Bypaths In Dixie Part 22

XVI

MISTER TALL PINE'S CHRISTMAS TREE

"Mammy, I wanter telephone Santy Claus," fretted Willis, seeking excuse to leave the nursery.

"Nor, he done gone erway fum home ter hunt up whar de good chilluns stays at," as she moved about putting the room to rights; "you an' Ma'y Van fix dat lit'le Chrismus tree ov'r yond'r fur Ma'y Van's dolls, an' you be ole man Sandy."

"I got ter telephone Santy Claus about little Leonora--he don't know she's come," insisted Willis.

"I dunno whut's de rees'n--he brung her hisse'f dis mawnin'," still moving briskly about.

"I got to telephone Santy what to bring her," he persisted.

"Dat baby ain' got her eyes op'n yit."

"Yes, she has, Mammy," and Mary Van crossed the room and looked into Phyllis's face, "they're big brown ones, 'caus I went over to Uncle Hugh's house and looked at 'em good m'self."

"Well, I doan keer nuthin' tall 'bout dat, Sandy Claus say she too lit'le fur him ter fool wid yit."

Mary Van turned to Willis, "Less us fix this tree for little Leonora."

"No, I'm got to telephone to Santy Claus." He clung to the k.n.o.b of the locked door.

"Well, ef yer 'bleege ter pa.s.s er wurd wid 'im, holl'r up de chimbly--he settin' up dar lis'nin' ter see ef you'se er good boy."

"No, I want to go downstairs and see my mama!" and he kicked violently against the door.

Instead of coercing him, Phyllis took her seat by the fire, and placing her elbows upon her knees, spoke with her face towards the chimney: "Suh?"

pausing a moment to listen; "yas, suh--yas, suh, dat's Willis, but he ain'

no bad chile,--yas, suh, dat's him kickin' 'gainst de do', but he jes'

playin' foot ball wid hit--nor, suh, Willis ain' bad, he's de bes' boy in dis town."

Immediately both children were climbing into her lap asking and answering their own questions. "Lawdy mussy 'pon me! Set down like fokes--whut's dem lit'le cheers fur?" They, however, seated themselves upon the rug, and pulled her down with them so as to be more convenient for further chimney discourse.

"Mammy, did he say he was going to bring my drum, an' billy goat wagon, an'--"

"An' my dolly with long hair that can talk, an' my--"

"He say," she interrupted quietly, "he gwine bring yer all dem things you done writ erbout, ef yer be's good chillun. De speshul news he giv' me den, is 'bout de beastes; an' creeters' Crismus tree. He say Tall Pine gwine be de Crismus tree, an' Mist'r Race Hoss gwine read out de names on de pres'nts."

"Mammy, can Mist'r Race Hoss climb up Tall Pine Tree?"

"Whut he hatt'r clime hit fur? Ain't Mist'r Wile Cat dar ter scale de tree an' ain' Doct'r p.e.c.k.e.rwood settin' up dar wid his doct'r sissors, jes'

waitin' ter clip de strings?"

"But Mister Wild Cat might eat up Doctor p.e.c.k.e.rwood," said Mary Van, distrustfully.

"Honey, Mist'r Wile Cat's like er heap er slick fokes in de woel--he'll wurk pow'ful good an' squar' long es he know fokes watchin' 'im. All de beastes an' creeturs come ter de tree--an' I tell yer dar wus er Crismus gif' fur all de good ones."

"Mister Rattlesnake didn't get any, did he?" asked Mary Van.

"Rattlesnake say Decemb'r too late fur him ter be settin' up, an' he say he'd ruth'r sleep dan go ter enny ole Crismus tree ennyhow."

"Tishy Peafowl was too bad, too, wasn't she, Mammy?" Mary Van remembered the bad ones.

"You slip up right dar, yas, mam, you is, fur Tishy done got 'ligion an'

jine de church."

"Did her pretty feathers grow out again?"

"No, mam! sin done eat 'em out by de roots, but de Lawd hang er mouty prutty fe'th'r coll'r on de tree fur her, jes' ter show Tish he know she tryin'."

"And Tishy never was bad any more," a.s.sisted Willis.

"Dat she wus, sin ketch'd up wid her er heap er times, but she recoleck 'bout de col'r, an' fight de bes' she kin, an' de Lawd doan ax fur no mo'."

"Was Jack Donkey too bad to come?"

"Jack Donkey wusn't no wusser'n er heap uv 'em dat gits ter Crismus trees.

Jack he writ'n an' ax Sandy ter bring him er fine kiv'r so fokes can't fine out he's er donkey. Sandy, he sen' him de kiv'r wid all sort er fine doin's on hit, but whin Cap'n Goat fling hit on Jack, dar wus his b'hime legs prancin' erbout, an' his long ye'rs still er stickin' out. Cap'n Goat, he pull an' pull ter stretch de kiv'r, but hit won't stretch, den de Cap'n tell him, 'Jack,' sez he, 'long es you keeps dem b'hime foots wurkin' like you does, an' dem long ye'rs gwine ev'y which er way, yer mout jes' es well call yo'se'f donkey, 'caze no kiv'r ain' gwine stretch big nuf ter hide dem p'ints.'"

Willis pushed her knee: "Give Cap'n Yellow Jacket and Cap'n Hornet something nice 'cause old Grab-All got all their cider,--they didn't do anything bad."

"Lawdy, boy, dem fokes done kilt one nuth'r long ergo. Doan yer 'memb'r?

But der wid'rs got ax ter come, an' dey nev'r went, 'caze Grab-All Spid'r tryin' ter dance 'tendance fus' on one, den tuth'r uv 'em."

"Don't let old Grab-All get any present."

"Lawsee, I mos' fergit ter tell yer 'bout de axdent dat hap'n ter ole Grab-All, whin he come er sneakin' up de side er Mist'r Tall Pine. Ya.s.suh, Mist'r Wile Cat an' Doct'r Peck'rwood tryin' ter handle dat buckit er hot cowpeas an' pot licker fur Sis' Cow, whin de whole thing slip an' come down _blump_, on ole Grab-All."

"Did it kill him?"

"Nor, dorter, he too mean ter die, but dat's whut he got off'n de Crismus tree."

"Didn't Sis' Cow get some more peas?" asked Willis.

"Nor, she say her an' Brer Dur'am 'ud jes' lick up whut dey cud off'n de groun'. Sis' Cow say she willin' ter lose de peas jes' ter see ole Grab-All git fixt. I tell yer de tree lookin' mouty fine by de time ole Crismus night come. Yer see de beastes hatt'r have der doin's on ole Crismus night."

"What's Old Christmas?"

"I donno whut 'tis, son, 'cep'n I allus heah dat twelve days atter Crismus, 'zackly at twelve erclock in de night time, all de beastes an'

creeturs falls on der knees an' glorifies de Lawd,--an' I allus heahs fokes call hit 'Ole Crismus.'"

"Birds can't kneel, Mammy Phyllis," announced Mary Van.