Part 8 (1/2)

De whole possetucky on 'em sit an' listen.

”Fus' yo' pa talk; den Mist' Vanrevel, bofe on 'em mighty cole an'

civilized. Den yo' pa git wo'm up, Missy, like he do, 'case he so useter have his own way; 'tain't his fault, he ja.s.s cain't help hollerin' an'

cussin' if anybody 'pose him; but Mist' Vanrevel he ja.s.s as suvvige, but he stay cole, w'ich make yo' pa all de hotter. He holler mighty strong, Missy, an' some de back ranks 'gun snickerin' at him. Uhuh! He fa'r jump, he did; an' den bimeby Mist' Vanrevel he say dat no man oughter be given de pilverige to sell another, ner to wollop him wid a blacksnake, whether he 'buse dat pilverige er not. 'My honabul 'ponent,' s's he, 'Mist' Carewe, rep'sent in hisseif de 'ristocratic slave-ownin' cla.s.s er de Souf, do' he live in de Nawf an' 'ploy free labor; yit it sca'sely to be b'lieve dat any er you would willin'ly trus' him wid de powah er life an' death ovah yo' own chillun, w'ich is virchously what de slave-ownah p'sess.'

”Missy, you ja.s.s oughter see yo' pa den! He blue in de face an' dance de quadrille on de boa'ds. He leave his cha'h, git up, an' run 'cross to de odder side de platfawm, an' shake be fis' ovah dat man's head, an'

screech out how it all lies dat de slaves evah 'ceive sich a treatments.

'Dat all lies, you pu'juh!' he holler. 'All lies, you misabul thief,' he holler. 'All lies, an' you know it, you low-bawn slandah' an' scoun'le!'

”An' wid dat Mist' Vanrevel, be laff in yo' pa face, an' tuhn to de crowd, he did, an' say: 'You reckon dat if dish yuh man a slave-ownah, an' a slave had anguhed him as I have anguhed him tonight, does any er you b'lieve dat dat slave wouldn' be tied up an' whipped tell de blood run, an' den sole down de rivuh to-morrer?'

”Well, suh, 'co'se mos' on 'em b'lieve same as yo' pa; but dat sutney fotch 'em, an' win de de-bate, 'case dey ja.s.s natchully lay back an'

roah, dey did, Missy; dey laff an' stomp an' holler tell you could a hearn 'em a mild away. An' honey, yo' pa'd a millyum times druther Mist'

Vanrevel'd a kilt him dan tuhn de laff on him. He'd shoot a man, honey, ef he ja.s.s s'picion him to grin out de cornder his eye at him; an' to stan' up dah wid de whole county fa'r roahin' at him--it's de G.o.d's mussy be did'n have no ahms wid him, dat night! Ole Mist' Chen'eth done brung him home, an' yo' pa reach out an' kick me squah' out'n' de liberry winder soon's he ketch sight er me!” The old man's gravity gave way to his enjoyment of the recollection, and he threw back his head to laugh. ”He sho' did, honey! Uhuh! Ho, ho, ho! He sho' did, honey, he sho' did!”

Nevertheless, as he lifted the tray again and crossed the room to go, his solemnity returned. ”Missy,” he said earnestly, ”ef dat young gelmun fall in love wid you, w'ich I knows he will ef he ketch sight er you, lemme say dis, an' please fo' to ba'h in mine: better have nuttin' do wid him fo' he own sake; an' 'bove all, keep him fur sway f'um dese p'emises. Don' let him come in a mild er dis house.”

”Nelson, was that all the quarrel between them?”

”Blessed Mussy! ain' dat 'nough? Ef dey's any mo' I ain' hearn what dat part were,” he answered quickly, but with a dogged tightening of the lips which convinced Miss Betty that he knew very well.

”Nelson, what was the rest of it?”

”Please, Missy, I got pack yo' pa trunk; an' it time, long ago, fer me to be at my wu'k.” He was half out of the door.

”What was the rest of it?” she repeated quietly.

”Now, honey,” he returned with a deprecatory shake of his head, ”I got my own wu'k 'tend to; an' I ain't nevah ax n.o.body what 'twas, an' I ain't goin' ax 'em. An' lemme ja.s.s beg you f oiler de ole man's advice: you do de same, 'case n.o.body ain't goin' tell you. All I know is dat it come later and were somep'n 'bout dat riprarin Crailey Gray. Yo' pa he sent a channelge to Mist' Vanrevel, an' Mist' Vanrevel 'fuse to fight him 'cause he say he don' b'lieve shootin' yo' pa goin' do yo' pa any good, an' he still got hope mekkin' good citizen outer him. Dat brung de laff on yo' pa ag'in; an' he 'clare to G.o.d ef he ketch Vanrevel on any groun' er hisn he shoot him like a mad dog. 'Pon my livin' soul he mean dem wuds, Missy! Dey had hard 'nough time las' night keepin' him fum teahin' dat man to pieces at de fiah. You mus' keep dat young gelmun 'way fum heah!”

”He came home with me last night, Nelson; I told father so.”

”Yes'm. Yo' pa tole me you say dat, but he reckon you done it to mek him madder, 'cause you mad, too. He say he done see dat Crailey Gray comin'

'long de hedge wid you.”

”He was mistaken, it was Mr. Vanrevel.”

Nelson rolled his eyes fervently to heaven. ”Den dat young man run pintedly on he death! Ef you want keep us all dis side er de Jawdan Rivuh, don' let him set foot in dis neighbo'hood when yo' pa come back!

An', honey--” his voice sank to a penetrating whisper--”'fo' I do a lick er wu'k I goin' out in de stable an' git down on my knees an'

retu'n thanksgiving to de good G.o.d 'case he hole Carewe Street in de dahkness las' night!”

This was the speech he chose for his exit, but, after closing the door behind him, he opened it again, and said, cheerfully:

”Soon's I git de trunk fix f' yo' pa, I bring 'roun' dat bay colt wid de side saddle. You better set 'bout gittin' on yo' ridin'-habit, Missy. De roads is mighty good dis suns.h.i.+ny wedduh.”

”Nelson?”

”Do you think such an attack as father had this morning--is--dangerous?”