Joel Chandler Harris

“ The Son of Ben Ali flung himself on the Gray Mare, my sister. The gates were all open, and we went through them in a hurry. I felt the White-haired Master settle himself in the saddle and try the stirrups. Then his knees pressed a little closer to the saddle, and I thought, ‘Here is a rider—a little heavy, but more helpful than a lighter man who has never learned to fit himself to the curve of the saddle, and to move as the horse moves.’ He reached his right arm forward to feel of the play of my shoulders, and gave me a gentle pat by way of praise. ”

“ Sweetest Susan replied demurely.
Going forward and looking about the orchard, the children soon saw the Gray Pony grazing in a fence corner at the further side. As they went toward him, the Gray Pony saw them and began to move away, backing his ears and showing signs of irritation.
“Leave me alone,” said the Pony. “I don’t want to run through these briars and scratch myself. Go away. I don’t want to see you.”
“Wait,” cried Buster John; “I want to talk to you.”
“Shucks and smutty nubbins!” exclaimed the Pony. “You can hardly talk to yourselves. I don’t want you about me. ”

“ On the clouds above the hill was the shadow of a man as big as a fodder stack, and as high as the tallest pine. Even the horses saw it and snorted with fear. The shadow raised its arms above its head and then let them drop quickly. I knew at once that it was the shadow of the Son of Ben Ali, but even then I had a quaking fear. ”

“ To-night, when the moon stands high, I’ll come through the long lane that has been closed, and hide in the plum thicket that has been left in the peach orchard.”
“So then,” said Aaron, “we will go. Before long I’ll come and have a race with you in the swamp.” ”

“ Once more, as he thundered across the bridge that spanned the stream leading from the spring, the black stallion screamed forth his note of defiance. A man, coming along the road, went over the fence as nimbly as a squirrel. Cows [30] grazing in the fields, near the roadside, hoisted their tails in the air and ran off to the woods. The mules in the horse lot ran around aimlessly, and then huddled themselves together in a corner. The Gray Pony went scampering through the peach orchard, hunting a place of safety.
Then the cry went up from the negro quarters, “Timoleon’s loose! Timoleon’s loose!” ”

“ The children yonder have seen the sign; they have been touched. They know who we are and what we are. Two belong by blood to the Little Master. That is enough for me.”
“Humph! Boof! Son of Ben Ali, it is also enough for me. Goof! I have seen them—they [130] have seen me—what more can I do? Why should I stay? The mud in the swamp is soft and cool, but here the sun shines hot.”
“If I had a bag of corn,” suggested Aaron.
“I say nothing, Son of Ben Ali. I see no corn, and the sun shines hot. What am I to do?” ”

“ I saw no more of the Son of Ben Ali until after the big fire.”
“When the house was burned?” asked Buster John.
“The big house—yes,” replied the Black Stallion.
“That was the time you broke down your stable door,” suggested Aaron, who was working away inside the stable.
“And came near catching the son of Old Grizzly, as he went over the fence,” said the Black Stallion.
“Mr. George Gossett?” exclaimed Buster John. “Why, he’s an old man.”
“He’s older than he’s good,” remarked Aaron. ”

“ It was no wonder they stood transfixed when they saw the horse flying along the road, his thick mane whipping the wind, with the two children on his back. They had no time to admire the strength and symmetry of the horse, and yet he presented a beautiful sight—his glossy neck arched, his long mane enveloping the children as in a cloud, the undulations of his magnificent form and his swift movements the perfection of grace. ”

“ THE BLACK STALLION’S STORY.
The children were anxious to hear the rest of the story at once, but they were compelled to wait. The White Pig had told all he knew, and Aaron was on the other side of the plantation. So Buster John and Sweetest Susan amused themselves by wondering whether the Teacher was hanged or whether he was rescued. As for Drusilla, she very plainly said that she didn’t much care. It was all past and gone anyhow. Break a pumpkin, she said, and nobody in the world can mend it, not even if people were to come and cry over it. ”

“ When he had finished the bread, he seated himself near the chimney corner and licked his chops carefully.
“You want to know about that trip the Son of Ben Ali made to sell the cotton. But I don’t even know how to begin. My tongue and my tail will be here talking and wagging, and my mind will be off in the woods hunting minks and coons and possums. You know how one thing leads to another. Well, if I get started I’ll get things upside down, as the rabbit does when he tries to run down hill.”
“When I started with the cotton,” suggested Aaron, “you made up your mind to go with me.” ”

“ Consequently, when they were going through the fields at dead of night and heard the White Pig crunching goobers, or chewing sugar-cane, or smacking his mouth over a yam potato, they said nothing, but slipped away as fast as they could, and left him to the enjoyment of his feast. This went on until the White Pig grew to be strong and dangerous. His tusks, or tushes, as the negroes called them, were long and sharp. He could kill as many dogs as could be piled upon him. ”

“ The grandfather rose from his easy chair and joined them. They heard the tremendous clatter of hoofs on the hard road and the screaming stallion. They saw Aaron running up the avenue, followed by Drusilla. Calamity seemed to have swooped down upon the plantation. A negro woman, bolder than the rest, had managed to run to the big house. ”

“ In cantering or galloping I always start off on my right forefoot. A man taught me that with a whip, and I’ve never been able to forget it. That foot comes down heaviest, and I always fling the right foreshoe first. It was loose when we started from home that morning, and when I jumped at Mr. Gossett I wrenched it nearly off. For a time I didn’t [65] mind it, but every time I stamped my foot to drive the flies away it rang and rattled like a cow bell. The Son of Ben Ali, hearing it rattle as he stood by the Little Master, stooped and placed his hand on my knee. ”

“ She rushed through it, without regard for ceremony.
“Mistiss, dem blessed chillun”—
She wanted to say were riding the runaway stallion, but she sank to the floor, speechless.
“Oh, my children! my children! Where are my precious children?” cried the mother.
[31]
At that moment Aaron reached the avenue gate, opened it wide, and the black stallion cantered through it, and came galloping down the drive.
“I see the children,” said the white-haired grandfather. “They are safe. They have been giving Timoleon his exercise. See! they are laughing and waving their hands!” ”

“ He had no desire to sit in the house for hours and do nothing but read in the books. I used to watch for him through the fence, and he was very proud indeed when he found that I knew his voice from the rest and would follow him about without bridle or halter. I missed him when the teacher came, and I used to go to the fence and call him.
“But I missed him only a day or two. The teacher was a wise young man, and he soon saw [45] that if the Little Master was to be taught at all, the teaching must go on in the open air, with no more books to bother with than he could carry in one hand. ”

“ The negroes on the place seemed to be very much afraid of him. This would not have been strange if Aaron had been an old man; negroes always stand in awe of those who are very old; but he was not above forty, and seemed to be even younger. There were many stories current about Aaron, which the negroes told to each other in whispers when their cabin fires burned low. ”

“ THE STORY OF AARON. I.
THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMALS.
The story of how Buster John, Sweetest Susan, and Drusilla found their way into Mr. Thimblefinger’s queer country has been set forth, and many of the tales they heard there have been told. All of this matter has been put into a book, where the curious may now find it. This being so, it is not necessary to go over it again. Imitation is bad enough, but repetition is worse. ”

“ Gossett sell Aaron?” [37] asked Buster John. “I’ve heard he’s very fond of money.”
“He’s a queer man,” responded the grandfather, “hard in some things and clever enough in others. He had heard the speculator say that Aaron was a very dangerous character, and so Mr. Gossett declared that he was going to tame him. Gossett was a much younger man then than he is now, and about as reckless as any one in the county. I remember he said something in a light way that made Little Crotchet angry, and the lad spurred the Gray Pony at him and would have rode him down but for me.” ”

“ None of us meant the least harm, and certainly no disrespect to you.’ Thus spoke young Grizzly.
“By this time his companions had taken to their heels, and young Grizzly was quick to follow their example as soon as he got out of reach of the Young Mistress’s eyes. So said the man named Abe, and he was standing where he could see, having pretended to go after the White-haired Master. Never have I seen a white man more frightened than young Grizzly was.”
“What was he afraid of?” asked Sweetest Susan.
“Buckshot,” replied Aaron. ”

“ Gossett’s neighbor [73] had some land that he refused to sell. He was not very well off, but he held to his land and made poor crops. If he bought the cotton from me, Mr. Gossett could buy his land or put him in jail. But this was all dark to me then.
“I mounted the wagon—But wait! Rambler, the track dog, is here. He knows what happened. I will call him.”
Aaron went to the door of his cabin, put his right hand to his mouth, and gave a musical halloo. The dogs were barking in another part of the lot, but they ceased instantly, as if listening. ”

“ Still another story about Aaron was that he was very dangerous. It was whispered that he had killed several people, a number of women and children among them. This story grew out of the fact that he alone could manage Timoleon, the big black stallion. This horse, wild in his ways and fierce of temper, was as gentle as a dog in Aaron’s hands, and followed him about as the chicken follows the mother hen.
BUSTER JOHN WENT FORWARD AND KNOCKED
It was one Saturday, when Buster John, Sweetest Susan, and Drusilla went to Aaron’s cabin. ”

“ A respectable hen can’t depend on anything you say.”
“Come on, come on,” said the big gray rooster, strutting along, “I was just trying to get you away from that one-eyed dominicker. He’s not fit company for you to associate with.”
[18]
“Hoity-toity!” cried the yellow hen. “And didn’t I see you this morning scratching your toes off for the Friesland pullet?”
Buster John and Sweetest Susan laughed heartily at this, but Drusilla was very serious.
“I dunno which de wuss,” she cried, “chickens er folks.” ”

“ He come a-follerin’ long atter de dogs. He rid up an’ tuck off his hat when he see Miss Rachel. But na’er one un um do like dey know he’s a-livin’. Miss Rachel she look at Marse Dave Henry, an’ Marse Dave Henry, he look right straight at ol’ Mr. Gossett. He sot dar on his hoss an’ look at um, an’ thump de pummel er his saddle like he studyin’ ’bout sump’n ’way off yon’er—an’ den he spied me. He lif’ his hat agin, like he tellin’ um good-by, an’ den he rid up by me. He say, ‘Gal, is you seed any nigger man runnin’ ’long by here?’ I look at Miss Rachel, an’ she drapt her eyeleds. ”

“ Gossett say, ‘But, Jedge, s’posin’ de nigger is dead now?’
“Ol’ Marster snap ’im short off: ‘A trade’s a trade. You stan’ by yone, an’ I’ll stan’ by mine.’
“Mr. Gossett say, ‘Oh, I’ll stan’ by mine, Jedge. De nigger is yone, ’live or dead.’
“It look like ter me,” continued Free Polly, shifting her position and talking in a less solemn tone, “dat A’on must ’a’ been playin’ possum. Kaze time he hear ol’ Mr. Gossett say dat, he open his eyes an’ riz up fum whar he wuz layin’ at. He walk sorter weak, but he wa’n’t hurted much. ”

“ Sweetest Susan reminded her.
“Dat what she say,” replied Drusilla, “yit she ain’t tell me to go wid you out dar whar dat ar wil’ hog is, which he done cripple a hoss an’ kilt a yardful er dogs. Unk A’on kin take keer er you lots better dan what I kin.”
“Come on,” said Buster John to Sweetest Susan. “Let her stay if she wants to.”
“Yes,” remarked Aaron, “she’s big enough to go to the field now. We need her there right now.” ”

“ La! niggers is fools, mo’ speshually when dey er wimmen folks.”
“I reckon she’s about right,” said Rambler, yawning and stretching himself.
“What kinder cu’us fuss is dat dog makin’?” asked Jemimy, seeing Aaron and the children laughing. “I ain’t never see no dog make fuss like dat. You all better watch dat dog. He so ol’, dey ain’t no tellin’ when he’ll go ravin’.”
“You told mamma she was going to the big woods,” said Buster John, by way of a reminder.
“She wa’n’t yo’ ma den!” remarked Jemimy. “I say, ‘You ain’t gwine atter no flowers. ”