Jacqueline turned a little pale. It had not been a great many years since she had fully believed every one of Simon Peter’s signs and omens; and even now, his solemn prophecies sent a chill to her childish heart.
“An’,” continued Simon Peter, advancing and raising a prophetic forefinger, “dis heah night I done heah de owls hootin’ ‘Tu-whoo, tu-whoo, tu-whoo!’—three times, dat ar way—dat doan’ means nuttin’ but a funeral, when owls hoots dat away.”
Jacqueline shuddered.
“O Uncle Simon, hush!”
“I tole you kase you arsk me,” replied Simon Peter, stolidly; and at that moment Delilah came in.
“O mammy,” cried Jacqueline, fairly bursting into tears, “you don’t know what awful signs and things Uncle Simon has been seeing—funerals, and buzzards, and no wedding!”
“He have, have he!” snapped Delilah, with wrath and menace. “Simon Peter, he su’t’ny is de foolishest nigger I ever seed. He ain’ never got ’ligion good; he allus wuz a blackslider, an’ heah he come skeerin’ my little missy ter def wid he buzzards an’ he things!”
Simon Peter, who bore this marital assault with meekness, copied from General Temple, only remarked sheepishly:
“I done see de signs; an’, Miss Jacky, she arsk me, an’ I done tole her ’bout de two buzzards.”
“Wid de tails tied tog’er’r, I reckon!” answered Delilah, with withering sarcasm; “an’ maybe dey wuz gwi’ fly ter Doc Wortley’s ter see ef anybody gwi’ die soon.—Doan’ you min’ Simon Peter, honey; jes’ come wid mammy up-sty’ars an’ she holp you to ondress an’ put you in yo’ bed.”