Part 8 (2/2)

So off she hobbled with a tin cup full of whitewash and a small brush to adorn the little birch-tree, leaving her cabin in the charge of Holly Thomas.

Holly, whose whole name was Hollywood Cemetery Thomas, was a little black girl, between two and five years old. Sometimes she seemed nearly five, and sometimes not more than two. Her parents intended christening her Minerva, but hearing the name of the well-known Hollywood Cemetery in Richmond, they thought it so pretty that they gave it to their little daughter, without the slightest idea, however, that it was the name of a grave-yard.

Holly had come over to pay a morning visit to Aunt Matilda, and she had brought her only child, a wooden doll, which she was trying to teach to walk, by dragging it head foremost by a long string tied around its neck.

”Now den, you Holly, you stay h'yar and mind de house while I's gone,”

said Aunt Matilda, as she departed.

”All yite,” said the little darkey, and she sat down on the floor to prepare her child for a coat of whitewash; but she had not yet succeeded in convincing the doll of the importance of the operation when her attention was aroused by a dog just outside of the door.

It was Kate's little woolly white dog, Blinks, who often used to come to the cabin with her, and who sometimes, when he got a chance to run away, used to come alone, as he did this morning.

”Go 'way dar, litty dog,” said Miss Holly, ”yer can't come in; dere's n.o.body home. Yun 'long, now, d'yer y'ear!”

But Blinks either did not hear or did not care, for he stuck his head in at the door.

”Go 'way, dere!” shouted Holly. ”Aunt Tillum ain't home. Go 'way now, and tum bat in half an hour. Aunt Tillum'll be bat den. Don't yer hear now, go _'way_!”

But, instead of going away, Blinks trotted in, as bold as a four-pound lion.

”Go 'way, go 'way!” screamed Holly, squeezing herself up against the wall in her terror, and then Blinks barked at her. He had never seen a little black girl behave so, in the whole course of his life, and it was quite right in him to bark and let her know what he thought of her conduct. Then Holly, in her fright, dropped her doll, and when Blinks approached to examine it, she screamed louder and louder, and Blinks barked more and more, and there was quite a hubbub. In the midst of it a man put his head in at the door of the cabin.

He was a tall man, with red hair, and a red freckled face, and a red bristling moustache, and big red hands.

”What's all this noise about?” said he; and when he saw what it was, he came in.

”Get out of this, you little beast!” said he to Blinks, and putting the toe of his boot under the little dog, he kicked him clear out of the door of the cabin. Then turning to Holly, he looked at her pretty much as if he intended to kick her out too. But he didn't. He put out one of his big red hands and said to her:

”Shake hands.”

Holly obeyed without a word, and then s.n.a.t.c.hing her wooden child from the floor, she darted out of the door and reached the village almost as soon as poor Blinks.

In a minute or two Aunt Matilda made her appearance at the door. She had heard the barking and the screaming, and had come to see what was the matter.

When she saw the man, she exclaimed:

”Why, Mah'sr George! Is dat you?”

”Yes, it's me,” said the man. ”Shake hands, Aunt Matilda.”

”I thought you was down in Mississippi; Mah'sr George,” said the old woman; ”and I thought you was gwine to stay dar.”

”Couldn't do it,” said the man. ”It didn't suit me, down there. Five years of it was enough for me.”

”Enough fur dem, too, p'r'aps!” said Aunt Matilda, with a grim chuckle.

The man took no notice of her remark, but said:

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