Middletown transcript., 1894-04-14
Sweet

I'll past until some
We we're trio of school girls, 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 laundry
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 esti-
mate of her pride, doing all she could
to merit it by switching and strutting
and holding high head when they
were about, calling them 'ugly as ho'
made sin and po' Buckra niggers,' y
leaving them to infer that she had be-
longed to quality" although she
never gratifed the curiosity Of anybody
by saving SO. She made no friends ex-
cept with us three, and the other girls
wondered what we saw in the homely,
surly old woman to even tolerate. But
Roxie was an interesting character to
us, and the mystery she managed to
throw about herself had its attraction.
Roxie had literary aspirations, though
she did not know letter Of the alpha
pct, and we were ambitious for her. To
the Lighthouse, religious weekly
published by a colored clergy man in her
adopted town, went many gushing
effusions, bearing the name "Roxie
Scales" We wondered why she per-
sisted in using this instead of Roxie
Friday, her name, and demonstrated
with her, arguing that the articles were
too good to appear under a pseudonym
and she not have the credit; but she
was firm.
These articles were on all manner of
subjects. The one she seemed most
concerned over was written In her
house, at her dictation, entitled "a
Day in Tennessee. We worked in
dustrio lely, doing our best, while Roxie
criticised right and left, made many
furnishes of impatience, and said she
didn't believe we had ever heard Of
Tennessee in our lives. She ordered
the best sentences cut out, because
they were a little exaggerated, and
she was more exacting than was ever
Miss Ross, who examined our essays
and overlooked grammatical errors
purposely made to test her competency.
Now and again Roxie and her huge
fiatiron would make an angry plunge in
our direction, but she always stopped
before getting too near, with the words,
in a modified tone, "Chillen, rse
s'prised at yo' wisdom" She meant
our lack of it.
Her house was mile from the col
lepe. in the prettiest, widest spot about
the springs; and on front door a card
with the words. "This is my busy day, -"
hung from early Monday morning until
Saturday night.
Gu Sundays she would sit at her lit
tie parlor organ and sing "Sweet Bonn
Bye'' to an accompaniment improvlsed
for the occasion. She never varied her
song. but the accompaniment was as
changeable as the wind.
We three would stand at the window
and. with tears in our eyes, peep in
upon the lonely old woman, singing her
heart out and her breath away, her
body swaying, her head in motion, her
attitude and voice a desperate appeal
to the God the poor soul secretly loved
to send that bonn bye, that long-delayed
s.Sweet Bom-Bye."
Roxie never laughed or smiled. She
had forgotten how, she said. her
countepance was the same under all
circumstances, even in her stormiest
moods.
Having no children of her own, she
had taken In. one at time, the home
less, friendless babies she had heard Oh,
and KEEP. them until they were old
enough to earn living. There was
one with her at the springs, cunning
little plckaninnY, and to it Miss Snl-
daY'' was . wonderful woman. foxle
meyer sooldsd Beck, except for lettering
on the way to and from the post once.
Beck's instructions had been to remino
the absent-minded post master, on sat
urday, that the Lighthouse should DC
forthcoming, and her daily query, Amy
dem Lighthouse papers fer Miss Shi-
day?" came to be a by-word with the
patrons.
One day we went to Roxie's and
were somwhat surprised to sec to an
old negro, ragged and tattered, seated
on her from steps, his hat beside him
his face In his hands, his whole appear
ance one Of humble misery. Hi
broken sobs fell mournfully upon thu
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