did. But I tell you, when Big Sue gits dem seasoned up right in a pot

dey would make you pure bite you’ fingers just to smell ’em.”

Sherry said no more, and April’s boat glided on. A bend in the stream closed its gate behind it, shutting him and his boatload of food out of sight.

Uncle Bill took a chew of tobacco. “April’s de luckiest man I ever seen,” he ventured, but Sherry said nothing at all.

Through breaks in the trees Breeze caught glimpses of drab, level, water-covered spaces. Old rice-fields. Deserted. Marsh-grown. They lacked the color and the look of life that filled the thick-tangled growth of trees and thorny-looking vines and bushes encircling them.

“Sherry,” Uncle Bill rested his paddle, “you don’ hold nothin’ against April, does you?”

Sherry’s answer was slow coming, “Not nothin’ much, suh.”

Uncle Bill began paddling again, and Sherry put down his gun and stretched, then said that since April and his boat had scared all the ducks out of this creek, they’d better go across the river into some of the creeks around Silver Island where lots of ducks raise and there’d be a chance to get some good shooting.

Sherry’s good humor was gone. He sat dumb, his forehead all knotted up in a frown. The eels or April or something had crossed him. Breeze was glad to hear him ask, “Who named Silver Island, Uncle? You reckon any money’s buried on it?”

Uncle Bill didn’t know. It was named long ago, when each bit of land here was given a name. These marshes were all fields in the old days. Rice was planted everywhere then. He pointed to old rotting pieces of wood that held the tide back until it gurgled as it strained to get over them.

“See de old flood-gates? De old trunks? Dey used to let de water in and out. Dey used to know dere business to!” He sighed. “But dey time is out. De old days is gone. De tide does like it pleases now.”

On an old piece of wood, brown with rot and soaked by the flood-tide, yet standing guard beside an opening on the bank, several small black tortoises sprawled out flat, sunning themselves. As the boat got nearer they all slid into the water for safety.

It amused Uncle Bill mightily. He chuckled and called out that they needn’t hide from him.

“You like cooters, Uncle?” Sherry asked him with a laugh.

“No, suh!” the old man said shortly, “Not to-day, anyhow. De sky’s too clear.” He cast his black beady eyes up and scanned the blue overhead. “I don’ see no sign of thunder nowhere, an’ if a cooter bites you e won’t never let go till it thunders.”

Sherry laughed. “You know, don’t you, Uncle?” Then he told how once when Uncle Bill was a boy a cooter caught his toe and held on to it for a whole day and night.

“Fo’ days, son!” Uncle Bill corrected.

“Was it four, fo’ true, Uncle?” Sherry asked doubtfully.

“Yes, suh! An e’d ’a’ been holdin’ on till now if it didn’t thunder,” Uncle Bill spoke solemnly.

“What did you do all dem four days, Uncle?” Sherry asked.

“I watched de clouds an’ prayed for de thunder to roll, son.”

When Breeze hoped one would never bite him, Uncle Bill grunted. “You right to hope so, son. I hope so too. A cooter is a contrary creeter.”

“De people used to say Uncle Isaac was crippled by a cooter. E makes like e’s plagued wid rheumatism, but I have hear tell e ain’ got no big toe on one foot. Did you know dat, Sherry?”

“How come so?” Breeze inquired.

“Well, now, I tell you, dis might not be so. But I used to hear de people say it was. Old man Isaac is a heap older’n me an’ all dis happened before I was born. But my mammy used to laugh ’bout em. Plenty o’ times when e’d come hoppin’ up to de house a-talkin’ ’bout how it must be gwine rain soon by de misery in his knee was so bad, my mammy use to say his big toe wasn’t buried straight an’ dat was what hurt Uncle Isaac. T’ings have to be buried right or dey can’ rest at all.”

“Whe’ was de cooter?” Breeze asked.

“De cooter was in de corn-field, son.”

“An’ whe’ was Uncle Isaac?”

“E was in de corn-field too, choppin’ grass.”

“Did de cooter bite his toe off?”

“No, you wait now an’ le’ me tell em my way.”

“When Uncle Isaac was young e used to run round a lot at night instead o’ being’ home ’sleep, like he had business to be. E used to catch a nap in de daytime whilst he was hoein’. Plenty o’ people can stand straight up in de field an’ lean on dey hoe an’ sleep good. I never could, but a lot o’ people can. Well, Uncle Isaac was gwine long hoein’ a spell, den dozin’ a spell. One time when e opened his eyes to look e thought e seen a cooter’s head right side his foot. E chopped down hard to cut em off. But it wasn’t no cooter head dat time. It been his own big toe! Dat’s how come e’s hoppin’ to dis day. An’ a-lyin’ ’bout em too.”

“Po’ ol’ man!” Sherry laughed along with his pitying. “I don’ blame em fo’ lyin’ ’bout dat. I’d be shame’ to tell de truth. Dey say if you tell a lie an’ stick to it, dat’s good as de truth anyhow.”

“I dunno,” Uncle Bill answered doubtfully, “I reckon sin is easier to stand dan shame.”

A blue dragon-fly flitted along close to the water.

“Does you know his business?” Sherry asked Breeze. But the fly was catching gnats and mosquitoes right then and anybody could see what its business was. Breeze laughed at Sherry’s question.

“You’s wrong,” Sherry laughed back. “You’s talkin’ ’bout his victuals, not his business. Dat’s a snake doctor. A sick snake is around here somewhere now. You watch out. We’ll see him. Den we’ll kill him and hang him up on a limb to make it rain. It’s powerful dry dis fall.”

“If you hang a dead snake on a limb, dat couldn’ make it rain?”

Sherry’s laugh was so merry that Breeze grinned at his own ignorance.

“Great Gawd, boy! You didn’t know dat! Sho’, it will! In less’n three days too. Won’t it, Uncle?”

“Sho’!” Uncle Bill answered stoutly, but he added there was no use to bother with the snake, for it was going to rain in less than three days, anyhow. “The new moon hung in a ring last night and only one star was inside it. That means it will rain after one day. If they’d find the snake and kill him he couldn’t die until the sun went down. Neither can a frog nor a cooter, nor a wasp. Lots of things can’t die if the sun shines.”

Breeze felt he was learning a lot, and he listened so attentively that Uncle Bill went on talking.

“Most people have to wait until night to die, and even when night comes, dey can’t die until de tide turns.”

“How can dey tell if dey’s sick in the bed?” Breeze asked, and Uncle Bill explained that the people themselves didn’t know. The life that stays inside them, that knows.

“It knows mighty nigh everything,” the old man declared, “and when de time comes for it to go, it goes, an’ leaves a man dead as a wedge.” This statement left Breeze wondering, but Uncle Bill went on telling how the rice-fields were full of all kinds of snakes, some of them poisonous, and some not. But the snake he feared most, more than even a rattlesnake or a moccasin, was a coach-whip.

“If a coach-whip catches you, he will wrap his body round you an’ tie you to a tree an’ whip you to death wid his tail. Lawd, boy, when a coach-whip blows dat whistle in de end of his tail, put you’ foot in you’ hand an’ run!”

“Yes, suh!” Sherry agreed, “I too ’fraid of coach-whips myself. I never did see one do it, but a coach-whip can outrun a man any day. If you get to outrunnin’ him, e will grab his tail in his mouth and roll after you like a hoop to catch you. An’ tie you to a tree an’ whip you. Enty, Uncle?”

“Sho’?” Uncle Bill was astonished at his asking. “Sho it’s so! I’ve seen a coach-whip do it plenty o’ times.”

He spat far out into the stream when he had said it, then held one oar still in the water to wheel the boat to one side, as he asked:

“Did you ever catch one of dose pretty little garter snakes an’ see him break hisself all up into little joints? Dey go back all togedder again when dey gits ready.”

Sherry never had.

“Well did you ever burn a blacksnake an’ make him show you his feet. You must be have done dat, Sherry?”

“No, suh,” Sherry answered solemnly. “I ain’ done em not yet, but I’ve seen plenty o’ people what has done em.” And after a thoughtful silence he added:

“Deys one t’ing I do know, Uncle. If a snake bites you and you don’t die, all you’ hair will drop out every time dat snake sheds its skin. Dat’s so, ’cause my own done it about ten years until Uncle Isaac told me to put a boxwood poultice on my hand ebery night las’ spring. An’ dat cured me.”

“Sho’!” Uncle Bill agreed. “Boxwood’s good for most eberyt’ing what ails you.”

“Poultices made out of boxwood will make you’ hair grow and cure tooth-ache or either rheumatism. Boxwood tea’ll cure de itch or de spring fever, too.”

“I heard so,” Sherry approved. “Boxwood roots is good for foot troubles too.”

“Yes, suh. It’s a good medicine. Sho’! De white people knowed it and dats how come dey fetched it across de water wid em. All de flowers gardens on dis whole Neck is full o’ boxwood. Some’s grows high an’ some low. Some ain’ no taller dan my finger, an’ it’s old as de Big House, too.”

“Lawd, how times is changed! Changed before yunnuh was born. Looks like all de good old days is done gone.”

“We done well enough till de boll-evils come, enty, Uncle?”

“But de boll-evils is come. Dey ruint de whole crop year befo’ last.”

“De crop was good last year after we pizened ’em.”

“But I tell you, I sho’ don’ believe in pizenin’ ’em. No, suh! Gawd sent dem here an’ we better leave dem lone. If I was you, I wouldn’t run no pizen machine. At night too, when de cotton is wet wid dew, a pizen dust’ll stick to you’ feets. When I look out o’ my door at night and see dat pizen dust a-floatin’ over de cotton-fields in dem big white cluds, an’ dat machine a-singin’ like a locust, a-creepin’ up and down de rows, th’owin’ out pizen I git too scared to look. No wonder de mens hates to take part in it. Dem pizened blossoms is done killed all de bees on de place, an’ a lot o’ de turkeys and de guineas died from eatin’ de pizened evils. Better let weeds grow in de fields, I say. We kin do widout money till we git some crop to take de place o’ cotton. Cotton’s time is out. I ’member when dey had to give up plantin’ indigo, and people said we was ruined. But cotton done just as good. Now cotton is failed, and we ought to wait till we git some kind o’ crop to take its place.” Uncle Bill heaved a mighty sigh as he said it. “April is too brazen. E would buck Gawd A’mighty. Don’t you try to be like em, Sherry. No. If April keeps on, e will land in Hell, sho’ as e was born.”

“You t’ink de place’ll ever be sold, Uncle?” Sherry asked him presently.

“No, son. Not long as de li’l’ young Cap’n is livin’! E was born wid two li’l’ teeth, and when dem two li’l’ teeth got ripe an’ fell out, my Katy took ’em an’ went to de graveyard an’ buried ’em in a clear place right longside his gran’pa.

“No matter whe’ da li’l’ boy goes or how long e stays gone from here, dis place’ll hold to him. Dem li’l’ two teeth’ll make him come back to die an’ be buried right here. You’ll see. It’s so. Just like I’m tellin’ you. It’ll be dat way. Katy was a wise-minded ’oman.”

The boat moved steadily forward all the time, for Uncle Bill’s arms didn’t slacken the oar’s paddling once.

As Breeze listened thoughtfully to all that was said, his eyes wandered unseeing over the beauty that lay thick around him, for he was trying to understand some of the things he had heard.

The rice-fields blurred by yellow sunshine were tinged with ripeness and flecked with brilliant color. Purple shadows were cast by crimson branches, scarlet berries sparkled on slender vines and adorning gray thorny branches. The bright water, gay with reflections, ran sober edges under blue cypress.

The tide of the year, more deliberate but as constant as the tide from the sea, was almost full, almost at its height. It would soon pause, mature and complete, its striving over, for a little rest; and start ebbing.

A great owl, roused by the boat’s passing, spread out wide wings and flew from the shadowy darkness of a dense moss-hung tree. Marsh-hens, that couldn’t be seen, cackled out shrill strident notes from the marsh-grown, water-covered mud flats. Solemn blue-and-white herons stood motionless at the water’s edge, gravely watching the boat. High overhead, thin lines of ducks sliced across the sky with swift slashing wings. When the boat rounded a bend where the creek met the river, Uncle Bill began a careful, precise paddling with his one long oar, and with settled, even strokes thrust the boat forward into the wide dark stream.

“For Gawd’s sake, be careful, Uncle! Don’ go too fast against dis current. I’d sho’ hate to be turned over dis morning. Dat water looks mighty cold.”

Sherry gave a shiver and laugh as he said it, but Uncle Bill’s reply was full of reproach. Why would Sherry think of such a thing as turning over? He was inviting trouble.

The boat had run silently for some little time, close to the river’s bank, when Uncle Bill broke into a sputter of words. Breeze turned to look at him. His eyes, two bright black berries in the dull black surface of his skin, were fixed on something away ahead. Breeze tried to see it too. He searched the distance ahead. But nothing showed except miles of wide river swelled out beyond its banks into the flat old rice-fields. Palmetto trees showed now and then among the willows and cypresses. Low-lying marshy islands, fringed with vine-covered scrubby bushes, were cut into patterns by narrow creeks.

Sherry was watching the distance too. “Wha’ kind is dey, Uncle?” he murmured.

“Bull-neck, son,” Uncle Bill answered promptly.

“I wish my eyes was trained to see good like your’n. I wonder why dey ain’!”

“I dunno, son. I dunno. I reckon dey ain’ had to look hard as mine,” and he chuckled with pleasure at the compliment Sherry paid him.

Uncle’s calm black face filled with a warm friendly smile. Uncle’s bright eyes, keen and cold, flitted swiftly from Sherry’s face to Breeze’s, then beyond them to the ducks he saw in the distance. Breeze began to see more in Uncle Bill’s black features than he did at first. They were more than wrinkled flesh that time had creased and withered, for not only shrewdness, but wisdom and pity shone in the clear-seeing eyes; and the old mouth, where so many teeth were missing, tightened its lips in a way that meant more than caution and prudence.

Breeze gazed at every bit of the surface ahead, starting with the water where sunshine dazzled close beside the boat and ending where the hazy sky dropped down to join the earth, but he couldn’t see any ducks.

“Looka right yonder!” Uncle Bill pointed to direct his eyes and he made out two tiny black specks side by side on the water.

“You must shoot dose two,” Sherry said. “It ain’t against de law to kill bull-necks, and maybe dey’ll stay on de water until we get in gunshot.”

“You better shoot ’em, Cun Sherry. I can’t hit ’em.” Breeze hesitated although his heart was beating fit to burst with excitement at the thought of shooting a gun.

“No, dem’s you’ ducks. You must kill ’em,” Sherry insisted. “If you do like I tell you, you can’ miss em. I don’ mind breakin’ de law, so I’ll hit de summer ducks and you kill de lawful ones.”

“I’m scared I’ll miss ’em.” Breeze’s voice quivered so shakily Sherry laughed.

“No you won’t. I’ll tell you how to do,” he said gently.

Uncle Bill headed the boat straight for the two small dots which were swimming toward it, and soon Breeze could see the gray of their feathers and the bright orange color of their bills. They seemed not to know their danger even when Uncle Bill stopped paddling and Sherry whispered to Breeze.

“Cock your gun now and hold em close up to you’ shoulder. Look straight at de duck you want to kill and pull de front trigger.”

Breeze did just as Sherry told him, but the drake he aimed at sat quite motionless on the water, as if he had not even heard the gun’s explosion.

“Fine, son!” Sherry exclaimed. “He didn’ know wha’ hit him. Now, shoot de hen duck. Hold you’ gun up close to you’ shoulder, den look straight at em an’ pull de back trigger.”

Breeze’s fingers were trembling but he shot again, and the hen duck made wild splutterings on the water.

“Po’ creeter! You hit em, but you got to shoot em again. Put us up a li’l’ closer, Uncle. Load you’ gun, Breeze.”

Breeze’s tense fingers shook as he unbreached his gun and replaced the two empty, smoking shells with heavy new ones. As the boat swung near to the wounded duck that swam round and round its dead mate, Sherry spoke to him sharply.

“Hurry up! Shoot em again!”

How could he do it? The poor wounded fowl was fluttering in agony now.

“Quit you’ triflin’, boy!” Sherry ordered sternly. “Put em out o’ dat misery.”

Breeze’s fingers tightened on the trigger and the gray-feathered body quivered into bloody shreds as the swift lead from his gun tore through it. Breeze felt wretched. Killing that duck gave him no pleasure.

Uncle Bill paddled up close to the two dead bodies and Sherry picked them up out of the water.

“Dey’s plump!” he commented as his fingers examined the breasts to see.

“We has all de ducks we can eat now, but dis boy ought to shoot one flyin’ befo’ we go home.”

“Den we’ll go on,” Uncle agreed.

They crossed the river and entered a creek much like the first one. It branched right and left, becoming narrower all the time. Uncle Bill began a stealthy creeping around the wooded bends. Sometimes ducks were there, sometimes not. Breeze shot wildly each time one rose. Sherry declared he killed two of those that fell. He may have, he didn’t know. Sherry may have just said so to encourage him.

This was a strange world to Breeze. Gray water, unfamiliar trees, long stretches of ripening marsh grass where odd-looking birds made outlandish cries as they passed.

Uncle Bill paddled steadily on with a measured stroke. Past islands lined with ranges of sand-hills where tall pines above the willows stood against the sky. Through channels choked with weeds where white cranes fed. Long streets of water, curving, dustless, houseless, settled only by light and shade and the images of trees and clouds and sun they faithfully reflected.

At a sudden “S-st” from Uncle Bill, Breeze looked at the low wooded hillside and glimpsed a doe, followed by her fawn. They had come down to the water’s edge to drink. Sheer terror held them rigid for a brief instant and then both were gone.

“Jedus, Sherry,” Uncle Bill chided. “You could ’a’ got all two if you had ’a’ tried!”

“I didn’ want dem,” Sherry answered. “We’s done killed enough for one day. My mammy says if you kill too much o’ t’ings at a time you’ll git so you smell like death. I don’ want to. I kills a while and den I stops.”

Uncle Bill laughed, and the silence was so deep that his voice echoed and reechoed.

Breeze was glad the killing was over, for he’d rather hear the two men talk than to see Sherry kill.

The boat flowed evenly, almost silently, over the water’s smooth surface. Uncle Bill kept it close to the bank to avoid the full sweep of the current in the middle of the stream.

Great dark birds, startled by its passing so close to their homes, flew up out of the water with a loud flopping of wings, but there was little talk for the rest of the way.

The water slipped swiftly past them. The small whirling circles made by Uncle Bill’s paddle widened until they reached the bank’s willowy edges where vines and bushes wound tight together, choking and strangling one another as they wrestled for a narrow foothold.

When Uncle Bill paused and cleared his throat Breeze knew he was going to ask Sherry a question.

“How come you don’ like April, here lately?”

“Who say I don’ like em?” Sherry answered.

“I say so.”

Sherry’s white grin was cold. Hard. His answer slow in coming.

“April’s legs is most too long fo’ de foreman of a big plantation like Blue Brook.”

“Wha’ you mean, son?”

“Dey kin tote him too far f’om home sometimes.”

“You mean April kin walk too far atter dark?”

“Yes, suh,” Uncle Bill sighed.

“Gawd is de one made ’em long. April ain’ had nothin’ to do wid dat. Gawd made you’ own not so short, Sherry. Don’ fo’git dat.”

Sherry said no more and Uncle Bill worked faster with his paddling.

The afternoon sun was a great red ball floating among thin smoky clouds. A light haze was creeping out from underneath the trees on the banks of the creeks. The shrill call of a cicada rose, swelled into quick breathless notes, faded away, then was taken up, answered by a mate. Yellow sunshine fell between lacy blue shadows cast by cypress trees. Dark green thickets crouched wet-footed, beside narrow winding paths of tide water.

The marshes were buried. All the sticky miry mud exposed by the morning was hidden. Through old flood-gates the rising water gurgled and bubbled into forsaken rice-fields. Grass, vines, trees, bushes rank, thorny and fetid, crowded and trampled one another, trying to gain a deeper, stronger foothold down in the broken dikes. Breeze gazed around him with long looks. As far as his eyes could see the earth was flooded. Wasted. Unsown. Abandoned.

Uncle Bill sighed. It made him sad to think how the tide had destroyed the work of years. At first it crept timidly in, hardly enough for its shallow trickling to show. But it grew bolder and stronger as it took back the rich land, acre by acre, until it owned them all. All!

The first white men who came here found the whole face of the earth covered with a thick forest growth of cypress and gum and ash, matted, tangled with powerful vines, and held by the tides that rose and fell as they do now, twice every day. Those men bought slaves, Breeze’s and Sherry’s and his own great-grandfathers and mothers, African people fresh from the Guinea Coast. The slaves diked and banked up the land so the forest growth could be removed, then they canaled and ditched and banked it into smaller well-drained tracts which were planted with rice. And rice made the plantation owners rich.

For years the lands were held by children and grandchildren of those first settlers, but nearly every old plantation home has been burned or sold or abandoned. The rich rice-fields are deserted. The old dikes and flood-gates that stood as guardians are broken and rotted. The tide rolls over all as it did before the land was ever cleared. It has taken back its own.

A whistle not far away gave a shrill ugly shriek. “Lawd, de boat is lated to-day! Wha’ time it is, Uncle Bill?”

Uncle cast a quick glance up at the sun. “A li’l’ after four, son.”

Sherry considered. “De boat ain’ but two hours lated. Pretty good, for dat old slow coach, enty?”

“Kin you tell de time, Breeze?”

“I kin tell if it ain’ cloudy, neither rainin’, in de daytime.”

Sherry said there were many other ways to tell; the tide runs true, rain or shine, morning-glories and lots of other flowers open and close by the time. Big Sue’s yard was full of four-o’clocks. They’d be wide open now. Birds change their songs with the turn of the afternoon. “Listen! You can hear a red-bird whistlin’ right now. Dis morning he went so----” Sherry pursed his lips and mimicked a bar of bird song.

“Now e says to dis----” And he whistled a few notes that the bird himself echoed. “Dat bird knows it’s past four. A red-bird knows de time every bit as good as Uncle. Grass blades moves wid de day too. Dey leans dis way an’ dat to get de light. A lot o’ t’ings is got mo’ sense dan people, enty, Uncle?”

“Sho’!” Uncle Bill declared. “If you watch t’ings close, you’ll git wise. Wise! Take Uncle Isaac; e can’ read readin’ or either writin’ but he knows more’n any school-teacher or either preacher dat ever came to Blue Brook.”

“Wha’ de name o’ de church Uncle Isaac b’longs to?”

Uncle Bill smiled gently. “Po’ Uncle! E j’ined de white folks ch’uch yonder at de gate, long time ago. Dat’s named ’Piscopalian. Den e went to town on de boat an’ seen a white folks’ chu’ch named de Presbeteerin. Uncle mixed de two togedder. E calls hese’f a ’Piscoteerin’. Po’ Uncle! If e don’ mind, e’s gwine die in sin yet. You boys mustn’ wait too long to pray. Pray soon. Git religion young. It’s a heap easier den. I waited so long I mighty nigh missed gittin’ it myse’f. But I ruther have religion dan to have all Uncle Isaac’s knowledge. E kin put a ‘hand’ on anybody long as dey’s in dis world. E kin take a ‘spell’ off anybody long as dey’s dis side o’ de grave. But dat ain’ so much after all. Dis life is short. It’s de other side o’ Jordan we got to fix for. Dem sweet fields in Eden, yonder in Canaan’s land. Dat’s de country I’m aimin’ to reach. You boys must try to reach em too.”

“Uncle, you believe any white folks is in Heaben?”

“Gawd knows, son. White folks is mighty smart people. Dey knows a lot o’ tricks we don’ know.”

XIII

THE QUILTING

Before day was clean Big Sue got up out of bed and went to the front door to look at the weather. The cool air was soft and still, trees and birds were asleep. The earth itself was resting quietly, for the sun tarried late in his bed. The stars had not yet faded from the clear open sky, but Big Sue was full of excitement. Only a few hours more and she must have everything ready at Maum Hannah’s for the quilting to commence.

Her own big room was almost large enough for a quilting, but it was better to go to Maum Hannah’s. The meeting benches could be brought in from under the house where they stayed, to make seats enough for the company, and Maum Hannah’s quilting poles stood always in the corner waiting for work to do. Plenty of pots sat on her hearth and two big ones out in the yard besides. Most of the plantation quiltings were held at Maum Hannah’s house, the same as the night prayer-meetings.

The raw rations were all ready to cook. Plenty of rice and cornmeal. White flour and coffee and sugar from the store. She’d pot-roast the ducks, and fry the fish, and make the turtle into a stew. She’d roast the potatoes in the ashes. The corn-pone would bake brown and nice in the big oven on the hearth. With some nice fat white-flour biscuit to eat last with the coffee, she would have enough to fill everybody full.

Breeze must get up and hustle! She called him and he tried to raise up his drowsy head, but sleep had it too heavy for his strength to lift. If she’d only let him take one more little nap! But she shook him soundly by the shoulder. To-day was the day for the quilting. He must get up and dress, and get some fat kindling wood to start a fire under both the big pots in Maum Hannah’s yard. He’d have to fetch water for those pots too, and tote all the quilts there, and the sack of newly ginned cotton April had given her for lining the quilts, besides all the rations that had to be cooked for the quilters to eat at dinner-time.

With a sleepy groan Breeze rose and pulled on his shirt and breeches, then his sluggish feet shambled toward the water-shelf where the tin washbasin sat beside the water-bucket. Big Sue made him wash his face, no matter how soon or cold the morning was. He might as well do it, and get it over with.

As he reached a heavy hand up for the gourd that hung on a nail beside the water-bucket, his arm lengthened into a lazy stretch, the other arm joined in, and his mouth opened into a wide yawn. Then his fingers dropped wearily on to his head where they began a slow tired scratching.

Big Sue stopped short in her tracks, and the sparkle in her beady black eyes cut him clear through to the quick.

“Looka here, boy! Is you paralyze’? I ain’ got time to stop an’ lick you, now. But if you don’ stir you’ stumps, you’ hide won’ hold out to-night when I git back home. Dat strap yonder is eetchin’ to git on you’ rind right now! Or would you ruther chaw a pod o’ red pepper?”

The long thin strip of leather, hanging limp and black against the whitewashed wall not far from the mantel-shelf, looked dumb and harmless enough, but Breeze gave a shiver and jumped wide awake as his eyes followed Big Sue’s fat forefinger. That strap could whistle and hiss through the air like a blacksnake when Big Sue laid its licks home. Its stinging lash could bite deep into tender naked meat. But the string of red pepper pods hanging outside by the front door were pure fire.

He wanted to cry but fear crushed back the misery that seized him, and gulping down a sob he hurried about his tasks. First he hastily swallowed a bite of breakfast, then he took a big armful of folded quilt tops, and holding them tight hurried to Maum Hannah’s house with them.

The sun was up, and the morning tide rolled high and shiny in the river. The air was cool, and the wind murmuring on the tree-tops strewed the path with falling leaves. Some of them whirled over as they left the swaying boughs, then lay still wherever they touched the ground, while others flew sidewise, and skipped nimbly over the ground on their stiff brown points.

The sunlight smelled warm, but the day’s breath was flavored with things nipped by the frost. The sweet potato leaves were black, the squash vines full of slimy green rags. The light frost on the cabin steps sparkled with tinted radiance as the cool wind, that had all the leaves trembling in a shiver, began to blow a bit warmer and melt it back into dew.

This was the second frost of the fall. One more would bring rain. The day knew it, for in spite of the sun’s brave shining, the shadows fell heavy and green under the trees. Those cast by the old cedar stretched across the yard’s white sand much blacker and more doleful than the sun-spotted shade cast by the live-oaks.

Maum Hannah’s house was very old, and its foundations had weakened, so the solid weight of its short square body leaned to one side. The ridge-pole was warped, the mossy roof sagged down in the middle, and feathery clumps of fern throve along the frazzled edge of the rotted eaves.

Two big black iron washpots in Maum Hannah’s yard sat close enough to the house to be handy, but far enough away to kill any spark that might fly from their fires toward the house, trying to set fire to the old shack, tottering with age and all but ready to fall.

Inside Maum Hannah, dressed up in her Sunday clothes, with a fresh white headkerchief binding her head, a wide white apron almost hiding the long full skirt of her black and white checked homespun dress, awaited the guests. She was bending over the fire whose reddish light glowed on her cheerful smile, making it brighter than ever.

“Come in, son. You’s a early bird dis mawnin’. You’s a strong bird too, to tote sich a heavy load. Put de quilts on de bed in de shed-room, den come eat some breakfast wid me. I can’ enjoy eatin’ by myse’f, and Emma went last night to Zeda’s house, so e wouldn’t be in my way to-day.”

The bacon broiling on a bed of live coals, and fresh peeled sweet potatoes just drawn out from the ashes where they had roasted, made a temptation that caused Breeze’s mouth to water. But he hesitated. Cousin Big Sue was waiting for him, and he knew better than to cross her this morning.

“If you can’ set down, take a tater in you’ hand an’ eat em long de way home. A tater’s good for you. It’ll stick to you’ ribs.”

Breeze took the hot bit from her hand and started to hurry away, but she stopped him, “No, son! Don’ grab victuals an’ run! Put you’ hands in front o’ you, so. Pull you’ foot an’ bow, an’ say ‘T’ank Gawd!’ Dat’s de way. You must do so ev’y day if you want Jedus to bless you. All you got comes from Gawd. You mustn’ forgit to tell Him you’s t’ankful.”

Most of the cabin doors were closed, but the smoke curling up out of every chimney circled in wreaths overhead. Little clouds of mist floated low over the marsh, where the marsh-hens kept up a noisy cackling. Roosters crowed late. Ant-hills were piled high over the ground. All sure signs of rain, even though no clouds showed in the pale blue sky.

As soon as Breeze’s work was done, Big Sue had promised he could go to Zeda’s house or to April’s, and spend the rest of the day playing with their children, and now there were only a few more lightwood splinters to split. The prospect of such fun ahead must have made him reckless, or else the ax, newly sharpened on the big round grind-stone, had got mean and tricky. Anyway, as Breeze brought it down hard and heavy on the last fat chunk to be split, its keen edge glanced to one side and with as straight an aim as if it had two good eyes, jumped between two of his toes. How it stung! The blood poured out. But Breeze’s chief thought was of how Big Sue would scold him. Hopping on a heel across the yard to the door-step he called pitifully for Maum Hannah.

“Great Gawd!” she yelled out when she saw the bloody tracks on the white sand. “What is you done, Breeze? Don’ come in dis house an’ track up dis floor! Wha’ dat ail you’ foot?”

She made him lie flat on the ground and hold his foot up high, then taking a healing leaf from a low bush, growing right beside her door, she pressed it over the cut and held it until it stuck, then tied it in place. That was all he needed, but he’d have to keep still to-day. Maybe two or three days.

By ten o’clock Big Sue was outside the yard where Zeda stirred the boiling washpots. Onion-flavored eel-stew scented the air. The stout meeting benches had been brought in from under the house, two for each quilt. The quilting poles leaned in a corner waiting to be used. The older, more settled women came first. Each with her needle, ready to sew. The younger ones straggled in later, with babies, or tiny children, who kept their hands busy. They were all kin, and when they first assembled the room rang with, “How you do, cousin?” “Howdy, Auntie!” “How is you, sister?”

Leah, April’s wife, had on somewhat finer clothes than the other women. The bottom of her white apron was edged with a band of wide lace, and she wore a velvet hat with a feather in it over her plaid headkerchief. But something ailed her speech. The words broke off in her mouth. Her well-greased face looked troubled. Her round eyes sad.

“How you do, daughter?” Maum Hannah asked her kindly. “You look so nice to-day. You got such a pretty hat on! Lawd! Is dem teeth you got in you’ mouth? April ought to be proud o’ you.”

But instead of smiling Leah’s face looked ready to cry. “I ain’ well, Auntie. My head feels too full all de time. Dese teeth is got me fretted half to death. Dey’s got my gums all sore, an’ dey rattles when I tries to walk like dey is gwine to jump down my throat. I can’ eat wid ’em on to save life. De bottom ones is meaner dan de top ones. I like to missed and swallowed ’em yestiddy.”

“How come you wears ’em if dey pesters you so bad?”

“April likes ’em. E say dey becomes me. E paid a lot o’ money fo’ dem, too. E took me all de way to town on de boat to git ’em. But dey ain’ no sati’faction.” She sighed deep. “An’ de blood keeps all de time rushin’ to my head ever since I was salivate.”

Maum Hannah listened and sympathized with a doleful, “Oh-oh!” while Leah complained that the worst part was she couldn’t enjoy her victuals any more. She’d just as soon have a cup and saucer in her mouth as those teeth. It made no difference what she ate, now, everything tasted all the same.

“Fo’ Gawd’s sake take ’em off an’ rest you’ mouth to-day!” Maum Hannah exhorted her. “You may as well pleasure you’self now and den. April ain’ gwine see you. Not to-day!”

“Somebody’d tell him an’ dat would vex him,” Leah bemoaned.

But Maum Hannah took her by the arm and looked straight in her eyes. “Honey,” she coaxed, “Gawd ain’ gwine bless you if you let April suffer you dis way. You an’ April all both is too prideful. Take dem teeth off an’ rest you’ mouth till dis quiltin’ is over. It would fret me if you don’t.”

Screening her mouth with both hands Leah did rid her gums of the offending teeth, but instead of putting them in her apron pocket she laid them carefully in a safe place on the high mantel-shelf.

* * * * *

The room buzzed with chatter. How would such a great noisy gathering ever get straightened out to work? They were as much alike as guinea fowls in a flock, every head tied up turban-fashion, every skirt covered by an apron.

Big Sue welcomed every one with friendliest greetings, and although her breath was short from excitement, she talked gaily and laughed often.

A sudden hush followed a loud clapping of her hands. The closest attention was paid while she appointed Leah and Zeda captains of the first quilts to be laid out. Zeda stepped forward, with a jaunty toss of her head, and, shrugging a lean shoulder, laughed lightly.

“Big Sue is puttin’ sinner ’gainst Christian dis mawnin’!”

Leah tried to laugh, her tubby body, bulky as Big Sue’s, shook nervously, as her giggling rippled out of her mouth, but her eyes showed no mirth at all.

“You choose first, Leah. You’s de foreman’s wife.”

Leah chose Big Sue.

“Lawd,” Zeda threw her head back with a laugh, “Yunnuh two is so big nobody else wouldn’ have room to set on a bench ’side you.”

The crowd tittered, but Big Sue looked stern.

“Do, Zeda! You has gall enough to talk about bigness? T’ank Gawd, I’m big all de way round like I is.” She cast a wry look toward Zeda, then turned her head and winked at the crowd. But Zeda sucked her teeth brazenly. She was satisfied with her shape. She might not look so nice now, but her bigness would soon be shed. Just give her a month or two longer.

“You ought to be shame, wid grown chillen in you’ house, an’ a grown gal off yonder to college.”

“When I git old as you, Big Sue, den I’ll stay slim all de time. Don’t you fret.” Zeda laughed, and chose Gussie, a skinny, undersized, deaf and dumb woman, whose keen eyes plainly did double duty. When Zeda looked toward her and spoke her name, Gussie pushed through the crowd, smiling and making wordless gurgles of pleasure for the compliment Zeda had paid her by choosing her first of all.

“I take Bina next!” Leah called out.

“Bina’s a good one for you’ quilt. E’s a extra fine Christian.”

“You better be prayin’ you’se’f, Zeda,” Bina came back.

“Who? Me? Lawd, gal, I does pray.” Zeda said it seriously, and her look roved around the room. “Sinners is mighty sca’ce at dis quiltin’. Who kin I choose next?” She searched the group.

“Don’ take so long, Zeda,” Big Sue chided. “Hurry up an’ choose. De day is passin’. You an’ Gussie is de only two sinners. You’ ’bliged to pick a Christian, now.”

“Den I’ll take Nookie. E’s got swift-movin’ fingers.”

The choosing went on until eight women were picked for each quilt, four to a side. Then the race began.

The two quilt linings, made out of unbleached homespun, were spread on the clean bare floor, and covered over with a smooth layer of cotton.

“How come you got such nice clean cotton to put in you’ quilt?” Zeda inquired with an innocent look across at Big Sue.

When Big Sue paid her no heed, she added brazenly, “De cotton April gi’ me fo’ my quilt was so trashy and dark I had to whip em wid pine-tops half a day to get de dirt out clean enough to use.”

Still Big Sue said nothing.

“You must be stand well wid April.” Zeda looked at Big Sue with a smile.

Big Sue raised her shoulders up from doubling over, and in a tart tone blurted out, “You talks too much, Zeda. Shut you’ mouth and work.”

“Who? Me?” Zeda came back pleasantly. “Great Gawd! I was praisin’ de whiteness of de cotton, dat was all.”

Two of the patch-work covers that Big Sue had fashioned with such pains, stitch by stitch, square by square, were opened out wide and examined and admired.

“Which one you want, Zeda? You take de first pick.”

“Lawd, all two is so nice it’s hard to say.”

Gussie pointed to the “Snake-fence” design, and Zeda took it, leaving the “Star of Bethlehem” for Leah. Both were placed over a cotton-covered lining on the floor, corner to corner, edge to edge, and basted into place. Next, two quilting poles were laid lengthwise beside each quilt, and tacked on with stout ball thread. The quilts were carefully rolled on the poles, and the pole-ends fastened with strong cords to the side-walls. All was ready for the quilting.

Leah’s crew beat fixing the quilt on the poles, but the sewing was the tedious part. The stitches must be small, and in smooth rows that ran side by side. They must also be deep enough to hold the cotton fast between the top and the lining.

Little talking was done at first. Minds, as well as eyes, had to watch the needles. Those not quilting in this race stood around the hearth puffing at their pipes, talking, joking, now and then squealing out with merriment.

“Yunnuh watch dem pots,” Big Sue cautioned them. “Make Breeze keep wood on de fire. Mind now.”

The quilts were rolled up until the quilting poles met, so the sewing started right in the middle, and as the needles left neat stitches, the poles were rolled farther apart, until both quilts were done to the edges. These were carefully turned in and whipped down, with needles running at full racing speed. Zeda’s crew finished a full yard ahead. The sinners won. And how they did crow over the others! Deaf and dumb Gussie did her best to boast, but her words were stifled in dreadful choked noises that were hard to bear.

Big Sue put the wild ducks on to roast. They were fat and tender, and already stuffed full of oyster dressing, the same dressing she fixed for the white folks. She said the oysters came from near the beach where the fresh salt tide made them large and juicy.

What a dinner she had! Big Sue was an open-handed woman, for truth.

Some of the farm-hands stopped by on their way home for the noon hour. Coming inside they stood around the fireplace, grinning, joking and smoking the cigarettes they rolled with deft fingers.

Everybody was given a pan and spoon. Zeda and Bina helped Big Sue pass around great dishpans of smoking food, and cups of water sweetened with molasses. For a time nothing was said except the exclamations that praised the dinner. Indeed it might have been a wedding feast but for the lack of cake and wine.

The wild ducks, cooked just to a turn, were served last. Their red blood was barely curdled with heat, yet their outsides were rich and brown. Lips smacked. Spoons clattered. Mouths too full dropped crumbs as they munched.

A grand dinner.

“Take you’ time, an’ chaw,” Big Sue bade the guests kindly. “You got plenty o’ time to finish de rest o’ de quilts befo’ night.”

* * * * *

As soon as the edge was taken off their appetites they fell to talking. Big Sue did not sit down to eat at all, so busy was she passing around the pans of hot food, and urging the others to fill themselves full.

As more men came by and stopped, the noise waxed louder, until the uproar of shouting and laughter and light-hearted talk seethed thick. When all were filled with Big Sue’s good cheer, they got up and went out into the yard to smoke, to catch a little fresh air, and to wash the grease off their fingers. The pans and spoons and tin cups were stacked up on the water-shelf out of the way where they’d wait to be washed until night.

The quilting was the work in hand now, and when the room was in order again, and the women rested and refreshed, Big Sue called them in to begin on the next set of quilts.

April went riding by on the sorrel colt, on his way back to the field, and Big Sue called him to come in and eat the duck and hot rice she had put aside specially for him. But he eyed her coolly, rode on and left her frowning.

Zeda laughed, and asked Big Sue if April was a boy to hop around at her heels? Didn’t she know April had work to do? Important work. The white people made him plantation foreman because they knew they could trust him to look after their interests. He not only worked himself, but he kept the other hands working too.

Leah sat silent, making short weak puffs at her pipe.

Maum Hannah’s deep sigh broke into the stillness.

“I ever did love boy-chillen, but dey causes a lot o’ sorrow. My mammy used to say ev’y boy-child ought to be killed soon as it’s born.”

“How’d de world go on if people done dat?” Bina asked.

“I dunno. Gawd kin do a lot o’ strange t’ings.”

This made them all stop and think again.

The kettle sang as steam rushed out of its spout. The flames made a sputtering sound. The benches creaked as the women bent over and rose with their needles. Bina sat up straight, then stretched.

“If all de mens was dead, you could stay in de chu’ch, enty, Zeda?” Bina slurred the words softly.

Zeda came back, “Don’ you fret ’bout me, gal. Jake ain’ no more to me dan a dead man.”

“Yunnuh stop right now! Dat’s no-manners talk. Jake’s a fine man, if e is my gran. I know, by I raise em. When his mammy died an’ left em, Jake an’ Bully and April was all three de same as twins in my house.” Maum Hannah spoke very gravely. Presently she got up and went into the shed-room. She came back smiling, with a folded quilt on her arm. “Le’s look at de old Bible quilt, chillen. It’ll do yunnuh good.”

She held up one corner and motioned to deaf and dumb Gussie to hold up the other so all the squares could be seen. There were twenty, every one a picture out of the Bible. The first one, next to Gussie’s hand, was Adam and Eve and the serpent. Adam’s shirt was blue, his pants brown, and his head a small patch of yellow. Eve had on a red headkerchief, a purple wide-skirted dress; and a tall black serpent stood straight up on the end of its tail.

The next square had two men, one standing up, the other fallen down--Cain and Abel. The red patch under Abel was his blood, spilled on the ground by Cain’s sin. Maum Hannah pointed out Noah and the Ark; Moses with the tables of stone; the three Hebrew children; David and Goliath; Joseph and Mary and the little baby Jesus; and last of all, Jesus standing alone by the cross. As Maum Hannah took them one by one, all twenty, she told each marvelous story.

The quilters listened with rapt attention. Breeze almost held his breath for fear of missing a word. Sometimes his blood ran hot with wonder, then cold with fear. Many eyes in the room glistened with tears.

The names of God and Jesus were known to Breeze, but he had never understood before that they were real people who could walk and talk. Maum Hannah told about God’s strength and power and wisdom, how He knew right then what she was doing and saying. He could see each stitch that was taken in the quilts, whether it was small and deep and honest, or shallow and careless. He wrote everything down in a great book where He kept account of good and evil. Breeze had never dreamed that such things went on around him all the time.

Yet the quilt was made out of pictures of the very things Maum Hannah told. Nobody could doubt that all she said was the truth. In the charmed silence, her words fell clear and earnest. The present was shut out. Breeze’s mind went a-roaming with her, back into the days when the world was new and God walked and talked with the children He had so lately made. As she spoke Breeze shivered over those days that were to come when everybody here would be either in Hell or Heaven. It had to be one or the other. There was no place to stop or to hide when death came and knocked at your door. She pointed to Breeze. That same little boy, there in the chimney corner, with his foot tied up, would have to account for all he did! As well as Breeze could understand, Heaven was in the blue sky straight up above the plantation. God sat there on His throne among the stars, while angels, with harps of gold in their hands, sang His praises all day long. Hell was straight down. Underneath. Deep under the earth. Satan lived there with his great fires for ever and ever a-burning on the bodies of sinners piled high up so they could never crumble.

Maum Hannah herself became so moved by the thought of the sufferings of the poor pitiful sinners in Hell, that her voice broke and tears dimmed her eyes, and she plead with them all:

“Pray! Chillen! Pray!

“Do try fo’ ’scape Hell if you kin!

“Hell is a heat!

“One awful heat!

“We fire ain’ got no time wid em!

“Pray! Chillen! Pray! For Gawd’s sake, pray!

“When de wind duh whip you

“An’ de sun-hot duh burn you

“An’ de rain duh wet you,

“All dem say, Pray! Do try fo’ ’scape Hell if you kin!”

On the way home through the dusk Breeze stopped short in his tracks more than once, for terror seized him at the bare rustle of a bird’s wing against a dry leaf. When the gray shadow of a rabbit darted across the path and the sight of a glowworm’s eye gleamed up from the ground, Big Sue stopped too. And breathing fast with anxiety, cried out:

“Do, Jedus! Lawd! Dat rabbit went leftward. A bad luck t’ing! Put dem t’ings down! Chunk two sticks behind em. Is you see anyt’ing strange, Breeze?” She sidled up close to him and whispered the question.

Breeze stared hard into the deepening twilight. The black shadows were full of dark dreadful things that pressed close to the ground, creeping slowly, terribly. The tree branches rocked, the leaves whispered sharply, the long gray moss streamed toward them.

“Le’s run, Cun Big Sue.” Breeze leaped with a quick hop ahead, but her powerful hand clutched his shoulder. “Looka here, boy! I’ll kill you to-night if you leave me. No tellin’ what kind o’ sperits is walkin’. I kin run when I’s empty-handed, but loaded down wid all dese t’ings a snail could ketch me! You git behind me on de path.”

The black smoke rising out of the chimney made a great serpent that stood on the end of its tail. For a minute Breeze was unable to speak. His heart throbbed with heavy blows, for not only did that smoke serpent lean and bend and reach threateningly, but something high and black and shapeless stood in front of Big Sue’s cabin, whose whitewashed walls behind it made it look well-nigh as tall as a pine tree. It might be the Devil! Or Death! Or God! He gave a scream and clung to Big Sue as the figure took a step toward them.

“Yunnuh is late!” April’s voice boomed out.

“Lawd!” Big Sue fairly shouted. “I was sho’ you was a plat-eye. You scared me half to death! Man! I couldn’ see no head on you no matter how hard I look. How come you went inside my house with me not home?”

April grunted. “You better be glad! I had a hard time drivin’ a bat out o’ you’ house.”

“A bat!” Big Sue shrieked with terror. “How come a bat in my house? A bat is de child of de devil.”

April declared the bat had squeaked and grinned and chattered in his face until he mighty nigh got scared himself.

“Lawd! Wha’s gwine happen now? A bat inside my house! An’ look how de fire’s smokin’!”

She hurried Breeze off to bed in the shed-room whose darkness was streaked with wavering firelight that fell through the cracks in the wall. Fear kept him awake until he put his head under the covers and shut out all sight and sound and thought.

He was roused by a knock on the front door. Big Sue made no answer, and another knock made by the knuckles of a strong hand was followed by a loud crying, “Open dis door, I tell you! I know April’s right in dere!” This was followed by the thud of a kick, but no answer came from inside. Breeze could not have spoken to save his life, for sheer terror held him crouched under the quilts and his tongue was too weak and dry to move.

Where in God’s world was Big Sue? The first of those knocks should have waked her. Sleep never did fasten her eyelids down very tight, yet with all this deafening racket, she stayed dumb. Had she gone off and left Breeze by himself? The voice calling at the door sounded like a woman’s voice at first, but now it deepened with hoarse fury and snarled and growled and threatened, calling Big Sue filthy names. Breeze knew then for certain it was some evil thing. His flesh crept loose from his bones. His blood ran cold and weak. He realized Big Sue was not at home. Maybe she was dead, in her bed! The thought was so terrible that in desperation he lifted up his head and yelled:

“Who dat?”

At once the dreadful answer came.

“Who dat say ‘who dat’?” Then a silence, for Breeze could utter no other word.

Outside the wind caught at the trees and thrashed their leaves, then came inside to rustle the papers on the cabin’s walls, and whisper weird terrible things through the cracks. The thing that had knocked on the door was walking away. Its harsh breathing was hushed into sobs and soft moans that made Breeze’s heart sink still deeper with horror.

For a minute every noise in the world lulled. Nothing stirred except the ghastly tremor that shook Breeze’s body from his covered-up head to the heels doubled up under his cold hips.

A sudden fearful battering in company with despairing howls, crashed at the door! It would soon break down! There was no time to waste putting on clothes! Hopping up into the cold darkness, Breeze eased the back door open and slipped into the night.

The horrible door-splitting blows went right on. Thank God, somebody was coming. Running, with a torch. Breeze forgot that snakes were walking, and leaped through the bushes over ground that felt unsteady to his flying feet. His heart swelled with joy and relief, for the man hurrying toward the cabin lighting his way with a fat lightwood torch was Uncle Bill. Twice Breeze opened his mouth to call out, but the only sound he could make was a whispered--“Uncle Bill--Uncle Bill!”

Following the torch’s light he could see a black woman cutting the door down with an ax. Who in God’s name would dare do such a thing? Uncle Bill walked right up to her and shook her soundly by the shoulder.

“What is you a-doin’, Leah? Is you gone plumb crazy? Gi’ me dat ax!” He jerked the ax from her hands and she began shrieking afresh, and trying to push him back. But she couldn’t budge him one inch. Holding her off, with his free hand he made a proper, polite knock, although the door was split and the dim firelight shone through its new-made cracks.

“Dis is me, Bill, Miss Big Sue,” he called out, a stern note deepening his voice.

Leah shrilled out harshly. “You better open dis door! You low-down black buzzard hussy! You wait till I gits my hands on you’ throat! You won’ fool wid my husband no mo’ in dis world!”

Fully dressed and quite calm Big Sue appeared. She answered with mild astonishment:

“Why, Leah! How come you makin’ all dis fuss? You must want to wake up de whole plantation? You ought to be shamed. I never see such a no-manners ’oman!”

“Whe’s April?” Leah howled. “Whe’s April, I tell you? Don’ you cut no crazy wid me to-night! I’ll kill you sho’ as you do!”

“Fo’ Gawd’s sake, Leah! Shut you’ mouth! I dunno nuttin’ ’bout April. You is too sickenin’! Always runnin’ round to somebody’s house a-lookin’ fo’ April!”

“Yes, I look fo’ em. You had em here too! See his hat yonder on de floor right now! You fat black devil!” Seizing Big Sue’s kerchiefed head with both hands Leah tried to choke her, but Big Sue wrenched herself loose and with a wicked laugh raised one fat leg and gave Leah a kick in the middle of her body that sent her backward with a slam against the wall.

“You’d choke me, would you? I’ll tear de meat off you’ bones!” Big Sue screamed, but Leah crumpled sidewise and fell flat on the floor, her eyes lifeless, her face stiffened.

Big Sue had roused into fury. She staggered forward and bent over and rained blows with both fists on Leah’s silent mouth, until Uncle Bill grappled her around her huge waist and dragged her to the other side of the room.

Big Sue bellowed. “You’d choke me, enty? You blue-gummed pizen-jawed snake! Gawd done right to salivate you an’ make you’ teeth drop out.”

For all the signs of life she gave, Leah may as well have been dead. She lay there on the floor, limp and dumb, even after Uncle Bill took the bucketful of water from the shelf and doused her with it. She didn’t even catch her breath. Uncertain what to do, Uncle Bill knelt over her and called her name.

“Leah! Leah! Don’t you die here on dis floor. Leah! Open you’ eyes. I know good and well you’s playin’ ’possum.”

Except for the fire’s crackling and the low chirping of one lone cricket, the stillness of death was in the room.

“Put on you’ shirt and pants, Breeze. Run tell April Leah is done faint off. E must come here quick as e kin.”

The darkness of the night was terrible as Breeze ran through it toward the Quarters. A cedar limb creaked mournfully as the wind wrung it back and forth. Its crying was like sorrowful calls for aid. Breeze tried to hurry, to make his legs run faster, but they were ready to give way and fall. His feet stumbled, his throat choked until he could scarcely breathe. His brain wheeled and rattled inside his skull. How horrible Death is!

A few stars twinkled bright away up in the sky, but the waving tree-tops made a thick black smoke that covered the yellow moon. High-tide glistened in the darkness, all but ready to turn by now. Leah’s soul would go out with it if something wasn’t done to help her.

Lord how awful her eyeballs were, rolled back so far in her head! Jesus, have mercy! The thought of them made Breeze senseless with terror. Tears gushed from his own eyes and blinded him.

April was not at home, and Breeze raced back, but already Leah was coming to. She lay on the floor, her fat face, black as tar against the whiteness of the pillow under it now, was set and furrowed. Her toothless jaws moved with mute words, as if she talked with some one the others could not see. She kept fumbling with the red charm-string tied around her neck, as her dull eyes rolled slowly from one face to the other.

Breeze longed to fling himself on the bed and cover up his head, but Big Sue sat storming and panting with fury. Leah ought to be ashamed of herself, running over the country at night trying to bring disgracement on her.

“Whyn’t you answer Leah when e knocked?” Uncle Bill asked her.

Big Sue jumped at him angrily. “How’d I know Leah wasn’ some robber come to cut my throat? Just ’cause Leah is married to de foreman an’ livin’ in a bigger house dan my own, an’ wearin’ finer clothes, dat don’ gi’ em no right to break down my door wid a’ ax! No. Leah ain’ no white ’oman even if e do buy medicine out de sto’. No wonder e got salivate. Gawd done right to make dat medicine loosen all Leah’s teeth an’ prize ’em out so e ain’ got none to be a-bitin’ people up wid. T’ank Gawd! Bought ones can’ bite. I wish all e finger-nails would drop off! E toe-nails too! Leah’s a dangerous ’oman. E ain’ safe to be loose in dis country. No. Leah’d kill you quick as look at you!”

XIV

CHURCH

Sunday morning rose with a pale clear sky, and a sun that glittered bright and hot as it mounted.

Big Sue was already up when Breeze waked. She was fussing around, cooking dinner to take to church, fixing a basket, and China dishes to hold it. Her best clothes, and Breeze’s, were laid out on chairs to be put on. They must be ready when Uncle Bill came for them in his new buggy. He had to go ahead of time, for he had charge of the communion as well as of the Bury League which would be organized when the service was over and the dinner eaten. The head man of the Bury League had come to preach and to form a Society to Bury. Big Sue baked rising bread yesterday in the Big House kitchen stove. The brown loaves, uncovered, sat in a row on the shelf, waiting to be wrapped up. They’d turn to Jesus’ own body when the preacher prayed over them, and blessed them. Blackberry wine, in the two big demijohns in the corner of the shed-room, would turn into Jesus’ blood. Breeze couldn’t make it out in his head exactly, but Big Sue said it was so. Breeze had picked the blackberries that made the wine, and he’d bought the white flour for the bread from the store. How could they turn to Jesus? But Big Sue said prayer can do anything. Anything! When a fine preacher like the Bury League leader prays. Not everybody knows how to pray right, but he