Part 14 (1/2)

rid up to de house.”

”Dat so?” cried Letty, dropping into her lap the knife and the potato she was peeling. ”Well, truly, when things does happen in dis worl' dey comes all in a lump. None ob de fam'ly been nigh de house for ebber so long; an' den, 'long comes Mahs' Junius hisse'f, an' Miss Annie dat's been away sence she was a chile, an' ole Mr Brandon, wot Uncle Isham say ain't been h'yar fur years and years, an' now Miss Annie's husband comes kitin' up! An' dar's ole Aun' Patsy wot says dat if dat gemman ebber come h'yar she want to know it fus' thing. She was dreffle p'inted about dat. An' now, look h'yar, you Plez, jus' you cut round to your Aun'

Patsy's, an' tell her Miss Annie's husband's done come.”

”Whar ole Miss?” inquired Plez. ”She 'sleep?”

”No, she mighty wide awake,” said Letty. ”But you take dem knives an'

dat board an' brick, an' run down to de branch to clean 'em. An', when you gits dar, you jus' slip along, 'hind de bushes, till you's got ter de cohn fiel', an' den you cut 'cross dar to Aun' Patsy's. An' don' you stop no time dar, fur if ole Miss finds you's done gone, she'll chop you up wid dem knives.”

Plez was quite ready for a reckless dash of this kind, and in less than twenty minutes old Patsy was informed that Mr Null had arrived. The old woman was much affected by the information. She was uneasy and restless, and talked a good deal to herself, occasionally throwing out a moan or a lament in the direction of her ”son Tom's yaller boy Bob's chile.” The crazy quilt, which was not yet finished, though several pieces had been added since we last saw it, was laid aside; and by the help of the above mentioned great granddaughter the old hair trunk was hauled out and opened. Over this h.o.a.rd of treasures, Aunt Patsy spent nearly two hours, slowly taking up the various articles it contained, turning them over, mumbling over them, and mentally referring many of them to periods which had become historic. At length she pulled out from one of the corners of the trunk a pair of very little blue morocco shoes tied together by their strings. These she took into her lap, and, shortly afterward, had the trunk locked, and pushed back into its place. The shoes, having been thoroughly examined through her great iron-bound spectacles, were thrust under the mattress of her bed.

That evening, Uncle Isham stepped in to see the old woman, who was counteracting the effects of the cool evening air by sitting as close as possible to the remains of the fire which had cooked the supper. She was very glad to see him. She wanted somebody to whom she could unburden her mind. ”Wot you got to say 'bout Miss Annie's husband,” she asked, ”wot done come to-day?”

”Was dat him?” exclaimed the old man. ”n.o.body tole me dat.”

This was true, for the good-natured Letty, having discovered the mistake that had been made, had concluded to say nothing about it and to keep away from Aunt Patsy's for a few days, until the matter should be forgotten.

”Well, I spec Miss Annie's mighty glad to git him back agin,” continued the old man, after a moment's reflection. ”He's right much of a nice lookin' gemman. I seed him this ebenin' a ridin' wid Mahs' Junius.”

”P'raps Miss Annie is glad,” said the ole woman, ”coz she don' know. But I ain't.”

”Wot's de reason fur dat?” inquired Isham.

”It's a pow'ful dreffle thing dat Miss Annie's husband's done come down h'yar. He don' know ole miss.”

”Wot's de matter wid ole miss?” asked Isham, in a quick tone.

”She done talk to me 'bout him,” said the old woman. ”She done tole me jus' wot she think of him. She hate him from he heel up. I dunno wot she'll do to him now she got him. Mighty great pity fur pore Miss Annie dat he ever come h'yar.”

”Ole miss ain't gwine ter do nuffin' to him,” said Isham, in a gruff and troubled tone.

”Don' you b'lieve dat,” said Aunt Patsy. ”When ole miss don' like a pusson, dat pusson had better look out. But I ain't gwine to be sottin'

h'yar an' see mis'ry comin' to Miss Annie.”

”Wot you gwine to do?” asked Isham.

”I's gwine ter speak my min' to ole miss. I's gwine to tell her not to do no kunjerin' to Miss Annie's husban'. She gwine to hurt dat little gal more'n she hurt anybody else.”

Old Isham sat looking into the fire with a very worried and anxious expression on his face. He was intensely loyal to his mistress, aware as he was of her short-comings, or rather her long-goings. Although he felt a good deal of fear that there might be some truth in Aunt Patsy's words, he was very sure that if she took it upon herself to give warning or reproof to old Mrs Keswick, a storm would ensue; and where the lightning would strike he did not know. ”You better look out, Aun'

Patsy,” he said. ”You an' ole miss been mighty good fren's fur a pow'ful long time, an' now don' you go gittin' yourse'f in no fraction wid her, jus' as you' bout to die.”

”Ain't gwine to die,” said the old woman, ”till I done tole her wot's on my min'.”

”Aun' Patsy,” said Uncle Isham, after gazing silently in the fire for a minute or two, ”dar was a brudder wot come up from 'Melia County to de las' big preachin', an' he tole in his sarment a par'ble wot I b'lieve will 'ply fus rate to dis 'casion. I's gwine to tell you dat.”

”Go 'long wid it,” said Aunt Patsy.

”Well, den,” said Isham, ”dar was once a cullud angel wot went up to de gate ob heaben to git in. He didn't know nuffin' 'bout de ways ob de place, bein' a strahnger, an' when he see all de white angels a crowdin'