Part 2 (2/2)
Maybe she had. For the first time in her little life she kept her troubles to herself, and did not once mention the thought that was uppermost in her mind.
”Yo' great-aunt Sally Tylah is comin' this mawnin',” said Mom Beck, the day after their visit to the hotel. ”Do fo' goodness' sake keep yo'self clean. I'se got too many spring chickens to dress to think 'bout dressin' you up again.”
”Did I evah see her befo'?” questioned the Little Colonel.
”Why, yes, the day we moved heah. Don't you know she came and stayed so long, and the rockah broke off the little white rockin'-chair when she sat down in it?”
”Oh, now I know!” laughed the child. ”She's the big fat one with curls hangin' round her yeahs like shavin's. I don't like her, Mom Beck. She keeps a-kissin' me all the time, an' a-'queezin' me, an' tellin' me to sit on her lap an' be a little lady. Mom Beck, I de'pise to be a little lady.”
There was no answer to her last remark. Mom Beck had stepped into the pantry for more eggs for the cake she was making.
”Fritz,” said the Little Colonel, ”yo' great-aunt Sally Tylah's comin'
this mawnin', an' if you don't want to say 'howdy' to her you'll have to come with me.”
A few minutes later a resolute little figure squeezed between the palings of the garden fence down by the gooseberry bushes.
”Now walk on your tiptoes, Fritz!” commanded the Little Colonel, ”else somebody will call us back.”
Mom Beck, busy with her extra baking, supposed she was with her mother on the shady, vine-covered porch.
She would not have been singing quite so gaily if she could have seen half a mile up the road.
The Little Colonel was sitting in the weeds by the railroad track, deliberately taking off her shoes and stockings.
”Just like a little n.i.g.g.ah,” she said, delightedly, as she stretched out her bare feet. ”Mom Beck says I ought to know bettah. But it does feel so good!”
No telling how long she might have sat there enjoying the forbidden pleasure of dragging her rosy toes through the warm dust, if she had not heard a horse's hoof-beats coming rapidly along.
”Fritz, it's gran'fathah,” she whispered, in alarm, recognizing the erect figure of the rider in its spotless suit of white duck.
”s.h.!.+ lie down in the weeds, quick! Lie down, I say!” They both made themselves as flat as possible, and lay there panting with the exertion of keeping still.
Presently the Little Colonel raised her head cautiously.
”Oh, he's gone down that lane!” she exclaimed. ”Now you can get up.”
After a moment's deliberation she asked, ”Fritz, would you rathah have some 'trawberries an' be tied up fo' runnin' away, or not be tied up and not have any of those nice tas'en 'trawberries?”
CHAPTER III.
Two hours later, Colonel Lloyd, riding down the avenue under the locusts, was surprised by a novel sight on his stately front steps.
Three little darkies and a big flop-eared hound were crouched on the bottom step, looking up at the Little Colonel, who sat just above them.
She was industriously stirring something in an old rusty pan with a big, battered spoon.
”Now, May Lilly,” she ordered, speaking to the largest and blackest of the group, ”you run an' find some nice 'mooth pebbles to put in for raisins. Henry Clay, you go get me some moah sand. This is 'most too wet.”
”Here, you little pickaninnies!” roared the Colonel, as he recognized the cook's children. ”What did I tell you about playing around here, tracking dirt all over my premises? You just chase back to the cabin where you belong!”
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