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THE BISHOP AND THE BOOGERMAN
BEING THE STORY OF A LITTLE TRULY-GIRL, WHO GREW UP; HER MYSTERIOUS COMPANION; HER CRABBED OLD UNCLE; THE WHISH-WHISH WOODS; A VERY CIVIL ENGINEER, AND MR. BILLY SANDERS THE SAGE OF SHADY DALE
By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS
Drawings by Charlotte Harding
NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1909
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY SUNNY SOUTH PUBLISHING CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY PUBLISHED, JANUARY, 1909
"They paused—then she pointed to the darkest corner"
CONTENTS
PART I PART II PART III PART IV PART V
By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS
ILLUSTRATIONS
"They paused—then she pointed to the darkest corner"
"It seemed to Adelaide that it held a whole bushel of fried chicken and biscuits"
"The child stared at her uncle so seriously that he was actually embarrassed"
"Old Jonas would listen by her bedside to convince himself that she was really breathing"
"They began to creep forward, making as little noise as possible"
"'You are pouting,' she said, 'or you'd never be sitting in this room where nobody ever comes'"
"'That's why you see these shoes lookin' like they're spang new'"
"Mr. Sanders went from the courthouse with a sweeping stride"
THE BISHOP AND THE BOOGERMAN
PART I
Adelaide and I have come to the conclusion that if you can't believe anything at all, not even the things that are as plain as the nose on your face—if you can't enjoy what is put here to be enjoyed—if you are going to turn up your nose at everything we tell you, and deny things that we know to be truly-ann-true, just because we haven't given you the cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die sign—then it's your own fault if we don't reply when you try to give the wipple-wappling call. And more than that, if you know so much that you don't know anything, or less than anything, you will have to go somewhere else to be amused and entertained; you will have to find other play-fellows. You might persuade us to play with you if you had something nicer than peppermint candy, and sweeter than taffy, and then Adelaide would show you things that you never so much as dreamed of before, and tell you things you never heard of.
Adelaide! Doesn't the very sound of the name make you feel a little bit better than you were feeling awhile ago? Doesn't it remind you of the softest blue eyes in the world, and of long curly hair, spun from summer sunbeams that were left over from last season's growing? If all these things don't flash in your mind, like magic pictures on a white background, then you had better turn your head away, and not bother about the things I am saying. And another thing: Don't imagine that I am writing of the Right-Now time, for, one day when Adelaide and I were playing in the garden, we found Eighteen-Hundred-and-Sixty-Eight hiding under a honeysuckle vine, where it had gone to die. Adelaide picked the poor thing up and put it in the warm place in her apron that she keeps for all the weaklings; and now when we want to remember a great many things, both good and bad, we go back to the poor thing we found under the honeysuckle vine.
It was a very good thing that old Jonas Whipple, of Shady Dale, had a sister who married and went to Atlanta, because Adelaide was in Atlanta, and nowhere else; it was the only place where she could have been found. Old Jonas's sister had been in Atlanta not longer than a year, if that long, when, one day, she found Adelaide, and appeared to be very fond of her. At that time, Adelaide had hardly been aroused from her dreams. She may have opened her eyes sometimes, but she seemed sleepy; and when she snored, as the majority of people will, when they are not put to bed right, everybody said she was crying. It was so ridiculous that she sometimes smiled in her sleep. But the most mysterious thing about it, was that old Jonas's sister knew she was named Adelaide almost as soon as she found her. Now, how did old Jonas's sister know that? Adelaide and I have often tried to figure it out when we were playing in the garden, but no matter how many figures we made in the sand, there was always something or other in the top row that stood for No-Time, and we didn't know how to add that up.
One day, Adelaide's father, who had been ailing a long time, became so ill that a great many people came to the house in carriages and took him away so that he might get well again. Adelaide hardly had time to forget that her father had gone away, before her mother went to bed one night, and, after staying there a long time, was carried away by the people who had been so kind to her, only this time there were a great many more women in the house, and some of them went about acting as though they had been taking snuff. And there was a very nice old gentleman, with a smooth face, and a big ring on one of his fat fingers. As well as Adelaide could remember, this was the Peskerwhalian Bishop, and he was just as kind as he could be. He had a pink complexion just like a woman. He took Adelaide in his arms, and told her all about Heaven, and everything like that, and then he felt about in his pockets and found some candy drops.
Adelaide knew very well that the people who came to the house were very much concerned about her. They talked in whispers when she was in hearing, but she knew by their sad faces that they were troubled about something, and she wished that they would get over it, and laugh and talk as they used to do. When she went on the street, the little girls she met turned and looked at her curiously, and though they were very friendly indeed, they had the inquisitive look that older people have such a dread of. At first she thought her nose must be smutty, or her bonnet on crooked, or her frock torn; but when it turned out that everything about her was according to the prevailing fashions of cleanliness and correctness, she was quite content to be the observed of all observers in her neighbourhood.
And then, one day (can it ever be forgotten by anybody who was living at that time?), a lovely man, looking so much like the Bishop that Adelaide named him so, came after her and said that she was to go to Shady Dale, and live with her Uncle Jonas. This was Mr. Sanders—Billy Sanders, of Shady Dale. "I ain't sorry for you one bit," Mr. Sanders declared—I was there when he said it—"bekaze the first time I saw you, you made a face at me."
