“Why, Aunt Rachel, how are you?” There was genuine pleasure in the girl’s tone.
“Just tolerable, honey, bless de Lord! Rumatiz is kind o’ bad and Aunt Rachel ain’t so young as she use ter be.”
“And what brings you to town afoot this time of day?”
The face fell again to dull care and the old eyes crept away. She fumbled with her cane.
‚ÄúIt‚Äôs de boys again, honey,‚Äù she returned solemnly; ‚Äúdey‚Äôse good boys, dey is good to de‚Äôre old mammy, but dey‚Äôse high strung and dey gits fighting and drinking and‚ÅÝ‚Äîand‚ÅÝ‚Äîlast Saturday night dey got took up again. I‚Äôse been to Jedge Grey‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI use to tote him on my knee, honey‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI‚Äôse been to him to plead him not to let ‚Äôem go on de gang, ‚Äôcause you see, honey,‚Äù and she stroked the girl‚Äôs sleeve as if pleading with her, too, ‚Äúyou see it done ruins boys to put ‚Äôem on de gang.‚Äù
Miss Taylor tried hard to think of something comforting to say, but words seemed inadequate to cheer the old soul; but after a few moments they rode on, leaving the kind face again beaming and dimpling.
And now the country town of Toomsville lifted itself above the cotton and corn, fringed with dirty straggling cabins of black folk. The road swung past the iron watering trough, turned sharply and, after passing two or three pert cottages and a stately house, old and faded, opened into the wide square. Here pulsed the very life and being of the land. Yonder great bales of cotton, yellow-white in its soiled sacking, piled in lofty, dusty mountains, lay listening for the train that, twice a day, ran out to the greater world. Round about, tied to the well-gnawed hitching rails, were rows of mules‚ÅÝ‚Äîmules with back cloths; mules with saddles; mules hitched to long wagons, buggies, and rickety gigs; mules