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The day was clear and warm. The sun beat down upon the dusty road, and the johnson grass waved with a slight silky noise as I climbed the steps to the door of Lula Walker's cabin. A bony mongrel lay on the ground near the porch with his eyes half open and his tail beating ripples in the brown dust. I knocked twice on the molding of the door. It stood open and I had a glimpse into a room that was shabbily furnished with a large iron bed, a white bowl on a threelegged table, a few indistinguishable chromos and a straight chair. Presently a vigorous feminine voice rang out from the rear in a throaty sound: "Who dat?" This ejaculation was followed immediately by the appearance of an old Negro woman bare of foot, kerchiefed and overcoated. She had more of a glide than a walk. Her steps were short, giving them a more feminine aspect than an aged colored woman usually shows.
"Are you Lula Cottonham Walker?" I asked as she reached the center of the room, where she stopped.
"Yassuh, white fo'ks, I is Lula Walker, an' I reckons you is de sheriff."
"No," I said smiling, "I hate to be a disappointment, but I am not the sheriff."
"Tain't no disappointment to me kaze he's a fixing to put me outa de house," she continued as she walked closer to the door.
"I'm sorry," I said, "but I wonder if you could give me a brief story of your life. I hear that you have been around for quite some time."
"One hundred and twelve years to be 'zact," she said. "I was borned in 1824." Aunt Lula walked to the porch and made herself as comfortable as possible in a loose jointed rocker. "I ain't as spry as I once was, white fo'ks. I has to sit down when I ain't movin' about."
"Well, Aunt Lula," I went on, "Tell me something about the old days---something about your life before the war and about the things you did back there."
"Chile," she continued, "I was borned at Centerville, Alabama, an' belonged to de Cottonhams. My mammy had 30 children. She never had 'em one at a time. She always had 'em in two's and three's. She was a good breedin' nigger. "I myself had 28; eight before de war, an' de res' atter."
"What sort of treatment did you have, Aunt Lula?" I asked.
"De bes'", she said with positive shake of her head. "If de massa had a good sow that was a givin' birth to a lot of pigs eve'y year, you don't think he goin' to take a stick an' beat her do you?" Dat's de way he was wid his niggers. I neber had a han' laid on me. Not one. But I hadda work powerful hard. I worked like a man. I warn't no house nigger. I hoed, plowed, ditched, split rails an' anything else dat needed to be did. Good, hard work neber hurt nobody."
"Speaking of whipping," I said, "What were some of the things that a Negro was whipped for?"
"Well," she replied, "fer runnin' away, fer prayin', fer singing at night, fer not workin' and fer not takin' orders. Sometimes at night when we wanted to pray and sing, we had to stick our heads in a big iron pot to keep de noise away from de big house.
"When de war broke loose, de Yankees come through our place an' burnt up our cotton dat was stored and dey taken lots of our cawn and things. Dey eben run dere horses through de house and make way wid some of de silver, dat we didn't hid. I stayed on de plantation eight years atter de war. I was one of de las' niggers to leave. When I lef' dere were hardly a nigger to be seen, an' fo' de war, de massa had so many niggers he didn't know which ones was hissen. Yassuh, chile, I done did and seed many things in my life. I worked in de field. I worked in de mines, load coke; eben been in de po' house. Eight years ago, I had to go to de po' house in Birmingham. Dey treated me awful mean dere. Dey didn't gib me much to eat. I reckon I must a'been pretty strong, too kaze, I'm still a hangin' on. De sheriff'll be a comin' 'bout to put me outa my house kaze I ain't paid de rent. Maybe dat'll finish de job."
