The Starbucks Part 5

"Yas, suh, ter kiver de spring house;" and scratching his head he stood for a moment as if in deep thought. "An' look yere, Mr. Starbuck, while I'se gone to the pos' office don't you reckon you kin think up suthin'

fur me ter do?"

"How willing he is to work," Mrs. Mayfield sympathetically remarked.

Kintchin ducked his head at her. "W'y, Lawd bless yo' life, honey, I doan know nuthin' else. One time not long ergo I foun' o' er mawnin' dat I wuz monst'us tired, an' den I come ter fin' out dat I been er gittin'

up an' er workin' in my sleep. Yas'm."

He looked at Jasper, expecting something, and it came: "Was that the time they found the ham under yo' bed?"

"Mr. Starbuck, whut you all de time come er talkin' datter way fur?

Ain't dar nuthin' in dis life ter talk erbout 'cept politics? Doan you know you got er soul ter save? Doan you know dat de Lawd frown on slander? I doan care fur myse'f but I hate ter see er good man fling erway his chances o' de salvation. An' suthin' gwine happen ter you ef you keeps on 'sposin' yo'se'f."

Starbuck good naturedly drove him out, clucking at him as if he were a horse. Lou slowly folded the paper which she had been gazing at during all this time and said: "Oh, you must let me keep this."

"It amounts to nothing," replied Tom, making a pretense of taking the paper but permitting her to retain it. "I will write you something prettier."

"No, I want this."

"She is beginning early to mistrust promises," remarked Mrs. Mayfield.

"Oh, she knows the world," said Mrs. Starbuck. "She went to school for two years over at Dry Fork. That's where she l'arned to play that melogian."

"Yes," Jasper spoke up, "and the fust time I hearn it I thought a tree had fell on one of the calves. Why, h.e.l.loa, mammy, come in. Lookin' fur suthin'?"

"I must er lef' my old pipe yere summers," said the old negro woman, coming into the room.

"Here it is," said Jasper taking a cob pipe from the mantle-piece and giving it to her. "Won't you sit down, mammy? You look so tired."

"No, Mars Jasper, I hain't hardly got time." She looked at the company, bade every one good morning, with a heart-felt "G.o.d bless you;" and looking at Mrs. Mayfield, slowly advanced toward her, gazing at her hand. "W'y, honey, I neber seed de like o' putty rings you's got on.

Da's like de speret o' light er wrappin' round yo' fingers."

"Mammy, they are but glittering memories."

"Yas'm, da do shine might'ly ef dat whut you means."

Tom and Lou were going out. "Don't stray off," said Mrs. Mayfield. "We are going to the post office, you know."

"Yes, if that fetch-taked n.i.g.g.e.r ever gits the hoss. .h.i.tched up,"

Margaret spoke up.

Jasper s.n.a.t.c.hed up his hat. "Oh, he'd hitch up a hoss to the fou'th of July jest about in time to drive up to the front door of Christmas. I'll go and see about it myse'f. Slowest n.i.g.g.e.r I ever seed," and muttering he went out. Old mammy, still looking at the city woman's rings, began softly to croon: "I neber seed er po' ole n.i.g.g.e.r dat didn't like rings.

I had er whole lot o' 'em once, but da turned green, an' da'd pizen me ef I teched 'em wid my mouf. But one time Mars Jasper gib me one dat didn't turn green, an' I lost it. You allus loses de best, you know.

Honey, Mars Jasper is allus doin' suthin' fur me. I nussed him w'en he wuz er chile an' he dun paid me back mo' den er hunnud times; an' w'en I got ole an' wuz down wid de rheumatiz, an' couldn't sleep in de night w'en de lonesome cow er lowin' on de hill-side, he sot up wid me an'

spell out de words o' de Lawd, fur he kain't read right quick. He couldn't been mo' tender wid his mudder, an' I gwine ter tell de Lawd w'en I goes home, an' it won't be long--no'm it won't. An' on de wall by my bed I dun made chalk marks o' de things I gwine tell de Lawd, an' dar ain't hardly no mo' room fur new marks, da all been so good ter me; but I gwine make one fur you, honey, caze you looked kind at me. Yas'm, I is. But I must be gwine. Lawd bless you all; an' you too, strange lady."

And as this old creature walked out she still muttered blessings upon them; this endeared old link, tenderly binding some of us to one of the sweetest memories of the past. She is pa.s.sing over the threshold into the "big house" of eternity, this mother of love and charity, who sang the little children to sleep, whose ebon fingers bound the wounds of youth. She knew enough of G.o.d to be all love--of Christ to forgive all wrongs.

"The wagon's ready," Jasper called, and Mrs. Mayfield turned to Jim.

"Won't you come too?"

He scrambled up, as if stung into action, grabbed his hat, went boldly close to her and said: "If I thought yo' wish was in yo'

invitation, Satan couldn't hold me back, and the Lord wouldn't."

"What a strange compliment."

"Ma'm, I don't know how to speak compliments."

"Come on, please."

CHAPTER IV.

AT THE POST OFFICE.

Beneath the blooming boughs overhanging the mountain road the old carryall was slowly pulled along by a horse into whose joints had crept the dreamy laziness of early summer. Lou, bound about with flowering vines, captive May-queen in purple chains, sat on the rear seat with Tom; and she was shy in this close touch with the mysterious world from afar off; and her timidity made him timid, this youth whose earliest recollection was the booming of cannon, as he played upon a cavalryman's blanket, waiting for his father to return from the charge. Motherless, the pet of the battalion, his playthings the accoutrements of war, his "stick horse," a sabre, his confidential companion a bra.s.s field piece.

Old soldiers, devoted to their colonel, carried him about on their shoulders, and handsome women made him vain and bold with their kisses; but in the presence of this mountain girl he was subdued. Jim and Mrs.

Mayfield sat together--that is, he sat out on the end of a board, as far away from her as he could get, and once when the wheel ran over a stone he fell off.

"Oh," she cried, "you must be hurt."

He got up, with his jack-o'-lantern smile, dusted himself and said:

"I--I would fall for you any time, ma'm."

"But," she laughed, "I didn't want you to fall."

"Didn't you? Well, I beg yo' pardon, I thought you did."

Kintchin, who sat in front, ducked his head and chuckled.

"Oh, de folks up yere is de 'commerdatinist you eber seed. Da'll stand up fur you ur fall down fur you ur do anythin' you pleases. Sorry I come off an' furgot suthin'. Allus de way--man furgits whut he needs de mos.'"

"Did you forget something, Kintchin?" Mrs. Mayfield inquired.

"Yas'm, come off an' furgot twenty-fi' cents dat I wanted to fetch wid me. I owes er quarter ter er c.r.a.p-shootin' n.i.g.g.e.r ober dar, an' when I kain't pay him he gwine retch his han' up atter my wool. I doan want no big n.i.g.g.e.r retchin' atter me, caze I ain't right well dis mawin'. Co'se ef I wuz well I wouldn' mine it so much, but ez it is, it bodders me might'ly. You neber had no trouble wid er c.r.a.p-shootin' n.i.g.g.e.r, ef you had you'd be mo' consarned. Anybody gwine gib me er quarter."

"I'll give you a testament," said Jim, looking back and smiling at Tom.

"Testament! Ointment you better say," replied Kintchin. "Testament ain't gwine be no mo' fo'ce wid dem n.i.g.g.e.rs den de Lawd's pra'r would wid er wild haug. Huh, I'se er dreadin' eber step o' de way ober dar."

"Here's a quarter," said Mrs. Mayfield, handing him a piece of silver.

"Thankee, ma'm. Oh, you's whut da calls er missiunary, an' I gwine he'p ole black mammy pray fur you."

"Oh, how beautiful--nature sleeps and dreams of paradise," mused the romantic woman and the preacher clasped his hands.