Part 9

And now that the Dragon that guarded the treasure had been haled from the dungeon and put _hors de combat_, Sabey tied a couple of empty sacks, each to a plow line, and essayed a second nose dive into the pit of promise. There is always danger of getting jammed or stuck in exploring a ’gator hole, but Sabey was experienced and cautious, and the hole was large, so down he went, taking the sacks with him, and soon reached the bottom, which had widened into a considerable cavity eighteen feet from the mouth. His exploring hands, feeling in front of him, found a small pool of water literally alive with terrapins. Having ample room to turn around, Sabey lost no time in filling one of his sacks with terrapins, which, at a jerk of the line, was hauled up out of his way. The second sack held all that remained, and, when this had followed the first, he turned, and, facing upward, decided to go head-foremost, preferring to crawl out like a self-respecting caterpillar, under his own steam, rather than be hauled up by the heels like a slaughtered shoat. But, fearing suffocation in the close quarters underground, he had admonished the men above, who managed the rope attached to his foot, to pull him up quickly at the first jerk, and, as he turned upward, his free leg became entangled with the tied one. In kicking loose, he gave the line a jerk, to which his friends responded so suddenly that they hauled his legs up under him, trussing him into the semblance of a bronze statuette of a squatting Buddha. Sabey yelled with pain and anger, for the hole, while large enough for a man to pass extended, was too close for him doubled up, and Sabey was stuck in the barrel. His muffled cries reached his friends, but they thought them calls for more speed, and the harder they pulled, the tighter they jammed the unhappy wretch.

“Eh, eh! Da’ felluh pull _hebby_!”

“Yaas, man, Buh Sabey pull hebby sukkuh alligettuh.”

It was old Cato who noticed that they had not budged him an inch. “_’Top_, oonuh man, _’top_!” he shouted. “’Ee yent duh moobe. Slack de rope.”

As they stopped pulling, Sabey hauled in the slack, released his legs, and, hauling on the rope hand over hand, was soon at the mouth of the hole, where he lay for several minutes to fill up with fresh air. When, recovered sufficiently to get mad, he rose on all-fours like an alligator, he presented a fearful sight. His yellow wool, his face, and his copper-colored arms and torso were smeared and streaked with black mud, his ragged trousers, water-soaked and muddy, clung to his crooked legs, and he looked like a composite of iguana and ape.

Though ordinarily a taciturn negro, Sabey, under the spur of anger, galloped through his vocabulary of invective at top speed. “Oonuh good fuh nutt’n’ debble’ub’uh _no’count nigguh_! Oonuh ent _wut_! Uh tell oonuh ’sponsubble fuh haul de rope w’en uh pull’um ’long me han’, uh nebbuh tell oonuh fuh haul’um w’en uh kick’um ’long me foot! Oonuh ent know de diff’unce ’twix’ man’ han’ en’ ’e foot? Ef man tell oonuh fuh tek uh cucklebuhr outuh mule _yez_, oonuh gwine saa’ch fuhr’um een ’e _tail_, enty? Oonuh mus’be tek me fuh annimel!”

“Ef you ent wash off dem mud en’ t’ing ’fo’ you gone home, Bess gwine tek you fuh cootuh, eeduhso fuh ’ranguhtang, en’ him ent gwi’ leh you fuh gone een him house,” they chaffed.

Sabey washed in the muddy pool, resumed his shirt, tied the two sacks of terrapins together, hung them over the gun barrel at his back, and prepared to shake the mud of the Half Moon off his feet. “W’en uh done sell dese yuh yalluh-belly cootuh en’ gone een me house wid alltwo me han’ full’up wid money, Bess gwine lub me tummuch, ef uh _yiz_ look lukkuh ’ranguhtang. Monkey hab fo’ han’, en’ de mo’res’ han’ man hab, de mo’ ’ooman lub’um! Oonuh black Aff’ikin _Guinea nigguh_! Oonuh kin nyam da’ alligettuh, en’ w’en oonuh _yiz_ nyam’um, _oonuh duh cannibel_!”

“THE WILES THAT IN THE WOMEN ARE”

For many years old John, as country coachman for the late Governor Aiken, periodically drove a pair of switch-tailed mules to the Governor’s carriage, making round trips between Jehossee Island and Adams Run station, whenever his employer came from Charleston to visit the great rice plantation. John was a trim and finicky old darkey, with quite a manner, and, in his old beaver hat and long-tailed coat, made a notable figure among the darkeys usually loafing about the station.

Low-country negroes never miss a train. Journeying by rail, they take no chances, but invariably reach the station several hours ahead of train time, where, chattering and gossiping, the waiting time passes quickly and pleasantly.

Among these groups old John, with his long-handled whip of plaited buckskin, correctly looped, and carried coachman fashion, moved and exchanged pleasantries. He, too, was always ahead of time, and his docile mules, switching their long, untrimmed tails about, and hitched to the only closed carriage in the community, were always objects of interest to the station idlers.

“Uncle John, mekso oonuh ent shabe dem mule tail?” inquired one of a group that squatted upon the platform.

“Sistuh, you ebbuh yeddy ’bout Johossee muskittuh’?”

“No, suh.”

“Ahnhn, uh t’awt so. Gal, you ebbuh see blackbu’d’ ’puntop’uh rice rick? You _is_ shum, enty? Berry well; dem muskittuh’ een Johossee maa’sh stan’ same fashi’n. W’en dem light ’puntop’uh mule, dem kibbuhr’um ’tell oonuh cyan’ see dem haa’ness! One time, jis’ attuh daa’k, uh binnuh dribe comin’ een late f’um Adam’ Run, en’ w’en uh ’trike de causeway, all ub uh sudd’nt uh nebbuh yeddy no mule’ foot duh trot ’puntop’uh de groun’! De cyaaridge duh moobe, but uh yent yeddy no soun’ f’um de mule’ foot. Uh say tuh mese’f, eh, eh, duh warruh dish’yuh? Uh look ’gen, en’, uh ’cla’ tuh goodness, de muskittuh’ _dat_ t’ick ’puntop de mule’ belly, dem hice’um up off de groun’, en’ duh flew t’ru de ellyment duh cya’um ’long! Dem wing’ duh sing sukkuh bee duh swawm, en’ de mule’ duh trot wid all fo’ dem foot, but ’e nebbuh tetch no groun’! Uh nebbuh do nutt’n ’tell uh cross de bridge, ’cause de bridge mek out’uh pole, en’ dem berry slip’ry duh night time, en’ uh glad de mule’ ent haffuh pit dem foot ’puntop’um, but attuh uh done cross de bridge, uh tek me lash en’ uh cut de mule’ two’t’ree time onduhneet’ dem belly, en’, uh ’cla’ tuh my Mastuh, t’ree peck uh muskittuh’ drap ’puntop de groun’ en’ uh yeddy de mule’ foot duh trot ’gen een de road! So, attuh dat, uh nebbuh shabe de Gub’nuh’ cyaaridge mule’ tail no mo’, en’ now you shum stan’ dey, dem kin lick muskittuh’, fly en’ t’ing’ same lukkuh hawss.”

So old John, coachman and raconteur, a faithful and respected servant, lived his days, which were long, and when at last he was gathered to his fathers, his funeral was the talk of the colored countryside, and his grave, ornately decorated with broken bits of old blue china and the stone bottles in which Bass’ ale had once been imported, was much admired by those whose sad occasions brought them to the plantation God’s-Acre under the spreading live-oaks.

“Eh, eh, Buh John sho’ hab uh fine grabe.”

“Yaas, tittie, ’e fine fuh true. You see da’ blue chaney, enty? Dat chaney bin ’e Missis’ pitchuh ’tell de pitchuh’ mout’ done bruk out. One time ’e missis sen’ one leely nigguh gal duh big spring wid ’e blue pitchuh fuh fetch watuh. De gal full’ de pitchuh en’ pit’um ’puntop ’e head duh walk duh paat’ comin’ fuh de house. De gal duh walk ca’less like, duh swing ’e han’, en’ ’e yeye high, en’ ’e nebbuh look ’puntop de paat’, en’ one limus cootuh binnuh cross ’e paat’, en’ him git to de paat’ same time de gal git dey, en’ de gal ’tump ’e toe ’puntop de cootuh, en’ de cootuh t’row’um down, en’ de pitchuh fall off de gal’ head en’ ’trike ’puntop’uh root, en’ de pitchuh’ mout’ bruk out en’ de gal gone back duh big spring en’ full’ de pitchuh ’gen, en’ pit’um ’puntop ’e head en’ gone big house duh paat’, but ’e dat ’f’aid suh limus cootuh gwine hit’um ’gen, ’e ’tep’ high, en’ w’en ’e ’tep’ high de watuh wuh ’e fetch f’um big spring ’plash’ out de pitchuh’ bruk mout’ en’ drap’ ’puntop de gal two eye’ en’ run down ’e face en’ gone een ’e mout’, en’ w’en de gal git duh big house, ’e missis look ’puntop all de watuh en’ t’ing’ dey ’puntop ’e face en’ ’e missis t’ink de gal cry tuh dat, en’ ’e missis sorry fuhr’um en’ ’e nebbuh lick’um nuh nutt’n’, en’ ’e gi’ de bruk mout’ pitchuh to de gal, en’ w’en de gal grow up, Buh John hab’um fuh wife, en’ da’ de way Buh John git de pitchuh, en’ attuh Buh John done dead, ’e wife wuh ’e lef’ tek hatchitch en’ bruk de pitchuh ’gen, en’ pit eb’ry Gawd piece ’puntop Buh John’ grabe, en’ da’ w’ymekso ’e stan’ so.”

“’E grabe look stylish fuh true, but uh know berry well w’en _my_ juntlemun dead me yent fuh bruk no pitchuh en’ t’ing fuh pit ’puntop _him_ cawpse, ’cause da’ nigguh _ent wut_, ’e too lub fuh drink rum, en’ w’en ’e fetch’um home, him fuhrebbuh duh fall down en’ bruk de bottle wuh ’e fetch’um een, en’ uh hab all dem bruk bottle pile’ een de fench cawnuh fuh pit ’puntop him grabe w’en ’e dead. Two’t’ree time Joe seem lukkuh ’e kinduh spishus ’bout de bruk bottle, en’ ’e ax me wuffuh uh duh sabe’um, but uh tell’um uh sabe’um fuh beat’um up ’long pessle, fuh pizen buckruh’ dog, en’ dat sattify ’e mine’ en’ ’e lemme ’lone.”

“You sho’ hab uh good onduhstan’, tittie, ’cause man ent fuh know tummuch. Ef ’ooman tell’um de trute ’e nebbuh sattify. ’Ooman haffuh fool’um fuh mek’um easy een ’e mine’!”

“You duh talk trute, tittie, him _lub_ you fuh fool’um. Fool’um duh de only t’ing him gwine b’leebe.”

“Yaas, man, meself hab uh good ecknowledge fuh fool’um. One time Paul, him duh my juntlemun, binnuh wu’k to de maa’l, duh dig rock, down to John Ilun’. Monday mawnin’, him git up soon, ’e gone deepo, ’e ketch de shoofly strain, en’ ’e gone! Uh nebbuh shum ’gen ’tell Sattyday night. Wuh me fuh do? Seddown een me house ’tell him come home en’ watch ’tettuh duh bile? No, suh! Uh lub fuh talk tummuch! Soon ez uh yeddy de strain blow, en’ uh sattify’ my juntlemun gone, uh tek me two foot en’ uh gone Paa’ker’ Ferry Cross Road’ weh da’ buckruh hab ’e big sto’. All dem boy’ wuh ent hab nutt’n’ fuh do, dey dey duh talk, en’ ’nuf ’ooman’ dey dey duh hol’ cumpuhshashun ’long de man en’ t’ing. W’en daa’k come, uh gone home. Uh cook, uh eat, uh leddown duh bed, uh sleep. Chuesday mawnin’, uh gone same fashi’n, en’ eb’ry Gawd’ day ’tell bimeby Sattyday come ’gen. Uh clean de house, uh wash, uh sweep de yaa’d, en’ uh gone Cross Road’. Uh pass de time uh day ’long dem todduh nigguh’ ’tell uh yeddy de strain f’um town blow deepo, den uh gone home fuh wait ’tell Paul come. Befo’ uh lef’ de sto’, Sancho Frajuh binnuh drink rum en’ ’e t’row’way ’e money berry freehan’, en’ ’e buy ’bout two quawt’ uh candy, dese’yuh ’ticky kind’uh t’ing, dem hab ’ooman name, de buckruh call’um Carrie Mel, but eb’n so, ’e mek out’uh pinegum en’ muhlassis, en’ ef oonuh chaw’um ’e gwine hol’ yo’ jaw ’tell t’unduh roll. De buckruh hab’um een ’e sto’ sence las’ yeah en de t’ing haa’d ez uh i’un. Sancho gi’ eb’ry ’ooman two han’ful’. Uh wrop one de han’ful’ een uh papuh en’ drap’um een me ap’un pocket. Uh t’row de todduh han’ful een me mout’ en’ biggin fuh chaw. Uh chaw, en’ uh chaw, uh chaw, en’ uh chaw. De t’ing sweet’n’ me fuh true, but ’e ketch me jaw’ en’ ’e hol’um same lukkuh pinegum plastuh! De mo’ uh chaw’um de mo’ ’e swell. Time uh git tuh me house, de t’ing wrop roun’ eb’ry teet’ een me head lukkuh jackwine wrop roun’ tree. Alltwo me jaw’ stan’ same fashi’n ez mufflejaw fowl, en’ me mout’ swell’up same lukkuh Buh Quash’ mout’ stick out w’en ’e bex! W’en uh git tuh de do’, Paul dey dey duh wait fuh me! ’Fo’ him kin ax me no squeschun, uh smaa’t ’nuf fuh t’row me ap’un tuh me mout’ fuh hide’um, en’ uh kibbuhr’um up en’ biggin fuh moan. Uh moan, en’ uh moan. Paul ax me wuffuh uh mek shishuh hebby cumplain. Uh ’ca’cely kin able fuh talk, but uh tell’um uh binnuh walk roun’ de fench en’ uh walk ’puntop yalluh jacket nes’ en’ de t’ing ’ting me tuh dat. ’E ax me w’ich one de jaw ’e ’ting me ’pun. Uh p’int tuh me lef han’ jaw. ’E ax me ’smattuh mek alltwo de jaw’ swell. Uh tell’um gumbile mek todduh one fuh swell. Den uh biggin fuh cry. Watuh stan’ een me two eye’. Uh baig’um fuh gone deepo en’ baig some dem buckruh’ fuh g’em some linniment fuh de mis’ry een alltwo me jaw’. Paul say suh him kin gone Cross Road’ en’ buy’um, but uh ’f’aid ef him gone Cross Road’, Sancho dem gwine tell’um suh me bin dey, en’ uh tell’um no, uh yent want’um fuh t’row’way him money ’cause uh lub’um tummuch, en’ uh mo’ redduh him fuh baig de buckruh’, den fuh buy’um out him own money. Dat mek’um sattify, en’ ’e gone deepo. Soon ez ’e gone, uh try fuh git da’ debble’ub’uh ’ceitful Carrie Mel out me mout’. De t’ing ’tick same lukkuh Buh Rabbit ’tick tuh Taar Baby. ’E won’ tu’n me loose! Den me bline’gawd tell me fuh greese’um. Uh gone duh house, uh mek fiah, uh pit one fat bakin een de pan, en’ w’en de meat done fry, uh tek’um een me mout’ en’ biggin fuh chaw. Bimeby de greese biggin fuh loose de Carrie Mel, en’ uh tek alltwo me han’ en’ uh pull’um out me mout’, en’ uh t’row’um ’way, en’ uh t’row’um _fudduh_!

“W’en Paul come back wid de buckruh linniment, uh duh hol’ me two jaw’ en’ uh dull moan. Him gimme de t’ing, uh rub’um, en’ attuhw’ile, w’en him done cook de bittle wuh ’e fetch f’um John Ilun’, uh call’um fuh look ’puntop me two jaw’ weh de swell’ done gone, en’ ’e dat sattify, ’e gimme de money wuh him bin fuh buy linniment duh Cross Road, en’ ’e nebbuh yeddy ’bout no Sancho!”

“Yaas, tittie, ’ooman fool’um fuh true! Him _done_ fuh fool’um!”

A RICEFIELD IDYLL

A brilliant tropical day in late August. A strong breeze from the river moved the glistening leaves and swayed the long pennons of gray Spanish moss that swung from every bough and twig of the great live-oaks, whose spreading arms stretched their protecting shade over the plateau upon which stood the Big House, crowning the highest point of Prospect Hill. A mile away swept the flowing tide of the broad and beautiful Edisto, whose shimmering waters, opposed by the summer wind, danced and sparkled in the sunlight. Upon the lower levels between the uplands and the river lay the great fields of early rice, now ready for the sickle. Intersecting the fields or “squares” at regular intervals, and contrasting with their green and gold opulence, shining silver-blue canals ran from river to headland. Far across the river on “the Island,” the eye rested upon an emerald expanse of June rice which would come to harvest six weeks later. From the ripening fields the “harvest flow” had been taken off, the squares dried, and on this Monday morning 100 hands had gathered by sunrise, for, by the mysterious grapevine telegraph through which negroes on one plantation hear almost instantaneously what is going forward on other plantations miles away, the news had gone about that rice-cutting was to commence at Prospect Hill, and the gregarious negroes, deserting the smaller settlements, flocked hither to the big plantation where, working in gangs, they could exchange quip and jest and gather the gossip of the countryside. Some of the best rice-cutters were the sturdy young women, who, with skirts tied up above their knees and wearing men’s wool hats to mitigate the heat of the sun, kept pace with the best of their masculine associates. Cutting and tying by piece work, an active hand could readily complete his task, the allotment for a day’s work, an hour before noon, and some of those who had walked six or seven miles in the morning would knock off as soon as the task was finished and loaf around the quarters until sundown, while others, pushing their luck, held on until the evening, putting two days’ work into one. Armed with the saw-edged, sickle-like “rice hooks,” the cutters stretched across the squares, each seizing with her left hand as large a bundle of the heavy-headed stalks as she could conveniently grasp, which, with one stroke of her right arm, she quickly severed a few inches above the ground, laid the bundle on the stubble ready for those who tied into sheaves behind her, and, with a sweep of her left, gathered another handful for the embrace of the crescent-shaped blade. Down the steaming field moved a skirmish line of lusty black wenches, bare-armed, bare-footed and bare-legged, their skirts drawn above their knees by a cord about the waist, which took up the slack. Here and there among them worked men, and these, often physically inferior to the females of the species, were subjected to constant raillery and frequent challenges to equal the self-appointed tasks of the women.

Venus Chisolm and Diana Smashum, two strapping Amazons, were the most expert of the women rice-cutters, and excelled most of the men in efficiency. Scipio Jenkins, a smart young buck, was the special butt of the gang of which Diana and Venus were the leaders. Scipio was unusually black, with the common combination of yellow eyes and blue gums, and upon this color scheme his tormentors lit like bee martins on a crow.

“Blue gum, yalluh eye, Black nigguh berry sly; Yalluh eye, blue gum, Black nigguh lub rum.

Yalluh eye, w’en you shum, Black nigguh lub rum.”

“Yaas, tittie, ’e stan’ so fuh true. Sat’d’y night da’ nigguh gone Cross Road’. ’E buy uh killybash full uh rum f’um de buckruh. ’E drink’um eb’ry Gawd’ drap. ’E nebbuh gi’ nobody none. ’E gone home. Sunday, _’e dead_! ’E nebbuh know nutt’n’ ’tell Sunday night ’e maamy full’ uh piggin full uh watuh out de well en’ t’row’um ’puntop’uh Scipio, weh ’e duh leddown ’puntop de flo’, fuh mek’um fuh wake. De nigguh binnuh leddown ’puntop ’e back fuh sleep. ’E sleep’ haa’d. ’E groan’ en’ ’e groan! ’E groan’ en’ ’e groan’! ’E mout’ op’n roun’ same lukkuh snake hole. W’en de watuh full’ ’e mout’, ’e blow lukkuh de ’strucshun strain injine duh blow off steam w’en ’e duh load grabble! De t’ing ’trangle’um. ’E choke! ’E jump out ’e maamy’ do’ en’ ’e gone t’ru de briah-patch dat fas’ ’e lef’ half ’e britchiz ’puntop de briah! Bumbye, w’en ’e maamy gone duh ’ood fuh fine’um, please Gawd, de nigguh binnuh leddown flat ’puntop ’e belly een de du’t, duh swim! Da’ piggin full uh watuh hab shishuh cuntrady tas’e een ’e mout’, ’e mek’um t’ink suh him dey een de ribbuh! ’E ’tretch out all fo’ ’e han’ en’ ’e foot. ’E ten finguh’ duh grabble een de du’t. Bumbye, w’en ’e han’ loos’n de du’t, ’e feel uh pinetree root. ’E graff’um een alltwo ’e han’! ’E holluh. ‘_Tengk Gawd_,’ ’e say, ‘_uh done sabe! Uh yent fuh drowndid no mo!_’ En’ da’ fool nigguh pull ’pun de pinetree root fuh hice ’eself out de ribbuh! Da’ rum do’um _bad_!”

Scipio swelled with wrath, but at first “too full for sound or foam,” bent to his task and, cutting savagely at the thickest stalks, under the impetus of anger, soon forged ahead of the others and led the line. Before he drew away, however, he projected this Parthian shot with a torpedo in its tail: “Benus en’ Diana, oonuh alltwo duh bodduh me, w’ymekso oonuh ent study ’bout Paul? Him duh alltwo oonuh sweeth’aa’t en’ t’ing. Diana t’ink suh Paul duh him’own ’cause ’e ge’m da’ catfish ’e ketch las’ Sat’d’y, en’ Benus t’ink suh him duh she’own, ’cause ’e buy gunjuh fuhr’um duh Cross Road’, but Paul nebbuh buy no frock fuh Diana, en’ ’e nebbuh buy none fuh Benus, but him buy’um fuh Minda, en’ ’e duh keep cump’ny ’long Minda, en’ him duh yalluh gal, en’ Paul nebbuh fuh study ’bout no black nigguh’ no mo’! Him duh fool oonuh alltwo!”

The torpedo exploded.

Two dusky faces quickly changed from smirking comedy to girding tragedy. Two stalwart forms stiffened in their tracks and stood astraddle like two Colossi of Rhodes. Two pairs of powerful arms akimboed, and two sets of sinewy fingers clutched the handles of their rice hooks!

“Hukkuh Paul happ’n fuh gi’ you catfish? You mus’be baig fuhr’um, enty?”

“_Baig fuhr’um!_ Me fuh baig man fuh catfish! _I_ iz uh lady, uh wan’ you fuh know, en’ ef _you_ haffuh baig’um fuh _gunjuh_, me yent haffuh baig’um fuh _catfish_!”

“Wuh you got fuh do wid wuh Paul gi’ me? Him duh _yo’_ juntlemun, enty?”

“Ef ’e yent my’own, uh know berry well suh him ent fuh blonx to no black nigguh lukkuh you!”

“_Nigguh!_ Who you call nigguh? _De Debble is uh nigguh!_”

“Him duh nigguh fuh true, but dis ricefiel’ full uh ’e chillun, en’ ’e gran’chillun alltwo, en’ uh ’spec’ you duh one uh ’e gran’!”

A shriek of laughter from Scipio filled Diana’s cup of anger to overflowing, and, with a savage rice-cutting swing, she sideswiped Venus with her saw-edged sickle, and cut her acquaintance below, and behind, the belt. Bustles were not then worn, but the victim was saved from a most inconvenient wound by the folds of her looped-up skirt, which, like a furled sail, hung just abaft the beam, and she received only a scratch. Starting at the scratch, however, Diana was twenty feet away and going strong when Venus, yelling with pain, turned and gave chase. Screams of laughter mingled with shouts of excitement, as Diana tripped and fell on the stubble, and Venus, too close to check her speed, stumbled over her prostrate assailant and came a cropper, the rice hook flying out of her hand as she fell. Diana’s weapon, having been taken from her by one of the men, the two ladies were on equal terms with nature’s weapons, and, both being on all-fours, literally and figuratively, they soon fastened their “ten commandments” in each other’s wool. They fought viciously and silently, and not until, collapsed from exhaustion, they had been separated by the men, did they again become vocal. Venus’ gingham skirt had suffered a cruel rent. As she reached behind her and felt the yawning gap in her sartorial hinterland, and realized the ignominy that had been put upon her by this “most unkindest cut of all,” she shrieked in anger. “Uh gwine tek you Trial Jestuss! You fuh gone Adam’ Run fuh dis t’ing wuh you done do!” and she flung wrathfully out of the field. Out of the babel of voices that arose among the partisans of the two goddesses, the dominant note was abuse of Scipio, who had flung Paul, the apple, or rather the Guinea squash, of discord among them.

“Wuh you haffuh do ’long Paul’ name? Ef him _iz_ buy gunjuh en’ frock en’ t’ing fuh t’ree ’ooman’, uh sho’ ’e mo’ bettuh den fuh nebbuh buy nutt’n’ fuh none!” showing the world-wide feminine appreciation of a free spender. “Wuh you ebbuh buy fuh ’ooman? Eb’ry Sat’d’y night da’ buckruh’ sto’ duh Cross Road’ full up wid ’ooman, en’ _you_ ebbuh buy uh tencent wut’ uh bakin fuh greese dem mout’? No, suh! You lub fuh talk sweetmout’ talk ’long’um, but you dat stingy you nebbuh buy uh candy, eeduhso uh sugar, fuh sweet’n dem mout’. Ent you know suh ’ooman lub uh freehan’ man?”

“Yaas, tittie! You talk trute! ’Ooman redduh hab ’e mout’ full’uh muhlassis den ’e yez full’uh sweetmout’ talk!”

“Him lub’um alltwo,” observed a sapient one. “Him mout’ en’ him yez alltwo fuh full one time!”

* * * * *

On the second Saturday thereafter, having been summoned by Big Jim Green, the negro constable, Venus and Diana, with their respective satellites, appeared before the Trial Justice at Adams Run station, where Diana, duly indicted, was charged in the comprehensive phraseology of the Criminal Code with such a string of offenses against the peace and dignity of the State of South Carolina and the proper person of Venus Chisolm that her ears tingled and her eyes popped with amazement.

“Guilty or not guilty?”