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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Sleep, ma baby, why you lie so col', so col'? Loo-la, Loo-la, do Massa want you for His fol'? But, baby, honey, don' you know youah mammy's ol' An' want you, want you, oh, she want you jes' to hol'." A long silence followed the song. The girl laid her guitar down and sat quietly looking straight before her, while Barney played the refrain over and over.
"Sonny, mammy's gone!" the wretched father groaned; the little children, huddling about the form, lifted their wail; the mocking-bird could find no note for this, and was hushed. Milburn arose; the fire was low.
They had accomplished perhaps three-quarters of the distance home when, as they were passing a small one-story building by the roadside, a shriek of pain was heard, and a little black boy came running out of the house, screaming in affright: "Mammy's done killed herself. She's mos' dead!" He ran out to the road and looked up at Mrs. Frost, as if to implore assistance.
"I'd like to put him to sleep on the piazza, but I'm afraid I can't," answered Peggy, smiling sadly, for the loss of the Empress had struck deeply. "No, yo' suah cyant do dat," was Mammy's reply. "You'll be bleeged fer ter put him yonder in de paddock." "He will be so lonesome," said Peggy doubtfully. Just then the great wolfhound came bounding up.
"Did you ever hear this?" she said to Barney. She strummed a few chords on her guitar. "It's only a little baby song, one my old mammy used to sing." "Sleep, ma baby, close youah lil winkahs fas', Loo-la, Loo-la, don' you gib me any sass. Youah mammy's ol', an' want you to de berry las', So, baby, honey, let dose mean ol' angels pass. CHORUS: "Sleep, ma baby, mammy can't let you go.
Bud came next in his new suit, but he had lost his hat, and was obliged to wear a handkerchief tied over his ears. Ivy brought up the rear, continually tripping on her long cloak, and jolting her white toboggan cap down over her eyes at almost every step. Nuts and persimmons and wild fox-grapes filled the little wagon many times, and made a welcome addition to Mammy's meagre bill of fare.
She paused awhile, thinking; then she burst into wild sobbings again, and turned away, saying, "Oh, I got to kill my chile, dey ain't no yuther way killin' him wouldn't save de chile fum goin' down de river. Oh, I got to do it, yo' po' mammy's got to kill you to save you, honey." She gathered her baby to her bosom now, and began to smother it with caresses.
The cupboard door was ajar, and even before Mother Graymouse had put Baby Squealer in his cradle, or taken off her bonnet, she caught sight of the heap of Christmas candies and the popcorn, which looked like a white snow-bank upon the cupboard shelf. "Sniff! Sniff!" Out came Mammy's handkerchief as she sank into her rocking chair, bonnet, baby and all. "Boo-hoo!" cried Baby Squealer.
I made a visit to hers a few days after our separation, and came away with my heart in my mouth at the sight of some of the familiar objects of Mammy's room, and such of our own as she had fallen heir to, in strange places and appositions. I also felt that Mammy's room had a more homelike aspect than my own. There was no doubt that Mammy enjoyed her new conditions and surroundings.
I fell asleep over a slab of hardtack. That evening, on waking, I bethought me of Mammy. My kind host allowed me to make a toilet in his back room behind the store. It consisted of a superficial ablution and the loan of a handkerchief. Mammy was not in. A neighbor of her sex and color offered me a chair in her house, but I sat in Mammy's tiny porch.
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