie er bow on er dog’s tail fur? Folks puts bows ’round dey necks.”
“But I want ter fool Bray, and make him think this is his head.”
“You’se er sight, you is! Who on earth but you’d er thought er tryin’ ter make er dog think es tail was es head! Nev’ mind! Yer bett’r take keer dat he don’t play er wusser joke on you, like ole Sis’ Cow, an’ Sis’ Dog, an’ Sis’ Sow, an’ Sis’ Cat done ter ole Miss Race Hoss when she try ter pass off one er her jokes on dem!”
“Did they hurt Miss Race Hoss, Mammy?”
“Dey mos’ driv her crazy, dat’s what dey done!—but you wait tell I ties dis heah bow, an’ den we gwinter slip off up-stairs ’fo’ Bray wake up an’ ketch us.”
“All right, Mammy.”
Most elaborately Phyllis tied and patted the soiled blue bow.
“Now, den, Bray’s sho’ gwine hatt’r strain ’es mind ter fine out which een’ his head stays on! Jump up hyah in Mammy’s arms, so we kin run fas’ ’fo’ Bray wake up!”
Quite out of breath, Mammy reached the room up-stairs. Little Willis, interested only in the flight from Bray, did not realize the ruse she had played upon him until he found himself in his little crib bed. Open rebellion began.
“Boo hoo, boo hoo!”
“Ssho boy! You gwine wake Bray, an’ den he’s jes es sho’ es sho’ kin be ter play dat trick on us dat his Gran’ Mammy Dog play’d on ole Miss Race Hoss,” remonstrated Phyllis.
“Boo hoo, boo hoo, I don’t wanter—”
“Hush, now! Lawsee! I b’lieve I heahs er race hoss comin’ down de road now! You hears him, don’t yer?”
“Oom hoo!” sobbed the little boy.
“Oom hoo?”
“Yes, ma’m!”
“Well, dat’s de way ole Miss Race Hoss soun’ when she come er single-footin’ down de road, an’ seed ole Sis’ Cow layin’ ov’r in de cornder er de pastur’ chewin’ her cud, an’ talkin’ ter ole Sis’ Sow, an’ Sis’ Dog, an’ Sis’ Cat. She look’ in de pastur’, she do, an’ see Sis’ Cow’s little calf jes’ er jumpin’ an’ er kickin’ out his b’hime legs; so she holler she do:
“‘Law, Sis’ Cow, whatchu doin’ wid my little colt ov’r dar?’
“Sis’ Cow say, ‘Law, Miss Race Hoss, you sholy ain’t callin’ my po’ little calf yo’ colt?’
“Miss Race Hoss say, ‘Sis’ Cow I sho’ is s’prised you can’t tell er calf frum one er my fine colts! Jes’ look how he’s prancin’. I’m gwine jump ov’r dis fence, an’ prance ’long side him an’ let you see if we ain’t ’zackly like.’
“Wid dat, she tuck er sorter back-runnin’ start, an’ jump blip! right in de middle er de pastur’. Sis’ Cow’s little calf was so proud when Miss Race Hoss ’gun ter caper her fancy steps ’long side him, dat he clean furgit ’es ma, an’ try ter fancy step ’long side er Miss Race Hoss down de middle er de field.
“Po’ Sis’ Cow beller’ an’ beller’ fur Mister Cow ter come an’ run Miss Race Hoss off, but law, Mister Cow bizzy tendin’ ter ’es bizness an’ he don’t hear ole Sis’ Cow. Jes’ den, Sis’ Dog an’ Sis’ Sow an’ Sis’ Cat sorter whisper ’mongst deysefs. Pres’ntly dey all jumps up an’ starts ter shakin’ deyse’fs whensomever Miss Race Hoss git clost ter ’em. Fus’ thing yer knows, Miss Race Hoss stop’ her fancy steppin’ an’ holler, ‘How ’pon earth come dese fleas ter git on top er me?’ She jump’ an’ she roll’, she jump’ an’ she roll’, an’ I speck she’d bin er jumpin’ an’ er rollin’ plum tell now, ef dem fleas teeth had er bin strong nuf ter er bit thu Miss Race Hosses hide, but yer see wid all de bitin’ dey bin doin’, dar wasn’t one uv ’em dat got er good clinch on Miss Race Hoss. So Sis’ Sow’s fleas say dey gwine back home ter vit’als dey wus rais’d on, an’ Sis’ Dog’s fleas say dey wus gwine back whar de meat wus tender, an’ Sis’ Cat’s fleas say dey don’t see no use tryin’ ter git er livin’ off’n hoss hide when dar wus plenty er kitten meat dat would melt in yo’ mouf. So wid dat, all uv de fleas give er jump, an’ lands back on Sis’ Sow an’ Sis’ Dog an’ Sis’ Cat; an’, honey, dem fleas ain’t no sooner jumpt, dan Miss Race Hoss jump, too. She give er back-runnin’ start an’ wus ov’r dat fence ’fo’ you know’d it; an’ bless yo’ heart, she come mouty nigh ter jumpin’ on her own little colt dat had done foller’ her onbeknownst. De colt nev’r seed es ma mirate an’ car’y on so b’fo’, an’ he got so occipi’d watchin’ her dat he plum fergit ter mention he was dar. Howsomev’r, when Miss Race Hoss come er flyin’ ov’r dat fence she come so close ter de little colt dat whil’st he was er gittin’ outen de way, he trip’ es own sef an’ fell er sprawlin’ flat.
“Po’ little colt commenc’ ter whinnyin’ an’ cryin’, an’ his ma was so sorry an’ miserbul dat she tuck him in her arms an’ ’gun ter pattin’ an’ er singin’ ter him jes’ like dis:
“‘Mama luvs de baby,
Papa luvs de baby,
Ev’ybody luvs de baby,
Hush yo’ bye, doan you cry,
Go ter sleepy lill’e baby.
De lill’e calfee an’ de lill’e colt, too,
Dey keeps mighty close ter dey mama,
Caze Jack Frost’s out er huntin’ all erbout,
Ter ketch lill’e chillun when dey holler.
Hush yo’ bye, doan you cry,
Go ter sleepy lill’e baby.
Mama luvs de baby,
Papa luvs de baby,
Ev’ybody luvs de baby.
All dem horses in dat fiel’
B’longs ter you lill’e baby:
Dapple, gray, de white an’ de bay,
An’ all de pretty lill’e ponies.
Hush yo’ bye, doan you cry,
Go ter sleepy lill’e baby.
Mama luvs de baby,
Papa luvs de baby,
Ev’ybody luvs de baby.’”
Softer and softer grew the crooning, until the little boy dropped into peaceful slumber.
“Now, den, de ole man’s drapt off at las’. Bless de chile, he is er man sho’ nuf; an’ de way he prove he gwine be jes’ like de res’ er de men folks, is de way he lets de wimmen fool him; eb’n er old black ’ooman like I is!”
Willis drank his soup noisily, insisted upon eating with his knife, upset a glass of milk on Jane’s new Easter dress, and in the end was carried from the table kicking and screaming.
Mammy’s attempts to pacify him proved futile, and fearing the wrath of his father, she gathered up the squirming, screaming boy as best she could and ran to her own room in the rear. Letting him fall upon the bed, she breathlessly dropped into a chair, and wiped the perspiration from her face with the corner of her apron.
“Now, den, jes’ holl’r an’ kick, tell you hollers an’ kicks yo’se’f plum out.”
This the boy did at a length and with a violence unbelievable, Mammy sitting all the while at the side of the bed to see that he did not roll off and humming broken pieces of song as though perfectly unconcerned. When the screaming had spent itself, and naught remained of it but long hard sniffles, Mammy began mumbling, “Well, bless de Lawd, I bin thinkin’ I wus nussin’ er fuss class qual’ty chile all dis time, an’ hyah it tu’n out I bin wor’in’ m’se’f wid one er Sis’ Sow’s mis’r’ble little pigs.”
A low wail was the only answer to this thrust.
“Hit’s de trufe! An’ I done make up m’ mine I ain’t gwine do it no longer. What’s de use er me stayin’ hyah, nussin’ er pig chile, when I kin g’long an’ nuss er fuss class qual’ty chile like Mary Van, an’ I’m gwine do it, too!”
One little arm reached out to the old woman:
“Mammy!”
But she continued: “M’ye’rs is broke wid all dat pig holl’rin’! I don’t speck I ev’r is ter heah no mo’, neither!”
Sobbing and sniffling, the little boy crawled to her lap, and tried to look into her ear. She continued obstinately: “Can’t heah er thing! I knows you’se in m’ lap, but les’n I seed yo’ face I cudn’t tell ef you wus laffin’ er cryin’.”
Both arms went tight around her neck:
“Mammy, I won’t be bad no mo’!”
Pretending to weep, Mammy said pathetically:
“I wush I cud heah! I speck Miss Lucy’ll tu’n me out now, ’caze m’ye’rs won’t hear no mo’, an’ den I’ll hatt’r go off ter de woods an’ die by m’se’f ’mongst de beastes; an’ I speck dey’ll kill me, ’caze I can’t heah ’em comin’! Boo hoo!”
At this, Willis’s suffering became so intense she feared to continue the punishment and so began another strain.
“But dey tells me dat ef folks whut’s bin bad prays ter de Lawd an’ kisses de place whut hurts, dat some time de Lawd makes de place well ergin; dat is,—ef de bad chile promise he ain’ gwine be bad no mo’.”
Instantly the little swollen lips moistened with blubbers, covered first one black ear and then the other.
“An’ dey got ter pray, too,” suggested Mammy.
“Now I lay me!” came in broken sniffles.
Suddenly throwing up her hands, a look of rapture on her face, Mammy shouted:
“Lawsee! I b’lieve I heahs you snifflin’!” She listened carefully: “I does! Tell Mammy you loves her an’ lemme see ef I kin heah you.”
“I loves—” began the little boy, nestling in her arms.
“’Cose I kin heah, but I tell yer de Lawd ain’ gwine ter notice yo’ pray’rs no mo’, ef you keeps letting de ‘pig chile part’ er you come out.”
“I don’t want ter be er pig chile!”
“I don’t speck you does, but you sho’ ’pear terday like you come straight up fum de pigsty! Don’t you ’member dat party Miss Race Hoss giv’ an’ ’vite Sis’ Sow an’ her chilluns ter come ter it?”
Willis shook his head.
“Look er hear boy, who you shakin’ dat head at?”
“I says, no, ma’m!”
“You’se late in de day sayin’ it, too. Enyhow, Miss Race Hoss giv’ er party an’ ’vite Sis’ Cat an’ her chilluns, an’ Sis’ Dog an’ her chilluns, an’ Sis’ Cow an’ de lit’le calf; an’ she sorter pass conversation wid Mist’r Race Hoss ’bout ’vitin’ Sis’ Sow an’ her fambly. Mist’r Race Hoss say long as he’s in pol’ticks an’ want ter git ’lected ergin ter be ruler er de beastes, he speck she bett’r ’vite Sis’ Sow. So Miss Race Hoss say all right! An’ she done it.
“Oh, I tell you Miss Race Hoss fix up er fine party! She had mouses fur de cat fambly, an’ dey wus nice, fine, live mouses too, an’ bones an’ meat fur de Dog fambly, an’ hot bran mash mixt wid cott’n seed meal fur Sis’ Cow’s fambly, an’ she had buttermilk in er big trauff fur Sis’ Sow an’ her chilluns. An’ she pile apples, an’ carrots, an’ ev’y sort er thing in de middle er de table. An’ she had salt fur dem dat wants salt, an’ sugar fur dem whut mus’ have sugar.
“Well, de fuss uns ter come wus Sis’ Cat an’ her chilluns. Sis’ Cat had done wash’ her kittens’ faces jes’ es clean an’ put dem mitt’ns on ’em dat yo’ ma read ter us erbout.
“Den hyah come Sis’ Dog an’ her fambly. Dey all had bows ’roun’ der necks an’ look mouty gran’! Sis’ Cow an’ de calf wus curri’d slick es glass, an’ I tell yer Miss Race Hoss wus glad her an’ de little colt had dem ribbins tied up in der manes, ’caze Sis’ Cow was sho’ pressin’ ’em in slickness.
“Ole Brer Bar he come down fum de woods ter ’tend ter de dinin’ room an’ see dat ev’ybody git de right vit’als.
“Atter dey bin waitin’ fer er spell, Brer Bar ’nounce dat soon es Sis’ Sow come de party wus ready.
“All uv ’em want ter go ter eatin’ dat minit, ’caze dem cats smell dem mouses, an’ dem dogs moufs jes’ er dreanin’ wid de smell er dat meat; but dey sets dar like dey done fergit all erbout vit’als, ’caze dese heah wus qual’ty animals wid manners, I tell yer.
“Pres’ntly Miss Race Hoss low dat she see Sis’ Sow comin’ now, an’ she seen her, too, fur hyah come Sis’ Sow an’ all her chilluns er runnin’ ev’y which er way, wid mud all ov’r dey backs. Some uv ’em wus wet an’ some uv ’em wus dry. Dey come er runnin’ an’ none uv ’em ain’t nuv’r stop ter pass howdy wid Miss Race Hoss, ’caze dey smell de vit’als, an’ dey ain’t got nuff manners ter hide de pig in ’em. Dey come er rootin’ an’ er gruntin’ all ’roun’ b’hime folks an’ b’fo’ fokes, tell dey pass too close ter Sis’ Cat’s chilluns, fur dey sorter raise up dey backs an’ bushy out dey tails, an’ raise up dey paws, but Sis’ Cat she sorter growl sof’ an’ dey passify deysefs an’ sets still. Sis’ Dog’s chilluns wanter snap es dey come er trompin’ on top er dey foots, but dey ’strains deysefs ’caze dey wus fuss class qual’ty dogs.
“Brer Bar see Sis’ Sow rootin’ an’ gruntin’ her way ter de table, so he ’nounce fur ’em all ter come in ter de party. He sorter push Sis’ Sow an’ her chilluns off ter de buttermilk trauff. De uther folks dey sets down at de table an’ acts like fuss class folks does, but Sis’ Sow an’ her pig chilluns ain’t seed dey vit’als ’fo’ all uv ’em try ter git in de trauff wid dey foots. Dey pushes an’ tromps ’pon one ’nuther, an’ squeals, an’ eats loud like you done terday!”
The brown eyes fell and an humble little voice said, “I ain’t gointer do it no mo’.”
“De Lawd knows I’m glad to hear it. Well, Sis’ Sow an’ dem, quoil an’ make so much fuss, tell de uther fokes can’t pass no conversation er tall, tell pres’ntly Sis’ Sow an’ de pigs eat up all dey vit’als an’ dey come gruntin’ an’ er rootin’ fur mo’. Dey spy dem apples an’ things on de table, an’ ’fo’ yer knows it, dem pig chillun wus ’pon top er dat table.
“Wid dat, Brer Bar git so mad he slap ’em off fas’ es dey gits on; but de fust un he slap’ off fell right in ’mongst Sis’ Cat’s kittens. Whoopee! Dem kittin chillun fergits all ’bout manners an’ ’gins scratchin’ an’ fightin’ same es pigs. Sis’ Dog’s chilluns jes’ nachelly cudn’t stan’ no sich er strain on dey manners es dat, an’ ’fo’ yer kin say ‘Jack Robson,’ de kittins an’ de puppies an’ de pigs wus er squealin’, an’ er barkin’, an’ er spittin’, an’ er growlin’, tell you can’t hear yo’ ye’rs. Sis’ Sow start ter runnin’ down de road wid de pigs atter her, an’ de puppies atter de pigs, an’ de kittins atter de puppies. Wid dat de little calf git ’cited an’ he start ter kickin’ out his b’hime legs, which happen ter hit de lit’le colt, an’ he r’ar’ hissef back an’ come down on de calf, an’ bofe uv ’em take out down de road er holl’rin’ an’ er kickin’, an’ er twistin’ deysefs like you done terday!”
Again the brown eyes fell.
“Atter all de chilluns done loss dey manners, dey ma’s sets up lookin’ at one nuther like dey loss dey las’ frien’. Pres’ntly Miss Race Hoss say hit’s all her fault, ’caze she had no biznes ter mix up qual’ty folks wid pig folks.
“Wid dat Sis’ Cow an’ Sis’ Cat an’ Sis’ Dog speak up. ‘No, Miss Race Hoss, ’tain’t yo’ fault, an’ it ’tain’t our chilluns fault, it’s jes’ dem pigs’ fault.’ Jes’ den ole Brer Bar ris’ up an’ clap his han’s an’ laff like he splittin’ his sides. Miss Race Hoss look ’stonish’ dat he act dat er way, an’ she ax him whut ail him. Soon es Brer Bar kin stop laffin’, he say: ‘Youall thinks yo’ chilluns ain’t got no pig in ’em, does you?’ den he start ter laffin’ ergin. Miss Race Hoss r’ar’ back herse’f an’ say, ‘Brer Bar, you done fergit whar ’bouts you’se at; ’member you’se ’mongst fuss class qual’ty!’ Den dey all throws dey heads back an’ tu’ns dey noses up at po’ Brer Bar. Brer Bar git mad den an’ he stop laffin’ an’ say, ‘Yo’ chilluns ain’t de onliest uns got pig in ’em! All youall got it, too. Ev’ybody got it. Some folks got mo’ en uthers got; all dis hyah mann’rs you’se braggin’ ’bout ain’t nuthin’ but er kiv’r ter hide de pig dat’s in yer. Keep er way fum de pigs ef you don’t wanter show yo’ pig side.’
“WID DAT DEY ALL UV ’EM LOSE DEY MANNERS
AN’ START TER ’BUSIN’ BER BAR SCAND’LOUS”
“Wid dat dey all uv ’em lose dey manners an’ start ter ’busin’ Brer Bar scand’lous. Sis’ Cow beller’ out her madness, an’ Sis’ Cat mew an’ spit out her’n, an’ Sis’ Dog growl an’ bark out her’n, an’ Miss Race Hoss jes’ r’ar’ up an’ foam at de mouf.
“Brer Bar look like he fixin’ ter hu’t sumbody, den he amble off t’ards de woods he did, an’ den tu’n hissef ’roun’ an’ holl’r, ‘I tole yer so!’ Jes’ lis’n ter all er youall right now, actin’ wusser en dem pigs in de buttermilk trauff.”
“An’ Brer Bar speak de trufe! An’ he speak de trufe when he say all us got er pig side, too.”
“My mama ain’t!”
Phyllis hesitated: “No, I don’t speck she is; dat is, ef she is, her ’ligion done wash it all out, ’caze yo’ ma think’ mo’ ’bout ev’ybody else ’fo’ she do herse’f,—but you got er pig side, an’ ef you don’t take keer hit’ll grow ter be er hog side, too, dat you nuv’r is ter git nuff manners ter hide neither. Come on an’ go finish yo’ dinner, boy, an’ let Mammy eat her’n.”
Phyllis was dozing on the top step of the side veranda while little Willis, in the gravel walk below, was playing with a Noah’s Ark. The animals were in grand parade when one of them met with an accident. Willis thought a moment, then, taking the loose ends of a string tied to one of the fuzzy toys, he climbed the steps to where Phyllis had just fallen in a peaceful nod against the pillar. He clumsily slipped the string between her open lips, and, with a slap and sputter, Mammy opened her eyes.
“Name er de Lawd, boy, whut is you tryin’ ter do?”
“I want you ter be er billy goat.”
“You wants sumthin’ I nuv’r is ter be. I’m willin’ ter be er hoss an’ on er pinch I’ll be er mule, but dey ain’t no time I’m willin’ ter be no ole billy goat fur nobody.”
“Please, Mammy,” laying a hand on her cheek in an effort to pull her face to him, “m’ billy goat’s got his legs broke, an’ I won’t have any goat if you don’t be one.”
“How come you don’t tu’n one dem dogs in er goat?” suggested Phyllis, her face obstinately averted.
“They haven’t got any horns!”
“I ain’t got no horns neether,” asserted Mammy.
“But you can make some,” persisted Willis.
“You think I’m gwineter pull dis bandanner off an’ roll my ole gray wool inter horns, does you?” chuckled the old nurse.
Willis nodded.
“Well, you foolin’ yo’se’f, dat’s all I got ter say.” But when Willis began to fret, Mammy relented: “I tell yer dat dog won’t know ’esse’f fum er goat, ef you calls him goat; ’caze I knows erbout er dog an’ er goat dat can’t tell t’other fum which.”
“No you don’t,” objected the tormentor tugging at her arm.
“I tells you I does, ’caze one day Mister Man went out ter hunt er dog an’ er goat fur his lit’le boy. He see Sis’ Dog an’ her fambly on de side er de road, an’ dey ’pears ter be in er mouty commotion ’bout sump’n. Mister Man holler’ an’ ax whut ail ’em. Sis’ Dog say she foun’ one er Sis’ Nanny Goat’s chilluns layin’ out in de pastur’ des er blatin’ all by ’esse’f, an’ she dunno whut ter do wid it. Mister Man say, ‘I’ll take keer uv it, an’ I’d like moutily ter take keer er one er yo’ chilluns, too.’ Sis’ Dog tell him ‘surtiny,’ dat it ’ud make her turr’bul proud fur one er her chilluns ter live up at his fine house. So Mister Man liftes de goat an’ de puppy up on Miss Race Hosses back ’long side er him an’ flies ’crost de country ter his house. When Mister Man’s ole lady see him, she th’ow up her han’s an’ say, ‘Name er de Lawd, Mister Man, whut you specks ter do wid dat goat?’ Mister Man say: ‘Oh! I’ll des put it out hyah wid de puppy an’ raise ’em bofe tergether.’”
“Wasn’t the little boy glad his papa kept the goat?” interrupted Willis.
“Is you glad I’m tellin’ dis tale?”
“Yes’m.”
“Dat’s ’zackly de way Mister Man’s boy feel, ’ceptin’ mo’ so. Dey puts er pan er milk out in de cow house, an’ bofe uv ’em eats outen it tergether. When dey gits big ernuf ter eat like sho’ nuf beastes, de little boy puts goat feed fur de goat an’ dog vit’als fur de dog.”
“What’s the dog’s name?”
“He wus jes’ name Collie Dog when he live wid his mammy, but when he start ter livin’ wid white fokes, de lit’le boy name ’im Ned.”
“An’ what’s the goat’s name?”
“He ain’t got nuthin’ ter do wid dat, ’caze de Lawd done already name him Billy. Well, when Billy Goat look’ at his feed, an’ Ned Dog look’ at his vit’als, dey bofe feels mouty proud, ’ceptin’ dey don’t seem ter make out howcum it ain’t mix’d tergether; so Billy he take an’ run over an’ try ter eat bones an’ meat, an’ Ned he run ter Billy’s box an’ try ter eat hay an’ bran mash; an’ dey keep on tryin’ ter eat one nuthers vit’als long es dey live’. Pres’ntly, Billy grow so big dat he ’gun ter grazin’ roun’ ’mongst de flow’rs an’ grass, an’ I speck he run in de house sumtimes, too, but it ’pears dat flow’r buds tas’e mo’ nicer ter ’im dan grass; so Mister Man’s old lady ’gun ter quoil an’ mirate an’ tell him, ‘You des got ter tetter dat goat!’”
“I don’t want ’im ter tetter Billy!” exclaimed the child, and his brown eyes filled with tears.
“Pshaw, boy, er tetter ain’t nuthin’ ter hu’t nobody! It’s des er rope you ties roun’ de horns er beastes an’ de uther een’ you ties ter er stob in de groun’! Well, when Billy find ’esse’f tied ter dat rope so he can’t go in de house and can’t go in de flow’r gyarden, he des cry an’ cry. Ned Dog try ter stay wid ’im much es he kin; but when he see Mister Man an’ de little boy settin’ off down de road on Miss Race Hoss an’ de little colt, his foots des nachelly go bookety! bookety! b’hime ’im ’d’out knowin’ it. His heart tell him ter g’long back an’ stay wid Billy, but his foots say dey ain’t er gwine do no sich er thing. ’Cose he cudn’t hep ’esse’f ef his foots ’fuse ter take ’im home. Atter while, when he gits back, Billy done cry ’esse’f plum sick. He say he don’t see howcum he tied up an’ Ned Dog ain’t; an’ Ned Dog say he don’t neether; ’caze you see Ned think Billy’s er dog an’ Billy think ’esse’f er dog, too. Dat’s de way wid some fokes. Heap uv ’em thinks dey’s big dogs when dey ain’t nuthin’ but er old goat!” Mammy concluded with emphasis.
“Go on, Mammy,” demanded Willis, pushing her hand off of the curl she was trying to straighten.
“Ain’t dat ernuf? I done prove’ you kin make er goat outen dat Noah’s ark dog.”
“Yes, but I want the little boy ter let Billy loose.”
“Well, his ma’ll give him er spankin’ ef he do. Dat boy darsent ter tech dat tetter. Long ’bout atter dinner time, Ned he git so miserbul lis’nin’ ter Billy hollerin’ dat he ’gun ter gnaw an’ pull at de stob; den he try ter scratch it up; but it was too deep; so he take an’ go ter pullin’ at de rope ergin’; an’ bimeby de knot come off. He ketch de knot in his teef and den he tell Billy ter g’long whar he’s er mind ter. Billy kick up es b’hime legs an’ fly down de road wid Ned Dog b’hime him holdin’ on ter de rope. Billy he eat all ’long de road, an’ Ned Dog foll’r ’long b’hime wharsomever Billy choose ter go, ’caze yer see Ned feel de ’sponsibility er loosin’ Billy. Atter while, Ned Dog beg Billy ter come on an’ go home! He tell ’im his jaws nigh ’bout broke clampin’ on dat knot. But Billy say he ain’t er gwine, tell he eat ’esse’f plum full er dem flow’r buds. No, Lawd, Billy ain’t thinkin’ bout Ned long es he kin joy es own sef. Ned he ’gun ter howl an’ bark wid de jaw ache, but Billy too full er ’esse’f ter notice Ned. Yes, Lawd, Billy des like some fokes I knows, too.”
“Me, Mammy?” demanded the intent little boy.
“Yes, I speck de cap fit you er heap er times, but you wusn’t de pusson I had m’ mine on des den,” replied Mammy complacently. “Billy keep er gwine on, an’ Ned des er draggin’ ’esse’f erlong wid de jaw ache tell bimeby, dey comes ter de old log fence ’roun’ de pastur’. Billy he try ter jump de fence, but Ned he crawl thu; but yer see Billy can’t jump high ernuf ’caze Ned’s pullin’ de rope on de uther side, so Billy gits tangled up on one er de rails. Ned he run back when he see Billy’s hangin’; but he gits back thu er diffunt hole ergin, an’ dat twistes de rope so tight dat Billy gits in er mouty bad fix ’fo’ you knows it. He ’gun ter blate an’ holl’r an’ Ned drop’ de rope an’ ’gun ter howl; but dat nuv’r done no good, an’ it nuv’r do, do no good in dis woel.”
“Jes’ ter stan’ up an’ holler an’ cry like you does sometimes! You got ter go ter work an’ do sumthin’ ef you ’specks ter ontangle yo’se’f in dis woel’, an’ dat’s whut come ’cross Ned’s mind atter he stan’ up an’ holler hisse’f hoarse. He lope out an’ run home, he do, an’ he bark at Mister Man an’ run out to’ards de road. He bark’ at de lit’le boy an’ run out ergin; but none uv ’em can’t make out howcum he act so cur’us. He run out in de back yard an’ howl an’ bark, an’ de lit’le colt ax him whut ails him, he tell ’im Billy’s mos’ chok’d ter death, hangin’ on de pastur’ fence. De colt give er jump ov’r de back fence an’ him an’ Ned take out, jes’ er t’arin’ down de big road. De lit’le boy an’ Mister Man seed de colt break loose an’ dey flew atter him an’ all uv ’em got ter Billy jes’ in time ter keep ’im fum chokin’ ter death.”
“Did Billy die?” asked the little boy in anxiety.
“Nor, honey, ’caze he nuv’r had rope ernuf; but ef he had er had er little mo’ rope him an’ all de uther foolish folks like ’im wud er bin dead long ergo!”
The side lawn was the scene of a noisy fray between the old house cat and big dog, Bray. Servants from the neighborhood had quickly gathered to urge on the sport. Some of the children, Willis among the loudest, were crying and beseeching the men servants to save “poor Kitty,” which they reluctantly did to the extent of allowing her to escape up an old crab apple tree.
“I wush ter de Lawd he had er kilt her,” said Phyllis, letting her rheumatic limbs down by degrees to a sitting posture on the grass, “’Ceitful old thing, I don’t blame Bray!”
“I love my Kitty!” cried Willis as he ran to the tree. There he earnestly advised the cat to stay just where she was until Bray went to sleep. A few of the larger children lingered expecting another fight, as Bray continued to bark and jump about the tree.
“You ne’en ter tell dat cat ter take keer er herse’f! She des settin’ up dat tree glis’nin’ dem old green eyes on Bray an’ sayin’ ter ’erse’f: ‘Nuv’r mind, I’m gwine fix you soon es I git down fum hyah!’”
“What can she do, Mammy Phyllis?” asked one of the larger girls. “She’s too little to hurt Bray!”
“Yas, an’ ole Sis’ Cat wus lit’ler’n her, an’ yit she come mighty nigh ter fixin’ Ned Dog an’ Billy Goat, too! Doan nuv’r put no ’pindence in Sis Tabby’s fokes.”
“Oh, Mammy Phyllis, please tell us about Ned Dog,” and the children gathered around her pressing the request.
“Doan ax me ter tell nuthin’ long as Willis keep foolin’ roun’ Bray wid dat switch!”
Mammy pretended to rise, but two of the older children ran and coaxed Willis to sit by them and listen to the story. “Now, Mammy Phyllis, go on, he’s going to sit still, ain’t you Willis?” said one.
“I want ter whoop Bray,” muttered Willis only half satisfied.
“Atter I tells you how ’ceitful Sis’ Cat act ter Ned Dog, I boun’ you’ll change yo’ chune! ’Member dat party Miss Race Hoss give an’ how it broke up wid all uv ’em quoilin’ an’ ’busin’ ole Brer Bar? Po’ Brer Bar nuv’r got no vit’als neeth’r. Well, when Sis’ Cat lef’ dat party, she wus so mad she cudn’t walk straight! She come er flyin’ down de big road right catacornder’d! Dat is, she run in de road one minit, an’ de nex’ un, she fotch up on de side er de mount’in; den hyah she come back ergin in de road! Well, one uv de times she lit on de mount’in she fotch up right in front er Mist’r Rattlesnake’s house. Mist’r Rattlesnake had des got out er bed an’ stuck his head out’n his house ter git er little fresh air, when Sis’ Cat come blip! right in his face! He lick’ out his tongue an’ say:
“‘Name er de Lawd, Sis’ Cat!’
“Sis’ Cat say: ‘Name er de Lawd, Mist’r Rattlesnake! Howcum you gittin’ up dis time de year?’
“‘I thought I heerd m’ ’larm clock go off,’ he say.
“‘You ain’ hyah no thunder Mister Rattlesnake! You kin g’long back ter baid an’ take er three weeks’ nap,’ sez Sis’ Cat.
“‘I’m sho’ I heerd thunder er som’thin’ pow’ful like it,’ sez Mister Rattlesnake.
“Sis’ Cat tell him: ‘You des heah de breakin’ up uv Miss Race Hoss’s party! Dat’s whut you heah! Brer Bar act so outlashus we des hatt’r ’buse him an’ run him off!’
“Mist’r Rattlesnake set an’ look at Sis’ Cat er minit, ’caze yer see he ain’ wake’ up good yit. Den he lick out es tongue an’ say: ‘Sis’ Cat, you sholy ain’ th’owin’ erway no fren’s is yer? I knows I ain’ got narry single fren’ an’ I knows you got pow’ful few yo’se’f! ’Pears ter me yer better g’long an’ eat up dem words you sed ter Brer Bar!’ Den he lick out his tongue ergin an’ go on back ter baid.
“Sis’ Cat set right dar an’ study, she do! Den she make up her mind ter take Mist’r Rattlesnake’ ’vice. She slunk eroun’ sorter soft an’ sneakin’ like thu de woods tell she come ter Brer Bar’s house. She bum! bum! on de do’ an’ Brer Bar ax, ‘Who dat?’
“She say: ‘Sis’ Cat.’
“‘Is you Sis’ Wile Cat er Sis’ Tabby Cat?’ ax Brer Bar.
“‘Sis’ Tabby Cat.’
“‘You’se at de wrong do’, Sis’ Tabby Cat,’ sez Brer Bar.
“Sis’ Cat start ter cryin’: ‘Oh! Brer Bar! Brer Bar! please lemme come in! I’m mos’ dead, Brer Bar!’
“Brer Bar say: ‘You bett’r git erway fum hyah, Sis’ Cat, ’caze I’m li’ble ter eat enythin’ I lays my paws on! I nuv’r had ernuf ter eat at de party, an’ I ain’ pervide m’ fambly wid nuthin’ ter eat, an’ we’se all s’ hungry dat we’se dangus’, Sis’ Cat!’
“Sis’ Cat keep on cryin’: ‘I know’d dat Brer Bar;—I know’d you an’ yo’ fambly was hongry, an’ dat’s howcum I ter come, Brer Bar! I come ter tell you whar some good vit’als was des waitin’ fur yer!’
“When Brer Bar hear dat, he sorter crack de do’ an’ poke his nose thu: ‘Sis’ Tabby Cat,’ he say, ‘you smells good ernuf ter eat yo’se’f!’
“Sis’ Cat mos’ skeerd ter death when she heah dat, an’ she mos’ die when she feel Brer Bar’s mouf dreanin’ an’ drippin’ on her back; so she stop’ cryin’ an’ sorter back off kinder easy like an’ tell Brer Bar dat Ned Dog got de fattes’ Billy Goat he ev’r seed; an’ ef he’d come down ter de ole sweet-gum tree in Mist’r Man’s pastur’ ’bout dark, she’d have him er whole tree full er honey, an’ de Billy Goat, too!”
Willis’s lips began to tremble. He suddenly left his place among the children and falling on Phyllis’s breast, sobbed aloud.
“Brer Bar ain’ eat de goat yit! He ain’ eb’n got fur es de sweet-gum tree! Set hyah in Mammy’s lap so nuthin’ can’t git you, an’ lis’n ter de res’ er de tale!” Snuggling him in her arms, she continued: “It nuv’r tuk Sis’ Cat long ter light out fum Brer Bar’s house, I tell yer! Dat dreanin’ mouf er his’n skeer’ her so bad dat she nuv’r tetch de groun’ mo’n six times ’fo’ she wus plum out’n de woods. Den she come er cropin’ up ter Mister Man’s house. She look all erroun’ she do, an’ see Ned Dog wusn’t at home; den she g’long in de barn whar Billy wus huntin’ fur sumthin’ ter eat. She take er seat in de winder by de little colt’s stall. Bimeby she say, ‘Billy, Miss Turkey Hen’s givin’ er mouty fine party ternight, down at de old sweet-gum tree in de pastur’ an’ she tole me ter ax you ter come.’ Billy couldn’t fine nuthin’ ter eat in de barn but some old straw Miss Race Hoss had done slep’ on, so he turn’ roun’ mouty quick when Sis’ Cat tell him he wus ax ter er party. He sorter laff an’ say: ‘I wond’r howcum her ter ax me.’
“Sis’ Cat say: ‘Caze she say you’se de fines’ an’ slickes’ uv all Mister Man’s beastes; an’ she gwine have some nice lit’le tender rose bushes fur you ter eat, an’ er heap er fine vit’als you loves.’
“Billy Goat des switch his tail an’ grin, ’caze yer know he wusn’t nuthin’ but er man goat, an’ ’cose he b’lief all de comp’ments Sis’ Cat choose ter stuff ’im wid. An’ all de men fokes is des de same, tell dis day! ev’y Lord’s blessed one uv ’em! When Sis’ Cat see she done turn Billy’s head plum roun’ she tell ’im not ter tell Ned Dog erbout de party, ’caze Miss Turkey Hen say she ain’ got ’nuf room but fur des one uv de fambly. Den, when Sis’ Cat heah Ned Dog er comin’, she lit out, ’caze she nuv’r want ’im ter know dat she had enything ter do wid Brer Bar eatin’ Billy Goat. Yer see Sis’ Cat wus tryin’ ter keep in wid bofe sides.”
Slipping her fingers under the bandanna kerchief bound about her head, and scratching slowly, Mammy chuckled to herself: “Dey’s er heap er fine folks in dis hyah town des like Sis’ Cat, too! Yes, Lawd, er heap uv ’em!”
“Don’t talk about people! We just want to hear about beastes!” urged little Mary Van.
“I hatt’r do it sometimes, chile, ’caze fokes an’ beastes has er heap er symptoms des erlike! Well, bless de Lawd, Billy ain’t no sooner seed Ned ’fo he ’gun ter brag erbout de party.
“‘Whose party?’ sez Ned Dog.
“‘Miss Turkey Hen’s havin’ er fine party down at de ole sweet-gum tree ternight ’bout dark,’ sez Billy.
“Ned Dog think Billy tellin’ er story, an’ he say, ‘Sis’ Turkey Hen ain’ givin’ no party ternight! I done see Mist’r Turkey Gobble an’ de chilluns in bed when I come thu de peach orchard an’ old Miss Turkey Hen, she wus des tyin’ her nightcap on her own se’f.’
“But, yer see, Billy wus too hard-head’d ter lis’n ter enybody, so he up an’ say, ‘I can’t hep whut you seen; Sis’ Cat say she gwine have spechul vit’als fur me, an’ I’m gwine!’ Den Billy walk up an’ down breshen de flies off’n his back wid his long tail.”
Seeing that some objections were about to be raised as to the length of the tail, Phyllis hastened to add: “In dem days goats had tails des like hosses. Soon es Billy menshun Sis’ Cat’s name, Ned Dog tell him Sis’ Cat layin’ er trap fur him; but ’tain’t no use ter argufy wid hard-head’d fokes like Billy, so Ned Dog let ’im g’long ter de party; but he crope close on b’hime ’im, an’ on de way, he come up wid Mist’r Bloodhoun’ an’ ax ’im ter g’long wid ’im. Mist’r Bloodhoun’ say he pow’ful broke down trailin’ er runaway nigger all day, but ef Ned was ’spectin’ er rompus he ’speck he’d hatt’r jine him. Bimeby, when Billy wus mos’ down ter de sweet-gum tree, dey hides deyse’fs in er clump er red haw bushes. Ole Brer Bar he had done come down fum de mount’in early, an’ wus standin’ b’hime de tree des er gorgin’ ’esse’f wid honey an’ peepin’ out, lookin’ fur Billy Goat. When he see Billy come switchin’ ’esse’f ’cross he pastur’, he ’gun ter fidgitin’ so he can’t wait ter git es teef in him, an’ he bus’ out fum b’hime de tree an’ come er runnin’ t’ards Billy. Billy wus so skeered he jes’ had sense ernuf ter turn ’esse’f roun’! Brer Bar ketch ’im by de tail. Brer Bar pull, an’ Billy pull. Billy pull, an’ Brer Bar pull! Bimeby, de tail come off in Brer Bar’s claw. Den Billy lit out; but Brer Bar grab ’im by de b’hime leg. Des den Mister Bloodhoun’ an’ Ned Dog wus on top er Brer Bar! Ned Dog grab Brer Bar’s paw in es teefs an’ Brer Bar drop Billy an’ grab Ned by de ye’r an’ wus mos’ clampin’ es jaws on Ned’s haid when Mist’r Bloodhoun’ clinch ’im by de th’oat! Brer Bar ax Mister Bloodhoun’ please ter turn es th’oat loose, dat he got sumthin’ ter tell ’im! Mist’r Bloodhoun’ ’nounce: ‘I won’t turn you plum loose, but I’ll hol’ yo’ th’oat easy like tell you kin ’splain yo’se’f!’
“Den Brer Bar splainify ’esse’f an’ beg so hard, tell bimeby dey ’scuses ’im, an’ he amble’ on home fas’ es he kin. Den dey come on home ter settle matters wid Sis’ Cat. Sis’ Cat was er settin’ by Billy moanin’ wid him ’bout losin’ es tail.”
“Did his tail ever grow out any more?” asked a sympathetic boy.
“No, honey, goats ain’t nuv’r had no tails ter speak uv sense dat day; but hoopee! hyah come Ned Dog an’ Mister Bloodhoun’! Dey come er yelpin’ wid dey tongues er hangin’ out. Dey pounce right whar Sis’ Cat wus settin’, but dey ain’t pounce quick as Sis’ Cat kin jump; ’caze by de time dey hits Sis’ Cat’s seat, Sis’ Cat, she was plum on top er de cow house, standin’ dar wid ’er back up, an’ her tail bushy out. Ned Dog dare her ter come down an’ splain ’erse’f; but Sis’ Cat say she ain’t got nuthin’ ter ’splain, an’ what’s mo’ she doan take no dog’s dare. An’ dat howcum dey quoil an ’spute whensumever dey meets tell dis day.”
“But, Mammy Phyllis, all cats are not as mean as ole Sis’ Cat,” ventured a little girl.
“Honey, my gran-mammy wus black! What color is I?”
“Black!” chimed all the children.
“An’ dat crab apple tree,—what sort er apples does you git off’n hit?”
“Crab apples!” was the answer.
“Well, ole Sis’ Cat was mean an’ ’ceitful, an’all ’er chillun is gwine ter be des like her long es I stays black an’ dem crab apples stays sour. Now run erlong,—dere’s de fust bell!”
Phyllis was eating her dinner under the cherry tree near the kitchen door. Willis seated himself on the grass in front of her.
“Mammy, you swallowed a fly then,” he said with earnestness.
“Look er heah, boy, ain’t you had ernuf ter eat, dat you got ter set hyah an’ sight ev’y piece uv vit’als I puts in my mouf?”
“Well, you didn’t want to eat a fly, did you?” he answered defensively.
“Ef I eats er fly, hit’s me doin’ hit, ain’t hit?” with a leg of a chicken poised half way to her mouth.
“But Mama said they’d poison you.” Willis was in trim for argument.
“Yo’ ma got er heap er new fangl’d notions; I dunno howcum fokes jes’ startin’ ter git fly pis’n’d. We bin eatin’ vit’als dat flies lights on, sense long ’fo’ yo’ ma wus born’d. An’ An’ Ca’line, dat’s mos’ er hundred ye’r ole, say dat whin er fly light on her ’lasses she lick ev’y speck uv hit off’n him ’fo’ she let him git erway.”
“Uncle Hugh says they’ll make you awful sick,” he pressed, though feeling his position weakened.
“Dey doan make nobody sick, but dem whut puts on so miny airs,” trying to talk with her mouth over full.
“My mama don’t put on airs,” he insisted with a tone of injury.
“She do too—dey ain’ nobody put on es min’y fly airs es yo’ ma. I heah one dese ve’y lit’le shoo flies talkin’ ’bout Miss Lucy las’ week. Shoo Fly settin’ up heah on de lim’ er dis tree talkin’ ter Hoss Fly. He tell Hoss Fly he ain’ had er squar’ meal fur er mont’.
“Hoss Fly tell ’im ter come on an’ g’long down ter de stable an’ take dinn’r wid ’im.
“Shoo Fly say, ‘I can’ git no sumthin’ ter eat out’n corn, an’ oats, I wants chickin’ pie, an’ sweet tat’rs, an’ blackberry dumplin’ sich es fokes eats—go off, boy,’ he say, ‘I ain’ no Hoss Fly.’
“Hoss Fly say, ‘Hits er pity yer ain’t—yer wud live ter be er ole’r man if yer wus.’”
“Why, Mammy, ’caus’ Mister Hoss Fly’s the biggest?” His eyes followed her, as she went to the kitchen door and exchanged her plate for one of blackberry dumpling.
“De bigges’ ain’ got nuthin’ ter do wid hit,” as she resumed her seat; “hit de fokes dey haster ’sociate wid, dat’s dang’us. Dey ain’ nuthin’ mo’ dangersum ter er fly’n yo’ ma,” she looked him straight in the eye. “She got all de wind’rs fas’n’d up so yer can’t shet er bline; an’ she got dat sticky pap’r you sets in ev’ytime yer goes in de kitchin; an’ she got dem pisnous flow’r boxes settin’ ev’ywhar; an’ she run ’roun’ all day atter one fly, hittin’ ’bout de house like de fly wus pis’n, sho’ nuf. Miss Lucy’s er sight, dat’s de trufe, an’ I doan blame Shoo Fly fur busin’ her.”
The soft dumpling rolled down her throat, and Willis swallowed in sympathy.
“Is Shoo Fly on the limb now?”
“Nor, he tak’n din’r wid me terday, an’ las’ night, he tak’n supp’r wid Miss Lucy,” she laughed aloud.
“Did Mama try to kill him?” anxiously.
“She sho’ did, son, but dis heah Shoo Fly got er haid er Miss Lucy las’ night,” still she laughed. “Yas, suh, Shoo Fly tell Hoss Fly he sho’ gwine perish ef he doan git er bite fum sumwhars.
“Hoss Fly ax ’im: ‘Is yer skeer’d ter go in Miss Lucy’s house fur vit’als?’
“Shoo Fly say, ‘I ain’ feerd er no Miss Lucy—I bin buttin’ m’ haid up ’ginst sum’in’ nuth’r in de wind’rs, tell m’ haid right full er bumps.’
“Hoss Fly say, ‘You ain’ got no sense, Shoo Fly,—’cose you can’t git in dat wire foolishness! De onlies’ way ter git in, is ter set up on de porch, an’ wait fur sum de fokes ter op’n de do’.’
“Dat peart’n Shoo Fly up moutily, an’ he say he gwine dat minit, an’ he do. He git ter de front porch jes’ es Miss Ma’y wus fancy talkin’ ter one er her beaux. Shoo Fly slip in, an’ fly back ter de pantry an’ light on sum er dis heah right heah,” she scraped the butter sauce from the edge of the plate and smacked her lips. “Whoopee, dat sort’r vit’als drive de skeer out’n enny fly. Shoo Fly jes’ hop erbout, an’ gorge hisse’f, tell bimeby he can’t hole no mo’. He start ter go out de wind’r, but he ’memb’r ’bout dem bumps on his haid, so he tu’n roun’ ter go in de parler, whin he come ’cross Miss Lucy! She start at ’im wid her fly-kill’r, an’ sakes er live!—you ort’r seed de way Shoo Fly make Miss Lucy run erbout dat house!” Again she laughed, calling to mind Miss Lucy’s daily fly fights. “But Shoo Fly hide b’hime yer gran’pa’s pictur’ ov’r de mantelpiece, an’ wint fas’ ter sleep. He doan wake up no mo’ tell supp’r time, neeth’r. He g’long in de dinin’ room ter supp’r wid de fambly, an’ whin dey sets down, he tak’n his seat on de cream pitch’r. Miss Lucy knock at ’im, she do, den he recoleck de fuss him an’ her done had wid one nuth’r, so he g’long ov’r ter Miss Ma’y’s beau’s plate, whar he know he kin eat all he want ter.”
“Wasn’t he afraid of Shoo Fly?” asked Willis, surprised.
“I nuv’r heah ’im pass no ’pinion ’bout de matt’r. Shoo Fly know dat man’s eyes too bizzy lookin’ at sum’in’ purtier’n him, an’ he know ergin de man got too much mann’rs ter set up an’ fight flies whin he’s vis’tin’.
“Miss Lucy, she sot dar an’ mos’ fidgit herse’f ter death, whin Shoo Fly light fus’ in de gent’muns vit’als, den up on his nose. De man breash ’im off his nose er heap er times, but Shoo Fly g’long back ev’y time, ’caze hit wus er nice place ter wash de greese off’n his face an’ han’s. An’ ev’y time he git coffee er ice cream, er enny thing on his foots, he g’long back ter sumwhars on dat man’s face ter wash his han’s, an’ wipe ’em on his coat tails. Miss Lucy say she know de man think she got er million flies in dat house.
“Shoo Fly done full er vit’als now, so he g’long ter bed b’hime yer gran’pa’s pictur’. In de mawnin’, he git up an’ look erbout, he do, an’ I tell yer he git pow’ful wo’ out waitin’ fur dem sleepy haid’d niggers ter start dey wurk, so by de time de cant’lopes git fix’d, Shoo Fly wus so hongry dat he eat hisse’f plum full er mush-mil’n ’fo’ brekfus’ time. He fly ’roun’ an’ zamine dat fly pap’r but he ain’ got no room fur no mo’ eatin’; den he look at dat cur’us Pison flow’r, but he keep way fum dat, ’caze he say he ain’ no bee. Jes’ den heah come Miss Lucy wid ’er fly-kill’r. Him an’ her dances considerbul ergin, but bimeby he g’long ter take er nap b’hime yer gran’pa, an’ Miss Lucy set down ter read de mawnin’ pap’r.
“Whin he wake up, he sort’r feel holl’r, he do, ’caze cant’lope res’ mighty light yer knows, so he g’long ter hunt sumpin’ nuth’r ter eat. He think Miss Lucy done fergit ’im by now, but no, Lawd, he dunno Miss Lucy, fur he ain’ buz hisse’f mo’n er time er two, ’fo’ Miss Lucy take atter him. She skeer ’im so bad, dat he fergit all ’bout dem wire things in de wind’r, but Lawsee, whin his haid come ’ginst de wire, hit knock de senses out’n ’im, an’ whin dat fly-kill’r er Miss Lucy’s hit his toe, hit tu’n ’im so sick, he fell blip! right on de fly pap’r. Mussy grashus! you ort’r heah Shoo Fly holl’rin’ an’ er buzzin’ fur Hoss Fly.
“’Bout dis time, whin Hoss Fly doan see nuthin’ er Shoo Fly on de cherry tree, he g’long ter git er peep in at de wind’r ter see ef he kin git enny news uv ’im; an’ bless de Lawd, he ain’ git ter de wind’r ’fo’ he heah Shoo Fly holl’rin’: ‘Oh, Hoss Fly, p-l-e-a-s-e come hope me out’n heah!’
“Hoss Fly run ter de front do’, but dat’s shet tight, so he take an’ run ’roun’ ter de kitchin do’ whar he know dey’s allus keerles’. He fly ter de kitchin’ do’ an’ seen Kitty standin’ wid her foot in de do’ passin’ news wid ole An’ Malviny, an’ he know he got plenty time ter go in an’ ’ten’ ter his biznes’, ’fo’ dat do’ git shet ergin. He fly thu de kitchin, an’ make fur de liberry, whar po’ Shoo Fly had done mos’ buzz hisse’f ter death.
“SHOO-FLY HOLL’R, ‘LOOK OUT FUR M’ LEGS!’”
“Hoss Fly swoop down an’ grab ’im by de wing, but Shoo Fly holl’r, ‘Look out fur m’ legs! Oh, Lawdy, you’se pullin’ m’ wing off—Oh, Lawdy, Lawdy!’
“Nobody dunno de mis’ry po’ Shoo Fly wus in. I tell yer Hoss Fly wurk mouty keerful ter git ’im all out tergeth’r. Den he liftes ’im up, but he doan hatt’r hole on ter ’im, ’caze Shoo Fly so sticky he hole his own se’f on. Hoss Fly come er flyin’ back thu de kitchin.”
“Did Kitty have the door open for him?”
“Cose, boy, ain’t I done alreddy tole yer Kitty an’ Mal gwine talk tell Miss Lucy come an’ put ’em ter wurk? Yas, suh, Hoss Fly didn’t had no trub’le gittin’ ’im out er dat kitchin,—an’ he come flyin’ straight ter de stable, an’ light wid Shoo Fly on top er de kerrige. He tell ’im ter roll hisse’f erbout on de kiv’r tell he git shed er dat sticky pison on ’im.”
“Did Shoo Fly go back to the house when he got well?”
Willis rose as he saw the old woman preparing to take her plate to the kitchen.
“Nor, suhree, Shoo Fly say, he done got his full er big fokes! He say he done foun’ out hit wus er heap bett’r ter g’long an’ live whar de Lawd born’d yer ter live at, dan ter go ’mongst fokes dat doan want yer.”
”Mammy, can’t my papa be mayor if he wants to?” bragged Willis, darting a satisfied look at Mary Van.
“I’ll tell yer mo’ ’bout dat dis time termorrer,” was the unexpected reply.
“Yahn, yahn, yahn,” taunted Mary Van.
“He can, too,” retorted Willis.
Willis’s papa was a candidate for mayor, hence in the family politics colored the conversation from the parlor through the nursery even to the kitchen.
“De reason I says whut I does,” Mammy apologized, “is ’caze dey tells me er dark hoss kin jump in at de las’ minit an bus’ de whole thing all ter pieces.”
“Does he kick up and run away?” Willis jerked at her apron to hasten the reply.
“Dey runs erway wid de ’lection sometimes, ef de uth’r run’rs ain’ sho’ nuf race hosses an’ got mighty strong harnes’ on ’em.”
“Mammy, less me an’ Mary Van be race hosses, an’ you be er dark hoss, an’ see which one can beat.”
“I low ef we-all wuster race hoss ’roun’ dis hyah garret, ’tain’ long fo’ yo’ ma’ll be de dark hoss ter do de beatin’.”
“No, Mammy, put m’ harness on,” shaking the bells in impatience.
“I can’t play no race hoss up hyah terday, boy, ’caze Miss Lucy got her mine on ’lection news, an’ she say you got ter be quiet.”
“No, I’m going to be a race horse, put m’ harness on!”
“Auntie might whip you, Willis,” ventured Mary Van, “mightn’t she, Mammy Phyllis?”
“She whup ’im in er minit, ef he fool wid her terday.”
“Well, Mammy—” he fretted.
“Lis’n hyah, baby—Miss Race Hoss settin’ ov’r yond’r in de pastur’ waitin’ jes’ like yo’ ma is terday.”
“What’s she waiting for?”
“Waitin’ ter hyah ef Mist’r Race Hoss beat Brer Bar ter be ruler er de beastes. Oh, I tell yer Ned Dog mos’ run hisse’f plum ter death gittin’ votes fur Mist’r Race Hoss; an’ Mist’r Wile Cat, he de haid man gittin’ votes fur Brer Bar.”
“But, Mammy—”
“Lawd, boy, I wush you cud heah de scand’lous bettin’ gwine on in dat pastur’—ev’ybody puttin’ money on Mist’r Race Hoss, ’caze dey see Brer Bar’s too slow an’ sleepy mind’d ter keep up wid Mist’r Race Hoss. An’ den, too, nobody doan trus’ Mist’r Wile Cat fur nuthin’. Mist’r Wile Cat all time projeckin’ wid some sorter big sumpin’ nuth’r dat nuv’r do tu’n out ter be er thing. So yer see nobody ain’ gwine vote fur Brer Bar, ’caze dey skeer’d er Mist’r Wile Cat’s dealin’s. Dey talks all dis out in de pastur’, an’ Mist’r Tom Cat he set an’ lis’n ter de confab. Sometime he buse Brer Bar, an’ sometime he make out he ’sleep an’ doan heah.
“One day Mist’r Jack Donkey wint up ter de fod’r rack ter git er chaw er fod’r, an’ whin he come thu de cow shed he come ’cross Mist’r Tom Cat stretchin’ his claws. Atter dey passes howdy wid one nuth’r, Mist’r Tom Cat, he say, ‘Jack, I heah some fokes say, dey wush ter de Lawd you wus in Brer Bar’s place.’
“Jack, he tu’n his ye’rs ’roun’, he do, an’ say, ‘Who say dat, Tom?’
“Tom Cat say, ‘Ev’ybody jes’ wushin’ fur er big sho’ nuf man like you ter come in an’ whoop out dat ole stuck up Race Hoss.’
“Whin Jack Donkey heah dat, he sorter switch his tail, an’ stomp fus’ one foot an’ den de uth’rs uv his foots, an’ he keep his ye’rs tu’nin’ ’roun’ an’ ’roun’.”
“What’s the reason he does that, Mammy Phyllis; were the flies bothering him?” asked the little girl.
“He studyin’, honey, dat sort’r confab’ll wurk on men fokes, let lone er donkey. Jack sort’r tu’n matt’rs ov’r in his mine, an’ he say ter hisse’f, ‘I sho’ is er sho’ nuf big man, an’ I sho’ is got er heap er sense, ’caze I kin outdo Mist’r Man up yond’r enny day. Nobody can’t make me do nuthin’ my mine ain’ sot on doin’, an’ enybody kin hitch up dat high steppin’ Race Hoss, an’ make ’im plow er do enny sort’r thing whut dey pleases. Yas,’ he says, ‘I got mo’ sense dan Race Hoss, an’ bless de Lawd, ef I doan b’leef I’m bett’r lookin’, too!’
“Mist’r Tom Cat ain’ say er thing, he jes’ keep er stretchin’ his claws, waitin’ fur Jack Donkey ter git plum full er hisse’f. Bimeby, he git full ernuf ter bile ov’r, an’ he say, ‘Brer Tom, I ain’ much on pol’ticks, you knows dat,—but ef de plantation is jes’ brow beat by dat ripsnortin’ Race Hoss, an’ can’t git shed er him no uth’r way, ’cep’n fur some uth’r bigg’r man ’n him ter run ’ginst ’im, den I’m yer man.’
“Tom, he light out fum dar, an’ make tracks all ov’r de pastur’ tell he come ter Mist’r Billy Goat’s house.”
“Was it Ned Dog’s Billy Goat?” and Willis was contented to lay aside the harness.
“Hit wus Billy’s gran’pa, ole Cap’n Goat. Cap’n Goat wus walkin’ up an’ down de branch washin’ his foots an’ takin’ er swall’r er water ev’y now an’ den, an’ whin Tom Cat come erlong an’ op’n up an’ tell his biznes’, de Cap’n git so ’cited, dat he stomp water all ov’r creation, an’ Tom git right sharply sprinkl’d. He jump up an’ shake hisse’f, he do, an’ sorter start up ter de shade er de chestnut tree. Dey pass er heap er conversation, dey does, but de upshot uv hit wus, dat Cap’n Goat ’cide ter put Jack Donkey up es er dark hoss.
“Mist’r Tom Cat, he run an’ tell Brer Mule, an’ Mist’r Dur’m Cow, an’ Mist’r Brindle Cow, an’ ole man Hog, ter run quick ter de ches’nut tree, dat Cap’n Goat’s got sumpin’ big ter tell ’em! Whin dey gits dar, an’ passes de news back’ards an’ fur’ards ’mongst derse’fs, dey ’cides ter run Jack Donkey in de race.
“Mist’r Dur’am Cow say, ‘Jack’s mo’ stronger’n Race Hoss.’
“Ole man Hog say, ‘Yas, an’ he kin wurk long’r an’ mo’ hard’r’n Race Hoss.’
“Oh, dey praises Jack Donkey up moutily, an’ all uv ’em say dey’ll whup Mist’r Race Hoss so bad dat he’ll be ’sham’d ter trot ’long side uv er mud turtle.
“Dey so bizzy wid der confab, dat dey ain’ notice Mist’r Wile Cat settin’ up on er lim’ er de tree. Atter dey spies him, dey axes ’im ter pass his ’pinion on de meetin’.
“He up an’ low, he did, dat he know Brer Bar ain’ in de race, but, sezee, ‘Jack Donkey can’t do much bet’r’n Brer Bar, ef you let fokes know ’im.’
“Dey axes him how dey kin hope hit.
“He tell ’em ter run him by de name er Bline Billy.
“Dey ax ’im how he speck Bline Billy name gwine keep fokes fum knowin’ Jack Donkey whin he ’pear ter make his canvas.
“Wile Cat say ter make ’im kiv’r hisse’f up whinsumev’r he rise ’fo’ de congregation.
“An’ dat’s whut dey done, an’ nobody ’cep’n dem fokes und’r de ches’nut tree know Bline Billy’s sho’ nuf name.
“Ned Dog, he go tell Mist’r Race Hoss ’bout dis new fine run’r dat’s makin’ sich fine speeches ’ginst ’im. Mist’r Race Hoss tell Ned Dog ter git der side tergeth’r so dey kin confab erbout de mat’r. Ned Dog, he passes de wurd ter ’em all, an’ he ’speshully tell Brer Mule ter be dar sho’.
“Brer Mule tell him he can’t make up his min’ which side he’s on, he say he kin ter Bline Billy, an’ he ort’r vote fur him.
“Ned Dog tell him he mustn’t fergit dat him an’ Mist’r Race Hoss kin, too.
“He say he ain’ fergit hit, an’ dat’s howcum he so twist’d up ’bout votin’. He set an’ study, he do, an’ de mo’ he study, de mo’ he can’t make up his mine.”
“Make him vote for Mister Race Hoss, Mammy.”
“Make who, boy?—Brer Mule settin’ up on dat fence stud’in’ jes whar Ned Dog lef’ ’im.”
Willis became discouraged over Mister Race Horse’s prospects and insisted with much feeling that Phyllis had influenced the animals in Jack Donkey’s behalf.
“Go off, boy, how I gwine make dese trashy creeturs vote fur high tone fokes like yo’ pa an’ Mist’r Race Hoss? Dey dunno nuthin’ ’cep’n whut de murchine tell ’em ter vote,” shaking her head in condemnation and mumbling to herself. “Sometimes I studies ter m’se’f ef de wimmin fokes cud do enny bett’r.”