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She raised her head and through the brimming tears her eyes shone like twin stars.

“What am I going to do?” she echoed. “Judge, you just said nobody knew except four of us. Well, everybody is going to know–everybody in this town is going to know, because I’m going to tell them. I’ll be a prouder and a happier girl when they do know, all of them, than I’ve ever been in my whole life. And I warn you that neither you nor Aunt Sharley nor any other person alive can keep me from telling them. I’m going to glory in telling the world the story of it.”

“Lord bless your spunky little soul, honey, I ain’t goin’ to try to hender you frum tellin’,” said Judge Priest. “Anyhow, I expect to be kept busy durin’ the next few days keepin’ out of that old nigger woman’s way. . . . So that’s the very first thing you aim to do?”

“No, it isn’t, either,” she exclaimed, catching the drift of his meaning. “That is going to be the second thing I do. But the first thing I am going to do is to go straight back home as fast as I can walk and get down on my knees before Aunt Sharley and beg her forgiveness for being so unjust and so unkind.”

“Oh, I reckin that won’t hardly be necessary,” said Judge Priest. “I kind of figger that ef you’ll jest have a little cryin’ bee with her that’ll answer every purpose. Jest put your young arms round her old neck and cry a spell with her. It’s been my observation that, black or white, cryin’ together seems to bring a heap of comfort to the members of your sex.”

“I think perhaps I shall try that,” she agreed, smiling in spite of herself; and her smile was like sunshine in the midst of a shower. “I’ll begin by kissing her right smack on the mouth–like this.” And she kissed the Judge squarely on his.

“Judge Priest,” she stated, “this town is due for more than one surprise. Do you know who’s going to be the matron of honour at my wedding three weeks from now? I’ll give you just one guess.”

He glanced up at her quizzically.

“Whut do you s’pose the young man is goin’ to have to say about that?” he asked.

“If he doesn’t like it he can find some other girl to marry him,” she said.

“Oh, I kind of imagine he’ll listen to reason–especially comin’ frum you,” said Judge Priest. “He will ef he’s the kind of young man that’s worthy to marry Tom Dabney’s daughter.”

* * * * *

It is possible that some of the bridegroom’s kinspeople, coming down from the North for the wedding, were shocked to find a wizen, coal-black woman, who was lame of one leg, not only taking part in the ceremony, filling a place next in importance to that of the contracting pair and the maid of honour, but apparently in active and undisputed charge of the principal details. However, being well-bred persons, they did not betray their astonishment by word, look or deed. Perhaps they figured it as one of the customs of the country that an old shrill-voiced negress, smelling of snuff and black silk, should play so prominent a role in the event itself and in the reception that followed.

However, all that is ancient history now. What I have to add is a commingling of past local history and present local history. As I said at the outset, there were formerly any number of black children in our town who bore the names of white friends and white patrons, but to my knowledge there was never but one white child named for a black person. The child thus distinguished was a girl child, the first-born of Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Winslow. Her full name was Charlotte Helm Winslow, but nearly everybody called her Little Sharley. She is still called so, I believe, though growing now into quite a sizable young person.