United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Juvenile fiction
"There now--there--that will do. Nothing of that kind will trouble you,
James; you may take my word for it. If you are quite determined to go I
shall not try to keep you. But what have you in that bundle?"
"Hi! Hi! Dat's de way to talk!" interrupted Uncle Billy, excitedly
foreseeing means to prevent Jeems Henry's departure. "What you got in
yo' bundle?"
Jeems Henry lifted his anguished eyes and gazed truthfully at his
mistress.
"I ain't got nothin'--what don't b'long to me, Miss Hallie."
"I don't mean that," Mrs. Cary responded kindly. "But you have a long
tramp before you. Have you anything to eat?"
"Nor'm, I ain't," and Jeems Henry seemed disturbed.
"Then you'd better come around to the kitchen. We'll see what we can
find."
At this unheard-of generosity, Uncle Billy's eyes opened widely and he
exploded in remonstrance.
"Now, hol' on dar, Miss Hallie! Hol' on. You ain' got none too much fo'
yo'se'f, d'out stuffin' dis yere six-bit rat hole wid waffles an'
milasses."
"_William!_" commanded his mistress.
"Yas'm," was the meek response, and Uncle Billy subsided into silence.
With a sigh, Mrs. Cary turned away toward the house. "Well, James, are
you coming?"
But Jeems Henry, completely abashed before this miracle of kindness
which he did not deserve, decided that it was time for him to be a man.
"Thank you, Miss Hallie," he gulped, "but f'um now on I reckon I gwine
take keer of myse'f."
Mrs. Cary, pausing on the bottom step, raised her eyes heavenward in a
short prayer that children such as these might somehow be protected from
themselves.
"Well, James," she said, when she saw there was nothing more to be done.
"I hope you'll be happy and contented. If you are not--come back to us.
Perhaps, when the war is over, you'll find things a little
more--comfortable. Good-by, James," and she held out her hand.
But this last touch of gentleness was too much for the young mulatto.
Although he made an obedient step forward, his feelings overcame him and
with an audible snuffle and his hand over his eyes he retreated--then
turned his back and plunged through the hedge.
Mrs. Cary sank down on the step and looked as if she, too, would like to
cry.
Manfully, Uncle Billy came to her rescue. "Now don't you care, Miss
Hallie. He wan' no 'count for plowin' no how."
"Oh, it isn't that, Uncle Billy," Mrs. Cary replied with a low cry of
regret. "It isn't the actual loss of help, tho' we need it, goodness
knows. But it makes me sad to see them leaving, one by one. They are
such children and so helpless--without a master hand."
"Yas'm," agreed Uncle Billy readily. "An' de marster's han' ought to
have a hick'ry stick in it fer _dat_ nigger. Yas, bless Gawd. But you
got _me_, Miss Hallie," he announced proudly. "_I_ ain't runned away to
de blue-bellies yet."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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