THE WATERMELON STOCKINGS
BY ALICE CALDWELL HEGAN
(Author of "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch")
"Jes' look at dat ornery little nigger!" exclaimed Aunt Melvy, as shedeposited a basket of clothes on the cabin floor. "I lef her to cleanup, an' to put de 'taters on to bile, an' to shoo de flies offen detwinses, an' I wisht you 'd look at her!"
Nell Tracy, who had come down with Aunt Melvy from the big house on thehill, viewed the culprit ruefully. 'Mazin' Grace was Aunt Melvy's eighthdaughter, and had been named for her mother's favorite hymn, which began"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound." She was very short and very fat,and her kinky hair was plaited into ten tight pigtails, each of whichwas bound with a piece of leather shoe-string. At present she sat withher back propped against the door, her mouth wide open, and sleptpeacefully while the flood of her mother's wrath passed over her.
"'MAZIN' GRACE SLEPT PEACEFULLY."]
"Oh, but, Aunt Melvy, won't you please let her come?" begged Nell,throwing off her sun-bonnet and letting down a tangle of yellow curls."I have n't got anybody to play with me. Mother drove to town withfather, and she said I was to get 'Mazin' Grace to stay with me."
"Why, I'se gwine to let her come, honey," said Aunt Melvy, "co'se I is.I wouldn't mek you cry fer nothin'! Only, I'se gwine to whup her fust.She ain't 'sponsible on her word, dat's what's de matter wid her. Shedone 'low to me she would n't wink her eyeball while I was gone. Whatyou think I ketch her doin' one time?" Aunt Melvy's voice sank to awhisper. "She sewed, on a Sunday! She knowed as well as me dat w'en shegits to heben she'll hab to pick out ebery one ob dem stitches wid hernose."
Nell looked at the sleeper's round pug-nose and wondered how she wouldever be able to do it. But it was no use thinking of the punishment inthe next world, when an immediate whipping was promised in this;consequently she turned the whole battery of her eloquence upon AuntMelvy, who in the end gave in.
"'AND I AM GOING TO WEAR THE WATERMELON STOCKINGS,' CRIEDNELL."]
Ten minutes later the two little playmates were skipping down the avenueunder the shady old beech-trees where their fathers had playedtogether in the long ago.
"Is yer maw gwine lemme tek you to de Christian an' Debil Society?"asked 'Mazin' Grace, as they skirted the house, and made their way intothe back yard.
"Yes," cried Nell, gleefully, "and I am going to wear the watermelonstockings!"
If 'Mazin' Grace had not been so black, a cloud might have been seenpassing over her face. She was the sharer of all Nell's woes, and of allbut one of her joys. The exception was the possession of the watermelonstockings.
These were a sort of heirloom among the children of the family, and wereregarded with reverence and pride. They were of a peculiar shade of pinksilk, with clockwork up the sides and sprays of white flowersembroidered over the instep. A long time ago they had belonged to CousinMary, who was quite a big girl now, and she had sent them to UncleRobert's boy up in Ohio. He learned to waltz in them, and in time sentthem to little Agnes in Virginia, who wore them for a year on stateoccasions, then sent them back to Kentucky to little Cousin Nell.
If ever a tempted soul longed for a forbidden treasure, 'Mazin' Gracelonged for the watermelon stockings. "Effen they was mine, I'd give youone anyways," she argued with Nell, but to no avail.
In the back yard stood a big old chicken-coop, which had been cleanedout and nicely whitewashed for the children to use as a play-house. Ithad an upstairs and a downstairs, and a square little door that fastenedon the outside with a wooden peg. Nell could climb in easily; but'Mazin' Grace was too fat, and after many efforts she had given up,contenting herself with watching the play from outside.
To-day a doll funeral was in progress, and Nell, moving comfortablyabout inside the coop, arranged the broken bits of china in a spool-box,tied a sweeping piece of crape on her biggest doll, and allowed herimagination full swing in depicting the grief of the doll family.
'Mazin' Grace, sitting under the apple-tree outside, took littleinterest in the proceedings. The hot sun beat down on the long stretchof blue-grass, and up from the creek came the warm odor of mint; a fatold bumblebee hummed close to her head, but she did not stir. She wasthinking about the watermelon stockings.
"NELL TIED A SWEEPING PIECE OF CRAPE ON HER BIGGESTDOLL."]
Presently she began to move stealthily toward the coop, watching Nellcautiously from the corner of her eyes. "Ain't nobody to home but me an'her," she whispered to herself, "an' there wouldn't nobody know, an'--"With a deft movement she closed the small door and fastened it with thewooden peg. Then she turned, and, leaving the unconscious prisoner, spedsoftly up the garden path, through the basement, and up the stairs.
In Mrs. Tracy's bedroom was a wide old mahogany dresser with big glassknobs that seemed to glare unwinking reproof at 'Mazin' Grace as sheopened the bottom drawer.
"Dis heah is where dey stays at," she said, tossing aside ribbons andlaces in her eagerness. "Oh, goody, goody! Heah dey is!"
Tearing away the tissue-paper, she gazed with delight at the covetedstockings. The knobs might glare as much as they liked; the sparrowsmight scold themselves hoarse on the window-sill; 'Mazin' Grace was lostin the rapture of the moment, and refused to consider consequences. Shetraced the pattern of the embroidery with her stubby finger, she rubbedthe silk against her cheek, and even tied one stocking around her headand stood on tiptoe to see the result in the mirror. The more shehandled them the more reckless she became.
"I 'spect I 'se gwine to try dese heah stockin's on!" she said, with agiggle, as she drew the silken lengths over her bare, dusty feet. "GeeBob! Ain't them scrumptious! I look lak a shore-'nuff circus lady!"
"CATCHING HER RAGGED SKIRTS IN EITHER HAND, SHE BOWED LOWTO HER IMAGE."]
She tipped the mirror in order to get the full reflection, and stood fora moment entranced. Then catching her ragged skirts in either hand,she bowed low to her image, and, after cutting a formal and elaboratepigeonwing, settled down to a shuffle that shook the floor. Music andmotion were as much a part of 'Mazin' Grace as her brown skin and herwhite teeth. All Aunt Melvy's piety had failed to convince her of theawful wickedness of "shaking her foot" and "singing reel chunes." Shedanced now with utter abandon, and the harder she danced the louder shesang:
"Suzanne Goffin, don't you cry; Take dat apron from your eye. Don't let de niggers see you sigh; You'll git a pahtner by an' by."
The small figure with its flying pigtails swayed and swung, and the pinklegs darted in and out. Backward, forward, right glide, left glide, twoskips sidewise. Her breath was almost gone, but she rallied her forcesfor a grand finale. With a curtsy to the bedpost and hands all around,she dashed into the rollicking ecstasy of the "Mobile Buck":
"Way up yonder in de moon, Yaller gal lickin' a silver spoon. Cynthy, my darlin', who tol' you so? Cynthy, my darlin', how do you know?"
As she dropped panting on the floor, something arrested her attention.She held up her head and sniffed the air. It was a familiar odor thatroused her conscience as nothing else could have done. Something burningusually meant that she had failed to watch the stove, and thatcatastrophe usually meant a whipping. She scrambled to her feet and ranto the window. Over across the road, the big barn where Mr. Tracy storedhis grain was wrapped in flames. The wind was blowing from thatdirection, and it fanned the smoke into 'Mazin' Grace's eyes.
"Gee! Dat was a spark of fire," she cried, as she snatched her hand fromthe window-sill. She climbed out of the window upon the porch, andlooked anxiously up and down the road. Nothing was to be seen save thelong stretch of empty turnpike, with the hot sun beating down upon it.As she turned to go back inside the window, she stopped, horrified. Onthe cornice of the roof above her a glowing ember was smolderingdangerously. 'Mazin' Grace wrung her hands.
"Mammy said I was gwine to git burned up fer bein' so wicked. An' MarseJim's house, what's belonged to we-all sence de wah! An' de settin'-roomwhere we hangs up our stockin's ebery Christmas! An' dere ain't
nobodyto take keer ob it all but me! Oh, Lordy! Lordy! what mus' I do?--whatmus' I do?"
As she stood there, wild-eyed and tearful, a thought made its waythrough the kinky hair into her bewildered brain. She darted back intothe house, and reappeared with a broom.
"I'se gwine up dat ladder," she said with grim determination, "an' I'segwine to sweep dem sparks off. An' effen I can't sweep 'em off I kinspank 'em out."
The fire at the barn was now raging; great volumes of smoke swept towardthe house, heavily laden with live embers. 'Mazin' Grace, choking andfrightened, wielded her broom with telling effect; no sooner did a sparktouch the roof than it was brushed off into the long grass below. Butthey were coming faster and faster, and, watch as she would, she couldnot keep some of them from igniting the dry shingles. From side to sideshe scrambled, sweeping, beating, fighting the fire with all thestrength in her little body. Her eyes smarted fiercely, her feet werebruised, the heat was suffocating; but 'Mazin' Grace never thought ofdeserting the post: she worked, as she had danced, with all her mightand main, pitting her puny strength valiantly against that of theflames.
"FROM SIDE TO SIDE SHE SCRAMBLED, SWEEPING, BEATING, ANDFIGHTING THE FIRE."]
But courage does not always bring success. Just when the fire at thebarn began to subside, and the sparks ceased to fall on the roof, a tinycolumn of smoke began to curl up from the gabled roof of the porch.'Mazin' Grace clambered down the ladder, and, sitting astride of theangle, worked her way outward toward the fire. She could not carry thebroom, but if she could only reach the blaze perhaps she could beat itout with her hands! Excitement gave her fresh strength. On either sidethe roof sloped abruptly, but she worked her way on, inch by inch. Twoshingles had caught--three! The smoke had changed into a blaze. Leaningover as far as she dared, 'Mazin' Grace stretched out her hand towardthe flame. She could not reach it.
With a cry of terror and despair, she fell forward on the ridge; all hercourage and strength suddenly deserted her--she could only cling thereface downward, and sob and sob as if her heart would break. "Effen ourhouse burns down, I want to die too," she whispered. "But Miss Lucy an'Marse Jim won't never know how I tried to take keer on it. 'Deed I did."
Up from the creek came the faint perfume of the mint; the sparrowsscolded in the beech-trees. Nellie, who had broken her prison bars,called again and again from the playground, while slowly but surely upthe roof crawled the ever-increasing flames. But 'Mazin' Grace heardnothing, saw nothing; she lay unconscious on the roof, an absurdlypitiful little figure in her ragged dress and pink silk stockings.
* * * * *
It was six weeks before 'Mazin' Grace's burns were sufficiently healedfor her to walk. Mr. Tracy, hearing of the fire on his farm, had drivenhome just in time to save the child's life. His porch was completelydestroyed; but the old homestead, with its host of memories andassociations, stood intact--a monument to the faithfulness of a verynaughty little girl.
Almost the first time 'Mazin' Grace was allowed to go out, she took Nellto the "Christian an' Debil" Society. She limped as she walked, for herfeet were still tender from the recent blisters; but, in spite of thepain, her smile was one of unalloyed bliss. Two pairs of sturdy littlelegs were keeping step in two new pairs of watermelon stockings.