if it ain’t all _I_ kin do to tell t’ other fum which, let alone his pappy.”
She put her cub in Tommy’s elegant cradle and said:
“You’s young Marse _Tom_ fum dis out, en I got to practice and git used
to ‘memberin’ to call you dat, honey, or I’s gwine to make a mistake
sometime en git us bofe into trouble. Dah–now you lay still en
don’t fret no mo’, Marse Tom. Oh, thank de lord in heaven, you’s saved,
you’s saved! Dey ain’t no man kin ever sell mammy’s po’ little
honey down de river now!”
She put the heir of the house in her own child’s unpainted pine cradle,
and said, contemplating its slumbering form uneasily:
“I’s sorry for you, honey; I’s sorry, God knows I is–but what _kin_ I do,
what _could_ I do? Yo’ pappy would sell him to somebody, sometime,
en den he’d go down de river, sho’, en I couldn’t, couldn’t,
_couldn’t_ stan’ it.”
She flung herself on her bed and began to think and toss, toss and think.
By and by she sat suddenly upright, for a comforting thought had flown
through her worried mind–
“‘T ain’t no sin–_white_ folks has done it! It ain’t no sin,
glory to goodness it ain’t no sin! _Dey’s_ done it–yes, en dey was
de biggest quality in de whole bilin’, too–_kings!”_
She began to muse; she was trying to gather out of her memory the
dim particulars of some tale she had heard some time or other.
At last she said–
“Now I’s got it; now I ‘member. It was dat ole nigger preacher dat
tole it, de time he come over here fum Illinois en preached in
de nigger church. He said dey ain’t nobody kin save his own self–
can’t do it by faith, can’t do it by works, can’t do it no way at all.
Free grace is de _on’y_ way, en dat don’t come fum nobody but jis’ de Lord;
en _he_ kin give it to anybody He please, saint or sinner–_he_ don’t kyer.
He do jis’ as He’s a mineter. He s’lect out anybody dat suit Him,
en put another one in his place, and make de fust one happy forever
en leave t’ other one to burn wid Satan. De preacher said it was jist
like dey done in Englan’ one time, long time ago. De queen she lef’
her baby layin’ aroun’ one day, en went out callin’; an one ‘o de
niggers roun’bout de place dat was ‘mos’ white, she come in en see de
chile layin’ aroun’, en tuck en put her own chile’s clo’s on
de queen’s chile, en put de queen’s chile’s clo’es on her own chile,
en den lef’ her own chile layin’ aroun’, en tuck en toted de queen’s
chile home to de nigger quarter, en nobody ever foun’ it out,
en her chile was de king bimeby, en sole de queen’s chile down de
river one time when dey had to settle up de estate. Dah, now–de preacher
said it his own self, en it ain’t no sin, ‘ca’se white folks done it.
DEY done it–yes, DEY done it; en not on’y jis’ common white folks nuther,
but de biggest quality dey is in de whole bilin’. _Oh_, I’s _so_ glad I
‘member ’bout dat!”
She got lighthearted and happy, and went to the cradles, and spent what
was left of the night “practicing.” She would give her own child a
light pat and say humbly, “Lay still, Marse Tom,” then give the real
Tom a pat and say with severity, “Lay _still_, Chambers! Does you want
me to take somep’n _to_ you?”
As she progressed with her practice, she was surprised to see how steadily
and surely the awe which had kept her tongue reverent and her manner
humble toward her young master was transferring itself to her speech
and manner toward the usurper, and how similarly handy she was becoming
in transferring her motherly curtness of speech and peremptoriness of
manner to the unlucky heir of the ancient house of Driscoll.
She took occasional rests from practicing, and absorbed herself in
calculating her chances.
“Dey’ll sell dese niggers today fo’ stealin’ de money, den dey’ll