Look lak de wus a sin is, de mo' hit
tas’es
lak sugar in my
mouf.
mouf.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v24 - Sta to Tal
Her characters are not
subtle, but clear and sharp. To understand
them, eyesight, not imagination, is required.
There are more classic ways than hers of
telling a story; but few are written with
less effort to be brilliant at the expense of Ruth McENERY STUART
truth. Her comedy rarely degenerates into
melodrama. Her pathos is never overdrawn.
She has not confined herself altogether to tales of negro life.
Babette, her only long story, is a pretty and conventional idyl of
Creole life in New Orleans. The Sonny' series tells of the birth
and education of the child of an Arkansas planter. The stories of
Simpkinsville are of life in an Arkansas village. (The Unlived Life
of Little Mary Ellen) is a pathetic tale of old-fashioned Southern
gentlefolk.
Mrs. Stuart has lived the greater part of her life among the peo-
ple and scenes which she describes so well. She was born in Marks-
ville, Aroyelles Parish, Louisiana, in 1856. In 1879 she married Mr.
Alfred O. Stuart, a planter of southern Arkansas, where she learned
to know the after-the-war negro of the Southern plantations, — the
## p. 14120 (#310) ##########################################
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
new issue” negro, as he is described by his fellows of the old
régime. There too she became acquainted with the country people,
whose simple lives and quaint speech are recorded in her stories of
Arkansas.
Unc' Mingo's Speculations' was Mrs. Stuart's first story. The
titles of her collected works are- _Carlotta's Intended and Other
Tales,' 'A Golden Wedding and Other Tales,' Babette,' (Sonny,'
(Solomon Crow's Christmas,' and Pockets and Other Tales. '
(
THE WIDDER JOHNSING
From (A Golden Wedding and Other Tales. ) Copyright 1893, by
Harper & Brothers
“Monkey, monkey, bottle o' beer,
How many monkeys have we here?
One, two, three-
Out goes she! ”
"T"
((
AIN' no use ter try ter hol' 'er. She des gwine f'om fits ter
convulsions, and f'om convulsions back inter fits! »
Sister Temperance Tias raised her hands and spoke
low. She had just come out of the room of sorrow.
Jake Johnson was dead, and Lize Ann Johnson again a widow.
The "other room” in the little cabin was crowded with vis-
itors,— the old, the young, the pious, the thoughtless, the frivo-
lous, — all teeming with curiosity, and bursting into expressions
of sympathy, each anxious to look upon the ever-interesting face
of death, every one eager to “he'p hol Sis' Lize Ann. ”
But Temperance held sway on this as on all similar occasions
on the plantation, and no one would dare to cross the threshold
from “the other room” until she should make the formal an-
nouncement, "De corpse is perpared ter receive 'is frien's;” and
even then there would be the tedium of precedence to undergo.
It was tiresome, but it paid in the end; for long before mid-
night, every visitor should have had his turn to pass in and take
a look.
Then would begin an informal, unrestricted circulation
between the two rooms, when the so-disposed might “choose
pardners,” and sit out on the little porch, or in the yard on
benches brought in from the church, and distributed about for
that purpose.
## p. 14121 (#311) ##########################################
RUTH MCENERY STUART
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Here they would pleasantly gather about in groups with social
informality, and freely discuss such newly discovered virtues of
the deceased as a fresh retrospect revealed, or employ themselves
with their own more pressing romances, as they saw fit.
There were many present, inside and at the doors, who eagerly
anticipated this later hour, and were even now casting about for
"pardners”; but Sister Temperance was not one of these. Now
was the hour of her triumph. It was she alone - excepting the
few, selected by herself, who were at this moment making a
last toilet for the departed — who had looked upon the face of the
dead.
She was even ahead of the doctors; who, as the patient had
died between visits, did not yet know the news.
As she was supreme authority upon the case in all its bear-
ings, whenever she appeared at the door between the two rooms
the crowd pressed eagerly forward. They were so anxious for
the very latest bulletin.
"F'om convulsions inter fits! Umh! ” repeated the foremost
sister, echoing Temperance's words.
“Yas, an' back ag'in ! » reiterated the oracle. « She des come
thoo a fit, an' de way she gwine orn now, I s'picion de nex' gwine
be a reverind convulsion! She taken it hard, I tell yer! ” And
Sister Temperance quietly, cruelly closed the door, and withdrew
into the scene of action.
“Sis' Lize Ann ought ter be helt,” ventured a robust sister
near the door.
«Or tied, one,” added another.
“I knowed she keered mo'fur Brer Jake 'n she let orn,”
suggested a third. "Lize Ann don't mean no harm by her orf-
She des kep’ 'er love all ter 'erse'f. ”
So ran the gossip of “the other room,” when Temperance re-
appeared at the door.
“Sis' Calline Taylor, yo' services is requi'ed. ” She spoke with
a suppressed tone of marked distinctness and a dignity that was
inimitable, whereupon a portly dame at the farthest corner of the
room began to elbow her way through the crowd, who regarded
her with new respect as she entered the chamber of death; a
shrill scream from the new-made widow adding its glamour to
her honors, as with a loud groan she closed the door behind her.
A stillness now fell upon the assembly, disturbed only by an
occasional moan, until Sister Phyllis, a leader in things spiritual,
broke the silence
»
handed ways.
## p. 14122 (#312) ##########################################
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
(
(
>
“Sis' Calline Taylor is a proud han' ter hol' down fits, but I
hope she'll speak a word in season fur sperityal comfort. ”
“Sis' Tempunce callin' out Scripture ev'y time she see 'er
ease up,” said old Black Sal. Lize Ann in good han's, po' soul!
Look like she is got good 'casion ter grieve. Seem like she's
born ter widderhood. ”
"Po' Jake! Yer reck'n she gwine bury 'im 'longside o' Alick
an' Steve ? ” — her former husbands.
“In co'se. 'Tain' no use dividin' up grief an' sowin' a pus-
son's sorrer broadcas', 'caze — »
The opening door commanded silence again.
"Brer Jake's face changin' mightily! ” said Temperance, as she
stood again before them. «De way hit's a-settlin', I b'lieve he
done foun' peace ter his soul. ”
"Is 'is eyes shet ? »
"De lef' eye open des a leetle teenchy tinechy bit. ”
“Look fur a chile ter die nex'— a boy chile. Yer say de lef'
eye open, ain't yer ? »
“Yas - de one todes de chimbly. He layin' catti-cornders o'
«
de baid, wid 'is foots ter de top. ”
« Catti-cornders! Umh! ”
Yas, an' wid 'is haid down todes de foot. ”
"Eh, Lord! Haids er foots is all one ter po' Jake now. ”
" Is yer gwine plat 'is fingers, Sis' Tempunce ? ”
"His fingers done platted, an' de way I done twissen 'em in
an' out, over an' under, dee gwine stay tell Gab'iel call fur 'is
han'! "
“Umh! "
"Eh, Lord! An' is yer done comb 'is haid, Sis' Tempunce ? ”
“I des done wropp'n an' twissen it good, an' I 'low ter let it
out fur de fun'al to-morrer. I knowed Jake 'd be mo' satisfider
ef he knowed it 'd be in its fus' granjer at the fun'al -an' Sis'
Lize Ann too. She say she 'ain't nuver is had no secon’-class
buryin's, an' she ain' gwine have none. Time Alick died she lay
in a trance two days, an' de brass ban'at de fun'al nuver fazed
'er! An' y'all ricollec' how she taken ter de woods an' had ter
be ketched time Steve was kilt, an' now she des a-stavin' it orf
brave as she kin on convulsions an' fits! Look like when a pus-
son taken sorrer so hard, Gord would sho'ly spare de scourgin'
rod. ”
“Yas, but yer know what de preacher say -'Gord sen' a
tempes' o'win' ter de shorn lamb. ) »
(
((
((
C
> >
## p. 14123 (#313) ##########################################
RUTH MCENERY STUART
14123
(
>>
“Yas indeedy,” said another, a religious celebrity, “an' we
daresn't jedge de Jedge! ”
“Maybe sometimes Gord sen' a tempes' o' win' ter de shorn
lamb ter meck it run an' hide in de Shepherd's fol. Pray Gord
dis searchin' win' o' jedgmint gwine blow po' Sis' Lize Ann inter
de green pastures o' de kingdom ! »
"Amen! » came solemnly from several directions.
An incisive shriek from within, which startled the speakers
into another awe-stricken silence, summoned Temperance back in
haste to her post.
Crowds were gathering without the doors now, and the twinkle
of lanterns approaching over the fields and through the wood
promised a popular attendance at the wake, which after much
tedious waiting was at last formally opened. Temperance her-
self swung wide the dividing door, and hesitating a moment as
she stood before them, that the announcement should gain in
effect by a prelude of silence, she said with marked solemnity:-
"De corpse is now perpared ter receive 'is frien's! Ef,” she
continued, after another pause, -"ef so be any pusson present is
nigh kin ter de lately deceasted daid corpse, let 'em please ter
step in fust at de haid o de line. ”
A half-minute of inquiring silence ensued; and that the first
to break it by stepping forward was a former discarded wife of
the deceased caused no comment. She led by the hand a small
boy, whom all knew to be the dead man's son: and it was with
distinct deference that the crowd parted to let them pass in.
Just as they were entering, a stir was heard at the outer door.
«Heah comes de corpse's mammy and daddy,” one said, in an
audible whisper.
It was true. The old parents, who lived some miles distant,
had just arrived. The throng had fallen well back now, clearing
a free passage across the room. With a loud groan and extended
arms, Temperance glided down the opening to meet the aged
couple, who sobbed aloud as they tremulously followed her into
the presence of the dead.
The former wife and awe-stricken child had already entered;
and that they all, with the new-made widow, who rocked to and
fro at the head of the corpse, wept together, confessed sharers in
a common sorrow, was quite in the natural order of things.
The procession of guests now began to pass through, making
a circuit of the table on which the body lay; and as they moved
out the door, some one raised a hymn. A group in the yard
(
## p. 14124 (#314) ##########################################
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
-
caught it up, and soon the woods echoed with the weird rhythmic
melody. All night long the singing continued, carried along by
new recruits as the first voices grew weary and dropped out. If
there was some giggling and love-making among the young peo-
ple, it was discreetly kept in the shadowy corners, and wounded
no one's feelings.
The widow took no rest during the night. When exhausted
from violent emotion, she fell into a rhythmic moan, accompanied
by corresponding swaying to and fro of her body,-a movement
at once unyielding and restful.
The church folk were watching her with a keen interest, and
indeed so were the worldlings; for this was Lize Ann's third
widowhood within the short space of five years, and each of the
other funerals had been practically but an inaugural service to a
most remarkable career. As girl first, and twice as widow, she
had been a conspicuous, and if truth must be told, rather a noto-
rious figure in colored circles. Three times she had voluntarily
married into quiet life, and welcomed with her chosen partner
the seclusion of wedded domesticity; but during the intervals
she had played promiscuous havoc with the matrimonial felicity
of her neighbors, to such an extent that it was a confessed relief
when she had finally walked up the aisle with Jake Johnson, as
by taking one woman's. husband she had brought peace of mind
to a score of anxious wives.
It is true that Jake had been lawfully wedded to the first
woman, but the ceremony had occurred in another parish some
years before, and was practically obsolete; and so the church
taking its cue from nature, which does not set eyes in the back
of one's head - made no indiscreet retrospective investigations,
but in the professed guise of a peace-maker pronounced its bene-
diction upon the new pair.
The deserted wife had soon likewise repaired her loss; whether
with benefit of clergy or not, it is not ours to say, but when she
returned to mourn at the funeral it was not as one who had
refused to be comforted. She felt a certain secret triumph in
bringing her boy to gaze for the last time upon the face of his
father. It was more than the childless woman, who sat, acknowl-
edged chief mourner, at the head of the corpse, could do.
There was a look of half-savage defiance upon her face as she
lifted the little fellow up, and said in an audible voice:
“Take one las' look at yo' daddy, Jakey. Dat's yo' own Gord-
blessed father, an' you ain't nuver gwine see 'im no mo', tell yer
((
## p. 14125 (#315) ##########################################
RUTH MCENERY STUART
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meet 'im in de Kingdom come, whar dey ain't no marryin', nei-
ther givin' in marriage;" and she added, in an undertone, with a
significant sniffle, "nur borryin', nuther. ”
She knew that she whom it could offend would not hear this
last remark, as her ears were filled with her own wails; but the
words were not lost upon the crowd.
The little child, frightened and excited, began to cry aloud.
“Let him cry,” said one. “D'ain't nobody got a better right. ”
“He feel his loss, po' chile! ”
“Blood's thicker'n water ev'y time. ”
“Yas, blood will tell. Look like de po' chile's heart was ren-
dered in two quick 's he looked at his pa. ”
Such sympathetic remarks as these, showing the direction of
the ultimate sentiment of the people, reached the mother's ears,
and encouraged her to raise her head a fraction higher than
before, as, pacifying the weeping child, she passed out and went
home.
The funeral took place on the afternoon following; and to the
surprise of all, the mourning widow behaved with wonderful self-
control during all the harrowing ceremony.
Only when the last clod fell upon the grave did she throw
up her hands, and with a shriek fall over in a faint, and have to
be “toted” back to the wagon in which she had come.
If some were curious to see what direction her grief would
take, they had some time to wait. She had never before taken
long to declare herself, and on each former occasion the declara-
tion had been one of war- a worldly, rioting, rollicking war upon
the men.
During both her previous widowhoods she had danced longer
and higher, laughed oftener and louder, dressed more gaudily
and effectively, than all the women on three contiguous planta-
tions put together; and when, in these well-remembered days,
she had passed down the road on Sunday evenings, and chosen
to peep over her shoulders with dreamy half-closed eyes at some
special man whom it pleased her mood to ensnare, he had no
more been able to help following her than he had been able to
help lying to his wife or sweetheart about it afterward.
The sympathy expressed for her at Jake's funeral had been
sincere. No negro ever resists any noisy demonstration of grief,
and each of her moans and screams had found responsive echo
in more than one sympathetic heart.
## p. 14126 (#316) ##########################################
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
But now the funeral was over, Jake was dead and gone,
and the state of affairs so exact a restoration to a recent well-
remembered condition that it was not strange that the sisters
wondered with some concern what she would do.
They had felt touched when she had fainted away at the
funeral; and yet there were those, and among them his good
wife, who had not failed to observe that she had fallen squarely
into Pete Richards's arms.
Now, every one knew that she had once led Pete a dance, and
that for a time it seemed a question whether he or Jake Johnson
should be the coming man.
Of course this opportune fainting might have been accidental;
and it may be that Pete's mother was supercensorious when, on
her return from the funeral, she had said as she lit her pipe:-
“Dat gal Lize Ann is a she-devil. ”
But her more discreet daughter-in-law, excepting that she
thrashed the children all round, gave no sign that she was
troubled.
For the first few months of her recovered widowhood Lize
Ann was conspicuous only by her absence from congregations
of all sorts, as well as by her mournful and persistent refusal
to speak with any one on the subject of her grief, or indeed to
speak at all.
There was neither pleasure nor profit in sitting down and
looking at a person who never opened her lips; and so, after oft-
repeated but ineffectual visits of condolence, the sisters finally
stopped visiting her cabin.
They saw that she had philosophically taken up the burden
of practical life again, in the shape of a family washing, which
she carried from the village to her cabin poised on her head;
but the old abandon had departed from her gait, and those who
chanced to meet her in the road said that her only passing recog-
nition was a groan.
Alone in her isolated cabin, the woman so recently celebrated
for her social proclivities ranged her wash-tubs against the wall;
alone she soaked, washed, rinsed, starched, and ironed; and when
the week's routine of labor was over, alone she sat within her
cabin door to rest.
For a long time old Nancy Price or Hester Ann Jennings,-
the two superannuated old crones on the plantation, - moved
by curiosity and an irresistible impulse to “talk erligion " to so
## p. 14127 (#317) ##########################################
RUTH MCENERY STUART
14127
fitting a subject, had continued occasionally to drop in to see
the silent woman; but they always came away shaking their
heads, and declining to stake their reputations on any formulated
prophecy as to just how, when, where, or in what direction Lize
Ann would come out of her grief. That she was deliberately
poising herself for a spring they felt sure; and yet their only
prognostications were always prudently ambiguous.
When, however, the widow had consistently for five long
months maintained her position as a broken-hearted recluse not
to be approached or consoled, the people began to regard her
with a degree of genuine respect; and when one Sunday morn-
ing the gathering congregation discovered her sitting in church,
a solitary figure in black, on the very last of the Amen pews in
the corner, they were moved to sympathy.
She had even avoided a sensational entrance by coming early.
Her conduct seemed really genuine; and yet it must be confessed
that even in view of the doleful figure she made, there were
several women present who were a little less comfortable beside
their lovers and husbands after they saw her.
If the wives had but known it, however, they need have
had no fear. Jake's deserted wife and child had always weighed
painfully upon Lize Ann's consciousness. Even after his death
they had come in, diverting and intercepting sympathy that she
felt should have been hers. When she married again she would
have an unincumbered, free man, all her own.
As she was first at service to-day, she was last to depart; and
so pointedly did she wait for the others to go, that not a sister
in church had the temerity to approach her with a welcoming
hand, or to join her as she walked home. And this was but the
beginning From this time forward the little mourning figure
was at every meeting; and when the minister begged such as
desired salvation to remain to be prayed for, she knelt and stayed.
When, however, the elders or sisters sought her out, and kneeling
beside her, questioned her as to the state of her soul, she only
groaned and kept silence.
The brethren were really troubled. They had never encoun-
tered sorrow or conviction of sin quite so obstinate, so intangi-
ble, so speechless, as this. The minister, Brother Langford, had
remembered her sorrowing spirit in an impersonal way, and had
colored his sermons with tender appeals to such as mourned
and were heavy-laden with grief.
## p. 14128 (#318) ##########################################
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
But the truth was, the Reverend Mr. Langford, a tall, hand-
some bachelor of thirty years or thereabouts, was regarded as
the best catch in the parish; and had he been half so magnetic
in his personality or half so persuasive of speech, all the dusky
maids in the country would have been setting their feathered
caps for him.
When he conducted the meetings, there were always so many
boisterous births into the Kingdom all around him, — when the
regenerate called aloud, as they danced, swayed, or swooned, for
Brother Langford,” – that he had not found time to seek out the
silent mourners, and so had not yet found himself face to face
with the widow. Finally, however, one Sunday night, just as he
passed before her, Lize Ann heaved one of her very best moans.
He was on his knees at her side in a moment. Bending his
head very low, he asked, in a voice soft and tender, laying his
hand the while gently upon her shoulder, “'Ain't you foun' peace
yit, Sis' Johnsing ? ”
She groaned again.
« What is yo' mos' chiefes' sorrer, Sister Johnsing? Is yo'
heart mo' grieveder f'om partin' wid yo' dear belovin' pardner, or
is yo' soul weighted down wid a sense o' inhuman guilt ? Speak
out an' tell me, my sister, how yo' trouble seem ter shape itse'f. ”
But the widow, though she turned up to him her dry beseech-
ing eyes, only groaned again.
"Can't you speak ter yo' preacher, Sis' Johnsing? He crave
in 'is heart ter he'p you. "
Again she looked into his face, and now, with quivering lip,
began to speak: "I can't talk heah, Brer Langford; I ain't fittin';
my heart's clean broke. I ain't nothin' but des a miser'ble out-
cas'. Seem lak even Gord 'isse'f done cas' me orf. I des comes
an' goes lak a hongry suck-aig dorg wha' nobody don't claim,
a-skulkin'roun' heah in a back seat all by my lone se'f, tryin'
ter pick up a little crumb wha' fall f'om de table.
But seem
lak de feas' is too good fur me. I goes back ter my little dark
cabin mo' harder-hearted an' mo' sinfuler 'n I was befo'. Des
de ve'y glimsh o' dat empty cabin seem lak hit turn my heart
ter stone. "
She dropped her eyes, and as she bent forward, a tear fell
upon the young man's hand.
His voice was even tenderer than before when he spoke again.
“It is a hard lot, my po' sister, but I am positive sho' dat de
>
## p. 14129 (#319) ##########################################
RUTH MCENERY STUART
14129
sisters an' brers o' de chu'ch would come ter you an' try ter
comfort yo' soul ef you would give 'em courage fur ter do so. ”
“You don't know me, Brer Langford, er you wouldn't name
sech a word ter me. I's a sinner, an' a sinner what love sin.
Look lak de wus a sin is, de mo' hit tas’es lak sugar in my
mouf. I can't trus’ myse'f ter set down an' talk wid dese heah
brers an' sisters wha' I knows is one half sperityal an' fo' quarters
playin' ketcher wid de devil. I can't trus' myse'f wid 'em tell
Gord set my soul free f'om sin. I'd soon be howlin' happy on
de Devil's side des lak I was befo', facin' two-forty on de shell
road ter perditiom. ”
"I see, my po' sister-I see whar yo' trouble lay. ”
,
« Yas, an' dat's huccome I tooken tol yer, 'caze I knowed you
is got de sperityal eye to see it. You knows I's right when
I say ter you dat I ain't gwine set down in my cabin an' hol'
speech wid nobody less'n 'tis a thoo-an'-thoo sperityal pusson, lak
a preacher o de gorspil, tell my soul is safe. An' dey ain't
no minister o’ de sperit wha' got time ter come an’ set down an'
talk wid a po' ongordly widder pusson lak me. I don't spect 'em
ter do it. De shepherds can't teck de time to run an' haid
orf a ole frazzled-out black sheep lak I is, what 'd be a disgrace
ter de fol, any way. Dey 'bleege ter spen' dey time a-coaxin' in
de purty sleek yo'ng friskin' lambs, an' I don't blame 'em. ”
“Don't talk dat-a-way, Sis' Johnsing - don't talk dat-a-way.
-
Sence you done specified yo' desire, I'll call an' see you, an' talk
an' pray wid you in yo' cabin whensomever you say de word.
I knows yo' home is kivered by a cloud o' darkness an' sorrer.
When shill I come to you? ”
"De mos' lonesomes' time, Brer Langford, an' de time what
harden my heart de mos', is in de dark berwilderin' night-times
when I fus' goes home. Seem lak ef I c'd des have some reel
Gordly man ter come in wid me, an' maybe call out some little
passenger o’ Scripture to comfort me, tell I c'd des ter say git
usen ter de lonesomeness, I c'd maybe feel mo' cancelized ter de
Divine will. But, co'se, I don't expec' no yo'ng man lak you is
ter teck de trouble ter turn out’n yo' path fur sech as me. ”
"I will do it, Sis' Johnsing, an' hit will be a act o' pleasur-
able Christianity. When de meet'n' is over, ef you will wait, er
ef you will walk slow, I will overtaken you on de road quick as
I shets up de church-house; an' I pray Gord to give me de sea-
sonable word fur yo' comfort. Amen, an' Gord bless yer! ”
'
XXIV-884
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
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(
Lize Ann had nearly reached her cabin when the reverend
brother, stepping forward, gallantly placed his hand beneath her
elbow, and aided her to mount the one low step which led to
her door.
As they entered the room, he produced and struck a match;
while she presented a candle, which he lit and placed upon the
table. Neither had yet spoken. If he had his word ready, the
season for its utterance seemed not to have arrived.
«'Scuse my manners, Brer Langford,” she said finally, but
my heart is so full, seem lak I can't fine speech. Take a rock'n'.
cheer an' set down tell I stirs de fire ter meck you welcome in
my po' little shanty. ”
The split pine which she threw upon the coals brought an
immediate illumination; and as the young man looked about the
apartment he could hardly believe his eyes, so thorough was its
transformation since he had seen it on the day of the funeral.
The hearth, newly reddened, fairly glowed with warm color,
and the gleaming white-pine floor seemed fresh from the car-
penter's plane. Dainty white-muslin curtains hung before the
little square windows, and from the shelves a dazzling row of
tins reflected the blazing fire a dozen times from their polished
surfaces.
The widow leaned forward before him, stirring the fire; and
when his eyes fell upon her, his astonishment confirmed his
speechlessness. She had removed her black bonnet, and the
heavy shawl which had enveloped her figure had fallen behind
her into her chair. What he saw was a round, trig, neatly clad,
youngish woman, whose face, illumined by the flickering fire,
was positively charming in its piquant assertion of grief. Across
her shapely bosom lay, neatly folded, a snowy kerchief, less white
only than her pearly teeth, as smiling through her sadness, she
exclaimed as she turned to her guest:-
“Lor' bless my soul, ef I 'ain't raked out a sweet 'tater out'n
dese coals! I 'feared you'll be clair disgusted at sech onman-
nerly doin's, Brer Langford; but when dey ain't no company
heah, I des kivers up my 'taters wid ashes an' piles on de live
coals, an' let 'em cook. I don't reck'n you'd even ter say look at
a roas' 'tater, would you, Brer Langford ? ”
The person addressed was rubbing his hands together and
chuckling “Ef yer tecks my jedgmint, Sis' Johnsing, on de
pretater question, roas'in' is de onies way to cook 'em. ”
## p. 14131 (#321) ##########################################
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His hostess had already risen, and before he could remon-
strate she had drawn up a little table, lifted the potato from its
bed, and laid it on a plate before him.
“Ef yer will set down an' eat a roas' 'tater in my miser'ble
little cabin, Brer Langford, I 'clar' fo' gracious hit 'll raise my
sperits mightily. Gord knows I wushes I had some'h'n good to
offer you, a-comin' in out'n de col; but ef you'll please, sir, have
de mannerliness ter hol' de candle, I'll empty my ole cupboard
clean inside outen but I'll fin' you some'h'n 'nother to spressify
yo' welcome. ”
Langford rose, and as he held the light to the open safe, his
eyes fairly glared. He was hungry, and the snowy shelves were
covered with open vessels of tempting food, all more or less
broken, but savory as to odor, and most inviting.
"I 'clare, Sis' Johnsing – I 'clare! ” were the only words that
the man of eloquent speech found to express his appreciation
and joy; and his entertainer continued:-
“Dis heah cupboard mecks me 'shame', Brer Langford. Dey
ain't a thing fittin' fur sech as you in it. Heah's a pan o' col'
'tater pone an' some cabbage an' side meat, an' dis heah's a few
ords an' eens o fried chicken an' a little passel o' spare-ribs,
piled in wid co'n-brade scraps. Hit don't look much, but hit's
all clean. Heah, you gimme de candle, an' you retch 'em all
down, please, sir; an' I ain't shore, but ef I don't disremember,
dey's de bes' half a loaf o' reeson-cake 'way back in de fur cor-
Dat's hit. Now, dat's some'h'n like. An' now pass down
de butter; an’ ef yer wants a tumbler o'sweet milk wid yo'
’tater, you'll haf ter hop an' go fetch it. Lis'n ter me, fur Gord
sake, talkin' ter Brer Langford same as I'd talk ter a reg'lar
plantation nigger!
Langford hesitated.
“Less'n you desires de sweet milk, Sis'
Johnsing -
“I does truly lak a swaller o'sweet milk wid my 'tater, Brer
Langford, but seem lak 'fo' I'd git it fur myse'f I'd do widout it.
Won't you, please, sir, teck de candle an' fetch it fur me? Go
right thoo my room. Hit's in a bottle, a-settin' outside de right-
han' winder des as you go in. ”
Langford could not help glancing about the widow's chamber
as he passed through. If the other room was cozy and clean,
this one was charming. The white bed, dazzling in its snowy
fluted frills, reminded him of its owner, as she sat in all her
ner.
»
>>
## p. 14132 (#322) ##########################################
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
starched freshness to-night. The polished pine floor here was
nearly covered with neatly fringed patches of carpet, suggestive
of housewifely taste as well as luxurious comfort.
He had returned with the bottle, and was seating himself,
when the disconsolate widow actually burst into a peal of laugh-
ter.
“Lord save my soul! ” she exclaimed, “ef he 'ain't gone an'
fetched a bottle o' beer! You is a caution, Brer Langford! I
wouldn't 'a' had you know I had dat beer in my house fur
nothin'. When I was feelin' so po'ly in my fus' grief, seem lak
I craved sperityal comfort, an' I went an' bought a whole lot
o'lager-beer. I 'lowed maybe I c'd drink my sorrer down, but
'twarn't no use. I c'd drink beer all night, an' hit wouldn't
nuver bring nobody to set in dat rockin’-cheer by my side an'
teck comfort wid me. Doos you think fur a perfesser ter teck
a little beer ur wine when he feels a nachel faintiness is a fatal
sin, Brer Langford ? »
“Why, no, Sis' Johnsing. Succumstances alter cases, an'hit's
de succumstances o' drinkin' what mecks de altercations; an' de
way I looks at it, a Christian man is de onies pusson who oughter
dare to trus' 'isse'f wid de wine cup, 'caze a sinner don'know
when ter stop. ”
“Dat soun' mighty reason'ble, Brer Langford. An' sence you
fetched de beer, now you 'bleege ter drink it. But please, sir,
go, lak a good man, an' bring my milk, on de tother side in de
winder. ”
The milk was brought, and the Rev. Mr. Langford was soon
smacking his lips over the best supper it had been his minis-
terial good fortune to enjoy for many a day.
As the widow raked a second potato from the fire, she re-
marked, in a tone of inimitable pathos: -
“Seem lak I can't git usen ter cookin' fur one. I cooks
fur two ev'y day; an' somehow I fines a little spec o' comfort
in lookin' at de odd po'tion, even ef I has ter eat it myse'f.
De secon’’tater on de hyearth seem lak hit stan's fur company.
Seein' as you relishes de beer, Brer Langford, I's proud you
made de mistake an' fetched it. Gord knows somebody better
drink it! I got a whole passel o’ bottles in my trunk, an' I
don't know what ter do wid 'em. A man what wuck an' talk
an' preach hard as you does, he need a little some'h'n' 'nother
ter keep his cour'ge up. "
(
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
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C
It was an hour past midnight when finally the widow let her
guest out the back door; and as she directed him how to reach
home by a short cut through her field, she said, while she held
his hand in parting: -
“Gord will bless you fur dis night, Brer Langford, fur you is
truly sakerficed yo'se'f fur a po' sinner; an' I b’lieve dey's mo'
true 'ligion in comfortin' a po' lonely widderless 'oman lak I is,
what 'ain't got nobody to stan' by 'er, dan in all de sermons
a-goin': an' now I gwine turn my face back todes my lonely
fireside wid a better hope an' a firmer trus', 'caze I knows de
love o' Gord done sont you ter me. My po' little brade an' meat
warn't highfalutin' nur fine, but you is shared it wid me lak a
Christian, an' I gi'n it ter you wid a free heart. ”
Langford returned the pressure of her hand, and even shook
it heartily during his parting speech:
"Good-night, my dear sister, an' Gord bless you! I feels mo'
courageous an' strenk'n'd myse'f sence I have shared yo' lonely
fireside; an' please Gord, I will make it my juty as well as
my pleasure to he'p you in a similar manner whensomever you
desires my presence. I rejoices to see that you is tryin' wid a
brave heart to rise f'om yo' sorrer. Keep good cheer, my sister,
an' remember dat the Gord o' Aberham an' Isaac an' Jacob - de
patriots o' de Lord - is also de friend ter de fatherless an' wid-
ders, an' to them that are desolate an’ oppressed. ”
With this beautiful admonition, and a last distinct pressure
of the hand, the Rev. 'Mr. Langford disappeared in the darkness,
carefully fastening the top button of his coat as he went, as if
to cover securely the upper layer of raisin-cake which still lay,
for want of lower space, just beneath it within.
He never felt better in his life.
The widow watched his retreating shadow until she dimly saw
one dark leg rise over the rail as he scaled the garden fence;
then coming in, she hooked the door, and throwing herself on
the floor, rolled over and over, laughing until she cried, verily.
“Stan' back, gals, stan' back! ” she exclaimed, rising. “Stan'
back, I say! A widder done haided yer off wid a cook-pot! ”
!
-
With eyes fairly dancing, she resumed her seat before the fire.
She was too much elated for sleep yet.
"I 'clare 'fo' gracious,
I is a devil! ” she chuckled. « Po' Alick - an' po' Steve — an'
po' Jake! ” she continued, pausing after each name with some-
thing that their spiritual presences might have interpreted as a
>
(
## p. 14134 (#324) ##########################################
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
sigh if they were affectionately hovering near her. "But,” she
added, her own thoughts supplying the connection, “Brer Lang-
ford gwine be de stylishes' one o' de lot. ” And then she really
sighed. “I mus' go buy some mo' beer. Better git two bottles.
He mought ax fur mo', bein' as I got a trunkful. ” And here
alone in her cabin she roared aloud. “I does wonder huc-
come I come ter be sech a devil, anyhow? I 'lowed I was safe
ter risk de beer. Better git a dozen bottles, I reck'n; give 'im
.
,
plenty rope, po' boy! Well, Langford honey, good-night fur to-
night! But perpare, yo'ng man, perpare! And chuckling as
she went, she passed into her own room and went to bed.
The young minister was as good as his promise, and during
the next two months he never failed to stop after every evening
meeting to look after the spiritual condition of the “widder John-
sing ”; while she, with the consummate skill of a practiced hand,
saw to it that without apparent forethought her little cupboard
should always supply a material entertainment, full, savory, and
varied. If on occasion she lamented a dearth of cold dishes,
it was that she might insist on sharing her breakfast with her
guest; when producing from her magic safe a ready-dressed
spring chicken or squirrel, she would broil it upon the coals in
his presence, and the young man would depart thoroughly satu-
rated with the odor of her delightful hospitality.
Langford had heard things about this woman in days gone
by, but now he was pleased to realize that they had all been
malicious inventions prompted by jealousy: Had he commanded
the adjectives, he would have described her as the most gen-
erous, hospitable, spontaneous, sympathetic, vivacious, and witty,
as well as the most artless, of women. As it was, he thought of
her a good deal between visits; and whether the thought moved
backward or forward, whether it took shape as a memory or an
anticipation, he somehow unconsciously smacked his lips and swal-
lowed.
And yet, when one of the elders questioned him as to
the spiritual state of the still silent mourner, he knit his brow,
and answered with a sigh:
“It is hard ter say, my brothers — it is hard ter say. De ole
lady do nourish an' cherish 'er grief mightily; but yit, ef we hol'
off an' don't crowd 'er, I trus' she'll come thoo on de Lord's side
yit. ”
If there had been the ghost of a twinkle in his interlocutor's
eye, it died out, abashed at itself at this pious and carefully
»
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
14135
framed reply. The widow was indeed fully ten years Langford's
senior,- a discrepancy as much exaggerated by outward circum-
stances as it was minimized in their fireside relations.
So matters drifted on for a month longer. The dozen bottles
of beer had been followed by a second, and these again by a
half-dozen. This last reduced purchase of course had its mean-
ing. Langford was reaching the end of his tether. At last there
were but two bottles left. It was Sunday night again.
The little cupboard had been furnished with unusual elabo-
ration, and the savory odors which emanated from its shelves
would have filled the room but for the all-pervading essence of
bergamot with which the widow had recklessly deluged her hair.
Indeed, her entire toilet betrayed exceptional care to-night.
She had not gone to church, and as it was near the hour
for dismissal, she was a trifle nervous; feeling confident that the
minister would stop in, ostensibly to inquire the cause of her
absence. She had tried this before, and he had not disappointed
her.
Finally she detected his familiar announcement, a clearing of
his throat, as he approached the door.
"Lif' up de latch an' walk in, Brer Wolf,” she laughingly
called to him; and as he entered she added, “Look lak you
come in answer to my thoughts, Brer Langford. ”
"Is dat so, Sis' Johnsing? ” he replied, chuckling with delight.
“I knowed some'l' n' 'nother drawed me clean over f'om de chu'ch
in de po'in’-down rain. ”
« Is it a-rainin'? I 'clare, I see yer brung yo' umberel; but
sett'n heah by de fire, I nuver studies 'bout de elemints. I been
studyin' 'bout some'h'n' mo'n rain or shine, I tell yer. ”
"Is yer, Sis' Johnsing? What you been studyin' 'bout ? »
“What I been studyin' 'bout? Nemmine what I been studyin'
'bout! I studyin' 'bout Brer Langford now. De po' man look
so tired an’ frazzled out, 'is eyes looks des lak dorg-wood blor-
soms. You is des nachelly preached down, Brer Langford, an'
you needs a morsel o' some'h'n' 'nother ter stiddy yo' cornstitu-
tion. ” She rose forthwith, and set about arranging the young
man's supper.
“But you 'ain't tol' me yit huccome you 'ain't come ter chu'ch
ter-night, Sis' Johnsing ? ”
“Nemmine 'bout dat now. I ain't studyin' 'bout gwine ter
chu'ch now. I des studyin' 'bout how ter induce de size o' yo'
(C
»
## p. 14136 (#326) ##########################################
14136
RUTH MCENERY STUART
(
eyes down ter dey nachel porportiom. Heah, teck de shovel, an'
rake out a han'ful o' coals, please, sir, an' I'll set dis pan o' rolls
ter bake. Dat's hit. Now kiver de led good wid live coals an’
ashes. Dat's a man! Now time you wrastle wid de j'ints o’ dis
roas' guinea-hen, an' teck de corkscrew an' perscribe fur dis beer
bottle, and go fetch de fresh butter out'n de winder, de rolls '11
be a-singin' Now is de accepted time! )
It was no wonder the young man thought her charming.
Needless to say, the feast, seasoned by a steady flow of hu-
mor, was perfect. But all things earthly have an end; and so,
by-and-by, it was all over. A pattering rain without served to
enhance the genial in-door charm, but it was time to go.
"Well, Sis' Johnsing, hit's a-gittin' on time fur me ter be
a-movin',” said the poor fellow at length - for he hated to leave.
« Yas, I knows it is, Brer Langford,” the hostess answered
with a tinge of sadness, “an'dat ain't de wust of it. ”
How does you mean, Sis' Johnsing? ”
“Ain't I tol yer, Brer Langford, ter-night dat my thoughts
was wid you ? Don't look at me so quizzical, please, sir, 'caze I
got a heavy sorrer in my heart. ”
“A sorrer 'bout me, Sis' Johnsing? How so? ”
“Brer Langford -I-I been thinkin' 'bout you all day, an'-
an'— ter come right down ter de p'int, 1-1-” She bit her lip
and hesitated. I 'feerd I done put off what I ought ter said
ter you tell look lak hit 'll 'mos' bre’k my heart to say it. ”
"Speak out, fur Gord sake, Sis' Johnsing, an' ease yo' min'!
What is yo' trouble ? »
She seemed almost crying. “You — you — you mustn't come
heah no mo', Brer Langford. ”
« “Who- me? Wh-wh-what is I done, Sis' Johnsing? ”
“My Gord! how kin I say it? You 'ain't done nothin', my
dear frien'. You has been Gord's blessin' ter me; but — but — I
'clare 'fo' Gord, how kin I say de word ? But — don't you see
yo’se'f how de succumstances stan'? You is a yo'ng man li'ble
to fall in love wid any lakly yo'ng gal any day, an' ter git mar-
ried — an' of co'se dat's right: but don't you see dat ef a po' lone-
some 'oman lak me put too much 'pendence orn a yo'ng man lak
you is, de time gwine come when he gwine git tired a-walkin'
all de way from chu'ch in de po'in'-down rain des fur charity ter
comfort a lonely sinner pusson lak I is; an'- an' settin' heah by
myse'f ter-night, I done made up my min' dat I gwine 'scuse you
»
## p. 14137 (#327) ##########################################
RUTH McENERY STUART
14137
f'om dis task while I kin stand it. Of co’se I don't say but hit
'll be hard. You is tooken me by de han' an' he'ped me thoo
a dark cloud; but you an' me mus' say far'well ter-night, an'
you — you mustn't come back no mo'. ”
Her face was buried in her hands now, and so she could not
see her guest's storm-swept visage as he essayed to answer her.
“You — you — you — you — talkin' 'bout you c'n stan' it, Sis'
Johnsing, an'- an'- seem lak you 's forgitt'n' all bout me.
subtle, but clear and sharp. To understand
them, eyesight, not imagination, is required.
There are more classic ways than hers of
telling a story; but few are written with
less effort to be brilliant at the expense of Ruth McENERY STUART
truth. Her comedy rarely degenerates into
melodrama. Her pathos is never overdrawn.
She has not confined herself altogether to tales of negro life.
Babette, her only long story, is a pretty and conventional idyl of
Creole life in New Orleans. The Sonny' series tells of the birth
and education of the child of an Arkansas planter. The stories of
Simpkinsville are of life in an Arkansas village. (The Unlived Life
of Little Mary Ellen) is a pathetic tale of old-fashioned Southern
gentlefolk.
Mrs. Stuart has lived the greater part of her life among the peo-
ple and scenes which she describes so well. She was born in Marks-
ville, Aroyelles Parish, Louisiana, in 1856. In 1879 she married Mr.
Alfred O. Stuart, a planter of southern Arkansas, where she learned
to know the after-the-war negro of the Southern plantations, — the
## p. 14120 (#310) ##########################################
14120
RUTH MCENERY STUART
new issue” negro, as he is described by his fellows of the old
régime. There too she became acquainted with the country people,
whose simple lives and quaint speech are recorded in her stories of
Arkansas.
Unc' Mingo's Speculations' was Mrs. Stuart's first story. The
titles of her collected works are- _Carlotta's Intended and Other
Tales,' 'A Golden Wedding and Other Tales,' Babette,' (Sonny,'
(Solomon Crow's Christmas,' and Pockets and Other Tales. '
(
THE WIDDER JOHNSING
From (A Golden Wedding and Other Tales. ) Copyright 1893, by
Harper & Brothers
“Monkey, monkey, bottle o' beer,
How many monkeys have we here?
One, two, three-
Out goes she! ”
"T"
((
AIN' no use ter try ter hol' 'er. She des gwine f'om fits ter
convulsions, and f'om convulsions back inter fits! »
Sister Temperance Tias raised her hands and spoke
low. She had just come out of the room of sorrow.
Jake Johnson was dead, and Lize Ann Johnson again a widow.
The "other room” in the little cabin was crowded with vis-
itors,— the old, the young, the pious, the thoughtless, the frivo-
lous, — all teeming with curiosity, and bursting into expressions
of sympathy, each anxious to look upon the ever-interesting face
of death, every one eager to “he'p hol Sis' Lize Ann. ”
But Temperance held sway on this as on all similar occasions
on the plantation, and no one would dare to cross the threshold
from “the other room” until she should make the formal an-
nouncement, "De corpse is perpared ter receive 'is frien's;” and
even then there would be the tedium of precedence to undergo.
It was tiresome, but it paid in the end; for long before mid-
night, every visitor should have had his turn to pass in and take
a look.
Then would begin an informal, unrestricted circulation
between the two rooms, when the so-disposed might “choose
pardners,” and sit out on the little porch, or in the yard on
benches brought in from the church, and distributed about for
that purpose.
## p. 14121 (#311) ##########################################
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Here they would pleasantly gather about in groups with social
informality, and freely discuss such newly discovered virtues of
the deceased as a fresh retrospect revealed, or employ themselves
with their own more pressing romances, as they saw fit.
There were many present, inside and at the doors, who eagerly
anticipated this later hour, and were even now casting about for
"pardners”; but Sister Temperance was not one of these. Now
was the hour of her triumph. It was she alone - excepting the
few, selected by herself, who were at this moment making a
last toilet for the departed — who had looked upon the face of the
dead.
She was even ahead of the doctors; who, as the patient had
died between visits, did not yet know the news.
As she was supreme authority upon the case in all its bear-
ings, whenever she appeared at the door between the two rooms
the crowd pressed eagerly forward. They were so anxious for
the very latest bulletin.
"F'om convulsions inter fits! Umh! ” repeated the foremost
sister, echoing Temperance's words.
“Yas, an' back ag'in ! » reiterated the oracle. « She des come
thoo a fit, an' de way she gwine orn now, I s'picion de nex' gwine
be a reverind convulsion! She taken it hard, I tell yer! ” And
Sister Temperance quietly, cruelly closed the door, and withdrew
into the scene of action.
“Sis' Lize Ann ought ter be helt,” ventured a robust sister
near the door.
«Or tied, one,” added another.
“I knowed she keered mo'fur Brer Jake 'n she let orn,”
suggested a third. "Lize Ann don't mean no harm by her orf-
She des kep’ 'er love all ter 'erse'f. ”
So ran the gossip of “the other room,” when Temperance re-
appeared at the door.
“Sis' Calline Taylor, yo' services is requi'ed. ” She spoke with
a suppressed tone of marked distinctness and a dignity that was
inimitable, whereupon a portly dame at the farthest corner of the
room began to elbow her way through the crowd, who regarded
her with new respect as she entered the chamber of death; a
shrill scream from the new-made widow adding its glamour to
her honors, as with a loud groan she closed the door behind her.
A stillness now fell upon the assembly, disturbed only by an
occasional moan, until Sister Phyllis, a leader in things spiritual,
broke the silence
»
handed ways.
## p. 14122 (#312) ##########################################
14122
RUTH MCENERY STUART
(
(
>
“Sis' Calline Taylor is a proud han' ter hol' down fits, but I
hope she'll speak a word in season fur sperityal comfort. ”
“Sis' Tempunce callin' out Scripture ev'y time she see 'er
ease up,” said old Black Sal. Lize Ann in good han's, po' soul!
Look like she is got good 'casion ter grieve. Seem like she's
born ter widderhood. ”
"Po' Jake! Yer reck'n she gwine bury 'im 'longside o' Alick
an' Steve ? ” — her former husbands.
“In co'se. 'Tain' no use dividin' up grief an' sowin' a pus-
son's sorrer broadcas', 'caze — »
The opening door commanded silence again.
"Brer Jake's face changin' mightily! ” said Temperance, as she
stood again before them. «De way hit's a-settlin', I b'lieve he
done foun' peace ter his soul. ”
"Is 'is eyes shet ? »
"De lef' eye open des a leetle teenchy tinechy bit. ”
“Look fur a chile ter die nex'— a boy chile. Yer say de lef'
eye open, ain't yer ? »
“Yas - de one todes de chimbly. He layin' catti-cornders o'
«
de baid, wid 'is foots ter de top. ”
« Catti-cornders! Umh! ”
Yas, an' wid 'is haid down todes de foot. ”
"Eh, Lord! Haids er foots is all one ter po' Jake now. ”
" Is yer gwine plat 'is fingers, Sis' Tempunce ? ”
"His fingers done platted, an' de way I done twissen 'em in
an' out, over an' under, dee gwine stay tell Gab'iel call fur 'is
han'! "
“Umh! "
"Eh, Lord! An' is yer done comb 'is haid, Sis' Tempunce ? ”
“I des done wropp'n an' twissen it good, an' I 'low ter let it
out fur de fun'al to-morrer. I knowed Jake 'd be mo' satisfider
ef he knowed it 'd be in its fus' granjer at the fun'al -an' Sis'
Lize Ann too. She say she 'ain't nuver is had no secon’-class
buryin's, an' she ain' gwine have none. Time Alick died she lay
in a trance two days, an' de brass ban'at de fun'al nuver fazed
'er! An' y'all ricollec' how she taken ter de woods an' had ter
be ketched time Steve was kilt, an' now she des a-stavin' it orf
brave as she kin on convulsions an' fits! Look like when a pus-
son taken sorrer so hard, Gord would sho'ly spare de scourgin'
rod. ”
“Yas, but yer know what de preacher say -'Gord sen' a
tempes' o'win' ter de shorn lamb. ) »
(
((
((
C
> >
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
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(
>>
“Yas indeedy,” said another, a religious celebrity, “an' we
daresn't jedge de Jedge! ”
“Maybe sometimes Gord sen' a tempes' o' win' ter de shorn
lamb ter meck it run an' hide in de Shepherd's fol. Pray Gord
dis searchin' win' o' jedgmint gwine blow po' Sis' Lize Ann inter
de green pastures o' de kingdom ! »
"Amen! » came solemnly from several directions.
An incisive shriek from within, which startled the speakers
into another awe-stricken silence, summoned Temperance back in
haste to her post.
Crowds were gathering without the doors now, and the twinkle
of lanterns approaching over the fields and through the wood
promised a popular attendance at the wake, which after much
tedious waiting was at last formally opened. Temperance her-
self swung wide the dividing door, and hesitating a moment as
she stood before them, that the announcement should gain in
effect by a prelude of silence, she said with marked solemnity:-
"De corpse is now perpared ter receive 'is frien's! Ef,” she
continued, after another pause, -"ef so be any pusson present is
nigh kin ter de lately deceasted daid corpse, let 'em please ter
step in fust at de haid o de line. ”
A half-minute of inquiring silence ensued; and that the first
to break it by stepping forward was a former discarded wife of
the deceased caused no comment. She led by the hand a small
boy, whom all knew to be the dead man's son: and it was with
distinct deference that the crowd parted to let them pass in.
Just as they were entering, a stir was heard at the outer door.
«Heah comes de corpse's mammy and daddy,” one said, in an
audible whisper.
It was true. The old parents, who lived some miles distant,
had just arrived. The throng had fallen well back now, clearing
a free passage across the room. With a loud groan and extended
arms, Temperance glided down the opening to meet the aged
couple, who sobbed aloud as they tremulously followed her into
the presence of the dead.
The former wife and awe-stricken child had already entered;
and that they all, with the new-made widow, who rocked to and
fro at the head of the corpse, wept together, confessed sharers in
a common sorrow, was quite in the natural order of things.
The procession of guests now began to pass through, making
a circuit of the table on which the body lay; and as they moved
out the door, some one raised a hymn. A group in the yard
(
## p. 14124 (#314) ##########################################
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
-
caught it up, and soon the woods echoed with the weird rhythmic
melody. All night long the singing continued, carried along by
new recruits as the first voices grew weary and dropped out. If
there was some giggling and love-making among the young peo-
ple, it was discreetly kept in the shadowy corners, and wounded
no one's feelings.
The widow took no rest during the night. When exhausted
from violent emotion, she fell into a rhythmic moan, accompanied
by corresponding swaying to and fro of her body,-a movement
at once unyielding and restful.
The church folk were watching her with a keen interest, and
indeed so were the worldlings; for this was Lize Ann's third
widowhood within the short space of five years, and each of the
other funerals had been practically but an inaugural service to a
most remarkable career. As girl first, and twice as widow, she
had been a conspicuous, and if truth must be told, rather a noto-
rious figure in colored circles. Three times she had voluntarily
married into quiet life, and welcomed with her chosen partner
the seclusion of wedded domesticity; but during the intervals
she had played promiscuous havoc with the matrimonial felicity
of her neighbors, to such an extent that it was a confessed relief
when she had finally walked up the aisle with Jake Johnson, as
by taking one woman's. husband she had brought peace of mind
to a score of anxious wives.
It is true that Jake had been lawfully wedded to the first
woman, but the ceremony had occurred in another parish some
years before, and was practically obsolete; and so the church
taking its cue from nature, which does not set eyes in the back
of one's head - made no indiscreet retrospective investigations,
but in the professed guise of a peace-maker pronounced its bene-
diction upon the new pair.
The deserted wife had soon likewise repaired her loss; whether
with benefit of clergy or not, it is not ours to say, but when she
returned to mourn at the funeral it was not as one who had
refused to be comforted. She felt a certain secret triumph in
bringing her boy to gaze for the last time upon the face of his
father. It was more than the childless woman, who sat, acknowl-
edged chief mourner, at the head of the corpse, could do.
There was a look of half-savage defiance upon her face as she
lifted the little fellow up, and said in an audible voice:
“Take one las' look at yo' daddy, Jakey. Dat's yo' own Gord-
blessed father, an' you ain't nuver gwine see 'im no mo', tell yer
((
## p. 14125 (#315) ##########################################
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meet 'im in de Kingdom come, whar dey ain't no marryin', nei-
ther givin' in marriage;" and she added, in an undertone, with a
significant sniffle, "nur borryin', nuther. ”
She knew that she whom it could offend would not hear this
last remark, as her ears were filled with her own wails; but the
words were not lost upon the crowd.
The little child, frightened and excited, began to cry aloud.
“Let him cry,” said one. “D'ain't nobody got a better right. ”
“He feel his loss, po' chile! ”
“Blood's thicker'n water ev'y time. ”
“Yas, blood will tell. Look like de po' chile's heart was ren-
dered in two quick 's he looked at his pa. ”
Such sympathetic remarks as these, showing the direction of
the ultimate sentiment of the people, reached the mother's ears,
and encouraged her to raise her head a fraction higher than
before, as, pacifying the weeping child, she passed out and went
home.
The funeral took place on the afternoon following; and to the
surprise of all, the mourning widow behaved with wonderful self-
control during all the harrowing ceremony.
Only when the last clod fell upon the grave did she throw
up her hands, and with a shriek fall over in a faint, and have to
be “toted” back to the wagon in which she had come.
If some were curious to see what direction her grief would
take, they had some time to wait. She had never before taken
long to declare herself, and on each former occasion the declara-
tion had been one of war- a worldly, rioting, rollicking war upon
the men.
During both her previous widowhoods she had danced longer
and higher, laughed oftener and louder, dressed more gaudily
and effectively, than all the women on three contiguous planta-
tions put together; and when, in these well-remembered days,
she had passed down the road on Sunday evenings, and chosen
to peep over her shoulders with dreamy half-closed eyes at some
special man whom it pleased her mood to ensnare, he had no
more been able to help following her than he had been able to
help lying to his wife or sweetheart about it afterward.
The sympathy expressed for her at Jake's funeral had been
sincere. No negro ever resists any noisy demonstration of grief,
and each of her moans and screams had found responsive echo
in more than one sympathetic heart.
## p. 14126 (#316) ##########################################
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
But now the funeral was over, Jake was dead and gone,
and the state of affairs so exact a restoration to a recent well-
remembered condition that it was not strange that the sisters
wondered with some concern what she would do.
They had felt touched when she had fainted away at the
funeral; and yet there were those, and among them his good
wife, who had not failed to observe that she had fallen squarely
into Pete Richards's arms.
Now, every one knew that she had once led Pete a dance, and
that for a time it seemed a question whether he or Jake Johnson
should be the coming man.
Of course this opportune fainting might have been accidental;
and it may be that Pete's mother was supercensorious when, on
her return from the funeral, she had said as she lit her pipe:-
“Dat gal Lize Ann is a she-devil. ”
But her more discreet daughter-in-law, excepting that she
thrashed the children all round, gave no sign that she was
troubled.
For the first few months of her recovered widowhood Lize
Ann was conspicuous only by her absence from congregations
of all sorts, as well as by her mournful and persistent refusal
to speak with any one on the subject of her grief, or indeed to
speak at all.
There was neither pleasure nor profit in sitting down and
looking at a person who never opened her lips; and so, after oft-
repeated but ineffectual visits of condolence, the sisters finally
stopped visiting her cabin.
They saw that she had philosophically taken up the burden
of practical life again, in the shape of a family washing, which
she carried from the village to her cabin poised on her head;
but the old abandon had departed from her gait, and those who
chanced to meet her in the road said that her only passing recog-
nition was a groan.
Alone in her isolated cabin, the woman so recently celebrated
for her social proclivities ranged her wash-tubs against the wall;
alone she soaked, washed, rinsed, starched, and ironed; and when
the week's routine of labor was over, alone she sat within her
cabin door to rest.
For a long time old Nancy Price or Hester Ann Jennings,-
the two superannuated old crones on the plantation, - moved
by curiosity and an irresistible impulse to “talk erligion " to so
## p. 14127 (#317) ##########################################
RUTH MCENERY STUART
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fitting a subject, had continued occasionally to drop in to see
the silent woman; but they always came away shaking their
heads, and declining to stake their reputations on any formulated
prophecy as to just how, when, where, or in what direction Lize
Ann would come out of her grief. That she was deliberately
poising herself for a spring they felt sure; and yet their only
prognostications were always prudently ambiguous.
When, however, the widow had consistently for five long
months maintained her position as a broken-hearted recluse not
to be approached or consoled, the people began to regard her
with a degree of genuine respect; and when one Sunday morn-
ing the gathering congregation discovered her sitting in church,
a solitary figure in black, on the very last of the Amen pews in
the corner, they were moved to sympathy.
She had even avoided a sensational entrance by coming early.
Her conduct seemed really genuine; and yet it must be confessed
that even in view of the doleful figure she made, there were
several women present who were a little less comfortable beside
their lovers and husbands after they saw her.
If the wives had but known it, however, they need have
had no fear. Jake's deserted wife and child had always weighed
painfully upon Lize Ann's consciousness. Even after his death
they had come in, diverting and intercepting sympathy that she
felt should have been hers. When she married again she would
have an unincumbered, free man, all her own.
As she was first at service to-day, she was last to depart; and
so pointedly did she wait for the others to go, that not a sister
in church had the temerity to approach her with a welcoming
hand, or to join her as she walked home. And this was but the
beginning From this time forward the little mourning figure
was at every meeting; and when the minister begged such as
desired salvation to remain to be prayed for, she knelt and stayed.
When, however, the elders or sisters sought her out, and kneeling
beside her, questioned her as to the state of her soul, she only
groaned and kept silence.
The brethren were really troubled. They had never encoun-
tered sorrow or conviction of sin quite so obstinate, so intangi-
ble, so speechless, as this. The minister, Brother Langford, had
remembered her sorrowing spirit in an impersonal way, and had
colored his sermons with tender appeals to such as mourned
and were heavy-laden with grief.
## p. 14128 (#318) ##########################################
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
But the truth was, the Reverend Mr. Langford, a tall, hand-
some bachelor of thirty years or thereabouts, was regarded as
the best catch in the parish; and had he been half so magnetic
in his personality or half so persuasive of speech, all the dusky
maids in the country would have been setting their feathered
caps for him.
When he conducted the meetings, there were always so many
boisterous births into the Kingdom all around him, — when the
regenerate called aloud, as they danced, swayed, or swooned, for
Brother Langford,” – that he had not found time to seek out the
silent mourners, and so had not yet found himself face to face
with the widow. Finally, however, one Sunday night, just as he
passed before her, Lize Ann heaved one of her very best moans.
He was on his knees at her side in a moment. Bending his
head very low, he asked, in a voice soft and tender, laying his
hand the while gently upon her shoulder, “'Ain't you foun' peace
yit, Sis' Johnsing ? ”
She groaned again.
« What is yo' mos' chiefes' sorrer, Sister Johnsing? Is yo'
heart mo' grieveder f'om partin' wid yo' dear belovin' pardner, or
is yo' soul weighted down wid a sense o' inhuman guilt ? Speak
out an' tell me, my sister, how yo' trouble seem ter shape itse'f. ”
But the widow, though she turned up to him her dry beseech-
ing eyes, only groaned again.
"Can't you speak ter yo' preacher, Sis' Johnsing? He crave
in 'is heart ter he'p you. "
Again she looked into his face, and now, with quivering lip,
began to speak: "I can't talk heah, Brer Langford; I ain't fittin';
my heart's clean broke. I ain't nothin' but des a miser'ble out-
cas'. Seem lak even Gord 'isse'f done cas' me orf. I des comes
an' goes lak a hongry suck-aig dorg wha' nobody don't claim,
a-skulkin'roun' heah in a back seat all by my lone se'f, tryin'
ter pick up a little crumb wha' fall f'om de table.
But seem
lak de feas' is too good fur me. I goes back ter my little dark
cabin mo' harder-hearted an' mo' sinfuler 'n I was befo'. Des
de ve'y glimsh o' dat empty cabin seem lak hit turn my heart
ter stone. "
She dropped her eyes, and as she bent forward, a tear fell
upon the young man's hand.
His voice was even tenderer than before when he spoke again.
“It is a hard lot, my po' sister, but I am positive sho' dat de
>
## p. 14129 (#319) ##########################################
RUTH MCENERY STUART
14129
sisters an' brers o' de chu'ch would come ter you an' try ter
comfort yo' soul ef you would give 'em courage fur ter do so. ”
“You don't know me, Brer Langford, er you wouldn't name
sech a word ter me. I's a sinner, an' a sinner what love sin.
Look lak de wus a sin is, de mo' hit tas’es lak sugar in my
mouf. I can't trus’ myse'f ter set down an' talk wid dese heah
brers an' sisters wha' I knows is one half sperityal an' fo' quarters
playin' ketcher wid de devil. I can't trus' myse'f wid 'em tell
Gord set my soul free f'om sin. I'd soon be howlin' happy on
de Devil's side des lak I was befo', facin' two-forty on de shell
road ter perditiom. ”
"I see, my po' sister-I see whar yo' trouble lay. ”
,
« Yas, an' dat's huccome I tooken tol yer, 'caze I knowed you
is got de sperityal eye to see it. You knows I's right when
I say ter you dat I ain't gwine set down in my cabin an' hol'
speech wid nobody less'n 'tis a thoo-an'-thoo sperityal pusson, lak
a preacher o de gorspil, tell my soul is safe. An' dey ain't
no minister o’ de sperit wha' got time ter come an’ set down an'
talk wid a po' ongordly widder pusson lak me. I don't spect 'em
ter do it. De shepherds can't teck de time to run an' haid
orf a ole frazzled-out black sheep lak I is, what 'd be a disgrace
ter de fol, any way. Dey 'bleege ter spen' dey time a-coaxin' in
de purty sleek yo'ng friskin' lambs, an' I don't blame 'em. ”
“Don't talk dat-a-way, Sis' Johnsing - don't talk dat-a-way.
-
Sence you done specified yo' desire, I'll call an' see you, an' talk
an' pray wid you in yo' cabin whensomever you say de word.
I knows yo' home is kivered by a cloud o' darkness an' sorrer.
When shill I come to you? ”
"De mos' lonesomes' time, Brer Langford, an' de time what
harden my heart de mos', is in de dark berwilderin' night-times
when I fus' goes home. Seem lak ef I c'd des have some reel
Gordly man ter come in wid me, an' maybe call out some little
passenger o’ Scripture to comfort me, tell I c'd des ter say git
usen ter de lonesomeness, I c'd maybe feel mo' cancelized ter de
Divine will. But, co'se, I don't expec' no yo'ng man lak you is
ter teck de trouble ter turn out’n yo' path fur sech as me. ”
"I will do it, Sis' Johnsing, an' hit will be a act o' pleasur-
able Christianity. When de meet'n' is over, ef you will wait, er
ef you will walk slow, I will overtaken you on de road quick as
I shets up de church-house; an' I pray Gord to give me de sea-
sonable word fur yo' comfort. Amen, an' Gord bless yer! ”
'
XXIV-884
## p. 14130 (#320) ##########################################
RUTH MCENERY STUART
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(
Lize Ann had nearly reached her cabin when the reverend
brother, stepping forward, gallantly placed his hand beneath her
elbow, and aided her to mount the one low step which led to
her door.
As they entered the room, he produced and struck a match;
while she presented a candle, which he lit and placed upon the
table. Neither had yet spoken. If he had his word ready, the
season for its utterance seemed not to have arrived.
«'Scuse my manners, Brer Langford,” she said finally, but
my heart is so full, seem lak I can't fine speech. Take a rock'n'.
cheer an' set down tell I stirs de fire ter meck you welcome in
my po' little shanty. ”
The split pine which she threw upon the coals brought an
immediate illumination; and as the young man looked about the
apartment he could hardly believe his eyes, so thorough was its
transformation since he had seen it on the day of the funeral.
The hearth, newly reddened, fairly glowed with warm color,
and the gleaming white-pine floor seemed fresh from the car-
penter's plane. Dainty white-muslin curtains hung before the
little square windows, and from the shelves a dazzling row of
tins reflected the blazing fire a dozen times from their polished
surfaces.
The widow leaned forward before him, stirring the fire; and
when his eyes fell upon her, his astonishment confirmed his
speechlessness. She had removed her black bonnet, and the
heavy shawl which had enveloped her figure had fallen behind
her into her chair. What he saw was a round, trig, neatly clad,
youngish woman, whose face, illumined by the flickering fire,
was positively charming in its piquant assertion of grief. Across
her shapely bosom lay, neatly folded, a snowy kerchief, less white
only than her pearly teeth, as smiling through her sadness, she
exclaimed as she turned to her guest:-
“Lor' bless my soul, ef I 'ain't raked out a sweet 'tater out'n
dese coals! I 'feared you'll be clair disgusted at sech onman-
nerly doin's, Brer Langford; but when dey ain't no company
heah, I des kivers up my 'taters wid ashes an' piles on de live
coals, an' let 'em cook. I don't reck'n you'd even ter say look at
a roas' 'tater, would you, Brer Langford ? ”
The person addressed was rubbing his hands together and
chuckling “Ef yer tecks my jedgmint, Sis' Johnsing, on de
pretater question, roas'in' is de onies way to cook 'em. ”
## p. 14131 (#321) ##########################################
RUTH MCENERY STUART
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His hostess had already risen, and before he could remon-
strate she had drawn up a little table, lifted the potato from its
bed, and laid it on a plate before him.
“Ef yer will set down an' eat a roas' 'tater in my miser'ble
little cabin, Brer Langford, I 'clar' fo' gracious hit 'll raise my
sperits mightily. Gord knows I wushes I had some'h'n good to
offer you, a-comin' in out'n de col; but ef you'll please, sir, have
de mannerliness ter hol' de candle, I'll empty my ole cupboard
clean inside outen but I'll fin' you some'h'n 'nother to spressify
yo' welcome. ”
Langford rose, and as he held the light to the open safe, his
eyes fairly glared. He was hungry, and the snowy shelves were
covered with open vessels of tempting food, all more or less
broken, but savory as to odor, and most inviting.
"I 'clare, Sis' Johnsing – I 'clare! ” were the only words that
the man of eloquent speech found to express his appreciation
and joy; and his entertainer continued:-
“Dis heah cupboard mecks me 'shame', Brer Langford. Dey
ain't a thing fittin' fur sech as you in it. Heah's a pan o' col'
'tater pone an' some cabbage an' side meat, an' dis heah's a few
ords an' eens o fried chicken an' a little passel o' spare-ribs,
piled in wid co'n-brade scraps. Hit don't look much, but hit's
all clean. Heah, you gimme de candle, an' you retch 'em all
down, please, sir; an' I ain't shore, but ef I don't disremember,
dey's de bes' half a loaf o' reeson-cake 'way back in de fur cor-
Dat's hit. Now, dat's some'h'n like. An' now pass down
de butter; an’ ef yer wants a tumbler o'sweet milk wid yo'
’tater, you'll haf ter hop an' go fetch it. Lis'n ter me, fur Gord
sake, talkin' ter Brer Langford same as I'd talk ter a reg'lar
plantation nigger!
Langford hesitated.
“Less'n you desires de sweet milk, Sis'
Johnsing -
“I does truly lak a swaller o'sweet milk wid my 'tater, Brer
Langford, but seem lak 'fo' I'd git it fur myse'f I'd do widout it.
Won't you, please, sir, teck de candle an' fetch it fur me? Go
right thoo my room. Hit's in a bottle, a-settin' outside de right-
han' winder des as you go in. ”
Langford could not help glancing about the widow's chamber
as he passed through. If the other room was cozy and clean,
this one was charming. The white bed, dazzling in its snowy
fluted frills, reminded him of its owner, as she sat in all her
ner.
»
>>
## p. 14132 (#322) ##########################################
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
starched freshness to-night. The polished pine floor here was
nearly covered with neatly fringed patches of carpet, suggestive
of housewifely taste as well as luxurious comfort.
He had returned with the bottle, and was seating himself,
when the disconsolate widow actually burst into a peal of laugh-
ter.
“Lord save my soul! ” she exclaimed, “ef he 'ain't gone an'
fetched a bottle o' beer! You is a caution, Brer Langford! I
wouldn't 'a' had you know I had dat beer in my house fur
nothin'. When I was feelin' so po'ly in my fus' grief, seem lak
I craved sperityal comfort, an' I went an' bought a whole lot
o'lager-beer. I 'lowed maybe I c'd drink my sorrer down, but
'twarn't no use. I c'd drink beer all night, an' hit wouldn't
nuver bring nobody to set in dat rockin’-cheer by my side an'
teck comfort wid me. Doos you think fur a perfesser ter teck
a little beer ur wine when he feels a nachel faintiness is a fatal
sin, Brer Langford ? »
“Why, no, Sis' Johnsing. Succumstances alter cases, an'hit's
de succumstances o' drinkin' what mecks de altercations; an' de
way I looks at it, a Christian man is de onies pusson who oughter
dare to trus' 'isse'f wid de wine cup, 'caze a sinner don'know
when ter stop. ”
“Dat soun' mighty reason'ble, Brer Langford. An' sence you
fetched de beer, now you 'bleege ter drink it. But please, sir,
go, lak a good man, an' bring my milk, on de tother side in de
winder. ”
The milk was brought, and the Rev. Mr. Langford was soon
smacking his lips over the best supper it had been his minis-
terial good fortune to enjoy for many a day.
As the widow raked a second potato from the fire, she re-
marked, in a tone of inimitable pathos: -
“Seem lak I can't git usen ter cookin' fur one. I cooks
fur two ev'y day; an' somehow I fines a little spec o' comfort
in lookin' at de odd po'tion, even ef I has ter eat it myse'f.
De secon’’tater on de hyearth seem lak hit stan's fur company.
Seein' as you relishes de beer, Brer Langford, I's proud you
made de mistake an' fetched it. Gord knows somebody better
drink it! I got a whole passel o’ bottles in my trunk, an' I
don't know what ter do wid 'em. A man what wuck an' talk
an' preach hard as you does, he need a little some'h'n' 'nother
ter keep his cour'ge up. "
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## p. 14133 (#323) ##########################################
RUTH MCENERY STUART
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C
It was an hour past midnight when finally the widow let her
guest out the back door; and as she directed him how to reach
home by a short cut through her field, she said, while she held
his hand in parting: -
“Gord will bless you fur dis night, Brer Langford, fur you is
truly sakerficed yo'se'f fur a po' sinner; an' I b’lieve dey's mo'
true 'ligion in comfortin' a po' lonely widderless 'oman lak I is,
what 'ain't got nobody to stan' by 'er, dan in all de sermons
a-goin': an' now I gwine turn my face back todes my lonely
fireside wid a better hope an' a firmer trus', 'caze I knows de
love o' Gord done sont you ter me. My po' little brade an' meat
warn't highfalutin' nur fine, but you is shared it wid me lak a
Christian, an' I gi'n it ter you wid a free heart. ”
Langford returned the pressure of her hand, and even shook
it heartily during his parting speech:
"Good-night, my dear sister, an' Gord bless you! I feels mo'
courageous an' strenk'n'd myse'f sence I have shared yo' lonely
fireside; an' please Gord, I will make it my juty as well as
my pleasure to he'p you in a similar manner whensomever you
desires my presence. I rejoices to see that you is tryin' wid a
brave heart to rise f'om yo' sorrer. Keep good cheer, my sister,
an' remember dat the Gord o' Aberham an' Isaac an' Jacob - de
patriots o' de Lord - is also de friend ter de fatherless an' wid-
ders, an' to them that are desolate an’ oppressed. ”
With this beautiful admonition, and a last distinct pressure
of the hand, the Rev. 'Mr. Langford disappeared in the darkness,
carefully fastening the top button of his coat as he went, as if
to cover securely the upper layer of raisin-cake which still lay,
for want of lower space, just beneath it within.
He never felt better in his life.
The widow watched his retreating shadow until she dimly saw
one dark leg rise over the rail as he scaled the garden fence;
then coming in, she hooked the door, and throwing herself on
the floor, rolled over and over, laughing until she cried, verily.
“Stan' back, gals, stan' back! ” she exclaimed, rising. “Stan'
back, I say! A widder done haided yer off wid a cook-pot! ”
!
-
With eyes fairly dancing, she resumed her seat before the fire.
She was too much elated for sleep yet.
"I 'clare 'fo' gracious,
I is a devil! ” she chuckled. « Po' Alick - an' po' Steve — an'
po' Jake! ” she continued, pausing after each name with some-
thing that their spiritual presences might have interpreted as a
>
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## p. 14134 (#324) ##########################################
14134
RUTH MCENERY STUART
sigh if they were affectionately hovering near her. "But,” she
added, her own thoughts supplying the connection, “Brer Lang-
ford gwine be de stylishes' one o' de lot. ” And then she really
sighed. “I mus' go buy some mo' beer. Better git two bottles.
He mought ax fur mo', bein' as I got a trunkful. ” And here
alone in her cabin she roared aloud. “I does wonder huc-
come I come ter be sech a devil, anyhow? I 'lowed I was safe
ter risk de beer. Better git a dozen bottles, I reck'n; give 'im
.
,
plenty rope, po' boy! Well, Langford honey, good-night fur to-
night! But perpare, yo'ng man, perpare! And chuckling as
she went, she passed into her own room and went to bed.
The young minister was as good as his promise, and during
the next two months he never failed to stop after every evening
meeting to look after the spiritual condition of the “widder John-
sing ”; while she, with the consummate skill of a practiced hand,
saw to it that without apparent forethought her little cupboard
should always supply a material entertainment, full, savory, and
varied. If on occasion she lamented a dearth of cold dishes,
it was that she might insist on sharing her breakfast with her
guest; when producing from her magic safe a ready-dressed
spring chicken or squirrel, she would broil it upon the coals in
his presence, and the young man would depart thoroughly satu-
rated with the odor of her delightful hospitality.
Langford had heard things about this woman in days gone
by, but now he was pleased to realize that they had all been
malicious inventions prompted by jealousy: Had he commanded
the adjectives, he would have described her as the most gen-
erous, hospitable, spontaneous, sympathetic, vivacious, and witty,
as well as the most artless, of women. As it was, he thought of
her a good deal between visits; and whether the thought moved
backward or forward, whether it took shape as a memory or an
anticipation, he somehow unconsciously smacked his lips and swal-
lowed.
And yet, when one of the elders questioned him as to
the spiritual state of the still silent mourner, he knit his brow,
and answered with a sigh:
“It is hard ter say, my brothers — it is hard ter say. De ole
lady do nourish an' cherish 'er grief mightily; but yit, ef we hol'
off an' don't crowd 'er, I trus' she'll come thoo on de Lord's side
yit. ”
If there had been the ghost of a twinkle in his interlocutor's
eye, it died out, abashed at itself at this pious and carefully
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framed reply. The widow was indeed fully ten years Langford's
senior,- a discrepancy as much exaggerated by outward circum-
stances as it was minimized in their fireside relations.
So matters drifted on for a month longer. The dozen bottles
of beer had been followed by a second, and these again by a
half-dozen. This last reduced purchase of course had its mean-
ing. Langford was reaching the end of his tether. At last there
were but two bottles left. It was Sunday night again.
The little cupboard had been furnished with unusual elabo-
ration, and the savory odors which emanated from its shelves
would have filled the room but for the all-pervading essence of
bergamot with which the widow had recklessly deluged her hair.
Indeed, her entire toilet betrayed exceptional care to-night.
She had not gone to church, and as it was near the hour
for dismissal, she was a trifle nervous; feeling confident that the
minister would stop in, ostensibly to inquire the cause of her
absence. She had tried this before, and he had not disappointed
her.
Finally she detected his familiar announcement, a clearing of
his throat, as he approached the door.
"Lif' up de latch an' walk in, Brer Wolf,” she laughingly
called to him; and as he entered she added, “Look lak you
come in answer to my thoughts, Brer Langford. ”
"Is dat so, Sis' Johnsing? ” he replied, chuckling with delight.
“I knowed some'l' n' 'nother drawed me clean over f'om de chu'ch
in de po'in’-down rain. ”
« Is it a-rainin'? I 'clare, I see yer brung yo' umberel; but
sett'n heah by de fire, I nuver studies 'bout de elemints. I been
studyin' 'bout some'h'n' mo'n rain or shine, I tell yer. ”
"Is yer, Sis' Johnsing? What you been studyin' 'bout ? »
“What I been studyin' 'bout? Nemmine what I been studyin'
'bout! I studyin' 'bout Brer Langford now. De po' man look
so tired an’ frazzled out, 'is eyes looks des lak dorg-wood blor-
soms. You is des nachelly preached down, Brer Langford, an'
you needs a morsel o' some'h'n' 'nother ter stiddy yo' cornstitu-
tion. ” She rose forthwith, and set about arranging the young
man's supper.
“But you 'ain't tol' me yit huccome you 'ain't come ter chu'ch
ter-night, Sis' Johnsing ? ”
“Nemmine 'bout dat now. I ain't studyin' 'bout gwine ter
chu'ch now. I des studyin' 'bout how ter induce de size o' yo'
(C
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RUTH MCENERY STUART
(
eyes down ter dey nachel porportiom. Heah, teck de shovel, an'
rake out a han'ful o' coals, please, sir, an' I'll set dis pan o' rolls
ter bake. Dat's hit. Now kiver de led good wid live coals an’
ashes. Dat's a man! Now time you wrastle wid de j'ints o’ dis
roas' guinea-hen, an' teck de corkscrew an' perscribe fur dis beer
bottle, and go fetch de fresh butter out'n de winder, de rolls '11
be a-singin' Now is de accepted time! )
It was no wonder the young man thought her charming.
Needless to say, the feast, seasoned by a steady flow of hu-
mor, was perfect. But all things earthly have an end; and so,
by-and-by, it was all over. A pattering rain without served to
enhance the genial in-door charm, but it was time to go.
"Well, Sis' Johnsing, hit's a-gittin' on time fur me ter be
a-movin',” said the poor fellow at length - for he hated to leave.
« Yas, I knows it is, Brer Langford,” the hostess answered
with a tinge of sadness, “an'dat ain't de wust of it. ”
How does you mean, Sis' Johnsing? ”
“Ain't I tol yer, Brer Langford, ter-night dat my thoughts
was wid you ? Don't look at me so quizzical, please, sir, 'caze I
got a heavy sorrer in my heart. ”
“A sorrer 'bout me, Sis' Johnsing? How so? ”
“Brer Langford -I-I been thinkin' 'bout you all day, an'-
an'— ter come right down ter de p'int, 1-1-” She bit her lip
and hesitated. I 'feerd I done put off what I ought ter said
ter you tell look lak hit 'll 'mos' bre’k my heart to say it. ”
"Speak out, fur Gord sake, Sis' Johnsing, an' ease yo' min'!
What is yo' trouble ? »
She seemed almost crying. “You — you — you mustn't come
heah no mo', Brer Langford. ”
« “Who- me? Wh-wh-what is I done, Sis' Johnsing? ”
“My Gord! how kin I say it? You 'ain't done nothin', my
dear frien'. You has been Gord's blessin' ter me; but — but — I
'clare 'fo' Gord, how kin I say de word ? But — don't you see
yo’se'f how de succumstances stan'? You is a yo'ng man li'ble
to fall in love wid any lakly yo'ng gal any day, an' ter git mar-
ried — an' of co'se dat's right: but don't you see dat ef a po' lone-
some 'oman lak me put too much 'pendence orn a yo'ng man lak
you is, de time gwine come when he gwine git tired a-walkin'
all de way from chu'ch in de po'in'-down rain des fur charity ter
comfort a lonely sinner pusson lak I is; an'- an' settin' heah by
myse'f ter-night, I done made up my min' dat I gwine 'scuse you
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f'om dis task while I kin stand it. Of co’se I don't say but hit
'll be hard. You is tooken me by de han' an' he'ped me thoo
a dark cloud; but you an' me mus' say far'well ter-night, an'
you — you mustn't come back no mo'. ”
Her face was buried in her hands now, and so she could not
see her guest's storm-swept visage as he essayed to answer her.
“You — you — you — you — talkin' 'bout you c'n stan' it, Sis'
Johnsing, an'- an'- seem lak you 's forgitt'n' all bout me.
