Summer days were long and drowsy for grownups, but for Sandy they were full of interest. In the mornings he helped Aunt Hager by feeding the chickens, bringing in the water for her washtubs, and filling the buckets from which they drank. He chopped wood, too, and piled it behind the kitchen-stove; then he would take the broom and sweep dust-clean the space around the pump and under the apple-tree where he played. Perhaps by that time Willie-Mae would come over or Buster would be there to shoot marbles. Or maybe his grandmother would send him to the store to get a pound of sugar or ten cents’ worth of meal for dinner, and on the way there was certain to be an adventure. Yesterday he had seen two bad little boys from the Bottoms, collecting scrap-iron and junk in the alleys, get angry at each other and pretend to start a fight.
The big one said to the smaller one: “I’m a fast-black and you know I sho won’t run! Jest you pick up that piece o’ iron that belongs to me. Go ahead, jest you try!”
And the short boy replied: “I’m your match, long skinny! Strike me an’ see if you don’t get burnt up!” And then they started to play the dozens, and Sandy, standing by, learned several new and very vulgar words to use when talking about other people’s mothers.
The tall kid said finally: “Aw, go on, you little clay-colored nigger, you looks too much like mustard to me anyhow!” Picking up the disputed piece of scrap-iron, he proceeded on his quest for junk, looking into all the trash-piles and garbage-cans along the alley, but the smaller of the two boys took his gunnysack and went in the opposite direction alone.
“Be careful, sissy, and don’t break your dishes,” his late companion called after his retreating buddy, and Sandy carefully memorized the expression to try on Jimmy Lane some time—that is, if Jimmy’s mother got well, for Mrs. Lane now was in the last stages of consumption. But if she got better, Sandy was going to tell her son to be careful and not break his dishes—always wearing his mother’s shoes, like a girl.
By that time he had forgotten what Hager sent him to the store to buy, and instead of getting meal he bought washing-powder. When he came home, after nearly an hour’s absence, his grandmother threatened to cut an elm switch, but she satisfied herself instead by scolding him for staying so long, and then sending him back to exchange the washing-powder for meal—and she waiting all that time to make corn dumplings to put in the greens!
In the afternoon Sandy played in his backyard or next door at the Johnsons’, but Hager never allowed him outside their block. The white children across the street were frequently inclined to say “Nigger,” so he was forbidden to play there. Usually Buster, who looked like a white kid, and Willie-Mae, who couldn’t have been blacker, were his companions. The three children would run at hide-and-seek, in the tall corn; or they would tag one another in the big yard, or play house under the apple-tree.
Once when they were rummaging in the trash-pile to see what they could find, Sandy came across a pawn ticket which he took into the kitchen to Hager. It was for a watch his Aunt Harriett had pawned the Saturday she ran away.
Sometimes in the late afternoon the children would go next door to Madam de Carter’s and she would give them ginger cookies and read to them from the Bible Story Reader. Madam de Carter looked very pompous and important in her silk waist as she would put on her pince-nez and say: “Now, children, seat yourselves and preserve silence while I read you-all this moralizing history of Samson’s treacherous hair. Now, Buster, who were Samson? Willie-Mae, has you ever heard of Delilah?”
Sometimes, if Jimboy was home, he would take down his old guitar and start the children to dancing in the sunlight—but then Hager would always call Sandy to pump water or go to the store as soon as she heard the music.
“Out there dancin’ like you ain’t got no raisin’!” she would say. “I tells Jimboy ’bout playin’ that ole ragtime here! That’s what ruint Harriett!”
And on Sundays Sandy went to Sabbath school at the Shiloh Baptist Church, where he was given a colored picture card with a printed text on it. The long, dull lessons were taught by Sister Flora Garden, who had been to Wilberforce College, in Ohio. There were ten little boys in Sandy’s class, ranging from nine to fourteen, and they behaved very badly, for Miss Flora Garden, who wore thick-lensed glasses on her roach-colored face, didn’t understand little boys.
“Where was Moses when the lights went out?” Gritty Smith asked her every Sunday, and she didn’t even know the answer.
Sandy didn’t think much of Sunday School, and frequently instead of putting his nickel in the collection basket he spent it for candy, which he divided with Buster—until one very hot Sunday Hager found it out. He had put a piece of the sticky candy in his shirt-pocket and it melted, stuck, and stained the whole front of his clean clothes. When he came home, with Buster behind him, the first thing Hager said was: “What’s all this here stuck up in yo’ pocket?” and Buster commenced to giggle and said Sandy had bought candy.
“Where’d you get the money, sir?” demanded Aunt Hager searchingly of her grandson.
“I—we—er—Madam Carter gimme a nickel,” Sandy replied haltingly, choosing
