Miss Minerva and William Green Hill. Frances Boyd Calhoun

“I wants somebody with sho' 'nough skin an' bones, an'—n' I wants to hear 'bout Uncle Piljerk Peter.”

      “I will tell you a Bible story,” again suggested his aunt, “I will tell you about—”

      “I don' want to hear no Bible story, neither,” he objected, “I wants to hear Uncle Jimmy-Jawed Jup'ter play his 'corjun an' sing:

      “'Rabbit up the gum tree, Coon is in the holler

       Wake, snake; Juney-Bug stole a half a dollar.”'

      “I'll sing you a hymn,” said Miss Minerva patiently.

      “I don' want to hear you sing no hymn,” said Billy impolitely. “I wants to see Sanctified Sophy shout.”

      As his aunt could think of no substitute with which to tempt him in lieu of Sanctified Sophy's shouting, she remained silent.

      “An' I wants Wilkes Booth Lincoln to dance a clog,” persisted her nephew.

      Miss Minerva still remained silent. She felt unable to cope with the situation till she had adjusted her thoughts and made her plans.

      Presently Billy, looking at her shrewdly, said:

      “Gimme my rabbit foot, Aunt Minerva, an' I'll go right off to sleep.”

      When she again looked in on him he was fast asleep, a rosy flush on his babyish, tearstained cheek, his red lips half parted, his curly head pillowed on his arm, and close against his soft, young throat there nestled the left hind foot of a rabbit.

      Miss Minerva's bed time was half after nine o'clock, summer or winter. She had hardly varied a second in the years that had elapsed since the runaway marriage of her only relative, the young sister whose child had now come to live with her. But on the night of Billy's arrival the stern, narrow woman sat for hours in her rocking chair, her mind busy with thoughts of that pretty young sister, dead since the boy's birth.

      And now the wild, reckless, dissipated brother-in-law was dead, too, and the child had been sent to her; to the aunt who did not want him, who did not care for children, who had never forgiven her sister her unfortunate marriage. “If he had only been a girl,” she sighed. What she believed to be a happy thought entered her brain.

      “I shall rear him,” she promised herself, “just as if he were a little girl; then he will be both a pleasure and a comfort to me, and a companion for my loneliness.”

      Miss Minerva was strictly methodical; she worked ever by the clock, so many hours for this, so many minutes for that. William, she now resolved, for the first time becoming really interested in him, should grow up to be a model young man, a splendid and wonderful piece of mechanism, a fine, practical, machine-like individual, moral, upright, religious. She was glad that he was young; she would begin his training on the morrow. She would teach him to sew, to sweep, to churn, to cook, and when he was older he should be educated for the ministry.

      “Yes,” said Miss Minerva; “I shall be very strict with him just at first, and punish him for the slightest disobedience or misdemeanor, and he will soon learn that my authority is not to be questioned.”

      And the little boy who had never had a restraining hand laid upon him in his short life? He slept sweetly and innocently in the next room dreaming of the care-free existence on the plantation and of his idle, happy, negro companions.

CHAPTER III

       Table of Contents

      THE WILLING WORKER

      “Get up, William,” said Miss Minerva, “and come with me to the bath-room; I have fixed your bath.”

      The child's sleepy eyes popped wide open at this astounding command.

      “Ain't this-here Wednesday?” he asked sharply.

      “Yes; to-day is Wednesday. Hurry up or your water will get cold.”

      “Well, me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln jest washed las' Sat'day. We ain't got to wash no mo' till nex' Sat'day,” he argued.

      “Oh, yes,” said his relative; “you must bathe every day.”

      “Me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln ain't never wash on a Wednesday sence we's born,” he protested indignantly.

      Billy's idea of a bath was taken from the severe weekly scrubbing which Aunt Cindy gave him with a hard washrag, and he felt that he'd rather die at once than have to bathe every day.

      He followed his aunt dolefully to the bath-room at the end of the long back-porch of the old-fashioned, one-story house; but once in the big white tub he was delighted.

      In fact he stayed in it so long Miss Minerva had to knock on the door and tell him to hurry up and get ready for breakfast.

      “Say,” he yelled out to her, “I likes this here; it's mos' as fine as Johnny's Wash Hole where me and' Wilkes Booth Lincoln goes in swimmin' ever sence we's born.”

      When he came into the dining-room he was a sight to gladden even a prim old maid's heart. The water had curled his hair into riotous yellow ringlets, his bright eyes gleamed, his beautiful, expressive little face shone happily, and every movement of his agile, lithe figure was grace itself.

      “I sho' is hongry,” he remarked, as he took his seat at the breakfast table.

      Miss Minerva realized that now was the time to begin her small nephew's training; if she was ever to teach him to speak correctly she must begin at once.

      “William,” she said sternly, “you must not talk so much like a negro. Instead of saying 'I sho' is hongry,' you should say, 'I am very hungry.' Listen to me and try to speak more correctly.”

      “Don't! don't!” she screamed as he helped himself to the meat and gravy, leaving a little brown river on her fresh white tablecloth. “Wait until I ask a blessing; then I will help you to what you want.”

      Billy enjoyed his breakfast very much. “These muffins sho' is—” he began; catching his aunt's eye he corrected himself—

      “These muffins am very good.”

      “These muffins are very good,” said Miss Minerva patiently.

      “Did you ever eat any bobbycued rabbit?” he asked. “Me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln been eatin' chit'lins, an' sweet 'taters, an' 'possum, an' squirrel, an' hoecake, an' Brunswick stew ever sence we's born,” was his proud announcement.

      “Use your napkin,” commanded she, “and don't fill your mouth so full.”

      The little boy flooded his plate with syrup.

      “These-here 'lasses sho' is—” he began, but instantly remembering that he must be more particular in his speech, he stammered out:

      “These-here sho' is—am—are a nice messer 'lasses. I ain't never eat sech a good bait. They sho' is—I aimed to say—these 'lasses sho' are a bird; they's 'nother sight tastier 'n sorghum, an' Aunt Cindy 'lows that sorghum is the very penurity of a nigger.”

      She did not again correct him.

      “I must be very patient,” she thought, “and go very slowly. I must not expect too much of him at first.”

      After breakfast Miss Minerva, who would not keep a servant, preferring to do her own work, tied a big cook-apron around the little boy's neck, and told him to churn while she washed the dishes. This arrangement did not suit Billy.

      “Boys don't churn,” he said sullenly, “me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln don' never have to churn sence we's born; 'omans has to churn an' I ain't agoing to. Major Minerva—he ain't never churn,” he began belligerently but his relative turned an uncompromising and rather perturbed back upon him. Realizing that he was beaten,