“Dese is my chillen,” he said to Breeze, with a kind smile filling his soft black eyes.
“Dey is fine chillen, too,” Big Sue praised them. “Uncle Bill’s hogs is de finest in dis whole country. I was dat proud when he brought me Jeems, yonder in my pen, home. Uncle Bill raises fine hogs an’ nobody can’ cure hams, or make sausages to taste like de ones he fixes. Nobody.”
“Well, I tries my best.”
It was a wonderful sight to Breeze. The shade between the fence and the water held hogs of every shape and size. Huge and black, with soft silky hair, they lolled, resting, panting, feeding their young.
“Git up, Ellen, an’ come here,” Uncle Bill called out to one of them. “Le’ Miss Big Sue see you an’ you’ chillen good.” The words were hardly out of his mouth before a great beast roused and lazily got to her feet and walked toward him, followed by her children. Uncle Bill took an ear of corn from his pocket, shelled a few grains and tossed them over the ground, which made the pigs come faster.
“Po’ Ellen! E’s blind. I had to stick e eyes out. Lawd! I did hate to do it!”
“How come so?” Big Sue asked him.
“Ellen would catch de chickens an’ eat em. A deer couldn’ beat Ellen runnin’. A hen couldn’ git away f’om em nohow. Ellen would swallow down a mother an’ whole brood o’ biddies quicker’n I could swallow a pint o’ raw oysters. It’s de Gawd’s truth. E’d eat de mammy an’ all. I had to hinder em somehow. I didn’ wan’ to kill a fine hog like Ellen, so I hottened a wire till it was red an’ jobbed it in all two o’ e eyes. Ellen can’ see how to run chickens down, not no mo’. Po’ ol’ gal!”
“How come some pigs is different f’om de rest?” Breeze asked. “How come some is red an’ dey ma is black?”
Uncle Bill and Big Sue exchanged smiles. “May as well say, Uncle Bill. Boy-chillen has to know sich t’ings.”