The Late Mrs. Null Part 6

Putting on her hat, she went down into the garden where uncle Isham was at work. She could find little to do there, for he was merely pulling turnips, and she could see nothing to suggest in regard to his method of work. She had found, too, that the old negro had not much respect for her agricultural opinions. He attended to his work as if his mistress had been at home, and although, in regard to the ploughing, he had carried out the orders of Mrs Null, he had done it because it ought to be done, and because he was very glad for some one else to take the responsibility.

"Uncle Isham," said she, after she had watched the process of turnip pulling for a few minutes, "if you haven't anything else to do when you get through with this, you might come up to the house, and I will talk to you about the flower beds, I suppose they ought to be made ready for the winter."

"Miss Null," said the old man, slowly unbending his back, and getting himself upright, "dar's allus sumfin' else to do. Eber sence I was fus'

bawn dar was sumfin else to do, an' I spec's it'll keep on dat ar way till de day I dies."

"Of course there will be nothing else to do then but to die," observed Mrs Null; "but I hope that day is far off, Uncle Isham."

"Dunno 'bout dat, Miss Null," said he. "But den some people do lib dreffle long. Look at ole Aun' Patsy. Ise got to live a long time afore I's as ole as Aun' Patsy is now."

"You don't mean to say," exclaimed Mrs Null, "that Aunt Patsy is alive yet!"

"Ob course she is. Miss Null," said Uncle Isham. "If she'd died sence you've been here we'd a tole you, sartin. She was gwine to die las'

week, but two or free days don' make much dif'rence to Aun' Patsy, she done lib so long anyhow."

"Aunt Patsy alive!" exclaimed Mrs Null again. "I'm going straight off to see her."

When she had reached the house, and had informed Letty where she was going, the rotund maid expressed high approbation of the visit, and offered to send Plez to show Miss Null the way.

"I don't need any one to go with me," said that lady, and away she started.

"She don' neber want n.o.body to show her nowhar," said Plez, returning with looks of much disapprobation to his business of peeling potatoes for dinner.

When Mrs Null reached the cabin of Aunt Patsy, after about fifteen minutes' walk, she entered without ceremony, and found the old woman sitting on a very low chair by the window, with the much-talked-of, many-colored quilt in her lap. Her white woolly head was partially covered with a red and yellow handkerchief, and an immense pair of iron-bound spectacles obstructed the view of her small black face, lined and seamed in such a way that it appeared to have shrunk to half its former size. In her long, bony fingers, rusty black on the outside, and a very pale tan on the inside, she held a coa.r.s.e needle and thread and a corner of the quilt. Near by, in front of a brick-paved fireplace, was one of her great-granddaughters, a girl about eighteen years old, who was down upon her hands and knees, engaged with lungs, more powerful than ordinary bellows, in blowing into flame a coal upon the hearth.

"How d'ye Aunt Patsy?" said Mrs Null. "I didn't expect to see you looking so well."

"Dat's Miss Null," said the girl, raising her eyes from the fire, and addressing her ancestor.

The old woman stuck her needle into the quilt, and reached out her hand to her visitor, who took it cordially.

"How d'ye, miss?" said Aunt Patsy, in a thin but quite firm voice, while the young woman got up and brought Mrs Null a chair, very short in the legs, very high in the back, and with its split-oak bottom very much sunken.

"How are you feeling to-day, Aunt Patsy?" asked Mrs Null, gazing with much interest on the aged face.

"'Bout as common," replied the old woman. "I didn't spec' to be libin'

dis week, but I ain't got my quilt done yit, an' I can't go 'mong de angels wrop in a shroud wid one corner off."

"Certainly not," answered Mrs Null. "Haven't you pieces enough to finish it?"

"Oh, yaas, I got bits enough, but de trouble is to sew 'em up. I can't sew very fas' nowadays."

"It's a pity for you to have to do it yourself," said Mrs Null. "Can't this young person, your daughter, do it for you?"

"Dat's not my darter," said the old woman. "Dat's my son Tom's yaller boy Bob's chile. Bob's dead. She can't do no sewin' for me. I'm 'not gwine ter hab folks sayin', Aun' Patsy done got so ole she can't do her own sewin'."

"If you are not going to die till you get your quilt finished, Aunt Patsy," said Mrs Null, "I hope it won't be done for a long time."

"Don' do to be waitin' too long, Miss. De fus' thing you know some udder culled pusson'll be dyin' wrop up in a quilt like dis, and git dar fus'."

Mrs Null now looked about her with much interest, and asked many questions in regard to the old woman's comfort and ailments. To these the answers, though on the whole satisfactory, were quite short, Aunt Patsy, apparently, much preferring to look at her visitor than to talk to her. And a very pretty young woman she was to look at, with a face which had grown brighter and plumper during every day of her country sojourn.

When Mrs Null had gone, promising to send Aunt Patsy something nice to eat, the old woman turned to her great-grand-daughter, and said, "Did anybody come wid her?"

"n.o.body comed," said the girl. "Reckon' she done git herse'f los' some o' dese days."

The old woman made no answer, but folding up the maniac coverlid, she handed it to the girl, and told her to put it away.

That night Uncle Isham, by Mrs Null's orders, carried to Aunt Patsy a basket, containing various good things considered suitable for an aged colored woman without teeth.

"Miss Annie sen' dese h'yar?" asked the old woman, taking the basket and lifting the lid.

"Miss Annie!" exclaimed Uncle Isham. "Who she?"

"Git out, Uncle Isham!" said Aunt Patsy, somewhat impatiently. "She was h'yar dis mawnin'."

"Dat was Miss Null," said Isham.

"Miss Annie all de same," said Aunt Patsy, "on'y growed up an' married.

D'ye mean to stan' dar, Uncle Isham, an' tell me you don' know de little gal wot Mahs' John use ter carry in he arms ter feed de tukkies?"

"She and she mudder dead long ago," said Isham. "You is pow'ful ole, Aun' Patsy, an' you done forgit dese things."

"Done forgit nuffin," curtly replied the old woman. "Don' tell me no moh' fool stuff. Dat Miss Annie, growed up an' married."

"Did she tell you dat?" asked Isham.

"She didn't tell me nuffin'. She kep' her mouf shet 'bout dat, an' I kep' my mouf shet. Don' talk to me! Dat's Miss Annie, shuh as shootin'.

Ef she hadn't fotch nuffin' 'long wid her but her eyes I'd a knowed dem; same ole eyes dey all had. An' 'sides dat, you fool Isham, ef she not Miss Annie, wot she come down h'yar fur?"

"Neber thinked o' dat!" said Uncle Isham, reflectively. "Ef you's so pow'ful shuh, Aun' Patsy, I reckon dat _is_ Miss Annie. Couldn't 'spec me to 'member her. I wasn't much up at de house in dem times, an' she was took away 'fore I give much 'tention ter her."

"Don' ole miss know she dar?" asked Aunt Patsy.

'"She dunno nuffin' 'bout it," answered Isham. "She's stayin' away cos she think Mahs' Junius dar yit."

"Why don' you tell her, now you knows it's Miss Annie wot's dar?"

"You don' ketch me tellin her nuffin'," replied the old man shaking his head. "Wish you was spry 'nuf ter go, Aun' Patsy. She'd b'lieve you; an'

she couldn't rar an' charge inter a ole pusson like you, nohow."

"Ain't dar n.o.body else in dis h'yar place to go tell her?" asked Aunt Patsy.

"Not a pusson," was Isham's decided answer.

"Well den I _is_ spry 'nuf!" exclaimed Aunt Patsy, with a vigorous nod of her head which sent her spectacles down to her mouth, displaying a pair of little eyes sparkling with a fire, long thought to be extinct.

"Ef you'll carry me dar, to Miss Harriet Corvey's, I'll tell ole miss myse'f. I didn't 'spec to go out dat dohr till de fun'ral, but I'll go dis time. I spected dar was sumfin' crooked when Miss Annie didn't tole me who she was. Ise not 'feared to tell ole miss, an' you jes' carry me up dar, Uncle Isham."