The Neihart herald. [volume] (Neihart, Mont.) 1890-1901, 1894-06-09
SWEET BOM-BY."

We used to wonder where or how
RoX1e first came into existence. She
herself said she had been a woman
ever since she began to live, and that
was all we knew of her past until
something happened.
We were a trio of schoolgirls, and
Roxie the old black washerwoman,
who had left her adopted town, a few
miles away, and come to the Springs
to make her fortune by doing laun-
dry work for Miss Fancher's school.
Roxie was not liked by people of
her own race at the Springs, who
called her 'bigity," and she gloried
in their estimate of her pride, doing
all she could to merit it by switching
and strutting and holding a high
head when they We're about, calling
them ugly as ho'made sin and po'
buckra niggers," leaving them to in
fer that she had belonged to equal
ity," although she never gratified the
curiosity of anybody by saying so.
She made no friends except with us
three, and the other girls wondered
what we saw in the homely, surly
old woman to even tolerate. But
Rookie was an interesting character
to us, and the mystery she managed
to throw about herself had it's attrac-
ton.
Roxie had literary aspiration,
though she did not know a letter of
the alphabet, and we were ambitious
for her. To The Lighthouse, a reli-
giOus weekly published by a colored
clergyman i'll her adopted town, went
many gushing illusions, bearing the
name "Roxie Scales" We wondered
why she persisted in using this in
stead of RoXie Friday, her name, and
demonstrated with her, arguing that
the articles We're too good to appear
under a pseudonym and she not have
the credit, but she was firm.
These articles we're on all manner
of subjects. The one she seemed
most concerned over was written in
her own house at her dictation, enti-
tied "A Day In Tennessee" We
worked industriously, doing our best,
while RoXie criticised right and left,
made many flourishes of Impotence
and said she didn't believe we had
ever heard Of Tennessee in our lives.
She ordered the best sentences cut
out because they e a little exag-
gerated, and she was more eXacting
than was ever Miss Ross, who exam
ined u essays and overlooked gram.
NAUTICAL errors purposely made to test
her competency.
Now and again RoXie and her huge
hatiron would make an angry plunge
in our direction, but she always stop.
ped before getting too near with the
words in a modified tone, 'Chillen,
TIE s'prised at yo' wisdom" She
meant our lack Of it.
Her house was a mile from the col
lege, In the prettiest, widest spot
about the Springs, and on her front
door a card with the words, This is
my busy day." hung from early Mon
day morning until Saturday night.
On Sundays she would sit at hen
little parlor organ and sing "Sweet
Bom-By" to an accompaniment i'm
prOvised for the occasion. She never
varied her song, but the accompani
ment was q changeable as the wind.
We three would stand at the win
dow and with tears in our eyes peel
in upon the lonely old woman, sing
ing her heart out and her breatl
away, her body swaying, her head il
motion, her attitude and voice a DIES
perate appeal to the God the poo,
soul secretly loved to send that bonn
by, that long delayed ''Sweet Bonn
by"
RoXie never laughed or smiled
She had forgotten how, she said
Her cOuntenance was the same III
der all circumstances, even in he
stormiest moods.
Having no children of her own, sh
had taken in, n at a time, tn
homeless, friendless babies she hal
heard Of and kept them until the,
were old enough to earn a living
There was one with her at tn
Springs, a cunning little pickaninny
and to it Miss Shiday" was a won
derful woman. RoXey never scolde'
Beck, except for lettering on the wa.
to and from the postoffice. Beck'sir
structions had been to remind the at
sentminded postmaster ON Saturda,
that The Lighthouse should be forth
coming, and her daily query, IAN,
dem Lighthouse papers fer Miss Sh:
day?" came to be a byword with tn
patrons.
One day we went to Roxie's an
were somewhat surprised TO see II
cid negro, ragged and tattered, seat
ed on her front steps, his hat besid
him, his face in his hands, his who'll
appearance one Of humble mis-
cry. His broken sobs fell mourn
fully upon the quiet air, an
even the hooking birds that alway
sang in the crooked old apple tree
around the door had been frightene
into silence. We went to the littl
washhouse, expecting to find Roxi
over the tubs, up to her elbows i
soapsups, when there she sat on
stool, looking every bit as miserabl
as did the old fellow on the step.
"What is the matter?" we asked.
She took but a feeble notice of GU