"'Burr,' I suggested, and he replied, 'Yes, sar, dat's it,—Aaron Burr,—anoder big man,—an' dey calls de twins Alex and Aaron. Fine boys, too, wid Mandy Ann's get-up in 'em. Dar's two mo' twins,—little gals; beats all what a woman Mandy Ann is for twins,—an' she calls 'em Judy and Dory,—one for young Miss, an' t'other for de rag doll lil chile took norf wid her and called Judy, for an ole woman who has gone to de Canaan she used to sing about—"Oh, I'se boun' for de lan' of Canaan." She was powerful in pra'r, an' at de fust meetin' after de wah, an' she knew she was free, I b'lieve you could of hearn her across de lake to Sanford, she shout "Glory, bress de Lawd!" so loud. But for all she was free, she wouldn't leave ole Miss Thomas. "I likes my mistis, an' I ain't gwine to leave her wid somebody else to comb her har, an' make her corn bread," she said, when dey tried to persuade her to go to Palatky. She staid wid ole Miss, who buried her decent, an' has gone herself to jine her an' Miss Dory in de better land, which seems to me is not far away; an' offen, when I sees de sun go down in a glory of red an' purple an' yaller,—I'se mighty fond of yaller,—I says to myself, "It's dat way dey goes to de udder world, whar, please God, I'll go some day fore berry long,—for I tries to be good."
"There was a rapt look in Jake's face as he turned it to the west, and I would have given much to know that my future was as assured as his."
Here the first part of Mr. Mason's letter closed abruptly, as a friend came to call, but he added hastily, "To-morrow I'll finish, and tell you about the child who now occupies all Jake's thoughts, praying every day that he may see her again."
CHAPTER X
PART SECOND OF REV. MR. MASON'S LETTER
"I was interrupted yesterday, and hardly know where to begin again, or what I have written, as Jake was a little mixed and went forward and back at times, showing that his memory was, as he said, leaky, but when he struck the child he was bright as a guinea. 'Lil Chile' and 'Honey Bee' he calls her. He told me of her running into the house to meet the Colonel, with her soiled frock, and her face and hands besmeared with molasses; of her tussle with Mandy Ann, who wanted to wash her face and change her clothes, and of her fine appearance at the last in a white gown, her best, which he had bought and Mandy Ann made not long before, and which the Colonel would not take with him. So they kept it, and Mandy Ann washed and ironed it, and put it away with some sweet herbs, and aired it every year till she was married, when Jake cared for it till Mandy Ann's twins were born,—Alex and Aaron. Then Mandy Ann borrowed it for them to be christened in, one of them one Sunday and one the next, so that both had the honor of wearing it, while Jake was sponsor, 'For,' said he, 'Mandy Ann has gin up them hollerin' meetin's whar white folks done come to see de ole darkies have a kind of powow, as dey use to have befo' de wah. Clar for't if de folks from de Norf don't gin de blacks money to sing de ole-time songs an' rock an' weave back an' forth till dey have de pow'. I don't think much of dat ar, jess 'musin' theyselves wid our religion;' and Jake looked his disgust, and continued:
"'Mandy Ann like mighty well to jine 'em, but I hole her back, an' now she's 'Piscopal, ef she's anything,—an' when de girl twins come,—Dory an' Judy,—she borrowed lil chile's gown agin. Dat make fo' times, an' then I shet de gates, an' said, "No mo' gown, an' no mo' twins," an' thar hain't been no mo'.
"'But I'se got a good ways from lil chile, who wan't an atom shy of de Colonel, though he was of her, an' when he took her han' I could almost see him squirm like. I think he tried to be kind, an' he gin her a lil ivory book he had on his watch-chain, but you see he didn't feel it. He didn't care for children, and it seemed as if he wanted to get away from this one. But he couldn't. She was his'n; I'd bet my soul on dat. He had to come after her an' took her, though 'twas 'bout the wust job he ever did, I reckon. She fit like a tiger cat about gwine wid him, an' 's true's you bawn, I don't b'lieve she'd gone ef he hadn't took me wid him to Savannah. I can't tell you, Mas'r Mason, 'bout de partin' thar. 'Twas drefful, an' I kin see her now rollin' on de flo', wid her heels an' han's in de air, an' she a-sayin' she mus' stay wid Shaky. I bought her such a pretty red cloak, all lined wid white silk, an' wrapped her in it, an' took her on to de boat, an' left her thar, she thinkin' I was comin' back, an' the last I seen of her, as the boat moved off, she was jumpin' up an' down, an' stretchin' her arms to me, an' the Cunnel holdin' her tight, or I b'lieve she'd sprung overboard. He'd a good time gettin' her home, I reckon. She was the very old Harry when her dander was up,' and the old negro laughed as he thought of what the Colonel must have borne on that journey with his troublesome charge.
"There came a few lines to him, he said, telling of Col. Crompton's safe arrival home, and that the child was well. After a while the war broke out, and communication with the North was cut off. The friend in Palatka, who had returned from Europe and joined the Confederate Army, was killed, and the letter which Jake sent to Col. Crompton when peace was restored was not answered for a long time. At last the Colonel wrote that Eudora had married against his wishes and gone to Europe, and Jake was not to trouble him with any more letters concerning her.
"An' that's all I knows of her,' he said, 'whether she's dead or alive, or whar she is; but if I did know I b'lieve I'd walk afoot to de Norf to see her. She ain't my lil chile Dory no mo', but I allus thinks of her like dat, an' I keeps de cradle she was rocked in by my bed, an' sometimes, when I'se lonesome nights, an' can't sleep for thinkin' of her, I puts my han' out an' jogs it with a feelin' the lil one is thar, an' every day I prays she may come back to me, an' I b'lieve she will. Yes, sar, it comes to me that she will.'
"The tears were running down the old man's face when, on our going to the house, he showed me the cradle close to his bed, a rude, old-fashioned, high-topped thing, such as the poorest families used years ago. There was a pillow, or cushion, in it, and a little patchwork quilt, which, he said, Mandy Ann pieced and made. He showed me, too, a second or third school reader, soiled and worn and pencil marked, and showing that it had been much used.