The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann

by Joel Chandler Harris

“Do sump’n? What he gwine do? Fo’ de big turmoil he done some lawin’ an’ a heap er farmin’. Leas’ways my ol’ Mistiss done de farmin’, an’ Marse Tumlin, he done de lawin’. He had ’im a office here in town, an’ on set days he’d come in an’ look arter de cases what he had. But how anybody gwine ter do any lawin’ dat-a-way? Marse Tumlin ain’t keerin’ whedder he git one case er none. He ain’t bleedze ter do no lawin’. An’ den ’pon top er dat he went off whar dey battlin’, an’ dar he stayed, an’ when he come back, look like de kinder lawin’ what he use ter do done gone outer fashion. Ef he hadn’t er been holp out, suh, I dunner what’d ’a’ come un ’im. An’ ’twa’n’t only Marse Tumlin. Dey wuz a whole passel un um, too young ter die an’ too ol’ ter win money in dem kinder times. Ef you ain’t ol’ ’nuff ter ’member dem times, suh, you kin thank de Lord, kaze dey sho did look like tetotal ruination.

“Now, you know yo’se’f, suh, dat you can’t eat a house an’ lot an’ live dar too; an’ you can’t eat lan’ des dry so less’n you got a mighty appetite fer dirt. Whyn’t he sell de lan’? You oughter be de las’ one ter ax me dat, suh. Who gwine buy it? Dem what ain’t got lan’ ain’t had no money, an’ dem what had money sholy lived a mighty long ways fum here. Day in an’ day out, suh, I wuz de wuss pester’d nigger you ever laid eyes on. I ain’t know what ter do.

“An’ den ’pon top er dat, dar wuz Hamp, my ol’ man. When freedom come out, he tuck de notion dat we better go off some’rs an’ change de name what we got so dey can’t put us back in slave’y. Night an’ day it fair rankle in his min’, an’ he kep’ groanin’ an’ growlin’ ’bout it twel I got stirred up. I oughtn’t ter tell it, suh, but hit’s de Lord’s trufe. I got mad, I did, an’ I tol’ Hamp I’d go. An’ den I wa’n’t doin’ no good stayin’ here. ’Twuz des one mo’ mouf ter feed, an’ mo’ dan one, countin’ Hamp. So, bimeby, one day, when I wuz sorter fretted, I tol’ Hamp ter go on out dar in de country, whar his daddy live at, an’ I’d meet ’im dar ’fo’ night.

“When de time come, I went in de house an’ hunt fer Miss Vallie. She ’uz settin’ in de parlor by de winder, but behime de curtain like, so nobody can’t see ’er. She ’uz settin’ dar wid ’er han’s crossed on ’er lap, an’ she look so little, an’ pale, an’ weak, dat I come mighty nigh gwine right back in de kitchen. But she seed me too quick. Den I up’n tell ’er dat I’m gwine out in de country, ter whar Hamp daddy live at. She look at me right hard an’ say, ‘When you comin’ back, Aunt Minervy Ann?’ I ’low, ‘I’m comin’ back des ez soon ez I kin make my ’rangements, honey.’ She say, ‘Well, I hope you’ll have a good time while you er gone.’ I ’low, ‘Thanky, ma’m.’ Wid dat I went an’ got my bundle an’ put opt fum dar—an’ I ain’t look back nudder, bekaze I had a mighty weakness in de knees, an’ a mighty risin’ in my th’oat.

“I went on down de road, an’ ef anybody had so much ez said boo ter me, I’d ’a’ turned right ’roun’ an’ gone back home. I went on, I did, twel I come ter de mile branch. I see somebody crossin’ on de log, an’ when I come up wid um, who should it ’a’ been but Marse Tumlin. An’ he had one chicken! He had been out ter de plantation—sev’m mile ef its fifty yards—an’ here he wuz comin’ back wid one chicken—an’ him a walkin’, him dat use ter ride ’roun’ in his carriage! Walkin’ an’ totin’ one little chicken! Man, suh! I don’t never want ter feel again like I felt den. Whedder ’twuz de chicken, er what, I never did see Marse Tumlin Perdue look ez ol’ an’ ez weasly ez he did den. He look at me an’ sorter laugh like I done cotch ’im doin’ sump’n he ain’t got no business ter do. But dey wa’n’t no laugh in me; no, suh, not by a jugful.

“Drapt down on de groun’ dar an’ holler an’ cry.”

“He say, ‘Hello, Minervy Ann! whar you gwine?’ I ’low, I did, ‘I’m des gwine out yander whar Hamp kinnery live at.’

“He sorter pull his goatee, an’ look down at de dus’ on his shoes—an’ dey wuz fair kiver’d wid it—an’ den he say, ‘Well, Minervy Ann, I wish you mighty well. You sho is done a mighty good part by me an’ mine. Ef yo’ Miss Mary wuz ’live she’d know what ter say—I don’t, ’cep’ dis’—he straighten up an’ stretch out his han’—‘’cep’ dis: whenever you want ter come back home, you’ll fin’ de do’ open. Ef you come at night, des knock. We’ll know yo’ knock.’

“You ain’t never seed no fool nigger ’oman cut up, is you? Well, ef you does see one, suh, I hope ter goodness ’twon’t be me! Marse Tumlin ain’t no mo’n got de words out’n his mouf, suh, ’fo’ I tuck de bundle what I had in my han’, an’ flung it fur ez I could send it.