Harbert’s house on the Turner place was not far from the kitchen, and the kitchen itself was only a few feet removed from the big house; in fact, there was a covered passageway between them. From the back steps of the kitchen two pieces of hewn timber, half buried in the soil, led to Harbert’s steps, thus forming, as the negro called it, a wet-weather path, over which Mr. Turner’s children could run when the rest of the yard had been made muddy by the fall and winter rains.
Harbert’s house had two rooms and two fireplaces. One of the rooms was set apart for him and his wife, while the other was used as a weaving-room. In one Harbert used to sit at night and amuse the children with his reminiscences and his stories; in the other Aunt Crissy used to weave all day and sing, keeping time with the flying shuttle and the dancing slays1. The children might tire of their toys, their ponies2, and everything else, but they could always find something to interest them in Harbert’s house. There were few nights, especially during the winter, that did not find them seated by the negro’s white hearthstone. On special occasions they could hardly wait to finish supper before going out to see him. Sometimes they found Aunt Crissy there, and as she was fat and good-humored—not to say jolly—she was always a welcome guest, so far as the children were concerned. As for Harbert, it was all one to him whether Aunt Crissy was present or not. To use his own sententious phrase, she was welcome to come or she was welcome to stay away. Frequently Joe Maxwell would go and sit there with them, especially when he was feeling lonely and homesick.
One evening, in the early part of December, the children hurried through their supper of bread and butter and milk, and ran to Harbert’s house. Aunt Crissy was there, and her fat face and white teeth shone in the firelight as she sat smiling at the youngsters.
“I done got Chris’mas in my bones,” she was saying, as Wattie and Willie entered.
“Well, I ain’t g wine ter say dat,” said Har-bert, “kaze I’m dat ole dat I ain’t got no roo-mance in my bones fer nothin’ ’tall, ’ceppin’ ’tis de rheumatism3; yit dat don’t hender Chris’mas, an’ I ain’t makin’ no deniance but what hit’s in de a’r.”
“Now you er talkin’,” exclaimed Aunt Crissy, with unction. “You mos’ sholy is.”
There was a little pause, and then Harbert cried out:
“In de name er goodness, des lissen at dat!”
What was it? The wind, rising and falling, ebbing6 and flowing like the great waves of the sea, whistled under the eaves, and sighed mournfully over the chimney. But it was not the wind that Harbert heard. There was a sharp rattling8 on the shingles9 and a swift pattering at the windows. Harbert and Aunt Crissy looked at each other and then at the children.
“What is it?” asked Wattie, drawing a little closer to Harbert.
“Pshaw! I know what it is,” said Willie, “it’s sleet10.” Harbert shook his head gravely as he gazed in the fire.
“It mought be,” he said, “an’ den5 agin it moughtn’t. It mought be ole Sandy Claus sorter skirmishin’ roun’ an’ feelin’ his way.”
“Trufe, too,” said Aunt Crissy, falling in with the idea. “He moughtn’t want to skeer nobody, so he des let folks b’lieve tain’t nothin’ but sleet. Dey tells me dat ole man Sandy Claus is monstus slick.”
“He bleedze ter be slick,” remarked Har-bert, “kaze I bin7 livin’ yere, off an’ on, a mighty11 long time, an’ I ain’t saw ’im yit. An’ I let you know hit got ter be a mighty slick man dat kin4 dodge12 me all dis time. He got to be bofe slick an’ peart.”
“Yasser,” said Aunt Crissy, holding her apron13 up by the corner, and looking at it thoughtfully; “he slick fer true. He light ’pon top er de house same ez a jay-bird, an’ dey ain’t no scufflin’ when he slide down de chimberly.”
“Dey sez,” said Harbert, in a reminiscent way—“dey sez dat he rubs hisse’f wid goose-grease fer ter make he j’ints limber an’ loose; when he got dis yere grease on ’im dey can’t nobody ketch ’im, kaze he’d slip right out’n der han’s.”
“I speck14 dat’s so,” said Aunt Crissy, “kaze one time when I wuz livin’ wid Marse Willyum Henry an’ sleepin’ in de house in time er Chris’mas, I tuck’n he’p’d de chillun hang up der stockin’s. After dey all got ter bed, I sot by de fier a-noddin’. How long I sot dar I’ll never tell you, but all of a sudden I yeard a tumble racket. I gun a jump, I did, an’ open my eyes. De outside do’ wuz open, an’ stannin’ dar wuz one er Marse Willyum Henry’s houn’ dogs. He stood dar, he did, wid his bristles15 up, an’ dar in de middle er the flo’ wuz de ole cat. Her back wuz all bowed up, an’ her tail”—here Aunt Crissy paused and looked all around the room as if in search of something with which to compare the old cat’s tail—“I ain’t tellin’ you no lie; dat cat tail wuz bigger ’roun’ dan my arm!”
“An’ dat ain’t all.” Aunt Crissy closed her eyes and threw her head back, as if to add emphasis to what she was about to say. “Dat ain’t all—dem ar stockin’s wuz done fulled up wid goodies, an’ dey wuz done fulled up whilst I wuz a-settin’ right dar.” No style of type has yet been invented that would convey even a faint idea of the impressive tone in which Aunt Cissy made this startling announcement.
“Ole Sandy wuz gittin’ you in close quarters, mon,” exclaimed Harbert.
“Man, you er talkin’ now,” said Aunt Crissy. “I wuz settin’ right spang at de fier-place,” she went on, describing her position with appropriate gestures, “an’ I could er des retched out my han’—so—an’ totched de stock-in’s, an’ yit, ’spite er dat, ’long come ole Sandy Claus, whilst I wuz settin’ dar noddin’ an’ fulled um up. Dat des what he done. He come, he did, an’ fulled um up right fo’ my face. Ef my eyes had er des bin open I’d a seed ’im, an’ ef I’d a seed ’im, I’d a grabbed ’im right by de coat-tail. Yasser! I’d a grabbed ’im ef he’d a kyar’d me up de chimberly.”
Wattie and Willie listened open-mouthed, so intense was their interest; and so, it may be said, did Joe Maxwell. But now Willie spoke17:
“Suppose you had caught him, Aunt Crissy, what would you have done then?”
“Shoo, honey! I’d a helt him hard an’ fas’: I’d a rastled wid ’im, an’ when he’gun ter git de better un me, I’d a squalled out same ez one er dez yere wil’ cats. I’d a squalled so loud I’d a fair ’larmed de settlement.”
Aunt Crissy paused, folded her fat arms across her broad bosom18 and looked in the fire. Harbert, with a long pair of tongs19, as musical as those that Shakespeare wrote about, put the noses of the chunks20 together, and carefully placed a fat pine knot in the center. Then he leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Well,” said he, after a while, “I dunno ez I bin close to ole Sandy Claus as what you is, Sis Crissy, but I bin mighty close, an’ ’tain’t bin so mighty long ago needer. One night des ’fo’ Chris’mas I wuz gwine’long thoo de woods close by de Ward21 place. I wuz gwine’long, I wuz, sorter studyin’ wid myse’f ’bout whedder I ought ter hang up my stockin’s wid de res’ er de folks, when, fus news I know, look like I kin year de win’ blowin’. Hit soun’ so loud dat I stop right in my tracks an ax mysef what de name er goodness is de matter. I ain’t feel no win’ an’ I ain’t see no bush shakin’, but up dar in de top er de trees hit look like dey wuz a reg’lar hurrycane a blowin’. Man, sir! she fair roared up dar, yit I ain’t see no win’, an’ I ain’t see no bush a shakin’. Hit make me feel so quare dat ef a hick’y-nut had a drapped any-whar nigh me, I’d a broke an’ run fum dar like de Ole Boy wuz atter me. Hit make me feel so funny dat I ain’t know whedder it wuz ole man Harbert out dar, or some yuther nigger dat done got los’ in some new country. I stood dar, I did, en des waited fer sump’n ner ter happen, but bimeby de noise all quit, an’ de roarin’ died down, twel you could a yeard a pin drop. I kotch my bref, I did, an’ I’low ter myself dat all dat racket up in de a’r dar mus’ sholy a-bin ole Sandy Claus agwine sailin’ by. Dat what I had in my min’, yit I ain’t stop dar fer ter make no inquirements. I des put out, I did, an’ I went a polin’ home, an’ it make me feel mighty good when I got dar.”
The children visited Harbert’s house every night for several nights before Christmas, but somehow they didn’t seem to enjoy themselves. Harbert was so busy with one thing and another that they felt themselves in the way. They had the ardor22 and the hope of childhood, however, and they continued their visits with persistent23 regularity24. They were very patient, comparatively speaking, and their patience was finally rewarded.
The night before Christmas, when their interests and expectations were on the point of culmination25, they found Harbert sitting in front of the fire, his head thrown back and his hands folded in his lap; and before the little ones could fix themselves comfortably, Aunt Crissy walked in and flung herself into a chair.
“Whoo-ee!” she exclaimed. “I’m dat tired dat I can’t skacely drag one foot ’fo’ de yuther. Look like I bin on my feet mighty nigh a mont’, dat it do, an’ I’m dat stiff, I feel like some er my lim’s gwine ter break in two. Dey ain’t nothin’ on dis plantation26 dat I ain’t had my han’s in, ’specially ef it’s work. It’s Crissy yere, an Crissy dar, de whole blessed time, an’ I dun’ ner what de lazy niggers’roun’ yere would do ef Crissy wuz to take a notion ter peg27 out. Mistiss got old Charity in de kitchin’ dar a-cookin’ an’ a-growlin’, but when dey’s any nice cookin’ ter be done, Crissy got ter go an’ do it. I wouldn’t mind it so much,” Aunt Crissy went on, “ef dem yuther niggers’d do like dey tuck some intruss in what’s gwine on, but you know yo’se’f, Brer Harbert, how no’count dey is.”
“Ah, Lord! you nee’nt ter tell me, Sis Crissy, I know um; I know um all. An’ yit dey’ll all be scrougin’ one ane’r ’fo’ day arter termorrow mornin’ fer ter see which gwine ter be de fus fer ter holler Chris’mas gif’ at marster an’ mistiss. Now you watch um! dey’ll all be dar, an’ dey ain’t none un um skacely yearned28 der salt. I’m mighty nigh run down. Dis mornin’ de stock in de lot wuz a hollerin’ fer der feed, an’ it wuz broad daylight at dat. Den dar wuz de milkin’: hit wuz atter sun-up ’fo’ dat Marthy Ann got ter de cow-pen. Dat gal29 blood kin ter you, Sis Crissy, but I done laid de law down; I done tole’er dat de nex’ time she come creepin’ out dat late, I wuz gwine to whirl in an’ gi’ ’er a frailin’, an’ I’m gwine to do it ef de Lord spar’s me.”
“Nummine’bout no kinnery, Brer Harbert,” said Aunt Crissy, with emphasis. “You des git you a brush an’ wa’r dat gal out. She new han’ wid de cows, but tooby sho’ she kin git out ’fo’ sun-up.”
“I’m mighty glad,” Harbert remarked, glancing at the children, who were not at all interested in the “worriments” of those faithful negroes—“I’m mighty glad dat Chris’mas is so nigh. De corn done in de crib, de fodder30 in de barn, de cotton’n de gin-house, de hogs31 done kilt an’ put up, an’ ef Charity ain’t might’ly behindhand de turkey done in de pot. Dat bein’ de case, what mo’ kin we ax, ’ceptin’ we git down yere on de flo’ an’ ax a blessin’?”
“Trufe, too!” exclaimed Aunt Crissy. “I ain’t quollin’, but dem niggers is so owdacious lazy dat dey keeps me pestered32.”
“Yasser!” continued Harbert, “de signs all look like deyer right. When I sets right flat down an’ run it all over, hit make me feel so good dat I got a great mine fer ter hang up my sock right dar side er de chimbly-jam, an’ set up yere an’ watch fer ter see ole Sandy Claus come a-slidin’ down. Ef his foot wuz ter slip, an’ he wuz ter drap down on dat pot-rack dar, I lay he’d wake up de whole plantation. My sock ain’t so mighty long in de leg,” Harbert went on, reflectively, “but she mighty big in de foot, an’ ef ole Sandy Claus wuz ter take a notion fer ter fill’er plum up, she’d lighten his wallet might’ly.”
“Did you ever hang up your stockings, Harbert?” asked Willie.
“Why, tooby sho’ honey,” replied the negro, laughing. “I bin hang um up way back yander ’fo’ you wuz born’d. An’ I used ter git goodies in um, too. Lord! dem wuz times, sho’ nuff. I used ter git goodies in um dem days, but now I speck I wouldn’t git so much ez a piece er ’lasses candy. But, nummine’bout dat! I’ll des take en hang um up dis night, an’ I’ll be mighty glad ef I git a slishe er cracklin’ bread. Dat kinder bread good nuff for me, ’specially when it right fresh.”
“Man, don’t talk!” exclaimed Aunt Crissy. “Look like I kin in about tas’e it now!”
“Aunt Crissy, are you going to hang up your stockings?” asked Wattie.
“Bless yo’ soul, honey! I mos’ got in de notion un it. Ef ’twan’t dat I’m a sleepin’ up in old Granny Chaney house fer ter sorter keep’er comp’ny, I speck I would hang um up. But dey tells me dat ’twon’t do no good ef you hang up yo’ stockin’s in some un else house. ‘Sides dat, ole Granny Chaney so restless dat she’d in about skeer old Sandy Claus off ef he ’uz to start ter come. I’m a tellin’ you de trufe, Brer Harbert, dat ole creetur done got so dat she don’t skacely close’er eyes fer sleep de whole blessed night. She take so many naps endurin’ ’er de day, dat when night come she des ez wakeful ez dat ole black cat what stay up dar at de barn.”
“Dat ole’oman gittin’ ole, mon,” said Har-bert. “She wuz done grown an’ had chillun when I wuz little baby. She lots older dan what I is, an’ I ain’t no chicken myse’f. I speck ef she ’uz ter go back an’ count up ’er Chris-’mases, she done seed mighty nigh ez many ez what ole Sandy Claus is.”
“Well,” said Aunt Crissy, changing the subject, “I ain’t gwine hang up no stockin’, kaze I speck dat whatsomever ole Sandy Claus got fer me, he’ll drap it som’rs in de big house, an’ when I holler at marster an’ mistiss in de morn-in’, dey’ll fetch it out.”
“Dat’s so,” said Harbert. “Yit I got a mighty good notion fer ter hang up mine an’ take de resk. But I’d a heap ruther git sumpin’ dat’s too big fer ter go in um.”
“Well, we are going to hang up our stockings,” said Willie. “I’m going to hang up both of mine, and Wattie says she’s going to hang up both of hers.”
“Dat’s right, honey; an’ if dat ain’t ’nuff’ whirl in an’ hang up a meal-sack. I done bin year tell ’fo’ now ’bout folks what hang up great big bags stidder der stocking. Whedder dey got any mo’ dan t’er folks is mo’ dan I kin tell you.”
“Harbert,” said Wattie, “do you reckon we’ll git anything at all?”
“Oh, I speck so,” said the negro. “I ain’t year talk er you bein’ so mighty bad dis long time. You cuts up scan’lous sometimes, but it’s kaze yo’ buddy33 dar pesters34 you.”
This suggestion made Willie so angry that he threatened to go back to the big house and go to bed, and he would have gone but for a remark made by Aunt Crissy—a remark that made him forget his anger.
“Dey tells me,” said Aunt Crissy, in a sub-dued tone, “dat de cows know when Chris’mas come, an’ many’s de time I year my mammy say dat when twelve o’clock come on Chris’mas-eve night, de cows gits down on der knees in de lot an’ stays dat-away some little time. Ef anybody else had er tole me dat I’d a des hooted35 at um, but, mammy, she say she done seed um do it. I ain’t never seed um do it myse’f, but mammy say she seed um.”
“I bin year talk er dat myse’f,” said Harbert, reverently36, “an’ dey tells me dat de cattle gits down an’ prays bekaze dat’s de time when de Lord an’ Saviour37 wuz born’d.”
“Now, don’t dat beat all!” exclaimed Aunt Crissy. “Ef de dumb creeturs kin say der pra’rs, I dunner what folks ought ter be doin’.”
“An’ dar’s de chickens,” Harbert went on—“look like dey know der’s sump’n up. Dis ve’y night I year de roosters crowin’ fo’ sev’n o’clock. I year tell dat dey crows so soon in sign dat Peter made deniance un his Lord an’ Marster.”
“I speck dat’s so,” said Aunt Crissy.
“Hit bleedze ter be so,” responded the old man with the emphasis that comes from conviction.
Then he intimated that it was time for the children to go to bed if they wanted to get up early the next morning to see what Sandy Claus had brought. This was a suggestion the youngsters could appreciate, and they scrambled38 out of the door and went racing39 to the big house.
Before sunrise the plantation was in a stir. The negroes, rigged out in their Sunday clothes, were laughing, singing, wrestling, and playing. The mules40 and horses having been fed and turned in the pasture for a holiday, were capering41 about; the cows were lowing in a satisfied manner, the dogs were barking, the geese screaming, the turkeys “yelping” and gobbling, and the chickens cackling. A venerable billy-goat, with a patriarchal beard and the rings of many summers marked on his broad and crumpled42 horns, had marched up one of the long arms of the packing-screw and was now perched motionless on the very pinnacle43 of that quaint44 structure, making a picturesque45 addition to the landscape, as he stood outlined against the reddening eastern sky.
Willie and Wattie were up so early that they had to feel for their stockings in the dark, and their exclamations46 of delight, when they found them well filled, aroused the rest of the household. By the time breakfast was over the negroes were all assembled in the yard, and they seemed to be as happy as the children, as their laughter and their antics testified. Towering above them all was Big Sam, a giant in size and a child in disposition47. He was noted48 for miles around for his feats49 of strength. He could shoulder a bale of cotton weighing five hundred pounds, and place it on a wagon50; and though he was proud of his ability in this direction, he was not too proud to be the leader in all the frolics. He was even fuller of laughter and good-humor than his comrades, and on this particular morning, while the negroes were waiting for the usual Christmas developments, Big Sam, his eyes glistening51 and his white teeth shining, struck up the melody of a plantation play-song, and in a few minutes the dusky crowd had arranged itself in groups, each and all joining in the song. No musical director ever had a more melodious52 chorus than that which followed the leadership of Big Sam. It was not a trained chorus, to be sure, but the melody that it gave to the winds of the morning was freighted with a quality indescribably touching53 and tender.
“Chris’mas gif, marster! Chris’mas gif!” and then, a moment later, there was a cry of “Chris’mas gif, mistiss!”
“Where is Harbert?” inquired Mr. Turner, waving his hand and smiling.
“Here me, marster!” exclaimed Harbert, coming forward from one of the groups.
“Why, you haven’t been playing, have you?”
“I bin tryin’ my han’, suh, an’ I monst’ us glad you come out, kaze I ain’t nimble like I useter wuz. Dey got me in de middle er dat ring dar, an’ I couldn’t git out nohow.”
“Here are the store-room keys. Go and open the door, and I will be there directly.”
It was a lively crowd that gathered around the wide door of the store-room. For each of the older ones there was a stiff dram apiece, and for all, both old and young, there was a present of some kind. The presents were of a substantial character, too. Those who had made crops of their own found a profitable market right at their master’s door. Some of them had made as much as two bales of cotton on the land they were permitted to cultivate, while others had made good crops of corn—all of which was bought by their master.
Then the big six-mule wagon was brought into service, and into this was packed the horse-collars, made of shucks and wahoo-bark, the baskets, the foot-mats, the brooms, the walking-canes, and the axe-helves, that were to find a market in the town nine miles away.
In spite of the war, it was a happy time, and Joe Maxwell was as happy as any of the rest.
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1
slays
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的第三人称单数 ) | |
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ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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6
ebbing
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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fodder
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| n.草料；炮灰 | |
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hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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pestered
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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buddy
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| n.（美口）密友，伙伴 | |
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pesters
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的第三人称单数 ) | |
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hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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41
capering
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的现在分词 )；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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42
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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43
pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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46
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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50
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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51
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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52
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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53
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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