He laid particular stress upon the "to-day," as if Steve"s spell of activity were not an every-day occurrence.
"Is it far from here?" asked Dokesbury.
""T ain"t mo" "n a mile an" a ha"f by de shawt cut."
"Well, then, let"s take the short cut, by all means," said the preacher.
They trudged along for a while in silence, and then the young man asked, "What do you men about here do mostly for a living?"
"Oh, well, we does odd jobs, we saws an" splits wood an" totes bundles, an" some of "em raises gyahden, but mos" of us, we fishes. De fish bites an" we ketches "em. Sometimes we eats "em an" sometimes we sells "em; a string o" fish"ll bring a peck o" co"n any time."
"And is that all you do?"
""Bout."
"Why, I don"t see how you live that way."
"Oh, we lives all right," answered the man; "we has plenty to eat an"
drink, an" clothes to wear, an" some place to stay. I reckon folks ain"t got much use fu" nuffin" mo"."
Dokesbury sighed. Here indeed was virgin soil for his ministerial labors. His spirits were not materially raised when, some time later, he came in sight of the house which was to be his abode. To be sure, it was better than most of the houses which he had seen in the Negro part of Mt. Hope; but even at that it was far from being good or comfortable-looking. It was small and mean in appearance. The weather boarding was broken, and in some places entirely fallen away, showing the great unhewn logs beneath; while off the boards that remained the whitewash had peeled in scrofulous spots.
The minister"s guide went up to the closed door, and rapped loudly with a heavy stick.
"G" "way f"om dah, an" quit you" foolin"," came in a large voice from within.
The guide grinned, and rapped again. There was a sound of shuffling feet and the pushing back of a chair, and then the same voice asking: "I bet I"ll mek you git away f"om dat do"."
"Dat"s A"nt Ca"line," the guide said, and laughed.
The door was flung back as quickly as its worn hinges and sagging bottom would allow, and a large body surmounted by a face like a big round full moon presented itself in the opening. A broomstick showed itself aggressively in one fat shiny hand.
"It"s you, Tom Scott, is it--you trif"nin"----" and then, catching sight of the stranger, her whole manner changed, and she dropped the broomstick with an embarra.s.sed ""Scuse me, suh."
Tom chuckled all over as he said, "A"nt Ca"line, dis is yo" new preachah."
The big black face lighted up with a broad smile as the old woman extended her hand and enveloped that of the young minister"s.
"Come in," she said. "I"s mighty glad to see you--that no-"count Tom come put" nigh mekin" me "spose myse"f." Then turning to Tom, she exclaimed with good-natured severity, "An" you go "long, you scoun"ll you!"
The preacher entered the cabin--it was hardly more--and seated himself in the rush-bottomed chair which "A"nt Ca"line" had been industriously polishing with her ap.r.o.n.
"An" now, Brothah----"
"Dokesbury," supplemented the young man.
"Brothah Dokesbury, I jes" want you to mek yo"se"f at home right erway.
I know you ain"t use to ouah ways down hyeah; but you jes" got to set in an" git ust to "em. You mus"n" feel bad ef things don"t go yo" way f"om de ve"y fust. Have you got a mammy?"
The question was very abrupt, and a lump suddenly jumped up in Dokesbury"s throat and pushed the water into his eyes. He did have a mother away back there at home. She was all alone, and he was her heart and the hope of her life.
"Yes," he said, "I"ve got a little mother up there in Ohio."
"Well, I"s gwine to be yo" mothah down hyeah; dat is, ef I ain"t too rough an" common fu" you."
"Hush!" exclaimed the preacher, and he got up and took the old lady"s hand in both of his own. "You shall be my mother down here; you shall help me, as you have done to-day. I feel better already."
"I knowed you would," and the old face beamed on the young one. "An" now jes" go out de do" dah an" wash yo" face. Dey"s a pan an" soap an" watah right dah, an" hyeah"s a towel; den you kin go right into yo" room, fu"
I knows you want to be erlone fu" a while. I"ll fix yo" suppah while you rests."
He did as he was bidden. On a rough bench outside the door, he found a basin and a bucket of water with a tin dipper in it. To one side, in a broken saucer, lay a piece of coa.r.s.e soap. The facilities for copious ablutions were not abundant, but one thing the minister noted with pleasure: the towel, which was rough and hurt his skin, was, nevertheless, scrupulously clean. He went to his room feeling fresher and better, and although he found the place little and dark and warm, it too was clean, and a sense of its homeness began to take possession of him.
The room was off the main living-room into which he had been first ushered. It had one small window that opened out on a fairly neat yard.
A table with a chair before it stood beside the window, and across the room--if the three feet of s.p.a.ce which intervened could be called "across"--stood the little bed with its dark calico quilt and white pillows. There was no carpet on the floor, and the absence of a washstand indicated very plainly that the occupant was expected to wash outside. The young minister knelt for a few minutes beside the bed, and then rising cast himself into the chair to rest.
It was possibly half an hour later when his partial nap was broken in upon by the sound of a gruff voice from without saying, "He"s hyeah, is he--oomph! Well, what"s he ac" lak? Want us to git down on ouah knees an" crawl to him? If he do, I reckon he"ll fin" dat Mt. Hope ain"t de place fo" him."
The minister did not hear the answer, which was in a low voice and came, he conjectured, from Aunt "Ca"line"; but the gruff voice subsided, and there was the sound of footsteps going out of the room. A tap came on the preacher"s door, and he opened it to the old woman. She smiled rea.s.suringly.
"Dat" uz my ol" man," she said. "I sont him out to git some wood, so"s I"d have time to post you. Don"t you mind him; he"s lots mo" ba"k dan bite. He"s one o" dese little yaller men, an" you know dey kin be powahful contra"y when dey sets dey hai"d to it. But jes" you treat him nice an" don"t let on, an" I"ll be boun" you"ll bring him erroun" in little er no time."
The Rev. Mr. Dokesbury received this advice with some misgiving. Albeit he had a.s.sumed his pleasantest manner when, after his return to the living-room, the little "yaller" man came through the door with his bundle of wood.
He responded cordially to Aunt Caroline"s, "Dis is my husband, Brothah Dokesbury," and heartily shook his host"s reluctant hand.
"I hope I find you well, Brother Gray," he said.
"Moder"t, jes" moder"t," was the answer.
"Come to suppah now, bofe o" you," said the old lady, and they all sat down to the evening meal of crisp bacon, well-fried potatoes, egg-pone, and coffee.
The young man did his best to be agreeable, but it was rather discouraging to receive only gruff monosyllabic rejoinders to his most interesting observations. But the cheery old wife came bravely to the rescue, and the minister was continually floated into safety on the flow of her conversation. Now and then, as he talked, he could catch a stealthy upflashing of Stephen Gray"s eye, as suddenly lowered again, that told him that the old man was listening. But as an indication that they would get on together, the supper, taken as a whole, was not a success. The evening that followed proved hardly more fortunate. About the only remarks that could be elicited from the "little yaller man"
were a reluctant "oomph" or "oomph-uh."
It was just before going to bed that, after a period of reflection, Aunt Caroline began slowly: "We got a son"--her husband immediately bristled up and his eyes flashed, but the old woman went on; "he named "Lias, an"
we thinks a heap o" "Lias, we does; but--" the old man had subsided, but he bristled up again at the word--"he ain"t jes" whut we want him to be." Her husband opened his mouth as if to speak in defense of his son, but was silent in satisfaction at his wife"s explanation: ""Lias ain"t bad; he jes" ca"less. Sometimes he stays at home, but right sma"t o" de time he stays down at"--she looked at her husband and hesitated--"at de colo"ed s"loon. We don"t lak dat. It ain"t no fitten place fu" him. But "Lias ain"t bad, he jes" ca"less, an" me an" de ol" man we "membahs him in ouah pra"ahs, an" I jes" t"ought I"d ax you to "membah him too, Brothah Dokesbury."
The minister felt the old woman"s pleading look and the husband"s intense gaze upon his face, and suddenly there came to him an intimate sympathy in their trouble and with it an unexpected strength.
"There is no better time than now," he said, "to take his case to the Almighty Power; let us pray."
Perhaps it was the same prayer he had prayed many times before; perhaps the words of supplication and the plea for light and guidance were the same; but somehow to the young man kneeling there amid those humble surroundings, with the sorrow of these poor ignorant people weighing upon his heart, it seemed very different. It came more fervently from his lips, and the words had a deeper meaning. When he arose, there was a warmth at his heart just the like of which he had never before experienced.
Aunt Caroline blundered up from her knees, saying, as she wiped her eyes, "Blessed is dey dat mou"n, fu" dey shall be comfo"ted." The old man, as he turned to go to bed, shook the young man"s hand warmly and in silence; but there was a moisture in the old eyes that told the minister that his plummet of prayer had sounded the depths.
Alone in his own room Howard Dokesbury sat down to study the situation in which he had been placed. Had his thorough college training antic.i.p.ated specifically any such circ.u.mstance as this? After all, did he know his own people? Was it possible that they could be so different from what he had seen and known? He had always been such a loyal Negro, so proud of his honest brown; but had he been mistaken? Was he, after all, different from the majority of the people with whom he was supposed to have all thoughts, feelings, and emotions in common?
These and other questions he asked himself without being able to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. He did not go to sleep soon after retiring, and the night brought many thoughts. The next day would be Sat.u.r.day. The ordeal had already begun,--now there were twenty-four hours between him and the supreme trial. What would be its outcome?