“Yes, Honey, I knows.”
“Well, it wasn’t because you went in the river for me, was it, Joe? It just happened to come then, didn’t it, Joe?” in anxious inquiry, and as though to find out that he was responsible for Joe’s illness would be more than he could bear.
“Des happen? o’ course, chile, des happen. Why, des look at me, Honey! I’se pow’ful ole; reckon nobody knows how ole I be,” (which was the truth, for Joe, if he knew himself, had never told any one), “whereas mos’ white-haired cullud pussons is par’Iysed long afore my time o’ life, par’Iysed all over too, not des a sort o’ half par’Iysed like me. No, neber you b’lieve it anythin’ but des happened, no matter what folks say, case you ‘member Joe tol’ you so, an’ I ought ter know, I reckon, better’n anybody.”
It was as though a great shadow had been lifted from Brevet. Courage, wondering how to account for the little fellow’s apparent spiritlessness all day, wondered now, as she entered, at the little illumined face.
“See here, Brevet,” said Joe, smiling a welcome to Courage, “will you look ober de place while I’se talkin’ ter Miss Courage. Go up to de house and down ‘roun’ General Sheridan’s grave, an’ my Oder special fav’rites, an’ see if eberythin’ is bein’ kept up ter de handle, case no one knows as well as you, Brevet, how Joe allers like ter hab ‘em kep’.”
Brevet joyously obeyed, proud to be sent on such an important errand; and after Courage and Joe had exchanged a few words of greeting, Joe at once settled to the particular business in hand.
“Miss Courage,” he said, very solemnly, “I don’ b’lieve dey’s such anoder mean contemptible good for nothin’ darkey in all dis county as I is. Look at dis cabin! des as orderly as can be, an’ den ‘member how I’se allers treated Mammy. She ain’t nowhere roun’, is she?” raising himself on one arm and looking cautiously about the room.
“No; Mammy is way up the hill yonder, knitting under the chestnut tree. I met her as I came, and she told me that you had something important to say to me, and that she wouldn’t come back until I called her.”
“Beats me,” answered Joe, “ter see Mammy so considerate an’ behavin’ hersel’ in dis fashion. Why, dere ain’t nothin’ Mammy can think of to make me mo’ comfortable dat she doesn’t up an’ do in a jiffy. Why, when yo’ Sylvy comes down ebry day or so, ter see if she can len’ a hand as you are so good as ter sen’ her, dey ain’t, as a rule, nuffin lef for her ter do, ‘ceptin’ Mammy set her ter make some little relish for me to pay her fo’ de trouble of cornin’. Now can you ‘magine, Miss Courage, how all dis mak’ me feel, case I’se allers been down on Mammy? You ‘member I neber so much as invite her ter my Fo’th July dinner. I allers ‘spect Grandma Ellis staid away so as to let Mammy think she was nowise invited either.”
“But you mustn’t blame yourself too much, Joe,” Courage interrupted, “for if I’m not mistaken, Mammy has been always rather down upon you. No wonder that she wants to make amends. You’re a perfect hero in all our eyes now, Joe. Just think of the terrible risk you ran and of all it has cost you, Joe—”