The Earth Trembled | Page 7

youngest daughter years before, and he was the pride of
Aun' Sheba's heart. Uncle Sheba felt that he was not appreciated, or
perhaps appreciated too well, by his son-in-law, and their intercourse
was rather formal.
On the evening in question, supper was over, but the table had not yet
been cleared. Uncle Sheba was a good deal of an epicure, and, having
left not a scrap of what his wife had vouchsafed to him, was now
enjoying his corn-cob pipe. Aun' Sheba also liked a good square meal
as much as any one, and she had the additional satisfaction that she had
earned it. At this hour of the day she was usually very tired, and was
accustomed to take an hour's rest before putting her living-room in
order for the night. Although the twilight often fell before she returned
from her mercantile pursuits, she never intrusted Uncle Sheba with the
task of getting supper, and no housekeeper in the city kept her
provisions under lock and key more rigorously than did Aun' Sheba.
After repeated trials, she had come to a decision. "Mr. Buggone," she
had said in her sternest tones, "you's wuss dan poah white trash when
you gets a chance at de cubbard. Sence I can't trus' you nohow, I'se
gwine to gib you a 'lowance. You a high ole Crischun, askin' for you'se
daily bread, an' den eatin' up 'nuff fer a week."
Uncle Sheba often complained that he was "skimped," but his
appearance did not indicate any meagreness in his "'lowance," and he
had accepted his lot in this instance, as in others, rather than lose the
complacent consciousness that he was provided for without much effort
on his part.
Supper was Aun' Sheba's principal meal, and she practically dined at
the fashionable hour of six. What she termed her dinner was a very
uncertain affair. Sometimes she swallowed it hastily at "Ole Tobe's

rasteran," as she termed the eating-room kept by a white-woolled negro;
again she would "happen in" on a church sister, when, in passing, the
odor of some cookery was appetizing. She always left, however, some
compensation from her basket, and so was not unwelcome. Not seldom,
also, a lady or a citizen who knew her well and the family to which she
had once belonged, would tell her to go to the kitchen. On such days
Aun' Sheba's appetite flagged at supper, a fact over which her husband
secretly rejoiced, since his allowance was almost double.
She was now resting after the fatigues of the day, and the effort to get
and dispose of a very substantial supper, and was puffing at her pipe in
a meditative aspect. Evidently something unusual was on her mind, and
she at last ejaculated, "I know dey'se poah."
"Who's?" languidly queried Uncle Sheba.
"Oh, you'd neber fin' out. Dey'd starve long o' you."
"I dunno who dey is. What 'casion I got to pervide for dey?"
"Ha, ha, ha, Unc.! You'se a great pervider. Somehow or oder I'se got de
notion dat you'se a 'sumer."
"I bress de Lawd my appetite am' failin' in spite ob de rheumatiz."
"If you rheumatiz was only in you jints, dere'd be a comfort in keerin'
fer you, Unc., but it's in you min'."
"You'll cotch it some day, an' den you know what 'tis. But who's dey
dat you got on you min'?"
"Why, de young Missy and de ole Missus to be sho'."
"I don't see how dey can be poah. Dey mus' hab kep' someting out all
dey had."
"So dey did, but it wan't much, an' I jus' b'lebe it's clar dun gone!"
"What! de plantation in Virginny all gone?"

"How often I tole you, Unc., dat I heard ole Missus say herself dat
plantation was all trompl'd in de groun' an' what was lef' was took fer
taxes."
"I forgits," remarked Uncle Sheba, his eyes growing heavy in his lack
of interest; "but ole Marse Wallingford mus' hab lef' de widder ob his
son someting."
"Now look heah, Unc., you'se haf asleep. You'se 'lowance too hebby
dis ebenin'. How you forgit when I tell you ober an' ober? You doan
keer. Dat's de foot de shoe's on. You know ole Marse Wallingford's
plantation was trompl'd in de groun' too--not a stick or stone lef' by
Sherman's sogers."
"Well, dey sole dere fine house on Meetin' Street, an' dat mus' a
brought a heap," protested Uncle Sheba, rousing himself a little.
"Mighty little arter de mor'giges an' taxes was paid. Didn't I help dem
pack up what dey tink dey could sabe, and see poah Missy Mara wrung
her han's as she gib up dis ting an' dat ting till at las' she cry right out,
'Mought as well gib up eberyting. Why don't dey kill us