minute, hung my  head down a little, and then I reached out  and
kicked his bucket  as far  as I could kick it; and a million  flies that had
been eating the  peachy juice, flew out of the bucket, and wondered what had
hit them. I jumped up, and started to  throw a handful of manure on him, but
then I let my fingers go limber, and the manure fell to the ground. I didn't
look him in the face. I didn't look anywhere special.  I didn't want  him to
see my face, so I turned my head the other way, and walked past the pile  of
manure.
     I played around our yard some and talked to the fence posts, sung songs
and made the weeds sing,  and found all of the snuff  cans  the London folks
had throwed out into the high  weeds  around  the house for the last ten  or
fifteen years. I found  a  flat board, and loaded  the  cans  onto  it,  and
crawled  on my hands and knees, pushing it like a big wagon, in and out  and
all along under the weeds, and it  made a road everywhere it went. I come to
deep sandy places where the horses had to  pull hard and I  cussed out, "Hit
'em up, Judie! Git  in there, Rhodie! Judie! Dam yore muley hide! Hit 'em in
easy!  Now take it together!  Judie! Rhodie!" I  was  the world's  best team
skinner with the world's best team and the world's best wagon.
     Then I made out like I delivered my  load, got my money, turned all  of
my horses and mules out onto their pasture, and was going to  see some of my
people.  I slipped on loose rocks lying around the corner of our house, made
the white dust  foam up when I stomped through our ash pile, and  when I got
to the top  of the  hill,  I saw  the boy next door standing on  top  of his
manure pile watching more flies get fat on the slice of peach.  When he seen
me be made a hard run  down off  of the pile, jumped up  onto a sawhorse and
yelled, "This is my army horse!"
     I dumb up in a broke-down  wheelbarrow and hollered back  at him, "This
is my big war tank!"
     Then  he sailed down off his sawhorse and tore up on  top of his manure
pile, and said, "This is my big battleship!"
     "War tanks can whip ole battleships!" I told him. "War  tanks  has  got
fast, fast machine  guns! Battleships cain't go less they're in water! I can
chase Germans on land!"
     "But you  cain't shoot but  just a hunderd  Germans! Yer  Ïl' war tank,
ain't got as many bullets as my big battleship!"
     "I can hide in my war tank, behind a rock, an' when ya start ta git off
of yore ship, I can kill ya, an' ya'll die!"
     He ripped down off  of  the manure pile, darted  behind his  barn,  and
after a little while, he poked his head out of the hayloading door up in the
top door. Then he hollered, "This is my big  fort! I got  my  cannons an' my
ship tied up down here under me! Yer ol'  war tank cain't even hurt  me! Ya!
Ya!"
     "Ya!  Yerself!  Yer ole fort ain't nothin'!" I pulled  myself up out of
the wheelbarrow and dumb up onto the first limb of a big walnut tree. "Now I
got my airplane, an' ya don't even know what I can do to ya!"
     "Cain't do nuthin'! Yore Ïl' airplane ain't even as high as my fort!"
     "I can git up higher!"
     "I'm  still higher in  my fort than  yore  Ïl' airplane! Cain't drop no
bumbs on me!"
     I looked up above me and saw that I'd come to the high top of the tree.
The limbs was already swaying around so much that the ground below me seemed
like it was a rough ocean. But I had to get up higher. "I c'n git up as high
as I wanta! Then I c'n dump out a big bomb on toppa yer Ïl' crazy  fort, an'
it'll blow ya all ta pieces, knock yer head off, an' yer arms  off, an'  yer
both legs off, an' ya'll be dead!"
     The few limbs  in the top of the tree  weren't as big  as a broomstick,
and the wind was whirling me around up there like I was the last big  walnut
of the season.
     Mama slammed our back door and I kept real quiet so she wouldn't see me
up  in the tree. The  kid's mama  walked out  of her back door with a bushel
basket full of old cans and papers, and my mama said, "Say, wonder where our
little stray youngins are?"
     And his mama said, "I heard them hollering just a minute ago!"
     They stood  under my tree and asked each other little questions. "Ain't
these brats a fright?"
     "I tell  you, it's a shame to the dogs the way a woman's got to run and
chase and wear her wits out to keep  a big long string of kids from starving
to death."
     I looked down through the shady limbs and seen  the tops of the women's
heads, one tying a  hair ribbon a  little tighter in the wind, the other one
holding her hair by the big handfuls. The sun shot down through my tree, the
light places hit down the  back and shoulders of  my mama, and the  forehead
and  dress  of his mama, and the  whole  thing was traveling. I felt the sun
humming down hot and heavy on my head. It was a crazy feeling. The thing was
whirling, moving all  around, and I couldn't get it  to slow down or stop. I
grabbed  a better grip on the little limber  limbs, and  ducked my head down
and closed my eyes as  tight as I could, and I bit my tongue and lip to keep
from  crying out loud.  It was dark all over then, but my head was splitting
open, and everything in me was jumping and pounding like wild horses running
away with a big wagon with only one or two loose potatoes rumbling around in
it.
     I yowled out, "Mama!" She looked all around over the lot. "Where 'bouts
are you?"
     "Up here. Up in th' tree."
     Both  of the women caught  their breath and I  heard them say, "Oh! For
heaven's sakes! Hurry! Run! Go get somebody! Get somebody to do something!"
     "Can't you just climb down?" Mama asked me.
     "No," I told her. "I'm sick."
     "Sick? For God's sake! Hold on tight!"  Mama got up on the  wheelbarrow
and tried to climb up to  the first limb. She  couldn't make it  any higher.
She looked up where  I was sticking like  a 'possum in the forks, and  said,
"It's a good twenty-five feet up to where he is! Oh,  Lord,'goodness, God, I
wish somebody would come along! Wait!  There's a bunch of kids yonder  along
the road at the bottom of the hill!  You stay here and talk to him. Tell him
anything, anything, but don't let  him  get scared. Just talk. Hey! You kids
down there! Wait  a minute!  Yes, you!  Come  here! Want  a dime each one of
you?"
     Five or six mixed colors of kids run up the hill to meet her, and every
kid  was saying,  "Dime? Golly, gosh,  yes! Whataya  want  done? Work? Whole
dime?"
     "I'll show you, here, down this alley.  Now, I wanta know something. Do
you see that little boy hanging up yonder in the top of that tall tree?"
     "Yen."
     "Gosh."
     "Shoot a monkey!"
     "Cain't he get back down?"
     "No," my mama told them, "he's hung up there or something. He's getting
sicker and sicker,  and is  going to fall any minute, unless we do something
to get him down."
     "I can climb that tree after him."
     "Me, too."
     "Yeah, but  you can't do no good; them little old weak limbs won't hold
nobody else."
     Mama was pulling her hair. "You see, you see, you kids, don't you?  You
see how much gray  hairs  and worry you pile on to  your old mothers' backs!
Don't you ever sneak off and pull no such a stunt as this!"
     "No ma'am."
     "No'm."
     "Yes'm."
     "I wouldn't."
     "I never would chase my folks up no tree."
     "Shut up, ijiot, she didn't say that."
     "Shh. What'd she say?"
     "She said don't get hung up in no tree."
     "I been hung up in every tree in this end of town."
     "Shut up, she don't know that."
     "Hey, guys! These lowest limbs is stout enough to hold us up! See here!
You just got to watch out and keep your feet in real close to th' top of th'
tree, an'  not out on the  limbs when you hit a fork! Okay, Slew, you're the
littlest,  skin up  in  there  far's you can;  climb right up next  to  him!
Sawdust, you're next  littlest! Flag it  up  in  there and stop right  under
Slew!"
     Slew and Sawdust skint up into that tree.  The little one's head was up
as high as my belly, and the next kid was right under him.
     "We're up here! Whatta you wanta do next?"
     "Buckeye, you got long arms  and  legs; you stand  yonder a-straddle of
them two wide limbs!"
     "I'm here 'fore you got it said."
     "Thug,  you set  yourself down right here low to the ground. All of you
watch; maybe if he  falls,  you can at  least  make  a grab and try to ketch
him'."
     "What's th' rest of us gonna do?"
     "Rabbit,  an' you, Star Navy, you too, Jake--you  three run  yonder  to
that lady's wellhouse, an' take yer pockit-knife an' cut that  rope, an' git
back here in nuthin' flat!"
     Three  kids aired out over the hill,  come  out lugging a long piece of
rope.
     "Okay, here, Thug, you  hand this  on up to Buckeye. Buck, you shoot it
on up to Saw, an' Sawdust, you wheel'er on in  to Slew! Got  a  good holt on
'er, Slew?"
     "Yeah! Whattaya want me ta do with it? Tie it around his belly?"
     "Yeah! But, first, you'd better'd put  the  end, th' knot  end, up over
that fork there where he's  hung!  That's her! Throw  loop around his  belly
now!"
     "Okay! He's looped so's he never could git loose, even if he's ta try!"
     Then the main  foreman  of the gang  took  off  a  little  dirty  white
flour-sack  cap, and rubbed the dirt and sweat back off of his head and told
Mama and  the other lady, "All right, ladies. Yore  worryin' days  is  over.
Keep yer britches on. That kid'll live ta be a flat hunderd."
     "The rope won't slip or break?" Mama asked him.
     "Good wet  rope." The  kid was watching every move that the  other kids
made.
     "Okay! V'e're all set!" one kid yelled down out of the tree.
     "We're ridin' high, an' settin' purty!" another one talked up.
     Then the ramrod said, "Rabbit, Star, Jake, you three guys take th' tail
end of this rope, an' back off out across down th' hill yonder with it. Pull
it good an' straight. 'At's her. Okay!"
     "She's straighter'n a preacher's dream."
     "Thug, you, up  there!  Hold onto th' main rope! You grab 'er, Saw, you
too, Slew! Now, let me git a grip  on 'er down here on th' ground! You three
kids down  the hill  there brace yer feet, dig  yer  heels, dig  'em in! You
wimmen folks jist rare back, take a  big  dip of  snuff, an' tell some funny
stories! We ain't never dropped a  kid yit, an' this  is  th' first time  we
ever got paid a dime fer not droppin' one!"
     "Look what you're doing."
     "Okay!  Worry  Wart, you, Slew!  Now! Lift his legs up loose  from  the
forks! Hey, help make him help you. Lift  'im  plumb up! 'At'saboy! Jist let
'im hang down there!"
     "Man's unhung much's he can be unhung!"
     "You guys down th' hill! His weight's on this  rope now! You let it git
tight, real slow, then as I  feed th' rope through  my hands, why, you three
birds come  a-walkin'  up th'  hill, see? Like  this, see, an'  she slips  a
little, an' you walk a little, an' she oozes a little bit more, an' you walk
up a little closter!"
     "We're wheelin'!"
     "An' a-dealin'!"
     "Just  walk along slow, keep  a tight  rope, take it  easy. Okay, Slew,
he's down out of yore reach! Sawdust, keep th' rope stretched  under th' pit
of yore one arm, an' guide th' gent down past you with the other arm!"
     "He's slidin'! Easy ridin'!"
     "Keep 'im slidin'! Easy  on th' ridin'! Guide 'im  on down  ta where we
git th'  six dimes! You ladies  can be goin' to th'  house ta git  out  yore
pockitbooks."
     Mama said, "No, thank you,  sir,  I'll stay  right here,  if  you don't
mind, and  see to  it that you  get  him down  right. Are they  hurting you,
Woody?"
     "Not me!" I told her back.  "This is lotsa  fun. Got lotsa kids ta play
with now!"
     "You hold on tight to that rope, mister  fun-haver!" the other lady was
saying.
     "I will!" I said to her. "Mama, do I get a dime, too?"
     I come down past the last kid on the last limb and when I got both feet
on the ground, I forgot all about my headache and sun-stroke. I  laughed and
talked with  everybody like I was a famous sailor just back from sea. "  'At
wuz fun! Hey! I wanta do it all over agin'!"
     Mama grabbed me by the shirt  collar and pulled me home. I was fighting
every step of the way and yelling back, "Hey! Kids! Come  an' play with  me!
Come an' see my wagon road! I wanta dime, too, Mama!"
     "I'll dime you!" she told me.
     "You kids wait right there. I'll get your six dimes for you.''
     "I wanta dime! I want some candy!" I was letting it out.
     "We'll save ya a piece out of our candy an' stuff!" the head captain of
the kids yelled.
     "An'  we'll bring it over in  a sack all by itself,  first thing in th'
mornin'!"
     Another kid said, "It was yore tree!"
     "It's yore yard!"
     "Yeah, an' it was even yer mama's dimes!''
     And just as our back door flew shut with me halfway caught with my neck
sticking out, Mama grabbed a better handful of me,  and I yelled, "It was my
sore  head,  it  was  my  dizzy head!" And Mama jammed the  door shut, and I
didn't see any  more of the big bunch of awful good smart kids. Regular tree
unhangers.
     Mama took my shirt and  overhalls off, stripped me down to my bare hide
and spent about an hour giving me a bath.
     "Come on, young sprout, I'm putting you off to bed. Come on,"
     "I'm comin'; I feel good an' warm in my new clean unnerwear."
     "Do you?"
     "You know, Mama,  I never do  like for you ta  do  anything to me, like
make me mind,  or make me stay home, or make me drink milk, or  take a bath,
but I hate most of all to  have you put a new pair of unnerwear on me. Then,
after ya do it, I like you a whole lot better."
     "Mama knows every little thing that's taking place  in that  little old
curly head of yours. You're my newest, and my hardest-headed youngin."
     "Mama, what's a hard head?"
     "It means you go and do what you want to."
     "Is my head a hard one?"
     "You bet it is."
     "What's a youngin?" I asked Mama. "Am I a youngin?"
     And Mama told me, "Well, it means you're not very old."
     She pulled the covers up around my neck and tucked me down into the bed
good.
     "When I get up to be real big, will I still be a youngin?"
     "No. You'll be a big man then."
     "Are you a youngin?"
     "No, I'm  a  big  woman. I'm  a grown lady. I'm  your mama."  I started
getting drowsy and my eyes felt like they was both full of dry dirt.
     I asked Mama, "Wuz you good when you wuz first a little baby?"
     And she  rubbed my face  with the  palm  of  her hand  and said, "I was
pretty good. I believe I minded my mama better than you mind yours."
     "Wuz you just a little tiny baby, this big?"
     "Just about."
     "An' Gramma an' Grampa found you in under their covers?"
     Mama's  face looked like she was  trying to figure out a hard puzzle of
some kind. "Covers?"
     "That boy that clumb up  on his barn door, he tol' me all about married
rings, an' all about where you go an find little babies. Youngins."
     "What did you say?"
     "All 'bout married rings."
     "This ring is pure  gold," Mama  told me, holding up her hand for me to
see it. "See these little flower buds? They  were real plain when  your papa
and  me first  got married.... But  why don't you ever go to  sleep,  little
feller?"
     "You know who I'd marry if I wuz gonna marry, Mama?"
     "I haven't got the least inkling," she said. "Who?"
     "You."
     "Me?"
     "Uh huh."
     "You  couldn't  marry me if you wanted to. I'm  already married to your
papa."
     "Cain't I marry you, too?"
     "Certainly not,"
     "Why?"
     "I  told you  why. You can't marry your own mama.  You'll just  have to
look around for another girl, young man."
     "Mama."
     "Yes."
     "Mama."
     "Yes."
     "Mama, do you know somethin'?"
     "No, what?"
     "Well,  like, say, like  what that little ole mean kid acrost th' alley
asked me?"
     "What?"
     "Well, he asked me how many married rings you had on.<sup>'</sup>
     "And then?"
     "So I told him, told him you  didn't have  but one gold one. No diamunt
glass one."
     "And?"
     "And he said ever'body  in town would git awful,  awful mad at you  for
losin' yore diamunt 'un."
     "Did he?"
     "An' he  said, 'Where did you lose yore diamunt `un at?' An' so, I told
him maybe it got lost in our big house fire."
     Mama just kept listening and didn't say a word.
     Then  I went on, "An' he asked me how come it, our  big perty house got
burnt up.  An' then he  asked  me if--if  you struck  a  match an' set it on
fire...."
     Mama didn't answer me. She just looked up away from me.  She  looked  a
hole through  the wall, and then she looked out through my bedroom window up
over  the hill. She rubbed my forehead with her fingers and  then she got up
off the  edge of  my bed,  and walked out  into  the  kitchen. I  laid there
listening. I could hear her feet walking around over  the  kitchen  floor. I
could hear the water splash in the drinking  dipper. I  heard everything get
quiet. Then I drifted off to sleep, and didn't hear a sound.
        Chapter III
     <i>I AIN'T MAD AT NOBODY</i>

     It  was  an Indian summer morning and it  was  crispy and clear,  and I
stuck my nose up into the air and  whiffed my  lungs full of good weather. I
stood on the side of  the street in the  alley crossing  and saw Clara drift
almost out of sight  toward the  schoolhouse. I turned around and ran like a
herd of wild buffaloes back down the hill, around the house, and come to our
front  yard, skidding to a stop. I hollered in at the window to  where  Mama
was finishing up the breakfast dishes and said, 'Where's Gramma at?"
     Mama  slid the  window up and  looked  out  at me  and said,  "This  is
Grandma's day to come all right, how'd you know?"
     "Clara told me," I told Mama.
     "And why're you so fussed up about Grandma coming, young  sprout?" Mama
said to me.
     "Clara said Gramma'd take me with her to trade her eggs."
     "Who is she, might I ask you?"
     "She's my big  sister. She's bigga 'nuff ta tell me where all I can go,
ain't she?"
     "And I'm your Mama. Could you  tell  me what I'm suppose to be able  to
tell you?"
     "You can tell me I can go with Gramma, too."
     "Oh! Well, I'll  tell you, you've been having a hard time getting  used
to living in this old house.  So  I'll tell you what. If you'll  come in and
wash your face and neck and ears real good, and get both of your hands clean
enough for Grandma to  see your  skin,  maybe I'll be right real good to you
and let you go out and stay a few days with her! Hurry!"
     "Is my ears clean?"
     Mama took a  good look at both of my ears and  told me, "This first one
will do in a pinch."
     "How long's Gramma been yore wife?" I asked Mama.
     "T  told  you  a thousand times  Grandma  is  not my  wife. She's  your
Grandpa's wife."
     "Has Grampa gotta husban', too?"
     "No. No. No. Grandpa is a husband already, Grandma's husband."
     "Nobody ain't my husban', is there?" I asked her.
     Mama grabbed the washrag  away  from me and rubbed  my hide to a cherry
red. "Listen, you little question  box, don't ask me anything else about who
is  kin to  who;  you've  absolutely  got  my head  whirling around  like  a
windmill."
     "Mama. Know somethin'?"
     "What?"
     "I ain't never gonna git real mad at you."
     "Well, that is good news. Why? Whatever made you say that?"
     "I jist ain't."
     "You're  being awful, awful  good for some reason or  another.  Nickel.
Dime. What?"
     "Not really, really mad."
     "You certainly will have to change your ways a lot. You get mad at your
old mama  just about every day  about  something.  You  get  awful riled  up
sometimes."
     "That ain't worst mad."
     "What kind of mad do you mean?"
     "Mad  that stays mad. 'At's th'  kind I'm tell in'  ya about. You won't
ever git mad at me if I won't ever git mad at you, will ya?"
     "Never in your  whole life, young  feller." Mama  patted my naked  hide
where the cakes of dirt had just been  washed  off and  told me, "That's the
best thing that could ever happen to all of us. Your little old head has got
it all thrashed out."
     "Thrashed where? What's thrashed mean?"
     "Thrash. Thrash. Means when you whip something and beat  it, and  well,
like Grandpa does his oats."
     "I got oats in my head! Oats  in my  head! Yumpity yay! Yumpity yay!  I
got  oats in my head! Git outta my way! Git outta my way!" I made a hard run
around the kitchen.
     "You crazy little monkey. Go ahead, have a good time. Just go ahead and
tear this old house down. You're my littlest baby. You're going out and stay
a long, long time with your grandma, and I won't have no little boy to drive
me crazy! Have a good time.  Let's see you!  Run! Holler!  Loud!  I'm  gonna
gitcha! Gonna gitcha! Run!"
     We chased all around over the front room and back  through the kitchen.
She grabbed me up off  the floor and swung me around and around till my feet
stuck straight out. She was laughing and I felt  hot tears salty on the side
of her face. When she  let me down on the floor, she knelt down on her knees
and held me up real warm, and I said, "Mama, I'll tell ya. I like ta have ya
chase me.  Play. Stuff like that. Talk ta each other. Hug on each other. But
I don't like fer ya ta call me secha little boy all th' time."
     "Oh, I thought so. I was looking for you to say that most any day now,"
she  told me, holding  me off  at arm's length and looking me up  and  down.
"You're getting to be a mighty awful big man."
     "Bigger'n I usta wuz?"
     "Bigger than you used to be."
     "Usta wuz. Cain't stay still."
     "I know," Mama said to me, and  she set down on the floor and pulled me
down in her lap, "You grow."
     "Up."
     "Up this way. Out this way. Across this way."
     "Big."
     "You can't stay still," she went on.
     "Gotta hurry. Grow."
     "Tell me, mister grower, this. Now, when you was just a little boy with
curly hair a little over four years old, you said to me that you never would
get mad  and  stay mad at me anymore. Will you  still say that  while you're
growing up so big so fast?"
     "Fast as I grow a little, I'll tell you it again."
     "You promise? You cross your heart and hope to die?"
     "Cross. Double cross."
     "Fine.  Now look right  out through that window there and tell me  what
you see coming down the road?"
     "Gra-mma"
     "Grandma's right!"
     "Hey! Hey! Gramma! Gramma!"
     I snorted out the front door running to meet the buggy, waving my hands
about  my head  like I was signaling a  battleship. When I got about halfway
down  the hill, I struck my big toe against a sharp  rock, and it tumbled me
so  bad the tears started down my cheeks; but  I  started running that  much
faster, for my only chance to get a free  ride was to  catch the buggy while
she  was on the level, because once she got headed up  the steep hill to our
house she wouldn't stop to pick me up.
     I had tears on  my  face and  dirt on the tears when I got to the road,
but I was  there ahead of the buggy. I jumped up and down at the side of the
road and  I made all  kinds of signals with my  hands, but Grandma just kept
looking straight ahead. I yelled, "Gramma! Hey! Gramma!" But she didn't even
as much as glance over my way.
     I trotted along  a ragweed ditch full of  fine  washed  sand, and  kept
hollering, "It's me! Hey!  It's me! Gramma! Me!" And she just kept old White
Tom and Red Bess trotting right along, throwing more dust, straw, and chalky
manure dirt back in my face.
     About six foot this side of where the level road took  off up the  hill
toward our house, the buggy stopped, and  I  made one long, sailing jump, in
between  the  wheels, and  up  into the  seat  beside Grandma, and  she  was
bouncing  the whole  buggy up and  down laughing and saying, "Why, was  that
you? Back  yonder? I saw a  little old dirty-faced boy  standing back there,
and I says to myself, "No, that's not Woody, not my Woodsaw.'"
     Sweat was in little bumps on Grandma's face, because she was so hot and
her whole face was  bouncing with the buggy  because she was so fat. A black
hat with some flowers on top and a  big pin that always made me wonder if it
wasn't  sticking  right on through  her hair and head  from  one ear  to the
other. Gray hair commencing to  make a stand  that had come from hoeing' and
working a crop of worries for about fifty years.
     "I was  clean when  I  seen ya comin'. Then I  started  a  runnin', an'
stumped  my  big  toe  on an Ïl' rock. Hurt.  Real bad. Gimme th<sup>'</sup>
lines."
     She put one  arm around  me  and handed me the long leather  reins, and
told me, "Yes, you look like my little grandson now. I can tell by the shape
of your head that's my Woodchuck."
     I  stood  up on the floorboards and held both  of  the big reins in one
hand. It  was more than a handful, but I managed to wave at Mama. "Hi! Hi! I
got 'em! I got 'em! Hi! Lookit me! See me drive?"
     I  jumped out of the buggy  in  front of our  house and Grandma met  me
coming  around  the  horses.  She put  both  of  her hands  on  her hips and
straightened  her corsets up a little and smiled at me, and said, "Well, you
are a smart feller. Already know how to tie a slipknot on a buggy wheel."
     I spent the next few minutes looking  at the knot I'd tied on the buggy
spoke, tracing  the  reins up over the horses' backs, and up to  the bits in
their mouths. I handled  the loose bit and the steel shined in the sun. When
I rubbed Tom's bald  spot between  his eyes, Bess looked over  at me kind of
lonesome like, so I rubbed her, too.  I walked around and around  the buggy,
and it smelled like strong  paint and hot leather. At the back were seven or
eight gallon buckets, all full of  milk and cream and clabber to take around
to folks in town.
     I could hear Mama and Grandma talking through the kitchen window.
     Grandma was  saying, "You're  not looking  any too  good, Nora.  You're
working too hard. Straining yourself. Something. I don't know. What is it?"
     "Why, I feel all right; do I look bad? Just everyday housework. Nothing
else."
     "Something  else,  too,  young lady. Something  else.  This  old house.
That's what it is. This old house is so old and rotten  and so awful hard to
keep clean."
     Grandma  was leaning back in a big wide  chair that just about fit her,
sizing  Mama up and down. A few gray  hairs had got loose from her hairpins,
and she was pressing  them back with her hands, and pinning  them down where
they belonged.
     "We're about to get all straight again," Mama said.
     "Here.  Something's wrong around here. Tell me the truth before I go. I
just got to know."
     Mama  rubbed her  hair back out of her eyes and said, "I  feel  good, I
feel good all  over. I work hard and feel good, but I don't know. Just seems
like right in through my  head some  way or another, something. Little dizzy
spells."
     "I thought  so,"  Grandma  told her,  "I thought so.  I could tell. You
can't  fool an  old fooler, you know. Might fool your own self a little. But
not me. Not your  old Mama. If  it was one of your own kids  sick, you'd  be
able to tell it a mile away. I'm the same way about my flock of kids. I know
when  one  of them is out of kilter.  I put diapers on you and I washed your
ears a  million  times  and  I sent you  off to  school  in  dresses we made
together, and if you just so much as blink one eye crossways, I can tell it.
You promise to get the doctor down here and let him look you over!"
     "Milk will sour in the buggy."
     "Oh,  to  the dickens  with milk and  butter, Nora! I'm talking  sense.
Promise me you'll get the doctor down. Have him come down every few days for
a while. He can keep up with you, and do you some good."
     "Your eggs  will hatch  out. Well,  all right, all right. I'll  get the
doctor. Here, kiss me good-bye." Mama kissed Grandma on the forehead.
     Grandma crawled back into the buggy seat and found me perched up beside
her. "What about this young jaybird going home with me? Is it all right with
you? Will you miss his hard-working hands around the place here?"
     Mama was  standing  in the yard  waving. "I will!  'Bye! I'll tell Papa
you're gone. He'll miss you!"

     The team knocked dust up between their legs and it was good because the
little biting flies  couldn't bother  their  ankles. Grandma was letting  me
hold the reins.
     She told me,  "Stop here a minute or two." I pulled the team to a stop.
"Get three  pounds of butter out of the back  and take it up to Mrs. Tatum's
door. Get the  money. Don't squeeze  the butter  too  hard,  it'll have your
finger marks on it."
     I knocked on the door and handed a  lady three pounds of butter and got
a dollar bill and a twenty-five-cent piece in the palm  of my  hand. It felt
like some kind of magic sheet of paper and a magic piece of silver. I handed
it  up to  Grandma  and  she yelled,  "Thank you,  Mrs. Tatum!  Mighty  fine
weather!  Thank you!'' And Mrs. Tatum yelled back, "I can just  smell a blue
norther on top of these pretty days!"
     We  drifted  on  down the road  a few more  blocks, passing  a  lot  of
scattered houses, and I held  the reins again, being  awful  careful to hold
them up plenty  high in the air so the people all along the road could see I
was ramrodding this driving business. Grandma just  sort of smiled and said,
"Turn here to your right. Which  a way's  my  right? North.  Cold  up there.
Hurry and  make your turn. Stop  over there  in front of  that  little white
house.  Get out and take Mrs. Warner three pounds  of butter. Then come back
and take three buckets of milk. That family of  hers is getting  bigger  and
hungrier all of the time.  I don't think  her boy is working anymore down at
the gin."
     "Howdy do," I said to  Mrs. Warner, and  she said, "Why, Mrs,  Tanner's
got a  mighty good little  boy working for her  now. Isn't three  big  heavy
pounds of butter a little too heavy for you?"
     "Nope." I ran back to the buggy and piled in again.
     "Now, do you see  that little old broke-down shack over there in  under
that black walnut tree?"
     "Yeah, I see  it. Say, Gramma, why  didn't Mrs. Warner gimme  no dollar
an' no quarter? I see th' shack."
     "Mrs. Warner does a  charge account with me. Sews. Fixes clothes for my
whole family. Now this next lady's  name is Mrs. Walters. Take two pounds of
butter to her. Then come back and take three buckets of milk."
     I walked up to the  little shack and tried to keep my feet  on a rotten
plank that was used as a boardwalk. It was too rickety and caused me to lose
my balance. I stumbled and dropped one of the pound squares of butter  and I
felt like one of  Oklahoma's worst outlaws when I saw the  wet cloth unroll,
and the  butter roll out across the ground, picking up little dark rocks and
a solid coat of hard  dust. I was  standing there with tears in my eyes, and
more coming all of the time, when I heard somebody talking in my ear.
     "I was watchin' you frum th' kitchen window. My, my. What a nice little
boy yo' gran'ma's got to go 'roun<sup>'</sup> an' carry her buttah an' milk.
I oughtta knowed you couldn'  make it ovah that Ïl' trippy boardwalk. Lordy,
me! Jes' lookit  that nice  big yeller poun' Ï buttah all layin' theah in my
ol' dirty, filthy yard! Oh, well don'  you git no gray head 'bout it, little
'livery man. I  can use it all right. See  heah?  I can jes' scrape, scrape,
scrape, an' then they won' be too much wasted."
     I finally got up strength enough to mumble out, "Stumped my toe agin'."
     "Is he all right, Matilda?"
     "Sho', sho'! He's all right. Jes' a little toe stump.  Shoot a 'possum,
I goes 'roun' heah all barefoot jes' like  you do. See my ol  bare foot, how
tuff 'tis? Come right on in through th' front room heah, that's right. I bet
you this is th' firs' time you evah wuz in a black niggah's house. Is it?"
     "Yes ma'am."
     "I don'  hafta tell you no mo' than what yo' eyes  can  already see, do
I?"
     "No ma'am."
     "You leas'ways sez, yas ma'am an' no ma'am, don' you?"
     "Yes'm."
     "An' me jes' an ol black niggah. Hmmm. Sho' do soun' good."
     "Are you a nigger lady?"
     "Whatta I look like, honey?"
     "Are you a nigger 'cause you're black?"
     "What folks all says."
     "What do people call you a nigger for?"
     " 'Cause they jes' don' know no bettah. Don' know  what 'niggah' means.
Don' know how bad makes ya feel."
     "You called your own self that," I told her.
     "When  I calls my own se'f a  niggah, I knows I don' mean  it. An' even
anothah niggah calls  me a 'niggah,' I don'  min',  'cause I knows it's most
jes' fun. But when a white  pusson calls me 'niggah,'  it's like a whip cuts
through my ol' hide."
     "I gotta go bring you in some milk," I told Matilda.
     "Did you speak 'milk'?" She got a big smile all over her face.
     "My gramma's got you three buckets."
     "Some weeks  it's  buttah.  Some weeks  eggs.  An' now  you  speaks out
somethin' 'bout milk. Lawd God, little rattlesnakes! C'mon, I'll he'p you."
     I went  running through the house chasing her and said, "I'm  driver 'n
d'livery boy!"
     We got back to the buggy  and Grandma said, "Did you tell  the lady you
were sorry that you dropped her butter?"
     I looked down at the dusty road and didn't say anything.
     Matilda  cut in and said, "Missy Tanner, any little boy that does  work
fo' you's jes' mortally gotta be good. You gives me th` buttah an' th' sweet
milk,  an' he 'livers it to me. My Ïl' man's a-gonna chomp down on that same
ol' co'nbread, an'  'stead o<sup>r</sup> it a-bein' all so dry an' gritty it
sticks  in yo' throat an' cuts through yo' belly, it's a-gonna be all  slick
an' greasy with good ol'  runnin'  buttah.  An'  it'll  go  down  his  oozle
magoozler so slick an' easy  it won't have time ta scrape his neck 'er belly
neither  one.  An' my kids'll git greasy all  over an' wipe  it off on their
ovahalls, but po' little fellas, I ain't even a-gonna cuss 'em  out 'bout it
if they  do;  'cause  they'll  be jes' like  me,  so hongery  fo' buttah  on
co'nbread, an' sweet  milk, they'll jes'  think they's oozin' ovah inta  th'
sho' 'nuff promised lan'."
     Grandma said, "I try not to ever just clean forget you."
     "I knows ya do," Matilda told Grandma.
     "I  just wish it  could be more of  it more often," Grandma  went on to
say.
     "I wishes  I could he'p you out mo' an' mo' often, too. You knows that,
don't ya, Missy Tanner?" When she looked in under the back lid of the buggy,
Matilda went on, 'I'll see if I can see any of  mah own kids aroun'. Pack in
two of these heah big gallion buckets. Tuckah! Tuckah!''
     "Yes'm. Heah I is! Watcha wan'?"
     "Undo yo'self, Tuckah Boy, undo yo'self! Come out heah an' see with yo'
own big  eyes what all's a-gonna grease dat belly o' yo's! Sweet milk! 'Nuff
ta fatten an' raise fo' hogs ta butchah!"
     Tucker flew out from behind a patch of weeds, and  then I saw three  or
four other  little  heads  shoot out  and  stand up and  look and think  and
listen.
     Grandma smiled and  said, "Hi, Tuck! Still playing in that old patch of
gimpson weeds, I see."
     "Howdy do, Miss Tanner."
     Matilda handed me a gallon  bucket and  then she  handed Tuck one. Then
she said,  "Tuck, this is Mistah  Woodpile.  Mistah Woodpile, dis heah is my
boy, Tuckah."
     I shook hands with Tuck and we said, "Glad ta know ya."
     Then he laughed  at  the top of his voice  and grabbed a bucket of milk
between his two hands, bent over it with his face almost touching the top of
the milk, his breath blowing  rings out across it, saying,  "Good Ïl',  good
Ïl', good ol' milk! Good ol', good ol', good ol' milk!"

     For the first  two or three miles we just  trotted  along west down the
Ozark Trail Half a mile west past the Buckeye schoolhouse, we saw two saddle
horses tied  to the fence, the  Black Joker,  wild and mean,  that Grandma's
oldest boy, Warren, rode;  and an old tame family horse that the two younger
kids, Lawrence and Leonard, rode double.
     "I see  Warren's sneaked  out that Black Joker horse  and rode  him  to
school again. That fool horse is loco."
     I set there in the seat all loose and limber, both knees under my chin,
sort of thinking, and then I told Grandma, "Mama'll need me home."
     Grandma looked  down at  me and she put her arm around me and pulled me
over close  to her in the buggy seat, and  I held one rein in each  hand and
let both hands fall down  across  her lap.  "You're  worried,  too. You're a
worried little man, that's what you are, a worried little man."
     "Gramma."
     "Yes."
     ''You know somethin', Gramma?  My mama don't never go out an' visit th'
other people acrost th' alley."
     "Why not?"
     "She jest stays an' stays an' stays home in that ole Lon'on House."
     "Do any of the neighbor ladies ever come around to  visit and talk with
Nora?" Grandma asked me.
     "Huh uh. Never nobody."
     "What does she do? Read a book?"
     "Jest sets. Looks. Holds  a book  in 'er lap mosta  th'  time,  but she
don't  look where th' book's at. Jest out across th' whole  room, an'  whole
house an' ever'wheres."
     "Is that right?"
     "If Papa tells Mama somethin' she forgot, she gits so mad  she goes off
up in  th' top  bedroom an' cries an' cries all day long. What makes  it?" I
asked Grandma.
     "Your mama  is awful bad sick,  Woody, awful bad.  And  she knows she's
awful bad sick. And it's so bad that she don't want any of you to know about
it ... because it's going to get a whole lot worse."
     It was a minute or two  that Grandma didn't say a word, and neither did
I. I stared along the side of the little old road. The rain had come and the
waters had run,  and  the road had wrinkled up like an old  man's skin. Over
across the tops of the weeds I saw Grandma's big high cornfield.
     "Gramma," I finally spoke  up, "is  Tom an' Bess  trottin' fast  'cause
they wanta git home quicker?"
     She didn't move or change the blank look on her face much. She said, "I
suppose they do."
     "Is one horse a girl?"
     "Bess."
     "One's a boy horse?"
     "Tom."
     "They live together, don't they?"
     "Same barn,  yes. Same pasture.  I don't know just exactly what  you're
getting at."
     "Can horses marry each other?"
     "Can they do what?"
     "Horses marry?"
     "Well, now there you go again with your dang fool infernal questions. I
don't know whether horses get married or not."
     "I wuz jest askin' Õ a."
     "You're always asking, asking, asking something. And half of the time I
can't tell you the answer."
     "Horses work, don't they?"
     "You  know  they work. I wouldn't even have a cat or a dog or a chicken
on my place  that didn't do his share of the work. Yes, even my old cat does
a lot of work. That reminds me, you know old Maltese Mother?"
     "ïl', Ïl'  one? Yeah. She knows me,  too. Ever' time she  sees me,  she
comes over to where I am."
     "She's  got a  whole  bunch, seven  of  the nicest  soft, fuzzy  little
kittens that you ever saw."
     "Seven? How many fingers is seven?"
     "Like  this. Here. All of the fingers on this  hand and two  fingers on
this hand. That's right."
     "Are they good little kittens?"
     "Now, what could  a  little kitten do, anyway, to be mean? They're  the
best little fellers  you  ever saw. Sleepers.  You never  saw anything sleep
like these little baby cats."
     "Where  did ole  Mother Maltese go  to  come back with this many little
baby kittens?"
     "Out in the trees somewhere, somewhere  out in the grass. She found one
little  kitten here, and one little kitten over there, and  one  or two back
across yonder, and that's how she got all seven."
     "Is it?"
     "Certainly is."
     "Why couldn't old Mama Maltese go and find all seven of 'em in jes' one
place?"
     "Listen,  young  man, you'll just have to ask the mama  cat. Watch your
horses there, straighten yourself up. You remember we're coming to the gate?
You jump out and open it."
     I saw the old barb-wire gate coming and said, "Me? Shore! Shore! I know
ever'thing ya gotta do ta open a gate!"
     The gate  was tough. I put one  arm around the post that was set in the
ground,  and the other arm  around  the loose gatepole,  and got  sort of  a
headlock  on  them both. I heard Grandma  holler out, "I see the boys riding
down the road yonder! Come on!"
     Then  I  heard a  bunch of horses'  hoofs coming down the road,  and  I
looked up and saw just a big white-looking  cloud of  dust coming at me. Out
of the dust I could hear  the three boys  whooping and barking, "Wwaaahoooo!
Yip!  Yip! õÕÕÕÕiiiÒÒÒÅÅÅ!  Looky  ooouuuttt!  Wood