The midwife in this case simply told all of the children that she did not want any of them to go upstairs, as she had important papers spread out all over the floor and did not want them disturbed.  No questions were asked, she was obeyed.

George does not remember having heard a single cry the whole time they were being born in that upper room, and he said many a baby was born there.  Decorum reigned throughout the household for six weeks or until their mother was ready to come down.  When the time was up for mother to come down, his father would casually say, “children your ma is coming home today and what do you recon, someone has given her another baby.”  The children would say, almost in concert, “what you say pa, is it a boy or girl?” He would tell them which it was and nothing more was said nor any further inquiry made into the happening.

The term “broke her leg” was used to convey the meaning of pregnancy.  George relates how his mother told him and his sister not to have any thing more to do with Mary Jones, “cause she done broke her leg.”  George said “Ma taint nothin matter wid Mary; I see her every day when the bell rings for 12; she works across the street from Pa’s shop and she and me sets on the steps and talks till time fur her to go back to work.”  His mother said, “dont spute me George, I know she is broke her leg and I want yall to stay way frum her.”  George said, “Ma I aint sputing you, jes somebody done misinform you dats all.  She aint got no broke leg, she walks as good as me.”  His mother said “then I’m a lie.”  George quickly replied, “no ma, you aint no lie, but somebody done told you wrong.”

Nothing was said further on the question of Mary Jones until that same evening when Isaac Pretty came home from the shop.  The mother took him aside and told him of how she had been disputed and called a lie by George and added that she wanted George whipped for it.

“Come here George,” came a commanding voice shortly after the mother and father had been in conference.  George obeyed and his father took him apart from the family and locked himself and George in a room.  He said “George I know I haven’t done right by not telling you, you are grown.  You are 33 years old now and I want to tell you some things you should know.”  George was all eyes and ears, for he had been told when previously asked how old he was, “I’ll tell you when you get grown.”  That was all he had heard from his parents for years and he was just waiting for him to tell him.  His father told him how babies were born and about his mother confining herself in the upper room all the different times when she expected babies.  He told him that his mother had never been out of town to Boston or Baltimore on any of the past occasions.  In fact he told George all he knew to tell him.