O winds of the sea, that whisper, Will you not whisper to me What the marvellous strange visions Of a little child may be? O wild rose, stirred and shaken, By the wind that ripples the stream, Why are the children dreaming, And what are the dreams they dream?
—Beverly\'s Attitudes and Platitudes: A Drama.

"Them that slip out\'n dreams an\' stay with us!" said Mr. Sanders to himself, as they went along. "Be jiggered ef that ain\'t a new one on me! I\'ll take it home an\' chew on it when I\'m lonesome."

Adelaide had just cause of complaint, she thought. "Now we can\'t have any fumerl, with strange folks tip-toeing about the place, and carriages at the door, with horses snorting and pawing the ground."

"It\'s jest as well," remarked Mr. Sanders. "All that sort of thing will come along lot\'s quicker than we want it to."

"They come\'d twice to our house—two times!" said Adelaide, in the tone of one who has a proprietary interest in such matters. "They come\'d and come\'d," she went on, with the air of imparting important secret information, "and they peeped in all the rooms, and in the closets, and behind the doors, and pulled out all the booro draws; yes, and some of \'em looked in the safe where mother keeps her vittles!"

There was something pitiful about the child\'s brief recital. She had seen and noted everything, and the report she had inadvertently made to Mr. Sanders rang true to life, and almost humorously true to the results of Mr. Sanders\'s observation. His lips twitched, as they had a way of doing when he was in doubt whether to laugh or cry, which was often the case.

"Well, honey," he replied, making what excuse he could for poor humanity, "ef folks is ever gwine for to find out anything in this world they\'ve got to stick the\'r noses in ev\'ry nook an\' cranny."

"That\'s why I wanted to put the Boogerman in the grave-yard. Lucindy is his mother, and we could go and look under her bed, and peep in her cubberd, and find out everything she\'s got, and more too."

What reply Mr. Sanders would have made to this will never be known, for they were just going in the side gate that let them into old Jonas\'s back-yard. Old Jonas himself had come out of the house, and was now walking about in the yard with his hat pulled well down to his ears. The opening and shutting of the gate attracted his attention, and he turned to see who could be trespassing on his premises. When he saw Mr. Sanders fantastically arrayed, his coat turned inside out, and his hat upside down, old Jonas flung both hands over his head in a gesture of amazement.

"Why, what foolery is this? Good Lord, Sanders! have you turned lunatic? Why—why—if this kind of thing goes on much longer, I\'ll sue out a writ, and have you sent to the asylum; I\'ll do it as sure as my name is Whipple!"

"Please, sir, Nunky-Punky, let me off this time, and I\'ll never play wi\' Miss Adelaide any more. An\' the Boogerman may git you for all I keer! An\' ol\' Raw-Head-an\'-Bloody-Bones\'ll crawl out from under the house whar he lives at, an\' snap his jaws an\' wink his green eyes at you; an\' he\'ll ketch you an\' put you in his wallet, an\' chaw you up bone by bone—mark my words!"

"Sanders!" said old Jonas, with less anger and more earnestness, "what in the name of all that\'s sensible, is the matter with you?"

"Not a thing in the world but pyore joy, Jonas! Climb up in the waggon and let\'s all take a ride. I\'m dead in love wi\' this little gal here; won\'t you j\'ine me? Nan Dorrin\'ton used to be my beau-lover, but Nan\'s too old, an\' now Adelaide\'s done took her place! Slap yourself on the hams an\' crow like a rooster! Jump up an\' crack your heels together twice before you come to earth ag\'in. We\'ve ketched the Boogerman, an\' was gittin\' ready for to fetch him home bekaze we had him whar he could nuther back nor squall, but jest about that time, here come Lucindy. She wa\'n\'t gallopin\', but she give us ez purty a sample of the ginnywine buzzard-lope as you ever laid eyes on. She grabbed the Boogerman an\' give him the Putmon county witch-hug. Arter she\'d smivelled an\' smovelled him mighty nigh to death, she helt him off from her an\' claimed him as her long-lost son; she know\'d it bekaze he had a swaller-fork in one y\'ear, an\' a under-bit in the other, an\' a wind-gall on the back of his neck. Her son, mind you! Well, when I know\'d her son the first letter of his name was Randall Bowden, bekaze Bowden was the name of the man he belonged to—you remember him, Jonas?"

"He admitted me to the bar and came within one of frightening me to death," responded old Jonas.

"Well, you\'re a lawyer, an\' you know mighty well that a man an\' a citizen can\'t change his name wi\'out a special law passed by the legislatur\'. Now, ef the Boogerman was a plain nigger, it wouldn\'t make a bit of difference what he called hisse\'f. But thar ain\'t no plain niggers any more; they\'re all sufferin\' citizens. An\' here he is callin\' hisself Randall Holden. What do you think of that?"

Randall shifted from one foot to the other and looked, first, at Mr. Sanders, and then at all of the others in turn. "Well, suh, Mr. Sanders, I call myse\'f Holden bekaze they ain\'t no Bowdens fer me ter be named after. Marster\'s dead, Mistiss is dead, an\' Miss Betty is done gone an\' changed her name by—er—gittin\' married. De Holdens ain\'t all dead yit, an\' my mistiss wuz a Holden proceedin\' the day she married marster. I felt like I want ter be named after somebody that wuz alive."

"What have you been doing all this time?" old Jonas asked in his sharpest and curtest tone.

"Workin\' hard all day, an\' studyin\' hard at night, suh. I laid off ter be a preacher. In four years, I reckon I has been to school about one year. I can read a little, an\' write a little, an\' maybe do some easy figgerin\'. It looks like that books git harder the more you fool with \'em. That\'s what I find about \'em. I jest come ter see my mammy, suh, an\' she come up on me while I was playin\' Boogerman with the little mistiss there."

"Doing what?" snapped old Jonas; and then Mr. Sanders had to relate the wonderful adventures that befell Adelaide and him in the Whish-Whish Woods. How he did it must be imagined, but old Jonas listened patiently to the end, without uttering so much as the habitual "pish-tush."

"Sanders," said old Jonas, when the narrative of the expedition was concluded, "do you mean to stand there and tell me that you, a man old enough to be a grandfather, got in that rig, and went trampling about in my garden, just to give that child a little pleasure?"

"Why, no, Jonas, I can\'t say that I did; I sorter had the idee that I mought git my name in your will, seein\' as how you\'re so abominably fond of Adelaide. That\'s why I come!"

It was at this point that Jonas\'s "pish-tush" did execution; he fired it at Mr. Sanders with as much energy as indignation could give.

Randall, the Boogerman, was evidently somewhat in doubt of old Jonas\'s disposition in regard to him, and so he said, with every appearance of embarrassment: "I can\'t stay here long, suh, bekaze they\'s people in this county that would Ku-Kluck me ef they know\'d I was anywheres around. I\'m the one, suh, that knocked Mr. Tuttle in the head with my hoe-handle when he was marster\'s overseer. I didn\'t go ter do it, suh, but he pecked on me an\' pecked on me twel I didn\'t have the sense I was born with. It looked like somebody had flung a red cloth over my head; ev\'rything got red, an\' when I come ter myse\'f Mr. Tuttle was layin\' there on the ground jest as still as ef he\'d a\' been a log of wood. I know\'d mighty well that ef they cotch me I\'d be hung, bekaze that was the law in them times; Miss Betty tol\' me so. I got away from there, an\' run home; but before I got there, I could hear white folks a-hollerin\', an\' then I know\'d they was after me. I run right in the big house, an\' went up stairs the back way, an\' before I could stop myse\'f I run right in Miss Betty\'s room. She was in there combing her hair; she\'d been having a party, the first one after she come back frum college."

"Wasn\'t she frightened?" old Jonas inquired. "Didn\'t she scream and raise a row?"

"No, suh," replied Randall, the Boogerman; "she wa\'n\'t no more skeer\'d than what you is right now. She say, \'How dast you ter come in here?\' But by ther time she seed the blood runnin\' down my face where Mr. Tuttle had hit me, an\' time she looked ag\'in, I was down on my knees, sayin\' a prayer to her. I tol\' her that the white folks was after me, an\' begged her not ter let \'em git me. I know\'d that the way to the top of the house led through her room, an\' that was the reason I run in there—I thought she was down stairs lookin\' after her party. I begged an\' prayed so hard that she went to the door leadin\' to the plunder room under the roof, an\' flung it open with, \'Go up there, an\' keep still; don\'t you dast to make any fuss!\' Well, suh, up I went, an\' I stayed there twel I could git away. Ef any of you-all know where Miss Betty is, an\' will tell me, I\'ll go right whar she is an\' work fer her twel she gits tired of bein\' worked fer."

"All dat\'s de naked trufe," exclaimed Lucindy, "kaze Miss Betty come out ter de kitchen an\' tol\' me whar Randall wuz, an\' gi\' me de key er de do\', an\' I tuck him vittles an\' clean cloze plum twel he got away. I\'d \'a\' gone wid Miss Betty, but I know\'d dat boy would come back here ef he wa\'n\'t dead, an\' I stayed an\' waited fer \'im twel des now. You may have de idee dat I\'m quare, but Randall is my own chile."

By this time, Mr. Sanders had righted his coat and hat, and was now regarding the negro with some curiosity. "Lucindy ain\'t the only one that\'s been a-waitin\' fer you," he said. "I reckon that old Tuttle and his crowd have been doin\' some waitin\' the\'rselves; an\' I know mighty well that I\'m one of the waiters. How much do you charge me for knockin\' ol\' Tuttle in sight of the Promised Land, and how much will you charge me for hittin\' him another side-wipe?"

"No, suh, Mr. Sanders! Not me! I ain\'t never lost my senses sence that day in the cotton-patch; no matter what you do, I\'ll never see red any more; I\'ve done tried myself an\' know. No more red fer me—not in dis world!"

"Old Tuttle!" snapped Mr. Jonas Whipple. "I wish the buzzards had him!" Then he turned to Randall. "Stay, if you want to stay. I\'ve plenty of work for you to do. Sanders, can\'t you find a job for him at a pinch?"

"Mercy, yes!" replied Mr. Sanders; "I\'ve got jobs that have grown gray waitin\' for some un to do \'em."

"Stay! stay!" cried old Jonas, in his harsh voice, "and if old Tuttle bothers you, come to me or go to Mr. Sanders there, and we\'ll see who has the longest arm!"

"Tooby shore!" assented Mr. Sanders, "an\' likewise who\'s got the longest money-purse. But what\'s betwixt you an\' Tuttle?"

"Why," said old Jonas, "he borrowed a thousand dollars from me the second year of the war, and after the surrender crawled under the exemption act. Now if he had come to me like a man—I\'ll not say like a gentleman, for that is beyond him—if he had come to me and said that he found it impossible to pay the money I had loaned him to keep the sheriff out of his yard, I\'d have told him plainly to go on about his business, and pay me when he could. Now, I propose to make it as hot as pepper for him, especially since he has developed into a scalawag. The latest report is, that he is one of the officials of the union League."

Old Jonas paused, and his bead-like eyes glittered maliciously. "Sanders," he went on, "it isn\'t often I ask a man to do me a favour, but I\'m going to ask one of you. It will pay you to do it," he added, observing the shadow of a doubt on Mr. Sanders\'s face.

Adelaide\'s Bishop seemed to be very serious, but there was a twinkle in his eye. He passed his hand over his mouth, in order to drive away a smile that threatened to become insubordinate. "Would it be troublin\' you too much, Jonas," he said, "ef I was to ax you to pay me in advance?"

"Pish-tush!" exclaimed old Jonas, with a scowl; "you should get you a fiddle, Sanders, or a hurdy-gurdy! What I want you to do, the first opportunity you have, is to tell old Tuttle that the nigger that laid him low in Judge Bowden\'s cotton-patch is at my house. He hates me for doing him a favour, and he hates the nigger for striking him when striking a white man was a hanging offence. He pretends to be a nigger-lover now because he wants office; but when you tell him that this boy is at my house, one of two things will happen: he\'ll get together a gang of men of his own kidney and try the Ku-Klux game, or he\'ll have him arrested for assault with intent to murder."

"Bishop," said Adelaide, who had only a dim idea of the meaning of what she had heard, "please don\'t let them get my Boogerman. I killed him, you know, and he belongs to me."

"No, suh! no, suh!" protested the Boogerman. "I don\'t want Mr. Tuttle to lay eyes on me. I jest wanted to see my mammy, an\' find out where \'bouts Miss Betty is, an\' then I\'ll git out\'n folks\' way. I might stand up an\' tell Mr. Tuttle the truth frum now twel next year an\' he wouldn\'t b\'lieve a word I said. Me see Mr. Tuttle? No, suh! When Mr. Tuttle calls on me, I\'ll be gone—done gone!"

"Yasser!" cried Lucindy; "he\'s tellin\' you de naked trufe! You reckin I\'d let my chile see ol\' Tuttle? Well, not me! Maybe somebody else\'d do it, but not me! not ol\' Lucindy! Don\'t you never b\'lieve dat."

"You say you can read and write?" said old Jonas to the Boogerman. "Well, come into the house here, and black my shoes. Then, after that you may preach me a sermon."

"Yes!" exclaimed Adelaide, "Cally-Lou is awake now; I saw her at the window; come in, Boogerman, and let her see you. She is seven years old, and has never seen the Boogerman."

"First, let Lucindy give you something to eat," said old Jonas, "but don\'t fail to come in and black my shoes!"

Old Jonas, Bishop Sanders, and Adelaide went into the house, while the Boogerman went into the kitchen with his mother, where, seated by the window, and as far away from the fireplace as ever, he told the tale of his adventures—a tale which we are not concerned with here. Mr. Sanders and old Jonas were soon absorbed in a game of checkers, but they were not so completely lost in their surroundings that they failed to pay heed to Adelaide as she went from room to room calling Cally-Lou. Presently she seemed to find her in the parlour.

"You are pouting," she said, "or you\'d never be sitting in this room where nobody ever comes. Why, they don\'t have any fires in here, and nothing to eat. Nunky-Punky says if the sun was to shine in here, the carpet would curl up and get singed. You don\'t know what it is to be singed, do you? Well, it\'s the way Mammy Lucindy does the chicken after all the feathers are picked off. She kindles the fire until it blazes, and then holds the chicken in it until all its whiskers are burnt off. You didn\'t know chickens had whiskers, did you? Well, they have. You\'ll never find out anything if you mope in the house and pout like this. I didn\'t know any child could be so hard-headed."
"\'You are pouting,\' she said, \'or you\'d never be sitting in this room where nobody ever comes\'"

Old Jonas reached out his hand to make a move, and held it suspended in the air while Adelaide was talking to Cally-Lou. "Sanders," he said, after awhile, "do you suppose the child really thinks she\'s talking to some one. Can she see Cally-Lou?"

"Why not?" replied Mr. Sanders placidly. "Folks ain\'t half as smart when they grow up as they is when they\'re little children. They shet the\'r eyes to one whole side of life. Kin you fling your mind back to the time when your heart was soft, an\' your eyes sharp enough for to see what grown people never seed? Tell me that, Jonas."

Old Jonas paused over a contemplated move, hesitated and sighed. "Did you ever have little things happen to you," Mr. Sanders went on, frowning a little, "that you never told to anybody? Did you ever dream dreams when you was young that kinder rattled you for the longest, they was so purty and true?"

"I think you have me beat, Sanders," responded old Jonas; and no one ever knew whether he referred to the game, or to the dreams.

"You think so, maybe, but it\'s more; I\'m a-gwine to make two more moves and wipe you off the face of the earth!" And it happened just as Mr. Sanders said it would; two more moves, and he captured four men, and swept into the royal line where they crown kings. Old Jonas frowned and pushed the men into the box where they were kept, with "I can\'t play to-day, Sanders; my mind isn\'t on the game."

"Well," said Mr. Sanders, "that\'s diffunt an\' I don\'t blame you much, for ef that little gal was loose in my house, what games I played would be with her."

"Sanders," said old Jonas, with some asperity, "you don\'t mean to say that a little bit of a child like that would worry you!"

"Worry me!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders, with as scornful a look as he could on his bland and benevolent face. "Worry me! why, what on earth do you suppose I\'m a-doin\' in this house?"

"I thought you came to play checkers with me," old Jonas responded.

"Well," Mr. Sanders retorted, "ef you\'d put your thoughts in a bag and shake \'em up, an\' then pour \'em out, you couldn\'t tell \'em from these flyin\' ants that was............