You all stop! Leave my boy go on. Doan stop ’im. Doan’ bring ’im back for dat ole tree to grin at. Leave him g’wan. He wants tuh go. Ah’m happy ’cause dis mawnin’ mah boy is goin’ tuh sea, he’s goin’ tuh sea.

Matty bristled instantly. “Naw,” she answered sternly, “he ain’t no sneak.”

A screech-owl alighted on the roof and shivered forth his doleful cry.

“Naw, John, Ah’ll nevah give mah consent. I know yous hard-headed jes’ lak yo’ paw; but if you leave dis place ovah mah head, Ah nevah wants you tuh come back heah no mo. Ef Ah wuz laid on de coolin’ board, Ah doan want yuh standin’ ovah me, young man. Doan even come neah mah grave, you ongrateful wretch!”

Thas right, Alfred, go on an’ ’buse me. You allus does. Ah knows Ah’m ign’rant an’ all dat, but dis is mah son. Ah bred an’ born ’im. He kain’t help from wantin’ to go rovin’ cause travel dust been put down fuh him. But mebbe we kin cure ’im by disincouragin’ the idee.”

Her son’s desires were incomprehensible to her, that was all. She did not want to hurt him. It was love, mother love, that made her cling so desperately to John.

Twelve years of married life had taught Alfred that far from being miserable when she wept, his wife was enjoying a bit of self-pity.

She put travel dust down fuh mah chile, dat’s whut she done, tuh make him walk ’way fum me. An’ evuh sence he’s been able tuh crawl, he’s been tryin tuh go.”

Aw, woman, stop dat talk ’bout conjure. Tain’t so nohow. Ah doan want Jawn tuh git dat foolishness in him.”

“Alf, it’s too bad our boy’s got a spell on ’im.”