Flowers were fading. Roses, hyacinths, honeysuckle, buttercups and bluebells all gave “sigh for sigh.” ’Twas the last of summer—the hour when birds fly homeward to their nests, wandering bees seek their hives, chickens their roosts. ’Twas twilight, and its dews bathed the blooming clematis, climbing and caressing the latticed porch; a wooing breeze wafted its perfume through Otwell House, and awoke the waves on the slumbering river.

Aunt Phillis had early leave to attend a Baptist prayer meeting, consequently the crickets were having a concert in the kitchen, little darkies were romping merrily on the lawn. Ole Mars was visiting Col. Leonard Hollyday and shooting sora and blue-wing duck on Wild Goose Marsh. Miss Henrietta had just tuned her harp and bade the servants be quiet. Presently all was silence, save the drowsy burr of some insect.

Her voice was mellifluous, her face pure and noble, and the servants worshipped her as the ancient Jews worshipped Queen Esther. She sang, “There is a green hill far away,” and her beautiful fingers at times touched the strings softly as snowflakes that fall upon the warm cheek of a maiden and melt into tears—as did her voice.

Below the porch sat Little Billy an enrapt listener. Just as the song was ended Juba Viney strolled by, and Little Billy said:

“Howdy, Juba! Which way you bin?”

“Ain’ bin no wha; jes’ gwine.”

“Wha you gwine?”

“Gwine ter Mage Rudd’s^[14] sto’; tells me mus’rat hides is riz—wuf uh levy. I’m gwine ter sell mine.”

“Well, wait tell I chain Jasper, den I’ll go wid you.”

“What’s de matter wid Jasper, Billy?”

“Why, uh coon bit him in de foot lars nite. Nebber wud hab bit him ef’n Jasper hadn’ been ’fused. I smoked de coon outin uh holler, an’ de smoke ’fused de dog.”

“I’s glad futto hab you go, Billy, kase I wants yo’ ’sponsibility. I’s gwine ter buy some things at de sto’. I specks ter fill bof dese bags, dat’s full ub mus’rat hides, wid what I buy.”

“I wud teck meh mus’rat hides, too, but I sprain meh ankle, back, ahms, risses an’ han’s lars nite clim’in’ uh tree. I ain’ able ter tote nuffin, so I kyant teck meh skins ter nite.”

“Tho’t you say you smoke de coon out?”

“So I did, but dis wuz uh nubba coon.”

“I hope Mage Rudd won’ be shut up; I wan’ ter git sompin nice fuh Susan. She ’bout done promise she gwine ter hab me, Billy; wud uh merried me long ’go, ’ceppin’ fuh dat yaller niggah dat dribes fuh Mrs. Rodgers. She nebba bin in lub wid Jerry; hit’s only when Mrs. Rodgers cum ter see Miss Henrietta, an’ he got on glubs dat’s got fuz on ’em, uh ban’ ’roun’ he hat; bras’ buttons on he coat, white-top boots on, an’ uh sorter pine burr on de side ub he hat, an’ al’ays hab he pocket full ub can’y dat’s got vusses in ’em. Billy, don’ you say nuffin boutin hit, but I’m gwine ter hab meh pockets made bigga, an’ gwine ter hab one pocket full ub dat can’y all de time. What you s’pose dat can’y got in it? Hit almos’ cunjah Susan.

“Ef’n Susan cud jes’ see me once dress up dat way, why, man, she cudn’ resis’ me futto sabe huh life. Nite befo’ lars’ when she seed me gwine ter Zion, wid meh yaller pants on dat’s got black stripes down de legs, dem I bo’t at Mage Rudd’s, she jes’ wuz charm’; an’ when I show’d huh meh new par ub gallisters^[15] I got ter ware wid dem pants, she ’low, ‘Juba, you sut’ny do look peart.’ When Aunt Sookey seed me she sez, ‘Juba, you luck tu sweet ter lib.’ Den Uncle Stephen he smole uh grin an’ say, ‘Wait tell Jerry cum prancin’ erlong, you won’ think so.’ Den dey cummenc’ titterin’ an’ pokin’ deah necks out jes’ like uh passel ub geese wid young goslin’s; mos’ ’gusted me! Billy, Mrs. Rodgers al’ays call dat niggah Jerry-Myah. I nebba knew’d any niggah ’roun’ heah name’ Myah, did you?”

“Not dat I kin recommember. He cum outin de Cyahrmichael fambly, an’ dey monstus cute sort ub niggahs.”

“Well, he ain’ ’stressin’ me! I walk home fum Zion lars’ Sunday wid Susan. She did luck tu cute in dat new Josey ub hern! I dunno which ’track huh mos’, de gre’t sermon ub Pawson Demby er meh yaller pants. He prech fum de book ub Daniel erboutin de time de William goat (Pawson Demby say ’twan’ perlite ter say Billy goat in de pulpit) fit an’ smut de ram an’ breck he hohns. He ’cluded fum two profits (I fogit de name ub de fus’ one, but hit got Zek in it), an’ hit wuz all erboutin de new moon, six lam’s an’ uh ram. De udder profit wuz de gre’t Gencis, an’ Pawson Demby ’splain ter us ’bout de two hun’erd yews an’ twenty rams dat Jacob sont See-saw.”

“Juba, you mean Esau, de hunter.”

“Yas, dat’s hit, Billy. You see, I kyant read ter ’fresh meh mem’ry. Well, hit wuz uh real farmer’s sermon, but I wuz glad when de ’cludin’ time cum, kase Pawson Demby prech two hours an’ uh harf, de pew wuz so crowded an’ we sot so close dat bof meh feet wen’ ’sleep; truf is, dey got so tired, an’ ’twuz so wahm, I wud hab tuck meh shoes orf, but I didn’ hab no stockin’s on. Mrs. Rodgers’ Jerry wan’ at chuch. Tilly, he sistah, say he had uh chill. Wish hit had shake he haid orf! So I walk home wid Susan. When she got in de kitchen an’ tuck huh shoes orf she say ergin, ‘Juba, you sut’ny do look peart!’ Den she put huh han’ in huh pocket, pull out one dem can’y vusses, an’ she say hit say:

“Den she pull out nubba, an’ hit say—

“Den she put huh han’s un’er de ap’on strings ’roun’ huh ’squisit’ waise—so! ’Cose I knewed what dat me’nt, so I tuck uh good tase ub dem big sweet lips ub huh’n. Den she try ter look like she ’fended, an’ say, ‘Go ’way, Juba; you al’ays wan’ ter be pus-nal.’ Den she skip ’long ter de dairy, an’ huh feet tech de groun’ jes’ ez sorf an’ lite ez uh ’possum’s. Bimeby she cum back wid huh ahms full ub uh gre’t big crock ub clabba, all kivvered ober wid brown sugah. Den I hilt huh an’ kiss’d huh sho’ nuff, mo’n six er seben times. I’d uh kiss huh six er seben hun’erd times, but I heahd Miss Henrietta cummin’ ter see boutin some ginger cakes she cookin’ in de stobe. I wuz sut’ny glad to heah huh, tu, kase I specks Susan wud uh scolded me pow’ful. Dunno tho’; kase when Miss Henrietta cum tippin’ in so sorf dat huh little feets wudn’ uh mash uh rose ef’n de kitchen flo’ bin kivvered wid ’em, Susan she wuz uh singin’, ‘Dar is uh happy lan’ fa’, fa’ erway,’ same ez uh martingale. How-some-ebba, she mus’ uh bin uh little ’fused, kase she cummenc’ ter stir dat clabba—when I heah Miss Henrietta an’ breck uh ’way—same ez hit wuz eggs, butta, cawn meal an’ butta milk, gittin’ stirred fuh johnny-cake. I’s teckin dis bag futto carry what I’s gwine ter buy huh. I wudn’ teck uh kyart-load ub mus’rat hides fuh dat gal’s lub! An’ ef’n Mage Rudd is got ’em, I’s gwine ter buy harf peck ub dat sweet can’y dat’s got vusses, some ammons, resins, dates an’ apples—’nuff futto fill dis bag. Den fuh mehsef I wan’ ter git uh mouf orgin, two mo’ juice-hyarps, an’ wid de res’ ub de money I’s gwine ter see ef’n I kyant buy uh new par ub pants, yaller wid black stripes, an’ uh fiddle.”

“You better buy sompin’ dat will meck money.”

“What’s dat?”

“Why, some ub dem new kine ub steel traps, ’sted ub wasein’ yo’ money on can’y, resins, an’ sich like fuh dat gal Susan futto eat wid Mrs. Rodgers’ Jerry. Juba, you sut’ny mus’ t’ink ’tain’ no trubble ter ketch mus’rats an’ skin ’em, de way you wase yo’ money; mo’n dat, I wants ter borry two dollars fum you mehsef tell I sell meh mus’rat hides. Now, what you wan’ wid two par yellow pants’ Dey ve’y putty, but one par nuff fuh dis summer, dat’s harf gone.”

“Well, Billy, I spile dem pants day befo’ yistiddy, which I will tell you boutin, tho’ hits uh composation dat’s ornpleasan’ ter me. Well, I had bin haulin’ cawn all day ter Cap’n Stitchberry’s schooner, de Margaret Jane. I wan’ ter dress up ter teck Susan ter de ’bate at Zion Chuch, so I jes’ fed Crow an’ Ab’ham, tu’n ’em loose, an’ didn’ teck deah yoke off. Fus’ place, dat white steer Crow is dangersome ter projic wid—Uncle Stephen say de gre’tes’ kicker he ebba saw; an’ he say de nite Crow wuz bohn wuz de wus’ nite he ebba saw. Blowin’, dark an’ snowin’—so dark dat’s why dey call him Crow. Uncle Stephen say when uh leetle ca’f he wud kick his ma, ole Snowball, quick ez he wud kick you. So, ’cose I didn’ wan’ dat steer ter kick me big ez he is. I heahd Uncle Silas say one time he wuz plowin’ wid Dove an’ Pigeon—dey wuz de bigges’ an’ strongis’ mules Mars Nickey had. He plow’d up uh yaller-jackets’ nes’, an’ he wuzn’ watchin Dove er Pigeon; he wuz jes’ watchin’ an’ fightin’ dem yaller-jackets. He say he had mos’ wo’ out uh bran’ new straw hat fightin’ ’em, an’ wuz mos’ ’zausted, when dey got on Dove. She gib uh kick, bof huh feet hit him on de haid an’ gib him de haidache all day. An’ dat uh steer name Sampson—an’ he wan’ sech uh pow’ful steer neba—kick him on de haid wid one foot, an’ he haid ache fuh two days.

“Well, ez I wuz tellin’ you, I hadn’ mo’n fed Crow an’ Ab’ham, when dat new oberseer, Dan Sharp, cum ’long an’ sez ter me, jes’ ez I wuz startin’ ter see Susan, ‘Why didn’ you teck de yoke of’n dem steers?’ So I say, ‘Kase I fogot hit!’ ‘Well, den,’ he say, ’you lazy roscal, teck hit orf now!’ I wuz all dress up in meh bes’ summer close, an’ I recommembered what you say boutin dat oberseer; so I riz meh haid up an’ say, sassy-like, ‘You roscal yo’sef.’ Billy, wid dat he fairly foam at de mouf, run arfter me fas’ ez uh colt; den I run an’ run, but he gain on me (you see, I had meh shoes on), an’ I wuz so feard gittin’ kotch an’ whupped, da wuz nuffin lef’ fuh me but ter run in de creek, at de mouf ub Haylan’ Branch, up ter meh neck—wid dem new yaller pants on. Arfter I had bin in de watah boutin twenty minutes, mebby uh harf hour, long nuff fuh Dan Sharp ter git his bref back, he say, ‘Who uh roscal, you black imp; me er you?’ I sez rite quick, ‘I is!’ Den he say, ‘You kin cum outin de creek.’ Den I tu’n fool, ez hit tu’n out, an’ say, ‘I ain’ gwine ter cum out; I’s gwine ter suffah in heah. I’s gwine ter git de cramps, an’ uh mis’ry in meh back, an’ den go an’ tell Mars Nickey an’ Miss Henrietta how I kotch dem cramps.’ Den Dan Sharp say, ‘Ef’n you gwine ter tell yo’ Mars Nickey an’ Miss Henrietta, den I will keep you in heah tell midnite.’ Den he teck out he watch an’ say, ‘I’ll send de fus’ one ub de chillun dat cum ’long de road fuh meh supper. I ain’ sorry ter stay heah, kase I heah tell ub de dancin’ parties de witches hab in dis branch, an’ I wanter see how long hit will teck ’em ter gib you spavins when dey gits ter dancin’ an’ meddowtatin’ ’roun’ you an’ tryin’ ter meck sturrups in yo’ hyah.’

“Billy, I had meh hyah all tied up in twisses, but when de oberseer talk dat fashion, meh hyah riz up on meh haid so quick hit bus’ dem twisses. I mos’ had uh spavin, sho’ nuff. When meh bref cum back I say, ‘Befo’ de Lawd, Mr. Sharp, I promis’ not ter tell.’ Den he lemmy cum out. Well, Billy, ef’n you cud hab seed de colour de salt watah tu’n dem lubly pants, you’d uh wep’. Do you recommember uh ole white-eyed, pie-coloured hoss dat good ole Quakah, Mars Isaac Atkinson, had name Skeuball?”

“’Cose I do. Mars Isaac use ter say witches made stirrups in he main, an’ sometimes rid him ober ter Fausley.” [Billy was that witch!]

“Well, de colour ub dem pants ’mine me ub ole Skeuball; I kyant ’magin’ what de man dat made de muslin cud uh put in hit. An’ Billy, I kyant ondastan’ how cum Mr. Sharp run me in dat creek. I’m mo’n twice ez big ez you is, an’ you say when he cuss you, you cuss him back. ’Cose arfter what you spressify ter me, when he sass me I rite ’way ’cluded ter sass him. So I say, ‘You roscal yo’sef.’ Billy you no de consequation ub dat miration. I ’ten’ ter ax Mr. Sharp when he meck up wid me how cum hit dat Billy kin cuss him an’ I kyant ebin sass him.”

“Juba, don’ tu’n fool ergin. Don’ say nuffin ter him nohow; hit will jes’ meck him mad ergin, an’ dat gre’t big man mite breck bof our necks. Da wuz uh checkeration in our composation de nite I tole you, fuh Mage Rudd tuck his broom an’ fairly swep’ me outin his sto’ fuh spillin’ mullasses on de sto’ flo’, an’ I wuz tu fusstified ter tell you de res’ ub what I did boutin Mr. Sharp. Well, Juba, de res’ is, when I wan’ ter cuss him I goes way up ter de top ub de hill ’hin’ de bawn. Den I looks all ’roun’ an’ ’roun’, an’ ef’n I don’ see Mr. Sharp no wha neah, I jes’ cuss, cuss, an’ cusses him; an’ dat way, hit do mo’ good dan yo’ way, kase you kin git mad ez you wan’ ter, spressify yo’sef jes’ ez yo’ wan’ ter, an’ hit don’ teck de colour outin yo’ pants.”

“Well, Billy, I ain’ fogot de spilein’ ub dem pants, I tell you. I bin t’inkin’ ’bout breckin’ meh wud an’ tyin’ meh haid up’n uh hankcheah an’ tellin’ Mars Nickey de ve’y fus’ time he ax me how I feel. Den I’ll say, “Po’ly, Mars Nickey; ve’y po’ly eber sence Mr. Sharp run me in yo’ creek at de foot ub Haylan’ Branch mash an’ kep’ me stan’in’ in da mos’ all nite tramplin’ on yo’ oysters. Now, what do you t’ink, Billy, boutin dat?”

“Ez you gwine ter tell Marster in de summah time er de wintah time?”

“Dunno, Billy; I ain’ t’ink ’bout dat.”

“Well, teck my ’vice an’ tell him in de summah time, kase boutin uh harf hour arfter you tell him, da will be tu pussons stan’in’ in de creek up ter deah moufs—one will be Mr. Sharp, tudda, Juba Viney.”