You kin call but he won’t answer, ain’t it gran’?”
The words didn’t carry a very cheerful greeting; but the melody was a lovely one; thought Mr. Amos, as he stood listening, waiting until Felo would finish the verse.
“I kin leave at break of day,
You will find but empty clay,—
Lawd, I wonder w’at they’ll say
W’en I’m gone...?”
“What a strange allurement death and wakes and funerals seem to hold out to him; when at heart he is really of a happy disposition,” Mr. Amos commented, as Felo ended his song and changed to a soft murmuring hum.
Mr. Amos stood looking about the room, waiting for Felo to sing again. Suddenly he became conscious of the odor of pineapple. Wondering where it came from, he soon discovered a large pineapple towering out of the punch bowl on the corner cupboard, and another one standing on a tray on the side table.
“Well, what do you call this?” He asked Felo, not knowing how to regard the unusual decoration.
Felo came in from the kitchen, smiling, wanting to know if everything wasn’t “sattafactual.”