“He may be human, Preacher, I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I have my doubts. Anyhow, I can’t help it. God knows I hate the sight of ’em like I do a rattlesnake. That nigger Nelse, they say is a good one. He was faithful to the Colonel, I know, but I couldn’t bear him no more than any of the rest of ’em. I always hated a nigger since I was knee high. My daddy and my mammy hated ’em before me. Somehow, we always felt like they was crowdin’ us to death on them big plantations, and the little ones too. And then I had to leave my wife and baby and fight four years, all on account of their stinkin’ hides, that never done nothin’ for me except make it harder to live. Every time I’d go into battle and hear them Minie balls begin to sing over us, it seemed to me I could see their black ape faces grinnin’ and makin’ fun of poor whites. At night when they’d detail me to help the ambulance corps carry off the dead and the wounded, there was a strange smell on the field that came from the blood and night damp and burnt powder. It always smelled like a nigger to me! It made me sick. Yes, Preacher, God forgive me, I hate ’em! I can’t help it any more than I can the color of my skin or my hair.”
“I’ll fix it with Nelse, then. You take the first part of the night ’till twelve o’clock. I’ll go down with you from the church to-night,” said the Preacher, as he shook Tom’s hand and took his leave.
CHAPTER III—DEEPENING SHADOWS
ON the second day after Mrs. Gaston was stricken a forlorn little boy sat in the kitchen watching Aunt Eve get supper. He saw her nod while she worked the dough for the biscuits.
“Aunt Eve, I’m going to sit up to-night and every night with my Mama, ’till she gets well. I can’t sleep for hours and hours. I lie awake and cry when I hear her talking ’till I feel like I’ll die. I must do something to help her.”
“Laws, honey, you’se too little. You can’t keep ’wake ’tall. You get so lonesome and skeered all by yerself.”
“I don’t care, I’ve told Tom to wake me to-night if I’m asleep when he goes, and I’ll sit up from twelve ’till two o’clock and then call you.”
“All right, Mammy’s darlin’ boy, but you git tired en can’t stan’ it.”