It could hardly be called a village; there were a few houses, a few stores, and a mammoth hotel. During “the season” all the life of the place seemed to centre about the hotel. The building covered considerable space, and two sides were inclosed with glass, which gave it quite an Oriental air. The hotel was known for miles around, and when the house was full a pleasurable excitement pervaded the little hamlet. It extended to the little pickaninnies who rolled and tumbled in the log cabins which dotted the landscape in every direction as far as the eye could reach. What a scramble there was to see the gentlemen and ladies as they walked or drove by, and a party on horseback was a sight sufficiently imposing to warrant extra efforts.
To these little folks, who never pored dreamily over enchanting fairy tales, Denis Hotel was a veritable fairy palace inhabited by choice fairies from the dim and shadowy Northland, whose pockets contained a never failing supply of gold. This latter was almost an article of faith among the youthful colored population of K., and developed a very large eye for business. The roads swarmed with colored urchins desirous of selling various wares. One class of infants had an inexhaustible supply of gourds which they offered at remarkably low rates to the “Yankee” ladies. Another class of juveniles was of a geological turn, and enough arrow-heads and other Indian “remains” were offered for sale to stock several national museums. Then, when all else failed, there were the sweet wild flowers which seemed softly to plead for the dark little fingers which had lovingly brought them forth into the light.
General Grant was one of the most indefatigable and successful of the little merchants, as was befitting the namesake of a great General. Intelligence beamed from the General’s dark face, and there was no resisting the mute appeal of his large, lustrous eyes.
“What, more flowers!” we exclaimed, one day, “and jessamine, too! five cents? Oh, yes, we’ll take them. Really, General, you must be growing rich.”
“I does right smart, thank you,” with a smile and a bow, the graceful native politeness more than atoning for the defective speech.
“We rejoice in your success, General,” chimed in Mr. Brown. “Two or three little rascals have tried to make us believe that their pennies all went straight into the contribution box. It’s likely we should believe such nonsense! Now we would just like to know what you do with your money. Buy candy, I’ll be bound.”
The large eyes grew a trifle larger as their little owner unflinchingly encountered Mr. Brown’s steadfast gaze. “We chillens are mighty fond of candy,” he said, “and it’s seldom we get a bit. I did buy some candy once for the young uns, but the rest has done gone for homespun.”
“What do you do with homespun?”
“Why, mammy makes dresses for the girls. Sally looked mighty peart last night when she put on her new dress, and didn’t she dance ’round though,” and the kind eyes grew moist at the recollection.
“Then you don’t put money in the contribution box?” Mr. Brown continued.