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to hear his father play those lovely old tunes. In foxtrot time, mainly. And ‘Ole Liza Jane.’ ‘Carry Me Back to Ole Virginny.’ And the one that Wilberforce liked best, ‘Banjo on My Knee.’
    “You shouldda seen the three of us! Father. Mother. And child. And then, Wilberforce and me! Jumping-round on the carpets in this front-house! Skinning our teet, and imitating the rhythms of dancing like if we were Amurcan Negroes. Doing a jig.
    “Years later, Wilberforce who had-spend time in France and Germany and Rome-Italy, was now at Oxford and the Imperial College, in Tropical Medicines, studying to be a doctor, learning about malarias and sleeping sickness, from-where he would write letters to me, usually once a week, though they didn’t reach these shores till months later, sometimes, specially during the War; nevertheless, in two letters, in two consecutive weeks, flashing-back to those nights when Mr. Bellfeels play ‘Ole Black Joe’ on the Steinway, Wilberforce tell me in the two letters . . . and these are his own words . . . ‘We carried on like slaves ’—Wilberforce exact words— ’like slaves on a plantation, we put on that pantomine to entertain that man, and were ignorant, and did not know the ironies in our behaviour.’
    “Wilberforce loves the dirt his father walk on. That much you must know. But, for me to see and to hear the chastisement in the tone of his words . . .
    “Since those letters arrive, this Steinway never had its lid lifted again after those words of reproach.
    “It hurt my heart to know what betrayal of life we lived without knowing it! And had to live!
    “Those evenings, Mr. Bellfeels would throw in a waltz; and a piece of the Classics, now and then. But he played ‘Banjo on My Knee’ every Saturday night. And ‘Ole Black Joe.’
    “Yes. Those Saturday nights were nights of Amurcan Negro songs, mainly. And even if I was in my vexatious moods, I still learn a lot from listening. Both in this Great House where he put me in, as the mother of his three thrildren, to live, even although only one of the thrildren survived past childbirth, and when I worked in the Main House. Yes, William Henry, named after two kings. Decease soon after birth. Rachelle Sarah Prudence, named after English ladies-in-waiting. Decease likewise, following birth. And Wilberforce. The living boy. Wilberforce Darnley Alexander Randall Bellfeels. W. D. A. R. Bellfeels, M.D ., Doctor of Tropical Medicines, as Revern Dowd like to address him. Yes.
    “I mothered Mr. Bellfeels outside-thrildren, and for that he put me in this Great House, and he gave them the name of Bellfeels, even to William Henry and Rachelle Sarah Prudence, before they dead.
    “That is something in his favour, I suppose.
    “Mr. Bellfeels never-even suggest I use his surname, to mean whatever the use of that name mean, in these circumstances. But I know what it could mean. I also know that behind my back, the Villagers call me Miss Bellfeels the Outside-woman. Gertrude told me. I forced it out of her. But praise God, he make my three thrildren, two dead and one still in the quick, legitimate and respectable citizens of Bimshire, bearing the name of Bellfeels. The name Bellfeels, for all the badness it conjure up, and mean to me personally; and the reputation it have in Flagstaff Village, is . . ..Well . . .
    “On Sundays, when the sun cool-off a bit, you could find me in the Church Yard, looking down at the two slabs of white marble covering the graves of my two thrildren who passed-way.”
    William Henry Bellfeels, R.I.P. Rachelle Sarah Prudence, R.I.P.
    “One Sunday evening, near seven o’ clock, just before Eveningsong-and-Service is to begin, I see the back of this man, in the Church Yard, bending down looking at the same two white marble slabs. Him. Mr. Bellfeels! Years ago that happened.
    “Write-this-down in your black notebook, what I was saying, before I got sidetracked by talking about my three thrildren . . . Yes.