University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.
THE NEW MOTHER.

The cholera at length disappeared, and the establishment
of our old friend Tiff proceeded as of yore. His chickens
and turkeys grew to maturity, and cackled and strutted
joyously. His corn waved its ripening flags in the September
breezes. The grave of the baby had grown green with
its first coat of grass, and Tiff was comforted for his loss,
because, as he said, “he knowed he 's better off.” Miss
Fanny grew healthy and strong, and spent many long sunny
hours wandering in the woods with Teddy; or, sitting out
on the bench where Nina had been wont to read to them,
would spell out with difficulty, for her old friend's comfort
and enlightenment, the half-familiar words of the wondrous
story that Nina had brought to their knowledge.

The interior of the poor cottage bore its wonted air of
quaint, sylvan refinement; and Tiff went on with his old
dream of imagining it an ancestral residence, of which his
young master and mistress were the head, and himself their
whole retinue. He was sitting in his tent door, in the cool
of the day, while Teddy and Fanny had gone for wild grapes,
cheerfully examining and mending his old pantaloons, meanwhile
recreating his soul with a cheerful conversation with
himself.

“Now, Old Tiff,” said he, “one more patch on dese yer,
'cause it an't much matter what you wars. Mas'r is
allers a promising to bring home some cloth fur to make a
more 'specable pair; but, laws, he never does nothing he
says he will. An't no trusting in dat 'scription o' people,

— jiggeting up and down de country, drinking at all de
taverns, fetching disgrace on de fam'ly, spite o' all I can
do! Mighty long time since he been home, any how!
Should n't wonder if de cholera 'd cotched him! Well,
de Lord's will be done! Pity to kill such critturs!
Would n't much mind if he should die. Laws, he an't much
profit to de family, coming home here wid lots o' old trash,
drinking up all my chicken-money down to 'Bijah Skinflint's!
For my part, I believe dem devils, when dey went
out o' de swine, went into de whiskey-bar'l. Dis yer liquor
makes folks so ugly! Teddy shan't never touch none as
long as dere 's a drop o' Peyton blood in my veins! Lord,
but dis yer world is full o' 'spensations! Por, dear Miss
Nina, dat was a doing for de chil'en! she 's gone up among
de angels! Well, bress de Lord, we must do de best we
can, and we 'll all land on de Canaan shore at last.”

And Tiff uplifted a quavering stave of a favorite melody:

“Shoo! shoo! shoo!” he said, observing certain long-legged,
half-grown chickens, who were surreptitiously taking
advantage of his devotional engrossments to rush past
him into the kitchen.

“'Pears like dese yer chickens never will larn nothing!”
said Tiff, finding that his vigorous “shooing” only scared
the whole flock in, instead of admonishing them out. So
Tiff had to lay down his work; and his thimble rolled one
way, and his cake of wax another, hiding themselves under
the leaves; while the hens, seeing Tiff at the door, instead
of accepting his polite invitation to walk out, acted in that
provoking and inconsiderate way that hens generally will,
running promiscuously up and down, flapping their wings,

cackling, upsetting pots, kettles, and pans, in promiscuous
ruin, Tiff each moment becoming more and more wrathful
at their entire want of consideration.

“Bress me, if I ever did see any kind o' crittur so shaller
as hens!” said Tiff, as, having finally ejected them, he
was busy repairing the ruin they had wrought in Miss Fanny's
fanciful floral arrangements, which were all lying in
wild confusion. “I tought de Lord made room in every
beast's head for some sense, but 'pears like hens an't got
de leastest grain! Puts me out, seeing dem crawking and
crawing on one leg, 'cause dey han't got sense 'nough to
know whar to set down toder. Dey never has no idees what
dey 's going to do, from morning to night, I b'lieve! But,
den, dere 's folks dat 's just like 'em, dat de Lord has gin
brains to, and dey won't use 'em. Dey 's always settin
round, but dey never lays no eggs. So hens an't de wust
critturs, arter all. And I rally don' know what we 'd
do widout 'em!” said Old Tiff, relentingly, as, appeased
from his wrath, he took up at once his needle and his psalm,
singing lustily, and with good courage,

“Laws, now,” said Tiff, pursuing his reflections to himself,
“maybe he 's dead now, sure 'nough! And if he is,
why, I can do for de chil'en raal powerful. I sold right
smart of eggs dis yer summer, and de sweet 'tatoes
allers fetches a good price. If I could only get de chil'en
along wid der reading, and keep der manners handsome!
Why, Miss Fanny, now, she 's growing up to be raal perty.
She got de raal Peyton look to her; and dere 's dis yer
'bout gals and women, dat if dey 's perty, why, somebody
wants to be marrying of 'em; and so dey gets took care
of. I tell you, dere shan't any of dem fellers dat he brings
home wid him have anyting to say to her! Peyton blood
an't for der money, I can tell 'em! Dem fellers allers

find 'emselves mighty onlucky as long as I 's round!
One ting or 'nother happens to 'em, so dat dey don't want
to come no more. Drefful por times dey has!” And
Tiff shook with a secret chuckle.

“But, now, yer see, dere 's never any knowing! Dere may
be some Peyton property coming to dese yer chil'en. I 's
known sich tings happen, 'fore now. Lawyers calling
after de heirs; and den here dey be a'ready fetched up.
I 's minding dat I 'd better speak to Miss Nina's man 'bout
dese yer chil'en; 'cause he 's a nice, perty man, and
nat'rally he 'd take an interest; and dat ar handsome sister
of his, dat was so thick wid Miss Nina, maybe she 'd be
doing something for her. Any way, dese yer chil'en shall
neber come to want 'long as I 's above ground!”

Alas for the transitory nature of human expectations!
Even our poor little Arcadia in the wilderness, where we
have had so many hours of quaint delight, was destined to
feel the mutability of all earthly joys and prospects. Even
while Tiff spoke and sung, in the exuberance of joy and security
of his soul, a disastrous phantom was looming up from
a distance — the phantom of Cripps' old wagon. Cripps
was not dead, as was to have been hoped, but returning for
a more permanent residence, bringing with him a bride of
his own heart's choosing.

Tiff's dismay — his utter, speechless astonishment — may
be imagined, when the ill-favored machine rumbled up to
the door, and Cripps produced from it what seemed to be,
at first glance, a bundle of tawdry, dirty finery; but at last
it turned out to be a woman, so far gone in intoxication as
scarcely to be sensible of what she was doing. Evidently,
she was one of the lowest of that class of poor whites whose
wretched condition is not among the least of the evils of
slavery. Whatever she might have been naturally, — what
ever of beauty or of good there might have been in the
womanly nature within her, — lay wholly withered and
eclipsed under the force of an education churchless, schoolless,
with all the vices of civilization without its refinements,

and all the vices of barbarism without the occasional nobility
by which they are sometimes redeemed. A low and vicious
connection with this woman had at last terminated in marriage
— such marriages as one shudders to think of, where
gross animal natures come together, without even a glimmering
idea of the higher purposes of that holy relation.

“Tiff, this yer is your new mistress,” said Cripps, with
an idiotic laugh. “Plaguy nice girl, too! I thought I 'd
bring the children a mother to take care of them. Come
along, girl!”

Looking closer, we recognize in the woman our old acquaintance,
Polly Skinflint.

He pulled her forward; and she, coming in, seated herself
on Fanny's bed. Tiff looked as if he could have struck
her dead. An avalanche had fallen upon him. He stood
in the door with the slack hand of utter despair; while she,
swinging her heels, began leisurely spitting about her, in
every direction, the juice of a quid of tobacco, which she
cherished in one cheek.

“Durned if this yer an't pretty well!” she said. “Only
I want the nigger to heave out that ar trash!” pointing to
Fanny's flowers. “I don't want children sticking no herbs
round my house! Hey, you nigger, heave out that trash!”

As Tiff stood still, not obeying this call, the woman appeared
angry; and, coming up to him, struck him on the
side of the head.

“O, come, come, Poll!” said Cripps, “you be still! He
an't used to no such ways.”

“Still!” said the amiable lady, turning round to him.
“You go 'long! Did n't you tell me, if I married you, I
should have a nigger to order round, just as I pleased?”

“Well, well,” said Cripps, who was not by any means a
cruelly-disposed man, “I did n't think you 'd want to go
walloping him, the first thing.”

“I will, if he don't shin round,” said the virago, “and
you, too!”

And this vigorous profession was further carried out by a

vigorous shove, which reäcted in Cripps in the form of a
cuff, and in a few moments the disgraceful scuffle was at
its full height. And Tiff turned in disgust and horror from
the house.

“O, good Lord!” he said to himself; “we does n't know
what 's 'fore us! And I 's feeling so bad when de Lord
took my por little man, and now I 's ready to go down on
my knees to thank de Lord dat he 's took him away from de
evil to come! To think of my por sweet lamb, Miss Fanny,
as I 's been bringing up so carful! Lord, dis yer 's a
heap worse dan de cholera!”

It was with great affliction and dismay that he saw the
children coming forward in high spirits, bearing between
them a basket of wild-grapes, which they had been gathering.
He ran out to meet them.

“Laws, yer por lambs,” he said, “yer does n't know
what 's a coming on you! Yer pa 's gone and married a
drefful low white woman, sich as an't fit for no Christian
children to speak to. And now dey 's quar'ling and
fighting in dere, like two heathens! And Miss Nina 's dead,
and dere an't no place for you to go!”

And the old man sat down and actually wept aloud, while
the children, frightened, got into his arms, and nestled close
to him for protection, crying too.

“What shall we do? what shall we do?” said Fanny.
And Teddy, who always repeated, reverentially, all his
sister's words, said, after her, in a deplorable whimper,
“What shall we do?”

“I 's a good mind to go off wid you in de wilderness,
like de chil'en of Israel,” said Tiff, “though dere an't no
manna falling nowadays.”

“Tiff, does marrying father make her our ma?” said
Fanny.

“No 'deed, Miss Fanny, it does n't! Yer ma was one
o' de fustest old Virginny families. It was jist throwing
herself 'way, marrying him! I neber said dat ar 'fore,
'cause it wan't 'spectful. But I don't care now!”

At this moment Cripps' voice was heard shouting:

“Hallo, you Tiff! Where is the durned nigger? I say,
come back! Poll and I 's made it up, now! Bring 'long
them children, and let them get acquainted with their
mammy,” he said, laying hold of Fanny's hand, and drawing
her, frightened and crying, towards the house.

“Don't you be afraid, child,” said Cripps; “I 've brought
you a new ma.”

“We did n't want any new ma!” said Teddy, in a dolorous
voice.

“O, yes, you do,” said Cripps, coaxing him. “Come
along, my little man! There 's your mammy,” he said,
pushing him into the fat embrace of Polly.

“Fanny, go kiss your ma.”

Fanny hung back and cried, and Teddy followed her
example.

“Confound the durn young 'uns!” said the new-married
lady. “I told you, Cripps, I did n't want no brats of
t' other woman's! Be plague enough when I get some of
my own!”