Bypaths in Dixie: Folk Tales of the SouthCocke, Sarah Johnson
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Bypaths in Dixie: Folk Tales of the South
Cocke, Sarah Johnson
African Americans -- Folklore; Short stories; Southern States -- Fiction; Tales -- Southern States
"Dat she wus, sin ketch'd up wid her er heap er times, but she recoleck
'bout de col'r, an' fight de bes' she kin, an' de Lawd doan ax fur no
mo'."
"Was Jack Donkey too bad to come?"
"Jack Donkey wusn't no wusser'n er heap uv 'em dat gits ter Crismus trees.
Jack he writ'n an' ax Sandy ter bring him er fine kiv'r so fokes can't
fine out he's er donkey. Sandy, he sen' him de kiv'r wid all sort er fine
doin's on hit, but whin Cap'n Goat fling hit on Jack, dar wus his b'hime
legs prancin' erbout, an' his long ye'rs still er stickin' out. Cap'n
Goat, he pull an' pull ter stretch de kiv'r, but hit won't stretch, den de
Cap'n tell him, 'Jack,' sez he, 'long es you keeps dem b'hime foots
wurkin' like you does, an' dem long ye'rs gwine ev'y which er way, yer
mout jes' es well call yo'se'f donkey, 'caze no kiv'r ain' gwine stretch
big nuf ter hide dem p'ints.'"
Willis pushed her knee: "Give Cap'n Yellow Jacket and Cap'n Hornet
something nice 'cause old Grab-All got all their cider,--they didn't do
anything bad."
"Lawdy, boy, dem fokes done kilt one nuth'r long ergo. Doan yer 'memb'r?
But der wid'rs got ax ter come, an' dey nev'r went, 'caze Grab-All Spid'r
tryin' ter dance 'tendance fus' on one, den tuth'r uv 'em."
"Don't let old Grab-All get any present."
"Lawsee, I mos' fergit ter tell yer 'bout de axdent dat hap'n ter ole
Grab-All, whin he come er sneakin' up de side er Mist'r Tall Pine. Yassuh,
Mist'r Wile Cat an' Doct'r Peck'rwood tryin' ter handle dat buckit er hot
cowpeas an' pot licker fur Sis' Cow, whin de whole thing slip an' come
down _blump_, on ole Grab-All."
"Did it kill him?"
"Nor, dorter, he too mean ter die, but dat's whut he got off'n de Crismus
tree."
"Didn't Sis' Cow get some more peas?" asked Willis.
"Nor, she say her an' Brer Dur'am 'ud jes' lick up whut dey cud off'n de
groun'. Sis' Cow say she willin' ter lose de peas jes' ter see ole
Grab-All git fixt. I tell yer de tree lookin' mouty fine by de time ole
Crismus night come. Yer see de beastes hatt'r have der doin's on ole
Crismus night."
"What's Old Christmas?"
"I donno whut 'tis, son, 'cep'n I allus heah dat twelve days atter
Crismus, 'zackly at twelve erclock in de night time, all de beastes an'
creeturs falls on der knees an' glorifies de Lawd,--an' I allus heahs
fokes call hit 'Ole Crismus.'"
"Birds can't kneel, Mammy Phyllis," announced Mary Van.
"Dey kin put der haid on de groun', an' make der cross mark, I reckin."
"Where was Miss Queen Bee; you left her out?"
"Miss Queen lef' herse'f out, she say she feer'd her rumaticks 'ud git
wusser, but dat ain' so--she feer'd sumbody gwine ketch her 'Crismus
gif'."
"Did God fix their eyes like Johnnie Squinch's, so they could see the tree
good at night?"
"Whut he got ter do dat fur, son? Ain' you seed de candles dat grows on de
een' er ev'y pine tree branch?"
"No, Mammy Phyllis, I haven't," Mary Van insisted upon an explanation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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