"But I'm talkin' 'bout Christmas now. When we'd all go home, we'd open our bundles, an' of all de purty things, an' funny things, an' jokes you ever heerd of, dey'd be in dem Christmas bundles—some'h'n' ter suit ev'y one, and hit 'im square on his funny-bone ev'y time. An' all de little bundles o' buckwheat ur flour 'd have picayunes an' dimes in 'em! We used ter reg'lar sif' 'em out wid a sifter. Dat was des our white folks's way. None o' de yether fam'lies 'long de coas' done it. You see, all de diffe'nt fam'lies had diffe'nt ways. But ole marster an' ole miss dey'd think up some new foolishness ev'y year. We nuver knowed what was gwine to be did nex'—on'y one thing. Dey allus put money in de buckwheat-bag—an' you know we nuver tas'e no buckwheat 'cep'n' on'y Christmas. Oh, boy, ef we could des meet wid some o' we's white folks ag'in!"
"How is we got los' f'om 'em, gran'dad?" So Duke invited a hundredth repetition of the story he knew so well.
"How did we git los' f'om we's white folks? Dat's a sad story fur Christmas, Juke, but ef you sesso—
"Hit all happened in one night, time o' de big break in de levee, seven years gone by. We was lookin' fur de bank ter crack crost de river f'om us, an' so boss done had tooken all han's over, cep'n us ole folks an' chillen, ter he'p work an' watch de yether side. 'Bout midnight, whiles we was all sleepin', come a roa'in' soun', an' fus' thing we knowed, all in de pitchy darkness, we was floatin' away—nobody cep'n des you an' me an' yo' mammy in de cabin—floatin' an' bumpin' an' rockin,' an' all de time dark as pitch. So we kep' on—one minute stiddy, nex' minute cher-plunk gins' a tree ur some'h'n' nother—all in de dark—an' one minute you'd cry—you was des a weanin' baby den—an' nex' minute I'd heah de bed you an' yo' ma was in bump gins' de wall, an' you'd laugh out loud, an' yo' mammy she'd holler—all in de dark. An' so we travelled, up an' down, bunkety-bunk, seem lak a honderd hours; tell treckly a termenjus wave come, an' I had sca'cely felt it boomin' onder me when I pitched, an' ev'ything went travellin'. An' when I put out my han', I felt you by me—but yo' mammy, she warn't nowhar.
"Hol' up yo' face an' don't cry, boy. I been a mighty poor mammy ter yer, but I blesses Gord to-night fur savin' dat little black baby ter me—all in de win' an' de storm an' de dark dat night.
"You see, yo' daddy, he was out wid de gang wuckin' de levee crost de river—an' dat's huccome yo' ma was 'feerd ter stay by 'erse'f an' sont fur me.
"Well, baby, when I knowed yo' mammy was gone, I helt you tight an' prayed. An' after a while—seem lak a million hours—come a pale streak o' day, an' 'fo' de sun was up, heah come a steamboat puffin' down de river, an' treckly hit blowed a whistle an' ringed a bell an' stop an' took us on boa'd, an' brung us on down heah ter de city."
"An' you never seed my mammy no mo', gran'dad?" Little Duke's lips quivered just a little.
"Yo' mammy was safe at Home in de Golden City, Juke, long 'fore we teched even de low lan' o' dis yearth.
"An' dat's how we got los' f'om we's white folks.