Iola Leroy - Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (suggested reading txt) 📗

wine at last will bite like a serpent and sting like an adder.”

“And, Aunt Linda,” added Robert, “as I wouldn’t wind a serpent around my throat, I don’t want to put something inside of it which will bite like a serpent and sting as an adder.”

“I reckon Robby’s right,” said his mother, setting down her glass and leaving the wine unfinished. “You young folks knows a heap more dan we ole folks.” “Well,” declared Aunt Linda, “you all is temp’rence to de backbone. But what could I do wid my wine ef we didn’t drink it?”

“Let it turn to vinegar, and sign the temperance pledge,” replied Robert.

“I don’t keer ’bout it myself, but I don’t ’spect John would be willin’ ter let it go, ’cause he likes it a heap.”

“Then you must give it up for his sake and Job’s,” said Robert. “They may learn to like it too well.”

“You know, Aunt Linda,” said Iola, “people don’t get to be drunkards all at once. And you wouldn’t like to feel, if Job should learn to drink, that you helped form his appetite.”

“Dat’ so! I beliebs I’ll let dis turn to winegar, an’ not make any more.”

“That’s right, Aunt Linda. I hope you’ll hold to it,” said Robert, encouragingly.

Very soon Aunt Linda had an excellent dinner prepared. After it was over Robert went with Iola to C⁠⸺, where her friend, the bishop, was awaiting her return. She told him the wonderful story of Robert’s finding his mother, and of her sweet, childlike faith.

The bishop, a kind, fatherly man, said, “Miss Iola, I hope that such happiness is in store for you. My dear child, still continue to pray and trust. I am old-fashioned enough to believe in prayer. I knew an old lady living in Illinois, who was a slave. Her son got a chance to come North and beg money to buy his mother. The mother was badly treated, and made up her mind to run away. But before she started she thought she would kneel down to pray. And something, she said, reasoned within her, and whispered, ‘Stand still and see what I am going to do for you.’ So real was it to her that she unpacked her bundle and desisted from her flight. Strange as it may appear to you, her son returned, bringing with him money enough to purchase her freedom, and she was redeemed from bondage. Had she persisted in running away she might have been lost in the woods and have died, exhausted by starvation. But she believed, she trusted, and was delivered. Her son took her North, where she could find a resting place for the soles of her feet.”

That night Iola and the bishop left for the South.

XXI A Home for Mother

After Iola had left the settlement, accompanied by Robert as far as the town, it was a pleasant satisfaction for the two old friends to settle themselves down, and talk of times past, departed friends, and long-forgotten scenes.

“What,” said Mrs. Johnson, as we shall call Robert’s mother, “hab become ob Miss Nancy’s husband? Is he still a libin’?”

“Oh, he drunk hisself to death,” responded Aunt Linda.

“He used ter be mighty handsome.”

“Yes, but drink war his ruination.”

“An’ how’s Miss Nancy?”

“Oh, she’s com’d down migh’ly. She’s pore as a church mouse. I thought ’twould com’d home ter her wen she sole yer ’way from yore chillen. Dere’s nuffin goes ober de debil’s back dat don’t come under his belly. Do yo ’member Miss Nancy’s fardder?”

“Ob course I does!”

“Well,” said Aunt Linda, “he war a nice ole gemmen. Wen he died, I said de las’ gemmen’s dead, an’ dere’s noboddy ter step in his shoes.”

“Pore Miss Nancy!” exclaimed Robert’s mother. “I ain’t nothin’ agin her. But I wouldn’t swap places wid her, ’cause I’se got my son; an’ I beliebs he’ll do a good part by me.”

“Mother,” said Robert, as he entered the room, “I’ve brought an old friend to see you. Do you remember Uncle Daniel?”

Uncle Daniel threw back his head, reached out his hand, and manifested his joy with “Well, Har’yet! is dis you? I neber ’spected to see you in dese lower grouns! How does yer do? an’ whar hab you bin all dis time?”

“O, I’se been tossin’ roun’ ’bout; but it’s all com’d right at las’. I’se lib’d to see my boy ’fore I died.”

“My wife an’ boys is in glory,” said Uncle Daniel. “But I ’spects to see ’em ’fore long. ’Cause I’se tryin’ to dig deep, build sure, an’ make my way from earth ter glory.”

“Dat’s de right kine ob talk, Dan’el. We ole folks ain’t got long ter stay yere.”

They chatted together until Job and Salters came home for supper. After they had eaten, Uncle Daniel said:⁠—

“We’ll hab a word ob prayer.”

There, in that peaceful habitation, they knelt down, and mingled their prayers together, as they had done in bygone days, when they had met by stealth in lonely swamps or silent forests.

The next morning Robert and his mother started northward. They were well supplied with a bountiful luncheon by Aunt Linda, who had so thoroughly enjoyed their sojourn with her. On the next day he arrived in the city of P⁠⸺, and took his mother to his boardinghouse, until he could find a suitable home into which to install her. He soon came across one which just suited his taste, but when the agent discovered that Robert’s mother was colored, he told him that the house had been previously engaged. In company with his mother he looked at several other houses in desirable neighborhoods, but they were constantly met with the answer, “The house is engaged,” or, “We do not rent to colored people.”

At length Robert went alone, and, finding a desirable house, engaged it, and moved into it. In a short time it was discovered that he was colored, and, at the behest of the local sentiment of the place, the landlord used his utmost endeavors to oust him, simply