LITTLE BILLY’S PUMPKIN.

Hayland Meadow was some ten miles in length, and on the upper half, used for growing timothy and for grazing, here and there stood aristocratic-looking trees—poplar, black-walnut, majestic oaks, imposing and graceful elms. The lower half was thickly wooded with smaller trees of many varieties, among which flourished the persimmon. Nature had with generous hands festooned many of the trees with wild grapevines, and when these were in bloom and twilight dews fell upon their blossoms, they filled that meadow with a delicious fragrance, sweet enough for Eden; every dewdrop in the dell seemed perfumed.

Through this vale, over mossy stones and snowy pebbles, chattered and meandered a crystal creek which joined other streams and emptied at Hayland marsh into Miles River.

The woodcock nested there, and in warm June days dozed under the shade of the fine old trees; and there the oriole sang a lullaby to her hanging cradle that rocked in the wind.

The tranquilness of the place was never disturbed save by the canticles of song birds and the almost nightly baying of some coon dog, for until of late the darkies never thought of going anywhere else to put up coons or ’possums than “Haylan’” Branch, as they called it.

Little Billy was not pious, and, if he knew his prayers, never said them. He doted on all sorts of sports, and, though a poor shot, entered all the turkey-shooting contests Thanksgiving Day. He chewed the best tobacco, danced with the dancers, played the banjo and jewsharp, always had a jug of molasses, a pair of gum boots, fiddle-strings and fiddle—all purchased with his coon, ’possum and muskrat money.

Scipio Jones’ experience had pretty well frightened off Miles River Neck hunters (see “Romp’s Mustake”), but of late darkies from Queen Anne’s and Caroline Counties had been hunting Hayland Branch, and Billy became jealous, wanting to be the only hunter, and sought to get his Mars Pinckney, who owned the meadow, to help him; and his success was more than he anticipated.

“Romp’s Mustake” had been talked about until the story had so grown that most of the darkies thought the cat a ghost, and among the converts was Scip’ Jones. The matter was discussed at bush meetings, corn-huskings and cake-walks; so after the christening of Mollie Jones’ son (Scipio Jonas Jones) at Zion Church, John Poney, Uncle Stephen Demby and Scip’ Jones were appointed to investigate Hayland Branch.

MARS PINCKNEY WHEN A BOY.

Billy was at the christening, of course, and wanted the ghost story to flourish, as it kept Talbot coon hunters from the branch. So he told his Mars Pinckney that “niggahs cum fum Kyarline an’ Queen Anne’s County ter hunt dat mash an’ branch, an’ ’skusin’ de Talbot hunters, he wouldn’ be s’prised ef dey som’ time, when dey hongry, teck de oysters fum de cove;” (Billy did)—“an’, young Marster, won’ you qualify me ter say dat de branch hanted pow’ful?”

His Mars’ Pinckney said with sternness: “Billy, that is not the truth! I want, however, to keep rogues and intruders out, and I will make and give you something that will scare every nigger out of my meadow from this day forward forevermore.”

So his Mars Pinckney, full of youth and deviltry, took a big pumpkin, cut a hole through the top and bottom, and through the latter pushed a tallow candle with a big wick. He cut eyeholes and a mouth, and, at Billy’s suggestion, tacked on a medium-sized cucumber for a nose, and on the sides or cheeks of the pumpkin, put sheepskin for whiskers, as Billy said, “ter meck hit look sassy;” and then a grapevine was trimmed up and tied through the top, and Billy was instructed what to do.

Parson Phil Demby was to baptize some sisters the next day—Sunday—and Billy thought that a good time to consummate his plans.

It was very cold. The boys were skating, and the sisters were dipped where the farmers had been cutting ice the day before. When Tilly Mink was shoved under she had one of her pockets full of apples. The water shocked her so, she immediately commenced to throw her arms around, pawed the bottom, pawed Parson Demby overturned an’ thoroughly drenched him (it was an honest dip) and pawed and tore the pocketful of apples; and when Little Billy saw the apples come popping up, bobbing like net-corks, and the Parson’s haste to get on dry land, he called out:

“Jes’ gib huh ’nubba dip, Pawson Demby; huh sins is cummin’ up fum huh in clustahs!”

The negroes on the shore thought salvation at last had struck Billy, and, the immersion over, they crowded about him.

Billy in a moment embraced his opportunity, and after a few remarks about the cold, wanted to know where he could buy another coon dog; expatiated upon the coon and ’possum tracks he had recently seen in Hayland meadows, and further said, apparently unconcerned:

“I kyant ondastan why dey don’ hunt dat branch mo’. Ef’n I had uh nubba dog (Jasper is foot-sore, an’ I gwine ter git one), I’d pestah dat lubly branch when ebnin’ cum, an’ ornless hit snow er rain, I’d hunt ev’y parf in it.”

Jes’ gib huh an-nubba dip, Pawson Demby, huh sins is cummin’ up fum huh in clusters!

Then and there the witch committee arranged for a hunt the next night. They asked Billy to go, but “he wuz gwine ter Kyarline County futto buy uh dog.”

The moon was new and went down about 11 o’clock, and Billy calculated they would be along about that hour. So, holding the grapevine in his hand, he climbed a witch-elm tree, threw the vine over its slippery limb, rested his pumpkin-face on the ground, and whilst he was “meddowtatin’” he heard the voice of Scipio say to his thoroughbred hound: “Put ’im up, Noahy!” and later, “I like de stile an’ rovin’ ub dat dog, don’ you, Uncle Stephen?”

Uncle Stephen said, “Monstus fine! Carry hissef jes’ like uh houn’ I hunted over lars’ wintah in Kyarline County dat wuz stole fum de man dat los’ him; an’ I heah him say he hope dat dog tree nuffin fuh de pusson dat stole him ’ceppin’ ghos’es, witches an’ sperrits, an’ ef’n he ebba ketch him, dis uth wud trimble when he twiss he neck.”

Scip’s eyes began to feel too big—his roguery rebuked him; Noahy was the stolen dog. But his conscience was momentarily relieved by Noahy’s giving tongue, and was tickled and delighted when Uncle Stephen said:

“Dat’s uh coon, an’ dat’s uh qualified coon dog; uh sweetah tongue I ain’ heahd sence Mars’ Nickey’s Jerry-Myah died, name arfter a profit; an’ he wuz a profit, too.”

By this time they were all in a brisk trot, Uncle Stephen grumbling about the pace and declaring he could not keep up.

The witch committee were about one hundred and fifty yards from Billy, and when he saw the dog some thirty yards off, and hunting towards him, he quickly lit the tallow candle and slowly pulled the pumpkin face a few feet from the ground. Noahy saw it in a moment, retreated and yelped like a wild dog. All was consternation, and all hearts went pitapat. Presently Uncle Stephen, who had the most courage, said:

“’Pears ter me dat dog cum ’long wid som’ varment he ain’ ’quainted wid. I had a composation yistiddy week wid uh coon hunter I’s knowed fuh uh long time, an’ he say dogs dat ain’ ris on de watah al’ays gits skeered de fus’ time dey see pompusses an’ shirks playin’ on de ribber sho’.”

Scipio caressed the dog with trembling hands, and said:

“I don’ ondastan’ de ’spression ub dis dog. Otters is ornpropper varments ter projic’ wid; maybe he s’prised a sleepin’ otter, an’ de otter smack him, an’ den babtiz him in de creek tell he mos’ drown. Dey will do it! ’Specially on de new moon.”

John Poney said: “De dog mus’ uh scent dat witch Scipio bu’n de tail ub, sted killin’. Hit wuz ornrichious not ter kill dat witch, an’ de fus’ ting we know, de witch will hab young uns, an’ den dis branch will hab ter be gib up, kase uh branch full ub scan’lous witches is wuss’n uh woods full ub sperrits.”

Scipio Jones (affrighted): “Don’ talk dat way, Brer Poney.”

By this time Billy had slowly pulled his pumpkin face some twenty feet from the ground, and as the witch-elm bow was gently moved by the breeze, it gave the pumpkin face such a weird look that even Billy got lonesome. Uncle Stephen, less timid and more observant, though behind, was the first to see the pumpkin face. With a gasp, and dropping quickly on his knees, he wailed:

“Ef’n you is a ghos’, Mars’ Ghos’, I ’spec you is uh ghos’, an’ ef’n you is uh witch, my Mistis Witch, I ’spec you is uh witch! I nebber sed nuffin ergin ghos’es an’ witches in meh life, an’ I’s 70 year ole—an’ nebber see an’ bleebe in witches an’ ghos’es; but I bleebe now, ’fo’ de Lawd, I do! an’ now I ondastan’ why dis branch so full ub witch-elm an’ witch-hazel trees.”

Just then Billy gave his grapevine a gentle pull, bobbed the pumpkin, and Uncle Stephen, more frightened than ever, exclaimed in great humility:

“O Lawd, ’fen’ Stephen, an’ let he salbation resis’ dat witch, an’ de witch resis’ he salbation, an’ keep de witch fum leadin’ po’ Stephen ter”——

“Is you got de kramps, Uncle Stephen?” half frantically exclaimed Scip’. Uncle Stephen pointed his trembling hands at the witch-elm tree, and Scipio and John saw the pumpkin face.

A few minutes thereafter Uncle Stephen was trotting homeward alone—tired, dejected and scared almost out of his senses, and every now and then ejaculating, as he stumbled and trotted along:

“Dat orn’ry niggah, Scipio Jones, done breck up coon huntin’ in dis branch!”

Scipio and John ran until they came to a haystack some two miles away, in which they made a hole and hid themselves until daylight, when Scipio took Noahy back to his owner.

On Sunday next Parson Demby gave notice “Dat Scipio Jones had got salbation in he hyart, an’ wud be babtiz’ Sunday cummin’.”

There was a great difference of opinion among the committee as to the appearance of the witch, and this was their testimony:

Scip’ thought “Hit wuz erboutin ez big ez uh cow, an’ had hohns ez long ez uh fencerail.”

John Poney thought “Hit wuz ’boutin de size ub uh shock ub wheat, wid eyes ’bout de size ub buckets, an’ uh mouf ’bout ez big ez uh shirk’s.”

Uncle Stephen said he “Wuz sho’ de face wuz ’boutin ez big ez uh barrel, an’ melted lead run fum he nose, an’ pusspuration ub fire drapped fum all ober he face, an’ ebbry time de win’ blow his eyes wink an’ his mouf larf.”

A few days after the ghost investigation Little Billy went over to the quarters of Uncle Stephen to hear the news, and found the old man putting his little grandchild to sleep and singing:

Sooky licked de ladle,

An’ de baby rocked de cradle.

Rock——

Billy interrupted him, saying: “Howdy, Uncle Stephen?”

The old man was glad to see him, nervous and startled, too, for he had not gotten over his witch fright.

“Po’ly, Billy, ve’y po’ly; pow’ful mis’ry in meh back an’ legs.”

Billy said, in an innocent sort of way: “I jes’ bought fum Kent County de fines’ kin’ ub coon dog—cross ’tween uh houn’ an’ rat-tan-terrier—an’ I drap in ter arsk ef’n you won’ teck uh hunt wid me in Haylan’ Branch to-night. Tell me hit’s full ub coons, an’ uh hunt mout do yo’ back good.”

Uncle Stephen gave Billy a solemn, stern look and said: “I wan’ nuffin ter do wid coons, ’possums er ’coon dogs. Scip’ Jones an’ John Poney dey bof exerted me. I’s los’ meh tase fuh night hun’in’; an’ when you heah de ’po’t ub de witch committee, you will sell yo’ dog, kase when dat ’po’t gits knowed, da won’ be no use fuh coon dogs, leas’wise ’roun’ heah. I had uh talk wid Caesar Butler yistiddy, an’ he say: ‘He sho’ dat Haylan’ Branch witch tuck an’ stole he ’possum fum de ashes lars’ fall, an’ bin stealin’ he oystus all wintah.’ Now de wexin’ quession is, What we gwine ter do? Hit wud not s’prise me ef’n I move fum de county.”

“Uncle Stephen, what wuz de ’port ub de witch committee?”

“Well, dey met lars’ night over Bennett Tumlinson’s wheelwright shop. Pawson Demby wuz chusen ter teck de cheah. Den we hed uh long composation an’ hit wuz ’cided dat ghos’es may lib in cows’ hohns, but witches don’—leas’wise de breed dat’s in Haylan’ Branch. We also ’cide dat ef’n all de cowhohns in Miles Ribber Neck wuz made inter one hohn, hit wud be too small fuh de witch ub Haylan’ Branch ter ’pose in. Hit wuz also ’cluded dat de sperrit in Haylan’ Branch wuz uh witch, kase hit hab whiskuhs, an’ ghos’es don’ hab whiskuhs. Pawson Demby say he sho’ hit’s de same breed ub witches dat’s spok’ ub in Samuel de Fus’, and dat we mus’ stop coon hun’in’, hintimate Saul, an’ all go ter witch hun’in’ an’ witch killin’. Dat de Bible ’splicitly spressify in de book ub Ex-odus: ‘Thou shal’ not suffah uh witch ter lib.’ Pawson Demby mus’ be mustakin’. Hit kyant be de same breed ub witches Saul kilt, an’ ef’n dey is, dey’s grown monstus since dem days; an’ I bleebe ’sted ub de brudders ub Zion Chuch ’stroyin’ de witches, de witches will ’stroy de brudders. Talk ’bout babtizin’ in de presence ub shirks! I’d rudder sleep wid shirks dan see dat witch ergin. Hits de lars’ time I’s gwine on any committee! Mo’n dat, I’s made up meh min’ ter jine uh chuch dat don’ ’low coon huntin’, an dat chuch is de Presbyters.”

After the war Billy, old and dispirited, drifted to a small town in Maryland. His independence, quaint humor (narrations and mirations) soon attached the townspeople to him, who kept him in tobacco, clothed and made him comfortable. Billy never tired of expatiating upon his old home, haunts, ole Miss and ole Mars. It was his nature to exaggerate, and he told about the fo’-in-hands he drove (he never drove) until it got to be a joke; and they would tease him and say they had heard he only drove mules and steers, which made him furious, and he would brandish his cane at his accusers.

When Mr. Cleveland was first elected President Billy was very much disturbed. He thought all the negroes would be sold into slavery, and his loquaciousness and solicitude suggested the following joke, which was played upon him to the amusement of the township:

At several places in the town, to which Billy’s attention was called, printed notices were tacked up that on a certain day all negroes in Maryland would be sold to the highest bidder. When Billy saw it, he swore lustily, and on the day of sale he was made to stand on a goodsbox, and cried to the highest bidder. It was a very funny sight. Billy said: “Ef’n ole Mars, er Miss Henrietta wuz erlive dey’d kill ebery lars’ one ub you.”

The spectators walked around him, looked in his mouth feigning to tell his age, and praised his noble appearance. Billy looked scornfully at the laboring people, some of whom had been instructed to bid on him, and graciously at the gentry present. A pretended buyer asked if he belonged to the church.

Billy said: “I don’ ’long ter no chuch, an’ I ain’ gwine ter jine, an’ gib up meh fiddle an’ banjo.”

Just then some one looked him over and said: “Splendid, honest face! I will give $5,000 for him.”

Billy said, with great pomposity: “I al’ays knewed uh quality niggah, an’ I’s glad ter be uh slabe, ef’n uh gemman buy me. I tole de niggahs ef’n dey wote de Dimcrat ticket dey’d all be sol’ ergin, but dey sech ornry fools.”

Finally a man said $5,000 was nothing for him; he would give $10,000. Whereupon a carpenter nailing shingles on a roof within earshot of the sale, knowing Billy’s weakness for talking about his ole master’s horses, and thinking to draw him out and please him, asked: “Can Billy drive a carriage?” Whereupon Billy broke up the sale by saying: “What in de h—l you wan’ ter know fuh? You nebba own uh kerridge.”

SERMON.[[7]]

Befo’ preachin’ I gib notice dat Miss Henrietta gwine ter gib uh cake-walk Chris’mus night ter all de serbents ’ceppin’ Scipio Jones. Dar will also be uh feas’ in de brick kitchen arfter de walk. De ’freshments will be uh cake ub figs, two clustahs ub resins, harf bushel ub kisses, pancakes, an’ uh keg ub molasses. Some sistuh at de rebate ax Aunt Phillis how she cook pancakes. She ’ques’ me ter say: “Three eggs bet up light, wid uh pint ub milk an’ uh pint ub flower, den add uh tablespoonful ub butter an’ lard, den cook, de mo’ carelesser de better.”

All de chillun dat got bladders hog killin’ time an’ kep’ ’em, kin bus’ ’em Chris’mus night arfter de cake-walk.

Mollie Jones will also hab her two chillun chrissin. She qualify me futto say de names chusin will be Scipio Jonas Jones an’ Nimrod.

De c’lection lars’ Sunday wuz 83 cents. Aunt Phillis wuz sick wid de rumatiz an’ wan’ heah. She ’ques’ me ter gib notice when she cum she will gib uh levy—dat will make 95½ cents.

De deacons has ’cided ter buy wid it, de new strain ub watermillion seeds, call de Annarandal Sweets.

Dey will be put in little packs, an’ straws will be drawed fuh de packs.

Da will be uh fes-ti-val in de meetin’ house nex’ monf. De money made will be tuck ter buy uh kyarpet to go ’roun’ de pulpit. Some ub de brudders fum Kyarline has promis’ twelve gourds, uh new kine wid curled handles, one bushel ub sweet potatar slips, eight ’possums, an’ fo’ new mus’rat gums.

I am charm ter say de deacons has secur’d fum Mr. Plummer fuh 25 cents uh monf de priblig ub babtizin’ in de Wye Mills dam, ’ceppin in de winter, jes’ befo’ dey cut ice.

You will find meh tex’ in de 63 Sam, 6 Vus, writ by King Dabid when he wuz in de wilderness ub Juda an’ hidin’ hissef in de mountain ub Zip.

“When I recommember de ’pon meh bed, an’ meddowtate on de in de night watches.”

Sistus, brudders an’ little chillun, we might fill dis chuch full ub some ub Mars Nickey’s craps, cawn, oats, wheat, hay, fodder, an’ buckwheat, an’ fill de corners wid spider’s webs, wasp nesses, mouse beds an’ sich like, hab de chuch jam full, an’ ubcose when it full it kyant be any fuller, den dey wud hab ter go ter de bawn; but dat what dey call mem’ry require no bawn. It can be packed jes’ like dis chuch, ev’y crack filled, ev’y little hole chinked, an’ yit da wud be plenty ub room.

Ef’n yo’ mem’ry wuz chock full ub all de chunes in de Zion hymbook, an’ uh camp meetin’ cum wid 500 new hyms, dat mem’ry wud right straight meck uh place fuh dem chunes an’ teck ’em in widout crowdin’ anything.

Ef’n de Angel Gabrul wuz ter meet you, an’ gib you ’struction fuh uh week, an’ say: “I miricle you ter recommember all dis Scriptur’,” dat strange thing called mem’ry wud in uh moment make room, de mos’ triflin’ thing wud not be ’sturbed. Oh! it’s uh pow’ful thing, mem’ry. “When I recommember de ’pon meh bed”—dat’s de application. What wud we do widoutin mem’ry?

MARS PINCKNEY’S HOME. “FAUSLEY.”

S’pose, fuh instinct, de tremlin’ stars fogot ter cum out ter keep deah faithful watch; s’pose de moon fogot de stars an’ lay uh sleep fuh six months. But wussa still, s’pose de sun fogot de sunrise, sunset an’ twilight, an’ as de Bible say, “Darknes’ brooded ober de deep.” Mars Pinckney say, “No wegetables an’ plants wud grow, ’ceppin pisin ones; de trees wud all die, da wud be no birds singin’ ’ceppin de martingales an’ hooppo-wills, no bees hummin’, no flowers bloomin’, no playful colts an’ skippin’ lam’s—it wud be like de lars’ day fuh sinnahs.” But I heah somebody cummin’ long talkin’ ter hissef. It’s mem’ry, an’ he meck de stars say: “I recommember an’ lub de young moon, de harf moon an’ de harves’ moon.” Den de man in de moon say, “’Cose you do; kase I am de crown an’ you de stars in it.” Den de moon say, “I recommember de ribbers, coves, creeks, all de beases ub de field, all de fishes dat keep quiet in de day but leap an’ play in meh meller light, an’ I rides th’oo de clowds mo’ prowder dan King Solomon did wid his prancin’ race hosses an’ chariots in Egyp’ lan’ co’tin’ Phareo’s daughter; kase I is so gran’ I am bleege ter be noble, fuh I hab millions ub trees, ribbers, creeks, ribbulets, fruits an’ flowers—all de beases ub de field ter burhol, but dey hab only one moon ter make mirations erboutin, so I am de gran’ oberseer ub de night.”

Den heah cum de sun creepin’ up, sorter playin’ hide an’ seek wid de mawnin’, an’ say ter de dawn, “Recommember me! Recommember me!” Den de dawn put his arms roun’ de yearth an’ you heah de sweet jewdraps say ter de flowers, trees an’ watermillion blossoms, “Good bye;” an’ right ’way de birds sip de jewdraps jes’ befo’ dey melt, ter wet deah th’oats fuh de lars’ mawnin’. Hallaluja, dey’r gwine ter sing.

Bimeby de sunbeams cummenc’ ter play an’ say, “I recommember uh dark place; I will drap in an’ meck it bright,” an’ de sweet potater wines, cucumber wines, all de wegetables, fruits, flowers, craps an’ grasses is kiss’ an’ caress’ by dem sunbeams.

Ah, sistus an’ chillun, I cud preach uh monf boutin dat sun, but I mus’ pars on an’ say befo’ I include recommembrance, dat we kin all be sunbeams; we kin hab uh brighter light in our bresses dan de sunlight, ef’n we recommember what babtism will do, feas’ our hyarts on de ripe fruit ub salbation, hab on our feet de golden slippas ub faith, an’ shoostrings ub justifycation. Den de sunlight ub de c’lestial home will flud our souls ez we sing an’ pray ter be at de lars’ day ’mong de cherupins an’ serupins dat dances—no, not dances—dat shouts by de light ub de sun, moon an’ stars, on de c’lestial sho’.

We will now teck de nex’ application ub meh tex’, “Meddowtate on dee in de night watches.”

Brudderin, all nature is uh meddowtationist; dat is, all satisfied nature.

Did you eber think erboutin it?

Now, teck fus’ uh cow, when she gits plenty ub grass, lays down an’ chaws huh cud, blinks, winks huh eyes an’ meddowtates, an’ ef’n she is not uh stripper, I specks she thinks how nice it will be when somebody milks huh gre’t big bag, so full ub milk dat it will ’stress huh befo’ long ef’n it’s not stripped.

Uh settin’ hen is uh gre’t muser (I wan’ ter ’splain dat what dey call meddowtatin’ in de Bible days, dey call musin’ in dese days, an’ what dey call damsels in Bible days, we call ladies in dese days). Yes! uh settin’ hen is uh gre’t meddowtater, prob’ly one ub de gre’tes’. Dey sets twenty-one days, an’ dey say ter git uh good hatchin’ dey should be sot on twenty-one eggs, so as ter ’low huh one egg uh day ter muse on. ’Cose she thinks erboutin what de diffunt color ub de chicks will be, how many will be roostus, how many hens, how many will be black legs, specklelegs, yaller legs, an’ how many good layers. Den she gib uh little cackle, which is larfin’ ’mong fowls, an’ say ter huhsef: “Heah cum ole Miss Osman, de hous’keeper, de keys jinglin’ same ez bells fum huh ap’on strings, lookin’ ergin fuh dat speckle hen, settin’ an’ musin’ un’er de steps right at de do’.”

But, brudderin, de gre’tes’ meddowtaters is de ’cendents ub Mars Adam an’ Miss Ebe, an’ ’mong de ladies in de Bible, I s’pose Miss Rachel, de mudder ub some ub de Petracks, wuz de slyis’ meddowtater, an’ de mos’ ’spected, kase Uncle Reubin say she hab de finis’ toom, de biggist chariot, an’ mos’ moners ub any ooman de Bible speak ub. When Jacob fus’ met huh at de well she wuz musin’; dat is, huh ’flections wuz deep like de well. She look so peart, sweet, an’ sad-like, de narration say, dat Jacob wep’. How-some-eber, Jacob wuz uh unsuspectin’ shepherd, an’ wuz smut ’mejately by Miss Rachel’s cunnin’ lubliness. Mo’n dat, Miss Rachel had bin ris’ by de qual’ty, an’ knew’d how ter look sorf-eyed an’ sly, jes’ like Miss Henrietta use ter look when she feel sassy; ’sides, Miss Rachel cum outin’ uh musin’ fambly. Her pa, Mars Laban, meddowtate (so de Bible say) seven year befo’ he gib Miss Rachel ter Jacob, an’ he made uh mustake den, kase Jacob soon tu’n ornry, an’ hab fo’ wives.

One ub de gre’tes’ meddowtaters mention ’mong de men in de Bible, is spoke ub in de fus’ book ub clover.

Rasmus Jasper Jemes: Pawson Demby, da ain’ no book ub clover in de Bible.

Did I say clover, Rasmus? Well, den, I meant de fus’ book ub Timothy. I’s bin mowin’ grass all de week, an’ I got ’fuse erbout de name.

But I mus’ hurry on to de gre’tes’ meddowtater in de Bible, de one dat writ de ’squisit’ tex’ I preach fum, King Dabid! I ain’ bin able ter fin’ it in de Bible, but I think he mus’ uh bin close kin ter Noahy, kase he had mos’ ez much charm ober beases, an’ he had uh arm ub steal. Jes’ think ub dat! It wuz his lef’ arm. De Bible don’ say what his right arm made ub, but I ’specks it wuz made ub steal er brass, kase he kotch de lion by de beard wid his lef’ han’, smut an’ kilt him wid his right han’. Now, Sampson kilt uh lion, but it wuz uh young one. Little Dabid mus’ uh bin thinkin’ ’bout dem lions when he writ, “Meh hyart wuz hot widin me; when I wuz musin’ de fire burned.” Well, it cum ter pars dat de Lawd say unter Samuel de fus’, “I wan’ uh king;” an’ Samuel de fus’ say, “I no uh man named Obid, dat’s got some monstus fine sons, but Obid he ain’ no ’count kase he fogot his son name Jesse; but it turn out all fuh de bes’, kase Jesse got ’fended, run ’way, an’ merried what dey call in dem days uh damsel, an’ ris uh fine lot ub sons.”

While Samuel wuz musin’ erbout deah quare names, who should cum ’long but Jesse, deah pa. So Samuel say, “Wha you gwine?” An’ Jesse say, “Ter help Saul ter ’noint meh youngis’ son.” An’ Saul meck uh ’miration erbout his oldes’ boys, an’ say, “How many chillun you got, anyway?” An’ Jesse say, “Six sons, an’ de youngis’ uh sweet boy name Dabid, fair ub eyes, lubly coun’nance, an’ uh monstus cunnin’ hyarp player. I s’pose he’s meh favorite son, kase he so bad; dat’s why I wan’ you ter ’noint him.” An’ Saul say, “Wha is he? I will ’noint him an’ meck him uh king.” Jesse wuz so s’prise he almos’ had uh spavin, an’ say, “Dat chile nuffin but uh boy, an’ you kyant think how bad he is. Mo’n dat, I kyant well spare him; he mines de sheep, sells de hides ub de beases; an’ ’tain’ nuffin fuh him ter kill uh ox kyart load uh week, ub lions, bars and striped tigers.”

Belubbed, Jesse didn’ wan’ ter say anything ergin his son, but de fac’ is, dat boy spent mos’ ub his time playin’ de hyarp wid uh cunnin’ arm an’ han’ ub steal, an’ wussa yit, young ez he wuz, meddowtatin’ an’ longin’ fuh Phareo’s daughter an’ other damsels.

Jesse bu’nt insects erroun’ hissef, an’ ’pon ’flection ’cided ter let he son be uh king, an’ git salbation.

Befo’ I go any fudder wid dis King Dabid narration I wan’ ter say ter de chillun in de chuch, you don’ hab ter be so strong ter de looks ter be gran’. De feebles’ an’ de baddes’ chile in dis chuch may meck de strongis’ man an’ de bes’ Babtis’ preacher.

King Dabid wuz tuck fuh uh king, tho’ he wuz de younges’ an’ de feebles’ ub dem boys, wid uh lubly face an’ long curls, jes’ de way Miss Henrietta’s use’ ter grow—but heah is de application:

De Lawd look in de hyart ub little Dabid; he saw brabery, an’ de future writer ub Sams; so he right way gib him uh arm ub steal an’ meck him king!

Will he meck you uh king?

Yas; de Lawd will gib you uh erligious arm ub steal, meck ebery chile in dis chuch uh king in his army ub salbation, an’ mebbe uh Sams writer, ef’n you intimate little Dabid.

Well, arfter dis’ gression, I cum ter de time when Dabid grow up, hab uh beard, git mad wid Saul an’ de Flistines, an’ meck his barbers cut orf one side ub de Flistines’ whiskus ter tell dem in battle fum his soldiers; so when Goliar heah tell ub it he larf, stroke he beard, an’ say: “He nuffin’ but uh sassy boy.”

How, it cum ter pars when King Dabid fine out how Goliar talk erbout him, he den an’ da meddowtate in de night watches how he kill Goliar, an’ s’prisin’ ter say, he ’cluded ter kill him wid uh stone. So he jump fum his chariot, tuck fum uh brook five stones, put ’em in his sheppard bag, an’ in his han’ ub steal he had uh sling. When Goliar saw him, de Bible say, “He disdain him kase he wuz but uh striplin’” an’ he tole him ef’n he totch him “he wud gib his flesh ter de fowls ub de air (cose dey mus’ uh bin buzzards), an’ ter de beases ub de field.”

Goliar look so much biggah dan de cunnin’ little hyarp player, ’magin’ dat he stop futto meddowtate, an’ ter git his steal arm wuckin’. He put his han’ in his sheep bag, tuck out uh stone, an’ when Goliar wuz erboutin fo’ hunard yards orf he sling dat stone, not ’speckin’ ter hit him de fus’ sling; but bless yo’ souls, dat stone tuck de hole top uh he haid orf—ez de Injuns say, “scalped him.” Den Dabid run, stood on Goliar, cut de res’ ub he haid orf, hurray an’ shout, when his sharpshooters cum up an’ run de army ub Goliar to deah tents.

De nex’ day de man dat King Dabid wuz feared ub, wuz feared ub King Dabid, fuh it almos’ tuck Dabid’s bref when Saul cum wid uh white flag an’ say:

“I is tuck Goliar’s place; you had better s’render; ef’n you will I will gib you meh daughter.”

David meddowtate, shuck Saul’s han’, tuck his daughter, had huh sant ter his tent, an’ as de Bible say, “Behabe hissef wisely.” When King Dabid look good at Saul an’ think how small he wuz ter Goliar, he felt peart, spunky, an’ say, “Ef’n you cud see de mules, jackasses, chariots, an’ jablins dat I hab got you wudn’ talk dat way” (er words signifyin’ dat).

Brudderin, Saul’s temper ris, he throw’d one ub dem jablins at him, which Dabid dodge, run home ter his damsel, tole huh erboutin his father-in-law. Now, what did dat ’stress damsel say? She say, “You ain’ heahd de wus yit. Pappy sant me word dat when you teck yo’ robe orf, go ter baid, an’ fall uh sleep, futto let him no; dat den he will cum an’ ’sasinate you. Dat’s what I merried you fuh, but you got sech winnin’ ways, you sech uh lion killer, hab sech strong ahms, look so lubly when you play de hyarp, dat you hab conjur me, an’ I lub you jam down ter de roots ub meh soul. Dey shan’t ’sasinate you; so jine yo’ army, I will put uh scarecrow in de baid, an’ while he rejoice an’ stab de baid you kin be marchin’ on his army.”

[[8]]Bimeby Saul cum ’long, stole in de room, stab dat scarecrow all ter smash; but jes’ den he heah de artil’ry ub Dabid. So he run ter his army, an’ walk ober uh hunard acre field full ub kilt Flistines, an’ saw de res’ ub his army flyin’, leabin’ all deah camels an’ jackasses.

Saul had de biggist army, kase dat night ’cruits cum fum Zip, an’ de nex’ day dey met ergin, fit and skirmish, skirmish an’ fit, till bof armies got ve’y tired.

Saul, he ’gin ter meddowtate, an’ think King Dabid uh witch, kase he sho’ he kilt him in baid, so he got pow’ful skerd, ’fraid ub King Dabid—too skerd futto wait till de night watches ter meddowtate; so he meddowtate all day, an’ dat night he made spittoon bridges, tuck his army ’cross de ribber, so he cud ’cruit fuh jackasses an’ camels, ez da wan’ none lef’ ’ceppin’ sixteen white asses dat pull his chariot, so he cummenc’ ter mortify de place, sant his staff futto look fuh uh drobe ub asses, an’ his sutler say, “We kyant fine dem asses.”

Saul say, “I kin fine dat drobe; so he meck bleebe he look fuh de asses, but all de time he wuz ’rangin’ ter ezert.” (Meh eyes is so bad I kyant wear meh specks, so I got Uncle Reubin ter read dis gran’ narration ter me lars’ week; so I is preachin’ ezactly de way de Bible say.) Well, Saul say ter Jonah, his spittoon oberseer, “King Dabid is so cute an’ cunnin’ I’s feared he may hab one ub dem torpeders un’er dis mountain futto blow us up; dafo’ I am gwine ter ezert, an’ wan’ you ter go wid me ’cross de ribber in one ub dese spittoon bridges ter see King Dabid.”

Jonah say he lub King Dabid, hab de gret’s speck fuh him, wuz anxious ter be an’ exerter, but he had once bin in de whale’s belly three days and three nights; so he had ernuff ub de sea. Den he wep’ on de bres’ ub his Pappy Amelikite, who wuz skerd stiff, an’ wuz weepin’ on de bres’ ub Jonah, who fudder say, dat he rudder risk his life in battle, er be kilt by de jawbone ub an ass, dan sink on one ub dem spittoon bridges an’ be et up by shirks.”

Amelikite had condidence in de spittoon bridges, ezerted wid Saul, an’ wid two fence rails dey paddled de boat ober ter de camp ub King Dabid.

Sister Becky: “Pawson Demby, wha’ dey git fence rails fum dem days?”

Sister Becky, mos’ any pusson but me wud teck a fence at dat question.

Ev’ybody nose dat de rods ub ches’nut, hazel, poplar an’ pine Jacob, de son-in-law ub Mars Laban, had piled up, wuz fence rails. In dese days dey call ’em fence rails; in dem days, rods. Ez big uh farmer ez Jacob wuz, wid all de thousands ub mules, jack-asses, speckled cattle, goats, sheep an’ cows he had, how he gwine ter raise de cawn, oats, wheat an’ barley he did ’doutin fences? Why, his beases wud hab ’stroyed his craps in one day.

It cum ter pars Amelikite wen’ wid Saul, an’ Saul say, “Tell it not in Gath” (I s’pose dat wuz uh army ’spression er watchword); so dey bail out de boat, paddle ’cross de ribber, an’ landed near uh tent. Da sot King Dabid on uh sycamo’ stump (sycamo’ trees wuz de fa-vo-rites in dem days; dat’s de tree dat little Zackius clum), musin’ an’ I s’pose longin’ fuh de wife ub Urihy, an’ meddowtatin’ er dotin’ on Miss Abigail, de wife ub Nabal, who wuz smut wid him, cudn’ resis’ his beauty, an’ cum ter him wid five damsels ez bridemaids, all uh straddle ub asses. I kyant gib deah names kase Samuel de fus fogot ter mention ’em.

Saul open de composation, an’ speak fus by sayin’: “King Dabid, dis man kep’ comp’ny wid me crossin’ de ribber; his name Amelikite. We is bof’n us ezerters an’ tired ub wah.” Den King Dabid say, “Set down; I speck you horngry, too? Hab some kid an’ hardtack, an’ tell me de news.”

Saul told him de Flistines wuz mortifyin’ de mountain, an’ ev’y man wud die befo’ dey waccinate de place.

King Dabid ris up, shuck his curls, an’ say, “Ef’n it ain’ waccinated mejately I’ll cross de ribber wid uh thousan’ chariots, fifty thousan’ artil’ry, twenty thousan’ cavelry on mules, all my damsels on white jackasses, all blowin’ rams’ hohn’s, an’ de Flistin’s I don’ ’stroy I’ll teck pris’ners, throw in de ribber to de shirks dat’s bin feedin’ heah fuh two weeks on some ub meh dead mules.”

Jes’ den one ub his spies cum in an’ say, “King Dabid, dat young mule yo’ son Ab-so-lum bin ridin’ hung him in uh oak tree!”

Den King Dabid snort smoke fum his nose, weep an’ wep’, an’ wep’ an’ weep; jes’ ez he begin ter git pearter his fus’ wife heah Saul’s voice, so she stold ’way fum de res’ ub de wives, stood by de sycamo’ stump an’ say ter King Dabid:

[[9]]“I look thoo uh winder lars week, saw you leapin’ an’ dancin’ befo’ de Lawd wid all yo’ might, an’ I ’spise you in my hyart!”

Den King Dabid cry, grit he teeth, meddowtate, an’ made up he mind ter stop dancin’, sin no mo’ an’ jine de Babtis’ chuch; so he throw erway his swo’d an’ say, gimmy de pen, cummenc’ ter wright sweet Sams, an’ he eyes shine same ez two stars, he lubly face glo’ wid de beauty ub holiness, he call fuh he hyarp ub uh thousan’ strings, twank it—an’ lemmy read you what he sing:

“De Lawd is meh shepherd; I shall not want. He meck me ter lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me ’side de still waters. He resto’eth meh soul; he leadeth me in parfs ub richtousnes fuh his name sake (mus’ ask Uncle Reubin who he name fuh). Yea, tho’ I wa’k thoo de valley ub de shadder ub death, I will feah no evil, fuh thou art wid me; thy rod an’ thy staff dey comfort me.”

Den he chuned his hyarp ergin; he wep’ an’ he weep, an’ he weep an he wep’. Den he meddowtate an’ bimeby he say: “O, my son Ab-so-lum, my son, my son, Ab-so-lum!”

Uncle Reubin Viney: “Befo’ we teck up de c’lection I wan’ ter say, da will be uh gre’t rebate Thanksgibbin night in Zion Baptis’ Chuch; subjec’, secon’ chapta Zacharyhy, 6 vus.

“‘Ho, ho, cum forth an’ flee fum de lan’ ub de north, saith de Lawd; fuh I hab spred you uh broad ez de fo’ winds ub heabin saith de Lawd.’

“De rebate will be ter ’cide ef’n Ho, ho wan’ uh Chine er Japne, who wuz he?”