“We’ll see,” Uncle Isaac responded cheerfully. “Droppin’ water kin broke stone.”
As he turned away, Big Sue went up close and shouted in his ear that Breeze’s palate was down, and she was going to ask Maum Hannah to get it up for him.
“It might be de boy’s just got a li’l’ fresh cold. If e is, e ought to work round de stables. Dat’ll broke a cold, if it ain’t got too strong a holt on you. Let’s go by de stables now. Git you’ hat, Breeze.”
Uncle Isaac wanted Breeze to see him hang up the sieve for the hags. There was a right way and a wrong way to do such things. Uncle Bill loved those horses, yes Lord. Bill knew every horse and mule and cow and goat and sheep by name. All the grown hogs, too. When he called them they came. They knew he loved them. Uncle Bill was as tender with little new-born things as if they were human babies. But he couldn’t stand disobedience. He had no mercy on things that did wrong.
Alongside the path were wide-spread grape arbors. A double row of gnarled knotted fig trees, full of yellow leaves and belated ripe fruit, let rich honey ooze from tiny rifts in blue and brown and purple skins, tempting bees to plunder.
Uncle Bill had tried to teach the chickens to sleep in a fowl-house, but the younger ones would slip out here and roost in these fig trees. Uncle Isaac pointed to a handful of white bloody feathers that lay scattered over the grass. An owl caught the best white pullet last night. She would roost in the top of the fig tree, no matter how often she was shooed out. Foolish chicken. But Bill would get that owl. Sooner or later he’d get him. Bill was a dangerous man to cross. Uncle Isaac was emphatic.
Putting a kind hand on Breeze’s shoulder, he said, “You ax Bill to le’ you go wid him an’ l’arn how to call a owl. Bill kin call crows and wild turkeys an’ alligators too. E’ll larn you all dat, son, if you speak a good word for him to you’ Cun Big Sue. Bill is raven ’bout dat lady. Pure raven.”
“Do hush you’ fool talk, Uncle!” Big Sue chided, with a pleased laugh. “I ain’ got Uncle Bill to study ’bout.”
The great square barns were filled with corn and hay. A long narrow building cut into many stalls made a shelter for the mules and horses. As they opened the wide heavy gate, Uncle Bill came out of the barn door with a pitchfork full of hay on his shoulder. He was lining out two lines of a hymn to sing, but broke off in a laugh of delight when he spied them.
“Why, Miss Big Sue! Great Gawd! I too glad fo’ see you! Lawd! Look a’ de li’l’ boy.” He laughed again with pleasure.