“Law, Miss Annie, dat nigger don’t know de fust rudermints erbout washin’ an’ irun’n.” And she gave her pan a telling scrape by way of emphasis.
“Talk ter me ’bout dese town niggers,” and she went to the same little window to empty her dish-pan into the pig-trough placed beneath it, for convenience Aunt Jane had said.
“Well, ef he ain’t dar agin,” she exclaimed, turning to me as if I knew who “he” was.
“What is it, Jane?” I asked, going to the window myself, wondering what was outside of the window to call forth all these exclamations.
“Oh, it’s dat sassy little deb’l, dat yander rascal ob a mocking-bird—er-mind out, Missus, don’t tech dat table wid putty white dress o’ yourn. Dis here hole ain’t fit fer yer ter come in no how—but dat bird, he do beat all I eber seed. He ain’t skeered o’ nothin’, and sing! My, tain’t nothin’ like it! I do b’leve he sings all de night long. Why, de tother night ’bout twelve er’ clock, Jake come in ’bout half drunk. Jake’s alright when he’s sober, but jes’ let him git drunk, he’s de deb’l hissef, dat’s all’s to it. So when he git dat way I gits out, me an’ de chillun’.
“Well, we went out yander under dat Cherokee rose yer see by de fence dar, and laid low. We wuz skeer’d purty nigh ter death. Ever’thing wuz jes’ as quiet an’ still, ’cept Jake blusterin’ roun’ wid de pans in de cabin, when all ter wunce dat bird jes’ broke out, mos’ like a brass-band, right over our heads. I tell yer, Miss Annie, it made me feel creepy. Seem’d like hev’un wuz right over us, while dar wuz de bad place purty close by, ’cause Jake wuz a raisin’ a terrible roukus wid de pans try’nter find somp’in ter eat.
“So, dat’s de way ’tis, Missus,” and she nodded her head meditatively, “when de deb’l is try’nter raise a roukus wid yer hearts an’ souls, de angels is right over yer singin’ all de time, ef we’ll be still an’ listen.” And she stopped in a thoughtful attitude.
But her reverie was rudely broken up by such din of screaming and yelling as only half-starved African youngsters are capable of making.
“What on de top side er creashun ails dem yunguns?” she exclaimed, as we both went to the door. There we saw Viney armed with a long dog-fennel, followed by the others similarly equipped, in a wild dash for a lanky black cat. We both laughed at the pursuit. But, suddenly, above their yells Aunt Jane caught the distress call of the mocking-bird. That was enough for her. She seized her battling stick and flew after them, coming quickly to where they were gathered in a fence corner.
“Lemme in here, git erway niggers,” as she breathlessly tumbled two of them over one another, and with a terrific whack came down upon the fastened cat, who was still tenaciously gripping the dying bird.