Part 4 (1/2)

can be done. De wheat'll be free inches high on ebery oder farm 'fore ole miss git dem plough han's agin.”

”That is too bad, Uncle Isham,” said Mrs Null. ”When land that ought to be ploughed isn't ploughed, it all grows up in old field pines, don't it?”

”It don' do dat straight off, Miss Null,” said the old negro, his gray face relaxing into a smile.

”No, I suppose not,” said she. ”I have heard that it takes thirty years for a whole forest of old field pines to grow up. But they will do it if the land isn't ploughed. Now, Uncle Isham, I don't intend to let everything be at a standstill here just because your mistress is away.

That is one reason why I feed the turkeys. If they died, or the farm all went wrong, I should feel that it was partly my fault.”

”Yaas'm,” said Uncle Isham, pa.s.sing his hat from one hand to the other, as he delivered himself a little hesitatingly--”yaas'm, if you wasn't h'yar p'raps ole miss mought come back.”

”Now, Uncle Isham,” said Mrs Null, ”you mustn't think your mistress is staying away on account of me. She left home, as Letty has told me over and over, because your Master Junius came. Of course she thinks he's here yet, and she don't know anything about me. But if her affairs should go to rack and ruin while I am here and able to prevent it, I should think it was my fault. That's what I mean, Uncle Isham. And now this is what I want you to do. I want you to go right after those men, and tell them to come here as soon as they can, and begin to plough. Do you know where the ploughing is to be done?”

”Oh, yaas'm,” said Uncle Isham, ”dar ain't on'y one place fur dat. It's de clober fiel', ober dar, on de udder side ob de gyarden.”

”And what is to be planted in it?” asked Mrs Null.

”Ob course dey's gwine to plough for wheat,” answered Uncle Isham, a little surprised at the question.

”I don't altogether like that,” said Mrs Null, her brows slightly contracting. ”I've read a great deal about the foolishness of Southern people planting wheat. They can't compete with the great wheat farms of the West, which sometimes cover a whole county, and, of course, having so much, they can afford to sell it a great deal cheaper than you can here. And yet you go on, year after year, paying every cent you can rake and sc.r.a.pe for fertilizing drugs, and getting about a teacupful of wheat,--that is, proportionately speaking. I don't think this sort of thing should continue, Uncle Isham. It would be a great deal better to plough that field for pickles. Now there is a steady market for pickles, and, so far as I know, there are no pickle farms in the West.”

”Pickles!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the astonished Isham. ”Do you mean, Miss Null, to put dat fiel' down in kuk.u.mbers at dis time o' yeah?”

”Well,” said Mrs Null, thoughtfully, ”I don't know that I feel authorized to make the change at present, but I do know that the things that pay most are small fruits, and if you people down here would pay more attention to them you would make more money. But the land must be ploughed, and then we'll see about planting it afterward; your mistress will, probably, be home in time for that. You go after the men, and tell them I shall expect them to begin the first thing in the morning. And if there is anything else to be done on the farm, you come and tell me about it to-morrow. I'm going to take the responsibility on myself to see that matters go on properly until your mistress returns.”

Letty and her son, Plez, occupied a cabin not far from the house, while Uncle Isham lived alone in a much smaller tenement, near the barn and chicken house. That evening he went over to Letty's, taking with him, as a burnt offering, a partially consumed and still glowing log of hickory wood from his own hearth-stone. ”Jes' lemme tell you dis h'yar, Letty,”

said he, after making up the fire and seating himself on a stool near by, ”ef you want to see ole miss come back rarin' an' chargin', jes' you let her know dat Miss Null is gwine ter plough de clober fiel' for pickles.”

”Wot's dat fool talk?” asked Letty.

”Miss Null's gwine to boss dis farm, dat's all,” said Isham. ”She tole me so herse'f, an' ef she's lef' alone she's gwine ter do it city fas.h.i.+on. But one thing's sartin shuh, Letty, if ole miss do fin' out wot's gwine on, she'll be back h'yar in no time! She know well 'nuf dat dat Miss Null ain't got no right to come an' boss dis h'yar farm. Who's she, anyway?”

”Dunno,” answered Letty. ”I done ax her six or seben time, but 'pears like I dunno wot she mean when she tell me. P'raps she's one o' ole miss' little gal babies growed up. I tell you, Uncle Isham, she know dis place jes as ef she bawn h'yar.”

Uncle Isham looked steadily into the fire and rubbed the sides of his head with his big black fingers. ”Ole miss nebber had no gal baby 'cept one, an' dat died when 'twas mighty little.”

”Does you reckon she kill her ef she come back an' fin' her no kin?”

asked Letty.

Uncle Isham pushed his stool back and started to his feet with a noise which woke Plez, who had been soundly sleeping on the other side of the fireplace; and striding to the door, the old man went out into the open air. Returning in less than a minute, he put his head into the doorway and addressed the astonished woman who had turned around to look after him. ”Look h'yar, you Letty, I don' want to hear no sech fool talk 'bout ole miss. You dunno ole miss, nohow. You only come h'yar seben year ago when dat Plez was trottin' roun' wid nuffin but a little meal bag for clothes. Mahs' John had been dead a long time den; you nebber knowed Mahs' John. You nebber was woke up at two o'clock in the mawnin wid de crack ob a pistol, an' run out 'spectin' 'twas somebody stealin' chickens an' Mahs' John firin' at 'em, an' see ole miss a cuttin' for de road gate wid her white night-gown a floppin' in de win' behind her, an' when we got out to de gate dar we see Mahs' John a stannin' up agin de pos', not de pos' wid de hinges on, but de pos' wid de hook on, an' a hole in de top ob de head which he made hese'f wid de pistol. One-eyed Jim see de whole thing. He war stealin' cohn in de fiel' on de udder side de road. He see Mahs' John come out wid de pistol, an' he lay low. Not dat it war Mahs' John's cohn dat he was stealin', but he knowed well 'nuf dat Mahs' John take jes' as much car' o' he neighbus cohn as he own. An'

den he see Mahs' John stan' up agin de pos' an' shoot de pistol, an' he see Mahs' John's soul come right out de hole in de top ob his head an'

go straight up to heben like a sky-racket.”

”Wid a whizz?” asked the open-eyed Letty.”

”Like a sky-racket, I tell you,” continued the old man, ”an' den me an'

ole miss come up. She jes' tuk one look at him and then she said in a wice, not like she own wice, but like Mahs' John's wice, wot had done gone forebber: 'You Jim, come out o' dat cohn and help carry him in!'

And we free carried him in. An' you dunno ole miss, nohow, an' I don'