The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann

by Joel Chandler Harris

“He been axin’ me lots ’bout Miss Vallie.”

“Well, suh, I went, but I ain’t had no heart in it, bekaze I ain’t know who it mought be, an’ whar dey come fum, an’ what dey want. But I went. ’Twuz me er Miss Vallie, an’ I want gwine ter let dat chile go, not dat time er night, dough ’twa’n’t so mighty late.

“I open de do’ on de crack, I did, an’ ’low, ‘Who dat?’ Somebody make answer, ‘Is de Major in, Aunt Minervy Ann?’ an’ I know’d right den it wuz Marse Paul Conant. An’ it come over me dat he had sump’n ter do wid sendin’ er dem contraptions, mo’ ’speshually dat ar bob-tail hoss. An’ den, too, suh, lots quicker’n I kin tell it, hit come over me dat he been axin’ me lots ’bout Miss Vallie. All come ’cross my min’, suh, whiles I pullin’ de do’ open.

“I ’low, I did, ‘No, suh; Marse Tumlin gone down town fer ter look atter some business, but he sho ter come back terreckly. Won’t you come in, suh, an’ wait fer ’im?’ He sorter flung his head back an’ laugh, saft like, an’ say, ‘I don’t keer ef I do, Aunt Minervy Ann.’

“I ’low, ‘Walk right in de parlor, suh, an’ I’ll make a light mos’ ’fo’ you kin turn ’roun’.’ He come in, he did, an’ I lit de lamp, an’ time I lit ’er she ’gun ter smoke. Well, suh, he tuck dat lamp, run de wick up an’ down a time er two, an’ dar she wuz, bright ez day.

“When I went back in de room whar Miss Vallie wuz at, she wuz stan’in’ dar lookin’ skeer’d. She say, ‘Who dat?’ I ’low, ‘Hit’s Marse Paul Conant, dat’s who ’tis.’ She say, ‘What he want?’ I ’low, ‘Nothin’ much; he does come a-courtin’. Better jump up an’ not keep ’im waitin’.’

“Well, suh, you could ’a’ knock’d ’er down wid a fedder. She stood dar wid ’er han’ on ’er th’oat takin’ short breffs, des like a little bird does when it flies in de winder an’ dunner how ter fly out ag’in.

“Bimeby, she say, ‘Aunt Minervy Ann, you ought ter be ’shame or yo’se’f! I know dat man when I see ’im, an’ dat’s all.’ I ’low, ‘Honey, you know mighty well he ain’t come callin’. But he wanter see Marse Tumlin, an’ dey ain’t nothin’ fer ter hender you fum gwine in dar an’ makin’ ’im feel at home while’s he waitin’.’ She sorter study awhile, an’ den she blush up. She say, ‘I dunno whedder I ought ter.’

“Well, suh, dat settled it. I know’d by de way she look an’ talk dat she don’t need no mo’ ’swadin’. I say, ‘All right, honey, do ez you please; but it’s yo’ house; you er de mist’iss; an’ it’ll look mighty funny ef dat young man got ter set in dar by hisse’f an’ look at de wall whiles he waitin’ fer Marse Tumlin. I dunner what he’ll say, kaze I ain’t never hear ’im talk ’bout nobody; but I know mighty well he’ll do a heap er thinkin’.’