The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1891-10-30
AT THE OLD
PLANTATION.

ties of life to me To conceive of happy
childhood that has not been spent in the
country, that has not known something OF
the freedom of the wildwood. Now. as
sit by my window looking out over an al
most lmitless space of brick and mortar
below, when l begin to weigh, as III bal
ance, the JOYS and sorrows of my life, mem-
ory carries me back Ger near a score OF
7ears, and so high am l piling the bright
side of the scale that | almost forget the
dark side exists. / hear the swish Of the
pine branches over my head, the ripple of
The stream that cooIs my bare feet, feel
again tile sweet pleasure of the 'pathless
woods" whose hushed silence is yet so
teeming With the harmOnies of natures
own music.
All these things came ack TO me that day
which has now become only a memory,
when after ten wears absence l went to the
old plantation 10 see the dear ones who had
not left the home nest. l closed my eyes as
we drove through the village lest sJme IN
familiar face should drive away the dear
ones | had recalled. As we passed Mt length
through the narrow lane that would lead US
10 the rough country road | looked back at
lie village that showed gray-rOofed and
misty IN the haZy summer light, lifting its
little Church-spire from amidst cluster OF
green. Yes, il has not changed, say to
myself. They are all there-the school
mouse. the stores, with their fat, gray
faces, the blacksmith'S shop, whose roof
seems no more shakY than before, the quiet
homes scattered here and there among the
trees.
A sharp turn in the road hides the village
behind tie oelt of wood, but here just flow
ing over the wheels that crunch into the
white sands in tie little stream where we
Used to scoop for tadpOies AMI mellow bugs,
and Just beyond it the huckleberTy thicket.
Is this the red hill where Felix and old Will
am baked 50 often, and where we used to
nave TO get out and walk sometimes, picking
rs we scrambled the rel turkey berries that
,Taiied their green steamers over root and
stump? How small an ascent ii seems now
as the horses pull up and turn into road
whose unbeaten track and dOwnbelt under
brush Despea6 Its neWness. A tree mas
fallen across the r0ad-the long-leaf pine
that stood Ike a sentinel overlooking the
whole forest.
A turn into the old road again brings US
in sight of the clubhouse. There stands the
creaking old screw, where the cotton is
baled. From across the top the two long
poles hang down ike giant bestride, his
long legs almost touching the ground.
Within, under shelter, across the mule
track, stretch the long arms THAI are SO lazy
HuW, but which will turn and turn and turn
again by and by, with some other little
child sitting, perhaps, whore l used some
times beside the driver. going round and
ound the circle that never br0adens.
Above, the wheels are stopped. the belts
nang loose and idle. Just beyond is the
lint-rOOm, where l fell once and was almost
Suffacaied by the soft, white fleece.
"Whoa!"
Have we come to the "big gate }" already?
l hold the lines while Jack swings the gate
open, pTopping it back with a stone. Is it
the same rock, wonder, on which we used
20 crack hickory nuts In the fall? Yes,
there is the round hole in the center. We
are through the gate and in the long drive
across the wood lot" Over there to the
right, before the little log cabin, Aunt Sal
vs. later patch " is Furnishing, aud her
"rOs'n years are waving me welcome.
Over the cabin door flap the big leaves of the
vine that trails luxuriantly, heavy with the
cluster of green and yellow gOurds that
hang as thick as harlequin bells Some
where in my darning basket at home there
is a gOurd that once shook its little yellow
head before Aunt Sally'S door, and which is
row the last remnant Of a string that used
10 rattle before I could tOddle.
o lime, Time, how many changes thou
hast wrought! And yet, no. There stands
Aunt Sally in the doorway, her round. black
face as round and black as ever, her broad
sides as broad, her white eyes as white,
shining beneath the red keTchief whose
yoiumlnOus folds encircle her head like
urban. Alter all, it Is only l who am
changed Everything is Just as | left it.
Over there, under the beeches behind the
crib, a group of little negroes are playing just
as ] left them. They are the children OF the
children | left playing there. Well, perhaps
so; there seems no change. But here we
are at the little yard gate, the horses stop
under the old elm, Jack is helping me
over the wheel, and the dear ones are coming
out to meet me. l look into the eyes that
are turned to mine for traces Of the sweet
childhood. Has there been no changer Alas
their manhood and wOmanhOOd holds child
hood now only as memory. Tears come
. into my eyes, tears sound in the voices that
speak to NE when we think of the kindly
aces whose sweet presence is missed from
the group, when we think Of the dear dead
days beyond recall"
Tie little front yard is hard and white
and clean as ever, and FROM around the cor
ner toward the WOodnile comes the sweep,
sweep. sweep OF the brush broom. Can it
be that Aunt Lucy is still sweeping? Yes,
IN moment | see her, in her plaid ''linsey
coat" sucn as she always wore, winter and
summer, her red and yellow kerchief sur
mounting her thick gray locks, her witch
hazel broom upllfted IN one big, brown, bOnY
hand. her gray stone pipe between her lips,
standing with all the stiff dignity that l re-
meInbered SO well.
"Howdy, Aunt Lucy ?" I said, holding
out my hand to her. why, don't you know
me Y'
The old woman shook hands with me in
dazed kind OF way; then. stepping back
a pace, she dropped me one of her mimi
table "eurtsies," saying in her deep voice
that seemed no more cracked than when |
first knew it:
FPS proud to see you, Miss, but you mus
'scuse me for sayin' you has the vantage Nv
me-"
"Whv. Aunt Lucy, don't you know
Pattyr" said one of the girls, coming to the
rescue.
The upllfted brush fell from the old
w0man's hand, the haf-smOked pipe slipped
from her mouth i'll the extent Of her excite
ment
"Lawd, Lawd bless the ehiler" she cried;
Il never kuowed you'll Howdy, Miss,
howdy? To think l never knowed you, an
you one er my chillun', too! never knowed
you, an you ulster sweep de yards with me
when you war no mgher'n dat light'ud knot.
You an done forgot dat has you, Missy?
An how you an me ulster look fur hen aigs
an 90 down yaHdeT bout de spring branch
aTter de turkey nests? Lawd, Lawd, l
never knowed you, an you q ,oman grown!"
De chiilun onghter tole ME you was c0min'."
They were all chillun" to her still.
You looks powerful fine, Missy" she
continued, surveying ME with a critical eye
Oats er mighty purity coat you got on.
Here me with dis OF raggety linsey, Marse
JObn-how's Aarse John, Missy2 l aim
Sctu uilu SWlIe on lnie6 year. Twas the
las time he was over here / met him in de
road. I'd been down yOnder fur to git me
some witch hazel bresh broOms; an L was
comm on ack home quick es / could so s
TO git all my yards clean fore Sunday, case
Miss MarGhy gwine have .comp'ny. All It
once | heard somebody Say, Howdy. Aun'
Lucy an bless goodness, dar was Marse
John er ridin' long like he Jest hopped
oui'n er handbook. | had on tneraggcdes'
OF cotton coat, an Matse John he look at
me, an bimeby he put his hand down in his
pocket. Here, Aun' Lucy he say, Take
dis here money an git you new coat He
never had nary stingy bone in him, Marse
john, never De mex time Marse Tom
went to Sparty | gin him de money an got
him to git me linsey coat, an dis here de
berry one. Hits bout gone TO de dogs now"
know that was fated to provide the
new "lnsey coat" which was so much
needed, but had come prepared, and was
not disconnected by the old wonlan's dark
hints.
l could not content myself till l had
prowled over the whole house, looking into
every nook and corner that was dear TO me
because Of thousand clustering memories.
There was the niche beside the window
where we used to stand the long purple
STICKS of sugar-cane, and over there behind