Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1897-02-20

Been buying yourself rich?"
There it was again, George Washing
tons birthday; she heard it every
where. The very banks would DO
closed, she heard somebody say; and
the post Office would be open but an
hour all day. Clearly it was George
Washington's birthday.
To be perfectly sure about it, how
ever, she determined to step around to
"Marse Toms Office" and ask about It.
Marse Tom was once her husbands old
master, and he would be pretty sure to
tell her the truth.
"Marse Tom" said she, thrusting her
head in moment at the door, what am
de incasion OBJ all de incitement in de
town ter-morrer?"
"It is George Washington's birthday,
Aunt June. Come in and get warm,"
said the master, without looking up
from the paper he was busily prepar-
ing for the court that would convene
the next week. But Aunt June was
gone; she went straight back to the
grocery.
"Ef dey's all detarmint ter hab It 80.
1 reckon 1t am got ter be so," she de-
clared; and she bought back a pound of
the butter she had sold, two pounds of
cheese, and dozen sticks of striped
peppermint condy.
"Ef ev'ybody else ain gwine be-
grudge de chile de celebrating, reclSin
sholy his own nanny ain gwine do
dat" she said. Use gwine straight
home and kill him."
She felt relieved in crossing the
bridge to find the workman gone.
II don want hear no more of that Mig
| gers mouf," said she. Lack ez not
he'll be thinking dom know de bufday
oh my own chillen."
She made several convenient stops on
the way home, however, and at each
stop explained why she was imposing
so upon the mule.
"Dey's a lot of things in de cart, to be
sho," said she. But hit am George
Washin' tons bufday."
And for the life of her she couldn't
help saying it just as the people in town
had said it; as something that every
| body ought to know. Whether these
knew or not she was not able to divine,
since the same reply met her at each
repetition Of the announcement: YES
sum-"
She was planning great feast; she
meant to make cake and stuff it with
raisins. "He aim no onery nigger, dat
boy amt" said she, as the white mule
| plodded patiently homeward.
Little Wash couldn't understand
his sudden rise to greatness, though
he very cheerfully washed the pota-
toes, killed and picked the hen.
and was told that he might beat the
whites for cake the next day.
"a cake fur yo' bufday dinner, son."
his mother told him.
That night when his father came
home Aunt June asked him if he
couldn't get off from his work next day
and eat dinner at home.
Hitam George Washin' tons bufday,"
she explained again in the town tone.
Il done been Citing de chile up bit of
nice victuals."
Uncle Jake scratched his head and
pondered. "Ole oman" said he, after
a pause, "you's mistookin, honey, bout
dat. Ter-morrer ain Wash's bufday.
| W. uZ III uc LlMC.
Don yer rickerlict dc threshing?"
"Yes, sab, dat does. But de town
folks dey ali say ter-morrer 'uz George
Washin'ton's bufday. Dey all wouldn't
hab it no udder way. De very niggers
on de pike say it 'uz George Washin'-
toms bufday. And seeing they wouldn't
hab it no udder way jest stepped round
ter Marse Toms office and ak him.
Kase know eff Marse Tom say it so, it
am so. So put my head in de do and
says L: 'Marse Tom, what's ter do ter
morrer% or something mighty lack
dat. And says he: Hit am George
Washin'ton's bufday.' Den come
long and kilt a hin; kase 1 know it
mus be so den, aldo reckelick it ain
So"
Uncle Jake tilted his chair back and
broke into laugh. "Ole 'oman," said
he, you're all wrong bout dat. Dey
wuztallting 'boutannuderG George Wash
in'ton. 1 hecred all bout dat long go.
Dey wan meaning we-alls' po' little
Wash here"
Aunt June's eyes flashed for min
ute; only minute, however, and she
duclsed her head to laugh.
~ done kilt him." said she, "and it's
got ter be eat. George Washin'ton am
gwine hab dat bufday. He been
mighty handy helping bout de baby
and all, and he kin hab two bufdays
dis year well ez not Dey.ain' no sech
greet differ'Nce 'twix the twenty-secken
o. Feb'rery an de twenty-ninth of July,
ez kin see. Seed de reesuns, son, fur
de cake; hits fur yer bufday dinner ter
morrer."-Will Allen Dromgoole, in
Youths Companion.
THE SAME CASE. WITH A DIFFER