On the way home Big Sue asked Uncle Bill why it was so sinful to dance, yet not sinful at all to march by the drum. She never could exactly understand. Uncle Bill said that crossing your feet is the sinful thing. The people in the Bible used to march. Of course it was wrong to march by reel tunes. Christians ought to march by hymns.
Breeze fell into a sound sleep and left Big Sue talking, but he woke up in the night with his throat tight and dry sore, and a hoarse cough that barked. Everything was dark and Big Sue’s heavy snoring was the only sound to be heard. What must he do? Suppose he choked to death! Nobody would ever know it. His mother was way off yonder on Sandy Island, and Big Sue sound asleep. He’d wake her. He couldn’t die here in this dark by himself.
Crawling out of bed and guiding his way toward the sound of the snortles that were all but strangling her, Breeze went to Big Sue’s bed in the shed-room, felt for her shoulder and coughed as loud as he could in her ear.
“Great Gawd, who dat?” she cried out. “Who dat, I say!” Big Sue was on the other side of the bed!
“Dis is me,” Breeze whispered.
“How come you’s up a-walkin’ round, boy? Git on back to bed. You’ ma didn’ told me you was a sleepwalker. Great Gawd a’mighty! I can’ stan’ a sleepwalker.”
“I ain’ ’sleep,” Breeze whispered again, but she didn’t hear him, so he gave a loud cough that all but split his throat in two.
“Who dat cough? You, Breeze?”
“Yes’m.”