The Finding of Miss Clementine

I.

“HALF de crap money b’longs ter me, Silas, mind dat,” said Aunt Pheriby Coles, a little old colored woman, who had lived all her sixty years oil a plantation in Greene County, Alabama.

“Hukkom you cawntinual rermindin’ me? grunted Silas, her husband. “Ain’t de crap money been allers divided fair de fust Jinerary? An’ hit gwan on Febrary. Ain’t you allers had yo’ half ter spend an’ ter spare ’cordin’ ter yo’ notion?”

Silas spoke resentfully, but Pheriby was serene. “Well, I wuks fur hit faithful, she boasted. “An’ hukkorn I names hit so preticklar dis time is. I ain’t no notion ter spend nur yit ter spare hit. I ’m gwan ter trabel,” she announced.

Huh? You trabel?” quoth Silas, with disdainful incredulity. “No fur’n town, I reckein. Eutaw plenty big fur you. You tote yo’se’f fur’n dat, you gwan git lost, you plantation nigger. ”

“No. I ain’t gwan git lost, nuther,” Pheriby protested. “I’m gwan ter Mobile.”

“You g’way, Pheriby; you is plumb crazy. ”

“No, I ain’t crazy, nuther. I is pernicious [ambitious], dat’s what. I got a projec’ on hand. You rurmember Marthy Maria Chace? She went wid Mis’ Dawsom down ter Mobile, mindin’ Mis’ Dawsom*s baby. Well, I seed her yistiddy, when she rode by on a muel, an’ she been tellin’ me how she hear say my Miss Clementine, ole marster onlies’ livin’ gran’chile, is done got ter Mobile, an’ she required most preticklar ’bout Pheriby; so I’m gwan hunt her up. I ain’t sot eyes on de blessed chile not sence dee tuk her off schoolin’ ter de Big North, in short skuts an’ her hair down her back; an’ now she done growed an’ married.”

舠Huh you gwan mek out ter know her. den ? ” Silas asked.

“Heah dat nigger talk!” snorted Pheriby, with a toss of her turbaned head. “Lak I warn’ gwan know de chile I is roasted taters an’ dyed aiggs fur! Well, sakes! ef I ain’t rurminded! ” she broke off. “I kin dye Miss Clementine some aiggs outen dat same green an’ yaller caliker Mis’ Brantley gi’ me fur quilt-pieces,” and she rose briskly from the hide-bottomed chair, in which it was her custom to take her rest of an evening.

“An’ bull Miss Clementine gwan disguise you f’ om any yether plantation nigger she ain’t sot eyes on gwan on no tellin how long ? ” inquired the cautious Silas.

Pheriby, who bore her years lightly, had climbed upon a table in the farther corner of the cabin; she turned fiercely, her arms akimbo, flashing scorn out of her little sharp black eyes.

“Ain’t you sense enough ter know what ole marster onlies’ gran’chile is got some recomembrance of Pheriby in her feelins’? ” she demanded. “I is ’stouished at you. Silas. —I slio’Iy is! When I repears in Miss Clementine’s sight wid my hands full o’ dyed aiggs, den she gwan recomember Pheriby, ef hit wuz de day after no time.”

Silas abandoned remonstrance. “Huh you gwan mek out ter go?” he asked resignedly.

“Huh I gwan mek out ter do dis, er dat, er what not? ” retorted his determined wife. “I does hit,— dat’s how,舡 and she turned away from him to take down a huge gourd that hung by a string against the wall.

The gourd had a square opening cut in its side, close under the neck, and the piece that had been taken out was secured by bits of string laced through an array of little holes, so as to serve for a flap to close the aperture.

This treasure had been in Pheriby’s possession many years, and many and various were the odds and ends it held. After prolonged rummaging amid the multifarious contents, she drew forth the green and yellow calico; then, restoring the gourd to its nail, she dismounted from the table, sat herself down in the hide-bottomed chair with a satisfied grunt, and proceeded to unfold her plans further to Silas, while she smoothed the much-wrinkled quiltpieces on her knee.

舠 Hit ’s dis-a-way, ” she said. “ Hit ’s comin’ on ter Mawdy-graw ” —

“Mawdy-graw! ” interrupted Silas, with dismay. “I heern tell o’ dat Mawdy-graw; a tarrifyin’ time, by all I kin mek out. I ain’t honin’ atter no sech ’sperience, myse’f.”

“No, you ain’t dat! ” his wife retorted. with conscious superiority. “You is sadisfied ter see de sun rise an’ set over dat cawnfiel’, year in an’ year out; but I done tell you I is pernicious, an’ I’m gwan 'long down ter Mobile wid a ’scursion ticket. A ’scursion ticket will tote you ter Mobile an’ back ag’in on jes’ one pay. dee tells me. Cynthy Broadwood, what keeps de ’freshment stand by de co’thouse corner public days, she gwan loan me her long-tailed coat-cloak. I is allers been ’comniodatin’ ter Cynthy ’bout aiggs, an’ she knows hit. An’

I ’m gwan put my new pupple caliker, an’ a clean apron, an’ my bes’ head han’kcher inter dat red cyarpit sack what ole marster gi’ me fo’ he died. Hit’s a pussonable red cyarpit sack, what shows quality marks.”

“An’ s’posen you doan’ find Miss Clementine ? ” suggested Silas.

“G’way f’om yer, Silas. Ain’t I done ’splained all dat? But you is boun’ ter be a stumblin’-block an’ a remonst’ance, you is.”

“I ain’t mekin’ no stumblin’ beginst yo’ goin’,” Silas protested sourly, “’cause you is lak a heady steer er a backin’ muel, you is. But here one nigger would n’t be tunned a-loose in Mobile streets of a Mawdy-graw day; no, boss! What wid dey false faces, an’ dey hawns a-blowin’. an’ gineral rip-stavin’ outlandishiss, sech as dee tells me, I ’d be plumb upsot.”

“Well, I ain’t so easy upsot,” declared Pheriby, undaunted. " I isrisin’ sixty, an’ I ain’t to be put out o’ countenance by no false faces an’ sich. I got plenty mo’n sense enough not ter be skeered at foolislmiss, an’ come next Sat’day night I’m gwan 'long down ter Mobile.”

So Silas said no more until the train was about to bear his wife away to the unknown perils of Mobile and Mardi Gras.

“You mind, now, what I tell you, Pheriby, ” he exhorted her mournfully, as he deposited the red carpet sack at her feet. “You gwan be ’stonished, so keep yo’ eyes open, an’ keep yo’ mouf shot to.”

“G’long wid you, Silas,” Pheriby made answer, with scornful laughter.

“ I ain’t no chile ter be piled up wid caution, an’ I ain’t no fool, nuther. Dishyer bulgine gwan squeal toreckly, an’ you ’d git whisked down ter Mobile befo’ you ’d find hit out; den who gwan be ’stonished, I ’d lak ter know ?”

Thus admonished, Silas beat a hasty retreat, and stood on the platform outside to receive his better half’s final injunctions.

“You keep a skint eye on de henhouse, ” Pheriby commanded sharply. “Minks is prowlin’, ’specially de kind what ain’t got mo’n two legs. An look out you doan’ let de ole speckle sow bre’k inter de gyanlin-patch befo’ I git back! ” she screamed at him, as the train moved off.

Then she settled herself in her seat, with a toss of her head that would have sent the little round befeathered hat atop of her bandana turban flying through the window, had it not been fastened beneath her chin by a stout elastic. That elastic was, in Pheriby’s estimation, the highest touch of style, and such an assurance of safety that there seemed no possibility of misfortune to a hat thus secured. Smoothing Cynthy Broadwood’s “long-tailed coat-cloak over her knees, she looked out of the window, half afraid and wholly pleased; it was her first experience in railroad traveling.

But the short twilight faded fast, and presently the night shut out the flying landscape, while still the train went plunging through the dark.

“I pray dee won’t miss de road,” sighed Pheriby timorously.

II.

In the gray dawn Pheriby awoke from her uneasy slumbers to find herself in a new country. The flat marsh lands, rank with water-grass and broadleaved flags, stretched vague and limitless in the uncertain light, and the city whither she was bound loomed up to view, dim and ghostly in the distance.

As the cars thundered along Commerce Street, Pheriby seized the red carpet sack and started up, with a vague sense of forlornness that she did not yet know was homesickness. If she could but go straight to “Miss Clementine" without having to search for her! But Marthy Maria Chace’s information had been superlatively meagre and indefinite, hastily delivered and imperfectly remembered.

When Pheriby emerged from the car into the raw, chill February day. upon which the new-risen sun was just beginning to shine, she stood dazed in the bustling crowd that thrust her about unceremoniously; but as it thinned she recovered herself, and approaching a, policeman, whom she addressed as “Mars’ Gin’ral,” she asked hopefully;—

“Kin you tell me wher’bouts I kin find Miss Clementine? ’Scusin’ of trouble, but I is a stranger ter Mobile, an’ my Miss Clementine’s maw wuz daughter ter Jedge Jeremiah Coles, what married Mars’ Jeems Henry Lowry ” —

舠 Which ? said the policeman.

Miss Clementine. She done come ter Mobile ” —

“ What is her other name? ” the policeman interrupted again.

“ I disremember scence, she is married.”replied Pheriby, serenely unconscious that this new name could be of any special importance; “but her paw wuz Mars’ deems Henry Lowry, an’ her gran’paw, he wuz Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah Coles. Dee wuz quality ” —

“Never heard of ’em,” said the policeman; whereby he fell many degrees in Pheriby’s estimation.

“A gin’ral, an’ nuver heard o’ Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah! ” she commented, as the policeman walked away.

One after another. Pheriby accosted the loiterers around the station with the same inquiry, only to meet with the same response. She began to entertain a contempt for Mobile. “Not know Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah Coles?” quoth she. “Why, in Demop’lis, or Montgom’ry, or Greensboro’, or even Selma, de very dogs on de streets, dee ’d know! Silas ’lowed I gwan be ’stonished. an’ I is ’stonislied. But I ain’t beat yit; I ’m gwan hunt de quality houses.”

It was Sunday morning, and when the bustle attendant upon the arrival of the train had subsided the street was almost deserted. Pheriby crossed to the opposite corner, and asked of a newsboy seated on the curbstone,

“ Whicherway, mister, do de quality live ? ”

“You mean the swells, don’cher?” queried the boy, after a moment’s pause; and he; pointed up Government Street.

“I reckin dat’s hit,” answered Pheriby gratefully, “Thankee kindly, little man. I is stranger ter Mobile, an’ I’m huntin’ Miss Clementine, what her maw wuz Jedge Jeremiah Coles’s onlies’ daughter.’

“You don’t sesso!” exclaimed the newsboy.

Pheriby nodded.

“Well,” said the boy, “you go on up this street, and you ’ll come to a big white house on a corner, this side. That’s where Judge Jeremiah Coles’s granddaughter lives. You pull the bell.”

Pheriby’s eyes danced with delight. “Honey, you don’t tell! 舡 she cried. “You come along o’ me. I 'm bound my Miss Clementine, when I ’splains you ter her, she 'll gi’ you one bouncin breakfus’.”

“You don’t ketch me none o’ that way,” answered the boy.

“ What you skeered on?” inquired the smiling Pheriby. “Leastwise,” she added, fumbling in the carpet sack for a little bundle of bread and bacon, which until now she had •forgotten, “ef you ain’t minded ter come ter Miss Clementine’s, tek dishyer, honey; hit ’s good eatin’ ; but I ’ll git mo’n plenty ter Miss Clementine’s.”

The newsboy had an omnivorous appetite. He took the proffered food without compunction, moral or physical. and Pheriby set off briskly up the street. Had she looked back, she might have seen that conscienceless urchin with his thumb on his nose and his fingers thrashing the air.

The big white house on the corner was not far to seek, and Pheriby boldly rang the bell.

The door was opened by the most imposing colored gentleman Pheriby had ever beheld; but she was so eager to meet “Miss Clementine” that she failed to be overawed.

“Tell Miss Clementine ter come yer, ” commanded she. “I ain’t gwan sell who I is; but she know me. ’ and she began to search the carpet sack for the dyed eggs.

The man stared. “No such name of any person here, ” said he loftily, and shut the door.

“Ef dat doan’ beat all! ” cried Pheriby irately. “Sassy, uplifted town nigger! I 'm gwan reform Miss Clementine; bound she 'll mek him know better ’n ter shut de do’ in Pheriby’s face.” She laughed as she rang the bell again with a vigorous pull. But there came no response. Then Pheriby rattled the doorknob; but still no one came. She stepped to one of the windows looking upon the veranda and tried to open it ; failing in this, she beat upon the pane. “I ’m bound ter see Miss Clementine,” she said; and she kept up so noisy a drumming that at last the stately man-servant opened the door just enough to show his face, and called out in a loud, angry voice:

“If you don’t get out, I ’ll have you arrested and taken to the guard-house. There is no ‘ Miss Clementine’ here, I tell you!舡

He slammed the door, and Pheriby stared, astonished indeed.

“Hebenly rest!” she ejaculated faintly. “I won’er is dat rampscallion boy done fooled dis po’ ole nigger? An’ I guv him all dat meat an’ brade!

I pray de Lawd de Debble gwan watch dat deceivin’ boy.”

She went down the steps, discouraged and humiliated. What would her friends in the country say if they knew she had been threatened with the guard-house? But she resolved that they should never know it. “ Howsomedever, ” she said to herself, " I is come ter dis Mobile ter find Miss Clementine, an’ I 'm gwan find her de bes’ I kin.”

Pheriby took heart, therefore, and tramped up Government Street, inquiring from house to house for " Miss C lementine; ” hut. turned away from every door with scant attention, she reluctantly abandoned that mode of search.

“I’m tired,—dat’s what!" she sighed, as she dropped exhausted upon a carriage block. “I’m gwan trus’ in de Lawd, ’cause I dunno what else ter do; an’ I’m gwan set yer an’ wait on my chances. I 'm nionst’ous hongry, drat dat boy! Ef he wuz ter come along, I 'm bound I ’d lay a heavy hand ter his hide, guard-house or no guardhouse, cause I ’d know bit would be de chance I’m waitin’ on.”

But instead of the newsboy came along a negro man, and to him Pheriby explained the errand that brought her to Mobile.

“Can’t say as ever I heard of any such person,舡 her new acquaintance replied; “and I don’t well see how yon 'll find her, not knowin’ her top name. But, bein’ you ’re a stranger,

I ’m acquainted with a colored lady as would accommodate a boarder on my recommend. ”

Pheriby pondered. She had not counted upon expending her money for board, but she was very tired and very hungry, and it was now near noon. I reckin I better,” said she. “But I got pow’ful little money,” she added shrewdly.

“You might work your passage?” suggested the man.

Thereupon Pberiby confidingly followed this chance counselor, and fortunately she did not fall among thieves.

She learned nothing of “Miss Clementine " from her new acquaintances, but she was greatly cheered by the amenities of social life; and whether it was more to the credit of herself or of her entertainers, her board did not cost her a cent. For Pheriby “worked her passage " by liberal aid in various odd jobs, and she set forth late on Monday morning, well content. She took the red carpet sack with her, but she promised to return and “wuk some mo’, if she should fail “to come across Miss Clementine.”

“Well. I ’m bound,” commented Mrs. Lorindy Jones, the “colored lady” who had given the wanderer shelter, “she’s one fool turned a-loose from the country onto the town this Mawdygraw! That same old colored pusson 'll git lost, sure as this is Monday an’ ter-morrer is Choosday.”

Which prophecy came to pass.

III.

Pheriby had evolved a new plan of search: she would inquire at the “pussonable" stores where “Miss Clementine ” might be supposed to do her “tradin’. ' She had no idea of wasting a nickel on the street car so long as she could walk, and by dint of asking her way at almost, every corner she at last reached Dauphin Street.

Here the difficulty was. not to find the “pussonable ” stores, but to find any one at leisure to heed her quest; all passed her by with a prompt dismissal. But these repeated disappointments were so greatly assuaged by the display in the shop windows that the day was well into the afternoon before she was conscious of fatigue. She was loitering on a corner, a little dazed by the unaccustomed sights and sounds, when, shifting the red carpet sack for perhaps the hundredth time, as she stretched her arm to relieve the strained muscles, she observed a passing street car stop. But Pheriby had no suspicion that she had stopped it, and she stood blankly staring,

“Come, come, woman! hurry up ! ” shouted the conductor. “What do you signal the car for, if you don’t mean to ride ? ”

Pheriby, thus adjured, entered the car, in the persuasion that she was obeying the “p’intin’ of de Lawd,” “Fur sho’ly. ” argued she. “whey I stayed las’ night, dee telled me ter ketch a yaller car ter git back ter Eslava Street.”

She sat down wearily, and, untying the corner of the handkerchief around her neck, became involved in a desperate search amid the various coins for the required nickel; but she found nothing less than a dime.

“I can get it changed for you, ” said a voice at her side; and Pheriby looked up to see a pleasant-faced middle-aged gentleman smiling down upon her with amused, indulgent eyes.

“Dat ’s quality, sho’, en dem kind kin be trusted ter divide fair,” was Pheriby’s mental comment, as she surrendered one of her hoarded dimes.

“Thankee, marster!” said she, as she received the nickel in change, with a bob of her little body that would have developed to a courtesy had she been on her feet. “I is a stranger in dis Mobile, a-huntin’ Miss Clementine,” she proceeded, her heart warming toward this helpful fellow-passenger; “an’ you is got de favor pow’ful o’ de quality my white folks b’longed wid. May be you ain’t knowin’ nothin’ ’bout Miss Clementine, is you, suh? ”

“Does she live on Dauphin Way?” the gentleman asked. “And what is her name ? ”

“Glory above, marster! ” exclaimed Pheriby, “dat what I been inquirin’ dese two days. Ef I knowed her name an’ wher’ she live, reekin I ’d be shoolin’ roun’ an’ roun’ dishyer Mobile, half tarrified an’ plumb hongry? I ’d be in Miss Clementine’s kitchen dis minnit, eatin’ de best dinner ever wuz cooked in a pot.”

The laugh that followed made Pheriby a heroine in her own estimation.

“How do you expect to find her, then ? ” asked her kindly neighbor.

“Marster.” replied Pheriby solemnly, “I truses in de bounty o’ de Lawd what minds de sparrers on de housetop, fur I is done proven de ain’t none so much dependence ter set on Pheriby.”

“And who is Pheriby? Can’t she find your ‘Miss Clementine’ ? ”

“Pheriby, marster?” she answered, with a twinkle in her beadlike eyes. “Pheriby is dis same fool settin’ 'longside o’ you; an’ she ain’t find Miss Clementine yit. ”

“I’m afraid she never will find her, ” said the friendly gentleman. “Unless you know more of her name, how can you expect to find her? ”

“I bound ter know dis,” Pheriby maintained stoutly, “ef I could ketch up wid any white folks what knowed my white folks, den I’m done. My white folks warn’t no spark smothered un’er a bushel; dee wuz a blaze on a reminence. Once dee wuz knowed, dee wuz knowed ; folks did n’t furgit ’em. You ask up ter Montgom’y, an’ Tusk’loosa, an’ Demop’lis, anybody kin tell you who wuz Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah Coles ” —

“Ah?” interrupted the gentleman. “Glory, marster! ” exclaimed Pheriby, with quick perception. “You ain’t been knowin’ him, is you,— Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah? ”

“Why, yes; I have met Judge Coles in former years.”

Pheriby rose wildly. “ Den my long ’stress is come ter a blessed eend!” she cried, with shrill excitement. “Glory ! glory above! Ef you been knowin’ Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah, you need n’t tell me you doan’ know ’bout my Miss Clementine. You is bound ter know. Pheriby ain’t sich a fool as she mought be. Miss Clementine is done growed an’ married sence I seed her last, but I know Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah’s gran’chile ain’t mated wid no po’ white trash. Pity sakes, marster, don’t be lingerin’ a po’ ole tarrified nigger disa-way, an’ tell me whey is I gwan find Miss Clementine, wuz Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah’s gran’chile. ”

“My good woman, sit down and be quiet,” commanded the gentleman, with some annoyance. “I can’t give you the information you seek, for I never met any of the judge’s family; I know nothing of them.”

Pheriby collapsed into a little dejected heap, and was dumb. Judge Jeremiah Coles’s whilom acquaintance uttered some words of counsel or of sympathy, but they gave her no comfort; she felt benumbed. But when, presently, this torpor of disappointment wore away, her faculties awoke to a keen recollection of her long-deferred dinner, and she remembered Mrs. Lorindy Jones’s boarding-house.

“We ain’t come ter Eslava Street yit, is we? ” she asked, in crestfallen tones.

“ Eslava Street is in quite another part of the town; you ’ve taken the wrong car, ” she was informed.

“ My kingdom come! ” screamed Pheriby, springing up. " Holler ter de teamster, please, suh, ter le’ me out.”

“You ought to find someone to show you around. ” her neighbor admonished her, as he pulled the bell-strap.

“ Dat I ought, good marster, ” Pheriby assented heartily. “Dat hukkom I huntin’ Miss Clementine. An’ I ’m p’intedly tired o’ not findin’ her,” she grumbled, as she set her feet upon the ground.

“ Well, well.” she sighed, after gazing about her. “Dis is a quality region, sho’ly; an’ Miss Clementine mought be in one o’ dese pussonable houses. De ain’t no knowin’ nothin’ till you finds hit out.”

So Pheriby. in defiance of hunger, renewed her search, but with no better fortune than heretofore; and, tramping from house to house, she found herself, to her surprise, upon the edge of the town.

“An’ I made sho’ I wuz gwan back t’other way!” she said aloud, in her perplexity. “I ’ll perish o’ starvation befo’ ever I gits ter Eslava Street any mo’.”

Then she remembered the dyed eggs in her red carpet sack.

“Sho’ly de Lawd purwides, ”* she commented devoutly"Not but what hit’s a po’ sort o’ dinner bedout brade er salt.”

She sat down at the foot of a tree, and took out two of the eggs, eying them regretfully. “Miss Clementine oughter be havin’ dese in her possession now dis minnit, an’ me a-eatin’ a better dinner o’ her purwidin’,” she sighed.

But when she had eaten the eggs she felt in better cheer. “Miss Clementine gwan mek up ter me. when I does find her, ” she said hopefully. " But jest ’bout now I ’spect I better be a-huntin’ dem cyars an’ gittin’ back ter town, fur de sun is a-settin’. Anoder nickel is bound ter go. fur I is clean beat. Well, ne’ mind. Pheriby, Miss Clementine bound ter mek returns. ”

IV.

The streets were lighted when Pheriby got out of the car at Bienville Square, and the novelty of the sight filled her with amazement.

“Well. well. I gin hit up!” she said. “Silas ’lowed I wuz gwan be ’stonished. an’ I ’sped I is! Hit beats torchlight, plumb! Yit somehow hit’s pow’ful lonesome. I feels a sight mo’ at home be day. How I gwan find Eslava Street ? ”

She never did find Eslava Street. Wandering, weary and forlorn, hither and thither, she came at last to the station at the foot of Government Street, where she had made her first acquaintance with Mobile, at dawn of the day before. She knew the place, and the sight of it gave her a certain sense of home-coming that was a refreshment to her weariness.

“I kin set inside,” she said, with cheerful courage. “If dee pesters me, I ’m gwan tell ’em I is a passengem waitin’ fur my train; ” and, heaving a sigh of content, Pheriby sank into one of the little compartments of the continuous bench running around the wall. She wedged the red carpet sack securely between herself and the iron barrier that limited her seat, and presently fell asleep.

The watchman compassionately left her unmolested, and when she awoke it was morning. The great stir and hustle around her made her aware of the arrival of a train.

“I is hongry, mun! ” said Pheriby aloud, as she stretched herself with a mighty yawn.

“Hongry ? ” repeated a voice behind ; and, turning quickly, Pherihy beheld a fat and comely old negro woman carrying a basket. “You needn’t stay hongry,” continued the woman, “ef you ain’t opposed to spendin’ two bits. My son-in-law is got a eatin’-stand at a corner, a little piece from here.”

Breakfast was a necessity so absolute, after yesterday’s fatigue, that expense was an altogether secondary consideration. “Miss Clementine” was bound to repay, Pherihy argued, and followed her guide with alacrity.

The breakfast was worth its price — to Pheriby.

“What all dem hawns a-blowin’? ” she asked.

“It is Mawdy-graw day,” her host told her.

Pherihy received this reminder with lively satisfaction. She put her faith in Mardi Gras as a day of good fortune, and though the people with whom she breakfasted had never heard of “Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah,” and could give her no information about “Miss Clementine,” she was not discouraged. She set forth gayly, with no other plan than merely to place herself in the thoroughfare and wait.

So she sat down upon one of the iron benches in Bienville Square, and nodded comfortably in the sunshine. For as yet the tumult of Mardi Gras had not begun; and how it began she never knew. The occasional blast of a horn, the shrill squeak of whistles, that saluted her sleeping sense mingled with her dreams of home, and the “pesky ” speckled sow, and the red rooster that crowed under her cabin window. When at last a blare of brazen trumpets, a clash of sonorous drums, startled her hearing, she opened her amazed eyes upon a mad world.

“Great Marster in heaven!” she panted, “is Bedlam done bruk a-loose? ”

Through the square was surging a fantastic crowd, gaudy with yellow, and red, and blue, and green; wearing faces of beasts, of birds, of demons, and hideous faces with human features, yet like nothing human.

Pheriby snatched up the red carpet sack and fled. Such a sight might be borne surveyed from a coigne of vantage ; but to wake from visions of home and find one’s self in the midst of this demoniacal assemblage was appalling.

“Well,” she observed, as she stood upon the sidewalk and gazed at the kaleidoscopic pageant, “my ’pinion of Silas’s jedgment is mightily stren’thened by dishyer sight; it is, sho ! But I ain’t nuver gwan let on how plumb ’stonished I is! An’ sich a crowd,— lo! my kingdom! All de fools in de country tunned out ter behol’ all de fools in de town! ”

As she stood staring, her eyes expanded, her mouth agape, a passing masker bawled in her ear, “Shut yo’ jaws, ole ’oman; don’t, I ’ll jump down yo’ throat! ”

“You sassy!” shrieked Pheriby. “Tek dat! ” and she aimed a blow at her tormentor, who having escaped in the crowd, her fist came down upon the ear of a lad, who promptly resented the blow by striking at Pheriby’s hat with a force that snapped the trusted elastic. The next thing she knew, her head-gear was kicked into the gutter, as flat as a pie-pan.

“ Repentant Moses ! ” she gasped, too much astounded for indignation. “Dat hat had a 'lastic! Silas, he cautioned me ter keep my mouf shot to! Times I have 'lowed Silas wuz a fool, but I done changed my mind ’bout dat. Yit I ain’t no fool, nuther, an’ Silas ain’t nuver gwan know all I know.”

The hat was one of the things “Miss Clementine was bound to make up to her,” and Pherihy wasted no vain regrets. She was in for a day of adventure, and gradually becoming accustomed to the motley aspect of the crowd, pleased as a child at the show, yet always preserving a dignified sense of superiority to the foolishness enacted around her, she forgot her vague homesickness, her forlorn condition of stranger and wayfarer; for a time she even forgot the search for “Miss Clementine. ”

But, as the day wore on, the memory of the benches under the trees lured her again to Bienville Square. Crossing the ground, she came to the fountain, which was now playing in full force, and here she paused in wonder that annihilated all sense of fatigue.

“ Great King o’ mericles! " she ejaculated loudly; and, planting herself squarely in the walk by which she had arrived at the basin, with her hands on her hips and her head thrown back, she gave audible vent to her impressions. “ De sights o’ dis Mobile is sho’ly tarrifyin’ ! I ain’t nuver ’lowed ter behol’ water fallin’ upside down!

She did not know that her mouth was agape until a mischievous masker half choked her with the remnant of the banana he had been eating. In her surprise she executed a spry little hop that nearly upset her; and as she recovered her equilibrium, a clown with an elephant’s head discharged a shower of water full in her face.

“You ain’t no manners!” cried Pheriby, gulping down the not unwelcome banana ; and, finding consolation in the flavor thereof, she echoed the laugh of the bystanders, as she wiped away the copious drops.

But the laughter was presently lost in the sound of a fiddle, a banjo, an accordion, and a squeaking fife. The band, composed of maskers, perched themselves upon the rim of the fountain’s basin, and forthwith dancing began in the broad walk.

Now Pheriby held dancing in abhorrence as a mortal sin; not a leap, not a caper, not a prank, not a posture, won a smile from her. “Debbie gwan git ’em, sho’,” she muttered; and lo! to her amazed eyes the Devil stood grimly forth, horns, hoofs, and forked tail. Pheriby knew him at a glance.

“Le’ me git away f’om here! ” she gasped.

But even as she turned one of the dancers caught her by the waist and whirled her about in the giddy maze, to the brisk music of “Hop light, ladies. ”

Struggling, panting, raging, the red carpet sack pommeling her thigh at every enforced step, Pheriby shrieked in shrill protest, “Dey is aiggs in dis bag, I tell you!” and the mirth of the spectators waxed louder and louder.

When at last she was released, speechless for lack of breath, but transported with fury, she struck her undesired partner full on his pasteboard nose and crushed it flat. That instant the Devil held Pheriby fast!

The scream she uttered advertised the remotest groups of the fun in progress, and the crowd thickened rapidly.

“O Marster Debbie! Good Marster Debble! ” Pheriby implored in terrified accents. “I is a pious chu’ch member; I ain’t dance none ” —

“Bring me the pitch, b’ilin’ hot!" roared the Devil, and Pheriby screamed amain.

“Fo’ Gawd. I ain’t dance none, Marster Debble! My sperrit refused, an’ my foots ain’t done no mo’n dey duty ter my body. Tunn po’ Pheriby loose, good Debble. Jest a po’ ole plantation nigger, an’ a fool not ter stay whey she b’long! ”

Suddenly, above the shouts of merriment, a great bell rang out ominously: Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

V.

An instant hush fell upon the boisterous throng; the Devil vanished, the motley crew dispersed as if by magic, and Pheriby sat alone upon one of the iron benches, trembling, laughing, crying, remonstrating with herself.

“Pheriby, what a fool you is! G’long back ter de plantation, nigger! You can’t mek yo’se’f on’erstand how dis is all Mawdy - graw foolishniss. P’intedly, I wuz as skeered as hit had been de real Satan, an’ dat ’s a fac’.

I ain’t honin’ ter see him no mo’.”

Still the great bell clanged, and the crowd, urged by one impulse, swept on; but Pheriby heeded not, for, lifting her eyes, she beheld, across the street, a building on the balcony of which was gathered an array of ladies, guests of the Athelstan Club.

“Miss Clementine bound ter be wid dat pussonable company. ” Pheriby assured herself, plunging into the depths of the red carpet sack. “Pray Gawd dem aiggs ain’t bounced ter a jelly!

One at least was intact, and Pheriby stood forth upon the sidewalk, an isolated figure, holding up a dyed egg in the sunshine.

“ I do believe,” remarked one of the ladies on the balcony, “there is that same little old crazy creature who was going up and down Government Street and Dauphin Way all Sunday and Monday inquiring for 'Miss Clementine.’ Do we know any Clementines, Julia? ”

“ Mrs. Ashby, from Kentucky, — is n’t her name ' Clementine ’ ?”

“Is it? I wonder if she found a nurse for her little boy? ”

“She has hired that Bella Stewart, I believe.”

“Then may Heaven have mercy on the child! Oh, here comes the fire engine ! ”

Pheriby was conscious, all at once, of a roar and rush, a mad clatter of hoofs upon the pavement, as from around the corner of the balconied building dashed a strange-looking object on wheels, which to her inexperience seemed a smoking, dazzling caldron entwined with a huge serpent.

“Satan ag’in! ” she panted, “an’ de pitch a-b’ilin’ ! ”

She took to her heels precipitately; but, as the tumultuous throng in the wake of the engine bore down upon her, she beheld a sight that made her forget the Devil-on-wheels: a smartly dressed mulatto girl was dragging by the hand a little white boy arrayed in velvet, and the child was crying piteously, while the mulatto girl stormed at him and jerked him savagely.

Afire with indignation, Pheriby darted to the rescue; but, her heel catching in the hem of Cynthy Broadwood’s “long-tailed coat-cloak.” she went down under the feet of the multitude.

Some good Samaritan lifted her up, but the red carpet sack was gone: Pheriby never saw that cherished possession again.

She crept dejectedly to one of the benches in the square. “Wish ter Gawd I wuz home! ” was all she said; but how much that wish expressed of unmeasured perplexity and distress! For, except a few dimes tied in the corner of the handkerchief about her neck, all of Pheriby’s money, and her ticket besides, was in that red “cyarpit sack, ” which she had seen, as she fell, borne away by a man in a mask, who held the arm of the smart mulatto girl. The man and the girl were gone with the rushing human tide; but Pheriby, when recovered in a measure from her confusion, beheld the child standing alone and bewildered upon the edge of the sidewalk, at the corner of the square; he had wandered back to that point, and Pheriby perceived that he was about to cross the street.

“He gwan git hisse’f hu’t, dat baby! ” she exclaimed, and, forgetting her bruises, she hastened to him.

The little fellow had just set his feet across the gutter, and was starting on a run, when around the corner dashed another smoking, dazzling, serpent-encircled monster on wheels, and Pheriby was just in time. She never knew how she did it (“Gawd A’mighty shoved me, " was her uncouth yet not irreverent explanation), but from under the very feet of the horses she snatched the child.

A cheer rent the air, and the balcony of the Atheist an Club was a-flutter with waving handkerchiefs; but Pheriby never knew that it was all in her honor.

“Never seed sich a racket,” she grumbled. “Don’t you be skeered, honey; Pheriby gwan tek keer o’ you. Pheriby marked dat triflin’ gal, how she dragged you, an’ jukked you, an’ jawed you. Now you tell Pheriby yo’ name, an’ I’m gwan tek you stret ter yo’ maw.”

“I 'm named — Lucius — Clementine, ” answered the child slowly.

Pheriby set him down so abruptly that he tottered ; she wanted her hands free to clap them while she shouted: “Glory! glory hallelujah! Now is my trihilations come ter a joyful eend! Praise Gawd, from whom all blessin’s flow! Now ef de music wuz ter strike up, I could dance, spite o’de Debble.”

The child stared at her, half frightened.

“Come, don’t, be creating a disturbance here, ” a policeman admonished her.

“ ’Sturbance ? ” retorted Pheriby, in dudgeon. “You call thanksgivin’ a sturbance? Dis is Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah Coles’s gre’t-gran’chile, I 'll let you know, an’ doan’ you hender me 'n’ him. ”

Turning contemptuously away, Pheriby took the child by the hand, saying: “Yaas, honey, you is de very livin’, breathin’ image, p’int-blank, o’ yo’ gre’t-gran’paw, an’ Pheriby gwan stan’ by you beginst de town. Now you tell Pheriby whey is yo’ maw.”

“I don’t know,” wailed the child. “And I want my dinner.”

“Sho’ly, honey, you b’long ter be hongry, fur hit is late in de day. Tell me whey yo’ maw house.” Pheriby coaxed.

“I don’t know, ” sobbed the child. “And I want my dinner.”

“What I gwan do?” groaned Pheriby. “ Dis chile too little ter p’int me de way. Howsomedever. Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah’s gre’t-gran’chile ain’t ter go hongry. ”

She untied the corner of her handkerchief to take out the little money left her, and just then a group of rude maskers, rushing past, jostled against her, and the scant silver was scattered far and wide; before she could stoop to recover it the agile maskers had scampered away with every piece.

“ De Lawd’s will be done!” ejaculated Pheriby. “I got ter git dis chile home, fur hit ain’t decent ter go beggin’ brade an’ meat wid quality in hand : but sho’ly in dis pussonable sto’ de mens is bound ter know de sight o’ Miss Clementine’s little boy; ” and Pheriby led her weeping charge into a drug store.

“What is the matter with that child?” asked a clerk. “Is he hurt, or is he frightened ? ”

“He is plumb wore out, suh,” answered Pheriby plaintively. “He’s too little ter p’int me de way. an’ I is a stranger; may be you could show me his maw house ? ”

“Where do you want to go? ”

“Ter his maw home.”

“Where is that ? ”

“Dullaw, mars’, of you dunno, how I gwan tell you ? ”

“Well, what is his mother’s name? ” “Miss Clementine.”

“That’s no name at all. What is his father’s name? ”

“Mars’ Lucius, I — I — I ’spect. Ain’t dat yo’ paw name, honey?”

The child nodded.

“ You must be either drunk or crazy! “said her interlocutor impatiently.

“Heah dat, now!” sighed Pheriby reproachfully. “I ain’t, drunk nur I ain 't crazy; but I is nigh ’n’ about tarrified outen my senses wid strivin’ ter ketch up wid Miss Clementine.”

“So then you are lost, eh? Well, the best thing for you to do is to march with the child to the police station.”

“Ain’t dat de place whey de teks de thieves an’ raskils ? ” queried Pheriby, aghast.

“Oh, yes; and vagrants like you.”

“Den, suh, I tell you p’intedly, I ain’t a-gwine! ” Pheriby declared. “I know what I ain’t, but I dunno what I is, an’ I mought be a vagrom fur what I kin tell; but dishyer chile is Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah Coles’s gre’tgran’chile, —no better blood in de State, —an’ you talk ’bout runnin’ him in ter deperlice? I is p’intedly ’stonished at you! An’ you looks lak a gemlen, too.”

To Pheriby’s infinite disgust, everybody within hearing laughed, —everybody except the frightened child, who clung to her skirts, screaming that lie did not want to be taken by the police.

“An’ dat you sha’n’t, honey!” Pheriby assured him. “I ’m gwan larrip de hull posse on ’em, ’fo’ dey shill tetch you, mun ! ”

At this juncture, a beardless youth pushed his way through the little group that had gathered around Pheriby and the child, and after a moment’s scrutiny shouted: —

“Hello, Lucius! Here you are at last! There has been weeping and wailing for fear you were everlastingly gone, young man. We heard of a boy on the street who was near being run over; was it you? What old mammy is this? Where’s Bella ? ”

“Dis ole mammy is Pheriby, young marster. Tek us stret ter Miss Clementine,” entreated the joyful Pheriby; “an’ I’m gwan ’splain ’bout me ’n’ dat Bella.”

So the young man, whom Master Lucius Clementine greeted as “cousin Phil,” bore Pheriby and the boy away in a carriage. Presently they arrived at the most “pussonable ” house for size that Pheriby had yet seen. She did not discover it to be a hotel until she was “h’isted ” to “Miss Clementine’s ” room.

VI.

“Miss Clementine ” was a slender, pretty lady, with golden hair and brown eyes, — “de p’inted image of de Coles fam’ly, ” Pheriby decided, in an instant’s delighted glance.

But “Miss Clementine” saw only her child. “O Lucius! Lucius! ” she screamed, and clasped and kissed him, and cried and laughed by turns, oblivious of everything and everybody else in the world, until Lucius said fretfully:

“I ’m tired being kissed; I want my dinner. ”

“That perfidious Bella!” exclaimed “Miss Clementine.” “She promised to bring you back by half past one, and here it is nearly four o’clock. Where is she ? ”

“Gone! ” replied Pheriby tragically. “Hit ’s me what resarved yo’ chile, Miss Clementine; an’ sho’ly de Lawd sont me o’ ve’y puppose. Doan’ you know me, honey? I is Pheriby.”

“Pheriby? Pheriby? ” repeated “Miss Clementine,” and shook her head.

Pheriby laughed. “Ef hit had n’t been dat red cyarpit sack wuz stol’n f’om me, honey, I 'd a-come wid my hands full o’ dyed aiggs, an’ you ’d a-been ’memberin’ de times an’ times I has dyed aiggs fur you at yo’ gran’paw’s plantation, Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah Coles ” —

“ But, ” said the lady, " I never was on a plantation in my life; I never heard of Judge Jeremiah Coles before.”

“Name o’ Gawd! ” cried Pheriby, “ain’t you Miss Clementine, wuz Mars’ Jedge Jeremiah Coles’s onlies’ livin’ gran’chile ?

“My name is ' Clementine, ’ ” replied the lady; “but I came from Kentucky. I never was in Alabama until now.”

“Den le Lawd have mussy on me! ” ejaculated Pheriby despairingly. “I is ter de eend o’ my row, an’ de ain’t nothin’ left for me but jist ter die,” and she turned her face to the wall, sobbing like a child.

“Oh, don’t, don’t!” exclaimed the lady, clasping Pheriby’s arm. “I am not your ‘Miss Clementine, ’ indeed, but I will be, if you will let me. Take comfort, do! You’ve saved my precious boy, and be sure you 've found friends. ”

“Give her some dinner! ” piped the little boy. “She is hungry, like me; and I want my dinner bad! ”

“Yes, darling! That ever I should forget you are hungry! ” cried his mamma. “You shall both of you have some dinner this very moment,—the best in the land. And then we will try to find the other ‘Miss Clementine. ’ ”

So Pheriby fared sumptuously, and was clothed in purple and fine linen, — or what came to the same thing in her estimation.

When she returned home, she carried with her a closely-packed trunk and a well-filled purse, a new hat and a “long-tailed coat-cloak ” of her own, and — dearly prized among her treasures— a photograph of herself with the child she had rescued.

The other “Miss Clementine” was never found; but it was ascertained that she had been a guest at the Battle House some weeks before, though whence she had come or whither she had gone was never known to Pheriby or to her new friends.

“Pheriby,” said Silas, on her return, “I been boldin’ speech wid Marthy Maria Chace, an’ she ’lowed how Miss Clementine doan’ live ter Mobile, — she wuz jest a-visitin’ ter de Battle House; an’ my mind misguv me det you ain’t been gwan find Miss Clementine. ”

“Hukkom I ain’t?” demanded his wife.

“Is you been ter de Battle House? ” inquired Silas admiringly.

“Who sell I ain’t? ”

“I ain’t seh you ain’t; I ax you is you ? ”

“You wait until you hear me tell.” replied Pheriby, with conscious pride.

But she never did tell all she knew!

Elizabeth W. Bellamy.