IT was a warm, sunny day. Practically every one was resting. The greenery swinging from the huge live-oaks influenced drowsily forward and backward. In the lodge entryway sat great, old, fat Mammy Lize.
"Come hea', Ma'cus. Ma'cus, does you year me?" It was Mammy Lize's voice. She was calling Marcus Aurelius Lincoln, her son.
Mammy Lize had six other youngsters, yet every one was mature enough to go to Sunday school with the exception of Marcus.
Two young men heard Mammy Lize call. One was minimal dark Marcus, the other was minimal white Julian. Yet, neither of them replied.
They stole gradually through the underbrush close to the lodge. They trusted that Mammy Lize won't not see them.
"I year you, en I sees you, as well," Mammy Lize got out brightly.
"Ma'cus 'relius, de switch am convenient, en I isn't gwine call no mo'."
At that point Marcus realized that the time had come to comply with his mom, and Julian realized that he should mind his medical caretaker. He called her "Mammy — Mammy Lize."
"Wat you need?" said Marcus, coming closer to the lodge.
"Wat I need? I needs you."
"Presently, sanctum, jes' you stan' right hea' twel I learns yous a verse fum de Scriptur'."
At that point Mammy Lize started, gravely:
"De Lo'd sayd, 'Given us a chance to make man in our picture, a' Gawd he made de man in his own particular picture.'"
"Presently, you Ma'cus, say dem wo'ds."
"A' Gawd made" — started Marcus gradually.
"De Lo'd sayd," put in Mammy Lize, "de Lo'd sayd dat he done c'eated man — "
Presently Mammy Lize was getting anxious. "You say w'at I says," she directed. Also, she made Marcus rehash the verse, word for word, after her.
"I figure I can state it," whispered Julian in Mammy Lize's ear.
"Co'se you can, nectar."
"Presently hea' Julian say de Lo'd's wo'ds," said Mammy Lize.
At that point Julian remained as straight as any little five-year-old kid could stand and rehashed the verse. He knew it would satisfy his mom to hear him say the verse at sleep time, when she and he "talked and asked" together, so he rehashed the words yet again under his breath for fear that he ought to overlook them.
"Presently, lair," proceeded with Mammy Lize, "who made you, Ma'cus?"
"Gawd," Marcus answered rapidly.
"Gawd what, you great fo'- nutten chile!"
"Gawd made me," Marcus said.
"Dat's actual and dat's correct," Mammy Lize remarked, reclining in her seat. "Presently git along." And the two researchers dashed off to play.
Not long after the lesson both young men were out on the roadside. They were getting limbs together to assemble a lodge. "
"Marcus, you go for wood," said Julian, "and I'll begin the house."
Marcus swung to obey — however — such an unpleasant voice thundered at him, "You keep out of the street, you dark nigger, you! Wouldn't you be able to keep from under my machine? Get back there!" And poor little Marcus bounced just as he had been shot, as a major, dusty auto floated by.
Both young men watched it until it vanished, when Julian stated, "You're not dark, would you say you are, Marcus?"
"I figure I is," addressed Marcus.
"Well," said Julian, refreshingly, "I'll converse with my mom about it." And the companions went ahead with their working until break time.
At the point when the bed hour came, Julian stooped before his mom, and they "talked and supplicated" together.
"Mother, did God make Marcus?" asked Julian.
"Yes, dear," the tender voice replied.
"Did God make Marcus dark, mother?"
"Yes, dear; He did."
At that point Julian's mom took the young man on her knee, saying, "Why does my child ask this question?"
"The awful man called Marcus a 'dark nigger,'" Julian said. "I figure God did overlook and committed an error."
"My dear young man, God does not commit errors," was the consoling answer. "God is great and superb. He is the main God in all the world. He makes everything and deals with everything. God does not just make white individuals. He makes yellow individuals, as "Wang," the Chinaman; and he makes red individuals, similar to the Indian you saw the previous summer; and He makes dark individuals, as Marcus and Mammy Lize; and He makes white individuals, similar to you and me. Where the Book of scriptures says God made man in his own picture, it doesn't mean the outside, which is dark or white, or yellow. It implies within which thinks and cherishes and makes a difference. Also, the superb piece of everything is that God adores each one alike, regardless of what shading.
"Do you see, now?"
"Yes, Mother dear," said Julian, and bowing his head the young man implored:
"Dear God, please favor Daddy and Mother, and Marcus, and every one of the general population all over, regardless of what shading they are, and favor Julian."
At that point he moved into his little bed.
"Come hea', Ma'cus. Ma'cus, does you year me?" It was Mammy Lize's voice. She was calling Marcus Aurelius Lincoln, her son.
Mammy Lize had six other youngsters, yet every one was mature enough to go to Sunday school with the exception of Marcus.
Two young men heard Mammy Lize call. One was minimal dark Marcus, the other was minimal white Julian. Yet, neither of them replied.
They stole gradually through the underbrush close to the lodge. They trusted that Mammy Lize won't not see them.
"I year you, en I sees you, as well," Mammy Lize got out brightly.
"Ma'cus 'relius, de switch am convenient, en I isn't gwine call no mo'."
At that point Marcus realized that the time had come to comply with his mom, and Julian realized that he should mind his medical caretaker. He called her "Mammy — Mammy Lize."
"Wat you need?" said Marcus, coming closer to the lodge.
"Wat I need? I needs you."
"Presently, sanctum, jes' you stan' right hea' twel I learns yous a verse fum de Scriptur'."
At that point Mammy Lize started, gravely:
"De Lo'd sayd, 'Given us a chance to make man in our picture, a' Gawd he made de man in his own particular picture.'"
"Presently, you Ma'cus, say dem wo'ds."
"A' Gawd made" — started Marcus gradually.
"De Lo'd sayd," put in Mammy Lize, "de Lo'd sayd dat he done c'eated man — "
Presently Mammy Lize was getting anxious. "You say w'at I says," she directed. Also, she made Marcus rehash the verse, word for word, after her.
"I figure I can state it," whispered Julian in Mammy Lize's ear.
"Co'se you can, nectar."
"Presently hea' Julian say de Lo'd's wo'ds," said Mammy Lize.
At that point Julian remained as straight as any little five-year-old kid could stand and rehashed the verse. He knew it would satisfy his mom to hear him say the verse at sleep time, when she and he "talked and asked" together, so he rehashed the words yet again under his breath for fear that he ought to overlook them.
"Presently, lair," proceeded with Mammy Lize, "who made you, Ma'cus?"
"Gawd," Marcus answered rapidly.
"Gawd what, you great fo'- nutten chile!"
"Gawd made me," Marcus said.
"Dat's actual and dat's correct," Mammy Lize remarked, reclining in her seat. "Presently git along." And the two researchers dashed off to play.
Not long after the lesson both young men were out on the roadside. They were getting limbs together to assemble a lodge. "
"Marcus, you go for wood," said Julian, "and I'll begin the house."
Marcus swung to obey — however — such an unpleasant voice thundered at him, "You keep out of the street, you dark nigger, you! Wouldn't you be able to keep from under my machine? Get back there!" And poor little Marcus bounced just as he had been shot, as a major, dusty auto floated by.
Both young men watched it until it vanished, when Julian stated, "You're not dark, would you say you are, Marcus?"
"I figure I is," addressed Marcus.
"Well," said Julian, refreshingly, "I'll converse with my mom about it." And the companions went ahead with their working until break time.
At the point when the bed hour came, Julian stooped before his mom, and they "talked and supplicated" together.
"Mother, did God make Marcus?" asked Julian.
"Yes, dear," the tender voice replied.
"Did God make Marcus dark, mother?"
"Yes, dear; He did."
At that point Julian's mom took the young man on her knee, saying, "Why does my child ask this question?"
"The awful man called Marcus a 'dark nigger,'" Julian said. "I figure God did overlook and committed an error."
"My dear young man, God does not commit errors," was the consoling answer. "God is great and superb. He is the main God in all the world. He makes everything and deals with everything. God does not just make white individuals. He makes yellow individuals, as "Wang," the Chinaman; and he makes red individuals, similar to the Indian you saw the previous summer; and He makes dark individuals, as Marcus and Mammy Lize; and He makes white individuals, similar to you and me. Where the Book of scriptures says God made man in his own picture, it doesn't mean the outside, which is dark or white, or yellow. It implies within which thinks and cherishes and makes a difference. Also, the superb piece of everything is that God adores each one alike, regardless of what shading.
"Do you see, now?"
"Yes, Mother dear," said Julian, and bowing his head the young man implored:
"Dear God, please favor Daddy and Mother, and Marcus, and every one of the general population all over, regardless of what shading they are, and favor Julian."
At that point he moved into his little bed.
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