He heard of that kindly, rollicking early
life, half wild and wholly good-humoured, in which the eldest male
Lightfoot had squandered his time and his fortune. Why, was not the old
coach itself but an existing proof of Big Abel's stories? "'Twan' mo'n
twenty years back dat Ole Miss had de fines' car'ige in de county," he
began one evening on the doorstep, and the boy drove away a brood of
half-fledged chickens and settled himself to listen. "Hadn't you better
light your pipe, Big Abel?" he inquired courteously.
Big Abel shuffled into the cabin and came back with his corncob pipe and a
lighted taper. "We all ain' rid in de ole coach den," he said with a sigh,
as he sucked at the long stem, and threw the taper at the chickens. "De ole
coach hit uz th'owed away in de out'ouse, en I 'uz des stiddyin' 'bout
splittin' it up fer kindlin' wood--en de new car'ige hit cos' mos' a mint
er money. Ole Miss she uz dat sot up dat she ain' let de hosses git no
sleep--nor me nurr. Ef'n she spy out a speck er dus' on dem ar wheels,
somebody gwine year f'om it, sho's you bo'n--en dat somebody wuz me. Yes,
Lawd, Ole Miss she 'low dat dey ain' never been nuttin' like dat ar car'ige
in Varginny sence befo' de flood."
"But where is it, Big Abel?"
"You des wait, young Marster, you des wait twel I git dar. I'se gwine git
dar w'en I come ter de day me an Ole Marster rid in ter git his gol' f'om
Mars Tom Braxton. De car'ige hit sutney did look spick en span dat day, en
I done shine up my hosses twel you could 'mos' see yo' face in dey sides.
Pages:
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54