Rab and Dab. Ii: A Woman Rice-Planter's Story

I

THE second summer after the transplanting of the orphans found them growing in favor with every one. Really Chloe was becoming proud of them. When Jonadab started to school every morning, in his dark blue denim suit, he was pleasing to the eye, he was so shiningly clean with his startlingly white teeth. As soon as he got back from school, he studied his lessons, had his dinner, and then, with the little axe and the wheelbarrow, followed by Rechab with the hatchet and little cart, which Dab now looked down upon as a plaything, he went out into the woods and cut a good supply for the kitchen, never waiting to be told. Chopping wood was his favorite relaxation, as it was that of Mr. Gladstone; and so long

as he had this safety valve for his superfluous energy he could keep out of mischief.

Rab got into endless trouble in the long summer mornings while Dab was at school. One day I was sewing in the parlor, with the thick board shutters nearly closed, to keep out the heat, when I heard a shrill woman’s voice, raised in angry abuse in the yard. I listened attentively but all I could distinguish was, ‘I’ll beat dat limb o’ Satan, sho’s you bawn.’

I went out on the back porch and saw in the yard a tall brown woman working herself into a fury. She held in one hand a big stick, and led, or rather dragged, a small boy with the other, — he screaming aloud to add to the clamor.

‘What is the matter?’ I repeated several times before I could make myself heard.

Then her shrill angry voice rose to a shriek, and I could only hear Rab’s name coupled with that of the Prince of Darkness.

At last I said, ‘I cannot possibly listen to such language; if you speak properly, in a moderate voice, I will hear what you have to say; otherwise I will go in.’

The woman quieted down then and told her story.

‘I sen’ dis chile, Ben, to de sto’ wid t’ree cent fu’ buy salt, en dis yah black wicked boy meet um ne path, on fight um, en tek de money, en I gwine bruk eb’ry bone in ’e body.’ And she waved the big stick.

I was greatly distressed at this highway robbery on Rab’s part and I said to the woman, ‘I am shocked beyond measure at what you tell me, and though I cannot allow you to beat Rechab, I promise that I will have him severely punished. Here are the three cents he took; indeed, here are five cents which were to have been Re-

chab’s on Saturday if he had been good. He has entirely forfeited them, and he must pay them to you’; and I placed the five coppers in Rab’s hand and made him give them to the woman, who went off more than satisfied at this unexpected good luck.

As soon as she had gone, I called Ancrum, the old man whom I had employed cutting down underbrush and trimming up trees in the grounds. He was a most respectable old darkey, who did faithfully and thoroughly everything that was given him to do, and bore a high character for honesty and industry; and though he was nearly eighty he was a strong, able-bodied man. When he came I said, ‘Daddy Ancrum, would you mind giving little Rechab a good whipping for me? ’

‘Not at all, my missis, I’ll do um wid pledger.’

‘Now, Daddy Ancrum, I do not want you to beat him, but he must be well punished, for he met a boy smaller than himself on the road, fought him and took his money from him, and if he is not punished, he will end his days in the penitentiary, if not on the gallows.’

Daddy Ancrum went off to cut a good switch. He took quite a time, as he wanted to find a hickory; and while he was gone I used all my powers of speech on Rab, trying to make him see the wickedness of his action, and brought him at last to confess his guilt, — which he had stolidly denied at first, — and even to tell what he had done with the money. He had bought three sticks of mint candy at the store. When Daddy Ancrum came for him he was penitent. I told Ancrum to take Rab some distance out in his own beloved woods, so that the little village would not be disturbed too much, for I knew Rab’s voice would wake the echoes in the tall pines. Again I charged the old man not to be too severe. I did this without Rab’s hearing me.

Ancrum answered, ‘Miss Patience, you need n’t fret. I had twelve chillun en I know how fu’ lick chillun widout beat um.’

I went into the sitting-room and closed it up as much as possible and took up my sewing again. In spite of my efforts not to hear, however, I was much agitated by Rab’s yells; it sounded really as though he were being killed, and I was debating whether I should not send Chloe out to say that was enough, when there was a change, a sudden cessation of the shrieks, and, instead, a fierce barking of dogs and Rechab’s voice raised loud in command. I rushed out to see what had happened. The three dogs, Rag, Tag, and Bobtail, were devoted to Rab, and hearing his cries of distress, they had rushed to the rescue and attacked the executioner with such ferocity that Rab had to keep them off, and actually had to use the rod which he had been feeling, to prevent their biting the old man. Needless to say the punishment ended therewith, Rechab, as usual, in the ascendant, and much elated by his position of controller of the dogs. I must say I felt proud that Rechab had used all his strength to keep the dogs from biting Daddy Ancrum. A mean nature would have rejoiced in seeing him bitten, instead of doing all he could to protect him.

The solemnity of the preparations, and, no doubt, the solidity of the few strokes given, impressed Rab very sensibly, and for a few weeks after that he was alarmingly good. I had the hickory hung up on the back porch as a reminder.

During this interlude of perfection Rechab devoted himself to Chloe: he brought immense bundles of fagots for the kitchen stove, scoured the pantry, and caused Chloe great anxiety by his zeal in drawing water; the wall was deep, the bucket heavy, and the curb low, and there was always a moment when it was uncertain whether the bucket would come up or Rab would go down. I felt, that sooner or later he would join Truth at the bottom of the well, and most uncongenial companions they would prove.

It was during this period of calm that Rab told Chloe, as he sat by her on the kitchen steps, that when he was a man and made plenty of money he would give her a big silver dollar for her own, and he would give ‘Miss Patience a half dollar.’

When I made the boys their summer outfit, I made the usual blue denim trousers and jacket, but I put bands of red on some of the little shirts and bands of blue on others, which gave the boys great pleasure; and I thought it would make the washerwoman respect the clothes more and take more pains in washing them, for they were really very pretty and I liked to see the bright colors. Altogether this was a time of respite and happiness; and even Chloe went so far as to say to me, ‘I declar’, Miss Patience, dese chillun is great company an’ great sarvis.’

II

About this time I was called away by illness in the family, and I left with a comfortable feeling that the boys had passed their worst stage and were now on the upward path. A great misfortune had befallen our little community. Miss Beth and her lovely mother had moved away. The school had passed into other hands, however, and Jonadab seemed to get on pretty well, and I left home with a quiet mind, telling Jim to write me a letter for himself one week, and for Chloe the next. Though he did all the writing, their letters were as different as possible, as he wrote down exactly what Chloe said and her letters were much more interesting than his; and in this way I heard everything, having the two points of view.

The first two letters reported everything as serene and satisfactory. Then came a mysterious letter from Chloe: she did not want to make me anxious, but the boys were not as good as they had been. She did not state anything definite. At last a letter showing great excitement came. Miss Somerville, the teacher, had gone to see Chloe to ask if Jonadab had been sick, for he had not been at school for two weeks.

This was a great blow to Chloe, for she had, she said, started him off at eight o’clock every morning with his bag of books, and the school-house was in sight from the front gate. She began investigating and found that he went past the school every day and waited in the woods until he knew Jim and herself had gone to the plantation four miles away, where Jim ran the cultivator in the corn and she tended the vegetable garden. As soon as Jonadab felt sure they had driven far enough away, he returned to the yard with a few kindred spirits and joined Rechab, who was left with the dogs, Rag, Tag and Bobtail, and a large supply of lunch.

Chloe did not go on to say in the letter how they occupied themselves, but asked me to write and tell her what she must do about Jonadab and the school. I wrote back at once and told Jim to give Jonadab a good switching and take him back to school, and to write me of the result. As soon as the distance would allow I heard from Jim; he had followed my directions but Jonadab would not go to school; he simply spent the days in the woods. I then wrote a solemn letter to Jonadab telling him that I was shocked and distressed at his conduct, that I had expected better things of him, that I had given him the opportunity to learn, which was all I could do; that, as he would not go to school and learn his lessons, he must now learn to work, and that he must go with Jim to the plantation every day and work in the garden, and his books must be locked up until I got home; and I wrote to Jim to see that he did work.

After this the letters from Jim and Chloe showed great reticence and I was thankful to be spared the knowledge of anything going wrong at home, for after nursing my niece through an illness and back to health, I broke down completely and was threatened with nervous prostration, and had to remain in Asheville till the middle of October. When I did come home, instead of writing to have the wagon sent for me as usual, I got a vehicle in Gregory and drove up to the plantation, Cherokee.

Chloe and the boys were delighted to see me. I walked all around the garden and complimented them on the fine crops of turnips they had raised; then I ordered the wagon to drive out to Peaceville. Chloe called Jonadab and said, ‘Bring up de pee-pee.’

In a few minutes Dab appeared driving before him five half-grown turkeys.

‘These are very fine turkeys, Chloe,’ I said, ‘but where are the rest? I left twenty.’

‘Dis is all dat’s left, Miss Patience.’

So solemn was her tone that I forbore to ask questions.

Chloe fed the turkeys some cracked corn and then said, ‘Bring de coob, Jonadab.’

Dab brought forward a small and very rough wooden coop.

‘Put een de pee-pee,’ ordered Chloe.

I watched with wonder, but did not interrupt what seemed to be a drill. With wonderful docility the little turkeys stepped leisurely into the coop, as Dab drummed on it with his fingers, having first scattered corn over the floor.

‘Now fetch de wheel-barrer.’ This was done. ‘Rechab, help Jonadab put de coob een de wheel-barrer.’ This was also done. Then came the final orders. ‘Now, Jonadab, you sta’t fu’ de village, en don’t you stop ne path to pass de time o’ day. Rechab an’ me’ll ketch you ef you do.’

Thus adjured, Jonadab seized the handles and trotted off with the wheelbarrow at a brisk pace.

I did not speak until he was out of hearing, Rab having gone to open the gate for the equipage; then I asked, ‘What is the meaning of this, Chloe? What are you going to do with the turkeys ? ’

‘Miss Patience, I don’t wan’ ter cast yu down, jes’ es yu get home, but I had to do dis way to save dese peepee fo’ yu. I’ll tell you all about it to-morrer.’

I said, ‘Very well,’ and by this time the wagon was ready and I got in, and told Chloe to get in with Rab by the driver. Before we had gone far we saw Jonadab ahead, trotting gayly with his remarkable turnout. When we caught up with him, which he tried his best to prevent, Rab asked me to let him get out and run along with Jonadab, which I allowed him to do.

As soon as he was out Chloe said, ‘Well den, Miss Patience, yu’ll hab to drive slow, sence yu let Rab git out, fo’ ef yu let dem git out o’ sight, dat’s de las’ o’ dem pee-pee.’

The boys were in such high spirits, and made such good time, that only once or twdce did I have to tell Jim to drive slowly. When we reached the pine-land house, I was thankful to rest in the hammock swung on the broad piazza, and to feel the joy of getting home, even when there were only darkies and dogs to welcome me. Chloe got very quickly a nice savory supper for me, and the boys expended themselves in offering me fresh water drawn by them from the well, which they assured me was ‘cool as ice.’

III

The next morning after breakfast Chloe sent the boys out to get wood and then appeared in the sitting-room in a glistening white apron and head-handkerchief and, dropping a curtsy, began.

‘Now, Miss Pashuns, ef yu feel rested, I’ll tell you ’bout de chillun. I did n’t wan’ to write you, fo’ both Jim en me know’d ’t would mek yu sick. We had to write yu ’bout Jonadab not goin’ to school, but Jim en me talked about it, en said we could n’t tell yu w’at Jonadab done w’en ’e did n’t gone to school.’

Here Chloe stopped as though she had reached a climax, and I was obliged to ask, ‘Chloe, what did he do?’

‘Miss Pashuns, Jonadab lef’ dis ya’d wid ’e book es good en sanctify es any chile kin be, en ’e gone pas’ de school un de wood, en ’e stay dere ’till ’bout ten o’clock, den ’e cum home yere wid a gal en a boy en meet Rab, en dem tek de axe en brokee en de house winder, en dey gone through de house, en eat up eberyt’ing dem find, all de can ob tomotus, en de sa’mon en de sa’dine yu lef’ een de closet, dem chillun eat all. Den w’en dey done eat eberyt’ing een de house, dem projek ’round, till dem fin’ de store-room key w’ey I had um hide, en dey gone een dey, en tek de meat, en de grits, en de rice, till dem eben carry dem off by de wheel-barrerful down to Elsy en dat ’dulterous man w’at libs wid ’er. I keep a-miss t’ing ebery day, miss t’ing, en miss t’ing, en kyant mek out how de t’ing go so fas’, en dem chillun was dat sma’t dey hab sense fu’ lef’ eberyt’ing de look jes’ like ’e ain’t tech. En de only way I do fu’ find out, is w’en yu write de letter fu’ tell Jim fu’ lick Jonadab, after Jim dun lick um, I ’quisit Dab by himself en I ’quisit Rab by himself, en at last dem confess en tell me de truf.’

I felt perfectly dismayed. I crossquestioned Chloe and felt that there was no doubt of the truth of every word she had uttered; and she looked old and worn, as though by an illness, from the strain.

After giving me time to digest this, and hearing my expressions of disgust and dismay, she went on, ‘En den de turkey. When I fus’ begin to miss de pee-pee, Miss Vanderbilt had twelve good big one; ’e had had much mo’, but dey been a drap off befo’ I begin to notice dem dat mo’nin’. I count um keerful, en was jes’ a dozen — dat day I lef’ Jonadab fu’ min’ de ya’d till I step down to de plantation en pick de vegetable, en dat night dey was two gone. De nex’ day I tek Jonadab wid me en I lef’ Rab, en dat time no pee-pee loss, but de nex’ day I lef’ Dab again en two gone; en ebery time I lef’ Dab fu’ min’ de ya’d I miss two pee-pee, till at las’ dere was only seben pee-pee lef’, en dat day Rab sick de t’ree dog on Miss Vanderbilt en dem tear she most to pieces en de nex’ day him dead, tho’ I done all I could fur she.

‘Den I say to Jim, “Miss Pashuns mus’ see some turkey w’en she come home en I know wha’ fu’ do.”

‘Jim say, “Wha’ kin yu do?”

‘ Den I mek answer: “ I gwine put de seben pee-pee een de little coob, en I gwine put de coob een de wheel-barrer en I ’ll mek Dab roll ’em down to de plantashun,”

‘ “All dat four mile, An’ Chloe? Dab kyan’t do dat.”

‘Den I say, “De only way to mek Dab behave ’eself is to keep um stirrin’, en I calkilates to stir um dis time.”

‘So de nex’ mo’nin’, Miss Pashuns, I put dem seben pee-pee een de coob, en I put de coob een de wheel-barrer, en I mek Jonadab roll dem down to Cherokee, en dat chile was jes’ as pleased as if I bin a play wid um. I aimed to lef’ de pee-pee down to de plantation dat night een de fowl-house to de ya’d, but w’en I tell Uncl’ Bonaparte dat, ’e say, “Yu kyant lef’ dem here, fo’ I won’t tek de ’sponsibility” En I say, “ Uncl’ Bonaparte I’ll lock de fowl-house do’ befo’ I lef’ en yu won’t have no ’sponsibility.” But Uncl’ Bonaparte would n’t let me lef’ dem, so I had to mek Dab roll dem back, en after dat I jes’ kep’ it up ebery day I went down to work een de gya’den, en dem seem to prosper.

‘But dem chillun keep me drawed out. One day we all sta’ted together en we git ’bout half-way down, en Rab was behind w’en ’e holler to me, “An’ Chloe, I have fu’go back, I furgit somethin’”; en befo’ I cud say a wud ’e was gone. Dat ebenin’w’en ’e cum, I ax ’im wha’ mek ’e stay so long, en ’e tell me say ’e was dat tyad ’e had to lay down ne path to rest. He had a little boy ’e bring wud um, en w’en Rab gone out de chile say, “An’ Chloe, Rab neber lay down ne path, Rab gone to Miss Penel’pe sto’, en ’e tell Miss Penel’pe say yu sen’ um for a box o’ red herrin’ en say yu say mus’ ’scuse yu fu’ not come een, but yu’se bery hurry, en yuse to de gate een de buggy waitin.’ Den Miss Penel’pe wrop up de box quick, en gie um to Rab, en ’e walk out to de road bery fas’, en w’en ’e git halfway down ’e brek open de box en ’e eat en ’e gie me some. Den ’e hide de res’ in de bush.”

‘Now yu know, Miss Pashuns, I was shock! W’en Rab come I ax um ef ’e buy herrin’ fu’ true, en ’e say no, but I ketch ’e han’ en smell um en ’e was convict, fu’ ’e neber t’ought to wash ’e hand.

‘W’en we cum ’long de road dat ebenin’ I tell um fu’ show me w’ere ’e had de herrin’ hide, but ’e wun’t. But about a week after dat, one ebenin’ ’e say, “An’ Chloe, I’ll show yu’ wey I hide de herrin’, ” en ’e tek me een de t’icket of bush en sho’ me de box, but w’en ’e open um rat or some oder varmint most done eat all. Den ’e offer me one, but I tell um, I neber accept anyt’ing dat is stole.

‘Arter dat Rab was bery good fu’ a while, but one mo’nin’ w’en Dab en me bin a walk purty fas’, w’en we git to de gate en I open de gate fu’ Dab roll de wheel-barrer trou’, ’e look back en ’e say, “An’ Chloe, Baby slip’ us, en gone.”I look up de road en I see Rab goin’ back as ha’d as ’e kin. Den I walk fas’ en mek Dab hurry till we git to de ba’n ya’d en I tu’n de pee-pee loose, en den we wheel right back en walk fas’ fu’ ketch Rab, till I begin to blow and Dab say, “An’ Chloe, yo’ll mek yo’self sick ef yo’ walk so fas’; let me run on ahead, en I kin ketch Rab.” Den I tell um ’e cud do so, en run on en ketch Rab en fetch um right back to me, en I set down a minit fu’ blow, fu’ I was plum wore out, but I did n’t stop long, en w’en I git to de villige I fin’ my room do’ broke open, en my trunk lock broke, en all my t’ing on de flo’, en a dollar I had en ten cent, wrop een a piece of silk cloth, was gone, en I could n’t fin’ neder Rab nor Dab. I put my t’ing ’way as well as I could, en den I wheel right back to de plantation. ’Long ’bout dinner time Jonadab cum bery hurry, en say ’e bin a hunt fu’ Rab, but ’e could n’t fin’ um.

‘Miss Pashuns, I was dat discourige ’bout de chillun I was weak, but I hoe out de young tunup, en I try fu’ set my min’ on scriptur’, en I say, “How long, oh Lord, how long!” En arter dat I feel better, but I neber eat a piece o’ dinner.

‘When sun most down Dab put up de pee-pee, en we gone back to de pineland. W’en Jim cum, en I tell um wha’ Rab done, ’e say, I’ll gie Rab a lickin’ to-night, but w’en sundown cum, we call Rab en we sen’ Dab fu’ hunt um, but we could n’t hear not’ing of um, en I was miserable, en I neber sleep a wink dat night, fu’ Rab neber did come till de middle o’ the next day, en I was dat glad to see um I would n’t let Jim lick um again.

‘Two days arter dat, Rab tell me ’e spen’ de night right under de big house; say soon as Jim en me gone to bed, ’e mek fire in de chimbley under de house en cook a chicken en a pee-pee en roast two ear o’ corn en had a fine supper, — en yo’ know, Miss Pashuns, dat was provokin’. When I bin a fret so ’bout de chile, en him bin a eat yo’ chicken, en yo pee-pee, right under yo’ own house, en Dab know all de time way him bin, en soon es Jim en me gone to bed, him jump out de winder en jine Rab under de house, en dem cook en eat all night.’

Here Chloe’s breath gave out, to my great relief, for this reeling off of the terrible doings of the boys was most distressing. I felt absolutely hopeless. What was the use of struggling with such degenerates? Chloe had been perfectly right, and knew her own race when she warned me of the danger of ‘harboring furriners.’

Any one looking at Chloe and then at the boys could see that they were descendants of different tribes. She was a rich chocolate-brown color, with the regular kinked hair, while the boys were black as ebony, with long straightish hair, and rather aquiline features; they were slender and straight in their build, and the whites of their eyes were very blue. Stanley, in his Darkest Africa, describes the great differences in the characteristics of the tribes, some being by nature absolutely honest and others absolutely dishonest. All this I called to mind, and realized that by my own foolhardiness I had taken upon myself two of the worst shoots of one of the very worst African tribes.

During the interval, Chloe had recovered her breath and now began to tell how she had seen Dab deliberately kill with a stick one of the much traveled pee-pees, so now there were only five.

I interrupted her and said, ‘Chloe, I cannot stand another word about the boys. I feel almost distracted already. I have never heard nor dreamed of such creatures! No gratitude, no affection, no fidelity; it is awful, and I do not wonder you look thin and badly. I don’t see how you managed to get through at all, and from my heart I thank you for all your efforts. Now I want to beg you not to let the boys know that you have told me all, for I have not the least idea what to do to them as punishment, and yet it is my clear duty to punish them severely; so let them think you have not told me, and to-morrow I will tell them that I cannot give them the suits I brought them from Asheville, as you tell me they have given you a good deal of trouble; but I will give them the mouth organs I brought them.’

I wrung her hand and thanked her again and said, ‘Remember, my good Chloe, our Saviour’s words, “ Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these . . . ye did it unto me."'

IV

As if to reward me for my leniency, the boys blossomed into wonderful goodness. All their little duties were well and faithfully performed. The turkeys made no more journeys, for I had them rolled down to the plantation the day after my return and put them in the poultry-house, and giving Bonaparte a lock, I told him he must be responsible for them. Every morning Rab donned his clean white apron and churned, one of the regular duties which he had absolutely refused to do during my absence.

In the move from the pine-land, Rab and Dab insisted on carrying heavy loads in the wheelbarrow, the only danger being that in their zeal to roll it and their fights over which had had it longest, the freight would suffer. They came and begged me to let them move the ‘gereenium’ in it, representing that it was much safer for the plant than either the ox-wagon or the horsecart. I was very much pleased to excite their interest in doing anything well and carefully, so daily I packed as many plants in the little vehicle as it could carry. They took them most successfully. After the move was over, they were very diligent and made the large grounds beautifully clean, one raking up the live-oak leaves, which had fallen during the summer, while the other carted them off to the manure heap in the beloved wheelbarrow.

Jonadab went daily for the mail, proving himself perfectly reliable in that important function, never stopping to play on the road; so that I had the pleasure of giving them every Saturday evening the nickels which their good conduct brought them, and which they had great joy in spending at Miss Penelope’s store for candy, of which they got a surprising amount for the money.

At Christmas I told them to hang up their little socks in the kitchen, but not content with the holding capacity of these they borrowed each a stocking of huge proportions from Chloe, which they hung beside their own. I told Dab to hang up his red socks and Rab his blue pair, so that we should know them apart, for they were very nearly the same size.

By daylight Christmas morning the yard resounded with their shouts of delight and the blasts of their trumpets, horns, and the various instruments of torture to the ear, with which the stockings were filled, besides apples, oranges, peanuts, almonds, raisins, and candy. In the toe of each stocking was a dime. When they came to show me their treasures I gave them the Asheville suits, telling them they had been so good for the past two months that it was a pleasure to give them the new suits and caps.

I was very happy over this beautiful period of calm, and so was Chloe. She said to me one day, ‘You see, Miss Pashuns, de Laud sen’ yo’ dis blessin’ to comfort yo’, kase yo’ loos’ all yo’ rice crap f’um de freshit, en yo’ co’n crap f’um de dry drought, en so ’e won’t let Satan worry yo wid dese chillun, en ’e mek dem good, en dey sure is sarvice to you en to me.’

One day Chloe said to me mysteriously, ‘Miss Pashuns, Jonadab tell you anyt’ing?’

‘No,’ I answered, ’what do you mean ? ’

Chloe came nearer and said in a low voice, ‘Dem see somet’ing.’

‘What kind of something, Chloe?’

But Chloe would say nothing more except, ‘Ax dem.’

So the first time I had an opportunity of talking to Jonadab alone I said, ‘What have you seen strange lately, Jonadab?’

Without the least hesitation he answered, ‘A’nt Cinthy.’

‘Oh, no, Dab,’ I said, ‘I know that’s not so. When God takes people’s souls into the next world they stay there; they do not come back here.’

But Dab was firm, and began to narrate. He had almost lost his stammer now.

‘Night befo’ las’ I bin asleep, en I hear A’nt Cinthy call me, en I open my eye an’ dere was A’nt Cinthy fo’ true. Him had she head tie wid a w’ite handkerchuff en ’e was all dress in w’ite, wid a bow of black ribbin on she breast, an’ she look at me an’ Rab very hard, an’ I say, “W’at yo’ want, A’nt Cinthy?” En him answer, “I wan’ me bed, gi’ me me bed.” En I say, “I ain’t got yo’ bed.” Den she say, “Wey is me bed?” Den I say, “Yo’ bed dey een de orchaid.” Den she say, “I wan’ me shoe, gi’ me me shoe.” En I answer, “I ain’t got yo’ shoe, en I do’ kno’ wey dem dey.” Den she say, “Gi’ me me five cent, I wan’ me five cent.” En I say, “I neber see yo’ five cent, go way en le’ me ’lone.” En den she gone.’

I said, ‘Jonadab, you dreamt all this, for Cinthy could not come back if she wanted to, and she would not want to. Where she has gone she has no use for shoes, nor beds, nor five cents, so you may be sure this was a dream.’

I took the earliest opportunity of interviewing Rechab alone, and I asked him a leading question, and he repeated the incident and conversation word for word as Jonadab had done. He told what A’nt Cinthy said and how she looked, laying great stress on the ‘bow o’ black ribbin on she breast.’

I was quite puzzled over this, but thought it best not to make too much of it, and said nothing more.

At the end of a week Chloe came to me and said, ‘Miss Pashuns, we got to do somet’ing. Cinthy do worrit dem po’ chillun too much. I know my fault now. I shud ’a bury dat five cent I fin’ een a tubacca bag tie tu de head o’ de bed, een Cinthy han’. I’ll neber ketch een dis trouble agen, I’ll know wha’ fu’ do next time, but de ole lady wha’ bin ’e fren’, baig fu’ de five cent, fu’ trow een de chutch, en I gie um to she; en now de po’ soul kyant res’ un ’e’ grave, en de my fault. Dab say ebery night, w’en dey de sleep, en de fus’ cock crow, she does call um, en some time ’e call Rab. I bin hear people say if you bu’n sulfer een de room dat ’II lay de speret.’

I tried to divert her thoughts from this subject, and began to talk to her about the seasoning of the sausagemeat.

A few days passed and Jim came to me and said, ‘Miss Pennington,’ — Jim’s parents had not belonged to my family, so he does not call me Miss Patience as all the others do, — ‘ I wish you would do something about the boys. Aunt Cinthy has run them clean out o’ the house. They don’t pertend to sleep there now.’

‘Where do they sleep?’ I asked.

‘In the straw in the loft of the horse stable, ma’am. They bin dere now five nights, en they wun’t go back to sleep in their house.’

Chloe came in and added her testimony to Jim’s, as to the children’s sleeping in the stable; then she added that their poor mother was much to blame in the matter. She said, ‘I ax Jonadab, I say, “Yu’ ma tell yu’ any t’ing?" ’E say, “No, ma’am, she neber tell menuting.” But Miss Pashuns, dat chile born wid a caul, en cf ’e ma had a mek um swaller de caul, ’e neber ’ood ’a see speret, but long as ’e ma t’row ’way de caul, dat po’ chile haf fu’ see speret.’

I thought earnestly how I could do anything to reach this situation; then I said, ‘I think I know how to quiet the poor spirit; and Jim, I need your help.’

Jim answered with enthusiasm that he was at my command, and I went on, ‘Take Jonadab and Rechab and go into the orchard and get Cinthy’s bed, and let them each take a corner and help you carry it.’

Jim interrupted, ‘It’s very light, ma’am; I can carry it myself.’

‘ I know you can, Jim, but I want you to let each of the boys take a share in carrying it to the burying-ground and placing it over Cinthy’s grave, and I am sure the boys will have no more visions of the darkness.’

Jim was very reluctant when he heard this. He said he did n’t ‘want to meddle in the matter.’ But I talked with him about the foolishness of fearing the dead, until he promised to obey my instructions exactly. Whether he did it or not I did not inquire, but I heard no more of Cinthy’s nocturnal visits and the children returned to their room quite cheerfully.

(To be concluded.)