I was back in five minutes, instead of seven. Jim stood straight up on his feet the moment he discovered me coming. Rose showed some faint signs of life and interest. “’Clar, now, mistis! Kim along, den, Jim, and see ye look to that there verlise. Hyar, you Kit!” She managed to rouse her sister with her foot, still keeping her hands warmly hidden, and her face to the sun.
But the other head took the little ones actively in charge. “Come, Peyty, boy! come, Kit! we’s gwine now!”
Peyty opened his eyes—how starry they were! “O, we goin’, mo’? Jim, I don’t want to go no mo’!”
“Ain’t gwine clar thar no, Peyty, boy; come, Kit—only to a house to warm the Peyty boy—come Kit!”
Kit was coming fast enough. But Peyty had to be taken by the arm and pulled up. Then he stepped slowly, the tears coming. The movement revealed great swollen welts, where his stiff, tattered, leathern shoes had chafed and worn into the fat, black little legs. “Is dat ar Mistis Nelly?” he asked, opening his eyes, wonderingly, at the white lady.
Rose had got up now. A sudden quiver ran over her face. “No, Peyty. Mist’ Nelly’s dead, you know. Wish we’s back to Mas’r Moncton’s, and Mist’ Nelly libbin’, an’ Linkum sojers dead afore dey cum!”
There was a long sigh from everybody, even from Jim. But he drew in his lips tightly the next moment. “Some niggas nebber was worf freein’. Come along, Peyty, boy—ready, mistis.”
I walked slowly along at the head of the strangers from the south. Little feet were so sore, Peyty couldn’t walk fast. Kit’s big woman’s size shoes were so stiff she could only shuffle along. Jim’s toes were protruding, and I fancied he and Rose were as foot-sore as the little ones. I dare say people looked and wondered; but I am not ashamed to be seen with any kind of children.
I took them around to the back door, into the kitchen, which I had found unendurable while baking my bread and pies. The heated air rushed out against my face as I opened the door. It was a delicious May-day; but the procession behind me, entering, proceeded direct to the stove, and surrounded it in winter fashion, holding their hands out to the heat. Even from Jim I heard a soft sigh of satisfaction.
Poor, shivering children of the tropics! I drew up the shades. There were no outer blinds, and the sun streamed in freely.