Bypaths In Dixie Part 13

"Did Jack Frost bite little Willow Tree?"

"He don't bite 'em less'n dey gits hard-haid'd an' sa.s.sy him. But hyah come lit'le Aspin, an' lit'le Sugar Maple, an' dey says Lit'le 'Simmon Tree an' de res' uv de tree chillun is reddy ter come, soon es ole Unk'

Sun warm up de room fur 'em er lit'le. Bimeby, all uv 'em gits der haids an' hands out, 'cep'n Pine Tree chile. Ev'ybody axin' Miss Vilet, an' Miss Honey-suckle an' all uv 'em wharbouts Pine Tree chile wus at. Pres'ntly ole Tall Pine say, he do: 'Jes' 'ten' ter yer own biznes', my boy know whut he doin'. He ain' gwine come up hyah rippin' an' tar'in' 'roun', an'

den hatt'r stan' dar an' die in his tracks. Whin enny er my fambly comes up in de woods, dey comes ter stay,' sez he: 'De res' er you all goes off in de winter time, but me an' my fokes stays right hyah; darfo', I done lernt my chillun ter git er good start 'fo' dey comes thu!'

"I tell yer, Pine Tree chile wus workin' hard ter tap wat'r so he kin keep up wid de res' er de trees atter he jines de woods."

"How can he tap water?" interrupted Willis.

"Dey taps. .h.i.t wid der roots. Sometimes er pine tree whut ain't no big'r'n my han' is got roots fifteen foots long. An' I tell yer Pine Tree tellin'

de trufe, his boy know der fambly bleege ter have wat'r ter live on, an'

he ain't gwine take no stan' in dis woel he know he can't keep up wid. De trees dey talks 'bout him mouty bad at fus', but he don't pay no 'tenshun ter 'em, he jes' mine his own biznes', an' bimeby he git big 'nuf ter look on de top uv all 'em."

"Did he look down on the top of Mist'r Wise Oak?" broke in Willis.

"Tall Pine so high an' straight hisse'f, he ain't thinkin' 'bout de top er n.o.body's haid. He know Mist'r Wise Oak's de big'es' man on Tinker k.n.o.b an'

he proud ter keep comp'ny wid him."

"Who was running against Wise Oak?" the race for mayor still lingering in his mind.

"Well, son, dar wus er heap uv 'em dat want ter git in, but dey can't git n.o.body ter put 'em up. Lombody Poplar ax Holl'r Tree ter put him up, but Holl'r Tree tell him ter look at hisse'f, an' see how fokes 'ud t'ar him ter pieces. He say he dunno howc.u.m.

"Holl'r Tree say, 'Whut's you done ter make fokes vote fur you? You doan give no fruit, an' you too stingy ter eb'n stretch yer arms out an' make shade fur ennybody.'

"Lombody say, 'Yer doan want me ter spile m' shape does yer?'

"Holl'r Tree say, 'Dat's. .h.i.t. You thinks too much 'bout yer own se'f ter serve de woods.' But I ain' got time ter tell yer all whut de trees talks erbout. I jes' wanter tell yer 'bout whut Mist'r bad 'Simmon Tree got.

"Whin he wus er lit'le boy tree, he all de time bein' hard-haided an'

makin' fusses twixt de trees er de beastes er enybody dat 'ud lis'n ter him. His ma whoop him er heap 'bout tellin' tales, an' meddlin' in fokes'

'fars, but ev'y time Bob Win' come thu de woods 'Simmon Tree'd lean way down ter de groun' totin' tales ter sumbody. One time Mist'r Brindle Cow come walkin' long thu de woods, huntin' fur some nice lit'le chaws er wile flow'rs, an' 'Simmon Tree hol'r fur him ter come set down an' talk ter him. Mister Brindle say he ain' got no time ter fool wid chillun. Wid dat 'Simmon Tree holl'r back: 'Yer bet'r take time, 'caze ev'y body know you done bin runn'd out'n de pastur'.' Whoopee! Mist'r Brindle Cow give er jump an' lan' hisse'f 'pon top er dat sa.s.sy little tree, an' I tell yer he nuv'r lef' dar tell he had tromp 'Simmon Tree clean down ter de groun'.

Den he curl his tail in de air an' go bellerin' back ter de pastur'.

"'Simmon Tree sorter raise up one fing'r, den he lif' his haid up er lit'le bit, but he hurt so bad near 'bout his foots dat he cry an' beg sumbody ter please hope him up.

"Jes' den Mist'r Man an' his lit'le boy come ridin' thu dar on Miss Race Hoss. Mist'r Man stop, he do, an' say, 'Look at dat nice lit'le 'Simmon Tree sumbody done tromp'd down. I'm gwine tie hit up an' give hit er chanct,' sez he. So him an' de lit'le boy liftes. .h.i.t up, an' 'Simmon Tree holl'r, 'Oh! Lawdy! yer's killin' me,' but dey ties him up an' put sticks up 'ginst him ter keep him fum fallin' down, an' 'tain' long 'fo' de hu't part wus kur'd tergeth'r fine, an', by de time he wus grow'd up, n.o.body cud tell he ev'r wus er bad lit'le boy dat mos' got kilt by his badness.

Oh, he wus er starchy lookin' tree I tell yer. Look like he wus de fines'

lookin' uv all de tree chillun."

"One day Bob Win' put on his fine linnin duster an' he come er projeckin'

an' frolickin' 'roun' de Reed gals down in de Cane Break. Dey has er heap er fun, I tell yer. Bob allus crackin' his jokes ter 'em tell dey mos'

die fallin' 'ginst one nuth'r laffin'.

"'Simmon Tree git so mad 'caze he can't fly 'roun' an' projeck wid de gals like Bob, dat he 'fuse ter speak ter Bob's howdy. Bob he sorter laf an'

flutt'r 'Simmon Tree's leaves back'ards. 'Simmon Tree git mad es fire den, an' he tell him ter 'clar out!'

"He say, 'You does er heap er braggin' an' bl.u.s.terin' in dese parts Bob Win', but I ain' nuv'r seed nuthin' in yer but bad mann'rs.'

"Bob say, 'I see yer done forgit de les'n Brer Brindle Cow learnt yer whin you wus lit'le.'

"'Simmon Tree say, 'I ain' skeer'd er all de Mist'r Cows in de pastur', an' you th'ow'd in ter boot. You ain' nuthin' but er win' bag ennyhow.'

"Bob Win' say, 'Git reddy, suh, we gwine proof whose de bes' man 'fo'

sundown.'

"Bob go ax his pa, ole man Harricane, ter loan him his cyarpet bag, he tell him he want ter take sum fightin' close 'long on er trip he gwine on thu de woods. Ole Kerlum-bang Thunder say he gwine 'long ter see de fun.

Po'-Down Rain say he gwine too, but Bob tell 'em he doan want n.o.body ter hope him.

"Po'-Down Rain says he ain' gwine hope n.o.body, he say, 'Mist'r Wise Oak sont fur me er mont' ergo, an' I ain' had time ter go yit, but I'm gwine now, 'caze I wants ter see you whin you tu'ns yose'f loose.'

"Ole Kerlum-bang Thund'r say, 'I ain' gwine hu't n.o.body, I'm jes' gwina shoot off er few fier wurks, an' rat'le 'roun' er lit'le.'

"Bob see he can' do nuthin' wid 'em, so he start off. Fus' he come sorter sof' whrrrrrrrr, whuuuuuuuu. All de trees lafs an' howdy's ter one nuth'r 'cep' 'Simmon Tree. He 'fuse ter russ'le so much es er leaf. Bob come Brrrrrrrrr, sorter strong like, de leaves on de groun' try ter hop up an'

cap'r wid dem on de trees, an' de Reed gals wus jes' laffin' an' th'owin'

derse'fs erbout scand'lous. 'Simmon Tree ain' flutt'r er leaf, 'cep'n whin he bleeg'd ter. Bob Win' come Brrrrrrrr, Whrrrrrrrr, Brrrrr, Brrrrrrrr, Whrrrrrr, Zuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzzzzzzzzzz, whoopee! I tell yer he's comin' now! He rip an' t'ar, he do, ringin' an' twistin' ev'ything dat gits in his way. Ole Kerlum-bang Thunder give er clap an' tetch off er fier crack'r dat skeer de Cane Break fokes mouty nigh ter death. Po'-Down Rain come right 'long b'hime him. He wet dem woods mouty nigh ter flood times. Ole Kerlum-bang drop his chunk er fier on a pa.s.sel er big fier-crackers, an'--"

"And Roman candles, and sky rockets!" added Willis.

"Yas, an' de fus' thing you knows Bob Win' had done swep' up dat groun'

b'fo' him clean es yo' ma's parler floor. He step up ter 'Simmon Tree an'

ax him ef he got ennything ter take back.

"'Simmon Tree say, 'I done tole yer I ain' gwina pa.s.s wurds wid no sich er blow hard es you is.'

"Bob Win' grab him 'roun 'de trunk, he do, an' give er good twis' on his haid, but dat nuv'r done no harm, an' 'Simmon Tree hit him back es good es he sen'. Bob take him by de arms an' twis' wid all his might, but 'Simmon Tree laff in his face, an' twis' back at him. Den Bob give er runnin'

jump an' wrop hisse'f 'long 'bout 'Simmon's foots. Well, suh, dat een' de fight. Bob hit him in de weak part, an' 'Simmon Tree broke an' come, kerblum', an' splint'r'd hisse'f all ov'r de groun'."

"Mammy, I thought you said Mister Man cured him, so he was bigger and stronger than all of the rest?" Mary Van had a good memory but Phyllis was ever ready to answer the interruption.

"Aha, aha, you 'members dat does yer? An' dat's jes' whut he wus--mo'

finer'n all uv 'em 'cep'n in dat weak place his hard haid make, whin he wus er lit'le bit'r tree. An' er gal er boy"--she looked earnestly into each face--"kin be sa.s.sy an' hard-haid'd whin dey's lit'le, an' whin dey gits grow'd up an' 'gins ter ra.s.s'lin' wid triberlations, de ve'y fus'

fight dey gits in, dat weak bad, hard-haided place gwine give way fus', an' dey'll splinter all ter pieces jes' like 'Simmon Tree done."

"Can Bob Wind whip all the trees?"

"He sho' kin, son, dat is, enny uv 'em dat's so big'rty an' hard-haid'd dey can't lis'n ter n.o.body. I tell yer dar's er plenty er Bob Win's ter whoop all de biggerty hard-haids 'mongst de men fokes, too."

"I bet there isn't any Bob Wind that can whip my papa."

"No, my Lawd, dat dey ain't," she laughed softly, then added: "Howc.u.m you reck'n yo' pa come ter be sich er big man?" she stopped to hear his answer.

"Cause he's my papa," defended the child.

"'Tain't no sich er thing. Plenty fokes gots papa's 'sides you. Hit's 'caze he got de bignes' ter mine whut his ole lady say ter him ev'y onct in erwhile. Come 'long, we ain' gwine git er Lawd's bit er dinn'r ef we doan git out er dese hyah woods."