Second Book of Tales | Page 3

their bunks to see what wuz the doggone matter. This made things pleasanter for the young woman. The colonel stood it as long as he could, and then he got up a second time 'nd come down the car 'nd looked at the young woman over his specs.
"Now, as I wuz tellin' you afore," sez he, "I hain't makin' no complaint uv myself, for I 've raised a family of 'leven children, 'nd I know all about 'em. But these other folks here in the car have paid for a good night's sleep, 'nd it 's my duty as a director uv the Han'bul 'nd St. Jo to see that they get it. Seems to me like you ought to be able to keep that child quiet--you can't make me believe that there's any use for a child to be carryin' on so. Sumpin 's hurtin' it--I know sumpin 's hurtin' it by the way it cries. Now, you look 'nd see if there ain't a pin stickin' into it somewhere; I 've raised 'leven children, 'nd that 's jist the way they used to cry when there wuz a pin stickin' em."
He reckoned he 'd find things all right this time, 'nd he went back to his bunk feelin' toler'ble satisfied with himself. But the young woman could n't find no pin stickin' the baby, 'nd, no matter how much she stewed and worrited, the baby kep' right on cryin', jest the same. Holy smoke! but how that baby did cry.
Now, I reckoned that the colonel would be gettin' almighty mad if this thing kep' up much longer. A man may raise 'leven children as easy as rollin' off 'n a log, 'nd yet the twelfth one, that is n't his at all, may break him. There is ginerally a last straw, even when it comes to the matter uv children.
So when the colonel riz feet foremost for the third time outern his bunk that night--or, I should say, mornin', for it was mighty near mornin' now--we looked for hail Columby.
"Look a-here, my good woman," sez he to the young woman with the baby, "as I wuz tellin' you afore, you must do sumpin to keep that child quiet. It 'll never do to keep all these folks awake like this. They 've paid for a good night's sleep, 'nd it 's my duty as a director uv the Han'bul 'nd St. Jo to pertest ag'in' this disturbance. I 've raised a family uv 'leven children, 'nd I know, as well as I know anythink, that that child is hungry. No child ever cries like that when it is n't hungry, so I insist on your nursin' it 'nd givin' us peace 'nd quiet."
Then the young woman began to sniffle.
"Law me, sir," sez the young woman, "I ain't the baby's mother--I 'm only just tendin' it."
The colonel got pretty mad then; his face got red 'nd his voice kind uv trembled--he wuz so mad.
"Where is its mother?" sez the colonel. "Why is n't she here takin' care uv this hungry 'nd cryin' child like she ought to be?"
"She 's in the front car, sir," sez the young woman, chokin' up. "She 's in the front car--in a box, dead; we 're takin' the body 'nd the baby back home."
Now what would you or me have done--what would any man have done then 'nd there? Jest what the colonel done.
The colonel did n't wait for no second thought; he jest reached out his big bony hands 'nd he sez, "Young woman, gi' me that baby"--sez it so quiet 'nd so gentle like that seemed like it wuz the baby's mother that wuz a-speakin'.
The colonel took the baby, and--now, may be you won't believe me--the colonel held that baby 'nd rocked it in his arms 'nd talked to it like it had been his own child. And the baby seemed to know that it lay ag'in' a lovin' heart, for, when it heerd the ol' man's kind voice 'nd saw his smilin' face 'nd felt the soothin' rockin' uv his arms, the baby stopped its grievin' 'nd cryin', 'nd cuddled up close to the colonel's breast, 'nd begun to coo 'nd laff.
The colonel called the nigger. "Jim," sez he, "you go ahead 'nd tell the conductor to stop the train at the first farm-house. We 've got to have some milk for this child--some warm milk with sugar into it; I hain't raised a family uv 'leven children for nothin'."
The baby did n't cry no more that night; leastwise we did n't hear it if it did cry. And what if we had heerd it? Blessed if I don't think every last one of us would have got up to help tend that lonesome little thing.
That wuz more 'n twenty years