Springfield daily republic. [volume] (Springfield, O. [Ohio]) 1887-1888, 1888-04-28
AUNT BETSEY'S BABY.

over the blg city, and out into the sweet
anil shady suburban village, where the
streets are no more than brown struggling
country lanes running along between duh
green ranges Of dOgwOod rose vines, and
you would not find shabbier house than
Uncle Prices.
IL was the tiniest little cabin in all OF
Carrolltou, and the shabbiest and the
sweetest. IL WAS no wonder that Uncle
Price, standing out in his yard in the cool
of the evening, used to look with faded,
affectiOnate eyes on the gray little ram
shackle shanty, and declare that hit
seemed like it would crack his heart
strings ef de good Lawd Shed see fitten to
youst him out dat var cabin"
As the dewy country lane came run.
ming toward Uncle Prices, joyously green
and gay between its mountainous ranges
Of rose vine, it laughed out into broad
grassy common. Uncle Price loved that
lane and that common, and often when he
leaned over the broken gate that gaped a
perpetual welcome to his house, he would
say, with an appreciative chuckle: dat
lane jes bus itse'f wide open wen it come
down var by de cabin"
And Just where ''de lane had bus itse'f
wide open," where the failing town t.ailed
of into the country, as you have seen
shelving sandy block trail off into the sea,
Uncle Price and Aunt Betsey had their
cabin. The uneven yard was thick with
grass and short white clover, and down in
the corner by the fence stood clump OF
goldenrod, its bright lamps all alight.
There were two great sprawling fig trees,
and under these the cabin stood, the pale
green three cornered leaves keeping the
wobbly porch in restful shade all the long
summer, from April to November.
1t was curiously psided little shanty.
with board on hinges for shutter, n
mud chimney, and there was but one room,
that did duty for parlor and dining room
as well as bedroom and kitchen. There
was back porch Us well, and at one
corner Of it, up on end, stood huge green
hogshead. with L spigot near the bottom,
which hogshead in Uncle Prices country
is called cistern. A beautiful curtain Of
jasmine vine, broidered all over with pale
fine stars of blossoms that smelled, oh, so
sweet! at sunrise and at nightfall,
swung from the rotting pillars Of the
porches. Inside all was sweet and neat
and clean. The ashes were swept up in
the center of the big fireplace, and the
saucepan and skillet, that were all OF
Betsey's Kitchen utensils, stood, when
not in use, decorously up in corner Of
the hearth. The soOr was uneven, and
down in the valley side was an old red
posted bedstead covered with a pine straw
mattress, couple Of thin pillows and q
faded quilt. There was also a table, a
shelf in one corner, on which leaned two
small yellow bowls, two gray yeined
plates and a few spoons and forks. In
the corner of the fireplace stood q trunk
cradle, the body of an old skin covered
trunk, to which Uncle Price had put
rockers in the days when Betsey's baby
was little enough for such n queer resting
pace.
There was also chest in which Betsey
kept their few extra pieces OF Sunday-go-
connecting clothes, a bench for the old
woman, and a hide bottomed arm chair
under the window for the old man. A
big Bible. worn and tattered and old, lay
on the table, and every night Uncle Price
would light pine torch and hold it for
Betsey to read the gospel In these
southern negro cabins lamp or candle
is rare luxury. Winter aud summer
the bit OF light needed at night Is furnished
by kindling apine knot on the hearth.
Such a gospel as Betsey used TO read
out of the good book was sweet to her old
mans ears, although it would have puz-
zled the psrson to give the chapter and
verse-scraps Of hymns, bits of ringing
plantation melodies, remembered SEN
tence Of some sermon and few Scripture
phrases. All the room would be in black
shadow save the space about the old
couple Price, 50 il he was a day, would
be bending over, pipe in his mouth, hold
ing the flaming pine stick, from which
the thick smoke breathed and the yellow
drops of rosin fell like amber beads.
Betsey, on her low bench. the Bible
open on ber knees and her long. claw
like foreinger following the lines patti
entity, would read out in her trembling
voice, with a sort of anxious sob in il,
while the old man would listen solemniy,
sucking at his pipe, now and then saying:
"Bress de Lord fer datr' 'Armen" and
getting great comfort out of Betsey's
gospel trufe" One night heard the
old woman read this out OF her wonderful
Bible.
Ole Joe benin de foe,
Alligator kickin' up bshin' ole Joe.
Did old Betsey think she could readi
OF course she did, although the pages
were as unknown to her as Sanscrit is to
you and me. Course kin read, honey"
she used to say, with dignity, when the
baby sometimes asked her, .'honor
bright"
Early every morning Betsey used to get
up and start little fire on the hearth and
set down the saucepan Of water to boil.
She had a tiny two storied coffee pot, and
in the second story, which had a perfor
ated floor, she would put handful of
ground coffee, and when the water boiled
she would take her small gourd dipper
and pour just little bit at a time on to
the grounds. This water would soak
through into the lower half Of the pot, and
when she had poured on two cupfuls-it
took long time-she would have pot Of
black, clear, delicious coffee, strong
enough to stain the yellow bowls deeper
brown.
She was a funny little old darky wo
man, short, stumpy, with small bit Of q
black face, shining eyes that slipped
around in their sockets like black glass
oeads, no teeth to speak Of, and the soft
sst, most musical and palavering voice
ever heard. She wore blue cotton gown,
brown woolen apron, a "head hanki-
Cher of gay green and white and gold
colored cotton, and, when going out visit
ing, dozen or SO of brass rings on fingers
and thumbs Winter and summer she
went bare footed, and when her big fat
feet, harder than any sole leather, came
down on the uneven floor, the cabin fairly
shook with fright. Betsey would tiptoe
about in the morning and when the coffee
would be dripped, the corn cake baked,
the side meat fried, or the plantain,
Ia kind of coarse banana, only
good whefl cooked roasted in the
ashes, she would call out in her gen.
fls and rremhlincr ,-rina llHoins or, mn