sir, wife an’ me we was took into the church, then an’ there. We wouldn’t ’a’’ yielded to him, thoo an’ thoo, that-a-way ag’in ef his little foot hadn’t ’a’’ been so swole, an’ he maybe takin’ his death o’ cold settin’ out in the po’in’-down rain; but things bein’ as they was, we went thoo it with all due respects.
Then he commenced callin’ for Dicey, an’ the dog, an’ the cat, to be did, same ez he done befo’; but, of co’se, they’s some liberties thet even a innocent child can’t take with the waters o’ baptism, an’ the rector he got sort o’ wo’e-out and disgusted an’ ’lowed thet ’less’n we could get the child ready for baptism he’d haf to go home.
Well, sir, I knowed we wouldn’t never git ’im down, an’ I had went for the rector to baptize him, an’ I intended to have it did, ef possible. So, says I, turnin’ ’round an’ facin’ him square, says I: “Rector,” says I, “why not baptize him where he is? I mean it. The waters o’ Heaven are descendin’ upon him where he sets, an’ seems to me ef he’s favo’bly situated for anything it is for baptism.” Well, parson, he thess looked at me up an’ down for a minute, like ez ef he s’picioned I was wanderin’ in my mind, but he didn’t faze me. I thess kep’ up my argiment. Says I: “Parson,” says I, speakin’ thess ez ca’m ez I am this minute—“Parson,” says I, “his little foot is mighty swole, an’ so’e, an’ that splinter—thess s’pose he was to take the lockjaw an’ die—don’t you reckon you might do it where he sets—from where you stand?”
Wife, she was cryin’ by this time, an’ parson, he claired his th’oat an’ coughed, an’ then he commenced walkin’ up an’ down, an’ treckly he stopped, an’ says he, speakin’ mighty reverential an’ serious:
“Lookin’ at this case speritually, an’ as a minister o’ the Gospel,” says he, “it seems to me thet the question ain’t so much a question of doin’ ez it is a question of withholdin’. I don’t know,” says he, “ez I’ve got a right to withhold the sacrament of baptism from a child under these circumstances or to deny sech comfort to his parents ez lies in my power to bestow.”
An’, sir, with that he stepped out to the end o’ the po’ch, opened his book ag’in, an’ holdin’ up his right hand to’ards Sonny, settin’ on top o’ the bean-arbor in the rain, he commenced to read the service o’ baptism, an’ we stood proxies—which is a sort o’ a dummy substitutes—for whatever godfather an’ mother Sonny see fit to choose in after life.
Parson, he looked half like ez ef he’d laugh once-t. When he had thess opened his book and started to speak, a sudden streak o’ sunshine shot out an’ the rain started to ease up, an’ it looked for a minute ez ef he was goin’ to lose the baptismal waters. But d’rec’ly it come down stiddy ag’in an’ he went thoo the programme entire.
An’ Sonny, he behaved mighty purty; set up perfec’ly ca’m an’ composed thoo it all, an’ took everything in good part, though he didn’t p’intedly know who was bein’ baptized, ’cause, of co’se, he couldn’t hear the words with the rain in his ears.
He didn’t rightly sense the situation tell it come to the part where it says: “Name this child,” and, of co’se, I called out to Sonny to name hisself, which it had always been our intention to let him do.
“Name yo’self, right quick, like a good boy,” says I.
Of co’se Sonny had all his life heered me say thet I was Deuteronomy Jones, Senior, an’ thet I hoped some day when he got christened he’d be the junior. He knowed that by heart, an’ would agree to it or dispute it, ’cordin’ to how the notion took him, and I sort o’ ca’culated thet he’d out with it now. But no, sir! Not a word! He thess sot up on thet bean-arbor an’ grinned.
An’ so, feelin’ put to it, with the services suspended over my head, I spoke up, an’ I says: “Parson,” says I, “I reckon ef he was to speak his little heart, he’d say Deuteronomy Jones, Junior.” An’ with thet what does Sonny do but conterdic’ me flat! “No, not Junior! I want to be named Deuteronomy Jones, Senior!” says he, thess so. An’ parson, he looked to’ards me, an’ I bowed my head an’ he pronounced thess one single name, “Deuteronomy,” an’ I see he wasn’t goin’ to say no more an’ so I spoke up quick, an’ says I: “Parson,” says I, “he has spoke his heart’s desire. He has named hisself after me entire—Deuteronomy Jones, Senior.”
An’ so he was obligated to say it, an’ so it is writ in the family record colume in the big Bible, though I spelt his Senior with a little s, an’ writ him down ez the only son of the Senior with the big S, which it seems to me fixes it about right for the time bein’.
Well, when the rector had got thoo an’ he had wropped up his robes an’ put ’em in his wallet, an’ had told us to prepare for conformation, he pernounced a blessin’ upon us an’ went.
Then Sonny seein’ it was all over, why, he come down. He was wet ez a drownded rat, but wife rubbed him off an’ give him some hot tea an’ he come a-snuggin’ up in my lap, thess ez sweet a child ez you ever see in yo’ life, an’ I talked to him ez fatherly ez I could, told him we was all ‘Piscopals now, an’ soon ez his little foot got well I was goin’ to take him out to Sunday-school to tote a banner—all his little ‘Piscopal friends totes banners—an’ thet he could pick out some purty candles for the altar, an’ he ’lowed immejate thet he’d buy pink ones. Sonny always was death on pink—showed it from the time he could snatch a pink rose—an’ wife she ain’t never dressed him in nothin’ else. Ever’ pair o’ little breeches he’s got is either pink or pink-trimmed.
Well, I talked along to him till I worked ’round to shamin’ him a little for havin’ to be christened settin’ up on top a bean-arbor, same ez a crow-bird, which I told him the parson he wouldn’t ’a’’ done ef he’d ’a’’ felt free to ’ve left it undone. ’Twasn’t to indulge him he done it, but to bless him an’ to comfort our hearts. Well, after I had reasoned with him severe that-a-way a while, he says, says he, thess ez sweet an’ mild, says he, “Daddy, nex’ time y’all gits christened, I’ll come down an’ be christened right—like a good boy.”
Th’ ain’t a sweeter child in’ardly ‘n what Sonny is, nowheres, git him to feel right comf’table, and I know it, an’ that’s why I have patience with his little out’ard ways.
“Yes, sir,” says he; “nex’ time I’ll be christened like a good boy.”
Then, of co’se, I explained to him thet it couldn’t never be did no mo’, ’cause it had been did, an’ did ‘Piscopal, which is secure. An’ then what you reckon the little feller said?
Says he, “Yes, daddy, but s’pos’in’ mine don’t take. How ’bout that?”
An’ I didn’t try to explain no further. What was the use? Wife, she had drawed a stool close-t up to my knee, an’ set there sortin’ out the little yaller rings ez they’d dry out on his head, an’ when he said that I thess looked at her an’ we both looked at him, an’ says I, “Wife,” says I, “ef they’s anything in heavenly looks an’ behavior, I b’lieve that christenin’ is started to take on him a’ready.”
An’ I b’lieve it had.
CHRISTMAS NIGHT WITH SATAN
