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She tied the frog's skin tightly in her handkerchief and started toward the door; then she hesitated and looked back. "Were you alive at the flood, Aunt Ailsey?" she politely inquired. "Des es live es I is now, honey." "Then you must have seen Noah and the ark and all the animals?" "Des es plain es I see you. Marse Noah?
I'se done been young, en I'se now ole, en I ain' never seed de devil stick his mouf in anybody's bizness 'fo' he's axed." She bent over and raked the ashes from her cake with a lightwood splinter. "Dis yer's gwine tase moughty flat-footed," she grumbled as she did so. "O Aunt Ailsey," wailed Betty in despair. The tears shone in her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks.
For a time the child sat patiently watching the embers; then she leaned forward and touched the old woman's knee. "Aunt Ailsey, O Aunt Ailsey!" Aunt Ailsey stirred wearily and crossed her swollen feet upon the hearth. "Dar ain' nuttin' but a hoot owl dat'll sass you ter yo' face," she muttered, and, as she drew her pipe from her mouth, the gray smoke circled about her head.
The story of Aunt Ailsey, of her great age, and her dictatorial temper, which made living with other servants impossible to her, started valiantly on its familiar road, and tripped but little when the poor lady realized that neither John Henry nor Virginia was listening.
Aunt Ailsey reached out and touched her hair. "You ain' none er Marse Peyton's chile," she said. "I'se done knowed de Amblers sence de fu'st one er dem wuz riz, en dar ain' never been a'er Ambler wid a carrot haid " The red ran from Betty's curls into her face, but she smiled politely as she followed Aunt Ailsey into the cabin and sat down in a split-bottomed chair upon the hearth.
"It was so sweet of John Henry to remember that I'd promised to take Aunt Ailsey some of the bitters we used to make before the war."
"I lay dat's one er dese yer ole hoot owls," she muttered querulously, "en ef'n 'tis, he des es well be a-hootin' along home, caze I ain' gwine be pestered wid his pranks. Dar ain' but one kind er somebody es will sass you at yo' ve'y do, en dat's a hoot owl es is done loss count er de time er day " "I ain't an owl, Aunt Ailsey," meekly broke in Betty, "an' I ain't hootin' at you "
"Yes, Lawd, he gwine tase dat ar frawg foot a mile off, en w'en he tase hit, he gwine begin ter sniff en ter snuff. He gwine sniff en he gwine snuff, en he gwine sniff en he gwine snuff twel he run right spang agin de rock in de middle er de road. Den he gwine paw en paw twel he root de rock clean up." The little girl looked up eagerly. "An' my hair, Aunt Ailsey?"
The child edged nearer. "I want to speak to you, Aunt Ailsey," she said. She seized the withered hand and held it close in her own rosy ones. "I want you O Aunt Ailsey, listen! I want you to conjure my hair coal black." She finished with a gasp, and with parted lips sat waiting. "Coal black, Aunt Ailsey!" she cried again.
Under the blazing logs, which filled the hut with an almost unbearable heat, an ashcake was buried beneath a little gravelike mound of ashes. Aunt Ailsey took up a corncob pipe from the stones and fell to smoking. She sank at once into a senile reverie, muttering beneath her breath with short, meaningless grunts. Warm as the summer evening was, she shivered before the glowing logs.
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