At every second street corner of the town, as a protection in time of fire, there were large underground wells, bricked-in and covered over with heavy boards. In time of drouth, when the supply of cistern water had to be economized for drinking purposes, the villagers used the well water for their cattle, truck gardens, and for washing clothes; but owing to the earthy, swampy taste of the water, it was unfit for drinking.
The floor-like tops of these wells were delightful gathering places for the colored children of the neighborhood on moonlight nights. Here they would congregate for their merry games and romping; the pleasant sound of their happy voices becoming a sort of evening service for the old folks who came out of doors to sit on the gutter-curb and doorsteps, eager to enjoy a bit of friendly gossip after a long day’s toil.
Tempe was sitting in the doorway of her house, in the glowing moonlight, smoking her pipe and listening to the singing children at the corner, when Chester came up to her.
“’Deevnin’, Sis’ Tempe,” he greeted her politely. “I was wond’rin if I was goin’ fin’ you at yo’ house. You know who dis is, don’t you?”
She looked at him quietly, making no sign of recognition.
“Dis me, Sis’ Tempe,” he said, taking a seat near her. “Dis Chester. Chester Frackshun, w’at use to live ’longside you, yonder ’cross de green.”
“I ain’ forgot who you is,” she told him, looking at him searchingly. “I ain’ forget nothin’.... An’ you ain’ need to tell me w’at you come after, either. Cause I’m sho goin’ give de thing back to de lawful owner, now you done come hyuh.”
Getting up to go into the house, she said to him: “Set hyuh on de do’-step till I come back.”
“Lemme come inside wid you, Sis’ Tempe,” Chester suggested, getting up to follow her. “I wan’ talk wid you on a li’l business.”