Well, Adelaide and Mr. Sanders took their lunch and were about to start
on their dangerous expedition, when they bethought themselves of
something that Lucindy had forgotten.
"Why, Lucindy!" cried Adelaide, "what is the matter with you?"
"Nothin' 't all dat I knows on, honey. I'm de same ol' sev'n an' six
what I allers been."
Then Mr. Sanders came to Adelaide's support. "Well, your mind must be
wanderin'," he said, "bekaze we ast you as plain as tongue kin speak for
to put us up a couple of buttermilks."
Lucindy threw her hand above her head with a gesture of despair. "I know
it, I know it! but I ain't got but one buttermilk. Dar's a jar full, but
dat don't make but one; an' what I gwine do when dat's de case?"
"Why, ef you've got a jar full, thar must be mighty nigh a dozen
buttermilks in it." And so, after much argument and explanation, Lucindy
found a bottle and a funnel and poured two glassfuls in it, one after
the other. Mr. Sanders, very solemn, counted as she filled the glass.
"That makes one," he said, as she emptied the first glass, "an'," when
she poured in the rest--"that makes two, don't it?"
"Yasser! La, yasser! you-all got me so mixified dat I dunner know which
eend I'm a standin' on. Two! yasser, dey sho is two in dar!"
Having everything needful in hand, the hunters took their way toward the
large garden. Don't think this garden bore any resemblance to the
ordinary gardens that are to be found in cities and towns. No! it was so
large that, standing at one end you had to shade your eyes--especially
when the sun was shining--to be able to see the boundary fence at the
other end. It held not only a supply of vegetables sufficient for fifty
families, but it contained an abundance of old-fashioned flowers, the
kind you see pictured in the magazines--roses, spice pinks, primroses,
mint, with its little blue flowers, lavender--oh, and ever so much of
everything! And it was all well kept, too, stingy as old Jonas was. In
this wide garden the Whish-Whish Forest grew and flourished, and toward
this the two hunters bent their steps.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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