When Breeze crawled into Joy’s fine bed, the soft feathers rose up gently, kindly, around his tired body, and Big Sue leaned over and gave him several light pats.
“Sleep good, son. Dream a nice dream.” She fixed the big pillow under his head, and drew up the quilts close over his shoulders. “All you dream to-night’ll come true, so don’t git on you’ back an’ dream a bad dream. Sleep on you’ side. So.”
VI
UNCLE BILL
Breeze roused from a doze when a man’s deep booming voice called from the outside, “How you feelin’ to-night, Miss Big Sue?”
And Big Sue called back heartily:
“Come in, Uncle Bill. I too glad fo’ see you! I’m lonesome as kin be.”
Cracking his eyes Breeze peeped at the tall raw-boned man who shambled in, bringing a tin bucket which he put on the shelf, saying he’d brought some sweet milk for the little boy and a few sticks of wood. Reaching up stiffly he pushed his hat farther back, then he scratched his head awkwardly, while his deep voice rolled out, “You sho’ looks fine, Miss Big Sue! I declare to Gawd, you could pass fo’ a flowers garden!”
“Do shut you’ mouth,” Big Sue returned playfully. “You talk too much sweet-mouth talk, Uncle Bill. Some day you gwine miss an bite you’ tongue in two. Better mind! You couldn’t preach no mo’.”
He declared he was not to blame. How could his mouth fail to talk sweet when he saw her? It was a wonder the bees didn’t eat her. He dropped the handful of sticks on the hearth, saying they were a few pieces of driftwood he’d brought to put on her fire for luck to-night while the old moon was in her bed.
“You must be feelin’ mighty peart to go all de way to de beach to pick up driftwood, Uncle Bill.”