"Dat's right. Now your fader an' moder are honahing dar moder, an' you are goin' to hab a chance ter honah dem an' your granma, too. You will hab temptations in de streets ter be pert an' idle, ter stop an' talk to dis one and ter answer back to dat one in a way you shouldn't. But if you go along quiet an' steady, an' do what you're tole, an' be car'ful 'bout de money an' de messages an' de orders an' so forth, you will reflect honah on us all an' 'specially on all your folks. You understan', Vilet?"
"Yes, sir."
The minister put his hand on her head, and said solemnly, "You have my blessin', Vilet."
She ducked a little courtesy, and again squatted at the feet of Aun'
Sheba, who, much affected, was wiping her eyes with her apron, while
Sissy's emotion was audible.
"Now, frens," resumed Mr. Birdsall, "this 'mergency of Mis Buggone's health has been met in de right human and Scriptural spirit. Frens and fam'ly hab gathered 'roun' de 'flicted one, an' hab paid dar respect ter her usefulness an' value, an' hab shown her becomin' sympathy. Her own fam'ly, as is also becomin', hab been first ter ease her up accordin', first, to the law of primigeneshureship. I know dat dis is a long word, but long words of'en mean a heap, an' dat's why dey are so long. Dat good little girl, Vilet, is de oldes' granchile, an' she fulfils a great law in helpin' her granma. Den it's accordin' to the gospel, for a loving an' self-denyin' spirit has been shown. Mr. Watson has obeyed de great law of matrimony. He has married into dis fam'ly, an' he pulls with it an' for it instead ob against it as we see too of'en. De Lawd's blessin' will rest on dis fam'ly."
"I feels greatly comforted," said Aun' Sheba. "Dis has been a bressed season an' a out-pourin'. I mos' feels 'ligious dis ebenin'. De chilen an' dis deah chile" (patting Vi'let's head) "warm me up betteh'n flannel an' de fiah. Elder, you'se a good shep'd ob de flock. You'se a lookin' arter body an' soul. You'se got de eddication to talk big words to us, an', now we'se free, we hab a right to big words, no mattah how much dey mean. It's po'ful comfortin' ter know we'se doin' 'cordin' to de law an' de gospel."
"'Pears ter me," said old Tobe, "dat Uncle Sheba might hab a little law an' gospel 'plied ter him. He am one ob de fam'ly. I'se a heap ol'er dan he be, an' I'se up wid de sun an' I ony wish I could set when de sun sets. 'Pears like he orter tote some ob de tings ez well ez his slip ob a grandaughter," and old Tobe's wool seemed fairly to bristle with indignation and antipathy.
"I've no doubt," began Mr. Birdsall, "but Mr. Buggone'll emulate—"
"Elder," interrupted Aunt Sheba, with portentous solemnity, "dere's bobscure 'flictions in dis worl' dat can't be 'splained, an' de 'flictions ofen begin wen we say 'for bettah or wusser.' You'se say youself in de pulpit dat de gret an' bressed sinner, Paul, had a thorn in de flesh an' he couldn't git rid ob it nohow, dat he jes' bar wid it an' go 'bout his business. Ole Tobe am old, but he wasn't bawn tired. Dere's men dat's po'ful weak in de jints ob de body, yit dat doesn't hender dem from gittin' 'round, but wen de weak feelin' gits inter de jints ob de min' den dey's shuah to be kinder limpsy-slimpsy an' dey ain't no help fer it. Ez I sez afore, de 'fliction am bobscure. You see de feet an' you see de han's, an' you tink dat dey kin go an' do like oder han's an' feet, but dey doesn't an' dey can't. Dere ain't no backbone runnin' up troo de min' an' wen dere ain't no backbone in de min' de pusson jest flop down yere an' flop down dar whareber dere's a com'fo'ble place to flop. Dere's 'flictions dat we kin pray agin an' pray out'n ob, an' dere's oders we jes got ter bar, an' we gits so kinder used to'm at las dat we'd be mo' mis'ble ef dey wuz tooken away. We'se got to take de bittah wid de sweet, but, tank de Lawd! de sweet 'domernate in dis yere fam'ly. Now let's hab some praise an' prar. Vilet, honey, sing de hymn you'se moder lern you."
And in a somewhat shrill, yet penetrating, musical voice, the girl sang: