Fire in the Woods / Illustrated

by James De Mille

And thus, mad drunk, the Flaming Fury came bounding up, howling and brandishing her broom. The moment that he recognized her, Bart felt not the slightest fear of her. He stood in front of Solomon. He looked at her fixedly, and raised his hand with a quiet frown.

It is just possible that, if Bart had been a stranger, the Flaming Fury would have swept him away with her broom, as she would have swept a straw. But seeing him, and recognizing him, produced an effect instantaneous and most astonishing. She stopped, still staring at him. The broom for a few moments remained poised in her hands, and then slowly sank towards the ground; while, at the same time, the hard ferocity of her face died out utterly, and was succeeded by a smile so gentle, so amiable, and so motherly, that Bart looked at her in fresh amazement.

“Why, ef it ain’t de dear chicken! Ef it ain’t de dear little Mas’r Bart, his bressed sef. De sakes, now!”

This exclamation was uttered in the softest, and most silvery, and most winning of those tones which Bart had always associated with Black Betsy. This additional proof of the identity of this amiable being with the Flaming Fury only increased his wonder.

“An how is dat ar bressed angel, your mudder, Mas’r Bart? Clar ef dese yer ole eyes ain’t farly achin to see her agin.”

“She’s very well, thanks,” said Bart, slowly.

“Dat’s good; dat’s lubly. Clar ef it don’t go clean to my ole heart! An so you dribe out to see de ole man! Wal, I allus sez, dat ar Mas’r Bart, I ses, ef he ain’t de ’stror’nest, ’fecsh’nest chicken! All heart, I sez, he is; all clar lub—no mistake. An what is dis life wurf widout lub? Why, it’s notin but de soundin brasses an templin simplum. Clar ef it ain’t!”

While this conversation had been going on, Solomon had regained consciousness; and seeing the change that had come over the woman, and that the Flaming Fury had subsided into the gentlest of beings, he began to gather together his scattered senses. Bart’s back was turned to him, and so he did not see him. But Solomon did not care for that. His one idea now was to save himself for the time, at least.

So, first of all, he edged away a little, very slowly and very cautiously. No notice was taken of this, and he ventured to retreat still farther. Still Black Betsy went on talking in her silvery voice, and with her winning smile. So Solomon retreated still farther. Black Betsy saw all this movement, and once she raised the broom and held it in the air. But her face was wreathed with smiles, and her soft, gentle accents flowed on in a mellifluous strain; and so it was, that the upraised broom, instead of calling Solomon back, only hastened his retreat. He thereupon turned abruptly, and making his way as rapidly as possible to the nearest woods, he soon disappeared.

Black Betsy still went on, mellifluous and voluble. The warmth of her nature seemed boundless. Tears stood in her eyes as she told Bart how she loved his mother. Finally she stopped with a sob, overcome with emotion, as she related the kindness she had received from his father, and began to cry.