So now, when the preacher called for little orphans to come forward, she leaned down and whispered to her nephew, "Go up to the front, William, and shake hands with the nice kind preacher."

"Wha' fer?" he asked. "I don' want to go up there; ev'ybody here'll look right at me."

"Are there no little orphans here?" the minister was saying. "I want to shake the hand of any little child who has had the misfortune to lose its parents."

"Go on, William," commanded his aunt. "Go shake hands with the preacher."

The little boy again demurred but, Miss Minerva insisting, he obediently slipped by her and by his chum. Walking gracefully and jauntily up the aisle to the spot where the lecturer was standing by a broad table, he held out his slim, little hand.

Jimmy looked at these proceedings of Billy's in astonishment, not comprehending at all. He was rather indignant that the older boy had not confided in him and invited his participation.

But Jimmy was not the one to sit calmly by and be ignored when there was anything doing, so he slid awkwardly from the bench before Miss Minerva knew what he was up to. Signaling Frances to follow, he swaggered pompously behind Billy and he, too, held out a short, fat hand to the minister.

The speaker smiled benignly down upon them; lifting them up in his arms he stood the little boys upon the table. He thought the touching sight of these innocent and tender little orphans would empty the pockets of the audience. Billy turned red with embarrassment at his conspicuous position, while Jimmy grinned happily at the amused congregation. Horrified Miss Minerva half rose to her feet, but decided to remain where she was. She was a timid woman and did not know what course she ought to pursue. Besides, she had just caught the Major's smile.

"And how long have you been an orphan?" the preacher was asking of Billy.

"Ever sence me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln's born," sweetly responded the child.

"I 'bout the orphantest boy they is," volunteered Jimmy.

Frances, responding to the latter's invitation, had crawled over her father's legs before he realized what was happening. She, too, went sailing down the aisle, her stiff white dress standing straight up in the back like a strutting gobbler's tail. She grabbed hold of the man's hand, and was promptly lifted to the table beside the other "orphans." Tears stood in the good preacher's eyes as he turned to the tittering audience and said in a pathetic voice, "Think of it, my friends, this beautiful little girl has no mother."

Poor Mrs. Black! A hundred pairs of eyes sought her pew and focused themselves upon the pretty young woman sitting there, red, angry, and shamefaced. Mr. Black was visibly amused and could hardly keep from laughing aloud.

As Frances passed by the Hamiltons' pew in her promenade down the aisle, Mrs. Hamilton leaned across her husband and made an attempt to clutch Lina; but she was too late; already that dignified little "orphan" was gliding with stately, conscious tread to join the others. This was too much for the audience. A few boys laughed out and for the first time the preacher's suspicions were aroused. As he clasped Lina's slender, graceful little hand he asked:

"And you have no father or mother, little girl?"

"Yes, I have, too," she angrily retorted. "My father and mother are sitting right there," and she pointed a slim forefinger to her crimson, embarrassed parents.



CHAPTER XIII

JOB AND POLLIE BUMPUS

"I never have told a downright falsehood," said Lina. "Mother taught me how wicked it is to tell stories. Did you ever tell a fib to your mother, Frances?"

"'Tain't no use to try to 'ceive my mama," was the reply of the other little girl; "she's got such gimlet eyes and ears she can tell with 'em shut if you're fibbing. I gave up hope long ago, so I just go 'long and tell her the plain gospel truth when she asks me, 'cause I know those gimlet eyes and ears of hers 're going to worm it out o' me somehow."

"Grown folks pin you down so close sometimes," said Jimmy, "you bound to 'varicate a little; and I always tell God I'm sorry. I tell my mama the truth 'most all time 'cepting when she asks questions 'bout things ain't none of her business a tall, and she all time want to know 'Who done it?' and if I let on it's me, I know she'll wear out all the slippers and hair-brushes they is paddling my canoe, 'sides switches, so I jus' say 'I do' know, 'm'—which all time ain't perzactly the truth. You ever tell Miss Minerva stories, Billy?"

"Aunt Cindy always say, 't wa'n't no harm 't all to beat 'bout the bush an' try to th'ow folks offer the track 'long as you can, but if it come to the point where you got to tell a out-an'-out fib, she say for me always to tell the truth, an' I jest nachelly do like she say ever sence I's born," replied Billy.

The children swung awhile in silence. Presently Jimmy broke the quiet by remarking,

"Don't you all feel sorry for old Miss Pollie Bumpus? She live all by herself, and she 'bout a million years old, and Doctor Sanford ain't never brung her no chillens 'cause she ain't got 'er no husban' to be their papa, and she got a octopus in her head, and she poor as a post and deaf as job's old turkey-hen."

"Job's old turkey-hen wasn't deaf," retorted Lina primly; "she was very, very poor and thin."

"She was deaf, too," insisted Jimmy, "'cause it's in the Bible. I know all 'bout job," bragged he.

"I know all 'bout job, too," chirped Frances.

"Job, nothing!" said Jimmy, with a sneer; "you all time talking 'bout you know all 'bout job; you 'bout the womanishest little girl they is. Now I know job 'cause Miss Cecilia 'splained all 'bout him to me. He's in the Bible and he sold his birthmark for a mess of potatoes and—"

"You never can get anything right, Jimmy," interrupted Lina; "that was Esau and it was not his birthmark, it was his birthstone; and he sold his birthstone for a mess of potash."

"Yas," agreed Frances; "he saw Esau kissing Kate and Esau had to sell him his birthstone to keep his mouth shut."

"Mother read me all about job," continued Lina; "he was afflicted with boils and his wife knit him a job's comforter to wrap around him, and he—"

"And he sat under a 'tato vine;" put in Frances eagerly, "what God grew to keep the sun off o' his boils and—"

"That was Jonah," said Lina, "and it wasn't a potato vine; it was—"

"No, 't wasn't Jonah neither; Jonah is inside of a whale's bel—"

"Frances!"

"Stommick," Frances corrected herself, "and a whale swallow him, and how's he going to sit under a pumpkin vine when he's inside of a whale?"

"It was not a pumpkin vine, it—"

"And I 'd jus' like to see a man inside of a whale a-setting under a morning-glory vine."

"The whale vomicked him up," said Jimmy.

"What sorter thing is a octopus like what y' all say is in Miss Pollie Bumpus's head?" asked Billy.

"'Tain't a octopus, it's a polypus," explained Frances, "'cause she's named Miss Pollie. It's a someping that grows in your nose and has to be named what you's named. She's named Miss Pollie and she's got a polypus."

"I'm mighty glad my mama ain't got no Eva-pus in her head," was Jimmy's comment. "Ain't you glad, Billy, your Aunt Minerva ain't got no Miss Minervapus?"

"I sho' is," fervently replied Miss Minerva's nephew; "she's hard 'nough to manage now like she is."

"I'm awful good to Miss Pollie," said Frances. "I take her someping good to eat 'most every day. I took her two pieces of pie this morning; I ate up one piece on the way and she gimme the other piece when I got there. I jus' don't believe she could get 'long at all 'thout me to carry her the good things to eat that my mama sends her; I takes her pies all the time, she says they're the best smelling pies ever she smelt."

"You 'bout the piggiest girl they is," said Jimmy, "all time got to eat up a poor old woman's pies. You'll have a Frances-pus in your stomach first thing you know."

"She's got a horn that you talk th'oo," continued the little girl, serenely contemptuous of Jimmy's adverse criticism, "and 'fore I knew how you talk into it, she says to me one day, 'How's your ma?' and stuck that old horn at me; so I put it to my ear, too, and there we set; she got one end of the horn to her ear and I got the other end to my ear; so when I saw this wasn't going to work I took it and blew into it; you-all 'd died a-laughing to see the way I did. But now I can talk th'oo it 's good's anybody."

"That is an ear trumpet, Frances," said Lina, "it is not a horn."

"Le's play 'Hide the Switch,'" suggested Billy.

"I'm going to hide it first," cried Frances.

"Naw, you ain't," objected Jimmy, "you all time got to hide the switch first. I'm going to hide it first myself."

"No, I'm going to say 'William Com Trimbleton,'" said Frances, "and see who's going to hide it first. Now you-all spraddle out your fingers."



CHAPTER XIV.

Mr. ALGERNON JONES

Again was it Monday, with the Ladies Aid Society in session. Jimmy was sitting on the grass in his own front yard, in full view of Sarah Jane, who was ironing clothes in her cabin with strict orders to keep him at home. Billy was in the swing in Miss Minerva's yard.

"Come on over," he invited.

"I can't," was the reply across the fence, "I'm so good now I 'bout got 'ligion; I reckon I'm going to be a mish'nary or a pol'tician, one or t' other when I'm a grownup man 'cause I'm so good; I ain't got but five whippings this week. I been good ever since I let you 'suade me to play Injun. I'm the goodest little boy in this town, I 'spec'. Sometimes I get scared 'bout being so good 'cause I hear a woman say if you too good, you going to die or you ain't got no sense, one. You come on over here; you ain't trying to be good like what I'm trying, and Miss Minerva don't never do nothing a tall to you 'cepting put you to bed."

"I'd ruther to git whipped fifty hunderd times 'n to hafter go to bed in the daytime with Aunt Minerva lookin' at you. An' her specs can see right th'oo you plumb to the bone. Naw, I can't come over there 'cause she made me promise not to. I ain't never go back on my word yit."

"I hope mama won't never ask me to promise her nothing a tall, 'cause I'm mighty curious 'bout forgetting. I 'spec' I'm the most forgettingest little boy they is. But I'm so glad I'm so good. I ain't never going to be bad no more; so you might just as well quit begging me to come over and swing, you need n't ask me no more,—'tain't no use a tall."

"I ain't a-begging you," cried Billy contemptuously, "you can set on yo' mammy's grass where you is, an' be good from now tell Jedgement Day an' 'twon't make no change in my business."

"I ain't going to be 'ticed into no meanness, 'cause I'm so good," continued the reformed one, after a short silence during which he had seen Sarah Jane turn her back to him, "but I don't b'lieve it'll be no harm jus' to come over and set in the swing with you; maybe I can 'fluence you to be good like me and keep you from 'ticing little boys into mischief. I think I'll just come over and set a while and help you to be good," and he started to the fence. Sarah Jane turned around in time to frustrate his plans.

"You git right back, Jimmy," she yelled, "you git erway f'om dat-ar fence an' quit confabbin' wid datar Willyum. Fixin' to make some mo' Injuns out o' yo'selfs, ain't yeh, or some yuther kin' o' skeercrows?"

Billy strolled to the other side of the big yard and climbed up and sat on the tall gate post. A stranger, coming from the opposite direction, stopped and spoke to him.

"Does Mr. John Smith live here?" he asked.

"Naw, sir," was the reply; "don't no Mr. 'tall live here; jest me an' Aunt Minerva, an' she turns up her nose at anything that wears pants."

"And where could I find your Aunt Minerva?" the stranger's grin was ingratiating and agreeable.

"Why, this here's Monday," the little boy exclaimed. "Of course she's at the Aid; all the 'omans roun' here goes to the Aid on Monday."

"Your aunt is an old friend of mine," went on the man, "and I knew she was at the Aid. I just wanted to find out if you'd tell the truth about her. Some little boys tell stories, but I am glad to find out you are so truthful. My name is Mr. Algernon Jones and I'm glad to know you. Shake! Put it there, partner," and the fascinating stranger held out a grimy paw.

Billy smiled down from his perch at him and thought he had never met such a pleasant man. If he was such an old friend of his aunt's maybe she would not object to him because he wore pants, he thought. Maybe she might be persuaded to take Mr. Jones for a husband. Billy almost hoped that she would hurry home from the Aid, he wanted to see the two together so.

"Is you much of a cusser?" he asked solemnly, "'cause if you is you'll hafter cut it out on these premises."

Mr. Jones seemed much surprised and hurt at the question.

"An oath never passed these lips," replied the truthful gentleman.

"Can you churn?"

"Churn—churn?" with a reminiscent smile, "I can churn like a top."

Jimmy was dying of curiosity but the gate was too far away for him to do more than catch a word now and then. It was also out of Sarah Jane's visual line, so she knew nothing of the stranger's advent.

"And you're here all by yourself?" insinuated Billy's new friend. "And the folks next door, where are they?"

"Mrs. Garner's at the Aid an' Mr. Garner's gone to Memphis. That is they little boy a-settin' in they yard on they grass," answered the child.

"I've come to fix your Aunt Minerva's water pipe," said truth-loving Mr. Jones. "Come, show me the way; I'm the plumber."

"In the bath-room?" asked the child. "I did n' know it needed no fixin'."

He led the agreeable plumber through the hall, down the long back-porch to the bathroom, remarking "I'll jes' watch you work." And he seated himself in the only chair.

Here is where Billy received one of the greatest surprises of his life. The fascinating stranger grabbed him with a rough hand and hissed:

"Don't you dare open your mouth or I'll crack your head open and scatter your brains. I'll eat you alive."

The fierce, bloodshot eyes, which had seemed so laughing and merry before, now glared into those of the little boy as the man took a stout cord from his pocket, bound Billy to the chair, and gagged him with a large bath towel. Energetic Mr. Jones took the key out of the door, shook his fist at the child, went out, and locked the door behind him.

Jimmy, seeing no hope of eluding Sarah Jane's vigilance, resorted to strategy and deceit.

"'Tain't no fun setting out here," he called to her, "so I 'm going in the house and take a nap."

She willingly consented, as she was through with her ironing and thought to snatch a few winks of sleep herself.

The little boy slipped quietly through the house, noiselessly across the back-yard and into his father's big garden, which was separated from that of his neighbor by a high board-fence. He quickly climbed the fence, flew across Miss Minerva's tomato patch and tiptoed up her back steps to the back porch, his little bare feet giving no sign of his presence. Hearing curious noises coming from the bad-room, where Billy was bumping the chair up and down in his efforts to release his mouth, he made for that spot, promptly unlocked the door, and walked in. Billy by scuffling and tugging had freed his mouth from the towel that bound it at that moment.

"Hush!" he whispered as Jimmy opened the door, "you'll get eat up alive if you don't look out." His tone was so mysterious and thrilling and he looked so scared tied to the chair that the younger boy's blood almost froze in his veins.

"What you doing all tied up so?" he asked in low, frightened tones.

"Mr. Algernon Jones done it. I spec' he's a robber an' is jes' a-robberin' right now," answered Billy.

"I'll untie you," said his chum.

"Naw; you better not," said Billy bravely. "He might git away. You leave me jes' like he fixed me so's you can try to ketch him. I hear him in the dinin'-room now. You leave me right here an' step over to yo' house an' 'phone to some mens to come and git him quick. Shet the do' ag'in an' don't make no noise. Fly, now!"

And Jimmy did fly. He again took the garden route and in a minute was at the telephone with the receiver at his ear.

"Hello! Is that you, Miss Central? This is me," he howled into the transmitter. "Gimme Miss Minerva's beau. I don't know his number, but he's got a office over my papa's bank."

His father being out of town, the little boy shrewdly decided that Miss Minerva's beau was the next best man to help capture the robber.

"Miss Minerva what lives by me," he shrieked.

Fortunately Central recognized his childish voice and was willing to humor him, so as she too knew Miss Minerva's beau. The connection was quickly made.

"Hello! Is that you, Major? This is me. If you don't want Mr. Algernon Jones to be robbering everything Miss Minerva's got you better get a move on and come right this minute. You got to hustle and bring 'bout a million pistols and guns and swords and tomahawks and all the mans you can find and dogs. He's the fiercest robber ever was, and he's already done tie Billy to a bath-room chair and done eat up 'bout a million cold biscuits, I spec'. All of us is 'bout to be slewed. Good-bye."

The plump, round gentleman at the other end of the wire heard this amazing message in the utmost confusion and consternation. He frantically rang the telephone again and again but could get no answer from the Garners' home so he put on his hat and walked the short distance to Miss Minerva's house.

Jimmy was waiting to receive him at the front gate, having again eluded Sarah Jane's vigilance.

"Hush!" he whispered mysteriously, "he's in the dining-room. Ain't you bringed nobody else? Get your pistol and come on."

Mr. Algernon Jones, feeling safe and secure for the next hour and having partaken of a light lunch, was in the act of transferring some silver spoons from the sideboard to his pockets when a noise at the dining-room door caused him to look in that direction. With an oath he sprang forward, and landed his fist upon the nose of a plump gentleman standing there, bringing a stream of blood and sending him sprawling to the floor. Mr. Jones overturned a big-eyed little boy who was in his way and, walking rapidly in the direction of the railroad, the erstwhile plumber was seen no more.

Jimmy quickly recovered himself and sprang to his feet. Seeing the blood streaming down the white shirt front of Miss Minerva's unconscious beau, he gathered his wits together and took the thread of events again into his own little hands. He flung himself over the fence, careless of Sarah Jane this time, mounted a chair and once more rang the telephone.

"Hello! Is that you, Miss Central? This is me some more. Gimme Doctor Sanford's office, please."

"Hello! Is that you, Doctor? This is me. Mr. Algernon Jones done kilt Miss Minerva's beau. He's on her back-porch bloody all over. He's 'bout the deadest man they is. You 'd better come toreckly you can and bring the hearse, and a coffin and a clean shirt and a tombstone. He's wounded me but I ain't dead yet. Good-bye."

Doctor Sanford received Jimmy's crazy message in astonishment. He, too, rang the telephone again and again but could hear nothing more, so he walked down to Miss Minerva's house and rang the door-bell. Jimmy opened the door and led the way to the back-porch, where the injured man, who had just recovered consciousness, was sitting limply in a chair.

"What does all this mean? Are you hurt?" asked the Doctor as he examined Mr. Jones's victim.

"No, I think I'm all right now," was the reply; "but that scoundrel certainly gave me a severe blow."

Billy, shut up in the bath-room and listening to all the noise and confusion, had been scared nearly out of his senses. He had kept as still as a mouse till now, when, thinking he heard friendly voices he yelled out, "Open the do' an' untie me."

"We done forgot Billy," said the little rescuer, as he ran to the bath-room door and opened it. He was followed by the Doctor, who cut the cords that bound the prisoner.

"Now, William," commanded Doctor Sanford as they grouped themselves around the stout, plump gentleman in the chair, "begin at the beginning, and let us get at the bottom of this affair."

"Mr. Algernon Jones he come to the gate," explained the little boy, "an' he say he goin' to fix the water pipe an' he say he's a plumber. He's a very 'greeable man, but I don't want Aunt Minerva to marry him, now. I was plumb tickled at him an' I tuck him to the bath-room an' fust thing I knowed he grabbed holter me an' shuck me like what you see a cat do a mouse, an' he say—"

"And he'd more 'n a million whiskers," interrupted Jimmy, who thought Billy was receiving too much attention, "and he—"

"One at a time," said the Doctor. "Proceed, William."

"An' he say he'll bust my brains outer my head if I holler, an' I ain't a-goin' to holler neither, an' he tie me to a chair an' tie my mouth up an' lock the do'—"

"And I comed over," said Jimmy eagerly, "and I run home and I see Mr. Algernon Jones is a robber and I 'phoned to Miss Minerva's beau, and if he'd brunged what I telled him, he wouldn't never got cracked in the face like Mr. Algernon Jones done crack him, and Billy got to all time let robbers in the house so they can knock mans and little boys down."

"While you stand talking here the scoundrel will get away," said the injured man.

"That is so," agreed Doctor Sanford, "so I'll go and find the Sheriff."

Sarah Jane's huge form loomed up in the back-hall doorway, and she grabbed Jimmy by the arm.

"Yaas," she cried, "you gwine take you a nap is yuh, yuh 'ceitful caterpillar. Come on home dis minute."

"Lemme go, Sarah Jane," protested the little boy, trying to jerk away from her, "I got to stay here and pertec' Billy and Miss Minerva's beau 'cause they's a robber might come back and tie 'em up and make 'em bleed if I ain't here."

"Did Mr. Algernon Jones make all that blood?" asked an awe-stricken little boy gazing in admiration at the victim of Mr. Jones's energy. "You sho' is a hero to stan' up an' let him knock you down like he done."

"Yes," cried Jimmy, as the black woman dragged him kicking and struggling through the hall, "we's all heroes, but I bet I'm the heroest hero they is, and I bet Miss Minerva's going to be mad 'bout you all spilling all that blood on her nice clean floor."

"Lemme see yo' big toe what was shot off by all them Yankees and Injuns what you killed in the war," said Billy to Miss Minerva's beau.

The Major smiled at the little boy; a man-to-man smile, full of good comradeship, humor, and understanding. Billy's little heart went out to him at once.

"I can't take off my shoes at present," said the veteran. "Well, I must be going; I feel all right now."

Billy looked at him with big, solemn eyes.

"You couldn't never go 'thout yo' pants, could you?" he asked, "'cause Aunt Minerva jest nachelly despises pants."

The man eyed him quizzically.

"Well, no; I don't think I could," he replied; "I don't think I'd look any better in a Mother Hubbard or a kimono."

The little boy sighed.

"Which you think is the fitteness name," asked he, "Billy or William."

"Billy, Billy," enthusiastically came the reply.

"I like mens," said William Green Hill, "I sho' wisht you could come and live right here with me and Aunt Minerva."

"I wish so, too," said the Major.



CHAPTER XV

BILLY, THE CREDULOUS

After the advent and disappearance of the exciting Mr. Jones, Miss Minerva, much to Billy's joy, had a telephone put in the house. He sat in the hall the day it was put in waiting for it to ring.

Jimmy, coming up on the front porch and through the half-open door and seeing him sitting there, rang the door bell just for a joke, ready to burst into a laugh when the other little boy turned around and saw who it was. Billy, however, in his eagerness mistook the ring for the telephone bell and joyfully climbed up on the chair, which he had stationed in readiness. He took down the receiver as he had seen Jimmy do in his home and, without once seeing that little boy standing a few feet from him, he yelled at the top of his lungs:

"Hello! Who is that?"

"This is Marie Yarbrough," replied Jimmy from the doorway, instantly recognizing Billy's mistake.

Marie Yarbrough was a little girl much admired by the two boys, as she had a pony and cart of her very own. However, she lived in a different part of the town and attended another Sunday-School, so they had no speaking acquaintance with her.

"I jus' wanted to talk to you," went on the counterfeit Marie, stifling a laugh and trying to talk like a girl. "I think you're 'bout the sweetest little boy they is and I want you to come to my party."

"I sho' will," screamed the gratified Billy, "if Aunt Minerva'll lemme. What make you talk so much like Jimmy?"

"Who?—that little old Jimmy Garner? I hope I don't talk like that chicken, he's 'bout the measliest boy they is and I like you 'nother sight better 'n him; you're a plumb jim-dandy, Billy," came from the doorway.

"So's you," howled back the delighted and flattered Billy.

Jimmy thought he would pop wide open in his efforts to keep from laughing.

"How 'd you like to be my sweetheart?" he asked.

"I's already promise' to marry Miss Cecilia when I puts on long pants, but if we ever gits a 'vorce I'd 'nother sight ruther have you 'n anybody. You can be my ladyfrien', anyhow," was the loud reply.

"I'm coming for you to go riding in my little pony and cart," said a giggling Jimmy.

"All right, I's going to ask Aunt Minerva to lemme go. Can't we take Jimmy too?"

This was too much for the little boy. He had held himself in as long as possible. He burst into a peal of laughter so merry and so loud that Billy, turning, quickly, almost fell out of the chair.

"What you doin', a-listening to me talk to Marie Yarbrough th'oo the telephone?" he questioned angrily.

"Marie your pig's foot," was the inelegant response. "That was just me a-talking to you all the time. You all time think you talking to little girls and all time 'tain't nobody but me."

A light dawned upon the innocent one. He promptly hung up the receiver and got down out of the chair. Before Jimmy was fully aware of his intention, Billy had thrown him to the floor and was giving him a good pommeling.

"Say you got 'nough?" he growled from ibis position astride of the other boy.

"I got 'nough, Billy," repeated Jimmy.

"Say you sorry you done it."

"I say I sorry I done it," abjectly repeated the younger child. "Get up, Billy, 'fore you bust my stommick open."

"Say you ain't never a-goin' to tell nobody, cross yo' heart," was the next command.

"I say I ain't never going to tell nobody, cross my heart. Get up, Billy, 'fore you make me mad, and ain't no telling what I'll do to you if I get mad."

"Say you's a low-down Jezebel skunk."

"I ain't going to say I'm nothing of the kind," spiritedly replied the under-dog. "You all time wanting somebody to call theirselfs someping. You're a low-down Isabella skunk yourself."

"You got to say it," insisted the victor, renewing hostilities.

"I'll say I'm a Isabella 'cause Isabella discovered America and's in the Bible," replied the tormented one; "Miss Cecilia 'splained it to me."

Billy accepted his compromise and Jimmy's flattened stomach, relieved of its burden, puffed out to its usual roundness as that little boy rose to his feet, saying:

"Sam Lamb would 'a' died a-laughing, Billy, if he 'd seen you telephoning."

"He 'd better never hear tell of it," was the threatening rejoinder.



CHAPTER XVI

THE HUMBLE PETITION

Billy, sitting in an old buggy in front of the livery stable, had just engaged in a long and interesting conversation with Sam Lamb.

He was getting out of the vehicle when the sharp wire around a broken rod caught in the back of his trousers and tore a great hole. He felt a tingling pain and looked over his shoulder to investigate. Not being satisfied with the result, he turned his back to the negro and anxiously enquired, "Is my breeches tore, Sam?"

"Dey am dat," was the reply, "dey am busted Fm Dan ter Beersheba."

"What I goin' to do 'bout it?" asked the little boy, "Aunt Minerva sho' will be mad. These here's branspankin' new trousers what I ain't never wore tell today. Ain't you got a needle an' thread so's you can fix 'em. Sam?"

"Nary er needle," said Sam Lamb.

"Is my union suit tore, too?" and Billy again turned his back for inspection.

His friend made a close examination.

"Yo' unions is injured plum scanerous," was his discouraging decision, "and hit 'pears ter me dat yo' hide done suffer too; you's got er turrible scratch."

The child sighed. The injury to the flesh was of small importance,—he could hide that from his aunt—but the rent in his trousers was a serious matter.

"I wish I could git 'em mended 'fore I goes home," he said wistfully.

"I tell you what do," suggested Sam, "I 'low Miss Cecilia'll holp yeh; jest go by her house an' she'll darn 'em up fer yuh."

Billy hesitated.

"Well, you see, Sam, me an' Miss Cecilia's engaged an' we's fixin' to marry jes''s soon's I puts on long pants, an' I 'shame' to ask her. An' I don't berlieve young 'omans patches the breeches of young mans what they's goin' to marry nohow. Do you? Aunt Minerva ain' never patched no breeches for the Major. And then," with a modest blush, "my unions is tore too, an' I ain't got on nothin' else to hide my skin."

Again he turned his back to his friend and, his clouded little face looking over his shoulder, he asked, "Do my meat show, Sam?"

"She am visible ter the naked eye," and Sam Lamb laughed loudly at his own wit.

"I don't believe God pays me much attention nohow," said the little boy dolefully; "ev'y day I gets put to bed 'cause sumpin's all time a-happenin'. If He'd had a eye on me like He oughter they wouldn't a been no snaggin'. Aunt Minerva's goin' to be mad th'oo an' th'oo."

"May be my of 'oman can fix 'em, so's dey won't be so turrible bad," suggested the negro, "'taint fer, so you jes' run down ter my cabin an' tell Sukey I say fix dem breeches."

The child needed no second bidding,—he fairly flew. Sam's wife was cooking, but she cheerfully stopped her work to help the little boy. She sewed up his union suit and put a bright blue patch on his brown linen breeches.

Billy felt a little more cheerful, though he still dreaded confessing to his aunt and he loitered along the way till it was nearly dark. Supper was ready when he got home and he walked into the diningroom with his customary ease and grace. But he took his seat uneasily, and he was so quiet during the meal and ate so little that his aunt asked him if he were sick. He was planning in his mind how to break the news of the day's disaster to her.

"You are improving, William," she remarked presently, "you haven't got into any mischief to-day. You have been a mighty good little boy now for two days."

Billy flushed at the compliment and shifted uneasily in his seat. That patch seemed to burn him.

"If God'd jest do His part," he said darkly, "I wouldn't never git in no meanness."

After supper Miss Minerva washed the dishes in the kitchen sink and Billy carried them back to the dining-room. His aunt caught him several times prancing sideways in the most idiotic manner. He was making a valiant effort to keep from exposing his rear elevation to her; once he had to walk backward.

"William," she said sharply, "you will break my plates. What is the matter with you to-night?"

A little later they were sitting quietly in Miss Minerva's room. She was reading "The Christian at Home," and he was absently looking at a picture book.

"Sam Lamb's wife Sukey sho' is a beautiful patcher," he remarked, feeling his way.

She made no answering comment, and the discouraged little boy was silent for a few minutes. He had worn Aunt Cindy's many-colored patches too often to be ashamed of this one for himself, but he felt that he would like to draw his aunt out and find how she stood on the subject of patches.

"Aunt Minerva," he presently asked, "what sorter patches 'd you ruther wear on yo' pants, blue patches or brown?"

"On my what?" she asked, looking at him severely over her paper.

"I mean if you's me," he hastily explained. "Don't you think blue patches is the mos' nat'ral lookin'?"

"What are you driving at, William?" she asked; but without waiting for his answer she went on with her reading.

The child was silent for a long time, his little mind busy, then he began, "Aunt Minerva?"

She peered at him over her glasses a second, then dropped her eyes to the paper where an interesting article on Foreign Missions held her attention.

"Aunt Minerva, I snagged—Aunt Minerva, I snagged my—my skin, to-day."

"Let me see the place," she said absently, her eyes glued to a paragraph describing a cannibal feast.

"I's a-settin' on it right now," he replied.

Another long silence ensued. Billy resolved to settle the matter.

"I's gettin' sleepy," he yawned. "Aunt Minerva, I wants to say my prayers and go to bed."

She laid her paper down and he dropped to his knees by her side. He usually sprawled all over her lap during his lengthy devotions, but to-night he clasped his little hands and reared back like a rabbit on its haunches.

After he had rapidly repeated the Lord's prayer, which he had recently learned, and had invoked blessings on all his new friends and never-to-be-forgotten old ones, he concluded with:

"An', O Lord, You done kep' me f'om meddlin' with Aunt Minerva's hose any mo', an' you done kep' me f'om gittin' any mo' Easter eggs, an' playin' any mo' Injun, an' You done kep' me f'om lettin' Mr. Algernon Jones come ag'in, an' now, O Lord, please don't lemme worry the very 'zistence outer Aunt Minerva any mo' 'n You can help, like she said I done this mornin,' an' please, if Thy will be done, don't lemme tear the next new breeches what she'll gimme like I done ruint thesehere what I got on."



CHAPTER XVII

A GREEN-EYED BILLY

"Have some candy?" said Miss Cecilia, offering a big box of bonbons to Billy, who was visiting her.

"Where 'd you git 'em?" he asked, as he helped himself generously.

"Maurice sent them to me this morning."

Billy put all his candy back into the box.

"I don't believe I wants noner yo' candy," he said, scowling darkly. "I reckon you likes him better 'n me anyhow, don't you?"

"I love you dearly," she replied.

The child stood in front of her and looked her squarely in the eye. His little form was drawn to its full, proud height, his soft, fair cheeks were flushed, his big, beautiful, grey eyes looked somber and sad.

"Is you in love with that red-headed Maurice Richmond an' jes' a-foolin' o' me?" he asked with dignity.

A bright flush dyed crimson the young lady's pretty face.

She put her arm around the childish, graceful figure and drew the little boy to the sofa beside her.

"Now, honey, you mustn't be silly," she said gently, "you are my own, dear, little sweetheart."

"An' I reckon he's yo' own, dear, big sweetheart," said the jealous Billy. "Well, all I got to say is thishere; if he's a-goin' to come to see you ev'y day then I ain't never comin' no mo'. He's been acarryin' on his foolishness 'bout 's long as I can stand it. You got to chose 'tween us right this minute; he come down here mos' ev'y day, he's tuck you drivin' more'n fifty hundred times, an' he's give you all the candy you can stuff."

"He is not the only one who comes to see me," she said smiling down at him. "Jimmy comes often and Len Hamner and Will Reid. Don't you want them to come?"

"Don't nobody pay no 'tention to Jimmy," he replied contemptuously; "he ain't nothin' but a baby, an' them other mens can come if you wants 'em to; but," said Billy, with a lover's unerring intuition, "I ain't a-goin' to stand fer that long-legged, sorrel-top Maurice Richmond a-trottin' his great big carkiss down here ev'y minute. I wish Aunt Minerva 'd let me put on long pants to-morrer so 's we could git married." He caught sight of a new ring sparkling on her finger.

"Who give you that ring?" he asked sharply.

"A little bird brought it to me," she said, trying to speak gayly, and blushing again.

"A big, red-headed peckerwood," said Billy savagely.

"Maurice loves you, too,"—she hoped to conciliate him; "he says you are the brightest kid in town."

"Kid," was the scornful echo, "'cause he's so big and tall, he's got to call me a kid. Well, he'd jes' awasting' hi'self lovin' me; I don't like him an' I ain't agoin' to never like him an' soon's I puts on long pants he's goin' to get 'bout the worses' lickin' he ever did see.

"Say, does you kiss him like you does me?" he asked presently, looking up at her with serious, unsmiling face.

She hid her embarrassment in a laugh.

"Don't be foolish, Billy," she replied.

"I'll bet he's kissed you more 'n fifty hunderd times."

"There's Jimmy whistling for you," said Miss Cecilia. "How do you two boys make that peculiar whistle? I would recognize it anywhere."

"Is he ever kiss you yet?" asked the child.

"I heard that you and Jimmy whipped Ed Brown because he imitated your own particular whistle. Did you?"

"How many times is he kiss you?" asked Billy.

The young girl put her arm around him and tried to nestle his little body against her own.

"I'm too big, anyway, for your real sweetheart," she said. "Why, by the time you are large enough to marry I should be an old maid. You must have Frances or Lina for your sweetheart."

"An' let you have Maurice!" he sneered.

She stooped to lay her flushed cheek against his own.

"Honey," she softly said, "Maurice and I are going to be married soon; I love him very much and I want you to love him too."

He pushed her roughly from him.

"An' you jes' 'ceived me all the time," he cried, "an' me a-lovin' you better 'n anybody I ever see sence I's born? An' you a Sunday-School teacher? I ain't never a-goin' to trus' nobody no mo'. Good-bye, Miss Cecilia."

She caught his hand and held it fast; "I want you and Jimmy to be my little pages at the wedding, and wear dear little white satin suits all trimmed with gold braid," she tried to be enthusiastic and arouse his interest; "and Lina and Frances can be little flower-girls and we'll have such a beautiful wedding."

"Jimmy an' Lina an' Frances can be all the pages an' flower-girls an' brides an' grooms they wants to, but you can't rope me in," he scornfully replied. "I's done with you an' I ain't never goin' to have me no mo' sweetheart long's I live."



CHAPTER XVIII

CLOSER THAN A BROTHER

It was a bad, rainy day. Jimmy and Billy were playing in Sarah Jane's cabin, she, however, being in happy ignorance of the fact. Her large stays, worn to the preaching the night before, were hanging on the back of a chair. "Ain't I glad I don' have to wear no corset when I puts on long pants?" remarked Billy, pointing to the article. "Ain't that a big one? It's twice's big's Aunt Minerva's."

"My mama wears a big co'set, too," said Jimmy; "I like fat womans 'nother sight better 'n lean ones. Miss Minerva's 'bout the skinniest woman they is; when I get married I'm going to pick me out the fattest wife I can find, so when you set in her lap at night for her to rock you to sleep you'll have a soft place to put your head, while she sings to you."

"The Major—he's mos' plump enough for two," said Billy, taking down the stays and trying to hook them around him.

"It sho' is big," he said; "I berlieve it's big 'nough to go 'round both of us."

"Le's see if 'tain't," was the other boy's ready suggestion.

He stood behind Billy and they put the stays around both little bodies, while, with much squeezing and giggling, Billy hooked them safely up the front. The boys got in front of Sarah Jane's one looking-glass and danced about laughing with glee.

"We're like the twinses what was growed together like mama read me 'bout," declared the younger child.

Presently they began to feel uncomfortable, especially Jimmy, whose fat, round little middle was tightly compressed.

"Here, unhook this thing, Billy, and le's take her off," he said. "I'm 'bout to pop open."

"All right," agreed his companion.

He tugged and pulled, but could get only the top and bottom hooks unclasped; the middle ones refused to budge.

"I can't get these-here hooks to come loose," Billy said.

Jimmy put his short, fat arms around him and tried his hand, but with no better success. The stays were such a snug fit that the hooks seemed glued.

"We sho' is in a fix," said Billy gloomily; "look like God all time lettin' us git in trouble."

"You think of more fool stunts to do, William Hill, than any boy they is," cried the other; "you all time want to get us hooked up in Sarah Jane's corset and you all time can't get nobody loose. What you want to get us hooked up in this thing for?"

"You done it yo'self," defended the boy in front with rising passion. "Squeeze in, Jimmy; we jes' boun' to git outer this 'fore somebody finds it out."

He backed the other child close to the wall and pressed so hard against him that Jimmy screamed aloud and began to pound him on the head with his chubby fists.

Billy would not submit tamely to any such treatment. He reached his hand behind him and gave the smaller boy's cheek a merciless pinch. The fight was on. The two little boys, laced up tightly as they were in a stout pair of stays, pinched and scratched, and kicked and jerked. Suddenly Billy, leaning heavily against Jimmy, threw him flat on his back and fell on top of him.

Bennie Dick, sitting on the floor, had up to this time watched the proceedings with an interested eye; now, thinking murder was being committed, he opened his big, red mouth and emitted a howl that could be heard half a mile. It immediately brought his mother to the open door. When she saw the children squirming on the floor in her only corset, her indignation knew no bounds.

"You, Jimmy Garner, an' you, too, William Hill, yuh little imps o' Satan, what you doin' in my house? didn't yo' mammy tell you not to tamper wid me no mo'? Git up an' come here an' lemme git my co'set off o' yuh."

Angry as she was she could not keep from laughing at the sight they presented, as, with no gentle hand, she unclasped the hooks and released their imprisoned bodies.

"Billy all time—" began Jimmy.

"Billy all time nothin," said Sarah Jane, "'tain't no use fo' to try to lay dis-here co'set business onto Billy; both o' yuh is ekally in it. An' me a-aimin' fo' to go to three fun'els dis week an' a baptizin' on Sunday. S'pose y' all'd bruck one o' de splints, how'd I look a-presidin' at a fun'el 'thout nare co'set on, an' me shape' like what I is?"

"Who's dead, Sarah Jane?" asked Jimmy, hoping to stem the torrent of her wrath.

"Sis' Mary Ellen's las' husban', Brudder Littlejohn—dat 's a-who," she replied, somewhat mollified at his interest.

"When did he die?"—Jimmy pursued his advantage.

"He got 'way f'om here 'bout moon-down las' night," she replied, losing sight of her grievance in his flattering interrogations. "You know Sis' Littlejohn, she been married goin' on five times. Dis-here'll make fo' gentlemans she done buriet an' dey ain't nobody can manage a fun'el like she kin; 'pears like hit jes' come natchel to her. She sho' is done a good part by eb'ry single husban' too, an' she's figgerin' to outdo all the yuthers wid Brudder Littlejohn's co'pse." Sarah Jane almost forgot her little audience in her intense absorption of her subject. "She say to me dis mornin', she say, 'Marri'ge am a lott'ry, Sis Beddinfiel', but I sho' is drawed some han'some prizes. 'She got 'em all laid out side by side in de buryin' groun' wid er little imige on ebry grabe; an', 'Sis Mary Ellen, seein' as she can't read de writin' on de tombstones, she got a diff'unt little animal asettin' on eb'ry head res' so's she kin tell which husban' am which. Her fus' husban' were all time ahuntin', so she got a little white marble pa'tridge arestin' on he' head, an' hit am a mighty consolement to a po' widda 'oman fo' to know dat she can tell de very minute her eyes light on er grabe which husban' hit am. Her secon' man he got er mighty kinky, woolly head an' he mighty meek, so she got a little white lamb a-settin' on he grabe; an' de nex husban' he didn't have nothin' much fo' to disgueese him f'om de res' 'cep'in' he so slow an' she might nigh rack her brain off, twell she happen to think 'bout him bein' a Hardshell Baptis' an' so powerful slow, so she jest got a little tarrapim an' sot it on him. Hit sho' am a pretty sight jes' to go in dat buryin' groun' an' look at 'em all, side by side; an' now she got Brudder Littlejohn to add to de res'. He de onliest one what's got er patch o' whiskers so she gwine to put a little white cat on he' grabe. Yes, Lord, ef anythink could pearten' a widda 'oman hit would be jes' to know dat yuh could go to de grabeyard any time yuh want to an' look at dat han'some c'llection an' tell 'zactly which am which."

Sarah Jane stopped for breath and Billy hastened to inquire,

"Who else is dead, Sarah Jane?"

"'Tain't nobody else dead, yit, as I knows on, but my two cousins is turrible low; one's got a hemrage on de lung an' de yuther's got a congestin' on de brain, an' I 'lows dey'll bofe drap off 'twix' now an' sun-up to-morra." Her eyes rolled around and happened to light on her corset. She at once returned to her grievance.

"An' sposin' I hadn't 'av' came in here when I did? I'd 'a' had to went to my own cousins' fun'el 'thout nare co'set. Y' all gotta go right to y' all's mamas an' Miss Minerva dis very minute. I low dey'll settle yo' hashes. Don't y' all know dat Larroes ketch meddlers?"



CHAPTER XIX

TWINS AND A SISSY

Mrs. Hamilton and Mrs. Black were sitting on Miss Minerva's veranda talking to her, and Lira and Frances were in the swing with Billy.

The attraction proved too great for Jimmy; he impolitely left a disconsolate little visitor sitting on his own porch while he jumped the fence and joined the other children.

"Don't you all wish you could see Mrs. Brown's new twinses?" was his greeting as he took his seat by Billy.

"Where'd she get 'em?" asked Frances.

"Doctor Sanford tooken 'em to her last night."

"He muster found 'em in a holler stump," remarked Billy. "I knows, 'cause that's where Doctor Shacklefoot finds aller of Aunt Blue-Gum Tempy's Peruny Pearline's, an' me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln been lookin' in evy holler stump we see ever sence we's born, an' we ain't never foun' no baby 't all, 'cause can't nobody but jes' doctors fin' 'em. I wish he'd a-give 'em to Aunt Minerva 'stidder Mrs. Brown."

"I wish he'd bringed 'em to my mama," said Frances.

"I certainly do think he might have given them to us," declared Lina, "and I'm going to tell him so, too. As much money as father has paid him for doctor's bills and as much old, mean medicine as I have taken just to 'commodate him; then he gives babies to everybody but us."

"I'm awful glad he never give 'em to my mama," said Jimmy, "'cause I never could had no more fun; they'd be stuck right under my nose all time, and all time put their mouth in everything you want to do, and all time meddling. You can't fool me 'bout twinses. But I wish I could see 'em! They so weakly they got to be hatched in a nincubator."

"What's that?" questioned Frances.

"That's a someping what you hatches chickens and babies in when they's delicate, and ain't got 'nough breath and ain't got they eyes open and ain't got no feathers on," explained Jimmy.

"Reckon we can see 'em?" she asked.

"See nothing!" sniffed the little boy. "Ever sence Billy let Mr. Algernon Jones whack Miss Minerva's beau we can't do nothing at all 'thout grown folks 'r' stuck right under your nose. I'm jes' cramped to death."

"When I'm a mama," mused Frances, "I hope Doctor Sanford'll bring me three little twinses, and two Maltese kittens, and a little Japanee, and a monkey, and a parrit."

"When I'm a papa," said Jimmy, "I don' want no babies at all, all they's good for is jus' to set 'round and yell."

"Look like God 'd sho' be busy a-makin' so many babies," remarked Billy.

"Why, God don' have none 'a the trouble," explained Jimmy. "He's just got Him a baby factory in Heaven like the chair factory and the canning factory down by the railroad, and angels jus' all time make they arms and legs, like niggers do at the chair factory, and all God got to do is jus' glue 'em together, and stick in their souls. God's got 'bout the easiest job they is."

"I thought angels jes' clam' the golden stair and play they harps," said Billy.

"Ain't we going to look sweet at Miss Cecilia's wedding," said Frances, after a short silence.

"I'll betcher I'll be the cutest kid in that church," boasted Jimmy conceitedly. "You coming, ain't you, Billy?"

"I gotter go," answered that jilted swain, gloomily, "Aunt Minerva ain't got nobody to leave me with at home. I jes' wish she'd git married."

"Why wouldn't you be a page, Billy?" asked Lina.

"'Cause I didn't hafto," was the snappish reply.

"I bet my mama give her the finest present they is," bragged the smaller boy; "I reckon it cost 'bout a million dollars."

"Mother gave her a handsome cut-glass vase," said Lina.

"It looks like Doctor Sanford would've give Miss Cecilia those twinses for a wedding present," said Frances.

"Who is that little boy sitting on your porch, Jimmy?" asked Lina, noticing for the first time a lonely-looking child.

"That's Leon Tipton, Aunt Ella's little boy. He just come out from Memphis to spend the day with me and I'll be awful glad when he goes home; he's 'bout the stuck-up-est kid they is, and skeery? He's 'bout the 'fraidest young un ever you see. And look at him now? Wears long curls like a girl and don't want to never get his clean clo'es dirty."

"I think he's a beautiful little boy," championed Lina. "Call him over here, Jimmy."

"Naw, I don't want to. You all'll like him a heap better over there; he's one o' these-here kids what the furder you get 'way from 'em, the better you like 'em."

"He sho' do look lonesome," said Billy; "'vite him over, Jimmy."

"Leon!" screamed his cousin, "you can come over here if you wantta."

The lonesome-looking little boy promptly accepted the invitation, and came primly through the two gates. He walked proudly to the swing and stood, cap in hand, waiting for an introduction.

"Why didn't you clam' the fence, 'stead of coming th'oo the gates?" growled Jimmy. "You 'bout the prissiest boy they is. Well, why don't you set down?"

"Introduce me, please," said the elegant little city boy.

"Interduce your grandma's pussy cats," mocked Jimmy. "Set down, I tell you."

Frances and Lina made room for him between them and soon gave him their undivided attention, to the intense envy and disgust of the other two little boys.

"I am Lina Hamilton," said the little girl on his right.

"And I'm Frances Black, and Jimmy ought to be 'shamed to treat you like he does."

"I knows a turrible skeery tale," remarked a malicious Billy, looking at Lina and Frances. "If y' all wa'n't girls I 'd tell it to you."

"We aren't any more scared 'n you, William Hill," cried Frances, her interest at once aroused; "I already know 'bout 'raw meat and bloody bones' and nothing's scarier 'n that."

"And I know 'Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive or be he dead, I'll ground his bones to make me bread,"' said Lina.

"This-here tale," continued Billy, glueing his big eyes to those of the little stranger, "is one Tabernicle learnt fer a speech at school. It's all 'bout a 'oman what was buriet in a graveyard with a diamant ring on her finger, an' a robber come in the night—"

The child's tones were guttural, thrilling, and hair-raising as he glared into the eyes of the effeminate Leon, "an' a robber come in the night an' try to cut it off, an' ha'nts was groanin' an' the win' moan 'oo-oo' an—"

Leon could stand it no longer.

"I am going right back," he cried rising with round, frightened eyes, "I am not going to sit here and listen to you, scaring little girls to death. You are a bad boy to scare Lina and Frances and I am not going to associate with you;" and this champion of the fair sex stalked with dignity across the yard to the gate.

"I'm no more scared 'n nothing," and indignant Frances hurled at his back, "you're just scared yourself."

Jimmy giggled happily. "What'd I tell you all," he cried, gleefully. "Lina and Frances got to all time set little 'fraid cats 'tween 'em," he snorted. "It's just like I tell you, he's the sissyest boy they is; and he don't care who kiss him neither; he'll let any woman kiss him what wants to. Can't no woman at all 'cepting my mama and Miss Cecilia kiss me. But Leon is 'bout the kissingest kid they is; why, he'd just as soon's not let Frances and Lina kiss him; he ain't got no better sense. 'Course I gotta let Miss Cecilia kiss me 'cause she's 'bout the plumpest Sunday-School teacher they is and the Bible say 'If your Sunday-School teacher kiss you on one cheek turn the other cheek and let her kiss you on that, too,' and I all time bound to do what the Bible say. You 'd better call him back, Frances, and kiss him, you and Lina 're so stuck on him."

"I wouldn't kiss him to save his life," declared Frances; "he's got the spindliest legs I ever saw."



CHAPTER XX

RISING IN THE WORLD

The painter had just finished putting a bright green coat of paint upon the low, flat roof of Miss Minerva's long back-porch. And he left his ladder leaning against the house while he went inside to confer with her in regard to some other work.

Billy, Jimmy, Frances, and Lina had been playing "Fox and Geese." Running around the house they spied the ladder and saw no owner to deny them.

"Le's clam' up and get on top the porch," suggested Jimmy.

"Aunt Minerva'll put me to bed if I do," said Billy.

"Mother'll make me learn a whole page of the catechism if I climb a ladder," said Lina.

"My mama'll shut me up in the closet, but our mamas aren't bound to know 'bout it,"—this from Frances. "Come on, let's climb up."

"I ain't neverpromise not to clam' no ladder but—" Billy hesitated.

"You-all 'bout the skeeriest folks they is," sneered Jimmy. "Mama'll whip me going and coming if she finds out 'bout it, but I ain't skeered. I dare anybody to dare me to clam' up."

"I dare you to climb this ladder," responded an accommodating Frances.

"I ain't never tooken a dare yet," boasted the little boy proudly, his foot on the bottom rung. "Who's going to foller me?"

"Don't we have fun?" cried a jubilant Frances.

"Yes," answered Jimmy; "if grown folks don't all time be watching you and sticking theirselfs in your way."

"If people would let us alone," remarked Lina, "we could enjoy ourselves every day."

"But grown folks got to be so pertic'lar with you all time," cried Jimmy, "they don't never want us to play together."

He led the way up the ladder, followed by Frances and Billy; and Lina brought up the rear. The children ran the long length of the porch leaving their footprints on the fresh, sticky paint.

"Will it wash off?" asked Frances, looking gloomily down at her feet, which seemed to be encased in green moccasins.

At that moment she slipped and fell sprawling on top of the roof. When the others helped her to her feet, she was a sight to behold, her white dress splotched with vivid green from top to bottom.

"If that ain't jus' like you, Frances," Jimmy exclaimed; "you all time got to fall down and get paint on your dress so we can't 'ceive nobody. Now our mamas bound to know 'bout us clamming up here."

"They would know it anyhow," mourned Lina; "we'll never get this paint off of our feet. We had better get right down and see if we can't wash some of it off."

While they were talking the owner of the ladder, who had not noticed them—and was deaf in the bargain—had quietly removed it from the back-porch and carried it around to the front of the house.

The children looked at each other in consternation when they perceived their loss.

"What we goin' to do now?" asked Billy.

"If this ain't just like Billy, all time got to perpose to clam' a ladder and all time got to let the ladder get loose from him," growled Jimmy. "We done cooked a goose egg, this time. You got us up here, Billy, how you going to get us down?"

"I didn't, neither."

"Well, it's Miss Minerva's house and she's your aunt and we's your company and you got to be 'sponsible."

"I can clam' down this-here post," said the responsible party.

"I can climb down it, too," seconded Frances.

"You can't clam' down nothing at all," said Jimmy contemptuously. "Talk 'bout you can clam' down a post; you'd fall and bust yourself wide open; you 'bout the clumsiest girl there is; 'sides, your legs 're too fat."

"We can holla," was Lina's suggestion.

"And have grown folks laughing fit to pop their sides open? I'm 'shame' to go anywheres now 'cause folks all time telling me when I'm going to dye some more Easter eggs! Naw, we better not holler," said Jimmy. "Ain't you going to do nothing, Billy?"

"I'll jest slide down this-here post and git the painter man to bring his ladder back. Y' all wait up here."

Billy's solution of the difficulty seemed the safest, and they were soon released from their elevated prison.

"I might as well go home and be learning the catechism," groaned Lina.

"I'm going to get right in the closet soon's I get to my house," said Frances.

"Go on and put on your night-shirt, Billy." Billy took himself to the bath-room and scrubbed and scrubbed; but the paint refused to come off. He tiptoed by the kitchen where his aunt was cooking dinner and ran into his own room.

He found the shoes and stockings which were reserved for Sunday wear, and soon had them upon his little feet.

Miss Minerva rang the dinner-bell and he walked quietly into the dining-room trying to make as little noise and to attract as little attention from his aunt as possible; but she fastened her eyes at once upon his feet.

"What are you doing with your shoes on, William?" she asked.

Billy glanced nonchalantly at her.

"Don't you think, Aunt Minerva," he made answer, "I's gittin' too big to go 'thout any shoes? I's mos' ready to put on long pants, an' how'd I look, I'd jest like to know, goin' roun' barefooted an' got on long breeches. I don' believe I'll go barefooted no mo'—I'll jest wear my shoes ev'y day."

"I just believe you won't. Go take them off at once and hurry back to your dinner."

"Lemme jest wait tell I eats," he begged, hoping to postpone the evil hour of exposure.

"No, go at once, and be sure and wash your hands."

Miss Minerva spied the paint the instant he made his second entrance and immediately inquired, "How did you get that paint on your feet?"

The little boy took his seat at the table and looked up at her with his sweet, attractive, winning smile.

"Paint pertec's little boys' feets," he said, "an' keeps 'em f'om gittin' hurted, Aunt Minerva, don't it?"

Miss Minerva laid down her fork and gave her nephew her undivided attention.

"You have been getting into mischief again, I see, William; now tell me all about it. Are you afraid of me?"

"Yas 'm," was his prompt response, "an' I don't want to be put to bed neither. The Major he wouldn't put little boys to bed day times."

She blushed and eyed him thoughtfully. She was making slow progress with the child, she knew, yet she still felt it her stern duty to be very strict with him and, having laid down certain rules to rear him by, she wished to adhere to them.

"William," she said after he had made a full confession, "I won't punish you this time for I know that Jimmy led you into it but—"

"Naw'm, Jimmy didn't. Me an' him an' Frances an' Lina's all 'sponsible, but I promise you, Aunt Minerva, not to clam' no mo' ladders."



CHAPTER XXI

PRETENDING REALITY

The chain-gang had been working in the street not far from Miss Minerva's house, and Lina, Frances, Billy and Jimmy had hung on her front fence for an hour, watching them with eager interest. The negroes were chained together in pairs, and guarded by two, big, burly white men.

"Let's us play chain-gang," suggested Jimmy.

"Where we goin' to git a chain?" queried Billy; "'t won't be no fun 'thout a lock an' chain."

"I can get the lock and chain off 'm Sarah Jane's cabin."

"Yo' mama don't 'low you to go to her cabin," said Billy.

"My mama don't care if I just borra a lock and chain; so I 'm going to get it."

"I'm going to be the perlice of the gang," said Frances.

"Perlice nothing. You all time talking 'bout you going to be the perlice," scoffed Jimmy. "I'm going to be the perlice myself."

"No, you are not," interposed Lina, firmly. "Billy and I are the tallest and we are going to be the guards, and you and Frances must be the prisoners."

"Well, I ain't going to play 'thout I can be the boss of the niggers. It's Sarah Jane's chain and she's my mama's cook, and I'm going to be what I please."

"I'll tell you what do," was Billy's suggestion, "we'll take it turn about; me an' Lina'll firs' be the perlice an' y' all be the chain-gang, an' then we'll be the niggers an' y' all be the bosses."

This arrangement was satisfactory, so the younger boy climbed the fence and soon returned with a short chain and padlock.

Billy chained Jimmy and Frances together by two round, fat ankles and put the key to the lock in his pocket.

"We must decide what crimes they have committed," said Lina.

"Frances done got 'rested fer shootin' craps an' Jimmy done got 'rested fer 'sturbin' public worship," said the other boss.

"Naw, I ain't neither," objected the male member of the chain-gang, "I done cut my woman with a razor 'cause I see her racking down the street like a proud coon with another gent, like what Sarah Jane's brother telled me he done at the picnic."

The children played happily together for half an hour, Billy and Lina commanding, and the prisoners, entering thoroughly into the spirit of the game, according prompt obedience to their bosses. At last the captives wearied of their role and clamored for an exchange of parts.

"All right," agreed Lina. "Get the key, Billy, and we'll be the chain-gang."

Billy put his right hand in his pocket but found no key there; he tried the other pocket with the same success; he felt in his blouse, he looked in his cap, he jumped up and down, he nearly shook himself to pieces all without avail; the key had disappeared as if by magic.

"I berlieve y' all done los' that key," concluded he.

"Maybe it dropped on the ground," said Frances.

They searched the yard over, but the key was not to be found.

"Well, if that ain't just like you, Billy," cried Jimmy, "you all time perposing to play chain-gang and you all time lose the key."

Lina grew indignant.

"You proposed this yourself, Jimmy Garner," she said; "we never would have thought of playing chain-gang but for you."

"It looks like we can't never do anything at all," moaned Frances, "'thout grown folks 've got to know 'bout it."

"Yes, and laugh fit to pop theirselfs open," said her fellow-prisoner. "I can't never pass by Owen Gibbs and Len Hamner now 'thout they laugh just like idjets and grin just like pole-cats."

"I ain't never hear tell of a pole-cat grinnin'," corrected Billy, "he jes' smell worser 'n what a billy goat do."

"It is Chessy cats that grin," explained Lina.

"Look like folks would get 'em a lot of pole-cats stead o' chillens always hafto be wearing assfetty bags 'round their nakes, so's they can keep off whopping-cough," said Frances.

"You can't wear a pole-cat roun' yo' nake," grinned Billy.

"And Len Hamner all time now asking me," Jimmy continued, "when I'm going to wear Sarah Jane's co'set to Sunday-School. Grown folks 'bout the lunatickest things they is. Ain't you going to unlock this chain, Billy?" he demanded.

"What I got to unlock it with?" asked Billy.

As Jimmy's father was taking the crestfallen chaingang to the blacksmith shop to have their fetters removed, they had to pass by the livery stable; and Sam Lamb, bent double with intoxicating mirth at their predicament, yelled:

"Lordee! Lordee! Y' all sho' is de outlandishest kids 'twixt de Bad Place an' de moon."



CHAPTER XXII

A TRANSACTION IN MUMPS

"Don't you come near me," screamed Billy, sauntering slowly and deliberately toward the dividing fence; "keep way f'om me; they's ketchin'."

Jimmy was sitting on his front steps and the proverbial red flag could not have excited a bull to quicker action. He hopped down the steps and ran across his own yard toward Billy as fast as his short, fat legs, could carry him.

"Git 'way f'om me; you'll ketch 'em if you teches me," warned Billy; "an' you too little to have 'em," and he waved an authoritative hand at the other child. But Jimmy's curiosity was aroused to the highest pitch. He promptly jumped the fence and gazed at his chum with critical admiration.

"What's the matter," he inquired, "you got the toothache?"

"Toothache!" was the scornful echo, "well, I reckon not. Git back; don't you tech 'em; you ain't ol' 'nough to have 'em."

Billy's head was swathed in a huge, white cloth; his usually lean little cheeks were puffed out till he resembled a young hippopotamus, and his pretty grey eyes were almost invisible.

"You better git 'way f'om me an' don't tech 'em, like I tells you," he reiterated. "Aunt Minerva say you ain't never had 'em an' she say fer me to make you keep 'way f'om me 'cause you ain't a ol' chile like what I is."

"You ain't but six," retorted angry Jimmy, "and I'll be six next month; you all time trying to 'suade little boys to think you're 'bout a million years old. What's the matter with you, anyhow? You 'bout the funniest looking kid they is."

Billy theatrically touched a distended cheek. "These here is mumps," he said impressively; "an' when you got 'em you can make grown folks do perzactly what you want 'em to. Aunt Minerva's in the kitchen right now makin' me a 'lasses custard if I'll be good an' stay right in the house an' don't come out here in the yard an' don't give you the mumps. Course I can't tech that custard now 'cause I done come out here an' it ain't honer'ble; but she's makin' it jes' the same. You better git 'way f'om me an' not tech 'em; you too little to have 'em."

"Are they easy to ketch?" asked the other little boy eagerly; "lemme jest tech 'em one time, Billy."

"Git 'way, I tell you," warned the latter with a superior air. To increase Jimmy's envy he continued: "Grown folks tries to see how nice they can be to chillens what's got the mumps. Aunt Minerva ain't been impedent to me to-day; she lemme do jest 'bout like I please; it sho' is one time you can make grown folks step lively." He looked at Jimmy meditatively, "It sho' is a plumb pity you ain't a ol' chile like what I is an' can't have the mumps. Yo' ma 'd be skeered to spank you, skeered she 'd injuh yo' mumps. Don't you come any closter to me," he again warned, "you too little to have 'em."

"I'll give you five peewees if you'll lemme tech 'em so 's I can get 'em," pleaded the younger boy.

Billy hesitated. "You mighty little—" he began.

"And my stoney," said the other child eagerly.

"If you was a ol' little boy," said Billy, "it wouldn't make no diffunce; I don't want to make yo' ma mad an' Aunt Minerva say for me to keep 'way f'om you anyhow, though I didn't make her no promises."

Jimmy grew angry.

"You're the stingiest Peter they is, William Hill," he cried; "won't let nobody tech your old mumps. My cousin in Memphis's got the measles; you just wait till I get 'em."

Billy eyed him critically.

"If you was ol'—" he was beginning.

Jimmy thought he saw signs of his yielding.

"And I'll give you my china egg, too," he quickly proposed.

"Well, jest one tech," agreed Billy; "an' I ain't a-goin' to be 'sponsible neither," and he poked out a swollen jaw for Jimmy to touch.

Ikey Rosenstein at this moment was spied by the two little boys as he was Walking jauntily by the gate.

"You better keep 'way f'om here, Goose-Grease," Jimmy yelled at him; "you better get on the other side the street. Billy here's got the mumps an' he lemme tech 'em so's I can get 'em, so's my papa and mama'll lemme do just perzactly like I want to; but you're a Jew and Jews ain't got no business to have the mumps, so you better get 'way. I paid Billy 'bout a million dollars' worth to lemme tech his mumps," he said proudly. "Get 'way; you can't have em."

Ikey had promptly stopped at the gate.

"What'll you take, Billy, to lemme get 'em?" he asked, his commercial spirit at once aroused.

"What'll you gimme?" asked he of the salable commodity, with an eye to a bargain.

Ikey pulled out a piece of twine and a blue glass bead from his pocket and offered them to the child with the mumps. These received a contemptuous rejection.

"You can do perzactly like you please when you got the mumps," insinuated Jimmy, who had seemingly allied himself with Billy as a partner in business; "grown folks bound to do what little boys want 'em to when you got the mumps."

Ikey increased his bid by the stub of a lead pencil, but it was not until he had parted with his most cherished pocket possessions that he was at last allowed to place a gentle finger on the protuberant cheek.

Two little girls with their baby-buggies were seen approaching.

"G' 'way from here, Frances, you and Lina," howled Jimmy. "Don't you come in here; me and Billy's got the mumps and you-all 'r' little girls and ought n' to have 'em. Don't you come near us; they 're ketching."

The two little girls immediately opened the gate, crossed the yard, mid stood in front of Billy. They inspected him with admiration; he bore their critical survey with affected unconcern and indifference, as befitted one who had attained such prominence.

"Don't tech 'em," he commanded, waving them off as he leaned gracefully against the fence.

"I teched 'em," boasted the younger boy. "What'll you all give us if we Il let you put your finger on 'em?"

"I ain't a-goin' to charge little girls nothin'," said the gallant Billy, as he proffered his swollen jowl to each in turn.

A little darkey riding a big black horse was galloping by; Jimmy hailed and halted him.

"You better go fast," he shrieked. "Me and Billy and Frances and Lina's got the mumps and you ain't got no business to have 'em 'cause you're a nigger, and you better take your horse to the lib'ry stable 'cause he might ketch 'em too."

The negro boy dismounted and hitched his horse to the fence. "I gotter little tarrapim—" he began insinuatingly.

And thus it came to pass that there was an epidemic of mumps in the little town of Covington, and William Green Hill grew rich in marbles, in tops, in strings, in toads, in chewing gum, and in many other things which comprise the pocket treasures of little boys.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE INFANT MIND SHOOTS

Miss Minerva had bought a book for Billy entitled "Stories of Great and Good Men," which she frequently read to him for his education and improvement. These stories related the principal events in the lives of the heroes but never mentioned any names, always asking at the end, "Can you tell me who this man was?"

Her nephew heard the stories so often that he had some expression or incident by which he could identify each, without paying much attention while she was reading.

He and his aunt had just settled themselves on the porch for a reading.

Jimmy was on his own porch cutting up funny capers, and making faces for the other child's amusement.

"Lemme go over to Jimmy's, Aunt Minerva," pleaded her nephew, "an' you can read to me to-night. I 'd a heap ruther not hear you read right now. It'll make my belly ache."

Miss Minerva looked at him severely.

"William," she enjoined, "don't you want to be a smart man when you grow up?"

"Yes 'm," he replied, without much enthusiasm. "Well, jes' lemme ask Jimmy to come over here an' set on the other sider you whils' you read. He ain't never hear 'bout them tales, an' I s'pec' he'd like to come."

"Very well," replied his flattered and gratified relative, "call him over."

Billy went to the fence, where he signaled Jimmy to meet him.

"Aunt Minerva say you come over an' listen to her read some er the pretties' tales you ever hear," he said, as if conferring a great favor.

"Naw, sirree-bob!" was the impolite response across the fence, "them 'bout the measliest tales they is. I'll come if she'll read my Uncle Remus book."

"Please come on," begged Billy, dropping the patronizing manner that he had assumed, in hope of inducing his chum to share his martyrdom. "You know Aunt Minerva'd die in her tracks 'fore she'd read Uncle Remus. You'll like these-here tales 'nother sight better anyway. I'll give you my stoney if you'll come."

"Naw; you ain't going to get me in no such box as that. If she'd just read seven or eight hours I wouldn't mind; but she'll get you where she wants you and read 'bout a million hours. I know Miss Minerva."

Billy's aunt was growing impatient.

"Come, William," she called. "I am waiting for you."

Jimmy went back to his own porch and the other boy joined his kinswoman.

"Why wouldn't Jimmy come?" she asked.

"He—he ain't feeling very well," was the considerate rejoinder.

"Once there was a little boy who was born in Virginia—" began Miss Minerva.

"Born in a manger," repeated the inattentive little boy to himself, "I knows who that was." So, this important question settled in his mind, he gave himself up to the full enjoyment of his chum and to the giving and receiving secret signals, the pleasure of which was decidedly enhanced by the fear of imminent detection.

"Father, I can not tell a lie, I did it with my little hatchet,—" read the thin, monotonous voice at his elbow.

Billy laughed aloud—at that minute Jimmy was standing on his head waving two chubby feet in the air.

"William," said his aunt reprovingly, peering at him over her spectacles, "I don't see anything to laugh at,"—and she did not, but then she was in ignorance of the little conspiracy.

"He was a good and dutiful son and he studied his lessons so well that when he was only seventeen years old he was employed to survey vast tracts of land in Virginia—"

Miss Minerva emphasized every word, hoping thus to impress her nephew. But he was so busy, keeping one eye on her and one on the little boy on the other porch, that he did not have time to use his ears at all and so did not hear one word.

"Leaving his camp fires burning to deceive the enemy, he stole around by a circuitous route, fell upon the British and captured—"

Billy held up his hands to catch a ball which Jimmy made believe to throw.

Miss Minerva still read on, unconscious of her nephew's inattention:

"The suffering at Valley Forge had been intense during the winter—"

Billy made a pretense behind his aunt's upright back of throwing a ball while the other child held up two fat little hands to receive it. Again he laughed aloud as Jimmy spat on his hands and ground the imaginary ball into his hip.

She looked at him sternly over her glasses:

"What makes you so silly?" she inquired, and without waiting for a reply went on with her reading; she was nearing the close now and she read carefully and deliberately.

"And he was chosen the first president of the United States."

Billy put his hands to his ears and wriggled his fingers at Jimmy, who promptly returned the compliment.

"He had no children of his own, so he is called the Father of his Country."

Miss Minerva closed the book, turned to the little boy at her side, and asked:

"Who was this great and good man, William?"

"Jesus," was his ready answer, in an appropriately solemn little voice.

"Why, William Green Hill!" she exclaimed in disgust. "What are you thinking of? I don't believe you heard one word that I read."

Billy was puzzled; he was sure she had said "Born in a manger." "I didn't hear her say nothin' 'bout bulrushes," he thought, "so 'tain't Moses; she didn't say 'log cabin,' so 'tain't Ab'aham Lincoln; she didn't say 'Thirty cents look down upon you,' so 'tain't Napolyon. I sho' wish I'd paid 'tention."

"Jesus!" his aunt was saying, "born in Virginia and first president of the United States!"

"George Washin'ton, I aimed to say," triumphantly screamed the little boy, who had received his cue.



CHAPTER, XXIV

A FLAW IN THE TITLE

"Come on over," invited Jimmy.

"All right; I believe I will," responded Billy, running to the fence. His aunt's peremptory voice arrested his footsteps.

"William, come here!" she called from the porch.

He reluctantly retraced his steps.

"I am going back to the kitchen to bake a cake and I want you to promise me not to leave the yard."

"Lemme jes' go over to Jimmy's a little while," he begged.

"No; you and Jimmy can not be trusted together; you are sure to get into mischief, and his mother and I have decided to keep the fence between you for a while. Now, promise me that you will stay right in my yard."

Billy sullenly gave her the promise and she went back to her baking.

"That's always the way now," he said, meeting his little neighbor at the fence, "ever sence Aunt Minerva got onto this-here promisin' business, I don' have no freedom 't all. It's 'William, promise me this,' an' it's 'William, don't ferget yo' promise now,' tell I's jes' plumb sick 'n tired of it. She know I ain't goin' back on my word an' she jest nachelly gits the 'vantage of me; she 'bout the hardest 'oman to manage I ever seen sence I's born."

"I can nearly all time make my mama do anything 'most if I jus' keep on trying and keep on a-begging," bragged the other boy; "I just say 'May I, mama?' and she'll all time say, 'No, go 'way from me and lemme 'lone,' and I just keep on, 'May I, mama? May I, mama? May I, mama? 'and toreckly she'll say, 'Yes, go on and lemme read in peace.'"

"Aunt Minerva won't give in much," said Billy. "When she say 'No, William,' 'tain't no use 'tall to beg her; you jest wastin' yo' breath. When she put her foot down it got to go just like she say; she sho' do like to have her own way better 'n any 'oman I ever see."

"She 'bout the mannishest woman they is," agreed Jimmy. "She got you under her thumb, Billy. I don' see what womans 're made fo' if you can't beg 'em into things. I wouldn't let no old spunky Miss Minerva get the best of me that 'way. Come on, anyhow."

"Naw, I can't come," was the gloomy reply; "if she'd jest tol' me not to, I coulder went but she made me promise, an' I ain't never goin' back on my word. You come over to see me."

"I can't," came the answer across the fence; "I'm earning me a baseball mask. I done already earnt me a mitt. My mama don't never make me promise her nothing, she just pays me to be good. That's huccome I'm 'bout to get 'ligion and go to the mourner's bench. She's gone up town now and if I don't go outside the yard while she's gone, she's going to gimme a baseball mask. You got a ball what you bringed from the plantation, and I'll have a bat and mitt and mask and we can play ball some. Come on over just a little while; you ain't earning you nothing like what I'm doing."

"Naw; I promis' her not to an' I ain't ever goin' to break my promise."

"Well, then, Mr. Promiser," said Jimmy, "go get your ball and we'll th'ow 'cross the fence. I can't find mine."

Billy kept his few toys and playthings in a closet, which was full of old plunder. As he reached for his ball something fell at his feet from a shelf above. He picked it up, and ran excitedly into the yard.

"Look, Jimmy," he yelled, "here's a baseball mask I found in the closet."

Jimmy, forgetful of the fact that he was to be paid for staying at home, immediately rolled over the fence and ran eagerly toward his friend. They examined the article in question with great care.

"It looks perzactly like a mask," announced Jimmy after a thorough inspection, "and yet it don't." He tried it on. "It don't seem to fit your face right," he said.

Sarah Jane was bearing down upon them. "Come back home dis minute, Jimmy!" she shrieked, "want to ketch some mo' contagwous 'seases, don't yuh? What dat y' all got now?" As she drew nearer a smile of recognition and appreciation overspread her big good-natured face. Then she burst into a loud, derisive laugh. "What y' all gwine to do wid Miss Minerva's old bustle?" she enquired. "Y' all sho' am de contaritest chillens in dis here copperation."

"Bustle?" echoed Billy, "What's a bustle?"

"Dat-ar's a bustle—dat's what's a bustle. Ladies useto wear 'em 'cause dey so stylish to make they dresses stick out in the back. Come on home, Jimmy, 'fore yuh ketch de yaller jandis er de epizootics; yo' ma tol' yuh to stay right at home."

"Well, I'm coming, ain't I?" scowled the little boy. "Mama needn't to know nothing 'thout you tell."

"Would you take yo' mama's present now, Jimmy?" asked Billy; "you ain't earnt it."

"Wouldn't you?" asked Jimmy, doubtfully.

"Naw, I would n't, not 'thout I tol' her."

"Well, I'll tell her I just comed over a minute to see 'bout Miss Minerva's bustle," he agreed as he again tumbled over the fence.

A little negro boy, followed by a tiny, white dog, was passing by Miss Minerva's gate.

Billy promptly flew to the gate and hailed him. Jimmy, looking around to see that Sarah Jane had gone back to the kitchen, as promptly rolled over the fence and joined him.

"Lemme see yo' dog," said the former.

"Ain't he cute?" said the latter.

The little darkey picked up the dog and passed it across the gate.

"I wish he was mine," said the smaller child, as he took the soft, fluffy little ball in his arms; "what'll you take for him?"

The negro boy had never seen the dog before, but he immediately accepted the ownership thrust upon him and answered without hesitation, "I'll take a dollar for her."

"I ain't got but a nickel. Billy, ain't you got 'nough money to put with my nickel to make a dollar?"

"Naw; I ain't got a red cent."

"I'll tell you what we'll do," suggested Jimmy; "we'll trade you a baseball mask for him. My mama's going to give me a new mask 'cause I all time stay at home; so we'll trade you our old one. Go get it, Billy."

Thus commanded Billy ran and picked up the bustle where it lay neglected on the grass and handed it to the quasi-owner of the puppy.

The deal was promptly closed and a little black negro went grinning down the street with Miss Minerva's old bustle tied across his face, leaving behind him a curly-haired dog.

"Ain't he sweet?" said Jimmy, hugging the fluffy white ball close to his breast, "we got to name him, Billy."

"Le's name her Peruny Pearline," was the suggestion of the other joint owner.

"He ain't going to be name' nothing at all like that," declared Jimmy; "you all time got to name our dogs the scalawaggest name they is. He's going to be name' 'Sam Lamb' 'cause he's my partner."

"She's a girl dog," argued Billy, "an' she can't be name' no man's name. If she could I'd call her Major."

"I don't care what sort o' dog he is, girl or boy, he's going to be name' 'Sam Lamb'!" and he fondly stroked the little animal's soft head.

"Here, Peruny! Here, Peruny!" and Billy tried to snatch her away.

The boys heard a whistle; the dog heard it, too. Springing from the little boy's arms Sam Lamb Peruny Pearline ran under the gate and flew to meet her master, who was looking for her.



CHAPTER XXV

EDUCATION AND ITS PERILS

It was a warm day in early August and the four children were sitting contentedly in the swing. They met almost every afternoon now, but were generally kept under strict surveillance by Miss Minerva.

"'Twon't be long 'fore we'll all hafto go to school," remarked Frances, "and I'll be mighty sorry; I wish we didn't ever hafto go to any old school."

"I wisht we knowed how to read an' write when we's born," said Billy. "If I was God I'd make all my babies so's they is already eddicated when they gits born. Reckon if we'd pray evy night an' ask God, He'd learn them babies what He's makin' on now how to read an' write?"

"I don' care nothing at all 'bout them babies," put in Jimmy, "'tain't going to do us no good if all the new babies what Doctor Sanford finds can read and write; it'd jes' make 'em the sassiest things ever was. 'Sides, I got plenty things to ask God for 'thout fooling long other folks' brats, and I ain't going to meddle with God's business nohow."

"Did you all hear what Miss Larrimore, who teaches the little children at school, said about us?" asked Lina importantly.

"Naw," they chorused, "what was it?"

"She told the Super'ntendent," was the reply of Lina, pleased with herself and with that big word, "that she would have to have more money next year, for she heard that Lina Hamilton, Frances Black, William Hill, and Jimmy Garner were all coming to school, and she said we were the most notorious bad children in town."

"She is the spitefullest woman they is," Jimmy's black eyes snapped; "she 'bout the meddlesomest teacher in that school."

"Who telled you 'bout it, Lina?" questioned the other little girl.

"The Super'ntendent told his wife and you know how some ladies are,—they just can't keep a secret. Now it is just like burying it to tell mother anything; she never tells anybody but father, and grandmother, and grandfather, and Uncle Ed, and Brother Johnson, and she makes them promise never to breathe it to a living soul. But the Super'ntendent's wife is different; she tells ever'thing she hears, and now everybody knows what that teacher said about us."

"Everybody says she is the crankiest teacher they is," cried Jimmy, "she won't let you bring nothing to school 'cepting your books; you can't even take your slingshot, nor your air-gun, nor—"

"Nor your dolls," chimed in Frances, "and she won't let you bat your eye, nor say a word, nor cross your legs, nor blow your nose."

"What do she think we's goin' to her of school fer if we can't have fun?" asked Billy. "Tabernicle sho' had fun when he went to school. He put a pin in the teacher's chair an' she set down on it plumb up to the head, an' he tie the strings together what two nigger gals had they hair wropped with, an' he squoze up a little boy's legs in front of him with a rooster foot tell he squalled out loud, an' he th'owed spitballs, an' he make him some watermelon teeth, an' he paint a chicken light red an' tuck it to the teacher fer a dodo, an' he put cotton in his pants 'fore he got licked, an' he drawed the teacher on a slate. That's what you go to school fer is to have fun, an' I sho' is goin' to have fun when I goes, an' I ain't goin' to take no bulldozin' offer her, neither."

"I bet we can squelch her," cried Frances, vindictively.

"Yes, we'll show her a thing or two"—for once Jimmy agreed with her, "she 'bout the butt-in-est old woman they is, and she's going to find out we 'bout the squelchingest kids ever she tackle."

"Alfred Gage went to school to her last year," said Frances, "and he can read and write."

"Yes," joined in Jimmy, "and he 'bout the proudest boy they is; all time got to write his name all over everything."