"'Twon't be long 'fore we'll all hafto go to school," remarked Frances, "and I'll be mighty sorry; I wish we didn't ever hafto go to any old school."

"I wisht we knowed how to read an' write when we's born," said Billy.

"If I was G.o.d I'd make all my babies so's they is already eddicated when they gits born. Reckon if we'd pray evy night an' ask G.o.d, He'd learn them babies what He's makin' on now how to read an' write?"

"I don' care nothing at all 'bout them babies," put in Jimmy, "'tain't going to do us no good if all the new babies what Doctor Sanford finds can read and write; it'd jes' make 'em the sa.s.siest things ever was.

'Sides, I got plenty things to ask G.o.d for 'thout fooling long other folks' brats, and I ain't going to meddle with G.o.d's business nohow."

"Did you all hear what Miss Larrimore, who teaches the little children at school, said about us?" asked Lina importantly.

"Naw," they chorused, "what was it?"

"She told the Super'ntendent," was the reply of Lina, pleased with herself and with that big word, "that she would have to have more money next year, for she heard that Lina Hamilton, Frances Black, William Hill, and Jimmy Garner were all coming to school, and she said we were the most notorious bad children in town."

"She is the spitefullest woman they is," Jimmy's black eyes snapped; "she 'bout the meddlesomest teacher in that school."

"Who telled you 'bout it, Lina?" questioned the other little girl.

"The Super'ntendent told his wife and you know how some ladies are,--they just can't keep a secret. Now it is just like burying it to tell mother anything; she never tells anybody but father, and grandmother, and grandfather, and Uncle Ed, and Brother Johnson, and she makes them promise never to breathe it to a living soul. But the Super'ntendent's wife is different; she tells ever'thing she hears, and now everybody knows what that teacher said about us."

"Everybody says she is the crankiest teacher they is," cried Jimmy, "she won't let you bring nothing to school 'cepting your books; you can't even take your slingshot, nor your air-gun, nor--"

"Nor your dolls," chimed in Frances, "and she won't let you bat your eye, nor say a word, nor cross your legs, nor blow your nose."

"What do she think we's goin' to her of school fer if we can't have fun?" asked Billy. "Tabernicle sho' had fun when he went to school. He put a pin in the teacher's chair an' she set down on it plumb up to the head, an' he tie the strings together what two n.i.g.g.e.r gals had they hair wropped with, an' he squoze up a little boy's legs in front of him with a rooster foot tell he squalled out loud, an' he th'owed spitb.a.l.l.s, an'

he make him some watermelon teeth, an' he paint a chicken light red an'

tuck it to the teacher fer a dodo, an' he put cotton in his pants 'fore he got licked, an' he drawed the teacher on a slate. That's what you go to school fer is to have fun, an' I sho' is goin' to have fun when I goes, an' I ain't goin' to take no bulldozin' offer her, neither."

"I bet we can squelch her," cried Frances, vindictively.

"Yes, we'll show her a thing or two"--for once Jimmy agreed with her, "she 'bout the b.u.t.t-in-est old woman they is, and she's going to find out we 'bout the squelchingest kids ever she tackle."

"Alfred Gage went to school to her last year," said Frances, "and he can read and write."

"Yes," joined in Jimmy, "and he 'bout the proudest boy they is; all time got to write his name all over everything."

"You 'member 'bout last Communion Sunday," went on the little girl, "when they hand roun' the little envellups and telled all the folks what was willing to give five dollars more on the pastor's sal'y just to write his name; so Alfred he so frisky 'cause he know how to write; so he tooken one of the little envellups and wroten 'Alfred Gage' on it; so when his papa find out 'bout it he say that kid got to work and pay that five dollars hi'self, 'cause he done sign his name to it."

"And if he ain't 'bout the sickest kid they is," declared Jimmy; "I'll betcher he won't get fresh no more soon. He telled me the other day he ain't had a drink of soda water this summer, 'cause every nickel he gets got to go to Mr. Pastor's sal'ry; he says he plumb tired supporting Brother Johnson and all his family; and, he say, every time he go up town he sees Johnny Johnson a-setting on a stool in Baltzer's drug store just a-swigging milk-shakes; he says he going to knock him off some day 'cause it's his nickels that kid's a-spending."

There was a short silence, broken by Billy, who remarked, apropos of nothing:

"I sho' is glad I don't hafter be a 'oman when I puts on long pants, mens is heap mo' account."

"I wouldn't be a woman for nothing at all," Jimmy fully agreed with him; "they have the pokiest time they is."

"I'm glad I am going to be a young lady when I grow up," Lina declared, "I wouldn't be a gentleman for anything. I'm going to wear pretty clothes and be beautiful and be a belle like mother was, and have lots of lovers kneel at my feet on one knee and play the guitar with the other."

"How they goin' to play the guitar with they other knee?" asked the practical Billy.

"And sing 'Call Me Thine Own,'" she continued, ignoring his interruption. "Father got on his knees to mother thirty-seven-and-a-half times before she'd say, 'I will."'

"Look like he'd 'a' wore his breeches out," said Billy.

"I don't want to be a lady," declared Frances; "they can't ever ride straddle nor climb a tree, and they got to squinch up their waists and toes. I wish I could kiss my elbow right now and turn to a boy."

CHAPTER XXVI

UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER

"They's going to be a big n.i.g.g.e.r 'scursion to Memphis at 'leven o'clock," said Jimmy as he met the other little boy at the dividing fence; "Sam Lamb's going and 'most all the n.i.g.g.e.rs they is. Sarah Jane 'lowed she's going, but she ain't got n.o.body to 'tend to Bennie d.i.c.k.

Wouldn't you like to go, Billy?"

"You can't go 'thout you's a n.i.g.g.e.r," was the reply; "Sam Lamb say they ain't no white folks 'lowed on this train 'cepin' the engineer an'

conductor."

"Sam Lamb'd take care of us if we could go," continued Jimmy. "Let's slip off and go down to the depot and see the n.i.g.g.e.rs get on. There'll be 'bout a million."

Billy's eyes sparkled with appreciation.

"I sho' wish I could," he said; "but Aunt Minerva'd make me stay in bed a whole week if I want near the railroad."

"My mama 'd gimme 'bout a million licks, too, if I projeckted with a n.i.g.g.e.r 'scursion she 'bout the spankingest woman they is. My papa put some burnt cork on his face in the Knights er Pythi's minstrels and I know where we can get some to make us black; you go get Miss Minerva's ink bottle too, that'll help some, and get some matches, and I'll go get the cork and we can go to Sarah Jane's house and make usselfs black."

"I ain't never promise not to black up and go down to the depot," said Billy waveringly. "I promise not to never be no mo' Injun--I--"

"Well, run then," Jimmy interrupted impatiently. "We'll just slip down to the railroad and take a look at the n.i.g.g.e.rs. You don't hafto get on the train just 'cause you down to the depot."

So Miss Minerva's nephew, after tiptoeing into the house for her ink bottle and filling his pockets with contraband matches, met his chum at the cabin. There, under the critical survey of Bennie d.i.c.k from his customary place on the floor, they darkened their faces, heads, hands, feet, and legs; then, pulling their caps over their eyes, these energetic little boys stole out of the back gate and fairly flew down an alley to the station. No one noticed them in that hot, perspiring, black crowd. A lively band was playing and the mob of good-humored, happy negroes, dressed in their Sunday best, laughing and joking, pushing and elbowing, made their way to the excursion train standing on the track.

The two excited children got directly behind a broad, pompous negro and slipped on the car just after him. Fortunately they found a seat in the rear of the coach and there they sat un.o.bserved, still and quiet, except for an occasional delighted giggle, till the bell clanged and the train started off. "We'll see Sam Lamb toreckly," whispered Jimmy, "and he'll take care of us."

The train was made up of seven coaches, which had been taking on negroes at every station up the road as far as Paducah, and it happened that the two little boys did not know a soul in their car.

But when they were nearing Woodstock, a little station not far from Memphis, Sam Lamb, making a tour of the cars, came into their coach and was promptly hailed by the children. When he recognized them, he burst into such a roar of laughter that it caused all the other pa.s.sengers to turn around and look in their direction.

"What y' all gwine to do nex' I jes' wonder," he exclaimed. "Yo' ekals ain't made dis side o' 'ternity. Lordee, Lordee," he gazed at them admiringly, "you sho' is genoowine corn-fed, sterlin' silver, all-woolan'-a-yard-wide, pure-leaf, Green-River Lollapaloosas. Does yo'

folks know 'bout yer? Lordee! What I axin' sech a fool question fer?

'Course dey don't. Come on, I gwine to take y' all off 'n dese cars right here at dis Woodstock, an' we kin ketch de 'commodation back home."

"But Sam," protested Billy, "We don't want to go back home. We wants to go to Memphis."

"Hit don't matter what y' all wants," was the negro's reply, "y' all gotta git right off. Dis-here 'scursion train don't leave Memphis twell twelve o'clock tonight an' yuh see how slow she am runnin', and ev'y no 'count n.i.g.g.e.r on her'll be full o' red eye. An' yo' folks is plumb 'stracted 'bout yer dis minute, I 'low. Come on. She am gittin' ready to stop."

He grabbed the blackened hand of each, pushing Jimmy and pulling Billy, and towed the reluctant little boys through the coach.