Iola Leroy by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (books you need to read .txt) 📕

than the white people. I don’t believe, if we had the power, we would do any more lynching, burning, and murdering than they do.”

“Dat’s so,” said Aunt Linda, “it’s ralely orful how our folks hab been murdered sence de war. But I don’t think dese young folks is goin’ ter take things as we’s allers done.”

“We war cowed down from the beginnin’,” said Uncle Daniel, “but dese young folks ain’t comin’ up dat way.”

“No,” said Salters, “fer one night arter some ob our pore people had been killed, an’ some ob our women had run’d away ’bout seventeen miles, my gran’son, looking me squar in de face, said: ‘Ain’t you got five fingers? Can’t you pull a trigger as well as a white man?’ I tell yer, Cap, dat jis’ got to me, an’ I made up my mine dat my boy should neber call me a coward.”

“It is not to be expected,” said Robert, “that these young people are going to put up with things as we did, when we weren’t permitted to hold a meeting by ourselves, or to own a club or learn to read.”

“I tried,” said Salters, “to git a little out’er de book wen I war in de army. On Sundays I sometimes takes a book an’ tries to make out de words, but my eyes is gittin’ dim an’ de letters all run togedder, an’ I gits sleepy, an’ ef yer wants to put me to sleep jis’ put a book in my han’. But wen it comes to gittin’ out a stan’ ob cotton, an’ plantin’ corn, I’se dere all de time. But dat gran’son ob mine is smart as a steel trap. I specs he’ll be a preacher.”

Salters looked admiringly at his grandson, who sat grinning in the corner, munching a pear he had brought from the table.

“Yes,” said Aunt Linda, “his fadder war killed by the Secesh, one night, comin’ home from a politic meetin’, an’ his pore mudder died a few weeks arter, an’ we mean to make a man ob him.”

“He’s got to larn to work fust,” said Salters, “an’ den ef he’s right smart I’se gwine ter sen’ him ter college. An’ ef he can’t get a libin’ one way, he kin de oder.”

“Yes,” said Iola, “I hope he will turn out an excellent young man, for the greatest need of the race is noble, earnest men, and true women.”

“Job,” said Salters, turning to his grandson, “tell Jake ter hitch up de mules, an’ you stay dere an’ help him. We’s all gwine ter de big meetin’. Yore grandma hab set her heart on goin’, an’ it’ll be de same as a spell ob sickness ef she don’t hab a chance to show her bes’ bib an’ tucker. That ole gal’s as proud as a peacock.”

“Now, John Salters,” exclaimed Aunt Linda, “ain’t you ’shamed ob yourself? Allers tryin’ to poke fun at yer pore wife. Never mine; wait till I’se gone, an’ you’ll miss me.”

“Ef I war single,” said Salters, “I could git a putty young gal, but it wouldn’t be so easy wid you.”

“Why not?” said Iola, smiling.

“ ’Cause young men don’t want ole hens, an’ ole men want young pullets,” was Salter’s reply.

“Robby, honey,” said Aunt Linda, “when you gits a wife, don’t treat her like dat man treats me.”

“Oh, his head’s level,” answered Robert; “at least it was in the army.”

“Dat’s jis’ de way; you see dat, Miss Iola? One man takin’ up for de oder. But I’ll be eben wid you bof. I must go now an’ git ready.”

Iola laughed. The homely enjoyment of that evening was very welcome to her after the trying scenes through which she had passed. Further conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the wagon, drawn by two fine mules. John Salters stopped joking his wife to admire his mules.

“Jis’ look at dem,” he said. “Ain’t dey beauties? I bought ’em out ob my bounty-money. Arter de war war ober I had a little money, an’ I war gwine ter rent a plantation on sheers an’ git out a good stan’ ob cotton. Cotton war bringin’ orful high prices den, but Lindy said to me, ‘Now, John, you’se got a lot ob money, an’ you’d better salt it down. I’d ruther lib on a little piece ob lan’ ob my own dan a big piece ob somebody else’s. Well, I says to Lindy, I dun know nuthin’ ’bout buyin’ lan’, an’ I’se ’fraid arter I’se done buyed it an’ put all de marrer ob dese bones in it, dat somebody’s far-off cousin will come an’ say de title ain’t good, an’ I’ll lose it all.”

“You’re right thar, John,” said Uncle Daniel. “White man’s so unsartain, black man’s nebber safe.”

“But somehow,” continued Salters, “Lindy warn’t satisfied wid rentin’, so I buyed a piece ob lan’, an’ I’se glad now I’se got it. Lindy’s got a lot ob gumption; knows most as much as a man. She ain’t got dat long head fer nuffin. She’s got lots ob sense, but I don’t like to tell her so.”

“Why not?” asked Iola. “Do you think it would make her feel too happy?”

“Well, it don’t do ter tell you women how much we thinks ob you. It sets you up too much. Ole Gundover’s overseer war my marster, an’ he used ter lib in dis bery house. I’se fixed it up sence I’se got it. Now I’se better off dan he is, ’cause he tuck to drink, an’ all his frens is gone, an’ he’s in de pore-house.”

Just then Linda came to the door with her baskets.

“Now, Lindy, ain’t you ready yet? Do hurry up.”

“Yes, I’se ready, but things wouldn’t go right ef you didn’t hurry me.”

“Well, put your chicken fixins an’ cake right in yere. Captin, you’ll ride wid me, an’ de young lady an’ my ole woman’ll take de back seat. Uncle Dan’el, dere’s room for you ef you’ll go.”

“No, I thank you. It’s time fer ole folks to go to bed. Good