Project Gutenberg's Mam' Lyddy's Recognition, by Thomas Nelson Page

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Mam' Lyddy's Recognition
       1908

Author: Thomas Nelson Page

Release Date: November 16, 2007 [EBook #23512]
Last Updated: March 8, 2018

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAM' LYDDY'S RECOGNITION ***




Produced by David Widger
 









MAM' LYDDY'S RECOGNITION  

By Thomas Nelson Page 

 Charles Scribner's Sons New York, 1908  

 Copyright, 1891, 1904, 1906  









Contents  

I

II

III

IV














I


When Cabell Graeme was courting pretty Betty French up at the Château  place, though he had many rivals and not a few obstacles to overcome, he  had the good fortune to secure one valuable ally, whose friendship stood  him in good stead. She was of a rich chocolate tint, with good features,  and long hair, possibly inherited from some Arab ancestor, bead-like black  eyes, and a voice like a harp, but which on occasion could become a flame.  Her figure was short and stocky; but more dignity was never compressed  within the same number of cubic inches.  
Mam' Lyddy had been in the French family all her life, as her mother and  grandmother had been before her. She had rocked on her ample bosom the  best part of three generations. And when Freedom came, however much she  may have appreciated being free, she had much too high an estimate of the  standing of the Frenches to descend to the level of the class she had  always contemned as “free niggers.” She was a deep-dyed aristocrat.  
The Frenches were generally esteemed to be among the oldest and best  families in the county, and the Château plantation, with its wide fields  and fine old mansion, was commonly reckoned one of the finest in that  section. But no such comparative statement would have satisfied Mam'  Lyddy. She firmly believed that the Frenches were the greatest people in  the world, and it would have added nothing to her dignity had they been  princes, because it could have added nothing to it to be told that she was  a member of a royal house. Part mentor, part dependent, part domestic, she  knew her position, and within her province her place was as unquestioned  as was that of her mistress, and her advice was as carefully considered.  
Caesar, her husband, a tall, ebony lath, with a bald head and meek eyes,  had come out of another family and was treated with condescension. No one  knew how often he was reminded of his lower estate; but it was often  enough, for he was always in a somewhat humble and apologetic attitude.  
The Frenches were known as a “likely” family, but Betty, with her oval  face, soft eyes, and skin like a magnolia flower, was so undeniably the  beauty that she was called “Pretty Betty.” She was equally undeniably the  belle. And while the old woman, who idolized her, found far more pleasure  than even her mother in her belleship, she was as watchful over her as  Argus. Every young man of the many who haunted the old French mansion  among its oaks and maples had to meet the scrutiny of those sharp,  tack-like eyes. The least slip that one made was enough to prove his  downfall. The old woman sifted them as surely as she sifted her meal, and  branded them with an infallible instinct akin to that of a keen watchdog.  Many a young man who passed that silent figure without a greeting, or  spoke lightly of some one, unheeding her presence, wondered at his want of  success and felt without knowing why that he was pulling against an unseen  current.  
“We must drop him—he ain't a gent'man,” she said of one. Of another:  “Oh! Oh! honey, he won't do. He ain't our kind.” Or, “Betty, let him go,  my Lamb. De Frenches don't pick up dat kine o' stick.”  
Happily for Cabell Graeme, he had the old woman's approval. In the first  place, he was related to the Frenches, and this in her eyes was a patent  of gentility. Then, he had always been kind to little Betty and  particularly civil to herself. He not only never omitted to ask after her  health, but also inquired as to her pet ailments of “misery in her foot”  and “whirlin' in her head,” with an interest which flattered her deeply.  But it went further back than that Once, when Betty was a little girl,  Cabell, then a well-grown boy of twelve, had found her and her mammy on  the wrong side of a muddy road, and wading through, he had carried Betty  across, and then wading back, had offered to carry Mam' Lyddy over, too.  
“Go way f'om heah, boy, you can't carry me.”  
“Yes, I can, Mam' Lyddy. You don't know how strong I am.” He squared  himself for the feat.  
She laughed at him, and with a flash in his gray eyes he suddenly grabbed  her.  
“I 'll show you.”  
There was quite a scuffle. She was too heavy for him, but he won her  friendship then and there, and as he grew up straight and sturdy, the  friendship ripened. That he teased her and laughed at her did not in the  least offend her. No one else could have taken such a liberty with her,  but Cabell's references to old Caesar's declining health, and his  innuendoes whenever she was “fixed up” that she was “looking around” in  advance only amused her. It made no difference to her that he was poor,  while several others of Betty's beaux were rich. He was “a gent'man,” and  she was an aristocrat.  
At times they had pitched battles, but each knew that the other was an  ally.  
Cabell won his final victory by an audacity which few would have dared  venture on. Among his rivals was one Mr. Hereford, whom he particularly  disliked, partly because he frequently “outsat” him, and partly because he  thought Miss Betty favored his attentions too much, and whom Mammy Lyddy  detested because he always ignored her. Cabell charged her with deserting  his cause and going over to the side of Mr. Hereford, and threatened to  carry off the prize in spite of her and her ally.  
“You cyant cyah off nothin',” she said with a sniff of mock disdain. His  eyes snapped. Without a word he seized her, and notwithstanding her  resistance he lifted her, and flinging her over his shoulder, as if she  had been a sack of corn, stalked up the steps and into the house, where he  set her down abashed and vanquished before her astonished young mistress.  The old woman pretended to be furious, but that day Cabell Graeme carried  off more than Mam' Lyddy.  
When Cabel and pretty Betty were married, Mam' Lyddy threw in her lot with  “her lamb.”  
Through all the evil days of carpet-bag rule, no white, not even Cabell  Graeme himself, who was a leader of the young men, had looked with more  burning contempt on the new-comers, or shown a sterner front to the  miscreants who despoiled the country. And when Negro rule was at its  worst, Mam' Lyddy was its most bitter reviler. Cabell Graeme was a captain  among the young men who finally put down the evil element that had been  running its riotous course. And during the fierce fight that was waged, he  was much away from home; but he knew that in Mam' Lyddy he had left as  redoubtable a guardian of his wife and babies as ever kept watch on a  picket line.  
Among the most obnoxious of the colored leaders was one Amos Brown, a  young negro with some education, who to the gift of fluency added enough  shrewdness to become a leader. He was while in power one of the most  dangerous men in the State, and so long as he had backing enough, he  staggered at nothing to keep the negroes stirred up. One of his schemes  was to get money from the negroes with which to pay, as he claimed, ten  per cent, for the best plantations in the State, after which, according to  his account, the Government was to give them the places. This scheme  worked well enough till the day of reckoning came, but happily it came.  Among those who were duped was old Caesar, who, unknown to Mam' Lyddy,  invested all his little savings in Amos Brown's homestead-plan and was  robbed. Partly in terror of Mam' Lyddy and partly in hopes of saving his  money, the old man made a full disclosure of the scheme, and with the  proof he furnished, Cabell Graeme and others succeeded in sending the  statesman to the penitentiary.  
What Caesar possibly had to endure from Mam' Lyddy, only those could  imagine who knew her blistering tongue. From that time she took herself  not only everything that she made, but every cent that old Caesar made.  
“You keep 'dis for me, Marse Cab. I 'm never goin' to trust dat Caesar wid  a cent long as I live. A nigger ain't got a bit o' sense about money.”  
But though Caesar would gladly have paid all he made to purchase immunity  from her revilings, it is probable that he heard of his error at least  three times a day during the rest of his natural life.  






II


As long as the old people lived, the French place was kept up; but the  exactions of hereditary hospitality ate deeply into what the war had left,  and after the death of old Colonel French and Mrs. French, and the  division of the estate, there was little left but the land, and that was  encumbered.  
Happily, Cabell Graeme was sufficiently successful as a lawyer, not only  to keep his little family in comfort, but to receive an offer of a  connection in the North, which made it clearly to his interest to go  there. One of the main obstacles in the way of the move was Mam' Lyddy.  She would have gone with them, but for the combined influences of Old  Caesar and a henhouse full of hens that were sitting. The old man was in  his last illness, and a slow decline, and the chickens would soon be  hatched. Since, however, it was apparent that old Cæsar would soon be  gone, as that the chickens would soon be hatched, Graeme having arranged  for Cæsar's comfort, took his family with him when he moved.  
He knew that the breaking-up would be a wrench; but it was worse than he  had expected, for their roots were deep in the old soil. Old friends, when  they said good-by, wrung his hand with the faces men wear when they take a  last look at a friend's face. The parting with the mammy was especially  bitter. It brought the break-up home as few things had done. And when Mr.  and Mrs. Graeme reached their new home with its strange surroundings, her  absence made it all the stranger.  
The change in the servants marked the change in the life. The family found  it hard to reconcile themselves to it. Mrs. Graeme had always been  accustomed to the old servants, who were like members of the family, and  to find her domestics regarding her as an enemy or as their prey disturbed  and distressed her.  
“You are going to try colored servants?” asked one of her new friends in  some surprise.  
“Oh, yes, I am quite used to them.”  
“Well.—Perhaps—but I doubt if you are used to these.”  
Mrs. Graeme soon discovered her mistake. One after another was tried and  discarded. Those who knew nothing remained until they had learned enough  to be useful and then departed, while those who knew a little thought they  knew everything and brooked no direction. And all were insolent. With or  without notice the dusky procession passed through the house, each  out-goer taking with her some memento of her transient stay.  
“I do not know what is the matter,” sighed Mrs. Graeme. “I always thought  I could get along with colored people; but somehow these are different.  Why is it, Cabell!”  
“Spoiled,” said her husband, laconically. “The mistake was in the  emancipation proclamation. Domestic servants ought to have been  excepted.”  
His humor, however, did not appeal to his wife. The case was too serious.  
“The last one I had told me, that if I did not like what she called coffee—and  which I really thought was tea—I 'd better cook for myself. And that  other maid, after wearing one of my best dresses, walked off with a  brand-new waist. I am only standing the present one till Mammy comes. She  says she likes to be called 'Miss Johnson.'”  
“I paid twenty dollars last week for the privilege of chucking a  dusky gentleman down the steps; but I did not begrudge it,” said her  husband, cheerfully. “The justice who imposed the fine said to me  afterward that the only mistake I had made was in not breaking his neck.”  

At last, old Caesar was gathered to his dusky fathers, and the chickens  having been mainly disposed of, Mr. Graeme went down and brought the old  mammy on.  
He had written the old woman to come by a certain train to Washington  where he would meet her, and true to his appointment he met that train.  But in the motley throng that filed through the gate was no Mam' Lyddy,  and inquiring of the train men showed that no one answering to her  description could have been on the train.  
Just as Graeme was turning away to go to the telegraph desk, one of the  gray-clad colored porters, a stout, middle-aged man with a pleasant voice,  and the address of a gentleman, approached him,  
“Were you looking for some one, sir?”  
“Yes, for an old colored woman, my wife's old mammy.”  
“Well, I think you may find her in the inner waiting-room. There is an old  lady in there, who has been waiting there all day. She came in on the  morning train, and said she was expecting you. If you will come with me, I  will show you.”  
“She 's been there all day,” the porter said, with a laugh, as they walked  along. “I asked who she was waiting for; but she wouldn't tell me. She  said it was none of my business.”  
“I fancy that 's she,” said Graeme.  
“Yes, sir, that 's she, sure.”  
Graeme thanked him. With a chuckle he led the way to where ensconced in a  corner, surrounded by bundles and baskets and clad in the deepest black,  and with a flaming red bow at her throat, sat Mammy Lyddy.  
“Here 's the gentleman you were looking for,” said the porter kindly.  
At sight of Graeme she rose so hastily that many of her bundles rolled on  the floor.  
“Why, Mammy! Why did n't you come on the train I wrote you to come on?”  enquired Graeme.  
“Well, you tole me to come to-day, and I thought I would like to be on  time, so I came this morning.”  
“Now, if you will let me have your tickets, I will attend to everything  for you,” said the porter to Graeme.  
The old woman gave him a swift glance, and then seeing Graeme hand him his  ticket, she turned her back, and began to fish in some mysterious recess  in her garments, and after a long exploration brought out a small bag  containing her ticket.  
“Is he one of your servants!” she asked Graeme in an undertone.  
Graeme smiled. “Well, I think he is—he is everybody's servant and  friend.”  
“I did n't know. He comes roun' inquirin' 'bout my business so officious I  thought sure he was one o' dese Gov'ment folks, and I done had 'nough to  do wid dat kind.”  
“Like Amos Brown, Caesar's friend.”  
It was a sore subject with the old woman.  
“Well, I did n't know—I thought he was one o' dese perliss. So I  sent him 'long 'bout he own business. But if you know him it 's all  right.”  
The passengers who streamed through the great station the evening of her  arrival, were surprised to see a pudgy old black woman escorted by a  gentleman who, loaded down with her bundles and baskets, was guiding her  through the throng as respectfully as if she had been the first lady in  the land. At the gate a lady and several children were awaiting her, and  at sight of her a cry of joy went up. Dropping her bundles, the old woman  threw herself into the lady's arms and kissed her again and again, after  which she received a multitude of kisses from the children.  
“Well, I never saw anything like that,” said a stranger to another.  
“She is their mammy,” said the other one simply, with a pleasant light in  his eyes.  
The old woman's presence seemed to transform the house. She was no sooner  installed than she took possession. That very morning she established her  position, after a sharp but decisive battle with the airy “colored lady,”  who for some days had been dawdling about the house. The mammy had gauged  her as soon as her sharp eyes fell on her.  
“What does yo' call yo'self?” she asked her.  
“What is my name? I am called 'Miss Johnson—Miss Selina Johnson.'”  
The old woman gave a sniff.  
“Yo' is! Well, what does yo' call you'self doin' heah?”  
“You mean what is my employment! I am the help—one of the help.”  
“Yo' is!” Mam' Lyddy tightened her apron-strings about her stout waist.  “Well, 'Miss Johnson,' you git holt of that mat-trass and help me meek up  dis heah bed so it 'll be fit for you' mistis to sleep on it.” With a jerk  she turned up the mattress. The maid was so taken aback for a moment that  she did not speak. Then she drew herself up.  
“I know I ain' gwine to tetch it. I done made it up onct to-day. An' I  ain't got no mistis.”  
The mammy turned on her.  
“Umh'm! I thought so! I knows jest yo' kind. Well, de sooner you git out  o' dis room de better for you. 'Cause if I lay my han' 'pon you I won't  let you go till I'se done what yo' mammy ought to 'a' done to you ev'y day  o' yo' life.”  
She moved toward her with so dangerous a gleam in her sharp little eyes  that “Miss Johnson” deemed it safest to beat a hasty retreat, and before  bedtime had disappeared from the premises entirely.  
In the kitchen the old woman had been equally strenuous. She had shown the  cook in one evening that she knew more about cooking than that  well-satisfied person had ever dreamed any one knew. She had taught the  other maid that she knew by instinct every lurking place of dirt, however  skilfully hidden, and, withal, she had inspired them both with so much  dread of her two-edged tongue that they were doing their best to  conciliate her by a zeal and civility they had never shown before.  
For the first time the Graemes knew what comfort was in their new home.  
“Well, this is something like home,” said Mrs. Graeme that evening as she  sat by the lamp. “Why, I feel like little Ben. He said to-night, 'Mamma,  Mammy brought old times with her.'”  
“May she live forever!” said Graeme.  
In time, however, Mrs. Graeme began to feel that the old woman was  confining herself too closely to the house. She needed some recreation.  She had not even been to church, and Mrs. Graeme knew that this was her  chief delight.  
Yes, she would like to go to church, she said, but she did not know “about  dese fine chutches.” She did not like much to go on the streets. “Dere was  too many strange folks around for her. Dey did n't keer nuthin' for her  ner she for dem.” And it was “de same way, she reckoned, with de chutches.  Dey wuz new niggers, and she did n't had no use for dem, nor dey for her.”  
Mrs. Graeme, however, was insistent. Not far off, she had learned, was a  colored church, “Mount Salem,” over which the Reverend Amos Johnson  presided with much show of broadcloth and silk hat. He had considerable  reputation as a speaker, and from time to time appeared in the newspapers  as a rather ranting writer on matters with a political coloring. Mrs.  Graeme explained to the old woman that she need have no more to do with  the people than she wished, and the following Sunday she went herself with  her to the door of the church. Before leaving her she gave her a  half-dollar to put in the plate, and asked a solemn-looking usher to show  her a good seat.  
When the old woman returned she was interested, but critical. “I'se been  used to chutch all my life,” she declared, “but I never saw no fixin's  like dat. Br'er George Wash'n'ton Thomas of Mount Zion was de fancies' one  I ever seen; but he could n't tetch dat man. Why, dey outdoes white  folks!”  
“Were n't they nice to you!” asked her mistress.  
“Nor 'm', none too nice. Dat one what you spoke to for me wuz gwine to  give me a seat; but a uppish young yaller one stopped him an' made him  teck me back and stick me in a corner behind a pillar. But he did n't  stick me so fur back 't dey did n't fine me when dey tecked up de money.  When I put in dat fif'-cent you gi' me, he jumped like a pin had stick  him. I dropped 't in so 't would soun', I tell you!”  
This gave Mrs. Graeme an idea, and she encouraged her to go again the  following Sunday, and this time gave her a dollar to put in the plate.  
“Be sure and drop it in so it will sound,” she said to her.  
“I 'm gwine to.”  
“Well, how did you come out to-dayf” she asked her on her return.  
“Right well. Dey did n't stick me quite so fur back, and when I drap de  dollar in dey wuz several on 'em lookin', and when de chutch was over dey  come runnin' arter me, an', tell me ef I come next time dey 'll have a  good seat for me. I 'm gwine agin, but fust thing dey know I 'm gwine to  fool 'em. I ain't gwine put a dollar in agin, I know.”  
Mrs. Graeme laughed. “Oh! you must pay for being in society. We all do.”  
“I know Iain't,” declared the old woman, “and I don't reckon you  gwine to gi' me a dollar ev 'y Sunday.”  
“I certainly am not. I am only getting you launched.”  
The following week Mrs. Graeme said to her husband, “I think Mammy is  launched. The preacher came to the front door to-day and asked to see Mrs.  Quivers. At first I did not know whom he meant. Then he said it was 'a  colored lady.' You never saw any one so gotten up—silk hat, kid  gloves, and ebony cane. And Mammy was quite set up by it. She says the  preacher is from home and knew Caesar. She was really airy afterward.”  
Mr. Graeme uttered an objurgation. “You will ruin that old woman, and with  her the best old negro that ever was.”  
“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Graeme, “there is no danger of that. You could n't  spoil her.”  
A few weeks later she said: “Yes, Mammy is launched. She told me to-day  she wanted to join the club, and when I asked, what club, she said, 'the  Colored Ladies Siciety Club.'” “I should say she was launched,” sniffed  Mr. Graeme. “She told me she wanted her money to invest it herself. The  old fool! They will rob her of it.”  






III  


The weeks that followed, and Mam' Lyddy's immersion in “Siciety” began  apparently to justify Mr. Graeme's prophecy. A marked change had taken  place in the old woman's dress, and no less a change had taken place in  herself. She began to go out a good deal, and her manner was quite new.  She was what a few weeks before she would have derided as “citified and  airified.” At length Mrs. Graeme could not conceal it from herself any  longer.  
One evening as her husband on his return from his office threw himself on  his chair with the evening paper, she brought up the subject.  
“Cabell, it is true; you have noticed the change!”  
“What? I have no doubt I have.” He glanced at his wife to see if she had  on a new dress or had changed the mode of wearing her hair, then gazed  about him rather uneasily to see if the furniture had been shifted about,  or if the pictures had been changed; points on which his wife was inclined  to be particular.  
“The change in Mammy! Why, I should never know her for the same person.”  
“Of course, I have. I have noticed nothing else. Why, she is dressed as  fine as a fiddle. She is 'taking notice.' She 'll be giving Old Caesar a  successor. Then what will you do? I thought that fat darky I have seen  going in at the back gate with a silk hat and a long-tailed coat looked  like a preacher. You 'd better look out for him. You know she was always  stuck on preachers. He is a preacher, sure.”  
“He is,” observed the small boy on the floor. “That 's the Reverend Mr.  Johnson. And, oh! He certainly can blow beautiful smoke-rings. He can blow  a whole dozen and make 'em go through each other. You just ought to see  him, papa.”  
His father glanced casually at the cigar box on the table.  
“I think I will some day,” said he, half grimly.  
“I never would know her for the same person. Why, she is so changed!”  pursued Mrs. Graeme. “She goes out half the time, and this morning she was  so cross! She says she is as good as I am if she is black. She is getting  like these others up here.”  
Mr. Graeme flung down the paper he was reading.  
“It is these Northern negroes who have upset her, and the fools like the  editor of that paper who have upset them.”  
Mrs. Graeme looked reflective.  
“That preacher has been coming here a good deal lately. I wonder if that  could have anything to do with it!” she said, slowly.  
Her husband sniffed.  
“I will find out.”  
At that moment the door opened and in walked Mam' Lyddy and a small boy in  all the glory of five years, and all the pride of his first pair of  breeches. The old woman's face wore an expression of glumness wholly new  to her, and Mr. Graeme's mouth tightened. His wife had only time to  whisper: “Now, don't you say a word to her.” But she was too late. Mam'  Lyddy's expression drove him to disobedience. He gave her a keen glance,  and then said, half jocularly: “Old woman, what is the matter with you  lately!”  
Mam' Lyddy did not answer immediately. She looked away, then said: “Wid  me? Ain't nuttin' de matter wid me.”  
“Oh, yes, there is. What is it? Do you want to go home?”  
She appeared half startled for an instant, then answered more sharply:  “Nor, I don't wan' go home. I ain' got no home to go to.”  
“Oh, yes, you have. Well, what is the matter? Out with it. Have you lost  any money!”  
“Nor, I ain' lost no money 's Iknows on.”  
“Been playing lottery?”  
“I don' know what dat is.”  
“You don't, ah! Well, you would if you had been in Wall Street lately.  Well, what is the matter? You are going around here as glum as a meat-axe.  Something 's up. What is it?”  
“Ain' nothin' de matter wid me.” She glanced away under her  master's half amused, half disdainful glance, then added half surlily: “I  wants rec'nition.”  
“Want recognition? What do you mean?”  
“Dat 's what wewants,” declared the old woman, acquiring courage.  
Graeme laughed.  
“What is recognition?”  
“I don't know what 't is edzac'ly, but dat's what we wants. You all  's got it and you got to gi' it to us.”  
“You mean you want to sit at table with us!” exclaimed Mrs. Graeme.  
Mammy Lyddy turned toward her. “You know I don't mean nuttin' like dat! I  leetle more 'n smacked that yaller gal' what you call you' maid over 'bout  talkin' dat way t'other day.”  
“Then what do you want!”  
“I wants rec'nition—dat's all I wants.”  
“Who told you to say that!” asked Mr. Graeme.  
“Who tol' me to say dat?” She was puzzled.  
“Yes.”  
“Ain' nobody tol' me to say it.”  
“Yes, some one has. Who was it?—-the Reverend Johnson? Did n't he  tell you that!”  
She hesitated; but Mr. Graeme's eye was searching.  
“Well, he no mo' 'n others—nomuch mo'. Of co'se, he tol' me  dat—hepreaches 'bout it; but did n't nobody have to  tell me—I knows 'bout it myself.”  
“Of course you did, and you must have it. So shall the Reverend Mr.  Johnson,” said Mr. Graeme. His tone expressed such sudden amiability that  the old woman glanced at him suspiciously, but he was smiling softly and  thoughtfully to himself.  
“What did you do with the four hundred and fifty-five dollars you drew out  of bank last week? Did you invest it or lend it to Mr. Johnson?” It was a  bow drawn at venture, but the arrow hit the mark, as Mr. Graeme saw.  
“I 'vested it.”  
“You mean Mr. Johnson invested it for you? By the way, what is his first  name!”  
“Yes, sir. His name 's de Rev. Amos Johnson.”  
“By George! I thought so,” said Graeme, half aloud. “I saw him at the  races last week. I knew I had seen him before.” His countenance grew  suddenly cheerful.  
“What did he give you to show for it?”  
“He did n't gi' me nothin'. He 's gwine to draw the intrust for me.”  
“Oh! I thought so. Well, I want to see the Rev. Mr. Johnson when he comes  next time. When do you expect him?”  
“I ain't 'pectin' him 't all. He comes sometimes. He was a friend o'  Cæsar's.”  
“Ah! he was! So I thought. Comes to smoke a cigar, I suppose!”  
She looked so uneasy that he went on casually: “Well, it 's very well;  always keep in with the cloth. He is a fine preacher, I hear! Keeps quite  up with the times—interested in the races in more senses than one.”  
“Yes, sir; he preaches very well.”  
“That is all. Well, your friend must have 'rec'nition.'”  
The old woman withdrew.  
The following day Graeme went down to a detective agency and left a  memorandum. A few days later he received a message from the agency: “Yes,  he is the same man. He frequents the pool-rooms a good deal. Came from  Kentucky. He used to be known as 'Amos Brown.'”  






IV


For some days Mr. Graeme took to coming home earlier than usual, and one  evening he was rewarded. Just after his arrival little Ben came in, and,  climbing up to his cigar box, took out several cigars, and silently  withdrew. As soon as he had disappeared his father stepped to the  telephone, and, calling up the detective agency, asked that an officer be  sent around to his house immediately. A few minutes later the officer  arrived, and after a few words with him Mr. Graeme stationed him at the  back gate and strolled back toward the kitchen. As he softly approached  the door he heard voices within-one of them his little boy's voice, the  other the deep, unctuous tones of a negro man. The child was begging the  latter to blow smoke-wreaths, and the man was bartering with him.  
“Well, you must get me more cigars; remember what I told you—six  wreaths for one cigar.”  
At this moment the mammy evidently came in, for Mr. Graeme heard the man  caution the child, and heard her voice for the first time,  
“What dat you telling dat chile?” she demanded, suspiciously.  
“Nothing. I was just entertaining him by blowing a few of those artistic  wreaths he admires so much. My good friends keep me in cigars. It is one  of the few consolations in a hard-working pastor's life. Well, sister, I  called around to tell you your investment promises to be even more  remunerative than I expected—and to tell you if you have any more,  or even can borrow any, to let me place it as you did the other. I can  guarantee to double it for you in a short time.”  
“I ain' got any more—an' ain' got nobody to lend me none.”  
“Well, ah! Could n 't you get any from your employer?” He lowered his  voice; but Graeme caught the words. “You could raise money on the silver—and  they would never know it. Besides, they owe it to you for all the work you  have done without payment. Think how many years you worked for them as a  slave without pay.”  
“Now, I ain' gwine to do dat!” exclaimed the old woman.  
At this moment Graeme softly opened the door. The mammy was standing with  her back to him, and in one chair, tilted back with his feet in another  chair, was a large and unctuous-looking negro of middle age, in all the  glory of a black broadcloth coat and a white tie. He was engaged at the  moment in blowing small wreaths, while little Ben stood by and gazed at  him with open-eyed wonder and delight.  
At sight of Mr. Graeme, the preacher with a gulp, which sadly disturbed  his last effort, rose to his feet. An expression of fear flitted across  his face, then gave way to a crafty, half-insolent look.  
“Good evening, sir,” he began, with an insinuating smile, not wholly free  from uneasiness.  
“Good evening, Amos. Mammy, will you kindly go to your mistress. Take the  boy with you. Run along, son.”  
The old woman with a half-scared air led the child out, and Mr. Graeme  closed the door and turned back to the visitor, who looked much  embarrassed.  
“Take my cigars out of your pocket.”  
The preacher's hand went involuntarily to his breast-pocket, and then came  down.  
“What! Your cigars out of my pocket? I have no cigars of yours, sir.” He  spoke with slightly rising severity, as Mr. Graeme remained so calm.  
“Oh, yes, you have. But no matter for the present. You had just as well  leave them there for a moment. What are you doing, coming here all the  time?”  
“What am I doing?—Coming here? I am a minister of the Gawspel, sir,  and I have a member of my congregation here, and I come to look after her  welfare.”  
“And to see that she gets recognition?”  
“Suh?”—with a wince.  
“And incidentally to rob me of my cigars, and her of her small savings”—pursued  Mr. Graeme, calmly.  
“Suh? Nor, suh, I has not done dat I will take my oath to it on the word  of Almighty God.”  
The veneer of his fine speech had all been dropped, and the Rev. Johnson  was talking naturally enough now.  
“What did you do with that money you took from her?”  
“What did I do wid—? What money?”  
Mr. Graeme showed impatience for the first time.  
“The four hundred and fifty-five dollars you got from her. Was there more  than that?”  
At this point Mam' Lyddy opened the door and came in. She looked somewhat  mystified and rather disturbed, but she said nothing. She only took her  stand, and with arms folded waited silent and observant.  
The negro saw that Mr. Graeme knew of the fact and answered promptly.  
“Oh! You are mistaken, sir. I have taken no money of her. You can ax her.  She had a sum of money which I as a favor to her invested for her. You can  ask the sister there. I suppose you refer to that!”  
“Invested! In what?”  
“Ah—ur—in—ur—the Afro-American Sister's Loan and  Trust Association. I have promised to invest it in that for her.”  
He stammered a good deal at the start, but was glib enough when he brought  out the name. “Didn't I, sister!”  
“Yes, sir.” The old woman was manifestly impressed. The preacher's cunning  face brightened.  
“You see what she says?”  
“With its chief office at the Race-course out here,” said Graeme, with a  toss of his head. “Look here, I want you to get that money.”  
The negro shot a glance at Mam' Lyddy and decided that she would stand by  him. He suddenly stiffened up and resumed his affected manner.  
“Well, sir, I do not know by what right you interfere with my affairs—or  this lady's.”  
“You don 't? Well, that's what I am going to show you now. My right is  that she is a member of my family, whom I am going to protect from just  such scoundrels and thieves as you, Amos Brown.”  
The preacher received the name like a blow.  
At the words the old mammy jumped as if she were shot. She leaned forward,  moving up slowly.  
“What's dat?—'Amos Brown'? What's dat you said, Marse Cabell?  'Amos Brown'?”  
Mr. Graeme nodded. “Yes. This is Amos Brown, 'a friend of Caesar's.'”  
“Indeed, I ain 't suh. I'm de Reverend Amos Johnson—” began the  preacher, but his looks belied him. Mammy Lyddy took in the truth, and the  next second the storm broke.  
“'Amos Brown' you is? I might 'a' knowd it! You thief! You a friend of  Caesar's! Whar's my money?—My money you stole from Caesar? You come  talkin' to me 'bout rec'nition? I done rec'nize you, you black nigger. Let  me get at him, Marse Gabelle.”  
The old woman swept toward him with so threatening an air that Graeme  interposed, and the preacher retreated behind him for protection. Even  that place of security did not, however, save him from her vitriolic  tongue. She poured out on him the vials of her wrath till Graeme, fearing  she might drop down in a faint, stopped her.  
“Stop now. I will settle with him.”  
His authoritative air quieted her, but she still stood glowering and  muttering her wrath.  
“You will have that money back here by to-morrow at this hour or I will  put you in the penitentiary, where you have already been once and ought to  be now. And now you will take my cigars out of your pocket, or I will hand  you to that policeman out there at the door. Out with them.”  
“Boss, I ain't got no cigars o' yo's. I 'll swar to it on de wud o'——”  
“Out with them—or—” Mr. Graeme turned to open the door. The  negro, after a glance at Mam' Lyddy, slowly took several cigars from his  pockets.  
“Dese is all de cigars I has—and dey wuz given to me by a friend,”  he said, surlily.  
“Yes, by my little boy. I know. Lay them there. I will keep them till  to-morrow. And now go and get that money.”  
“What money?—I can't git dat money—dat money is invested.”  
“Then you bring the securities in which it is invested. I know where that  money went. You go and rob some one else—but have that money at my  office to-morrow before three o'clock or I 'll put you in jail to-morrow  night. And if you ever put your foot on this place or speak to that old  woman again, I 'll have you arrested. Do you understand!”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Now go.” He opened the door.  
“Officer, do you recognize this man!”  
“Yes, sir, I know him.”  
“Well, I am going to let him go for the present”  
The Rev. Amos was already slinking down the street. Mr. Graeme turned to  the old woman.  
“You want recognition?”  
“Nor, suh, I don't” She gave a whimper. “I wants my money. I wants to git  hold of dat black nigger what 's done rob me talkin' 'bout bein' sich a  friend o' Caesar's.”  
“Do you want to go home?”  
“Dis is my home.” She spoke humbly, but firmly.  
Two days afterward Mrs. Graeme said:  
“Cabell, Mammy is converted. It is like old times.”  
“I think it will last,” said her husband. “She is out four hundred and  fifty-five dollars, and the Mount Salem flock is temporarily without a  shepherd. The Rev. Amos Johnson was gathered in this morning for fleecing  one of his sheep and signing the wrong name to a check.”  
 












End of Project Gutenberg's Mam' Lyddy's Recognition, by Thomas Nelson Page

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAM' LYDDY'S RECOGNITION ***

***** This file should be named 23512-h.htm or 23512-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/5/1/23512/

Produced by David Widger

Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
http://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation”
 or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org


Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.


Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.


Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     http://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.