Part 7 (1/2)

”I been layin' off ter go see my young mistiss dis long time,” said Aunt Fountain, the next day, after we had started. ”I glad I gwine deer in style. De n.i.g.g.e.rs won' know me skacely, ridin' in de buggy dis away.”

”Your young mistress?” I inquired.

”Yes, suh. You know Miss Lady w'en she little gal. She grown 'oman now.”

”Well, who is this Trunion I have heard of?”

”He monst'ous nice w'ite man, suh. He married my young mistiss. He monst'ous nice w'ite man.”

”But who is he? Where did he come from?”

Aunt Fountain chuckled convulsively as I asked these questions.

”We-all des pick 'im up, suh. Yes, suh; we-all des pick 'im up. Ain' you year talk 'bout dat, suh? I dunner whar you bin at ef you ain' never is year talk 'bout dat. He de fus' w'ite man w'at I ever pick up, suh. Yes, suh; de ve'y fus' one.”

”I don't understand you,” said I; ”tell me about it.”

At this Aunt Fountain laughed long and loudly. She evidently enjoyed my ignorance keenly.

”De Lord know I oughtn' be laughin' like dis. I ain' laugh so hearty sence I wuz little gal mos', en dat wuz de time w'en Ma.r.s.e Rowan Tomlinson come 'long en ax me my name. I tell 'im, I did: 'I'm name Flew Ellen, suh.' Ma.r.s.e Rowan he deaf ez any dead hoss. He 'low: 'Hey?'

I say: 'I'm name Flew Ellen, suh.' Ma.r.s.e Rowan say: 'Fountain! Huh! he quare name.' I holler en laugh, en w'en de folks ax me w'at I hollerin'

'bout, I tell um dat Ma.r.s.e Rowan say I'm name Fountain. Well, suh, fum dat day down ter dis, stedder Flew Ellen, I'm bin name Fountain. I laugh hearty den en my name got change, en I feared ef I laugh now de hoss'll run away en turn de buggy upperside down right spang on top er me.”

”But about this Mr. Trunion?” said I.

”Name er de Lord!” exclaimed Aunt Fountain, ”ain' you never is bin year 'bout dat? You bin mighty fur ways, suh, kaze we all bin knowin' 'bout it fum de jump.”

”No doubt. Now tell me about it.”

Aunt Fountain shook her head, and her face a.s.sumed a serious expression.

”I dunno 'bout dat, suh. I year tell dat n.i.g.g.e.rs ain' got no business fer go talkin' 'bout fambly doin's. Yit dar wuz yo' gran-mammy. My mistiss sot lots by her, en you been bornded right yer 'long wid um. I don't speck it'll be gwine so mighty fur out'n de fambly ef I tell you 'bout it.”

I made no attempt to coax Aunt Fountain to tell me about Trunion, for I knew it would be difficult to bribe her not to talk about him. She waited a while, evidently to tease my curiosity; but as I betrayed none, and even made an effort to talk about something else, she began:

”Well, suh, you ax me 'bout Ma.r.s.e Fess Trunion. I know you bleeze ter like dat man. He ain' b'long ter we-all folks, no furder dan he my young mistiss ole man, but dee ain' no finer w'ite man dan him. No, suh; dee ain'. I tell you dat p'intedly. De n.i.g.g.e.rs, dee say he mighty close en pinchin', but deze is mighty pinchin' times--you know dat yo'se'f, suh.

Ef a man don' fa'rly fling 'way he money, dem Tomlinson n.i.g.g.e.rs, dee'll say he mighty pinchin'. I hatter be pinchin' myse'f, suh, kaze I know time I sell my ginger-cakes dat ef I don't grip onter de money, dee won'

be none lef' fer buy flour en 'la.s.ses fer make mo'. It de Lord's trufe, suh, kaze I done had trouble dat way many's de time. I say dis 'bout Ma.r.s.e Fess Trunion, ef he ain' got de blood, he got de breedin'. Ef he ain' good ez de Tomlinsons, he lots better dan some folks w'at I know.”

I gathered from all this that Trunion was a foreigner of some kind, but I found out my mistake later.

”I pick dat man up myse'f, en I knows 'im 'most good ez ef he wuz one er we-all.”

”What do you mean when you say you 'picked him up'?” I asked, unable to restrain my impatience.

”Well, suh, de fus' time I see Ma.r.s.e Fess Trunion wuz terreckerly atter de Sherman army come 'long. Dem wuz hot times, suh, col' ez de wedder wuz. Dee wuz in-about er million un um look like ter me, en dee des ravage de face er de yeth. Dee tuck all de hosses, en all de cows, en all de chickens. Yes, suh; dee cert'n'y did. Man come 'long, en 'low: 'Aunty, you free now,' en den he tuck all my ginger-cakes w'at I bin bakin' 'g'inst Chris'mus; en den I say: 'Ef I wuz free ez you is, suh, I'd fling you down en take dem ginger-cakes 'way fum you.' Yes, suh. I tole 'im dat. It make me mad fer see de way dat man walk off wid my ginger-cakes.

”I got so mad, suh, dat I foller 'long atter him little ways; but dat ain' do no good, kaze he come ter whar dee wuz some yuther men, en dee 'vide up dem cakes till de wa'n't no cake lef'. Den I struck 'cross de plan'ation, en walked 'bout in de drizzlin' rain tell I cool off my madness, suh, kaze de flour dat went in dem cakes cos' me mos 'a hunderd dollars in good Confederick money. Yes, suh; it did dat. En I work for dat money mighty hard.

”Well, suh, I ain' walk fur 'fo' it seem like I year some un talkin'. I stop, I did, en lissen, en still I year um. I ain' see n.o.body, suh, but still I year um. I walk fus' dis away en den dat away, en den I walk 'roun' en 'roun', en den it pop in my min' 'bout de big gully. It ain'

dar now, suh, but in dem days we call it de big gully, kaze it wuz wide en deep. Well, suh, 'fo' I git dar I see hoss-tracks, en dee led right up ter de brink. I look in, I did, en down dar dee wuz a man en a hoss.

Yes, suh; dee wuz bofe down dar. De man wuz layin' out flat on he back, en de hoss he wuz layin' sorter up en down de gully en right on top er one er de man legs, en eve'y time de hoss'd scrample en try fer git up de man 'ud talk at 'im. I know dat hoss mus' des nat'ally a groun' dat man legs in de yeth, suh. Yes, suh. It make my flesh crawl w'en I look at um. Yit de man ain' talk like he mad. No, suh, he ain'; en it make me feel like somebody done gone en hit me on de funny-bone w'en I year 'im talkin' dat away. Eve'y time de hoss scuffle, de man he 'low: 'Hol' up, ole fel, you er mas.h.i.+n' all de shape out'n me.' Dat w'at he say, suh. En den he 'low: 'Ef you know how you hurtin', ole fel, I des know you'd be still.' Yes, suh. Dem he ve'y words.

”All dis time de rain wuz a-siftin' down. It fall mighty saft, but 'twuz monst'ous wet, suh. Bimeby I crope up nigher de aidge, en w'en de man see me he holler out: 'Hol' on, aunty; don't you fall down yer!'

”I ax 'im, I say: 'Marster, is you hurted much?' Kaze time I look at 'im I know he ain' de villyun w'at make off wid my ginger-cakes. Den he 'low: 'I speck I hurt purty bad, aunty, en de wuss un it is dat my hoss keep hurtin' me mo'.'