Part 3

"Be lovely to-day, Kitty."

"The bottom of your foot is clean."

"That tickles! That tickles, Kitty!"

"Your big toe is a good door-knob."

"Oh, Kitty."

"Out, Regnan!"

"'Tis better to stand on two feet than to lose one big toe. I love you, Kitty."

"The way you stand such treatment shows it. A true lover is the old man who enjoys the whims of an old wife."

"You are a young wife to-day."

"A good breakfast, a hard day's work and the ceremony to-night! I'll warrant that you'll outshine the preacher, Regnan."

Regnan and Kitty were good, religious people. They took pride in the fact that they divided their religious duties. He prayed night and morning. She said the blessing at all times. She gathered the moral and religious news of the neighborhood, and he discussed it for their own benefit. At these functions Kitty was Kitty and Regnan was Regnan. Joking and arguing always found other means of outlet.

"Let us be serious, Kitty." She looked at him and nodded her haid. "Let us pray." They knelt and prayed. He prayed aloud, and she silently. His "amen" seemed to be a link connecting the past and the present. So much for a beautiful human picture.

Regnan, his wife, and friends were negroes. He dealt in rags, old iron, and second-hand furniture. Kitty was a plain housewife.

"I'll have a breakfast like the one we ate twenty-five years ago, husband."

"Do, wife! I'll give Posey a good currying-ing."

"Do, husband!"

Kitty set about getting breakfast, and Regnan curried Posey. Kitty talked to the pancakes, and Regnan talked to Posey.

"I would not burn a pancake on my husband's wedding day. Now, cakes, turn well!"

"I would not slight you, Posey, on my wife's wedding day. Now, Posey, shining Posey, see yourself!"

When Regnan and Kitty sat down to breakfast, Posey, hitched to the wagon, was standing with her head partly in the window. A pancake was passed to the plates of Regnan and Kitty, and one to the mouth of Posey. When breakfast was over Regnan kissed Kitty, patted Posey, and drove off, saying: "Nordad the tinker comes ever to my mind. I wonder what to-day will bring. I will prepare for to-night."

Regnan had a district where he bought and sold. He was regular, honest, and good-natured; and therefore popular. His "rag-cry" was his own. It always brought trade. It ran something like this: "_R-a-g-s_, rags, rags, _r-a-g-s_! Any _r-a-g-s_, _o-l-d iron_? Come up, Posey! _R-a-g-s_, old iron!" This cry had brought a little fortune. As this was his anniversary he thought he would not buy any rags, but deal in other things.

A newly married man, whose wife had made kindling wood of the furniture, sold Regnan a cooking stove. "Beware of the first wedding day," said the man. Regnan thought him unwise, and drove on. He knew of another newly married couple who were living in hopes of many anniversaries. To these he would sell the stove. He could fancy the good wife cooking pancakes for her husband. Ere he could reach them he exchanged the stove for a sofa. "All good wives need rest," said he. "The sofa will therefore serve as well as the stove. I can see the good man and his wife resting upon it now."

Later in the afternoon an old friend stopped Regnan.

"Now, listen," said he, "to an anniversary march. While I play you think of the days agone." The friend played, and the tears stole down Regnan's cheeks.

"How much for the fiddle?" asked Regnan. "Take the fiddle for the sofa." The exchange was made. "The newly married couple are loving and patient. They can wait," said Regnan. "I will stop here and get my beaver hat, white vest, and swallow-tailed coat." He went into the tailor's shop and got them. He had had them cleaned for the anniversary.

Regnan was now very tired. He had been in the hot sun all day. He had had nothing to eat since morning. Besides, the malaria made him drowsy.

So he stopped under a tree to rest. The clothes and fiddle were tempting. He spread the coat upon some newspapers in the wagon and put the vest in the proper place. He then placed the beaver at the head. "Kitty," said he, as though she was present, "look at your husband." He became more and more drowsy. He played. He nodded and closed his eyes. He stopped playing with his fingers on the bow and the bow on the strings.

Several boys were watching Regnan. They thought it would be nice to put the vest, coat, and hat on the biggest boy and dance around him while Regnan "played in his dreams." It was done. The boy so dressed stood in a clear place and held out the tails of the coat. The others circled around him.

In every neighborhood there are at least two factions among the boys. Fight is born in a boy. Letting it out occasionally will help to tame him. It was so in this case. It happened that the opposing faction had business that way. When they saw what was going on, they cried: "Fun, boys, fun!" A dozen pebbles fell among the dancers, who fled from the attack, and the fun began. The beaver hat and swallow-tailed coat were kept in the lead. The opposing faction followed, threw pebbles, and laughed.

Regnan awoke and began to play. "There must be fun in it," said he. "That reminds me of my young days." He looked into the wagon. The playing was cut short. He looked at the boys again. The beaver hat and swallow-tailed coat were kept in the lead. He called a spectator and paid him to take Posey and the wagon home. With fiddle in hand and thoughts on anniversary he followed the boys. The opposing faction stopped and scattered. It was growing dark. Regnan caught one of the boys and began to scold him.

"The boy with the beaver hat and swallow-tailed coat is the one you want. We were trying to catch him," gasped the boy.

This was the truth, but it misled Regnan. The boy escaped. Regnan gained on the others. The boy followed.

"Mister," said the other boys, as Regnan overtook them, "we just can't catch him. There he goes. Mister do you care much for such old things?"

As Regnan pursued his moving anniversary suit the boys fell in behind and shouted: "Run, partner, run! The sum that's after you is an old head plus young legs. Run, partner, run!" Here the boys left their partner and Regnan to finish the race.

"Stop, thief!" cried Regnan. The boy looked back, and, thinking the fiddle a club, turned and ran into a pond. They were now on the edge of the town. Regnan called to the boy to come out, and raised the fiddle involuntarily.

"If you throw," said the boy, "I will dip up water in your hat."

Regnan called again, and up went the fiddle.

"If you throw," cried the boy, "I will lie down in the water."

It was growing darker. The boy was going farther into the pond.

"It is the fiddle that frightens him," said Regnan to himself. He laid it beside a tree. "See, my boy, see! My hands are empty. I will come to you." He plunged into the pond and followed the boy.

"I will wait on this side. The club is over there," rejoined the boy, going all the while.

In trying to increase his pace, and watch at the same time, he stumbled and fell up to his neck in the water. The beaver upset and floated.

Regnan caught it and pushed on. When the boy reached the bank his wits came to him. He pulled off the coat and vest, left them and disappeared in the darkness. Regnan embraced the hat, vest, and coat as he walked around the pond to get his fiddle. He was wet and felt a chill coming upon him. He sat down beside the fiddle. For an hour he shivered and thought of his wife, the neighbors, and the anniversary. All at once he thought of Nordad the tinker.

Just then someone rode a horse up to the pond a short distance from him and let the reins fall for it to drink.

"Am I to be kidnapped like Nordad the tinker?" whispered Regnan to himself. "I will crawl off." In dragging the fiddle one of the strings was broken. The noise frightened the horse. It plunged through the pond. The rider, in trying to reach the reins, fell into the water, but quickly rose to his feet and started in pursuit of the fleeing horse. Soon both horse and rider were out of sight and hearing.

Regnan breathed freely and said: "My fiddle, it may be you have saved me from being kidnapped." He then arose and started homeward. An hour later he was on the lawn before his house. Posey, arrived home some time since, came up to him.

"Posey, my girl," said he, "I wonder if your mistress is as patient as you are. Oh, how could she be?"

He then crept up to a corner of the house where he could see and hear. Everything showed that Kitty had done her duty. She was sitting in the center of some twenty women. Some were fanning her; some were crying. Others were at her back conducting a mock marriage. The men and women at the window were discussing Regnan aloud.

"He should never marry _me_ again," said one woman.

"I would never let the first marriage stand," said another.

"Don't be too hard on Regnan," spoke up one on the inside. "Remember his widow is listening."

"What think you of his case?" asked a young man of an old one.

"Well," answered the old man, "old Welby, who was a wiser man than Regnan, killed himself upon a similar occasion."

"Gentlemen," asked the woman from within, "do you think that Kitty would look well in mourning?"

The women on the outside laughed. Some of those on the inside cried aloud. Kitty buried her head in her hands.

Regnan, now understanding the state of affairs, ran into the room and cried: "My Kitty!" His breeches were wet and muddy and he had on the wet, muddy swallow-tailed coat and vest. He held the wet, bedraggled hat in one hand and the broken fiddle in the other. At his call Kitty made no motion, but kept her face hidden. The women formed a close circle around her. Those on the outside sneered: "My Kitty!" while the men yelled: "Scat, old tom, scat!" and "Is he drunk?" "Is he crazy?" "Is he going to kill Kitty?" "Help! Help! Call an officer!"

These were some of the cries that came from different parts of the room. Regnan ran around the circle, crying: "My Kitty! Am I drunk? Am I crazy? Am I going to kill you, Kitty?" Now two men seized Regnan and dragged him toward the door.

Just then the preacher entered the other door, wet and muddy from head to foot. He raised his hand, and Regnan was released. Kitty, noting the hush, peeped through her fingers, first at Regnan and then at the preacher. There was a tense silence. The preacher now spoke. He told of Regnan's trouble with the fiddle, clothes, and pond.

"How do you know?" asked Regnan.

"It was my boy who kept the vest, coat, and beaver in the lead. Tell the adventure yourself."

"Not here! I will tell it to Kitty."

"What about yourself, parson?" asked Kitty.

"While on my way here," said the preacher, "I stopped my horse at the pond to drink. There was a noise like the breaking of a fiddle string."

"The fiddle again," interrupted Regnan, and held it up.

"My horse became frightened and ran through the pond. I fell off, waded out, and have not seen the horse since."

"That's true, ladies and gentlemen."

"How do you know?" asked the preacher.

"I was there, parson." Regnan then told of the chill, the broken string, and the accident to the rider.

By this time the people were around the edges of the room, leaving Kitty, Regnan, and the preacher in the middle.

Regnan kissed his wife, and said: "Are you my Kitty?"

"Since you and the parson are so much alike in dress and story, he may answer for me."

"I will, my good woman." He said a few solemn words, and the important business of the night was over.

For many days the town was alive with the story of Regnan's anniversary. Thereafter, whenever Regnan wished to tell Kitty the story he always played a march on the fiddle first.

The preacher later turned his boy over to Regnan to be punished for his mischief.

It was decided that he should go on the wagon with Regnan for three months and cry out: "Rags, old iron." The lad did so willingly. During his enforced apprenticeship his father died, leaving him homeless, as his mother had died in his infancy, and Regnan adopted the boy, who became a valuable assistant to the old man in his business. Before the lad was of age Regnan and Kitty both died, and left the preacher's son a snug little fortune. He kept the fiddle to remind him of the ways of Providence.

"KOTCHIN' DE NINES"

(A NEGRO TALE CURRENT IN LOUISVILLE)

"Git up from dar. Whut's you dreamin' erbout? No need ter ask, fer I knows. You's dreamin' right now 'bout kotchin' dem nines. I bounds you dun had er dream last night. I knows it by dat smile in de corner of your mouth. You kin smile outen both corners, ef you wants ter, but you don't git dis fifty cents I got."

"Old woman, I got er new dream."

"Whut's it erbout?"

"Dem nines."

"Look heah, old man, you take dat dream and yourself an' go out ter dat woodpile so's I kin git some breakfast. You's got er dream, an' I'se got fifty cents, an' we's gwine ter keep whut we has."

"I'se gwine ter tell you dis dream, ef I has ter pay you ter listen. Take dis dime."

"Make your story mighty short. I wonder ef dis heah dime is tainted money. Ef it is---- Well, I reckons it ain't."

"I wuz in er great big parlor, an' you an' de chillens wuz dar. An' it wuz in er great big house, an' you owns it."

"Wuz I bossin' it?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Go on wid your dream, old man."

"Dat parlor wuz so fine dat when you sneezed you asked de pictures on de wall ter 'scuse you."

"Go on wid your dream, old man. We kin habe breakfast at dinner time."

"When you walked on de cyarpet you fairly bounced up an' down, an' when de chillens played on de payano you said: 'Dis ain't heaven, but we's heah, and dat's de same thing.' De spoons an' knives an' forks was silver, an'----"

"An' you's still got more ter say?"

"Yes, an' everything else wuz jes' like whut de white folks has."

"Whut bringed erbout all dat in your dream?"

"It wuz kotchin' de nines in de lottery."

"Is you sho you kin kotch 'em wid your eyes open?"

"Dey's bound ter come wid dat dream back of 'em."

"Old man, you's jes' fishin' 'round ter borrow dis fifty cents I'se got."

"Never lend money when you's got er soft snap like dis, old woman. Jes' 'vest your sixty cents in de nines, an' I'll do all de rest. De nines is comin', an' when dey comes we'll be jes' like de white folks."

"Heah's de sixty cents. I'll 'vest it."

"Old woman, de nines is yourn now. I'se goin' erway on foot, but I'se comin' back in one of dese kerridges on top. When you sees me comin', fling oil on de cabin an' burn it down. I'll be on top de kerridge in all my dignity. Habe de chillens out heah, an' let 'em be er singin' an' er dancin'. Keep your eye on de road, an' when you sees er little speck on de road, why dat's me. When I gits back we'll all git into de kerridge an' drive off ter er new home, and leave de cabin in ashes. Good-by, old woman, till I comes again."

The old man walked into the city to play the lottery. He thought fifty cents would be enough to invest in "de nines," so he bought ten cents' worth of bananas to give him strength to stand his new fortune.

"When I'se through eatin'," said he, "I'll play de nines."

He stood on a stone wall that overlooked a row of public carriages, so that as he ate he could be thinking of his ride back home. He did not think of the harm in the banana peels he dropped upon the wall, until he stepped upon one. He fell between two horses hitched to a carriage, was kicked by them, and left with both legs broken.

When the hackman discovered where the old man lived, and that he had fifty cents on his person, he had the injured man placed on top of the carriage, took a seat by his side, and drove him home.

The old man was now thinking of the bananas and the cabin, and his wife was thinking of "de nines an' de kerridge." She was watching the road. When the old man saw his wife in the road, and remembering his parting words to her, he cried out: "Old woman, old woman, don't burn de cabin."

She, recalling what her husband had told her, and thinking he was calling to her to hurry up and fulfill his instructions, called to the children: "Fling on de oil, chillens! Light er match an' let de cabin go up in smoke, fer your daddy is er-comin' on his own kerridge wid all his dignity on him. Look how proper his legs looks. Dey is straight out before him an' his arms is er-wavin'. He's kotched de nines, sho'. Sing an' dance, fer he's kotched de nines!" When the carriage stopped the old woman was still instructing the children in their work of destruction, and the cabin was ablaze.

"Old woman!" called the old man.

"Stop, chillens!" screamed she; "dey's sumpin' wrong wid your daddy's voice."

"Yes," replied he, "an' dey's sumpin' wrong wid my legs. I bought a dime's worth of bananas, an' dis man charge me fifty cents ter bring me home wid both legs broke, an' dere wuz no money left ter play de nines."

"Husban'," said she, "your little speech don't 'zackly 'splain matters."

The old man said nothing, but groaned in anguish.

There was no more talking, but much working over legs; and a bright day dream was banished to the limbo of things that are not.

A TOWN SKETCH

There were about fifteen hundred people in the town of Lockburg. Some five hundred of these were negroes. Nearly every white man owned his home; nearly every negro owed his rent. Nearly every white man had a bank account; nearly every negro, a grocery account. Renfroth, the banker, was an ordinary man of the white race. Jiles Brennen, the smartest negro in a circle of twenty miles, did not know the meaning of interest. White children listened to their parents, read the daily papers, and discussed the signs of the times. Negro children paraded the street, delighted in being out of sight and hearing of their parents, and but few could tell the time of day on the face of a clock. The white teachers were competent and faithful. The one negro teacher had neither legs nor training. The white people returned from church saying: "These points in the sermon fit right into our business ventures. These show our need of moral fiber and the remedy. May they do us good, as the truth always does the meek and far-seeing." The negroes returned from church shouting and praising some "preaching man."

Jiles Brennen and several others were an exception to this rule. Jiles knew most of the white people better than they knew themselves. When he conversed with them he always "talked up." He knew the negroes better than they wanted to know themselves. There was not one who could not repeat a score of "wayside sermons" preached by Jiles. "A rat to its hole, and a negro to his folly," Jiles used to say. "When the last trumpet sounds some negro will be dividing his time between saying 'amen' to a sermon and 'cluck, cluck' to his neighbor's chickens." This remark brought Jiles more than fame. It brought blood.

"If the teacher and preacher of this district were killed and put into a bag, their ghosts would be too lazy to say 'Howdy.'" When the preacher heard this he offered a prayer for Jiles that was intended to remind him of a warm region. When the teacher heard of this remark, he said: "As I have no legs to go after the blackguard, I will let him come to his sense at leisure."

One dark night, as the preacher and others were crawling across a creek on a log someone held up a lantern in front of them.

"Go on," said the rest to the preacher.

"I can't," replied he. "This light blinds me."

"Come on," shouted Jiles, "my light has blinded you before."

The white people took up the remark, and with it fought all Jiles' future battles.

Sickness and death determined negro society in Lockburg. All visited the sick. All attended the funeral. Why should not all attend all other functions? All answered the question for themselves, and attended regularly.

A score of men and women were chatting in Sister Renfro's bedroom when the preacher peeped in at the door and paused long enough to say: "Come out to 'sifting meeting' to-night. Spread the news."

"Will Jiles be there with his lantern?" asked Neal Grafton, a friend of Jiles.

"Never mind about that," answered Sister Renfro. "Say what you please about him, but he's a preaching man."

Sister Renfro's guests soon began to spread the news. Neal Grafton was the most active of all. He stood where he could command four corners.

"Sister Polly," he called to a rather corpulent woman who was passing with a heavy bundle of clothes on her head, "stop a minute--'sifting meeting' to-night!"

"What you say, Brother Grafton? Come here! You knows I can't hear like I used to. I caught cold from shouting at the big meeting five years ago. Who could have kept sober feet? _That_ was a preaching man."

"I say, Sister Polly----"

"Now, stop, son. Let me get in hearing order." After wiping her face with her apron, she said: "Now go on, son."

"Sister Polly, there will be a 'sifting meeting'----"

"Hold, son! The bundle comes down over my ears. Raise it a little. A 'sifting meeting'? Where? Oh! at the church? Raise up the bundle again, son. Now hold it there. Now tell me about it."

"That's all, Sister Polly."

"No! No! It's been five years since we had one. You heard your mother tell about it, didn't you?"

"Yes, but----"

"I know you did; she was there. Sister Renfro was there. I was there. It was a glorious time."

"Yes, Sister Polly, but----"

"My head's just beginning to rest, son. Well, the negroes lied and lied, but one told the truth."

"May I put the bundle on the ground?"

"The clothes are clean, son. I'll head them again soon. That sister told the truth and her head fell. Hold a little longer."

"Oh, my arms, Sister Polly!"

"Hold till I raise up that woman's head. I'll listen afterward."

"After I take the bundle?" "No, son. Hand it here. 'Sifting meeting' at the church? I'll be there."

Sister Polly went on humming, and left Grafton rubbing his arms. He notified a number of others, at a distance.

Polly delivered the clothes and mentioned the "sifting meeting."

"What is such a meeting, Polly?" asked her employer.

"It's a meeting where you tell what you don't know and where people know what you don't tell. If you want more light, come to the meeting. Good-by, I'm in a hurry," answered Polly. Her employer was content to hear from the meeting.

An hour before meeting time Sisters Polly and Renfro were ready. They had spent considerable time arranging their hair. Polly's hair was rolled around a saucer that belonged to her employer. Sister Renfro's was put into the same shape by means of the flounce of an old black dress.

Just then one might have seen forty or fifty people, moving in single file, led by one with a lantern. There were no lights in the town. It was customary for someone with a lantern to come along and gather up the church-goers. The leader to-night was Grafton. Sisters Polly and Renfro joined the procession in the rear. It moved silently on to the end of the little bridge, when Sister Renfro stumped her foot and fell. Sister Polly, in trying to assist her, fell also. Both had to return home, and were late in reaching the meeting. Grafton led the procession into the church.

The church was cold, and fairly well filled with smoke. The sexton was rubbing his eyes. The preacher with closed eyes was tapping his foot and humming a hymn. Grafton suggested that the windows and doors be opened a few minutes, but the preacher demurred, saying that it was too cold. In consequence, the cloud-laden condition of the room was not altered. It is difficult to understand how the congregation remained in that smoky room two hours; but they did so.

The next day Neal Grafton reported the proceedings of the church to Jiles Brennen, and it took Jiles just six months to laugh "sifting meetings" out of the town and the community.

Sisters Polly and Renfro declared the preacher stopped the meeting to keep them from showing their new style of head-dress, and it took him a year to live down the accusation.

"Is your head well?"