The Uncalled. Paul Laurence Dunbar

Freddie," he said, as he helped the child to alight, "we 've had a great time together, we have, an' we ain't frozen, neither: I told Miss Prime that she need n't be afeared. Don't drop yore jumpin'-jack, now, an' be keerful an' don't git yore hands on yore apron, 'cause they 're kind o' sticky. Miss Hester 'u'd take our heads off ef we come back dirty."

      The child's arms were full of toys—a jumping-jack, a climbing monkey, a popgun, and the etceteras of childish amusement—and his pockets and cheeks bulged with candy.

      "La, 'Liphalet," exclaimed Miss Prime, when she saw them, "what on airth have you been a-buyin' that child—jumpin'-jacks an' sich things? They ain't a bit o' good, 'ceptin' to litter up a house an' put lightness in childern's minds. Freddie, what 's that on yore apron? Goodness me! an' look at them hands—candy! 'Liphalet Hodges, I did give you credit fur better jedgment than this. Candy is the cause o' more aches an' pains than poison; an' some of it 's reelly coloured with ars'nic. How do you expect a child to grow up healthy an' with sound teeth when you feed him on candy?"

      "Now, Miss Hester, now, now, now. I don't want to be a-interferin' with yore bus'ness; but it 's jest like I said before, an' I will stick to it, you 'ain't never had no experunce in raisin' children. They can't git along jest on meat an' bread an' jam: they need candy—an'—ah—candy—an' sich things." Mr. Hodges ended lamely, looking rather guiltily at the boy's bulging pockets. "A little bit ain't a-goin' to hurt no child."

      "'Liphalet, I 've got a dooty to perform towards this motherless child, an' I ain't a-goin' to let no foolish notions keep me from performin' it."

      "Miss Hester, I 'm a-tryin' to follow Him that was a father to the fatherless an' a husband to the widow—strange, that was made only to the widow—an' I 've got somethin' of a idee o' dooty myself. You may think I 'm purty presumptuous, but I 've took a notion into my head to kind o' help along a-raisin' Freddie. I ain't a-goin' to question yore authority, or nothin', but I thought mebbe you 'd len' me the child once in a while to kind o' lighten up that old lonesome place o' mine: I know that Freddie won't object."

      "Oh, 'Liphalet, do go 'long: I scarcely know whether you air a man or a child, sometimes."

      "There 's One that says, 'Except you become as a little child'—"

      "'Liphalet, will you go 'long home?"

      "I 'spect I 'd better be gittin' along.—Good-bye, Freddie; be a good boy, an' some day I 'll take you up to my house an' let you ride old Bess around.—Good-bye, Miss Hester." And as he passed out to his buggy he whistled tenderly something that was whistled when he was a boy.