Folks from Dixie

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

“You see, honey,” Uncle Eben went on, “when you sta’ts out on de Christian jou’ney, you’s got to lay aside evry weight dat doeth so easy beset you an’ keeps you f’om pergressin’; y’ ain’t got to think nothin’ ’bout pussunal ’dornment; you’s jes’ got to shet yo’ eyes an’ open yo’ hea’t an’ say, Lawd, come; you mustn’t wait fu’ to go to chu’ch to pray, nuther, you mus’ pray any whar an’ ev’rywhar. Why, when I was seekin’, I ust to go ’way off up in de big woods to pray, an’ dere’s whar de Lawd answered me, an’ I’m a-rejoicin’ to-day in de powah of de same salvation. Honey, you’s got to pray, I tell you. You’s got to brek de backbone of yo’ pride an’ pray in earnes’; an’ ef you does dat, you’ll git he’p, fu’ de Lawd is a praar-heahin’ Lawd an’ plenteous in mussy.”

Anner ’Lizer listened attentively to the exhortation, and evidently profited by it; for soon after Uncle Eben’s departure she changed her natty little dress for one less pretentious, and her dainty, frilled white muslin apron gave way to a broad dark calico one. If grace was to be found by self-abnegation in the matter of dress, Anner ’Lizer was bound to have it at any price.

As afternoon waned and night came on, she grew more and more serious, and more frequent recourse was had to the corner of her apron. She even failed to see Phiny when that enterprising young person passed her, decked out in the whitest of white cuffs and collars setting off in pleasant contrast her neat dark dress. Phiny giggled again and put up her hand, ostensibly to brush some imaginary dust from her bosom, but really to show her pretty white cuffs with their big bone buttons. But it was all lost on Anner ’Lizer; her gaze was downcast and her thoughts far away. If any one was ever “seekin’” in earnest, this girl was.

Night came, and with it the usual services. Anner ’Lizer was one of the earliest of the congregation to arrive, and she went immediately to the mourner’s bench. In the language of the congregation, “Eldah Johnsing sholy did preach a powahful sermon” that night. More sinners were convicted and brought to their knees, and, as before, these recruits were converted and Anner ’Lizer left. What was the matter?

That was the question which every one asked, but there were none found who could answer it. The circumstance was all the more astounding from the fact that this unsuccessful mourner had not been a very wicked girl. Indeed, it was to have been expected that she might shake her sins from her shoulders as she would discard a mantle, and step over on the Lord’s side. But it was not so.

But when a third night came and passed with the same result, it became the talk of three plantations. To be sure, cases were not lacking where people had “mourned” a week, two weeks, or even a month; but they were woful sinners and those were times of less spiritual interest; but under circumstances so favourable as were now presented, that one could long refrain from “gittin’ religion” was the wonder of all. So, after the third night, everybody wondered and talked, and not a few began to lean to Phiny’s explanation, that “de ole snek in de grass had be’n a-goin’ on doin’ all her dev’ment on de sly, so’s people wouldn’t know it; but de Lawd he did, an’ he payin’ her up fu’ it now.”

Sam Merritt alone did not talk, and seemed perfectly indifferent to all that was said; when he was in Phiny’s company and she rallied him about the actions of his “gal,” he remained silent.

On the fourth night of Anner ’Lizer’s mourning, the congregation gathered as usual at the church. For the first half-hour all went on as usual, and the fact that Anner ’Lizer was absent caused no remark, for every one thought she would come in later. But time passed and she did not come. “Eldah Johnsing’s” flock became agitated. Of course there were other mourners, but the one particular one was absent; hence the dissatisfaction. Every head in the house was turned toward the door, whenever it was opened by some late comer; and around flew the whisper, “I wunner ef she’s quit mou’nin’; you ain’t heerd of her gittin’ ’ligion, have you?” No one had.

Meanwhile the object of their solicitude was praying just the same, but in a far different place. Grasping, as she was, at everything that seemed to give her promise of relief, somehow Uncle Eben’s words had had a deep effect upon her. So, when night fell and her work was over, she had gone up into the woods to pray. She had prayed long without success, and now she was crying aloud from the very fulness of her heart, “O Lawd, sen’ de light—sen’ de light!” Suddenly, as if in answer to her prayer, a light appeared before her some distance away.