Breeze ought to learn Uncle Isaac’s magic. He’d been born with a second-sight. Learning magic would be better for him than learning books. Black magic, as well as white magic; Uncle Isaac knew both. Uncle Bill too. But Uncle Bill gave magic up for religion. A poor swap. A deacon or a preacher is not much more than a woman. Not much more!
April’s down-heartedness had completely passed. Loitering along, he chatted pleasantly. Although the sun had risen he was in no hurry.
XII
DUCK-HUNTING
Sherry promised Big Sue plenty of wild ducks for her quilting dinner if she’d persuade Uncle Bill to row him.
“Lemme go, too, Sherry. Please, Sherry,” Breeze begged.
“If you’ll kill some ducks, you could go.”
“I ain’ got no gun.”
“Plenty o’ guns is yonder in de Big House. Cun April is got de key.”
“I’ll git you a gun, Breeze,” Big Sue offered, and before the day was out Breeze went into the Big House with April, through the same side door out of which April and Big Sue came that first morning.
The side passage led into a wide front hall and a queer feeling of intrusion seized Breeze as he went past rooms where pictures of white people looked at him from the walls. Brass andirons and fenders gleamed out from big fireplaces. Unlit candles left the high ceilinged rooms in a dim uncertain light. Dark shadows hid under the heavy furniture, until April pressed a button and a chandelier hung from the ceiling became hundreds of dazzling icicles, dripping with light.