Mrs. Brown was right; she had heard a horse trotting on the turnpike. The men were wiping their mouths on the backs of their hands and coming up one at a time to thank the gracious lady for her kindness in feeding them, when Ernest and Edwin Green came driving into the avenue.
“Mother! What does this mean? I thought I heard the farm bell when I was about two miles from home, and now I find the yard full of negro men. Have you had a fire?”
Mrs. Brown explained that Aunt Clay had made things pretty hot for her hands, but so far there had been no other fire. She welcomed Professor Green to Chatsworth and called the grinning Buck to take his suitcase to the cottage porch. Judy wondered at her calm manner and at her saying nothing to Ernest about their being so frightened, not realizing that one hint of the trouble would have sent Ernest off into a rage, when he might have reprimanded the negroes and all the good work of the buttermilk have been undone. Molly was pale and Professor Green, ever watchful of her, asked Judy to give him an account of the matter, which she did in such a graphic manner that he, too, turned pale to think of the danger those dear ladies had been in. He made himself at home by making himself useful, and helped Molly to carry back into the kitchen the empty glasses and plates from the feast of the hungry darkeys. She laughingly handed him a great, iron pot in which cabbage had been cooked.
“I am wondering what Aunt Mary will say about her cabbage. Mother sent me into the house to get all available food, when she realized that the hands were simply hungry and that food would be the best thing to quell their rage. Aunt Mary had this huge pot of cabbage on the back of the range; she said in case Lewis jolted down the lunch she was going to eat at the basket funeral she would have it cooked in readiness. The poor dogs will have to go hungry, too, or have some more corn bread cooked for them. I found this big pan full of what we call dog-bread, made from scalded meal and salt and bacon drippings, baked until it is crisp. The men were crazy about it with pot liquor poured over it. You can see for yourself how they licked their platters clean.”
“The Saxon word ‘lady’ means bread-giver, but I think that you and your mother have given it a new significance, and the dictionaries will have to add, ‘Dispenser of cabbage and buttermilk and dog-bread.’”
More wheels, and Aunt Mary and Lewis, with Ca’line much rumpled and asleep on the front seat, her shoes and stockings in her lap and her bare feet propped gracefully on the dashboard, had returned. Aunt Mary was much excited.
“What’s all dis doin’? Who was all dem niggers I seen a-streakin’ crost the fiel’s? Buck Jourdan, ain’t that you I see hidin’ behine that tree? I thought I hearn the farm bell as we roun’ed the Pint, but Lewis lowed ’twas over to Miss Sary Clay’s. Come here, Buck, an’ he’p me out’n dis here waggin. You needn’t think you kin hide from me, when I kin see the patch on yo’ pants made outen the selfsame goods I gib yo’ ma to make some waistes out’n, two years ago come next Febuway.” Buck came sheepishily forward to help his old aunt out of the vehicle. “Nex’ time you wan’ ter hide from me you’d better make out to grow a leettle leaner, or fin’ a tree what’s made out to grow some wider so’s you won’t stick out beyant it. What you been doing, and who’s been a-mashin’ down ole Miss’s grass, and what’s my little Miss Molly baby a-doin’ workin’ herself to death ag’in to-day?”
Buck endeavored to explain his appearance, and told the story of the strike at Mrs. Clay’s and how they were just passing through Mrs. Brown’s yard when she had come out and invited them all to dinner. His story was so plausible and his voice so soft and manner so wheedling, that Professor Green, who overheard the conversation, was much amused, and had he not already got the incident from Judy might have believed Buck, so convincing were his words and manner. Not so Aunt Mary, who had partly raised the worthless Buck and knew better than anyone how he could use his silver tongue to lie as well as tell the truth, but preferred the former method.
“Now, look here, you Buck Jourdan, you ain’t no count on Gawd’s green yearth ‘cep to play the banjo. What you been doin’ hirin’ yo’self out to Miss Sary Clay, jes’ like you ain’t never know’d that none of our fambly don’ never work fer none er hern? Yo’ ma befo’ you an’ yo’ gran’ma befo’ her done tried it. Meanin’ no disrespect to the rest er the Carmichaels, der’s the ole sayin’, ‘What kin you expec’ from a hog but a grunt?’ I knows ‘thout goin’ in my kitchen that Miss Molly done gib all you triflin’ niggers my pot er cabbage an’ the dog-bread I baked fer those houn’s an’ bird dogs what ain’t no mo’ count than you is, ‘cept’n they can’t play the banjo.”
“Buck Jourdan, is that you?” said Ernest, coming forward and interrupting Aunt Mary’s tirade. “I am going to get Miss Molly’s banjo and you can sit down and give us some music. I haven’t heard a good tune since I went West.”