The Marrow of Tradition | Page 3

eve'ybody in it an' him
too. But w'at could he do but say yas?
"'Den it is unde'stood, is it,' says Mis' Polly, w'en he had spoke, 'dat I
am ter take cha'ge er de house?'
"'All right, Polly,' says Mars Sam, wid a deep sigh.
"Mis' Polly 'lowed he wuz sighin' fer my po' dead mist'ess, fer she didn'
have no idee er his feelin's to'ds her,--she alluz did 'low dat all de
gent'emen wuz in love wid 'er.
"'You won' fin' much ter do,' Mars Sam went on, 'fer Julia is a good
housekeeper, an' kin ten' ter mos' eve'ything, under yo' d'rections.'
"Mis' Polly stiffen' up like a ramrod. 'It mus' be unde'stood, Samuel,'
says she, 'dat w'en I 'sumes cha'ge er yo' house, dere ain' gwine ter be
no 'vided 'sponsibility; an' as fer dis Julia, me an' her couldn' git 'long
tergether nohow. Ef I stays, Julia goes.'
"Wen Mars Sam beared dat, he felt better, an' 'mence' ter pick up his
courage. Mis' Polly had showed her ban' too plain. My mist'ess hadn'
got col' yit, an' Mis' Polly, who'd be'n a widder fer two years dis las'
time, wuz already fig'rin' on takin' her place fer good, an' she did n!
want no other woman roun' de house dat Mars Sam might take a' intrus'
in.
"'My dear Polly,' says Mars Sam, quite determine', 'I couldn' possibly
sen' Julia 'way. Fac' is, I couldn' git 'long widout Julia. She'd be'n
runnin' dis house like clockwo'k befo' you come, an' I likes her ways.
My dear, dead 'Liz'beth sot a heap er sto' by Julia, an' I'm gwine ter
keep her here fer 'Liz'beth's sake.'

"Mis' Polly's eyes flash' fire.
"'Ah,' says she,' I see--I see! You perfers her housekeepin' ter mine,
indeed! Dat is a fine way ter talk ter a lady! An' a heap er rispec' you is
got fer de mem'ry er my po' dead sister!'
"Mars Sam knowed w'at she 'lowed she seed wa'n't so; but he didn' let
on, fer it only made him de safer. He wuz willin' fer her ter 'magine
w'at she please', jes' so long ez she kep' out er his house an' let him
alone.
"'No, Polly,' says he, gittin' bolder ez she got madder, 'dere ain' no use
talkin'. Nothin' in de worl' would make me part wid Julia.'
"Mis' Polly she r'ared an' she pitch', but Mars Sam helt on like grim
death. Mis' Polly wouldn' give in neither, an' so she fin'lly went away.
Dey made some kind er 'rangement afterwa'ds, an' Miss Polly tuck Mis'
'Livy ter her own house. Mars Sam paid her bo'd an' 'lowed Mis' Polly
somethin' fer takin' keer er her."
"And Julia stayed?"
"Julia stayed, suh, an' a couple er years later her chile wuz bawn, right
here in dis house."
"But you said," observed the doctor, "that Mrs. Ochiltree was in error
about Julia."
"Yas, suh, so she wuz, w'en my ole mist'ess died. But dis wuz two
years after,--an' w'at has ter be has ter be. Julia had a easy time; she had
a black gal ter wait on her, a buggy to ride in, an' eve'ything she wanted.
Eve'ybody s'posed Mars Sam would give her a house an' lot, er leave
her somethin' in his will. But he died suddenly, and didn' leave no will,
an' Mis' Polly got herse'f 'pinted gyardeen ter young Mis' 'Livy, an' driv
Julia an' her young un out er de house, an' lived here in dis house wid
Mis' 'Livy till Mis' 'Livy ma'ied Majah Carteret."
"And what became of Julia?" asked Dr. Price.

Such relations, the doctor knew very well, had been all too common in
the old slavery days, and not a few of them had been projected into the
new era. Sins, like snakes, die hard. The habits and customs of a people
were not to be changed in a day, nor by the stroke of a pen. As family
physician, and father confessor by brevet, Dr. Price had looked upon
more than one hidden skeleton; and no one in town had had better
opportunities than old Jane for learning the undercurrents in the lives of
the old families.
"Well," resumed Jane, "eve'ybody s'posed, after w'at had happen', dat
Julia'd keep on livin' easy, fer she wuz young an' good-lookin'. But she
didn'. She tried ter make a livin' sewin', but Mis' Polly wouldn' let de
bes' w'ite folks hire her. Den she tuck up washin', but didn' do no better
at dat; an' bimeby she got so discourage' dat she ma'ied a shif'less yaller
man, an' died er consumption soon after,--an' wuz 'bout ez well off, fer
dis man couldn' hardly feed her nohow."
"And the child?"
"One er de No'the'n w'ite lady teachers