battles in the kitchen. These
depressed the mistress of the house, but they gave only joy to Mark
Twain. His Southern raising had given him an understanding of their
humors, their native emotions which made these riots a spiritual
gratification. He would slip around among the shrubbery and listen to
the noise and strife of battle, and hug himself with delight. Sometimes
they resorted to missiles--stones, tinware--even dressed poultry which
Auntie Cord was preparing for the oven. Lewis was very black, Auntie
Cord was a bright mulatto, Lewis's' wife several shades lighter.
Wherever the discussion began it promptly shaded off toward the
color-line and insult. Auntie Cord was a Methodist; Lewis was a
Dunkard. Auntie Cord was ignorant and dogmatic; Lewis could read and was
intelligent. Theology invariably led to personality, and eventually to
epithets, crockery, geology, and victuals. How the greatest joker of the
age did enjoy that summer warfare!

The fun was not all one-sided. An incident of that summer probably
furnished more enjoyment for the colored members of the household
than it did for Mark Twain. Lewis had some fowls, and among them was a
particularly pestiferous guinea-hen that used to get up at three in the
morning and go around making the kind of a noise that a guinea-hen must
like and is willing to get up early to hear. Mark Twain did not care for
it. He stood it as long as he could one morning, then crept softly from
the house to stop it.

It was a clear, bright night; locating the guinea-hen, he slipped up
stealthily with a stout stick. The bird was pouring out its heart,
tearing the moonlight to tatters. Stealing up close, Clemens made
a vicious swing with his bludgeon, but just then the guinea stepped
forward a little, and he missed. The stroke and his explosion frightened
the fowl, and it started to run. Clemens, with his mind now on the
single purpose of revenge, started after it. Around the trees, along the
paths, up and down the lawn, through gates and across the garden, out
over the fields, they raced, "pursuer and pursued." The guinea nor
longer sang, and Clemens was presently too exhausted to swear. Hour
after hour the silent, deadly hunt continued, both stopping to rest at
intervals; then up again and away. It was like something in a dream.
It was nearly breakfast-time when he dragged himself into the house at
last, and the guinea was resting and panting under a currant-bush.
Later in the day Cl