With all of my six years' wide experience, I always learned something new from Uncle Jake and somehow I enjoyed the musty smell of the dark cabin, the strings of red pepper draped in festoons, twists of "chawing baccer" and bunches of onions which hung from the rafters and the soft goose feather bed which Uncle Jake said warded off dampness and kept him from having "the misery in his stiff ol' jints". In spite of his protests as to me remaining longer, I settled myself on a three-legged stool and with the aid of his fumbling fingers took off my bonnet. My mother insisted that a bonnet was for protection from wind and sun, so I always wore mine, but I had to have assistance in removing it because mother braided my hair near the top of my head and pulled the plait through a hole in the bonnet left for that purpose, then the top was buttoned around it so my fingers could not remove it. Uncle Jake always laughed when he helped me take it off because we had to be rather secretive and not let mother find out.
Mammy Callie was in the kitchen churning, so I continued to ply Uncle Jake with questions while I waited for a glass of fresh buttermilk. I knew that my father was away at war and that Uncle Jake and Mammy Callie were looking after my grandparents, my mother and me, but they would not tell what war was like or why I could not go and play with other children--they always watched me when I played and everything was kept locked and hidden. It was all so strange and different from what it had been, but Uncle Jake was just the same and all he would say was, "Dis ol' worl' am just a vessel ob de Lawd and sometimes de contents of dat vessel jest don' agree, dey gets bilin' hot like when water am poured on burning embers, a powerful smoke do rise. So it is now, chile, dis ol' worl' jest got too hot wid sin and God am trying to cool it off wid refreshin' showers ob his love, but de dibbil am makin' sech a smoke it am smartin' God's eyes", and Uncle Jake would pat me on the head and I would smile and nod as if his explanation had been perfectly clear.
These thoughts of the afternoon before ran through my mind as I watched Uncle Jake as he limped through the snow with a big brown shawl wrapped around his stooped shoulders, a piece of home spun jeans pinned around his head and a pair of patched jeans trousers supported by heavy bands of the same material for suspenders. As he returned from milking, I wondered if he had my gray kitten in his pocket, but suddenly I realized he was hobbling hurriedly, the milk pail was thrown aside and he seemed badly frightened. I ran to find out what had occurred to upset Uncle Jake's usual carefree manner.