“Mammy Phyllis, please make somebody come to Mister Race Horse’s meetin’,” urged Mary Van.

“Doan you both’r yose’f ’bout dat meetin’, ’caze Ned Dog both’rin’ nuf fur bofe uv yer. He go tell Mist’r Rooster ter telerfome ter Mist’r Turk’y Gobler, an’ Mist’r Peacock, an’ he tell Mist’r Bloodhoun’ fur him ter run an’ tell Mist’r Jersey Cow, an’—”

“An’ Mister Turtle,” suggested Willis, trying to help the meeting along.

“Nor, suh, ole man Mud Turtle ain’ got no bisnes’ at dis meetin’, he ’longs wid de Bline Billy crowd. Ef you talkin’ ’bout Mist’r Di’mon’ Back Terrapin, den you’se right, ’caze he wus dar on de amen bench, an’—”

“Where were the sheep, Mammy?”

“Dat’s so, baby, I mos’ fergit all ’bout de ’spute Unk Bell Weth’r an’ ole Daddy Ram Sheep had ’bout de mat’r. Daddy Ram Sheep wanter vote fur Bline Billy, but Unk Bell Weth’r say dey got ter heah mo’ speakin’ ’fo’ dey got nuf sense ter know which one de bes’ side.

“Well, de speakin’ start’ an’ I tell yer hit kep’ up scand’lus, too.

“Mist’r Race Hoss ’vite Bline Billy an’ Brer Bar bofe uv ’em ter speak wid ’im, but Brer Bar feer’d ter, an’ ev’y time Jack Donkey say he gwine mix speeches wid Mist’r Race Hoss, ole Uncle Gee-Haw Steer giv’ er big kick ’ginst hit.

“He say, ‘Twon’ do, twon’ do!’

“Fin’ly Ned Dog ax Cap’n Goat ef Bline Billy skeer’d ter meet Mist’r Race Hoss on de same stump, will he ’gree ter meet ’im on diffunt stumps but tolerbul close tergether, so dey kin see which one kin out do de uth’r.

“Cap’n Goat say Bline Billy ain’ skeer’d er no race hoss dat ev’r capr’d on er track, an’ ter ’nounce de time an’ name de stumps, an’ Blin’ Billy’ll be dar wid fo’ foots an’ er tongue dat’ll make Mist’r Race Hoss eat up all dat big talk he bin scat’rin’ ’roun’.

“Whin ole Unk Gee-Haw Steer heah ’bout de meetin’ he kick er ’ginst hit, he say dat donkey gwine make er jack er hisse’f sho’ es sho’ kin be; dat fokes’ll fin’ out who Bline Billy is, ef he start ter talkin’ wid Mist’r Race Hoss.

“Mist’r Tom Cat say, ‘Nor, Jack Donkey gwinter keep hisse’f kiv’r’d up plum tell de ’lection’s ov’r.’

“Sez Unk Gee-Haw Steer, ‘I wants yer all ter ’member I kick’d ’ginst hit ter de ve’y las’.’

“Oh, I tells yer dar wus mouty times gwine on gittin’ reddy fur dat ’casion; de pastur’ wus plum full er flags.

“Sis’ Tabby Cat, she slip ov’r ter Miss Race Hosses house an’ say, ‘Miss Race Hoss, Mist’r Tom Cat say hit mos’ kill him ter vote ’ginst Mist’r Race Hoss, but Cap’n Goat done bin sich er good frin’ ter our fambly dat Tom bleege ter do like de Cap’n ax ’im, but hit mos’ killin’ Tom, ’caze he say Mist’r Race Hoss is de man fur de place, an’ he hope he gwine git ’lect’d.’

“Miss Race Hoss ain’ sayin’ nuthin’. She know all ’bout Mist’r Tom Cat’s doin’s an’ Sis’ Tabby wusn’t foolin’ nobody but herse’f. Lawd, chillun,” she mused, preparing to cut some quilt pieces, “how menny Sis’ Tabby Cats is bin ter see Miss Lucy heah lately?”

“Well, de speakin’ day come. Bline Billy wus settin’ off on his stump all kiv’r’d up, so nobody kin tell him. Cap’n Goat settin’ right close ter him whisperin’ all de time, an’ Brer Turkey Buzzard he swoopin’ all eroun’ de congergation takin’ messages fur Cap’n Goat, an’ pickin’ up eny scrap uv vit’als he kin fine.

“Mist’r Race Hoss settin’ on his stump, too, wid Jedge Eagle perch’d ’long side er him an’ Ned Dog on de uth’r side.

“Mist’r Bull-finch an’ John Mockin’ Bird wus de lead’rs er de ban’ an’ I tell yer dat musick wus sumthin’ ter heah sho’ nuf.

“Cap’n Goat say dey doan want no musick playin’ at der speakin’.

“Brer Bull Frog say: ‘Nor, suhree, you git er jug-er-rum an’ put hit wit Sis’ Ginny Hen’s boys up in de gal’ry, long wid Miss Wile Lucy Goose’s chilluns, an’ you got nuf fuss fur fifty meetin’s.’

“Mist’r Tom Cat slap down on his leg an’ say, ‘Dat’s de very thing; dat ef Mist’r Race Hoss git ter th’owin’ off too much language, jes’ ter git Brer Bull Frog ter start off de Ginny chorus an’ he bet Race Hoss won’t heah his own se’f talk.’”

Willis moved closer. “Was all of ’em sittin’ together, Mammy?”

“Nor, dey wus fur nuf erpart fur bofe uv ’em ter keep der own crowd.”

“Where did Brer Mule sit?” Mary Van remembered to ask.

“And where did Uncle Bell Weth’r take the sheep?” put in Willis.

“Brer Mule had bisnes’ dat take ’im clean off’n de plantation, honey, an’ dat bisnes’ keep ’im plum tell ’lection day’s ov’r. Yas, Lawd, an’ er whole passel er yo’ pa’s frien’s went wid him ter hope ’im ten’ ter his bisnes’.”

“Did Uncle Bell Weth’r and the sheep go, too?”

“Nor, son, dey jes’ nachelly ain’ got der mines sot yit, an’ dey ain’ settin’ wid one nur t’other. Dey huddl’d tergeth’r right b’twixt de two, waitin’ fur Unk Bell Weth’r ter ring de bell, den all uv ’em gwine move tergeth’r.

“But youall keep er talkin’ so much, Mist’r Race Hoss an’ Bline Billy gittin’ wo’ out settin’ on dem stumps.”

“Tell ’em to start, Mammy.”

“Dey done start, baby. Bline Billy’s ginny chorus jes’ er pot’rackin’ hard es dey kin, ’caze Brer Bull Frog so full er jug-er-rum, dat he start ’em off too soon. Cose de gooses turn loose soon es de ginnies give de fus ‘potter-rack.’

“Cap’n Goat tuk an’ whisp’r ter Brer Turkey Buzz’rd ter go tell Jim Duck fur de Lawd sake ter stop de fuss, so Jack Donkey kin speak, ’caze Mist’r Race Hoss wus jes’ er speakin’ gran’ an’ gittin’ way erhead; an’ Cap’n Goat settin’ up dar pullin’ his whisk’rs an’ farely chawin’ de een’s off. Fin’ly Brer Turkey Buzzard whisper ter Jim Puddle Duck, but Jim Duck sorter deef an’ he think Brer Buzzard say fur his fambly ter go he’p ’long de fuss. So he go, he do, an’ geth’r ’em up, an’ Miss Screech Owel’s fokes, too, an’ dey starts sich ernuth’r holl’rin’ es nobody ain’ nuv’r heah befo’ nur sense. Cap’n Goat try ter shout out er few wurds, but nobody can’ heah er wurd, so Mist’r Durham Cow raise his beller ter try ter hope him, but dat done do no good. Den Mist’r Tom Cat see ef he kin git in er wurd, but nobody wud know he wus talkin’ les’n dey see his mouf wurkin’.

“Whoopee! Jack Donkey wus so mad, he hop up ter holler, too, but Mist’r Wile Cat hidin’ b’hime ’im, grabs ’im by de kiv’r an’ tell ’im ter set still tell dey holl’rs derse’fs out. He say, ‘Den you kin speak atter Mist’r Race Hoss gits all wo’ out.’ But nor suhree, dat ’vice ain’ suitin’ Jack Donkey, an’ whut’s mo’, he too hard haided ter lis’n enyhow, so he up an’ start ter holl’rin his ‘He-haw, he-haw.’

“Whoopee! dat stop de fuss! Somebody ’gun ter holl’r: ‘Bline Billy ain’ nobody but ole Jack Donkey!’ All uv ’em say, ‘De idee er Jack Donkey puttin’ hisse’f up ter be rul’r er de beastes.’

“Unk Bell Weth’r shake de bell, an’ all de sheep flocks ter Mist’r Race Hoss’s side.

“Oh, I tell yer dar wusn’t but er han’ful er fokes lef’ on Jack’s side.”

“Why did Jack Donkey pull his cov’r off, Mammy?”

“He didn’t hatt’r pull his kiv’r off, son, caze Jack call out his own name—can’t you tell er donkey whin you heahs him bray?”

At that moment a band and shouts of people were heard coming up the street.

“Lawsee! chillun! Less git down fum heah; I b’leef in m’ soul Mist’r Race Hoss done beat dis race sho’ nuf.”

X
MISTER BAD ’SIMMON TREE

“Look at that big old grape tree, Mammy Phyllis,” said Mary Van, as she ran beside the little boy gathering wild flowers in the woods back of the house.

“That’s not a grape tree, Mary Van—it’s a grape vine,” corrected Willis.

“’Tain’t, it’s a tree, isn’t it, Mammy?”

“It’s a vine,” he emphasized with a shake of her arm.

“Make him stop, he’s knocking my flowers.”

“Dey ain’t no use youall ’sputin’ ’bout Miss Wile Grape. Bofe uv yer’s got hit right. She uster be Miss Wile Grape Vine ’fo’ she take an’ marry ole man Holl’r Tree. Now she call herse’f Miss Grape Vine Tree.”

“Where’s Old Man Holl’r Tree?”

“Yond’rs him,—standin’ b’hime Miss Wile Grape. Dey’s er heap er men fokes hidin’ b’hime der ole ladies in dis worl’, too! Yas, suh! an’ dey’s er heap uv ’ooman fokes dat act jes’ like Miss Wile Grape done whin Mist’r Wise Oak tell her long time ergo ter stop keepin’ comp’ny wid Holl’r Tree. Mist’r Wise Oak tell her Holl’r Tree ain’ fit’n fur nuthin’ but ter hide possums in.

“She say, ‘I doan keer ef he can’t do nuthin’, I kin make er livin’ fur bofe uv us, but I’m jes’ bleeg ter have sumbody ter lean on.’

“He say, ‘Doan git er long s’ fas’, Wile Grape; lay low fur er while, an’ ’twon’ be long ’fo’ young Johnnie Live Oak’ll reach out an’ ax you ter lean on him.’

“She say, ‘No, I ain’ gwine ’ginst Holl’r Tree jes’ ’caze he’s gettin’ ole an’ ball.’

“Miss Crab Apple tell her, ‘Dat’s right, grab yer fus’ chance, ’caze yer ain’ gwina git no mo’.’ Dat hu’t po’ lit’le Wile Grape’s feelin’s, an’ she sorter wilt an’ creep on de groun’ tell Miss Bizzy Bee come an’ tell her Holl’r Tree say ef she doan come on, he gwine tumble ter pieces. Den she lif’ up her haid an’ git Bob Win’ ter take her up ter Holl’r Tree, an’ she bin dar ev’r sense, tryin’ ter hide his ole ugly se’f; an’ de wurser he look, de mo’ purty leaves an’ grapes she try ter kiv’r ov’r him.”

“What’d Miss Crab Apple say?” Mary Van wanted to hear the gossip.

“Nobody ain’ lis’n ter whut she say, ’caze she so sour an’ mean, ev’ybody keep out’n her way.”

Willis darted ahead. “Look, Mammy, look at the persimmons!” and he began hurling stones towards the tree.

“Nobody doan want no green ’simmons, boy.”

“They’re not green, they’re yellow,” and another stone followed.

“Let dem ’simmons ’lone, I tell yer—dey ain’ fit’n fur nothin’, doan keer ef dey is yaller. De fros’ got ter fall on ’em ’fo’ eb’n possums’ll eat ’em.” She added, under her breath, “Like dese heah sour fokes dat don’t nuv’r git sweet tell trub’le hit ’em.”

“I don’t care, I’m going to knock ’em down anyway.”

“Ahah, you gwine be hard-haid’d jes’ like ’Simmon Tree wus whin he wus er lit’le hard-haid’d boy tree, an’ his ma tell him ter stop sassyin’ old fokes.”

“Who did he sassy?” Willis looked with indecision at the stone in his hand.

“I ain’ gwine tell yer nuthin’ tell yer th’ows dat rock down an’ gits fur nuf fum ’Simmon Tree ter keep him fum lis’nin’ ter whut I says, ’caze he ’memb’rs long time ergo whin all de trees wus waitin’ ter see which one gwine have de fines’ crap er chillun. Early hyah in de spring, ’fo’ Jack Fros’ go ter see Miss White Snow, Dandy Lion come peepin’ out; all de trees bowin’ an’ swingin’ derse’fs erbout axin’ de news ’bout der chillun. Dandy Lion say, ‘Don’t yer heah lit’le Weepin’ Will’r cryin’ an’ holl’rin’ ov’r yond’r now?’ Sho’ nuf dar she wus tellin’ her ma ’bout lit’le Maple Tree an’ all uv ’em pushin’ her out fus’ ter see ef Jack Fros’ fixin’ ter pack his trunk.”

The stone slid noiselessly from Willis’s hand, while Phyllis led the way beyond the green persimmons.

“Did Jack Frost bite little Willow Tree?”

“He don’t bite ’em less’n dey gits hard-haid’d an’ sassy him. But hyah come lit’le Aspin, an’ lit’le Sugar Maple, an’ dey says Lit’le ’Simmon Tree an’ de res’ uv de tree chillun is reddy ter come, soon es ole Unk’ Sun warm up de room fur ’em er lit’le. Bimeby, all uv ’em gits der haids an’ hands out, ’cep’n Pine Tree chile. Ev’ybody axin’ Miss Vilet, an’ Miss Honey-suckle an’ all uv ’em wharbouts Pine Tree chile wus at. Pres’ntly ole Tall Pine say, he do: ‘Jes’ ’ten’ ter yer own biznes’, my boy know whut he doin’. He ain’ gwine come up hyah rippin’ an’ tar’in’ ’roun’, an’ den hatt’r stan’ dar an’ die in his tracks. Whin enny er my fambly comes up in de woods, dey comes ter stay,’ sez he: ‘De res’ er you all goes off in de winter time, but me an’ my fokes stays right hyah; darfo’, I done lernt my chillun ter git er good start ’fo’ dey comes thu!’

“I tell yer, Pine Tree chile wus workin’ hard ter tap wat’r so he kin keep up wid de res’ er de trees atter he jines de woods.”

“How can he tap water?” interrupted Willis.

“Dey taps hit wid der roots. Sometimes er pine tree whut ain’t no big’r’n my han’ is got roots fifteen foots long. An’ I tell yer Pine Tree tellin’ de trufe, his boy know der fambly bleege ter have wat’r ter live on, an’ he ain’t gwine take no stan’ in dis woel he know he can’t keep up wid. De trees dey talks ’bout him mouty bad at fus’, but he don’t pay no ’tenshun ter ’em, he jes’ mine his own biznes’, an’ bimeby he git big ’nuf ter look on de top uv all ’em.”

“Did he look down on the top of Mist’r Wise Oak?” broke in Willis.

“Tall Pine so high an’ straight hisse’f, he ain’t thinkin’ ’bout de top er nobody’s haid. He know Mist’r Wise Oak’s de big’es’ man on Tinker Knob an’ he proud ter keep comp’ny wid him.”

“Who was running against Wise Oak?” the race for mayor still lingering in his mind.

“Well, son, dar wus er heap uv ’em dat want ter git in, but dey can’t git nobody ter put ’em up. Lombody Poplar ax Holl’r Tree ter put him up, but Holl’r Tree tell him ter look at hisse’f, an’ see how fokes ’ud t’ar him ter pieces. He say he dunno howcum.

“Holl’r Tree say, ‘Whut’s you done ter make fokes vote fur you? You doan give no fruit, an’ you too stingy ter eb’n stretch yer arms out an’ make shade fur ennybody.’

“Lombody say, ‘Yer doan want me ter spile m’ shape does yer?’

“Holl’r Tree say, ‘Dat’s hit. You thinks too much ’bout yer own se’f ter serve de woods.’ But I ain’ got time ter tell yer all whut de trees talks erbout. I jes’ wanter tell yer ’bout whut Mist’r bad ’Simmon Tree got.

“Whin he wus er lit’le boy tree, he all de time bein’ hard-haided an’ makin’ fusses twixt de trees er de beastes er enybody dat ’ud lis’n ter him. His ma whoop him er heap ’bout tellin’ tales, an’ meddlin’ in fokes’ ’fars, but ev’y time Bob Win’ come thu de woods ’Simmon Tree’d lean way down ter de groun’ totin’ tales ter sumbody. One time Mist’r Brindle Cow come walkin’ long thu de woods, huntin’ fur some nice lit’le chaws er wile flow’rs, an’ ’Simmon Tree hol’r fur him ter come set down an’ talk ter him. Mister Brindle say he ain’ got no time ter fool wid chillun. Wid dat ’Simmon Tree holl’r back: ‘Yer bet’r take time, ’caze ev’y body know you done bin runn’d out’n de pastur’.’ Whoopee! Mist’r Brindle Cow give er jump an’ lan’ hisse’f ’pon top er dat sassy little tree, an’ I tell yer he nuv’r lef’ dar tell he had tromp ’Simmon Tree clean down ter de groun’. Den he curl his tail in de air an’ go bellerin’ back ter de pastur’.

“’Simmon Tree sorter raise up one fing’r, den he lif’ his haid up er lit’le bit, but he hurt so bad near ’bout his foots dat he cry an’ beg sumbody ter please hope him up.

“Jes’ den Mist’r Man an’ his lit’le boy come ridin’ thu dar on Miss Race Hoss. Mist’r Man stop, he do, an’ say, ‘Look at dat nice lit’le ’Simmon Tree sumbody done tromp’d down. I’m gwine tie hit up an’ give hit er chanct,’ sez he. So him an’ de lit’le boy liftes hit up, an’ ’Simmon Tree holl’r, ‘Oh! Lawdy! yer’s killin’ me,’ but dey ties him up an’ put sticks up ’ginst him ter keep him fum fallin’ down, an’ ’tain’ long ’fo’ de hu’t part wus kur’d tergeth’r fine, an’, by de time he wus grow’d up, nobody cud tell he ev’r wus er bad lit’le boy dat mos’ got kilt by his badness. Oh, he wus er starchy lookin’ tree I tell yer. Look like he wus de fines’ lookin’ uv all de tree chillun.”

“One day Bob Win’ put on his fine linnin duster an’ he come er projeckin’ an’ frolickin’ ’roun’ de Reed gals down in de Cane Break. Dey has er heap er fun, I tell yer. Bob allus crackin’ his jokes ter ’em tell dey mos’ die fallin’ ’ginst one nuth’r laffin’.

“’Simmon Tree git so mad ’caze he can’t fly ’roun’ an’ projeck wid de gals like Bob, dat he ’fuse ter speak ter Bob’s howdy. Bob he sorter laf an’ flutt’r ’Simmon Tree’s leaves back’ards. ’Simmon Tree git mad es fire den, an’ he tell him ter ‘clar out!’

“He say, ‘You does er heap er braggin’ an’ blusterin’ in dese parts Bob Win’, but I ain’ nuv’r seed nuthin’ in yer but bad mann’rs.’

“Bob say, ‘I see yer done forgit de les’n Brer Brindle Cow learnt yer whin you wus lit’le.’

“’Simmon Tree say, ‘I ain’ skeer’d er all de Mist’r Cows in de pastur’, an’ you th’ow’d in ter boot. You ain’ nuthin’ but er win’ bag ennyhow.’

“Bob Win’ say, ‘Git reddy, suh, we gwine proof whose de bes’ man ’fo’ sundown.’

“Bob go ax his pa, ole man Harricane, ter loan him his cyarpet bag, he tell him he want ter take sum fightin’ close ’long on er trip he gwine on thu de woods. Ole Kerlum-bang Thunder say he gwine ’long ter see de fun. Po’-Down Rain say he gwine too, but Bob tell ’em he doan want nobody ter hope him.

“Po’-Down Rain says he ain’ gwine hope nobody, he say, ‘Mist’r Wise Oak sont fur me er mont’ ergo, an’ I ain’ had time ter go yit, but I’m gwine now, ’caze I wants ter see you whin you tu’ns yose’f loose.’

“Ole Kerlum-bang Thund’r say, ‘I ain’ gwine hu’t nobody, I’m jes’ gwina shoot off er few fier wurks, an’ rat’le ’roun’ er lit’le.’

“Bob see he can’ do nuthin’ wid ’em, so he start off. Fus’ he come sorter sof’ whrrrrrrrr, whuuuuuuuu. All de trees lafs an’ howdy’s ter one nuth’r ’cep’ ’Simmon Tree. He ’fuse ter russ’le so much es er leaf. Bob come Brrrrrrrrr, sorter strong like, de leaves on de groun’ try ter hop up an’ cap’r wid dem on de trees, an’ de Reed gals wus jes’ laffin’ an’ th’owin’ derse’fs erbout scand’lous. ’Simmon Tree ain’ flutt’r er leaf, ’cep’n whin he bleeg’d ter. Bob Win’ come Brrrrrrrr, Whrrrrrrrr, Brrrrr, Brrrrrrrr, Whrrrrrr, Zuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzzzzzzzzzz, whoopee! I tell yer he’s comin’ now! He rip an’ t’ar, he do, ringin’ an’ twistin’ ev’ything dat gits in his way. Ole Kerlum-bang Thunder give er clap an’ tetch off er fier crack’r dat skeer de Cane Break fokes mouty nigh ter death. Po’-Down Rain come right ’long b’hime him. He wet dem woods mouty nigh ter flood times. Ole Kerlum-bang drop his chunk er fier on a passel er big fier-crackers, an’—”

“And Roman candles, and sky rockets!” added Willis.

“Yas, an’ de fus’ thing you knows Bob Win’ had done swep’ up dat groun’ b’fo’ him clean es yo’ ma’s parler floor. He step up ter ’Simmon Tree an’ ax him ef he got ennything ter take back.

“’Simmon Tree say, ‘I done tole yer I ain’ gwina pass wurds wid no sich er blow hard es you is.’

“Bob Win’ grab him ’roun ’de trunk, he do, an’ give er good twis’ on his haid, but dat nuv’r done no harm, an’ ’Simmon Tree hit him back es good es he sen’. Bob take him by de arms an’ twis’ wid all his might, but ’Simmon Tree laff in his face, an’ twis’ back at him. Den Bob give er runnin’ jump an’ wrop hisse’f ’long ’bout ’Simmon’s foots. Well, suh, dat een’ de fight. Bob hit him in de weak part, an’ ’Simmon Tree broke an’ come, kerblum’, an’ splint’r’d hisse’f all ov’r de groun’.”

“Mammy, I thought you said Mister Man cured him, so he was bigger and stronger than all of the rest?” Mary Van had a good memory but Phyllis was ever ready to answer the interruption.

“Aha, aha, you ’members dat does yer? An’ dat’s jes’ whut he wus—mo’ finer’n all uv ’em ’cep’n in dat weak place his hard haid make, whin he wus er lit’le bit’r tree. An’ er gal er boy”—she looked earnestly into each face—“kin be sassy an’ hard-haid’d whin dey’s lit’le, an’ whin dey gits grow’d up an’ ’gins ter rass’lin’ wid triberlations, de ve’y fus’ fight dey gits in, dat weak bad, hard-haided place gwine give way fus’, an’ dey’ll splinter all ter pieces jes’ like ’Simmon Tree done.”

“Can Bob Wind whip all the trees?”

“He sho’ kin, son, dat is, enny uv ’em dat’s so big’rty an’ hard-haid’d dey can’t lis’n ter nobody. I tell yer dar’s er plenty er Bob Win’s ter whoop all de biggerty hard-haids ’mongst de men fokes, too.”

“I bet there isn’t any Bob Wind that can whip my papa.”

“No, my Lawd, dat dey ain’t,” she laughed softly, then added: “Howcum you reck’n yo’ pa come ter be sich er big man?” she stopped to hear his answer.

“Cause he’s my papa,” defended the child.

“’Tain’t no sich er thing. Plenty fokes gots papa’s ’sides you. Hit’s ’caze he got de bignes’ ter mine whut his ole lady say ter him ev’y onct in erwhile. Come ’long, we ain’ gwine git er Lawd’s bit er dinn’r ef we doan git out er dese hyah woods.”

XI
BIG EYE BUZZARD

“Mammy, less go up to Jim Weed’s house, he’s going to give me one of his buzzard eggs.” Willis was halfway to the gate.

“Come back hyah, boy,—I ain’ gwine stirry er step fum dis hyah tree tell I churns dis milk fur Kitty, an’ ennyhow yond’r come comp’ny ter see yer,” she nodded towards Mary Van, who was tip-toeing to unfasten the gate.

“’Tain’t anybody but Mary Van, and she can go, too.”

“Where, Willis?” and the little girl ran past him to the joggling board[1] near Phyllis; “Put me up, Mammy!”

Phyllis dropped the churn top in place and went to the assistance of Mary Van. “Come on, son,” she called over her shoulder, “an’ let dem buzzard aigs hatch right whar dey is, ’caze de Lawd knows dey’s in de right nes’.”

“Jim Weed’s er nice boy,” resented Willis, refusing to come.

“He ain’ nuthin’ but po’ white trash.” She stood with her arms akimbo, waiting to lift him beside Mary Van. “Come on, an’ hole Ma’y Van’s han’ so bofe uv yer kin stay on de bo’rd whin yer joggles.”

“He’s not poor white trash,” exclaimed Willis hotly, “he’s got a pigeon house, and a dog house, and a bird house, and a—”

“I doan keer how minny houses he got, an’ I doan keer how much money he got neeth’r—he ain’ nuthin’ in dis woel but po’ trash,” she announced with a sweeping bow, then added to Mary Van, as she returned to the churn: “Set down on de bo’rd, honey, tell Willis git reddy ter stan’ up an’ jump wid you. He bleege ter cool off er while, fus’, ’cose he know trashy fokes got ter keep on bein’ trashy, jes’ like he know dat buzzard aig bleege ter hatch out er buzzard; doan keer ef you puts hit in Lilly Dove’s nes’ er way up yond’r in Jedge Eagle’s nes’, hit’s boun’ ter be er buzzard dat pips dat aig shell.”

Swishing the dasher up and down in the churn, she continued addressing herself to Mary Van.

“Yas, Lawd, yer orter heah ole man Turkey Buzzard tell ’bout whin his boy, Big Eye, turn hisse’f ter er eagle. Big Eye tell his pa he ti’ed soshatin’ wid de low down buzzards dat lives on Dead Man’s Mountain, an’ he done make up his min’ ter greeze his feath’rs an’ shave de top er his haid like de ball eagle, an’ move ov’r ter Tinker Knob whar de fus’ class birds lives at.”

“Mammy, I thought buzzards were bald anyhow,” said Willis coming a step or two nearer.

“’Cose dey bin ball ev’r sense Big Eye shave his haid.

“His pa say, ‘Doan yer know soon es fokes heahs yer name, dey kin p’int out yer fambly?’

“He tell his pa he gwine change his name ter Mist’r Mount’n Fowel, an’ tell de fokes he’s kin ter Jedge Eagle’s fambly, so he kin git vit’d ter de fine parties.

“His pa say, ‘Fokes kin tell yo’ buzzard lope’ soon es you starts ter dancin’.’

“He say he ain’ gwine dance no ‘buzzard lope,’ dat he gwine ‘cut de pigeon wing.’

“His ma ax him, ‘Whatchu gwine do ’bout marryin’ yo’ cousin Ashy Car’on Crow?’

“He say he done fergit all ’bout dat ole black, warty head’d crow, dat he gwine marry Miss Tishy Peafowel.

“His pa tell him he dunno nuthin’ tall erbout dis new fangled way er doin’, dat he allus heahs de ole fokes say birds bett’r stick ter der own fe’th’r.

“He stan’ up an’ sass his pa scan’lous, an’ say jes’ ’caze his fambly wus buzzards, dat ain’ no rees’n fur him ter be one. He say he mo’ finer lookin’ dan dem. ‘In fack,’ sez he, ‘I’m jes’ like dem Eagle boys, an’ I’m gwine pass off fur one de fambly, too.’

“Ole lady Buzzard cry an’ beg him ter stay at home; she say ef he jes’ make er man er hisse’f, he kin be de bigges’ buzzard on Dead Man.

“He pat his ma on de back, an’ laf’ sorter gran’ like an’ say, ‘’Ooman fokes am’ got ’nuf sense ter ’vise in men fokes ’fars.’ Den he flop his wings an’ come flyin’ ’zackly like dem Eagle boys flies.

“Whin de birds on Tink’r seed him comin’, dey ’gun ter pass jedgement ’bout who hit mout be. Sum says hit’s one, sum says hit’s ernuth’r, but all uv ’em says one thing dey knows fur sartin an’ sho,—’Tain’ no ole buzzard.”

Willis had come slowly, step by step, until he had climbed up by Mary Van, on the joggling board.

“Big Eye Buzzard sorter circle ’roun’ lookin’ fur er good place ter light. Bimeby, he see Doct’r Peckerwood lancin’ er bile on one dese tall Pine trees, an’ he start circlin’ ’roun’ de Pine tree. Atter while heah he come an’ light on de ve’y top’es lim’. Doct’r Peckerwood howdy sorter short ter him, ’caze he bizzy tryin’ ter keep de Pine tree fum moanin’ ov’r de bile, but er lit’le thing like dat doan both’r Big Eye, he up an’ spon’, ‘I’m feelin’ poly m’se’f, an’ I stop ter git sum med’cine, an’ ax Mist’r Tall Pine ef he kin spar’ me er room.’

“Doct’r Peckerwood ax him wharbouts he hu’t, an’ wharbouts he come fum, an’ what’s his name, an’ whut he bin eatin’? Yer see Doct’r Peckerwood want ter git sum news ’long wid de symptoms.

“Big Eye say, ‘I’m tendin’ ter sum biznes’ fur m’ Unkle Jedge Eagle, an’ I ain’ eat nuthin’ sense I lef’ Mill Mount’in, whar de Eagleses lives at.’

“Doct’r Peck’rwood say, ‘Surt’n’ly he heah fokes tell ’bout de great Jedge Eagle, an’ fur him ter stay right dar tell he git good an’ well, ’caze he know Mist’r Pine Tree ain’ nuv’r had one er de Eagle fambly at his house b’fo’.’

“Tall Pine say, ‘I’m pow’ful po’ly m’sef, but hit ’ud make me proud ef yer kin make yerse’f comf’bul, an’ stay.’

“Oh, I tell yer, dem Tree Frogs an’ Lizzarts ’buse Mist’r Mount’in Fowel scan’lous. Dey sez he keep ’em runnin’ ev’y which er way all de time, an’ he ain’ give ’em so much es er ole par er shoes.

“Doct’r Peck’rwood g’long ov’r ter Miss Chicken Hawkes’s ter give one de chillun er dost er cast’r oil, an’ he tell ’em dat de gentmun dey seed wus Mist’r Mount’in Fowel, an’ he wus kin ter Jedge Eagle. An’ Polly Parret wus spindin’ de day wid Miss Chickin Hawk dat day, an’ whin de Doct’r g’long off, An’ Polly make Miss Chicken Hawk fix up er nice chickin fur her ter car’y up ter Big Eye. Miss Chickin Hawk want one er her gals ter take de chickin, but An’ Polly say dey too young ter be projickin’ ’roun’ whar gentmuns is at, but hit doan make no diffunce ’bout er ole maid like her. Well, she car’d de chickin, an’ she brung back de news.—Big Eye stuff her so full, dat she can’ hardly fly wid hit. She come ter Miss Magpie’s house, an’ I tell yer dey wus jes’ waitin’ fur her. Dey runs out ter meet her, an’ she bile ov’r ’fo’ she git in de house, an’ ’fo’ she git plum th’u, dem Magpie gals had done put on der fine close, an’ wus totin’ dat news ’roun’ like er gun wus b’hime ’em. Fokes sont him fine vit’als ter eat, an’ say soon es he git so es ter be erbout, dey gwine ’vite him ter some parties.

“All dis time, Big Eye settin’ up on dat lim’ gorgin’ hisse’f wid der fine vit’als, an’ mos’ killin’ hisse’f laffin’ ’bout how fokes loves ter be fool’d. He know hits ’bout time fur him ter be gittin’ well, an’ he set an’ studdy how he gwine git de money ter keep up wid de hifalutin’ a’rs dese fine fokes puts on. Long ’bout dat time, Sis’ Cow’s cousin take an’ die. Dey keeps her out er day er two, ’caze dey fixin’ ter have er fine fun’al. Big Eye git well soon es he heah ’bout dat dead cow. He flop his wings an’ fly back ter Dead Man’s Mount’in, an’ tell de buzzards he got er fine piece er meat ter sell ’em cheap. Dey barg’ins right den an’ dar fur all de dead an’mals on Tink’r, an’ Big Eye sign de corntrack part, ef dey promise dey nuv’r is ter come on Tink’r ter git ’em, ’cep’n on de dark er de moon.”

“BIMEBY HE GIT AX’D TER BE ER PAWL B’ARER TER ALL UV ’EM.”

“Let ’em come in the daytime, Mammy, they can’t see in the dark,” suggested Willis.

“Big Eye know dey’d run him clean off’n Tinker Knob ef dem fokes see he git his livin’ off’n der mis’ry. Nex’ day hyah he come flyin’ back wid er big bunch er fun’al flow’rs wid ribbin streamers flyin’ ev’y which er way. Fokes wint ter de fun’al jes’ ter see de flow’rs. Ev’ybody talkin’ ’bout de gran’nes’ er Mist’r Mount’in Fowel, an’ how he ’tend all de berryin’s, doan keer who ’tis. An’ bimeby he git ax’d ter be er pawl b’arer ter all uv ’em.

“Miss Chickin Hawk give er party long ’bout den, an’ Big Eye he act mouty nice ter her gals, tell Mist’r Turkey Gobl’r ’vite him ter his house, den he fergit he ev’r heah tell er de Chicken Hawkeses. He runnin’ ev’y minite ter Mist’r Turkey Gobl’rs house, makin’ like he wus dancin’ ’tendance on Mandy Gobl’r, an’ all he wanter do is ter git er peep at Tishy Peafowel dat live nex’ do’. Oh, I tell yer he talk purty talk ter Mandy, but he cas’ dem sheep eyes at Tish. Bimeby, Mandy, she pass Big Eye de ’quaintance uv Tishy ov’r de fence, an’ hit ’tain’t long ’fo’ Big Eye gits er invite ov’r ter Majer Peafowel’s. Whin dat hap’n, hit look like he done fergit wharbouts Mandy live, an’ po’ Mandy she look out de wind’r an’ see Big Eye an’ Tishy sashain’ in de yard, lovin’ harder’n er mule kin kick.

“Majer Peafowel say he want Tishy ter mar’y Johnny Squinch Owel, ’caze he’s de bigges’ lawyer on Tinker. But Tishy say he too ugly ter look at, let lone ter mar’y.

“Johnny Squinch ain’ sayin’ nuthin’, he jes’ keepin’ er lookout fur Big Eye. He see Big Eye go out sumwhars ev’y dark er de moon, an’ he low he gwine fol’r ’im an’ see whut he do. ’Caze yer knows de dark’r hit gits, de bet’rer Squinch Owels kin see.”

“How can he see in the dark?”

“I dunno how ’tis, Ma’y Van, but de Lawd fixes owels eyes so dey kin ’ten’ ter der night biznes’, an’ whin fokes gits ter lovin’ an’ gits in er tight place like Johnny Squinch wus, de Lawd fixes der eyes so dey kin see th’u de dark an’ ev’y which er way, too. One night on de dark er de moon, Big Eye start out ter meet de buzzards. He got fo’ hosses, an’ two cows, an’ er pass’l er birds. Big Eye, he wus jes’ er takin’ in de money I tell yer. He can’t see hit, but he kin feel uv hit, an’ he know dey darsn’t ter cheat him. But Johnny Squinch settin’ up on er lim’ jes’ ov’r his haid,—he kin count de money, yassuh, ev’y cent uv hit, too. Dey ain’ no eyes kin see like Johnny Squinch’s, ’speshally whin dey’s lovin’. De nex’ day, Majer Peafowel fly up ter Pine Tree Holl’r ter see Mist’r Mount’in Fowel ’bout whut Johnny tell him.”

“Mammy, could Major Peafowl fly up to the top of Mister Tall Pine?” asked Mary Van in amazement.

“Who sed he fly up ter de top? I sed he wint up ter de Pine Tree Holl’r. De Majer ain’ gwine bus’ in nobody’s room les’n he sen’ his cyard up fus’,—an’ how you know dey ain’ got one dem ellumvat’rs like de new hotel got?”

“Oh!” apologetically, she exclaimed.

Phyllis continued, “Whin de Majer ax him ’bout las’ night’s biznes’, Big Eye look him straight in de eye an’ bus’ out laffin’, like hit wus de bes’ joke he ev’r heah. He say he wush ter de Lawd he had er know’d Johnny Squinch wus dar, ’caze he nuv’r wud er bin helt up by dem night rob’rs. He tell him, ’cose he wus countin’ money, but hit wus de money de Jedge give ’im, an’ he say he bleege ter count hit out fur de rob’rs, ’caze dey belt er pist’l in his ribs.

“De Majer brung de news home ter Tishy, an’ she say Johnny jes’ tellin’ tales on Mount’in Fowel, but Johnny tell her Mount’in Fowel ain’ nuthin’ but er big ole low down buzzard, an’ he gwine proof hit ter her.

“De Majer say ef Mount’in Fowel dealin’ in car’on, howcum hit dat de od’r er his biznes’ ain’ stickin’ ter him, dat he allus mighty sweet wid colone whin he come ter der house.

“Johnny say he too smart ter tech hit hisse’f, dat he set way off fum hit an’ jes’ tetches de money.

“Majer dunno which ter b’leef. Tishy car’in on so, busin’ one an’ lovin’ t’other, dat he make up his mine he gwine lay er trap an’ see ef Big Eye ’ud fall in hit. Long ’bout dis time, Big Eye ’gun ter long fur de vit’als he bin rais’d on, an’ ev’y time he set an’ sell dem dead an’mals ter de buzzards, his mouf dribble so dat he ’termine he gwine tas’e er lit’le ef hit kills him. He done hit too, an’ whut’s mo’ hit tas’e so good, he tas’e hit ergin, an’ whut’s mo’ en dat, he slip out ev’y night an’ take er good bate er car’on. Fus’ thing yer know, his colone nur his fine doin’s neeth’r can’ hide dat sumthin’ wus pow’ful wrong wid him. Tishy jes’ cry an’ cry, an’ say she doan see nuthin’ wrong wid him, dat hits jes’ ev’ybody jellus uv ’im. Oh, she tuk on pow’ful. Johnny Squinch an’ Brer Brindle Cow dey confabs er while jes ’fo’ de moon git dark ergin, an’ de upshot uv hit wus dat Brer Brindle g’long ter de fur een’ er de pastur’ an’ drap hisse’f down like he done fell dead. Den he lay dar. Big Eye seen him whin he fall, an’ hit look like ter him dark nuv’r wud come. Johnny an’ de Majer settin’ b’hime de fence waitin’ ter see whut gwine hap’n.”

“What did happen, Mammy Phyllis?” asked Mary Van.

“Hit hap’n dat Big Eye’s buzzard-side grow’d fast’r dan his hifalutin’-side, fur ’fo’ dark come, he put out ter git some nice lit’le pickin’s off’n Brer Brindle, ’fo’ de fun’l.”

“Did Johnny and the Major catch him?” asked Willis.

“Ketch him, boy? You jes’ orter seed Big Eye whin Brer Brindle rise up an’ say: ‘cl’ar out,’ an’ he cl’ar clean out too, fur nobody ain’ nuv’r seed er buzzard on Tinker Knob sense.

“Lawsee, Johnny Squinch’s lawyer sense done hit. He say, ‘jes watch whar de car’on lays at, ef you tryin’ ter ketch er buzzard.’” Then turning a warning look to Willis, “An’ you ’mem’r no buzzard ev’r turn hisse’f ter er Eagle in dis woel; an’ you let dat Weed boy an’ his buzzard aigs erlone, yer heah me?”

“Yes’m,” he answered meekly, then forgetful of Mary Van, he jumped suddenly from the joggling board and asked, “What did Tishy do?”

Mary Van fell off. Phyllis hurried to see if she was hurt, and replied, as she put her dress to rights, “Tishy was upsot, jes’ like Ma’y Van is now, ’cep’in mo’ so.”

XII
MISS LILLY DOVE

“Mammy, look at Tishy Peafowl in Mary Van’s yard.” Willis pointed across the street to a peacock in full expression of his feathered pride.

Phyllis went to the window and exclaimed, “You sho’ly ain’ callin’ Majer Peafowl, dat ugly ole Tishy?”

“You said Tishy was fine and pretty,” reminded Mary Van.

“She wus, tell Mist’r Mount’in Fowel tu’n out ter be nobody but er ole low down buzzard. I tell yer dat gal act so scand’lous dat all her purty feath’rs start ter drappin’ out, ’caze she act so ugly on de inside, dey wusn’t nuthin’ ter hole de purty on de outside.”

“Did all her pretty feathers drop out sho’ nuf?” asked the little girl, much concerned.

“Dey ain’ all drap out yit, ’caze she ain’ loss all her inside purty yit.”

“What’s Major Peafowel doing?”

“He jes’ stan’in’ up dar watchin’ dat fier on Tinker, an’ wushin’ hit ’ud bu’n up Lilly Dove’s house.”

Immediately the children became interested in watching the forest fire which enveloped a part of Tinker Knob.

“Did Lilly’s house burn down?” asked Mary Van with feeling.

“Bu’n up er holy Ghos’ bird’s house?” exclaimed Phyllis. “Why, gal, dat’s de bird de Holy Ghos’ sen’s, an’ exsen’s ’pon, whinsomev’r hit come down ’pon de earf! Jes’ like Jay burds is Satan’s burds,—fokes says dey goes ter de Bad Place ev’y Friday night, an’ I ’speck dey sees er heap er fokes useter live heah too.”

“Mammy, I’m skeered God don’t know the mountain’s on fire,” said Willis anxiously.

“Go off, boy, de Lawd ain’ needin’ you ter hope him ’ten’ ter His biznes’—now ef dat wus er Jay burd, hit wud er bin burnt clean up, but bein’s hit’s er Holy Ghos’ dove, dat hope ole man Noah ter lan’ de Ark, de Lawd ain’ gwine let her swing er feath’r. Dis hyah ain’ de fus’ time Lilly Dove put her trus’ in de Lawd. Dat hit ’tain’t,” as she took from the floor the book of Robin Redbreast, “an’ dis hyah Cock Robin,” placing her finger on the picture, “is de ve’y man dat start all de fracus.”

“Didn’t Robin like Lilly Dove?” Willis left the window to look at the book.

“Him an’ Ginny Wren near ’bout foolish ’bout Lilly Dove—dat’s howcum Tishy Peafowel ter tu’n ’ginst Lilly like she done.”

Mary Van went over to Willis, and together they spread the book upon the floor where the gay-colored pictures of the birds accentuated the feathered characters of Phyllis’s mind.

“Tishy Peafowel nev’r wud er got so mean, ef An’ Polly Parrit had er mine her own biznes’,—’stid er dat, An’ Polly ax Cock Robin whut ail Tishy feath’rs. Robin tell her Tishy ain’ got no sense, dat ef she had much sense es Lilly Dove got, she nuv’r wud er bin in de fix she in now.—Whoopee! dat start de fracus.

“An’ Polly start right fum dar an’ spen’ de day wid ev’rybody in de woods—she mixin’ de ’pinions fokes got er Tishy an’ Lilly. Atter she git bustin’ full er news, hyah she come ter spen’ de day wid Tishy. Whin ole Lady Peafowel see An’ Polly take off her bonnet ter spen’ de day, she run an’ git out de bes’ china, an’ she tell de cook ter have fried chick’n fur din’r ’caze she know An’ Polly gwine tell all erbout whut dey eats ter de nex’ place she go.”

She paused to lift a table near the window, when Willis called from the floor:

“Mammy, don’t let Aunt Polly have fried chicken for dinner.”

“You sho’ly done los’ yo’ senses, boy. Ole lady Peafowel jes’ es skeered er An’ Polly es yo’ ma is er Miss Tilly Totenews.—’Cose she gwine have fried chick’n an’ mo’ b’sides,—an’ she doan let none de chillun do no talkin’ whar An’ Polly’s at neeth’r,” she giggled.

The children needed no further description of Aunt Polly, for they knew a visit from Miss Tilly meant their banishment, as well as the strictest injunction to yea, yea, nay, nay, whenever they chanced to meet her.

“Yas, suh,” she unfolded her quilt pieces and prepared to assort them on the table, “An’ Polly talk er nuf wurds ter Tishy dat day ter set her plum on fier wid madnes’. Yer see mos’ all Tishy’s purty feath’rs wus out, an’ dem whut’s lef wus right loose an’ straggly, an’ dat make Tishy wusser. Yer see trubble done make Tishy so sour an’ mean dat she hate ev’rybody dat’s purty’r’n her—an’ she hate Lilly wusser en all uv ’em, ’caze Lilly wus so kine, an’ treat fokes so sweet, dat ev’rybody jes’ nachelly love Lilly.

“Long ’bout dis time, de church fixin’ ter have er sociable. Dey gwine have speakin’ pieces, an’ singin’ jes’ like fokes has. John Mockin’bird, he de haid man. ’Cose John wus lovin’ Lilly, an’ ’cose he want Lilly ter sing er chune er do sump’in, but Lilly say she bleege ter him fur axin’ her, but de Lawd nuv’r make her ter sing like Laura Nightingale, an’ ’tain’ no use er her tryin’ ter do hit. I tell yer Lilly had er heap er sense—an’ er heap er beaux, too; dar wus John Mockin’bird, an’ Tom Jay Bird, an’ Bob White, an’ mo’ b’sides. But she ain’ keer nuthin’ fur none uv ’em ’cep’in’ John.”

“Mammy, did Lilly Dove know Tom Jay Bird went to the Bad Place every Friday night?” Willis went over and stood by the table.

“Cose she heah tell erbout hit, ’caze An’ Polly Parrit done spen’ de day wid her on de subjec’, but Lilly, she sot right still tell An’ Polly git th’u busin’ him, an’ callin’ him low down gambl’r—den Lilly she up an’ ax, ‘An’ Polly does you recoleck whin you wus shet up in dat cage up at Mist’r Man’s house?’ An’ Polly say she nuv’r is ter fergit hit. Lilly say, ‘Does yer ’memb’r whin Tom Jay ust’r fotch yer all dem fat wurms?’ An’ Polly say she know Tom’s er good feller, but she jes’ tellin’ whut fokes sez.

“Yas, suh, Tom wus er good feller, but we got ter git back ter de sociable, er dem fokes git ti’ed er waitin’.”

Willis’s foot accidentally upset the quilt basket. “Take yer foot out’n Mammy’s bask’t, an’ g’long back an’ look at de pictur’s wid Ma’y Van.”

“No, I won’t—I’m tired sitting down on the floor.”

“Dat’s jes’ de way Tishy Peafowel talk whin her ma beg her ter stay at home wid dem loose straggly feath’rs er he’rn, but Tishy say, ‘No, I won’t,’ jes’ like you talks ter me sometimes. Jes’ den one her purty feath’rs drap out.”

“Well, Mammy, I do want to stand up,” he added apologetically, “and we’ve looked at all the pictures in that book.”

She found another book of birds which she opened on the table.

“Hyah, stan’ up an’ look at dese,—dar’s Tishy de ve’y fus’ one.”

Mary Van was soon beside him:

“Ain’t Tishy pretty, Mammy Phyllis?” she said.

“She sho’ wus sumthin’ ter look at ’fo’ Big Eye Buzzard come erlong. An’ Tishy wus er good gal, too, but she nuv’r had nuf ’ligion ter stan’ trubble.”

“Did her mama let her go down town?”

“Tishy done got so mean, her ma can’ do nuthin’ wid her. She tell her ma she gwine ter see how John Mockin’bird gittin’ ’long wid de sociable.” She added with a confidential air: “Tishy want ter act in de sociable, an’ she wanter give John er chanct ter ax her.

“Oh, I tell yer John have er heap er trubble wid de diffunt kine er fokes ov’r dat sociable. Dar wus de Sparrer fambly dat yer can’ keep out no way yer fixes hit, dey’ll eb’n git ter parties whar nobody don’t want ’em an’ den act like dey wus de bigges’ fokes ax’d.”

“How, Mammy?” Mary Van thought of her own birthday party where she had excluded Jim Weed.

“Oh, dey does like Miss Bizzy Sparrer done Lilly Dove whin she give er party one time. Miss Bizzy meet Lilly in de poplar tree an’ say:

“‘I heah yer ’bout ter give er party, Miss Lilly, an’ I jes’ wanter ax yer ef we got enything yer kin use?’

“Lilly, she thank her an’ tu’n de subjec’, but Bizzy she git back on ter hit ergin an’ say:

“‘Ain’t dey sumpin’ I kin do? Lemme hope yer.’

“Lilly say she doan need nobody ter do nuthin’, but she kin come ter de party ef she’s er mine ter.

“An’ Bizzy come, too, an’ whut’s mo’, her bruth’r hafter come ter bring her, an’ whut’s mo’en dat, her sist’r can’t stay at home by herse’f. Yas, Lawd, an’ ’fo’ enybody know how dey got dar, de place wus right full er Sparrers.”

“Mammy, did John ask Tishy to act in the sociable?” began Willis.

“I’m gwine tell yer now ’bout whin she start ter see John, she come up wid An’ Polly. She ax An’ Polly ef she know wharbouts John is. An’ Polly say, John gone clean ov’r ter de Peaks er Otter ter git some flow’rs fer Lilly ter w’ar ter de sociable.

“Tishy say, ‘Yas, I speck Lilly Dove gwine be tryin’ ter do all de singin’ an’ de speakin’, too.’

“An’ Polly say, ‘’Cose John gwine sing wid her ter keep fokes fum laffin’.’ Tishy git so mad ’caze she can’t see John dat she flounce herse’f roun’ right in An’ Polly’s face an’ strut herse’f home,—an’ her purty feath’rs drap out all ’long de road. Dat night at de sociable, Lilly, she come wid John, an’ I tell yer, man, she look purty, too, wid dem gran’ flow’rs John fotch her. John he so proud he mos’ bustin’. He take an’ strut all roun’ wid Lilly hangin’ on his arm, an’ all de fokes talkin’ ’bout how fine dey looks. Bimeby, hyah come Tishy wid Jack Sparrer an—”

“Wasn’t Jack Sparrow too little for Tishy Peafowel?” appealed Mary Van.

“’Cose he wus, but yer see Tishy done loss her chusin’, an’ she got ter take whut she kin git.—Jack Sparrer doan wanter go wid her neeth’r, but yer see Tishy wus so fus’ class dat Jack ax her, so he kin mix wid de hifalutin’ fokes. Dem sparrers er sight, I tell yer,” she mused.

“Go on, Mammy,” Willis shook the book.

“Well, whin Lilly see Tishy look so pitiful long side er Jack Sparrer, she go right straight an’ walk ’long side er her, ’caze ev’ybody laffin’ at Tishy.

“Lilly ain’ talk ter Tishy long, ’fo’ she fine out Tishy want ter sing er chune. Lilly she go an’ tell John:

“‘Yer mus’ ax Tishy ter sing.’

“John say, ‘I’m too bizzy ter fool wid Tishy.’

“Lilly coo sof’ an’ ax’, ‘Please, John.’

“John say, ‘All right.’

“Oh, I tell yer, John sing ev’rybody’s chune wid ’em. He so happy he can’ keep his mouf shet. Jes’ den he ’nounce dat Miss Tishy Peafowel gwine sing. Ev’rybody feel like shettin’ der eyes whin dat straggly fe’th’r Tishy walk up ter de pianny. She ’nounce, she do:

“‘I ain’ sot er chune sense I got well, but ef youall’s bleege ter hyah me, I’ll do m’ bes’.’

“Mussy gracious! de fokes hatt’r hole on ter der ye’rs,—”

“Why, Mammy?”

At that moment, the peafowl in Mary Van’s yard uttered a piercing screech.

“Dat’s de rees’n,” she answered. “Peafowel’s bin singin’ jes’ dat erway sense den. Whoopee, whin Tishy see fokes stoppin’ up der ye’rs, she fling herse’f ’roun’ an’ grab John Mockin’bird by de arm an’ walk clean out’n de meetin’ house.”

“Was her feath’rs dropping out, too?” reminded Mary Van.

“Dat dey wus, she scatter ’em ev’ywhar she go. Whin she git John out in de dark, she flounce ’roun’ an’ say: ‘You ain’ sich er big sumbody, John Mockin’bird! Lilly Dove say she jes’ ’spise you an’ yo’ ugly ole flow’rs—dat she wush ter de Lawd she had er nice gent’mun like Mist’r Jack Sparrer ter car’y her home ternight. She say she jes’ plum sick er you.’ John look at Tishy, tryin’ ter make out whut she say, den he sorter puff out his chist an’ strut back in de meetin’.”

“Didn’t he know Tishy was mean an bad?” asked Willis.

“How he gwine know, son? Tishy wus mouty fus’ class ’fo’ Big Eye come eroun’. Howsomev’r, whin him an’ Tishy go back in de meetin’ house, Tishy had done los’ ev’y one er her purty feath’rs, an’ she wusn’t nuthin’ but er ugly ole brown Peahen!—an’ she bin ugly ev’r sense, ’caze she ain’ nuv’r got nuf purty on de inside, ter make no mo’ purty on de outside ergin.”

“Did Jack Sparrow take Lilly Dove home?” asked Mary Van.

“Yas, mam, ’caze John ax him ter, an’ John ax Lilly ter give him dem flow’rs, too. Lilly dunno whut ter make whin she see John take an’ th’ow ’em out’n de wind’r—she mos’ die!”

“Did she cry, Mammy?” Mary Van asked sympathetically.

“She nuv’r cry den, but she sho’ bus’ her eyes op’n whin she git home by herse’f. Po’ Lilly, she stay er prayin’ an’ er cryin’ all night long.” Phyllis’s voice trembled in sympathy, and unconsciously the little girl and boy found themselves on either side of her, so close as to prevent the progress of quilt making. She laid the unfinished square on the table, and placed an arm about each.

“Yas, chillun, Lilly fix her eyes on de Lawd. Dat’s de diffunce b’twixt her an’ Tishy—yer see, trubble make some fokes purtier on de inside ’n ev’r. Lilly dunno whut ail John, but she do know dat she holdin’ on ter de Lawd.”

“Tell God about Lilly quick, Mammy.” Willis fidgeted.

“Ain’ I done tole yer de Lawd doan need fokes ter hope Him?”

“But we don’t want Lilly to cry any more,” urged Mary Van.

“She washin’ her eyes in cole water now, ’caze An’ Polly knockin’ at de do’. An’ Polly see de cur’us doin’s at de sociable las’ night, an’ she can’ wait ter eat her brekfus’ ’fo’ she go up ter Lilly’s house. Whin An’ Polly see po’ Lilly’s sweet lit’le face all swool up, de Lawd tu’n her h’art ter goodnes’ an’ she kiss Lilly an’ say, ‘I wants yer ter go out ter de Water Falls, an’ hope er po’ lit’le bird Doct’r Peck’rwood say some bad boy hit wid er rock.’

“Lilly she tie her bonnet on, an’ fly out ter de Falls ’fo’ yer knows hit. Den An’ Polly she come on ter Tishy Peafowels an’ ax Tishy, ‘Whut in de name er de Lawd ail Lilly Dove an’ John Mockin’bird?’

“Tish thow her head back an’ laf one dese mean sorter lafs an’ say: ‘I done hit, I wus jes’ ti’ed uv ev’ybody runnin’ atter dat mealy mouf Lilly Dove, an’ I jes’ ’termine ter part her an’ John—’caze John orter be my beau, ennyhow.’

“An’ Polly mos’ fall out’n de tree whin Tishy say dat. Yas, suh, she jes’ fly up ter John’s quick es she kin. John, he walkin’ up an’ down wid his han’s und’r his coat tails, mumblin’ an’ grumblin’ ter hisse’f, an’ hit wus right smart time ’fo’ he see An’ Polly settin’ dar.

“An’ Polly, she say: ‘John Mockin’bird, Tishy Peafowel done tole me dat low down sto’y she tole you ’ginst Lilly Dove.’

“John, he look at An’ Polly like he can’t make out whut she say.

“An’ Polly say, ‘Hit’s de trufe,—Tishy make up ev’r wurd she tell you, an’ po’ lit’le Lilly bin cryin’ her eyes out all night.’

“John bus’ out moanin’, ‘Whut mus’ I do?’

“She tell ’im: ‘Lilly out at de Water Falls now.’

“But John he feerd ter go whar Lilly at. So An’ Polly, she fly wid him tell dey sights de Falls, den she lef’ ’im. John, he fly er lit’le, an’ hop er lit’le tell he git clost nuf ter see Lilly wrop’n up de po’ lit’le bird’s leg, an’ cooin’ so sof’ ter hit—den John, he fly on de tree, an’ cry out er chune ter Lilly dat mos’ broke her h’art,—he sing:

“‘I ain’ good nuf fur Lilly Dove,
But she de onlies’ one I love.’

“Lilly she stoop low ov’r de lit’le bird so John can’t see whar she cryin’ at. An’ John he fly down an’ tell her he gwine jump in de Falls ef she ’fuse ter keep comp’ny wid him—but Lawd, whin he git clost ernuf ter see dem tears er Lilly’s, he th’ows his arms ’roun’ her an’—but you all chillun ain’ got no biznes’ knowin’ no mo’ en dat.”

“Please, Mammy, tell us if John jumped in the falls,” sympathetically begged Willis, eager to lose none of the details.

Phyllis chuckled, “No, my Lawd, dey got marr’ed instid, an’ went ter housekeepin’ in dat tall pine stump ov’r yond’r on Tinker Knob.”