Solomon Crow's Christmas Pockets and Other Tales Part 20

"Who, me? Dey warn't but des one thing _fur_ me to do. I des gi'n Zephyr de ring, an' she ax me is I mean it, an'--an' I ax her is _she_ mean it, an'--an' we bofe say--none o' yo' business what we say! What you lookin'

at me so quizzical fur, Juke? Ef yer wants ter know, we des had a weddin' dat Christmas night--dat what we done--an' dat's huccome you got yo' gran'ma.

"But I'm talkin' 'bout Christmas now. When we'd all go home, we'd open our bundles, an' of all de purty things, _an'_ funny things, _an'_ jokes you ever heerd of, dey'd be in dem Christmas bundles--some'h'n'

ter suit ev'y one, and hit 'im square on his funny-bone ev'y time. An'

all de little bundles o' buckwheat ur flour 'd have _picayunes_ an'

dimes in 'em! We used ter reg'lar sif' 'em out wid a sifter. Dat was des _our_ white folks's way. None o' de yether fam'lies 'long de coas' done it. You see, all de diffe'nt fam'lies had diffe'nt ways. But ole marster an' ole miss dey'd think up some new foolishness ev'y year. We nuver knowed what was gwine to be did nex'--on'y one thing. _Dey allus put money in de buckwheat-bag_--an' you know we nuver tas'e no buckwheat 'cep'n' on'y Christmas. Oh, boy, ef we could des meet wid some o' we's white folks ag'in!"

"How is we got los' f'om 'em, gran'dad?" So Duke invited a hundredth repet.i.tion of the story he knew so well.

"How did we git los' f'om we's white folks? Dat's a sad story fur Christmas, Juke, but ef you sesso--

"Hit all happened in one night, time o' de big break in de levee, seven years gone by. We was lookin' fur de bank ter crack crost de river f'om us, an' so boss done had tooken all han's over, cep'n us ole folks an'

chillen, ter he'p work an' watch de yether side. 'Bout midnight, whiles we was all sleepin', come a roa'in' soun', an' fus' thing we knowed, all in de pitchy darkness, we was floatin' away--n.o.body cep'n des you an' me an' yo' mammy in de cabin--floatin' an' b.u.mpin' an' rockin,' _an' all de time dark as pitch_. So we kep' on--one minute stiddy, nex' minute _cher-plunk_ gins' a tree ur some'h'n' nother--_all in de dark_--an' one minute you'd cry--you was des a weanin' baby den--an' nex' minute I'd heah de bed you an' yo' ma was in b.u.mp gins' de wall, an' you'd laugh out loud, an' yo' mammy she'd holler--_all in de dark_. An' so we travelled, up an' down, bunkety-bunk, seem lak a honderd hours; tell treckly a _termenjus_ wave come, an' I had sca'cely felt it boomin'

onder me when I pitched, an' ev'ything went travellin'. An' when I put out my han', I felt you by me--but yo' mammy, she warn't nowhar.

"Hol' up yo' face an' don't cry, boy. I been a mighty poor mammy ter yer, but I blesses Gord to-night fur savin' dat little black baby ter me--_all in de win' an' de storm an' de dark dat night_.

"You see, yo' daddy, he was out wid de gang wuckin' de levee crost de river--an' dat's huccome yo' ma was 'feerd ter stay by 'erse'f an' sont fur me.

"Well, baby, when I knowed yo' mammy was gone, I helt you tight an'

prayed. An' after a while--seem lak a million hours--come a pale streak o' day, an' 'fo' de sun was up, heah come a steamboat puffin' down de river, an' treckly hit blowed a whistle an' ringed a bell an' stop an'

took us on boa'd, an' brung us on down heah ter de city."

"An' you never seed my mammy no mo', gran'dad?" Little Duke's lips quivered just a little.

"Yo' mammy was safe at Home in de Golden City, Juke, long 'fore we teched even de low lan' o' dis yearth.

"An' dat's how we got los' f'om we's white folks.

"An' time we struck de city I was so twis' up wid rheumatiz I lay fur six munts in de Cha'ity Hospit'l; an' you bein' so puny, cuttin' yo'

toofs, dey kep' you right along in de baby-ward tell I was able to start out. An' sence I stepped out o' dat hospit'l do' wid yo' little bow-legs trottin' by me, so I been goin' ever sence. Days I'd go out sawin' wood, I'd set you on de wood-pile by me; an' when de cook 'd slip me out a plate o' soup, I'd ax fur two spoons. An' so you an' me, we been pardners right along, an' _I wouldn't swap pardners wid n.o.body_--you heah, Juke? Dis here's Christmas, an' I'm talkin' ter yer."

Duke looked so serious that a feather's weight would have tipped the balance and made him cry; but he only blinked.

"An' it's gittin' late now, pardner," the old man continued, "an' you better be gwine--less'n you 'feerd? Ef you is, des sesso now, an' we'll meck out wid de col' victuals in de press."

"Who's afeerd, gran'dad?" Duke's face had broken into a broad grin now, and he was cracking his whip again.

"Don't eat no supper tell I come," he added, as he started out into the night. But as he turned down the street he muttered to himself:

"I wouldn't keer, ef all dem sa.s.sy boys didn't pleg me--say I ain't got no mammy--ur daddy--ur nothin'. But dey won't say it ter me ag'in, not whiles I got dis whup in my han'! She sting lak a rattlesnake, she do!

She's a daisy an' a half! Cher-whack! You gwine sa.s.s me any mo', you grea' big over-my-size coward, you? Take dat! An' dat! _An' dat!_ Now run! Whoop! Heah come de red light!"

So, in fancy avenging his little wrongs, Duke recovered his spirits and proceeded to catch on behind the Prytania car, that was to help him on his way to get his second-hand Christmas dinner.

His benefactress had not forgotten her promise; and, in addition to a heavy pan of sc.r.a.ps, Duke took home, almost staggering beneath its weight, a huge, compact bundle.

Old Mose was snoring vociferously when he reached the cabin. Depositing his parcel, the little fellow lit a candle, which he placed beside the sleeper; then uncovering the pan, he laid it gently upon his lap. And now, seizing a spoon and tin cup, he banged it with all his might.

"Heah de plantation-bell! Come git yo' Christmas-gif's!"

And when his grandfather sprang up, nearly upsetting the pan in his fright, Duke rolled backward on the floor, screaming with laughter.

"I 'clare, Juke, boy," said Mose, when he found voice, "I wouldn't 'a'

jumped so, but yo' foolishness des fitted inter my dream. I was dreamin'

o' ole times, an' des when I come ter de ringin' o' de plantation-bell, I heerd _cherplang_! An' it nach.e.l.ly riz me off'n my foots. What's dis heah? Did you git de dinner, sho' 'nough?"

The pan of sc.r.a.ps quite equalled that of the old man's memory, every familiar fragment evoking a reminiscence.

"You is sho' struck quality white folks dis time, Juke," he said, finally, as he pushed back the pan--Duke had long ago finished--"but dis here tukkey-stuffin'--I don't say 'tain' good, but _hit don't quite come up ter de mark o' ole miss's puckon stuffin'_!"

Duke was nodding in his chair, when presently the old man, turning to go to bed, spied the unopened parcel, which, in his excitement, Duke had forgotten. Placing it upon the table before him, Mose began to open it.

It was a package worth getting--just such a generous Christmas bundle as he had described to Duke this afternoon. Perhaps it was some vague impression of this sort that made his old fingers tremble as he untied the strings, peeping or sniffing into the little parcels of tea and coffee and flour. Suddenly something happened. Out of a little sack of buckwheat, accidentally upset, rolled a ten-cent piece. The old man threw up his arms, fell forward over the table, and in a moment was sobbing aloud.

It was some time before he could make Duke comprehend the situation, but presently, pointing to the coin lying before him, he cried: "Look, boy, look! Wharbouts is you got dat bundle? Open yo' mouf, boy! Look at de money in de buckwheat-bag! Oh, my ole mistuss! n.o.body but you is tied up dat bundle! Praise Gord, I say!"

There was no sleep for either Mose or Duke now; and, late as it was, they soon started out, the old man steadying himself on Duke's shoulder, to find their people.

It was hard for the little boy to believe, even after they had hugged all 'round and laughed and cried, that the stylish black gentleman who answered the door-bell, silver tray in hand, was his own father! He had often longed for a regular blue-s.h.i.+rted plantation "daddy," but never, in his most ambitious moments, had he aspired to filial relations with so august a personage as this!

But while Duke was swelling up, rolling his eyes, and wondering, Mose stood in the centre of a crowd of his white people, while a gray-haired old lady, holding his trembling hand in both of hers, was saying, as the tears trickled down her cheeks:

"But why didn't you get some one to write to us for you, Moses?"

Then Mose, sniffling still, told of his long illness in the hospital, and of his having afterwards met a man from the coast who told the story of the sale of the plantation, but did not know where the family had gone.

"When I fixed up that bundle," the old lady resumed, "I was thinking of you, Moses. Every year we have sent out such little packages to any needy colored people of whom we knew, as a sort of memorial to our lost ones, always half-hoping that they might actually reach some of them.

And I thought of you specially, Moses," she continued, mischievously, "when I put in all that turkey-stuffing. Do you remember how greedy you always were about pecan-stuffing? It wasn't quite as good as usual this year."

"No'm; dat what I say," said Mose. "I tol' Juke dat stuffin' warn't quite up ter de mark--ain't I, Juke? Fur gracious sake, look at Juke, settin' on his daddy's shoulder, with a face on him ole as a man! Put dat boy down, Pete! Dat's a business-man you foolin' wid!"

Whereupon little Duke--man of affairs, forager, financier--overcome at last with the fulness of the situation, made a really babyish square mouth, and threw himself sobbing upon his father's bosom.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote A: p.r.o.nounced lan-yap. _Lagniappe_ is a small gratuity which New Orleans children always expect and usually get with a purchase.

Retail druggists keep jars of candy, licorice, or other small confections for that purpose.]

UNCLE EPHE'S ADVICE TO BRER RABBIT

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'KEEP STEP, RABBIT, MAN!'"]