“Well, at dat, I seed er good many nods ’en winks er passin’ ’bout, but I never knowd ’zacly whut wus gwine on ’till one of de elders ris ’en said he dijected to havin’ any ceremony said over dem folks, fer Sis’ Lizer’s fust husband, ole Unk’ Jake, wus yit er livin’, ’ceppen he died sence I lef’ home dis mawin’,’ sez he.
“His ’pinion wus dat ef de deacorns wan’t ’lowed but one wife ’cordin’ to Scriptur, de stchowerd sisters mustn’t have mor’n one man at de same time.
“Dat fotch Bro. Primus ter his feet, en he tun roun’ to de sisters, he did, en ’lowed dat dey too mought git up en ’brace de multitude, en gie dur unnerstandin’ in dis case. ’Pon dat, Sis’ Anderson ris, en sez she, ‘Dis ’oman orten be casted outen de church, en I ain’t afeard to say so pine blank.’ I tell yer she was in fer raisen uv a chune, en singin’ her right out den en dar, wid de Elder leadin’ of her ter de do’, for dat’s de way dey tu’ns em outen de church over here. ‘Fer,’ sez she, ‘she’s bent on committen’ ’dultery—ef she ain’t done it befo’—en its gwine clean agin whuts in dat ar volum on dat ar table,’ en she p’inted her forefinger to de Bible er layin’ dar, en ses she, ‘We cyant ’ford to let sich doin’s as dese to be gwine on in dis heah ’sciety.’
“Dey all sided ’long Sis’ Andersen mostly, ceppen me. I wus sorry fer de ’oman a settin’ dar wid her arms hugged up on her breas’ like a pore crimi’al. I wuz mighty sorry fer her. So when Bro’ Primus ’quired ef ennybody felt able ter counterfeit Sis’ Andersen’s evidence, en looked all roun’, en nobody sed nuthin, when he axed ’em agin why, on dat second ’peal, I jes’ riz up en tole ’em I knowed dat ’oman fo’ de wah. To be shore she had tuck up wid old Unk’ Jake long ’fo’ dat. He wus er ingeneer in a big saw-mill on de Tucker place, en he had er son by his fust wife, killed in de wah. He wus mighty ole when I fust seed him—he ollers wus a heap too ole fer Sis’ Lizer—but fer de las’ six or seben year de ole man’s done failed so he ain’t no service to nobody—mor’n er chile, siz I. Bein’ as he is, sez I, widout any owner fer to feed en clove en fine him it comes powerful hard on Sis’ Lizer to do all, fer I tell yer, he’s des like er chile, only wus, fer a chile kin he’p himself some, but Unk’ Jake cayn’t do er Gawd’s bit fer hisself, nor nobody else.”
“Is he too feeble to walk about?” I asked.
“Well, ma’am, in ’bout er hour, he mought git as fer frum here as yo gyardin gate yander—hoppin’ long slow on his stick.”
Becky rose and very perfectly imitated the bowed figure and halting gait of the poor old negro. Throwing down the stick she had used, she resumed her seat and her subject, saying; “Sis’ Lizer done er good part by dat ole man. She has him to feed wid er spoon, fer his han’ is dat shakey dat he spills everyt’ing ’fo he gets it ter his mouf. When she goes ter de fiel’ she puts er baskit er co’n by him so he kin muse hisself feedin’ de chicken en ducks.
“Ole folks, yo know, eats mighty often,” said Becky, “en den he mus’ be fed thru de night. Ef she don’t git up en gin him dat cake or some mush en milk, why she cayn’t sleep fer his cryin’—jes’ like er chile.”
“You were telling me, Becky, what occurred at church; suppose you go on with that story,” said I.
“Gawd bless yer soul, honey, dat wan’t no story. I wish I may die dis minit ef I didn’t tell yo de Gawd’s trufe. Oh, yas; I had ris en wus er speakin’ up fer de ’oman, how long I knowed her en so on, en den I said——” she spoke louder, rising and gesticulating: “Brethren, you see dat grass out yander en dat yaller spotted dog er wallerin’ roun’ on it? Well den, yo sees it, en yo sees dat steer er standin’ er little ways off; now dat ox would be eatin’ dat grass ef he warn’t driv away by de dog. Ole Unk’ Jake ain’t no dog. He ain’t dat mean en low down. He done gie Sis’ Lizer er paper signifyin’ his cornsent fer her to take ’nother pardner.