“Berry well, den; now yo’ listen at me. Ef I had a t’ought ob hit w’en I was a plantin’ dem dere little yeller seeds I’d put out a patch on purpose for dis chile ter ’a’ had fur a marble quarry, or fur sleigh-bells, or w’atebber he tuck a notion fur. But I didn’t t’ink of hit, an’ de chile did. Dat’s all!”
It was utterly useless to argue against such self-abnegation as this, but Jessie could not forbear saying: “Think of the trouble you have taken with that melon patch. You’ve scoured the whole valley, high and low, for tin cans to cover the vines when a frost was threatened, and you’ve spent days in hoeing and weeding them.”
“And dere ain’ a purtier patch ob melons, er a more promisin’ one, in de whole State, ef I does say hit!” Joe declared with pride.
“Don’t be too sure of that, Joe. You haven’t seen it since Ralph has been over it.”
Joe shifted the child’s position, so that the tear-stained little white face rested against his own, to which it formed a wonderful and beautiful contrast. “W’at melons dese yer little han’s been a-pullin’ up ain’ no loss t’ nobody,” he said; “an’ I wants de chile t’ ’joy hisself.”
A subsequent examination of the melon patch established the truth of Joe’s words. At the moment, however, the idea that Ralph gathered was that he had done a rather commendable thing than otherwise. “Shall me pull up ’e rest of ’em?” he asked hopefully, snuggling closer to the black face. Joe stole a sheepish look at Jessie, whose eyes were dancing with amusement.
“Not jess yit, wouldn’t go fur t’ pull ’em, honey, chile. Wait twell dey’s growed ’bout as big as er coffee-cup, an’ den jess bring yo’ little toofies tergedder on de inside o’ one of ’em. Yo’s et oranges, an’ yo’s squalled hard w’en dey was gone, ’cause dere wan’t no mo’ of ’em. But yo’ won’t look at a orange when yo’ kin git a cantaloupe.”
“Den me lets ’em drow,” Ralph declared magnanimously, and it is but fair to the child to say that he kept his word.
“Come and gather up all your sleigh-bells, then, Ralph,” Jessie admonished him.
Climbing down from Joe’s lap he set about the clearance, awkwardly enough. The abbreviated skirt of his little dress was about half filled—he had made a kind of bag of it by gathering the folds tightly in one hand while he picked up melons with the other—when there came a knock at the door. Dropping the spoil that he had already secured, Ralph ran across the room to admit the caller, the melons rolling in every direction. Joe glanced at them apprehensively, and then gave his undivided attention to the harness mending.