“I saw him fling his hand to his shoulder and hold it there.”
This intense solicitude was something out of the usual order, and I wondered what was behind it. But the next day it was forgotten, nor was it remembered until Aunt Minervy Ann reminded me of it. I had been faithful in my attendance on the fair, had listened patiently to the speeches, and had then tried to refresh my benumbed faculties with such fare as could be found on the grounds—barbecue, pickles, and ginger-cakes. But the occasion had been too much for me, and so, about two o’clock in the afternoon, I decided to return to my quarters at Major Perdue’s home and rest my weary limbs. The very thought of the quiet and cool house was refreshing, and so, without waiting for a conveyance, I set out on foot, going through the woods in preference to the public highway, thereby cutting the distance short by nearly a mile.
A great many others had taken advantage of the short-cut through the woods, so that I had no lack of company. Among them I noticed Aunt Minervy and her husband, Hamp, the latter carrying the Conant baby, which, having had enough of the pomps and vanities of this life for the time being, was now fast asleep. I soon came up with the trio, and we went along home together.
“You toughed it out mighty well, suh,” remarked Aunt Minervy Ann, after some talk about the various attractions of the fair. “Up dar in Atlanty deze kinder doin’s would be laughed at, I ’speck, but hit’s de bes’ we-all kin do. Me an’ Miss Vallie had some truck dar, speshually dat ar grape jelly on de right han’ side. Ef dat jelly don’t git de blue ribbon er sump’n better, hit’ll be bakaze dem ar jedgment men ain’t got no sense—I don’t keer who dey is. Ain’t you see dat ar quilt hangin’ up dar wid a pattern in it like a well-whorl, only de middle er de whorl was shape like de mornin’ star? Dat ar quilt is older dan what you is, suh—lots older. Me an’ Mistiss made dat quilt long ’fo’ Miss Vallie wuz born, an’ dish yer baby’ll tell you she ain’t no chicken. Ef dey’s any purtier quilt on dat hill dey had it hid ter-day; dey ain’t brung it out whar folks kin look at it. I dunno much, but I knows dat much.”
We reached the house after awhile, and I lost no time in stretching myself out on a lounge that sat invitingly in the hall behind the stairway. It was not the coolest place in the world; but, really, when one is fagged out, it is unnecessary to try to find all the comforts of life in one spot. Sleep fell on me unawares, and when I awoke, Aunt Minervy Ann was sitting near the head of the lounge fanning me. Such courtesy was surprising, as well as pleasing, but I chid her for taking so much trouble, for I had slept nearly two hours. But she made light of it, saying she had nothing else to do, the baby being in his cradle and sleeping like a log.
“Dat ar grape jelly on de right han’ side.”
Then, to enjoy a smoke, I drew a rocking-chair into the back porch, and proceeded to fill my pipe with what I regarded as a very good brand of tobacco, offering some to Aunt Minervy Ann. She soon found her pipe—clay bowl and reed stem—cleaned it out carefully and filled it from my pouch.