Bypaths In Dixie Part 24

"Oh, Aunt Ellen, don't ask me what to have--fix anything."

In dreams I see thee bend--

"Ya.s.sum, but yer got ter have sump'thin' ter fix 'fo' yer kin fix hit."

"Mercy me," I fretfully turned, "have that roast from yesterday,--it was scarcely touched." Then again over the fire:

In dreams I see thee--

"Cose I kin heat de roas', an' put taters 'roun' hit, an'--"

"Aunt Ellen," an idea seized me, "you know that old black dress of mine you've been begging me for? Well, I'll give it to you if you will arrange everything nicely and not ask me a thing."

In dreams I see thee bend--

"All right, honey, I'll do hit too, att'r I tells you dey ain' no flour in de house."

"That barrel of flour gone?"

"Good Lawd, Miss Sa', how long you 'speck flour ter las' an' you all eatin' like yer does?"

"Well order a sack, and I'll see about another barrel when I go down town."

In dreams--

"Now, Aunt Ellen, go on."

"Ya.s.sum, but I'm bleeg'd ter tell yer de kitchen b'iler's leakin'."

"Oh, for pity's sake!" I started for the kitchen, then remembered: "Go tell the man working on the furnace to fix it,--and remember, no dress for you if you keep interrupting me." Once more to the fire I turned, trying to conjure back the nursery, bedtime, Mammy, or anything. I bit my pencil and read once more:

In dreams I see thee bending o'er me, To the old plantation home we rove, Where--

"Miss Sa', dat man say he ain' got nuthin' ter do wid kitch'n fixin's.--He say he's er furniss man. An' Tom done cut de wat'r off, an' I can't git dinn'r tell de plumb'r come."

A prolonged telephonic agony ensued with the plumber, which entirely dispelled the charm I had half invoked. On the way back to the library, I heard Tom at the front door: "Ya.s.sum, dat's her, but she's pow'ful busy ter day." The next moment Tom's tall figure appeared at the library door, and over his shoulder peered the taller one of a woman whose masculine features were shaded by a hat of garish variety.

"I simply could not pa.s.s without recalling myself to you, and getting one more peep," exclaimed my visitor as she brushed past Tom, "into this old-fashioned library with shelves up to the ceiling."

"Will you have this seat?" I murmured, trying to recall a previous meeting.

"Oh, no, I'll just sit in this seat in the corner."

This she did, upsetting pencil and paper on the table near-by. Both of us reached over,--I to rescue my lines, she to raise her skirt, from the narrow confines of which also she drew forth a book of dimensions that I hesitate to specify.

"I have here some literature," she drew forth yards of pasteboard arranged in economic design, "that I--"

"Madam," I raised a hand in protest, "let these over-crowded shelves be my answer," my mind the while dipping again into the past where Mammy Phyllis seemed to whisper: "Bett'r look out, dat's Cap'n Yall'r Jackit's ole lady youse foolin' wid." Thus, while my visitor rehea.r.s.ed the merits of "The American People in Literature and Art," and differentiated between book agents and traveling educators, I listened to Mammy telling about Cap'n Hornet and Cap'n Yall'r Jackit and Mist'r Grab-All Spider, until finally Mammy and I sat together out under the old cherry tree and watched their famous battle.

"Being a traveling educator, may I see what books these shelves are lined with?"

"Certainly," I subconsciously a.s.sented, while the muse ran:

Thy hand my toddling steps did guide, Thy soft voice crooned to gentle sleep--

no; that will not do:

Thy wisdom oft my--

"Why on earth did you not tell me you had the books and save me this time and effort?" burst furiously from the far end of the room, putting to blush even Cap'n Yall'r Jackit's old Lady, "But you did not know it--did not know that such books as these existed, much less in your own library."

All the while she was nervously repacking the wonderful hidden pocket.

"I bid you good morning," now perfectly attired for another social call, "and ask you to pardon my emotion when I see such a library in the possession of a woman who does not know even the t.i.tles of her own books!

I have heard of such ignorance, but never believed it until now!"

"Good-bye, Miss Yall'r Jackit," I felt, and back in the chimney corner I dropped to dream again with the publishers' wire commanding me from the mantel-piece.

In dreams again thy hand doth guide Through meadow land where kine doth--

Tom so softly entered that his presence was unknown until he apologized: "De Bank Man say please ter step ter de telerfome."

"h.e.l.lo! Well?"

"Did you get the notice of your overdraft yesterday?"

"Indeed I did, and I was going to see you about it this morning and tell you there was some mistake."

"In what way?" chillingly interrogated this voice of superior business intelligence.

"You have me overdrawn ten dollars when I know I have twenty dollars and thirty-five cents to my account."

"I am very sorry," he loftily and pityingly apologized, "but our books, according to your checks, show an overdraft."

"Well," I sighed, perfectly sure I was right and perfectly sure he would convince me I was not, "I cannot attend to it to-day. Just let it stand until I come down town. I am very busy to-day."

Oh! for an uninterrupted moment!--What so simple as lines to write, if only one has the time.

I found a stingy blaze struggling up the chimney: "Do, Tom, run get some kindling and chips quick."

"Kin yer wait, Miss Sa', tell I gits thu settin' de table? Hit's near 'bout dinn'r time."

Alas! even as he spoke the family began to a.s.semble, and the library quietly and naturally changed into a family gathering room, where real people crowded out the dreams in a mother's mind.

At length the meal ended, the house cleared, once more I turned to the lines. A seat was chosen by the window this time, in hopes that a view of the mountains would call up the spirits of Mist'r Bad Simmon Tree, Miss Wile Grape, de Reed gals, and their forest companions.

Thou lessons teachest through tree and vine A crooked twig's to thee a sign For moral lect--