African American families -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; Rural-urban migration -- United States -- Fiction
"You, Joe," he called to his son, "git up f'om daih an' come right
hyeah. You got to he'p me befo' you go to any shop dis mo'nin'. You,
Kitty, stir yo' stumps, miss. I know yo' ma 's a-dressin' now. Ef she
ain't, I bet I 'll be aftah huh in a minute, too. You all layin' 'roun',
snoozin' w'en you all des' pint'ly know dis is de mo'nin' Mistah Frank
go 'way f'om hyeah."
It was a cool Autumn morning, fresh and dew-washed. The sun was just
rising, and a cool clear breeze was blowing across the land. The blue
smoke from the "house," where the fire was already going, whirled
fantastically over the roofs like a belated ghost. It was just the
morning to doze in comfort, and so thought all of Berry's household
except himself. Loud was the complaining as they threw themselves out of
bed. They maintained that it was an altogether unearthly hour to get up.
Even Mrs. Hamilton added her protest, until she suddenly remembered what
morning it was, when she hurried into her clothes and set about getting
the family's breakfast.
The good-humour of all of them returned when they were seated about
their table with some of the good things of the night before set out,
and the talk ran cheerily around.
"I do declaih," said Hamilton, "you all 's as bad as dem white people
was las' night. De way dey waded into dat food was a caution." He
chuckled with delight at the recollection.
"I reckon dat 's what dey come fu'. I was n't payin' so much 'tention to
what dey eat as to de way dem women was dressed. Why, Mis' Jedge Hill
was des' mo'n go'geous."
"Oh, yes, ma, an' Miss Lessing was n't no ways behin' her," put in
Kitty.
Joe did not condescend to join in the conversation, but contented
himself with devouring the good things and aping the manners of the
young men whom he knew had been among last night's guests.
"Well, I got to be goin'," said Berry, rising. "There 'll be early
breakfas' at de 'house' dis mo'nin', so 's Mistah Frank kin ketch de
fus' train."
He went out cheerily to his work. No shadow of impending disaster
depressed his spirits. No cloud obscured his sky. He was a simple, easy
man, and he saw nothing in the manner of the people whom he served that
morning at breakfast save a natural grief at parting from each other. He
did not even take the trouble to inquire who the strange white man was
who hung about the place.
When it came time for the young man to leave, with the privilege of an
old servitor Berry went up to him to bid him good-bye. He held out his
hand to him, and with a glance at his brother, Frank took it and shook
it cordially. "Good-bye, Berry," he said. Maurice could hardly restrain
his anger at the sight, but his wife was moved to tears at her
brother-in-law's generosity.
The last sight they saw as the carriage rolled away towards the station
was Berry standing upon the steps waving a hearty farewell and
god-speed.
"How could you do it, Frank?" gasped his brother, as soon as they had
driven well out of hearing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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