Miss Minerva and William Green Hill. Frances Boyd Calhoun

Wilkes Booth Lincoln the big tears came into his eyes and rolled down his cheeks; he leaned way over the churn and the great glistening tears splashed right into the hole made for the dasher, and rolled into the milk.

      Billy grew interested at once and laughed aloud; he puckered up his face and tried to weep again, for he wanted more tears to fall into the churn; but the tears refused to come and he couldn't squeeze another one out of his eyes.

      “Aunt Minerva,” he said mischievously, “I done ruint yo' buttermilk.”

      “What have you done?” she inquired.

      “It's done ruint,” he replied, “you'll hafter th'ow it away; 't ain't fitten fer nothin.' I done cried 'bout a bucketful in it.”

      “Why did you cry?” asked Miss Minerva calmly. “Don't you like to work?”

      “Yes 'm, I jes' loves to work; I wish I had time to work all the time. But it makes my belly ache to churn—I got a awful pain right now.”

      “Churn on!” she commanded unsympathetically.

      He grabbed the dasher and churned vigorously for one minute.

      “I reckon the butter's done come,” he announced, resting from his labors.

      “It hasn't begun to come yet,” replied the exasperated woman. “Don't waste so much time, William.”

      The child churned in silence for the space of two minutes, and suggested: “It's time to put hot water in it; Aunt Cindy always puts hot water in it. Lemme git some fer you.”

      “I never put hot water in my milk,” said she, “it makes the butter puffy. Work more and talk less, William.”

      Again there was a brief silence, broken only by the sound of the dasher thumping against the bottom of the churn, and the rattle of the dishes.

      “I sho' is tired,” he presently remarked, heaving a deep sigh. “My arms is 'bout give out, Aunt Minerva. Ole Aunt Blue-Gum Tempy's Peruny Pearline see a man churn with his toes; lemme git a chair an' see if I can't churn with my toes.”

      “Indeed you shall not,” responded his annoyed relative positively.

      “Sanctified Sophy knowed a colored 'oman what had a little dog went roun' an' roun' an' churn fer her,” remarked Billy after a short pause. “If you had a billy goat or a little nanny I could hitch him to the churn fer you ev'ry day.”

      “William,” commanded his aunt, “don't say another word until you have finished your work.”

      “Can't I sing?” he asked.

      She nodded permission as she went through the open door into the dining-room.

      Returning a few minutes later she found him sitting astride the churn, using the dasher so vigorously that buttermilk was splashing in every direction, and singing in a clear, sweet voice:

      “He'll feed you when you's naked,

       The orphan stear he'll dry,

       He'll clothe you when you's hongry

       An' take you when you die.”

      Miss Minerva jerked him off with no gentle hand.

      “What I done now?” asked the boy innocently, “'tain't no harm as I can see jes' to straddle a churn.”

      “Go out in the front yard,” commanded his aunt, “and sit in the swing till I call you. I'll finish the work without your assistance. And, William,” she called after him, “there is a very bad little boy who lives next door; I want you to have as little to do with him as possible.”

CHAPTER IV

       Table of Contents

      SWEETHEART AND PARTNER

      Billy was sitting quietly in the big lawn-swing when his aunt, dressed for the street, finally came through the front door.

      “I am going up-town, William,” she said, “I want to buy you some things that you may go with me to church Sunday. Have you ever been to Sunday-School?”

      “Naw 'm; but I been to pertracted meetin',” came the ready response, “I see Sanctified Sophy shout tell she tore ev'y rag offer her back 'ceptin' a shimmy. She's one 'oman what sho' is got 'ligion; she ain't never backslid 't all, an' she ain't never fell f'om grace but one time—”

      “Stay right in the yard till I come back. Sit in the swing and don't go outside the front yard. I shan't be gone long,” said Miss Minerva.

      His aunt had hardly left the gate before Billy caught sight of a round, fat little face peering at him through the palings which separated Miss Minerva's yard from that of her next-door neighbor.

      “Hello!” shouted Billy. “Is you the bad little boy what can't play with me?”

      “What you doing in Miss Minerva's yard?” came the answering interrogation across the fence.

      “I's come to live with her,” replied Billy. “My mama an' papa is dead. What's yo' name?”

      “I'm Jimmy Garner. How old are you? I'm most six, I am.”

      “Shucks, I's already six, a-going on seven. Come on, le's swing.”

      “Can't,” said the new acquaintance, “I've runned off once to-day, and got licked for it.”

      “I ain't never got no whippin' sence me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln 's born,” boasted Billy.

      “Ain't you?” asked Jimmy. “I 'spec' I been whipped more 'n a million times, my mama is so pertic'lar with me. She's 'bout the pertic'larest woman ever was; she don't 'low me to leave the yard 'thout I get a whipping. I believe I will come over to see you 'bout half a minute.”

      Suiting the action to the word Jimmy climbed the fence, and the two little boys were soon comfortably settled facing each other in the big lawn-swing.

      “Who lives over there?” asked Billy, pointing to the house across the street.

      “That's Miss Cecilia's house. That's her coming out of the front gate now.”

      The young lady smiled and waved her hand at them.

      “Ain't she a peach?” asked Jimmy. “She's my sweetheart and she is 'bout the swellest sweetheart they is.”

      “She's mine, too,” promptly replied Billy, who had fallen in love at first sight. “I's a-goin' to have her fer my sweetheart too.”

      “Naw, she ain't yours, neither; she's mine,” angrily declared the other little boy, kicking his rival's legs. “You all time talking 'bout you going to have Miss Cecilia for your sweetheart. She's done already promised me.”

      “I'll tell you what,” proposed Billy, “lemme have her an' you can have Aunt Minerva.”

      “I wouldn't have Miss Minerva to save your life,” replied Jimmy disrespectfully, “her nake ain't no bigger 'n that,” making a circle of his thumb and forefinger. “Miss Cecilia, Miss Cecilia,” he shrieked tantalizingly, “is my sweetheart.”

      “I'll betcher I have her fer a sweetheart soon as ever I see her,” said Billy.

      “What's your name?” asked Jimmy presently.

      “Aunt Minerva says it's William Green Hill, but 'tain't, it's jest plain Billy,” responded the little boy.

      “Ain't God a nice, good old man,” remarked Billy, after they had swung in silence for a while, with an evident desire to make talk.

      “That He is,” replied Jimmy, enthusiastically. “He's 'bout the forgivingest person