coax him to let us take it out, but he wouldn’t, of co’se. He never will, an’ somehow the Lord seems to give ’em ambition to work their own way out mos’ gen’ally.
But, sir, this splinter didn’t seem to have no energy in it. It thess lodged there, an’ his little foot it commenced to swell, an’ it swole an’ swole tell his little toes stuck out so thet the little pig thet went to market looked like ez ef it wasn’t on speakin’ terms with the little pig thet stayed home, an’ wife an’ me we watched it, an’ I reckon she prayed over it consider’ble, an’ I read a extry psalm at night befo’ I went to bed, all on account o’ that little foot. An’ night befo’ las’ it was lookin’ mighty angry an’ swole, an’ he had limped an’ “ouched!” consider’ble all day, an’ he was mighty fretful bed-time. So, after he went to sleep, wife she come out on the po’ch where I was settin’, and she says to me, says she, her face all drawed up an’ workin’, says she: “Honey,” says she, “I reckon we better sen’ for him an’ have it did.” Thess so, she said it. “Sen’ for who, wife?” says I, “an’ have what did?” “Why, sen’ for him, the ‘Piscopal preacher,” says she, “an’ have Sonny christened. Them little toes o’ hisn is ez red ez cherry tomatoes. They burnt my lips thess now like a coal o’ fire an’—an’ lockjaw is goin’ roun’ tur’ble.
“Seems to me,” says she, “when he started to git sleepy, he didn’t gap ez wide ez he gen’ly does—an’ I’m ’feered he’s a-gittin’ it now.” An’, sir, with that, she thess gathered up her apron an’ mopped her face in it an’ give way. An’ ez for me, I didn’t seem to have no mo’ backbone down my spinal colume ‘n a feather bolster has, I was that weak.
I never ast her why she didn’t sen’ for our own preacher. I knowed then ez well ez ef she’d ’a’ told me why she done it—all on account o’ Sonny bein’ so tickled over the ‘Piscopals’ meetin’s.
It was mos’ nine o’clock then, an’ a dark night, an’ rainin’, but I never said a word—they wasn’t no room round the edges o’ the lump in my throat for words to come out ef they’d ’a’ been one surgin’ up there to say, which they wasn’t—but I thess went out an’ saddled my horse an’ I rid into town. Stopped first at the doctor’s an’ sent him out, though I knowed ’twouldn’t do no good; Sonny wouldn’t ’low him to tech it; but I sent him out anyway, to look at it, an’, ef possible, console wife a little. Then I rid on to the rector’s an’ ast him to come out immejate an’ baptize Sonny. But nex’ day was his turn to preach down at Sandy Crik, an’ he couldn’t come that night, but he promised to come right after services nex’ mornin’—which he done—rid the whole fo’teen mile from Sandy Crik here in the rain, too, which I think is a evidence o’ Christianity, though no sech acts is put down in my book o’ “evidences” where they ought rightfully to be.
Well, sir, when I got home that night, I found wife a heap cheerfuler. The doctor had give Sonny a big apple to eat an’ pernounced him free from all symptoms o’ lockjaw. But when I come the little feller had crawled ’back under the bed an’ lay there, eatin’ his apple, an’ they couldn’t git him out. Soon ez the doctor had teched a poultice to his foot he had woke up an’ put a stop to it, an’ then he had went off by hisself where nothin’ couldn’t pester him, to enjoy his apple in peace. An’ we never got him out tell he heered us tellin’ the doctor good-night.
I tried ever’ way to git him out—even took up a coal o’ fire an’ poked it under at him; but he thess laughed at that an’ helt his apple agin’ it an’ made it sizz. Well, sir, he seemed so tickled that I helt that coal o’ fire for him tell he cooked a good big spot on one side o’ the apple, an’ et it, an’ then, when I took it out, he called for another, but I didn’t give it to him. I don’t see no use in over-indulgin’ a child. An’ when he knowed the doctor was gone, he come out an’ finished roastin’ his apple by the fire—thess what was left of it ’round the co’e.
Well, sir, we was mightily comforted by the doctor’s visit, but nex’ mornin’ things looked purty gloomy ag’in. That little foot seemed a heap worse, an’ he was sort o’ flushed an’ feverish, an’ wife she thought she heard a owl hoot, an’ Rover made a mighty funny gurgly sound in his th’oat like ez ef he had bad news to tell us, but didn’t have the courage to speak it.
An’ then, on top o’ that, the nigger Dicey, she come in an’ ’lowed she had dreamed that night about eatin’ spare-ribs, which everybody knows to dream about fresh pork out o’ season, which this is July, is considered a shore sign o’ death. Of co’se, wife an’ me, we don’t b’lieve in no sech ez that, but ef you ever come to see yo’ little feller’s toes stand out the way Sonny’s done day befo’ yesterday, why, sir, you’ll be ready to b’lieve anything. It’s so much better now, you can’t judge of its looks day befo’ yesterday. We never had even so much ez considered it necessary thet little children should be christened to have ’em saved, but when things got on the ticklish edge, like they was then, why, we felt thet the safest side is the wise side, an’, of co’se, we want Sonny to have the best of everything. So, we was mighty thankful when we see the rector comin’. But, sir, when I went out to open the gate for him, what on top o’ this round hemisp’ere do you reckon Sonny done? Why, sir, he thess took one look at the gate an’ then he cut an’ run hard ez he could—limped acrost the yard thess like a flash o’ zig-zag lightnin’—an’ ’fore anybody could stop him, he had clumb to the tip top o’ the butter-bean arbor—clumb it thess like a cat—an’ there he set, a-swingin’ his feet under him, an’ laughin’, the rain thess a-streakin’ his hair all over his face.
That bean arbor is a favoryte place for him to escape to, ’cause it’s too high to reach, an’ it ain’t strong enough to bear no grown-up person’s weight.
Well, sir, the rector, he come in an’ opened his valise an’ ’rayed hisself in his robes an’ opened his book, an’ while he was turnin’ the leaves, he faced ’round an’ says he, lookin’ at me direc’, says he:
“Let the child be brought forward for baptism,” says he, thess that-a-way.
Well, sir, I looked at wife, an’ wife, she looked at me, an’ then we both thess looked out at the butter-bean arbor.
I knowed then thet Sonny wasn’t never comin’ down while the rector was there, an’ rector, he seemed sort o’ fretted for a minute when he see how things was, an’ he did try to do a little settin’ fo’th of opinions. He ’lowed, speakin’ in a mighty pompious manner, thet holy things wasn’t to be trifled with, an’ thet he had come to baptize the child accordin’ to the rites o’ the church.
Well, that sort o’ talk, it thess rubbed me the wrong way, an’ I up an’ told him thet that might be so, but thet the rites o’ the church didn’t count for nothin’, on our farm, to the rights o’ the boy!
I reckon it was mighty disrespec’ful o’ me to face him that-a-way, an’ him adorned in all his robes, too, but I’m thess a plain up-an’-down man an’ I hadn’t went for him to come an’ baptize Sonny to uphold the granjer of no church. I was ready to do that when the time come, but right now we was workin’ in Sonny’s interests, an’ I intended to have it understood that way. An’ it was.
Rector, he’s a mighty good, kind-hearted man, git down to the man inside the preacher, an’ when he see thess how things stood, why, he come ’round friendly, an’ he went out on the po’ch an’ united with us in tryin’ to help coax Sonny down. First started by promisin’ him speritual benefits, but he soon see that wasn’t no go, and he tried worldly persuasion; but no, sir, stid o’ him comin’ down, Sonny started orderin’ the rest of us christened thess the way he done about the vaccination. But, of co’se, we had been baptized
