“Whut yer givin’ dat boy, Zeek?—I boun’ hit ’tain’ nuthin’ fur no good.”

Phyllis started for the garden gate, where a suspicious conference was going on between Willis and the gardener. “Howcum yer can’t op’n yer haid whin fokes speaks ter yer?” Seeing his unwillingness to reply, she threw her apron partly over her head and quickened her pace.

“Me an’ de lit’le man wus jes’ fixin’ ter make yer ’quainted wid er present I fotch him fum ov’r t’oth’r side de creek,” explained Zeek.

“Whar de present?” she interrupted with annoyance, as she perceived he was trying to tease her.

She took the little boy by the hand and started for the house.

“Wait, Mammy,” he begged, pulling back; “Unk Zeek, please gimme the snakes.”

“Give you whut, in de name er de Lawd!” exclaimed Phyllis.

“Jes’ two lit’le gyarters I kotch an’ put in er bottle fur de chile,” Zeek explained again.

“Yas,” returned Phyllis angrily, “you kotch dem snakes fur nuthin’ but ter tu’n ’em loose ’bout my foots, soon es you gits me in er tight place—I knows yer. Yer orter be ’shame er yo’se’f,—an’ callin’ yo’se’f er deac’n, too!”

Zeek threw his head back and gave a roaring laugh. “Whew!” he finished, “Sis’ Phyllis, you is de slickes’ ’ooman I ev’r seed. How yer know I gwine tu’n dem gyrters loose on yer?” and Zeek laughed again until he held to the gate for support.

Phyllis turned without deigning a reply.

“Hole on, Sis’ Phyllis,” Zeek ran and caught her by the arm, “hole on, Sist’r,—you ain’ mad sho’ nuf, is yer?”

“Tu’n me loose, Zeekiel,” she demanded furiously.

Instead, he caught the other arm also. “I ain’ gwine let yer go mad like yer is,” then consiliatingly, “yer knows dem gyart’rs snakes can’t bite nobody—I jes’ wanter see yer dance er lit’le,” and again he laughed, as the picture presented itself.

“I gwine call Miss Lucy, ef yer doan take yer han’s off’n me,” stolidly demanded Phyllis.“All right,” he said holding on as tightly as ever, “I jes’ want yer ter wait hyah tell I goes down ter de orchard an’ gets yer er hat full er dem big peaches.” This argument lessened the rigidity of her face. “Dey’s de fines’ thing ter swage mis’ry er de speeret yer ev’r seed.” She allowed him to shove her gently to the ground under the lilac bushes. “Hyah, set right hyah tell I comes back.” Seeing the old woman partly restored to good humor, he slammed the garden gate behind him and went down the path, singing.

“Come on, Mammy, less us get my lit’le green snakes Unk Zeek brought me,” Willis started back to the garden.

“Come back hyah, boy,” as she caught him by the skirt of his blouse, “dem snakes wusn’t brung hyah fur you, Zeek jes’ makin’ er ’cat’s paw’ er you. He ’ceivin’ you jes’ like Mist’r Rattlesnake done Miss Eve.”

“No, he ain’t, Unk Zeek loves me,” defended the boy.

“Dat’s jes’ whut Miss Eve think whin de sarpint temp’ her.”

“What’s er sarpint?” He still pulled against her.

“Er sarpint is er snake, honey—dat’s jes’ his scriptur’ name—come on an’ set in Mammy’s lap an’ she’ll tell yer ’bout how ole Mist’r Rattlesnake fix hisse’f up so fine, way back yonder time, an’ come struttin’ roun’ Miss Eve. He nuv’r come crawlin’ like snakes does dese days neeth’r, nor, suh, he come walkin’ plum on de een’ er his tail; an’ he look s’ fine an’ starchy dat—”

“Didn’t he have to hop?” Willis scrambled into her lap.“Nor, de Lawd fix hit so he doan hatt’r hop. I’m tellin’ ’zackly de trufe,—he come walkin’ on de een’ er his tail,” she insisted, “an he look s’ fine an’ gran’, like some er de fine men folks, dat Miss Eve cudn’t see how black wid sin he wus.”

“You are not black with sin,” and he pulled the wrinkled face to him and kissed it.

“Bless my baby,” looking into his face as she hugged him, “dis hyah black on Mammy’s face is nig’r black,” she squeezed him again, “but sin black, like Mr. Rattlesnake got, stays in fokeses hearts whar hits hard ter see, whin hit’s kiv’r’d up wid fine man’rs an’ er slick tongue.

“So whin Mist’r Rattlesnake come bowin’ an scrapin’ ter Miss Eve wid dat beav’r hat on, an’ dat walkin’ stick whirlin’ roun’ in his han’, she git so airish tryin’ ter th’ow off man’rs like his’n, dat whin he tell her ter eat dat pis’n apple, she et hit ’dout knowin’ whut she doin’. Howsumev’r, whin Mist’r Rattlesnake but’n up his long tail coat sort’r keerles’ like, an’ strut hisse’f off, Miss Eve, she ’gun ter feel de mis’ry er dat pis’n apple.”

“Did her mama give her some castor oil?” Willis sympathized with Miss Eve.

“No, my Lawd, she sot dar an’ holl’r tell Adam come an’ ax her whut ail ’er. She start ter laffin’ she did, an’ say: ‘I jes’ callin’ you ter eat one dem fine meller apples Mist’r Rattlesnake fotch’ me!’”

“Did Mist’r Adam eat it?” asked Willis with much concern.

“Who gwine hind’r him fum eatin’ hit? An’ de Eveses is bin pis’nin’ de Adamses ev’r sense—you ’memb’r whut Mammy tell yer, an’ look out fur ’em.”

“Why didn’t Mist’r Adam kill Mist’r Rattlesnake?” he resented.

“’Caze his own sin done make him er coward, dat’s de trufe!—Whin er man do mean an’ low life tricks hisse’f, he ain’ got de face ter stan’ up an’ whup nobody fur doin’ de same thing; but Adam didn’t hatt’r whup de Sarpint ’caze de Lawd knock ’im flat ’pon de groun’ an’ tromp on ’im, an’ tell ’im he got ter crawl de res’ er his life, ter keep up wid his low down ways.”

Mary Van’s voice sounded from the gate, “I can’t open it.”

Willis sprang to her assistance, but Phyllis caught him: “Will yer run right straight back, ef Mammy let yer onfas’n de gate?”

The promise was given, and in a moment Willis returned with: “Mammy, less show Mary Van m’ two lit’le green snakes.” He was off in a second, but Phyllis again detained him.

“Nummine ’bout dem gyrt’r snakes,—I ain’ got start’d ter tellin’ ’bout Mist’r Rattlesnake yit. Come on hyah Ma’y Van, an’ set down on de grass, an’ Mammy gwine spread out her ap’on fur you ter set on, ’caze she hatt’r hole dis wiggly boy in her lap.”

“I want to see Willis’s snakes,” demurred the little girl.

Phyllis looked thoughtfully a moment, then throwing her hands up suddenly, “I wond’r is enybody got de news ’bout Mist’r Rattlesnake’s toofake? You ain’ heah nuthin’ is yer, Ma’y Van?”

Mary Van shook her head in the negative.

“Who you shakin’ dat haid at, gal?”“No, ma’m,” quickly corrected the child.

“De las’ time de snake doct’r come by hyah, he wus huntin’ fur some yerbs ter put in Mist’r Rattlesnake’s toof,” continued the old woman in an interested tone. “Miss Eve, she tell de doct’r ter g’long an’ git de same kind er yerbs he give fur rattlesnake bite, dat Mist’r Rattlesnake jes’ got mad an’ bite his own se’f, an’ dat whut ail his toof.”

“Who made him mad?” Mary Van knelt on the edge of the apron.

“De Lawd make him mad whin He tell him he can’t git no mo’ free vit’als out’n Eden. De Lawd say, ‘Nor, suh, yer got ter wurk, an’ sweat, an’ crawl fur vit’als de res’ er yo’ life—an’ you an’ Miss Eve gwine fight one nuth’r tell one er yer gits kilt.’”

“When are they going to fight?” asked Willis eagerly.“Dey fit dat ve’y day; an’ whin hit git too hot fur Miss Eve, she take an’ jump on top er ole man Elerphant’s back ’fo’ Mist’r Rattlesnake cud git her. He try ter crope up ole man Elerphant’s legs, but Elerphant keep his foots wurkin’ s’ much, an’ his snout flyin’ roun’ s’ tur’bul, dat Mist’r Rattlesnake hatt’r keep out’n de way. Miss Eve she set up an’ laf’ at him, an’ dat make Mist’r Rattlesnake so mad, he rip an’ tar’, an’ fome at de mouf, an’ mos’ turn hisse’f wrong side out’ards tryin’ ter hop up an’ bite Miss Eve. Miss Eve she th’ow herse’f eroun’ laffin’ an’ say: ‘Ynan, ynan,’ at ’im, tell Mist’r Rattlesnake git so mad he jes’ up, an’ bite his own se’f.”

“Did it kill him?” Mary Van crawled further on the apron and sat beside the little boy.“Hit wud er kilt him ef he hadn’t er run’d an’ got dem rattlesnake yerbs mouty quick,—an’ dat’s howcum Miss Eveses’ chilluns know how ter kyore rattlesnake bite.”

“How, Mammy?” demanded Willis.

“’Caze Miss Eve watch de yerbs Mist’r Rattlesnake eat ter swage his pis’n, den she tell her chilluns ter eat de same kine ef he ev’r bite dem.”[2]

“Did Mist’r Rattlesnake bite Miss Eve’s children?” asked Willis.“He bite ’em ev’y time he git er chanct.”

“But it don’t kill them, because they know how to get cured, don’t they, Mammy Phyllis?” Mary Van disliked tragedy.

“Miss Eve’s Injun chillun kyores derse’f, but de res’ er de fambly dies.”

“No, Mist’r Rattlesnake shan’t bite Miss Eve’s children,” said Mary Van, shaking her curls.

“You late in de day gittin’ in yo’ sayso, ’caze Mist’r Rattlesnake bite you ef you fools wid ’im; he ain’ nuv’r git in er good hum’r wid nobody sense de Lawd make him wurk fur his livin’. He bin crawlin’ crookid, an’ doin’ fokes crookid ev’r sense.”

“How does he work?” Willis pulled her face to him.

“He wurk makin’ uth’r fokes do his wurk fur ’im, dat’s how he wurk. His ole ’ooman an’ de chillun keep de sto’, an’ Unk Toad Frog try ter wurk de farm fur ’im, but Mist’r Rattlesnake done eat up so miny er de Toad Frog fambly dat Unk Toad ain’ got nuf han’s lef’ ter make er crap. He tell Mist’r Rattlesnake ef he doan git sumbody ter hope him, he ain’ gwine have no corn, so Mist’r Rattlesnake take out down de big road huntin’ fur farm han’s, he do. He come ter er passel er Hop’r Grasses settin’ down on de side de road doin’ nuthin’, an’ he tell ’em ef dey come an’ hope him raise er crap er corn, he’ll give ’em ha’f de crap. Well, suh, dem Hop’r Grasses plow an’ hoe, an’ weed, an’ pick bugs off an’—”

“Mammy, don’t call them ‘hopper grasses,’ Mary Van says you must say ‘Grass-hoppers.’”“In de name er de Lawd, whut do Ma’y Van know ’bout varmints an’ beastes?”

“My papa says you must call them Grass-hoppers,” protested Mary Van.

“I doan speck Mist’r Hop’r Grass menshun ter yo’ pa dat Hop’r wus jes’ er nickname, did he?”

The little girl was obliged to acknowledge that no such communication had taken place.

“Den he ain’ got no ’pin’ons ter scat’r on de subjec’—Hop’r Grass say he wush ter de Lawd fokes’d stop nam’n’ him hine part b’fo’, ennyhow. He say he plum ti’ed white fokes med’lin’ in his ’far’s—”

“Mammy, go on about Mister Rattlesnake,” Willis began to fidget.

“Set still den, lemme see whar ’bouts I wus at—”“The Hopper Grasses were working in the field,” Mary Van prompted.

“Dat’s de trufe, dat’s jes’ whar dem po’ things wus at. Lawdee, how dem varmints jes’ nachelly wurk derse’fs mouty nigh ter death. Bimeby, de corn ’gun ter tos’l an’ git ripe, an’ Mist’r Rattlesnake see de harves’ ain’ fur off, an’ he know he bleeg’d ter ’vide dat corn wid dem Hop’r Grasses. He lay out on de creek bank an’ study how he gwine ter cheat ’em. One day de Hop’r Grasses wus er settin’ down in de shade er de corn jes’ waitin’ fur Mist’r Rattlesnake ter give de wurd ter go ter cuttin’, whin Mist’r Rattlesnake crope up ter de back er de fiel’ an’ clim’ on top er de fence an’ give er crack er his tail so loud dat de po’ Hop’r Grasses scat’r all ov’r de country ev’y which er way. Dey wus so skeer’d, hit take ’em er long time fo’ dey darsen’t ter come back ter see whut ’twus skeer’d ’em. By dat time, Mist’r Rattlesnake had done trench hisse’f on dis side de law. Yas, suh, he tak’n his seat ’pon top er dat gate, an’ ’fuse ter let er one on ’em come in de fiel’. He tell ’em dey done flew’d off an’ lef’ him ’fo’ harves’ time, an’ dee done broke der corntrack, an’ no law ain’ gwine hole him ter his’n, an’ dey mout jes’ es well ter g’long off an’ git ernuth’r job.”

“Didn’t the Hopper Grasses fight him?” Willis’ fists closed at the thought.

“Fight? Whut chanct wud dey had ’ginst dat low down Rattlesnake?” lifting Mary Van from her apron and trying to pull herself up by the bushes. “Dey done whut ev’ybody does dat runs up ’ginst snake law—dey got swindl’d.”“What’s snake law?” he tried to assist her.

“Snake law is sin law, doan you nuv’r fergit dat,” she smoothed her apron out, and adjusted the little boy’s blouse, “an’ whin you gits ter be er big man like yo’ pa, jes’ recoleck whut yo’ Mammy tole yer, dat law whut ain’t right right, is snake law, an’ dem whut foll’rs ’long b’hime hit has got ter go in er crook’d track. ’Memb’r dat long es you live, Mammy’s man.”

Willis again begged to show Mary Van the green snakes, when Phyllis exclaimed, “Sakes er live, look at de peaches dat nigg’r Zeek is got.”