From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander
There was a tap at my door, and, upon opening it, I found a visitor. At first I thought it was a demure little maiden, not quite five years old, with whom I am well acquainted; but when I saw the company air and the gayly-flowered clothes bag pinned around her, I knew she must be a stranger, so I seriously invited her in.
“What is your name?” I asked, after we had said “Good morning” and remarked upon the coldness of the same.
“My name is ‘Miss Happy Land,’” she answered; and, looking into the guileless face, the trusting, innocent eyes, I believed her.
A few judicious questions loosened Miss Happy Land’s tongue, and she told me the following remarkable story:
“I have a baby,” she said, airily, patting a bang which fell too low on her forehead—“a very beautiful baby, two years old. It can walk, but it can’t talk—can’t say a word—just hollers and bawls all day long. It can cut paper dolls; it sits on the floor and cuts paper dolls all day long. Its name is ‘Cobanjo.’”
When asked who was caring for Cobanjo in her absence, she said she had a good negro woman to look after her, that the woman was real careful and was quite a help to her, and was named “Camangy.” The baby’s papa, she said, was dead—had died only the day before with neuralgia or something. She had a good doctor with him, she told me, and the doctor’s name was “Ninkumgoo.” She didn’t know he was going to die, and he didn’t, either—he just died. (keep reading)