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AL-71-B

Hester Frye
Tishabee, Alabama

Ruby Pickens Tartt
Sumter County
Livingston, Alabama

NO LAWD, I AIN'T READY

"You better git out er here 'cause Mr. Charlie ain't go' lack
nobody rummagin' roun 'mongst his things."

It was only a moment before that I had heard the sound of
shuffling feet. Then the voice spoke so unexpectedly, in this silent
house that I was frightened. Turning around I saw standing across
the room a Negro woman, barefooted, and dressed in a loose, soiled
blue homespun dress and faded head handkerchief.

I had come on the house, located at Tishabee, a small settlement
on the Tombigbee river some half dozen miles from the railroad. It
had been once occupied by Bob Johnson, "Marse Bob," as the Negroes
called him, and his wife, "Miss Calline." The low picket fence was
almost down. The large chimney in the back had fallen, and part of
the roof was open to the sky. Through the gaping doorway were visible
a rusty old stove, several broken plow points and ither useless imple-
ments mingled with the dust of years. There were no steps at the front
of the house. Instead a tangled mass of wistaria vines trailed along
the rotting gallery.

No one having answered my hello, I pulled myself up by one of the
rickety old pillars and made my way with difficulty to the door. No
one answered my knock. In a last effort to arouse someone I wandered
around the gallery toward the back of the house where I met an old
Negro man who very courteously invited me to walk in and res' my hat.
I eagerly accepted.

As my eyes became used to the dimness they picked out a once
lovely square piano of rosewood. On the piano were several daguerreo-
types, a family album, and copies of old songs with mildewed pages.

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