FullReads

The pan of scraps quite equalled that of the old man’s memory, every familiar fragment evoking a reminiscence.

“You is sho’ struck quality white folks dis time, Juke,” he said, finally, as he pushed back the pan–Duke had long ago finished–“but dis here tukkey-stuffin’–I don’t say ‘tain’ good, but hit don’t quite come up ter de mark o’ ole miss’s puckon stuffin’ !”

Duke was nodding in his chair, when presently the old man, turning to go to bed, spied the unopened parcel, which, in his excitement, Duke had forgotten. Placing it upon the table before him, Mose began to open it. It was a package worth getting–just such a generous Christmas bundle as he had described to Duke this afternoon. Perhaps it was some vague impression of this sort that made his old fingers tremble as he untied the strings, peeping or sniffing into the little parcels of tea and coffee and flour. Suddenly something happened. Out of a little sack of buckwheat, accidentally upset, rolled a ten-cent piece. The old man threw up his arms, fell forward over the table, and in a moment was sobbing aloud.

It was some time before he could make Duke comprehend the situation, but presently, pointing to the coin lying before him, he cried: “Look, boy, look! Wharbouts is you got dat bundle? Open yo’ mouf, boy! Look at de money in de buckwheat-bag! Oh, my ole mistuss! Nobody but you is tied up dat bundle! Praise Gord, I say!”

There was no sleep for either Mose or Duke now; and, late as it was, they soon started out, the old man steadying himself on Duke’s shoulder, to find their people.

* * * * *

It was hard for the little boy to believe, even after they had hugged all ’round and laughed and cried, that the stylish black gentleman who answered the door-bell, silver tray in hand, was his own father! He had often longed for a regular blue-shirted plantation “daddy,” but never, in his most ambitious moments, had he aspired to filial relations with so august a personage as this!

But while Duke was swelling up, rolling his eyes, and wondering, Mose stood in the centre of a crowd of his white people, while a gray-haired old lady, holding his trembling hand in both of hers, was saying, as the tears trickled down her cheeks:

“But why didn’t you get some one to write to us for you, Moses?”

Then Mose, sniffling still, told of his long illness in the hospital, and of his having afterwards met a man from the coast who told the story of the sale of the plantation, but did not know where the family had gone.

“When I fixed up that bundle,” the old lady resumed, “I was thinking of you, Moses. Every year we have sent out such little packages to any needy colored people of whom we knew, as a sort of memorial to our lost ones, always half-hoping that they might actually reach some of them. And I thought of you specially, Moses,” she continued, mischievously, “when I put in all that turkey-stuffing. Do you remember how greedy you always were about pecan-stuffing? It wasn’t quite as good as usual this year.”

“No’m; dat what I say,” said Mose. “I tol’ Juke dat stuffin’ warn’t quite up ter de mark–ain’t I, Juke? Fur gracious sake, look at Juke, settin’ on his daddy’s shoulder, with a face on him ole as a man! Put dat boy down, Pete! Dat’s a business-man you foolin’ wid!”

Whereupon little Duke–man of affairs, forager, financier–overcome at last with the fulness of the situation, made a really babyish square mouth, and threw himself sobbing upon his father’s bosom.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote A: Pronounced lan-yap. Lagniappe is a small gratuity which New Orleans children always expect and usually get with a purchase. Retail druggists keep jars of candy, licorice, or other small confections for that purpose.]