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<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Colonel, by Annie Fellows Johnston</h1>
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Title: The Little Colonel
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE LITTLE COLONEL ***
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<h3>
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, David Widger,<br>
and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
</h3>
<br>
<br>
<hr class="full" noshade>
<br>
<br>
<h1>THE LITTLE COLONEL</h1>
<h3>By Annie Fellows Johnston</h3>
<br>
<h4>1895</h4>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<h3>TO ONE OF KENTUCKY'S DEAREST LITTLE DAUGHTERS</h3>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<h4>The Little Colonel</h4>
<h5>HERSELF--THIS REMEMBRANCE OF A HAPPY SUMMER<br>
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED</h5>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2>
<center>[<a href="#CHAPTER_I.">I</a>] [<a href=
"#CHAPTER_III.">II</a>] [<a href="#CHAPTER_III.">III</a>] [<a href=
"#CHAPTER_IV.">IV</a>] [<a href="#CHAPTER_V.">V</a>] [<a href=
"#CHAPTER_VI.">VI</a>] [<a href="#CHAPTER_VII.">VII</a>] [<a href=
"#CHAPTER_VIII.">VIII</a>] [<a href="#CHAPTER_IX.">IX</a>]
[<a href="#CHAPTER_X.">X</a>]</center>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
<hr style="width: 25%;">
<center><a href="#0002.jpg">"'CAUSE I'M SO MUCH LIKE YOU,' WAS THE
STARTLING ANSWER".</a><br>
<a href="#0003.jpg">"THE SAME TEMPER SEEMED TO BE BURNING IN THE
EYES OF THE CHILD".</a><br>
<a href="#0004.jpg">"WITH THE PARROT PERCHED ON THE BROOM SHE WAS
CARRYING".</a><br>
<a href="#0005.jpg">"THE LITTLE COLONEL CLATTERED UP AND DOWN THE
HALL".</a><br>
<a href="#0006.jpg">"SINGING AT THE TOP OF HER VOICE".</a><br>
<a href="#0007.jpg">"'TELL ME GOOD-BY, BABY DEAR,' SAID MRS.
SHERMAN".</a><br>
<a href="#0008.jpg">"'AMANTHIS,' REPEATED THE CHILD
DREAMILY".</a><br>
<a href="#0009.jpg">"SHE CLIMBED UP IN FRONT OF THE
MIRROR".</a><br>
<a href="#0010.jpg">"THE SWEET LITTLE VOICE SANG IT TO THE
END".</a></center>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<br>
<h1>The Little Colonel</h1>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<br>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I."></a>CHAPTER I.</h2>
<br>
<p>It was one of the prettiest places in all Kentucky where the
Little Colonel stood that morning. She was reaching up on tiptoes,
her eager little face pressed close against the iron bars of the
great entrance gate that led to a fine old estate known as
"Locust."</p>
<p>A ragged little Scotch and Skye terrier stood on its hind feet
beside her, thrusting his inquisitive nose between the bars, and
wagging his tasselled tail in lively approval of the scene before
them.</p>
<p>They were looking down a long avenue that stretched for nearly a
quarter of a mile between rows of stately old locust-trees.</p>
<p>At the far end they could see the white pillars of a large stone
house gleaming through the Virginia creeper that nearly covered it.
But they could not see the old Colonel in his big chair on the
porch behind the cool screen of vines.</p>
<p>At that very moment he had caught the rattle of wheels along the
road, and had picked up his field-glass to see who was passing. It
was only a coloured man jogging along in the heat and dust with a
cart full of chicken-coops. The Colonel watched him drive up a lane
that led to the back of the new hotel that had just been opened in
this quiet country place. Then his glance fell on the two small
strangers coming through his gate down the avenue toward him. One
was the friskiest dog he had ever seen in his life. The other was a
child he judged to be about five years old.</p>
<p>Her shoes were covered with dust, and her white sunbonnet had
slipped off and was hanging over her shoulders. A bunch of wild
flowers she had gathered on the way hung limp and faded in her
little warm hand. Her soft, light hair was cut as short as a
boy's.</p>
<p>There was something strangely familiar about the child,
especially in the erect, graceful way she walked.</p>
<p>Old Colonel Lloyd was puzzled. He had lived all his life in
Lloydsborough, and this was the first time he had ever failed to
recognize one of the neighbours' children. He knew every dog and
horse, too, by sight if not by name.</p>
<p>Living so far from the public road did not limit his knowledge
of what was going on in the world. A powerful field-glass brought
every passing object in plain view, while he was saved all
annoyance of noise and dust.</p>
<p>"I ought to know that child as well as I know my own name," he
said to himself. "But the dog is a stranger in these parts.
Liveliest thing I ever set eyes on! They must have come from the
hotel. Wonder what they want."</p>
<p>He carefully wiped the lens for a better view. When he looked
again he saw that they evidently had not come to visit him.</p>
<p>They had stopped half-way down the avenue, and climbed up on a
rustic seat to rest.</p>
<p>The dog sat motionless about two minutes, his red tongue hanging
out as if he were completely exhausted.</p>
<p>Suddenly he gave a spring, and bounded away through the tall
blue grass. He was back again in a moment, with a stick in his
mouth. Standing up with his fore paws in the lap of his little
mistress, he looked so wistfully into her face that she could not
refuse this invitation for a romp.</p>
<p>The Colonel chuckled as they went tumbling about in the grass to
find the stick which the child repeatedly tossed away.</p>
<p>He hitched his chair along to the other end of the porch as they
kept getting farther away from the avenue.</p>
<p>It had been many a long year since those old locust-trees had
seen a sight like that. Children never played any more under their
dignified shadows.</p>
<p>Time had been (but they only whispered this among themselves on
rare spring days like this) when the little feet chased each other
up and down the long walk, as much at home as the pewees in the
beeches.</p>
<p>Suddenly the little maid stood up straight, and began to sniff
the air, as if some delicious odour had blown across the lawn.</p>
<p>"Fritz," she exclaimed, in delight, "I 'mell 'trawberries!"</p>
<p>The Colonel, who could not hear the remark, wondered at the
abrupt pause in the game. He understood it, however, when he saw
them wading through the tall grass, straight to his strawberry bed.
It was the pride of his heart, and the finest for miles around. The
first berries of the season had been picked only the day before.
Those that now hung temptingly red on the vines he intended to send
to his next neighbour, to prove his boasted claim of always raising
the finest and earliest fruit.</p>
<p>He did not propose to have his plans spoiled by these stray
guests. Laying the field-glass in its accustomed place on the
little table beside his chair, he picked up his hat and strode down
the walk.</p>
<p>Colonel Lloyd's friends all said he looked like Napoleon, or
rather like Napoleon might have looked had he been born and bred a
Kentuckian.</p>
<p>He made an imposing figure in his suit of white duck.</p>
<p>The Colonel always wore white from May till October.</p>
<p>There was a military precision about him, from his erect
carriage to the cut of the little white goatee on his determined
chin.</p>
<p>No one looking into the firm lines of his resolute face could
imagine him ever abandoning a purpose or being turned aside when he
once formed an opinion.</p>
<p>Most children were afraid of him. The darkies about the place
shook in their shoes when he frowned. They had learned from
experience that "ole Marse Lloyd had a tigah of a tempah in
him."</p>
<p>As he passed down the walk there were two mute witnesses to his
old soldier life. A spur gleamed on his boot heel, for he had just
returned from his morning ride, and his right sleeve hung
empty.</p>
<p>He had won his title bravely. He had given his only son and his
strong right arm to the Southern cause. That had been nearly thirty
years ago.</p>
<p>He did not charge down on the enemy with his usual force this
time. The little head, gleaming like sunshine in the strawberry
patch, reminded him so strongly of a little fellow who used to
follow him everywhere,--Tom, the sturdiest, handsomest boy in the
county,--Tom, whom he had been so proud of, whom he had so nearly
worshipped.</p>
<p>Looking at this fair head bent over the vines, he could almost
forget that Tom had ever outgrown his babyhood, that he had
shouldered a rifle and followed him to camp, a mere boy, to be shot
down by a Yankee bullet in his first battle.</p>
<p>The old Colonel could almost believe he had him back again, and
that he stood in the midst of those old days the locusts sometimes
whispered about.</p>
<p>He could not hear the happiest of little voices that was just
then saying, "Oh, Fritz, isn't you glad we came? An' isn't you glad
we've got a gran'fathah with such good 'trawberries?"</p>
<p>It was hard for her to put the "s" before her consonants.</p>
<p>As the Colonel came nearer she tossed another berry into the
dog's mouth. A twig snapped, and she raised a startled face toward
him.</p>
<p>"Suh?" she said, timidly, for it seemed to her that the stern,
piercing eyes had spoken.</p>
<p>"What are you doing here, child?" he asked, in a voice so much
kinder than his eyes that she regained her usual self-possession at
once.</p>
<p>"Eatin' 'trawberries," she answered, coolly.</p>
<p>"Who are you, anyway?" he exclaimed, much puzzled. As he asked
the question his gaze happened to rest on the dog, who was peering
at him through the ragged, elfish wisps of hair nearly covering its
face, with eyes that were startlingly human.</p>
<p>"'Peak when yo'ah 'poken to, Fritz," she said, severely, at the
same time popping another luscious berry into her mouth. Fritz
obediently gave a long yelp. The Colonel smiled grimly.</p>
<p>"What's your name?" he asked, this time looking directly at
her.</p>
<p>"Mothah calls me her baby," was the soft-spoken reply, "but papa
an' Mom Beck they calls me the Little Cun'l."</p>
<p>"What under the sun do they call you that for?" he roared.</p>
<p>"'Cause I'm so much like you," was the startling answer.</p>
<p>"Like me!" fairly gasped the Colonel. "How are you like me?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I'm got such a vile tempah, an' I stamps my foot when I
gets mad, an' gets all red in the face. An' I hollahs at folks, an'
looks jus' zis way."</p>
<a name="0002.jpg"></a><br>
<p class="ctr"><img src="images/0002.jpg" width="60%" alt=""></p>
<br>
<p>She drew her face down and puckered her lips into such a sullen
pout that it looked as if a thunder-storm had passed over it. The
next instant she smiled up at him serenely. The Colonel laughed.
"What makes you think I am like that?" he said. "You never saw me
before."</p>
<p>"Yes, I have too," she persisted. "You's a-hangin' in a gold
frame over ou' mantel."</p>
<p>Just then a clear, high voice was heard calling out in the
road.</p>
<p>The child started up in alarm. "Oh, deah," she exclaimed in
dismay, at sight of the stains on her white dress, where she had
been kneeling on the fruit, "that's Mom Beck. Now I'll be tied up,
and maybe put to bed for runnin' away again. But the berries is
mighty nice," she added, politely. "Good mawnin', suh. Fritz, we
mus' be goin' now."</p>
<p>The voice was coming nearer.</p>
<p>"I'll walk down to the gate with you," said the Colonel, anxious
to learn something more about his little guest. "Oh, you'd bettah
not, suh!" she cried in alarm. "Mom Beck doesn't like you a bit.
She just hates you! She's goin' to give you a piece of her mind the
next time she sees you. I heard her tell Aunt Nervy so."</p>
<p>There was as much real distress in the child's voice as if she
were telling him of a promised flogging.</p>
<p>"Lloyd! Aw, Lloy-eed!" the call came again.</p>
<p>A neat-looking coloured woman glanced in at the gate as she was
passing by, and then stood still in amazement. She had often found
her little charge playing along the roadside or hiding behind
trees, but she had never before known her to pass through any one's
gate.</p>
<p>As the name came floating down to him through the clear air, a
change came over the Colonel's stern face. He stooped over the
child. His hand trembled as he put it under her soft chin and
raised her eyes to his.</p>
<p>"Lloyd, Lloyd!" he repeated, in a puzzled way. "Can it be
possible? There certainly is a wonderful resemblance. You have my
little Tom's hair, and only my baby Elizabeth ever had such hazel
eyes."</p>
<p>He caught her up in his one arm, and strode on to the gate,
where the coloured woman stood.</p>
<p>"Why, Becky, is that you?" he cried, recognizing an old, trusted
servant who had lived at Locust in his wife's lifetime.</p>
<p>Her only answer was a sullen nod.</p>
<p>"Whose child is this?" he asked, eagerly, without seeming to
notice her defiant looks. "Tell me if you can."</p>
<p>"How can I tell you, suh," she demanded, indignantly, "when you
have fo'bidden even her name to be spoken befo' you?"</p>
<p>A harsh look came into the Colonel's eyes. He put the child
hastily down, and pressed his lips together.</p>
<p>"Don't tie my sunbonnet, Mom Beck," she begged. Then she waved
her hand with an engaging smile.</p>
<p>"Good-bye, suh," she said, graciously. "We've had a mighty nice
time!"</p>
<p>The Colonel took off his hat with his usual courtly bow, but he
spoke no word in reply.</p>
<p>When the last flutter of her dress had disappeared around the
bend of the road, he walked slowly back toward the house.</p>
<p>Half-way down the long avenue where she had stopped to rest, he
sat down on the same rustic seat. He could feel her soft little
fingers resting on his neck, where they had lain when he carried
her to the gate.</p>
<p>A very un-Napoleonlike mist blurred his sight for a moment. It
had been so long since such a touch had thrilled him, so long since
any caress had been given him.</p>
<p>More than a score of years had gone by since Tom had been laid
in a soldier's grave, and the years that Elizabeth had been lost to
him seemed almost a lifetime.</p>
<p>And this was Elizabeth's little daughter. Something very warm
and sweet seemed to surge across his heart as he thought of the
Little Colonel. He was glad, for a moment, that they called her
that; glad that his only grandchild looked enough like himself for
others to see the resemblance.</p>
<p>But the feeling passed as he remembered that his daughter had
married against his wishes, and he had closed his doors for ever
against her.</p>
<p>The old bitterness came back redoubled in its force.</p>
<p>The next instant he was stamping down the avenue, roaring for
Walker, his body-servant, in such a tone that the cook's advice was
speedily taken: "Bettah hump yo'self outen dis heah kitchen befo'
de ole tigah gits to lashin' roun' any pearter."</p>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<br>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II."></a>CHAPTER II.</h2>
<br>
<p>Mom Beck carried the ironing-board out of the hot kitchen, set
the irons off the stove, and then tiptoed out to the side porch of
the little cottage.</p>
<p>"Is yo' head feelin' any bettah, honey?" she said to the pretty,
girlish-looking woman lying in the hammock. "I promised to step up
to the hotel this evenin' to see one of the chambah-maids. I
thought I'd take the Little Cun'l along with me if you was willin'.
She's always wild to play with Mrs. Wyford's children up
there."</p>
<p>"Yes, I'm better, Becky," was the languid reply. "Put a clean
dress on Lloyd if you are going to take her out."</p>
<p>Mrs. Sherman closed her eyes again, thinking gratefully, "Dear,
faithful old Becky! What a comfort she has been all my life, first
as my nurse, and now as Lloyd's! She is worth her weight in
gold!"</p>
<p>The afternoon shadows were stretching long across the grass when
Mom Beck led the child up the green slope in front of the
hotel.</p>
<p>The Little Colonel had danced along so gaily with Fritz that her
cheeks glowed like wild roses. She made a quaint little picture
with such short sunny hair and dark eyes shining out from under the
broad-brimmed white hat she wore.</p>
<p>Several ladies who were sitting on the shady piazza, busy with
their embroidery, noticed her admiringly. "It's Elizabeth Lloyd's
little daughter," one of them explained. "Don't you remember what a
scene there was some years ago when she married a New York man?
Sherman, I believe, his name was, Jack Sherman. He was a splendid
fellow, and enormously wealthy. Nobody could say a word against
him, except that he was a Northerner. That was enough for the old
Colonel, though. He hates Yankees like poison. He stormed and
swore, and forbade Elizabeth ever coming in his sight again. He had
her room locked up, and not a soul on the place ever dares mention
her name in his hearing."</p>
<p>The Little Colonel sat down demurely on the piazza steps to wait
for the children. The nurse had not finished dressing them for the
evening.</p>
<p>She amused herself by showing Fritz the pictures in an
illustrated weekly. It was not long until she began to feel that
the ladies were talking about her. She had lived among older people
so entirely that her thoughts were much deeper than her baby
speeches would lead one to suppose.</p>
<p>She understood dimly, from what she had heard the servants say,
that there was some trouble between her mother and grandfather. Now
she heard it rehearsed from beginning to end. She could not
understand what they meant by "bank failures" and "unfortunate
investments," but she understood enough to know that her father had
lost nearly all his money, and had gone West to make more.</p>
<p>Mrs. Sherman had moved from their elegant New York home two
weeks ago to this little cottage in Lloydsborough that her mother
had left her. Instead of the houseful of servants they used to
have, there was only faithful Mom Beck to do everything.</p>
<p>There was something magnetic in the child's eyes.</p>
<p>Mrs. Wyford shrugged her shoulders uneasily as she caught their
piercing gaze fixed on her.</p>
<p>"I do believe that little witch understood every word I said,"
she exclaimed.</p>
<p>"Oh, certainly not," was the reassuring answer. "She's such a
little thing."</p>
<p>But she had heard it all, and understood enough to make her
vaguely unhappy. Going home she did not frisk along with Fritz, but
walked soberly by Mom Beck's side, holding tight to the friendly
black hand.</p>
<p>"We'll go through the woods," said Mom Beck, lifting her over
the fence. "It's not so long that way."</p>
<p>As they followed the narrow, straggling path into the cool dusk
of the woods, she began to sing. The crooning chant was as mournful
as a funeral dirge.</p>
<blockquote>"The clouds hang heavy, an' it's gwine to rain.<br>
Fa'well, my dyin' friends.<br>
I'm gwine to lie in the silent tomb.<br>
Fa'well, my dyin' friends."</blockquote>
<p>A muffled little sob made her stop and look down in
surprise.</p>
<p>"Why, what's the mattah, honey?" she exclaimed. "Did Emma Louise
make you mad? Or is you cryin' 'cause you're so ti'ed? Come! Ole
Becky'll tote her baby the rest of the way."</p>
<p>She picked the light form up in her arms, and, pressing the
troubled little face against her shoulder, resumed her walk and her
song.</p>
<blockquote>"It's a world of trouble we're travellin' through,<br>
Fa'well, my dyin' friends."</blockquote>
<p>"Oh, don't, Mom Beck," sobbed the child, throwing her arms
around the woman's neck, and crying as though her heart would
break.</p>
<p>"Land sakes, what is the mattah?" she asked, in alarm. She sat
down on a mossy log, took off the white hat, and looked into the
flushed, tearful face.</p>
<p>"Oh, it makes me so lonesome when you sing that way," wailed the
Little Colonel. "I just can't 'tand it! Mom Beck, is my mothah's
heart all broken? Is that why she is sick so much, and will it kill
her suah 'nuff?"</p>
<p>"Who's been tellin' you such nonsense?" asked the woman,
sharply.</p>
<p>"Some ladies at the hotel were talkin' about it. They said that
gran'fathah didn't love her any moah, an' it was just a-killin'
her." Mom Beck frowned fiercely.</p>
<p>The child's grief was so deep and intense that she did not know
just how to quiet her. Then she said, decidedly, "Well, if that's
all that's a-troublin' you, you can jus' get down an' walk home on
yo' own laigs. Yo' mamma's a-grievin' 'cause yo' papa has to be
away all the time. She's all wo'n out, too, with the work of
movin', when she's nevah been used to doin' anything. But her heart
isn't broke any moah'n my neck is."</p>
<p>The positive words and the decided toss Mom Beck gave her head
settled the matter for the Little Colonel. She wiped her eyes and
stood up much relieved.</p>
<p>"Don't you nevah go to worryin' 'bout what you heahs," continued
the woman. "I tell you p'intedly you cyarnt nevah b'lieve what you
heahs."</p>
<p>"Why doesn't gran'fathah love my mothah?" asked the child, as
they came in sight of the cottage. She had puzzled over the knotty
problem all the way home. "How can papas not love their little
girls?"</p>
<p>"'Cause he's stubbo'n," was the unsatisfactory answer. "All the
Lloyds is. Yo' mamma's stubbo'n, an' you's stubbo'n--"</p>
<p>"I'm not!" shrieked the Little Colonel, stamping her foot. "You
sha'n't call me names!"</p>
<p>Then she saw a familiar white hand waving to her from the
hammock, and she broke away from Mom Beck with very red cheeks and
very bright eyes.</p>
<p>Cuddled close in her mother's arms, she had a queer feeling that
she had grown a great deal older in that short afternoon.</p>
<p>Maybe she had. For the first time in her little life she kept
her troubles to herself, and did not once mention the thought that
was uppermost in her mind.</p>
<p>"Yo' great-aunt Sally Tylah is comin' this mawnin'," said Mom
Beck, the day after their visit to the hotel. "Do fo' goodness'
sake keep yo'self clean. I'se got too many spring chickens to dress
to think 'bout dressin' you up again."</p>
<p>"Did I evah see her befo'?" questioned the Little Colonel.</p>
<p>"Why, yes, the day we moved heah. Don't you know she came and
stayed so long, and the rockah broke off the little white
rockin'-chair when she sat down in it?"</p>
<p>"Oh, now I know!" laughed the child. "She's the big fat one with
curls hangin' round her yeahs like shavin's. I don't like her, Mom
Beck. She keeps a-kissin' me all the time, an' a-'queezin' me, an'
tellin' me to sit on her lap an' be a little lady. Mom Beck, I
de'pise to be a little lady."</p>
<p>There was no answer to her last remark. Mom Beck had stepped
into the pantry for more eggs for the cake she was making.</p>
<p>"Fritz," said the Little Colonel, "yo' great-aunt Sally Tylah's
comin' this mawnin', an' if you don't want to say 'howdy' to her
you'll have to come with me."</p>
<p>A few minutes later a resolute little figure squeezed between
the palings of the garden fence down by the gooseberry bushes.</p>
<p>"Now walk on your tiptoes, Fritz!" commanded the Little Colonel,
"else somebody will call us back."</p>
<p>Mom Beck, busy with her extra baking, supposed she was with her
mother on the shady, vine-covered porch.</p>
<p>She would not have been singing quite so gaily if she could have
seen half a mile up the road.</p>
<p>The Little Colonel was sitting in the weeds by the railroad
track, deliberately taking off her shoes and stockings.</p>
<p>"Just like a little niggah," she said, delightedly, as she
stretched out her bare feet. "Mom Beck says I ought to know bettah.
But it does feel so good!"</p>
<p>No telling how long she might have sat there enjoying the
forbidden pleasure of dragging her rosy toes through the warm dust,
if she had not heard a horse's hoof-beats coming rapidly along.</p>
<p>"Fritz, it's gran'fathah," she whispered, in alarm, recognizing
the erect figure of the rider in its spotless suit of white
duck.</p>
<p>"Sh! lie down in the weeds, quick! Lie down, I say!" They both
made themselves as flat as possible, and lay there panting with the
exertion of keeping still.</p>
<p>Presently the Little Colonel raised her head cautiously.</p>
<p>"Oh, he's gone down that lane!" she exclaimed. "Now you can get
up." After a moment's deliberation she asked, "Fritz, would you
rathah have some 'trawberries an' be tied up fo' runnin' away, or
not be tied up and not have any of those nice tas'en
'trawberries?"</p>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<br>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III."></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>
<br>
<p>Two hours later, Colonel Lloyd, riding down the avenue under the
locusts, was surprised by a novel sight on his stately front
steps.</p>
<p>Three little darkies and a big flop-eared hound were crouched on
the bottom step, looking up at the Little Colonel, who sat just
above them.</p>
<p>She was industriously stirring something in an old rusty pan
with a big, battered spoon.</p>
<p>"Now, May Lilly," she ordered, speaking to the largest and
blackest of the group, "you run an' find some nice 'mooth pebbles
to put in for raisins. Henry Clay, you go get me some moah sand.
This is 'most too wet."</p>
<p>"Here, you little pickaninnies!" roared the Colonel, as he
recognized the cook's children. "What did I tell you about playing
around here, tracking dirt all over my premises? You just chase
back to the cabin where you belong!"</p>
<p>The sudden call startled Lloyd so that she dropped the pan, and
the great mud pie turned upside down on the white steps.</p>
<p>"Well, you're a pretty sight!" said the Colonel, as he glanced
with disgust from her soiled dress and muddy hands to her bare
feet.</p>
<p>He had been in a bad humour all morning. The sight of the steps
covered with sand and muddy tracks gave him an excuse to give vent
to his cross feelings.</p>
<p>It was one of his theories that a little girl should always be
kept as fresh and dainty as a flower. He had never seen his own
little daughter in such a plight as this, and she had never been
allowed to step outside of her own room without her shoes and
stockings.</p>
<p>"What does your mother mean," he cried, savagely, "by letting
you run barefooted around the country just like poor white trash?
An' what are you playing with low-flung niggers for? Haven't you
ever been taught any better? I suppose it's some of your father's
miserable Yankee notions."</p>
<a name="0003.jpg"></a><br>
<p class="lft"><img src="images/0003.jpg" width="56%" alt=""></p>
<br>
<p>May Lilly, peeping around the corner of the house, rolled her
frightened eyes from one angry face to the other. The same temper
that glared from the face of the man, sitting erect in his saddle,
seemed to be burning in the eyes of the child, who stood so
defiantly before him. The same kind of scowl drew their eyebrows
together darkly.</p>
<p>"Don't you talk that way to me," cried the Little Colonel,
trembling with a wrath she did not know how to express.</p>
<p>Suddenly she stooped, and snatching both hands full of mud from
the overturned pie, flung it wildly over the spotless white
coat.</p>
<p>Colonel Lloyd gasped with astonishment. It was the first time in
his life he had ever been openly defied. The next moment his anger
gave way to amusement.</p>
<p>"By George!" he chuckled, admiringly. "The little thing has got
spirit, sure enough. She's a Lloyd through and through. So that's
why they call her the 'Little Colonel,' is it?"</p>
<p>There was a tinge of pride in the look he gave her haughty
little head and flashing eyes. "There, there, child!" he said,
soothingly. "I didn't mean to make you mad, when you were good
enough to come and see me. It isn't often I have a little lady like
you pay me a visit."</p>
<p>"I didn't come to see you, suh," she answered, indignantly, as
she started toward the gate. "I came to see May Lilly. But I nevah
would have come inside yo' gate if I'd known you was goin' to
hollah at me an' be so cross."</p>
<p>She was walking off with the air of an offended queen, when the
Colonel remembered that if he allowed her to go away in that mood
she would probably never set foot on his grounds again. Her display
of temper had interested him immensely.</p>
<p>Now that he had laughed off his ill humour, he was anxious to
see what other traits of character she possessed. He wheeled his
horse across the walk to bar her way, and quickly dismounted.</p>
<p>"Oh, now, wait a minute," he said, in a coaxing tone. "Don't you
want a nice big saucer of strawberries and cream before you go?
Walker's picking some now. And you haven't seen my hothouse. It's
just full of the loveliest flowers you ever saw. You like roses,
don't you, and pinks and lilies and pansies?"</p>
<p>He saw he had struck the right chord as soon as he mentioned the
flowers. The sullen look vanished as if by magic. Her face changed
as suddenly as an April day.</p>
<p>"Oh, yes!" she cried, with a beaming smile. "I loves 'm bettah
than anything!"</p>
<p>He tied his horse, and led the way to the conservatory. He
opened the door for her to pass through, and then watched her
closely to see what impression it would make on her. He had
expected a delighted exclamation of surprise, for he had good
reason to be proud of his rare plants. They were arranged with a
true artist's eye for colour and effect.</p>
<p>She did not say a word for a moment, but drew a long breath,
while the delicate pink in her cheeks deepened and her eyes lighted
up. Then she began going slowly from flower to flower, laying her
face against the cool, velvety purple of the pansies, touching the
roses with her lips, and tilting the white lily-cups to look into
their golden depths.</p>
<p>As she passed from one to another as lightly as a butterfly
might have done, she began chanting in a happy undertone.</p>
<p>Ever since she had learned to talk she had a quaint little way
of singing to herself. All the names that pleased her fancy she
strung together in a crooning melody of her own.</p>
<p>There was no special tune. It sounded happy, although nearly
always in a minor key.</p>
<p>"Oh, the jonquils an' the lilies!" she sang. "All white an' gold
an' yellow. Oh, they're all a-smilin' at me, an' a-sayin' howdy!
howdy!"</p>
<p>She was so absorbed in her intense enjoyment that she forgot all
about the old Colonel. She was wholly unconscious that he was
watching or listening.</p>
<p>"She really does love them," he thought, complacently. "To see
her face one would think she had found a fortune."</p>
<p>It was another bond between them.</p>
<p>After awhile he took a small basket from the wall, and began to
fill it with his choicest blooms. "You shall have these to take
home," he said. "Now come into the house and get your
strawberries."</p>
<p>She followed him reluctantly, turning back several times for one
more long sniff of the delicious fragrance.</p>
<p>She was not at all like the Colonel's ideal of what a little
girl should be, as she sat in one of the high, stiff chairs,
enjoying her strawberries. Her dusty little toes wriggled around in
the curls on Fritz's back, as she used him for a footstool. Her
dress was draggled and dirty, and she kept leaning over to give the
dog berries and cream from the spoon she was eating with
herself.</p>
<p>He forgot all this, however, when she began to talk to him.</p>
<p>"My great-aunt Sally Tylah is to our house this mawnin'," she
announced, confidentially. "That's why we came off. Do you know my
Aunt Sally Tylah?"</p>
<p>"Well, slightly!" chuckled the Colonel. "She was my wife's
half-sister. So you don't like her, eh? Well, I don't like her
either."</p>
<p>He threw back his head and laughed heartily. The more the child
talked the more entertaining he found her. He did not remember when
he had ever been so amused before as he was by this tiny
counterpart of himself.</p>
<p>When the last berry had vanished, she slipped down from the tall
chair.</p>
<p>"Do you 'pose it's very late?" she asked, in an anxious voice.
"Mom Beck will be comin' for me soon."</p>
<p>"Yes, it is nearly noon," he answered. "It didn't do much good
to run away from your Aunt Tyler; she'll see you after all."</p>
<p>"Well, she can't 'queeze me an' kiss me, 'cause I've been
naughty, an' I'll be put to bed like I was the othah day, just as
soon as I get home. I 'most wish I was there now," she sighed.
"It's so fa' an' the sun's so hot. I lost my sunbonnet when I was
comin' heah, too."</p>
<p>Something in the tired, dirty face prompted the old Colonel to
say, "Well, my horse hasn't been put away yet. I'll take you home
on Maggie Boy."</p>
<p>The next moment he repented making such an offer, thinking what
the neighbours might say if they should meet him on the road with
Elizabeth's child in his arm.</p>
<p>But it was too late. He could not unclasp the trusting little
hand that was slipped in his. He could not cloud the happiness of
the eager little face by retracting his promise.</p>
<p>He swung himself into the saddle, with her in front. Then he put
his one arm around her with a firm clasp, as he reached forward to
take the bridle.</p>
<p>"You couldn't take Fritz on behin', could you?" she asked,
anxiously. "He's mighty ti'ed too."</p>
<p>"No," said the Colonel, with a laugh. "Maggie Boy might object
and throw us all off."</p>
<p>Hugging her basket of flowers close in her arms, she leaned her
head against him contentedly as they cantered down the avenue.</p>
<p>"Look!" whispered all the locusts, waving their hands to each
other excitedly. "Look! The master has his own again. The dear old
times are coming back to us."</p>
<p>"How the trees blow!" exclaimed the child, looking up at the
green arch overhead. "See! They's all a-noddin' to each othah."
"We'll have to get my shoes an' 'tockin's," she said, presently,
when they were nearly home. "They're in that fence cawnah behin' a
log."</p>
<p>The Colonel obediently got down and handed them to her. As he
mounted again he saw a carriage coming toward them. He recognized
one of his nearest neighbours. Striking the astonished Maggie Boy
with his spur, he turned her across the railroad track, down the
steep embankment, and into an unfrequented lane.</p>
<p>"This road is just back of your garden," he said. "Can you get
through the fence if I take you there?"</p>
<p>"That's the way we came out," was the answer. "See that hole
where the palin's are off?"</p>
<p>Just as he was about to lift her down, she put one arm around
his neck, and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Good-bye,
gran'fatha'," she said, in her most winning way. "I've had a mighty
nice time." Then she added, in a lower tone, "'Kuse me fo' throwin'
mud on yo' coat."</p>
<p>He held her close a moment, thinking nothing had ever before
been half so sweet as the way she called him grandfather.</p>
<p>From that moment his heart went out to her as it had to little
Tom and Elizabeth. It made no difference if her mother had
forfeited his love. It made no difference if Jack Sherman was her
father, and that the two men heartily hated each other.</p>
<p>It was his own little grandchild he held in his arms.</p>
<p>She had sealed the relationship with a trusting kiss.</p>
<p>"Child," he said, huskily, "you will come and see me again,
won't you, no matter if they do tell you not to? You shall have all
the flowers and berries you want, and you can ride Maggie Boy as
often as you please."</p>
<p>She looked up into his face. It was very familiar to her. She
had looked at his portrait often, unconsciously recognizing a
kindred spirit that she longed to know.</p>
<p>Her ideas of grandfathers, gained from stories and observation,
led her to class them with fairy godmothers. She had always wished
for one.</p>
<p>The day they moved to Lloydsborough, Locust had been pointed out
to her as her grandfather's home. From that time on she slipped
away with Fritz on every possible occasion to peer through the
gate, hoping for a glimpse of him.</p>
<p>"Yes, I'll come suah!" she promised. "I likes you just lots,
gran'fathah!" He watched her scramble through the hole in the
fence. Then he turned his horse's head slowly homeward.</p>
<p>A scrap of white lying on the grass attracted his attention as
he neared the gate.</p>
<p>"It's the lost sunbonnet," he said, with a smile. He carried it
into the house, and hung it on the hat-rack in the wide front
hall.</p>
<p>"Ole marse is crosser'n two sticks," growled Walker to the cook
at dinner. "There ain't no livin' with him. What do you s'pose is
the mattah?"</p>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<br>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV."></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
<br>
<p>Mom Beck was busy putting lunch on the table when the Little
Colonel looked in at the kitchen door.</p>
<p>So she did not see a little tramp, carrying her shoes in one
hand, and a basket in the other, who paused there a moment. But
when she took up the pan of beaten biscuit she was puzzled to find
that several were missing.</p>
<p>"It beats my time," she said, aloud. "The parrot couldn't have
reached them, an' Lloyd an' the dog have been in the pa'lah all
mawnin'. Somethin' has jus' natch'ly done sperrited 'em away."</p>
<p>Fritz was gravely licking his lips, and the Little Colonel had
her mouth full, when they suddenly made their appearance on the
front porch.</p>
<p>Aunt Sally Tyler gave a little shriek, and stopped rocking.</p>
<p>"Why, Lloyd Sherman!" gasped her mother, in dismay. "Where have
you been? I thought you were with Becky all the time. I was sure I
heard you singing out there a little while ago."</p>
<p>"I've been to see my gran'fathah," said the child, speaking very
fast. "I made mud pies on his front 'teps, an' we both of us got
mad, an' I throwed mud on him, an' he gave me some 'trawberries an'
all these flowers, an' brought me home on Maggie Boy."</p>
<p>She stopped out of breath. Mrs. Tyler and her niece exchanged
astonished glances.</p>
<p>"But, baby, how could you disgrace mother so by going up there
looking like a dirty little beggar?"</p>
<p>"He didn't care," replied Lloyd, calmly. "He made me promise to
come again, no mattah if you all did tell me not to."</p>
<p>Just then Becky announced that lunch was ready, and carried the
child away to make her presentable.</p>
<p>To Lloyd's great surprise she was not put to bed, but was
allowed to go to the table as soon as she was dressed. It was not
long until she had told every detail of the morning's
experience.</p>
<p>While she was taking her afternoon nap, the two ladies sat out
on the porch, gravely discussing all she had told them.</p>
<p>"It doesn't seem right for me to allow her to go there," said
Mrs. Sherman, "after the way papa has treated us. I can never
forgive him for all the terrible things he has said about Jack, and
I know Jack can never be friends with him on account of what he has
said about me. He has been so harsh and unjust that I don't want my
little Lloyd to have anything to do with him. I wouldn't for worlds
have him think that I encouraged her going there."</p>
<p>"Well, yes, I know," answered her aunt, slowly. "But there are
some things to consider besides your pride, Elizabeth. There's the
child herself, you know. Now that Jack has lost so much, and your
prospects are so uncertain, you ought to think of her interests. It
would be a pity for Locust to go to strangers when it has been in
your family for so many generations. That's what it certainly will
do unless something turns up to interfere. Old Judge Woodard told
me himself that your father had made a will, leaving everything he
owns to some medical institution. Imagine Locust being turned into
a sanitarium or a training-school for nurses!"</p>
<p>"Dear old place!" said Mrs. Sherman, with tears in her eyes. "No
one ever had a happier childhood than I passed under these old
locusts. Every tree seems like a friend. I would be glad for Lloyd
to enjoy the place as I did."</p>
<p>"I'd let her go as much as she pleases, Elizabeth. She's so much
like the old Colonel that they ought to understand each other, and
get along capitally. Who knows, it might end in you all making up
some day."</p>
<p>Mrs. Sherman raised her head haughtily. "No, indeed, Aunt Sally.
I can forgive and forget much, but you are greatly mistaken if you
think I can go to such lengths as that. He closed his doors against
me with a curse, for no reason on earth but that the man I loved
was born north of the Mason and Dixon line. There never was a
nobler man living than Jack, and papa would have seen it if he
hadn't deliberately shut his eyes and refused to look at him. He
was just prejudiced and stubborn."</p>
<p>Aunt Sally said nothing, but her thoughts took the shape of Mom
Beck's declaration, "The Lloyds is all stubborn."</p>
<p>"I wouldn't go through his gate now if he got down on his knees
and begged me," continued Elizabeth, hotly.</p>
<p>"It's too bad," exclaimed her aunt; "he was always so perfectly
devoted to 'little daughter,' as he used to call you. I don't like
him myself. We never could get along together at all, because he is
so high-strung and overbearing. But I know it would have made your
poor mother mighty unhappy if she could have foreseen all
this."</p>
<p>Elizabeth sat with the tears dropping down on her little white
hands, as her aunt proceeded to work on her sympathies in every way
she could think of.</p>
<p>Presently Lloyd came out all fresh and rosy from her long nap,
and went to play in the shade of the great beech-trees that guarded
the cottage.</p>
<p>"I never saw a child with such influence over animals," said her
mother, as Lloyd came around the house with the parrot perched on
the broom she was carrying. "She'll walk right up to any strange
dog and make friends with it, no matter how savage-looking it is.
And there's Polly, so old and cross that she screams and scolds
dreadfully if any of us go near her. But Lloyd dresses her up in
doll's clothes, puts paper bonnets on her, and makes her just as
uncomfortable as she pleases. Look! that is one of her favourite
amusements."</p>
<a name="0004.jpg"></a><br>
<p class="rgt"><img src="images/0004.jpg" width="56%" alt=""></p>
<br>
<p>The Little Colonel squeezed the parrot into a tiny doll
carriage, and began to trundle it back and forth as fast as she
could run.</p>
<p>"Ha! ha!" screamed the bird. "Polly is a lady! Oh, Lordy! I'm so
happy!"</p>
<p>"She caught that from the washerwoman," laughed Mrs. Sherman. "I
should think the poor thing would be dizzy from whirling around so
fast."</p>
<p>"Quit that, chillun; stop yo' fussin'," screamed Polly, as Lloyd
grabbed her up and began to pin a shawl around her neck. She
clucked angrily, but never once attempted to snap at the dimpled
fingers that squeezed her tight. Suddenly, as if her patience was
completely exhausted, she uttered a disdainful "Oh, pshaw!" and
flew up into an old cedar-tree.</p>
<p>"Mothah! Polly won't play with me any moah," shrieked the child,
flying into a rage. She stamped and scowled and grew red in the
face. Then she began beating the trunk of the tree with the old
broom she had been carrying.</p>
<p>"Did you ever see anything so much like the old Colonel?" said
Mrs. Tyler, in astonishment. "I wonder if she acted that way this
morning."</p>
<p>"I don't doubt it at all," answered Mrs. Sherman. "She'll be
over it in just a moment. These little spells never last long."</p>
<p>Mrs. Sherman was right. In a few moments Lloyd came up the walk,
singing.</p>
<p>"I wish you'd tell me a pink story," she said, coaxingly, as she
leaned against her mother's knee.</p>
<p>"Not now, dear; don't you see that I am busy talking to Aunt
Sally? Run and ask Mom Beck for one."</p>
<p>"What on earth does she mean by a pink story?" asked Mrs.
Tyler.</p>
<p>"Oh, she is so fond of colours. She is always asking for a pink
or a blue or a white story. She wants everything in the story
tinged with whatever colour she chooses,--dresses, parasols,
flowers, sky, even the icing on the cakes and the paper on the
walls."</p>
<p>"What an odd little thing she is!" exclaimed Mrs. Tyler. "Isn't
she lots of company for you?"</p>
<p>She need not have asked that question if she could have seen
them that evening, sitting together in the early twilight.</p>
<p>Lloyd was in her mother's lap, leaning her head against her
shoulder as they rocked slowly back and forth on the dark
porch.</p>
<p>There was an occasional rattle of wheels along the road, a
twitter of sleepy birds, a distant croaking of frogs.</p>
<p>Mom Beck's voice floated in from the kitchen, where she was
stepping briskly around.</p>
<blockquote>"Oh, the clouds hang heavy, an' it's gwine to rain.<br>
Fa'well, my dyin' friends,"</blockquote>
<p>she sang.</p>
<p>Lloyd put her arms closer around her mother's neck.</p>
<p>"Let's talk about Papa Jack," she said. "What you 'pose he's
doin' now, 'way out West?"</p>
<p>Elizabeth, feeling like a tired, homesick child herself, held
her close, and was comforted as she listened to the sweet little
voice talking about the absent father.</p>
<p>The moon came up after awhile, and streamed in through the vines
of the porch. The hazel eyes slowly closed as Elizabeth began to
hum an old-time negro lullaby.</p>
<p>"Wondah if she'll run away to-morrow," whispered Mom Beck, as
she came out to carry her in the house.</p>
<p>"Who'd evah think now, lookin' at her pretty, innocent face,
that she could be so naughty? Bless her little soul!"</p>
<p>The kind old black face was laid lovingly a moment against the
fair, soft cheek of the Little Colonel. Then she lifted her in her
strong arms, and carried her gently away to bed.</p>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<br>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V."></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>
<br>
<p>Summer lingers long among the Kentucky hills. Each passing day
seemed fairer than the last to the Little Colonel, who had never
before known anything of country life.</p>
<p>Roses climbed up and almost hid the small white cottage. Red
birds sang in the woodbine. Squirrels chattered in the beeches. She
was out-of-doors all day long.</p>
<p>Sometimes she spent hours watching the ants carry away the sugar
she sprinkled for them. Sometimes she caught flies for an old
spider that had his den under the porch steps. "He is an ogah"
(ogre), she explained to Fritz. "He's bewitched me so's I have to
kill whole families of flies for him to eat."</p>
<p>She was always busy and always happy.</p>
<p>Before June was half over it got to be a common occurrence for
Walker to ride up to the gate on the Colonel's horse. The excuse
was always to have a passing word with Mom Beck. But before he rode
away, the Little Colonel was generally mounted in front of him. It
was not long before she felt almost as much at home at Locust as
she did at the cottage.</p>
<p>The neighbours began to comment on it after awhile. "He will
surely make up with Elizabeth at this rate," they said. But at the
end of the summer the father and daughter had not even had a
passing glimpse of each other. One day, late in September, as the
Little Colonel clattered up and down the hall with her
grandfather's spur buckled on her tiny foot, she called back over
her shoulder: "Papa Jack's comin' home to-morrow."</p>
<p>The Colonel paid no attention.</p>
<p>"I say," she repeated, "Papa Jack's comin' home to-morrow."</p>
<p>"Well," was the gruff response. "Why couldn't he stay where he
was? I suppose you won't want to come here any more after he gets
back."</p>
<p>"No, I 'pose not," she answered, so carelessly that he was
conscious of a very jealous feeling.</p>
<p>"Chilluns always like to stay with their fathahs when they's
nice as my Papa Jack is."</p>
<a name="0005.jpg"></a><br>
<p class="lft"><img src="images/0005.jpg" width="50%" alt=""></p>
<br>
<p>The old man growled something behind his newspaper that she did
not hear. He would have been glad to choke this man who had come
between him and his only child, and he hated him worse than ever
when he realized what a large place he held in Lloyd's little
heart.</p>
<p>She did not go back to Locust the next day, nor for weeks after
that.</p>
<p>She was up almost as soon as Mom Beck next morning, thoroughly
enjoying the bustle of preparation.</p>
<p>She had a finger in everything, from polishing the silver to
turning the ice-cream freezer.</p>
<p>Even Fritz was scrubbed till he came out of his bath with his
curls all white and shining. He was proud of himself, from his
silky bangs to the tip of his tasselled tail.</p>
<p>Just before train time, the Little Colonel stuck his collar full
of late pink roses, and stood back to admire the effect. Her mother
came to the door, dressed for the evening. She wore an airy-looking
dress of the palest, softest blue. There was a white rosebud caught
in her dark hair. A bright colour, as fresh as Lloyd's own, tinged
her cheeks, and the glad light in her brown eyes made them
unusually brilliant.</p>
<p>Lloyd jumped up and threw her arms about her. "Oh, mothah," she
cried, "you an' Fritz is so bu'ful!"</p>
<p>The engine whistled up the road at the crossing. "Come, we have
just time to get to the station," said Mrs. Sherman, holding out
her hand.</p>
<p>They went through the gate, down the narrow path that ran beside
the dusty road. The train had just stopped in front of the little
station when they reached it.</p>
<p>A number of gentlemen, coming out from the city to spend Sunday
at the hotel, came down the steps. They glanced admiringly from the
beautiful, girlish face of the mother to the happy child dancing
impatiently up and down at her side. They could not help smiling at
Fritz as he frisked about in his imposing rose-collar.</p>
<p>"Why, where's Papa Jack?" asked Lloyd, in distress, as passenger
after passenger stepped down. "Isn't he goin' to come?"</p>
<p>The tears were beginning to gather in her eyes, when she saw him
in the door of the car; not hurrying along to meet them as he
always used to come, so full of life and vigour, but leaning
heavily on the porter's shoulder, looking very pale and weak.</p>
<p>Lloyd looked up at her mother, from whose face every particle of
colour had faded. Mrs. Sherman gave a low, frightened cry as she
sprang forward to meet him. "Oh, Jack! what is the matter? What has
happened to you?" she exclaimed, as he took her in his arms. The
train had gone on, and they were left alone on the platform.</p>
<p>"Just a little sick spell," he answered, with a smile. "We had a
fire out at the mines, and I overtaxed myself some. I've had fever
ever since, and it has pulled me down considerably."</p>
<p>"I must send somebody for a carriage," she said, looking around
anxiously.</p>
<p>"No, indeed," he protested. "It's only a few steps; I can walk
it as well as not. The sight of you and the baby has made me
stronger already."</p>
<p>He sent a coloured boy on ahead with his valise, and they walked
slowly up the path, with Fritz running wildly around them, barking
a glad welcome.</p>
<p>"How sweet and homelike it all looks!" he said, as he stepped
into the hall, where Mom Beck was just lighting the lamps. Then he
sank down on the couch, completely exhausted, and wearily closed
his eyes.</p>
<p>The Little Colonel looked at his white face in alarm. All the
gladness seemed to have been taken out of the homecoming.</p>
<p>Her mother was busy trying to make him comfortable, and paid no
attention to the disconsolate little figure wandering about the
house alone. Mom Beck had gone for the doctor.</p>
<p>The supper was drying up in the warming-oven. The ice-cream was
melting in the freezer. Nobody seemed to care. There was no one to
notice the pretty table with its array of flowers and cut glass and
silver.</p>
<p>When Mom Beck came back, Lloyd ate all by herself, and then sat
out on the kitchen door-step while the doctor made his visit.</p>
<p>She was just going mournfully off to bed with an aching lump in
her throat, when her mother opened the door.</p>
<p>"Come tell papa good-night," she said. "He's lots better
now."</p>
<p>She climbed up on the bed beside him, and buried her face on his
shoulder to hide the tears she had been trying to keep back all
evening.</p>
<p>"How the child has grown!" he exclaimed. "Do you notice, Beth,
how much plainer she talks? She does not seem at all like the baby
I left last spring. Well, she'll soon be six years old,--a real
little woman. She'll be papa's little comfort."</p>
<p>The ache in her throat was all gone after that. She romped with
Fritz all the time she was undressing.</p>
<p>Papa Jack was worse next morning. It was hard for Lloyd to keep
quiet when the late September sunshine was so gloriously yellow and
the whole outdoors seemed so wide awake.</p>
<p>She tiptoed out of the darkened room where her father lay, and
swung on the front gate until she saw the doctor riding up on his
bay horse. It seemed to her that the day never would pass.</p>
<p>Mom Beck, rustling around in her best dress ready for church,
that afternoon, took pity on the lonesome child.</p>
<p>"Go get yo' best hat, honey," she said, "an' I'll take you with
me."</p>
<p>It was one of the Little Colonel's greatest pleasures to be
allowed to go to the coloured church.</p>
<p>She loved to listen to the singing, and would sit perfectly
motionless while the sweet voices blended like the chords of some
mighty organ as they sent the old hymns rolling heavenward. Service
had already commenced by the time they took their seats. Nearly
everybody in the congregation was swaying back and forth in time to
the mournful melody of "Sinnah, sinnah, where's you boun'?"</p>
<p>One old woman across the aisle began clapping her hands
together, and repeated in a singsong tone, "Oh, Lordy! I'm so
happy!"</p>
<p>"Why, that's just what our parrot says," exclaimed Lloyd, so
much surprised that she spoke right out loud.</p>
<p>Mom Beck put her handkerchief over her mouth, and a general
smile went around.</p>
<p>After that the child was very quiet until the time came to take
the collection. She always enjoyed this part of the service more
than anything else. Instead of passing baskets around, each person
was invited to come forward and lay his offering on the table.</p>
<p>Woolly heads wagged, and many feet kept time to the tune:</p>
<blockquote>"Oh! I'se boun' to git to glory.<br>
Hallelujah! Le' me go!"</blockquote>
<p>The Little Colonel proudly marched up with Mom Beck's
contribution, and then watched the others pass down the aisle. One
young girl in a gorgeously trimmed dress paraded up to the table
several times, singing at the top of her voice.</p>
<a name="0006.jpg"></a><br>
<p class="rgt"><img src="images/0006.jpg" width="50%" alt=""></p>
<br>
<p>"Look at that good-fo'-nothin' Lize Richa'ds," whispered Mom
Beck's nearest neighbour, with a sniff. "She done got a nickel
changed into pennies so she could ma'ch up an' show herself five
times."</p>
<p>It was nearly sundown when they started home. A tall coloured
man, wearing a high silk hat and carrying a gold-headed cane,
joined them on the way out.</p>
<p>"Howdy, Sistah Po'tah," he said, gravely shaking hands. "That
was a fine disco'se we had the pleasuah of listenin' to this
evenin'."</p>
<p>"'Deed it was, Brothah Fostah," she answered. "How's all up yo'
way?"</p>
<p>The Little Colonel, running on after a couple of white
butterflies, paid no attention to the conversation until she heard
her own name mentioned.</p>
<p>"Mistah Sherman came home last night, I heah."</p>
<p>"Yes, but not to stay long, I'm afraid. He's a mighty sick man,
if I'm any judge. He's down with fevah,--regulah typhoid. He
doesn't look to me like he's long for this world. What's to become
of poah Miss 'Lizabeth if that's the case, is moah'n I know." "We
mustn't cross the bridge till we come to it, Sistah Po'tah," he
suggested.</p>
<p>"I know that; but a lookin'-glass broke yeste'day mawnin' when
nobody had put fingah on it. An' his picture fell down off the wall
while I was sweepin' the pa'lah. Pete said his dawg done howl all
night last night, an' I've dremp three times hand runnin' 'bout
muddy watah."</p>
<p>Mom Beck felt a little hand clutch her skirts, and turned to see
a frightened little face looking anxiously up at her.</p>
<p>"Now, what's the mattah with you, honey?" she asked. "I'm only
a-tellin' Mistah Fostah about some silly old signs my mammy used to
believe in. But they don't mean nothin' at all."</p>
<p>Lloyd couldn't have told why she was unhappy. She had not
understood all that Mom Beck had said, but her sensitive little
mind was shadowed by a foreboding of trouble.</p>
<p>The shadow deepened as the days passed. Papa Jack got worse
instead of better. There were times when he did not recognize any
one, and talked wildly of things that had happened out at the
mines.</p>
<p>All the long, beautiful October went by, and still he lay in the
darkened room. Lloyd wandered listlessly from place to place,
trying to keep out of the way, and to make as little trouble as
possible.</p>
<p>"I'm a real little woman now," she repeated, proudly, whenever
she was allowed to pound ice or carry fresh water. "I'm papa's
little comfort."</p>
<p>One cold, frosty evening she was standing in the hall, when the
doctor came out of the room and began to put on his overcoat.</p>
<p>Her mother followed him to take his directions for the
night.</p>
<p>He was an old friend of the family's. Elizabeth had climbed on
his knees many a time when she was a child. She loved this
faithful, white-haired old doctor almost as dearly as she had her
father.</p>
<p>"My daughter," he said, kindly, laying his hand on her shoulder,
"you are wearing yourself out, and will be down yourself if you are
not careful. You must have a professional nurse. No telling how
long this is going to last. As soon as Jack is able to travel you
must have a change of climate."</p>
<p>Her lips trembled. "We can't afford it, doctor," she said. "Jack
has been too sick from the very first to talk about business. He
always said a woman should not be worried with such matters,
anyway. I don't know what arrangements he has made out West. For
all I know, the little I have in my purse now may be all that
stands between us and the poorhouse."</p>
<p>The doctor drew on his gloves.</p>
<p>"Why don't you tell your father how matters are?" he asked.</p>
<p>Then he saw he had ventured a step too far.</p>
<p>"I believe Jack would rather die than take help from his hands,"
she answered, drawing herself up proudly. Her eyes flashed. "I
would, too, as far as I am concerned myself."</p>
<p>Then a tender look came over her pale, tired face, as she added,
gently, "But I'd do anything on earth to help Jack get well."</p>
<p>The doctor cleared his throat vigorously, and bolted out with a
gruff good night. As he rode past Locust, he took solid
satisfaction in shaking his fist at the light in an upper
window.</p>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<br>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI."></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
<br>
<p>The Little Colonel followed her mother to the dining-room, but
paused on the threshold as she saw her throw herself into Mom
Beck's arms and burst out crying.</p>
<p>"Oh, Becky!" she sobbed, "what is going to become of us? The
doctor says we must have a professional nurse, and we must go away
from here soon. There are only a few dollars left in my purse, and
I don't know what we'll do when they are gone. I just know Jack is
going to die, and then I'll die, too, and then what will become of
the baby?" Mom Beck sat down, and took the trembling form in her
arms.</p>
<p>"There, there!" she said, soothingly, "have yo' cry out. It will
do you good. Poah chile! all wo'n out with watchin' an' worry. Ne'm
min', ole Becky is as good as a dozen nuhses yet. I'll get Judy to
come up an' look aftah the kitchen. An' nobody ain' gwine to die,
honey. Don't you go to slayin' all you's got befo' you's called on
to do it. The good Lawd is goin' to pahvide fo' us same as
Abraham."</p>
<p>The last Sabbath's sermon was still fresh in her mind.</p>
<p>"If we only hold out faithful, there's boun' to be a ram caught
by the hawns some place, even if we haven't got eyes to see through
the thickets. The Lawd will pahvide whethah it's a burnt offerin'
or a meal's vittles. He sho'ly will." Lloyd crept away frightened.
It seemed such an awful thing to see her mother cry.</p>
<p>All at once her bright, happy world had changed to such a
strange, uncertain place. She felt as if all sorts of terrible
things were about to happen.</p>
<p>She went into the parlour, and crawled into a dark corner under
the piano, feeling that there was no place to go for comfort, since
the one who had always kissed away her little troubles was so
heart-broken herself.</p>
<p>There was a patter of soft feet across the carpet, and Fritz
poked his sympathetic nose into her face. She put her arms around
him, and laid her head against his curly back with a desolate
sob.</p>
<p>It is pitiful to think how much imaginative children suffer
through their wrong conception of things. She had seen the little
roll of bills in her mother's pocketbook. She had seen how much
smaller it grew every time it was taken out to pay for the
expensive wines and medicines that had to be bought so often. She
had heard her mother tell the doctor that was all that stood
between them and the poorhouse.</p>
<p>There was no word known to the Little Colonel that brought such,
thoughts of horror as the word poorhouse.</p>
<p>Her most vivid recollection of her life in New York was
something that happened a few weeks before they left there. One day
in the park she ran away from the maid, who, instead of Mom Beck,
had taken charge of her that afternoon.</p>
<p>When the angry woman found her, she frightened her almost into a
spasm by telling her what always happened to naughty children who
ran away.</p>
<p>"They take all their pretty clothes off," she said, "and dress
them up in old things made of bed-ticking. Then they take 'm to the
poorhouse, where nobody but beggars live. They don't have anything
to eat but cabbage and corndodger, and they have to eat that out of
tin pans. And they just have a pile of straw to sleep in."</p>
<p>On their way home she had pointed out to the frightened child a
poor woman who was grubbing in an ash-barrel.</p>
<p>"That's the way people get to look who live in poorhouses," she
said.</p>
<p>It was this memory that was troubling the Little Colonel
now.</p>
<p>"Oh, Fritz!" she whispered, with the tears running down her
cheeks, "I can't beah to think of my pretty mothah goin' there.
That woman's eyes were all red, an' her hair was jus' awful. She
was so bony an' stahved-lookin'. It would jus' kill poah Papa Jack
to lie on straw an' eat out of a tin pan. I know it would!"</p>
<p>When Mom Beck opened the door, hunting her, the room was so dark
that she would have gone away if the dog had not come running out
from under the piano.</p>
<p>"You heah, too, chile?" she asked, in surprise. "I have to go
down now an' see if I can get Judy to come help to-morrow. Do you
think you can undress yo'self to-night?"</p>
<p>"Of co'se," answered the Little Colonel. Mom Beck was in such a
hurry to be off that she did not notice the tremble in the voice
that answered her.</p>
<p>"Well, the can'le is lit in yo' room. So run along now like a
nice little lady, an' don't bothah yo' mamma. She got her hands
full already."</p>
<p>"All right," answered the child.</p>
<p>A quarter of an hour later she stood in her little white
nightgown with her hand on the door-knob.</p>
<p>She opened the door just a crack and peeped in. Her mother laid
her finger on her lips, and beckoned silently. In another instant
Lloyd was in her lap. She had cried herself quiet in the dark
corner under the piano; but there was something more pathetic in
her eyes than tears. It was the expression of one who understood
and sympathized.</p>
<p>"Oh, mothah," she whispered, "we does have such lots of
troubles."</p>
<p>"Yes, chickabiddy, but I hope they will soon be over now," was
the answer, as the anxious face tried to smile bravely for the
child's sake, "Papa is sleeping so nicely now he is sure to be
better in the morning."</p>
<p>That comforted the Little Colonel some, but for days she was
haunted by the fear of the poorhouse.</p>
<p>Every time her mother paid out any money she looked anxiously to
see how much was still left. She wandered about the place, touching
the trees and vines with caressing hands, feeling that she might
soon have to leave them.</p>
<p>She loved them all so dearly,--every stick and stone, and even
the stubby old snowball bushes that never bloomed.</p>
<p>Her dresses were outgrown and faded, but no one had any time or
thought to spend on getting her new ones. A little hole began to
come in the toe of each shoe.</p>
<p>She was still wearing her summer sunbonnet, although the days
were getting frosty.</p>
<p>She was a proud little thing. It mortified her for any one to
see her looking so shabby. Still she uttered no word of complaint,
for fear of lessening the little amount in the pocketbook that her
mother had said stood between them and the poorhouse.</p>
<p>She sat with her feet tucked under her when any one called.</p>
<p>"I wouldn't mind bein' a little beggah so much myself," she
thought, "but I jus' can't have my bu'ful sweet mothah lookin' like
that awful red-eyed woman."</p>
<p>One day the doctor called Mrs. Sherman out into the hall. "I
have just come from your father's," he said. "He is suffering from
a severe attack of rheumatism. He is confined to his room, and is
positively starving for company. He told me he would give anything
in the world to have his little grandchild with him. There were
tears in his eyes when he said it, and that means a good deal from
him. He fairly idolizes her. The servants have told him she mopes
around and is getting thin and pale. He is afraid she will come
down with the fever, too. He told me to use any stratagem I liked
to get her there. But I think it's better to tell you frankly how
matters stand. It will do the child good to have a change,
Elizabeth, and I solemnly think you ought to let her go, for a week
at least."</p>
<p>"But, doctor, she has never been away from me a single night in
her life. She'd die of homesickness, and I know she'll never
consent to leave me. Then suppose Jack should get worse--"</p>
<p>"We'll suppose nothing of the kind," he interrupted, brusquely.
"Tell Becky to pack up her things. Leave Lloyd to me. I'll get her
consent without any trouble."</p>
<p>"Come, Colonel," he called, as he left the house. "I'm going to
take you a little ride."</p>
<p>No one ever knew what the kind old fellow said to her to induce
her to go to her grandfather's.</p>
<p>She came back from her ride looking brighter than she had in a
long time. She felt that in some way, although in what way she
could not understand, her going would help them to escape the
dreaded poorhouse.</p>
<p>"Don't send Mom Beck with me," she pleaded, when the time came
to start. "You come with me, mothah."</p>
<p>Mrs. Sherman had not been past the gate for weeks, but she could
not refuse the coaxing hands that clung to hers.</p>
<p>It was a dull, dreary day. There was a chilling hint of snow in
the damp air. The leaves whirled past them with a mournful
rustling.</p>
<p>Mrs. Sherman turned up the collar of Lloyd's cloak.</p>
<p>"You must have a new one soon," she said, with a sigh. "Maybe
one of mine could be made over for you. And those poor little
shoes! I must think to send to town for a new pair."</p>
<p>The walk was over so soon. The Little Colonel's heart beat fast
as they came in sight of the gate. She winked bravely to keep back
the tears; for she had promised the doctor not to let her mother
see her cry.</p>
<p>A week seemed such a long time to look forward to.</p>
<p>She clung to her mother's neck, feeling that she could never
give her up so long.</p>
<p>"Tell me good-bye, baby dear," said Mrs. Sherman, feeling that
she could not trust herself to stay much longer. "It is too cold
for you to stand here. Run on, and I'll watch you till you get
inside the door."</p>
<a name="0007.jpg"></a><br>
<p class="ctr"><img src="images/0007.jpg" width="50%" alt=""></p>
<br>
<p>The Little Colonel started bravely down the avenue, with Fritz
at her heels. Every few steps she turned to look back and kiss her
hand.</p>
<p>Mrs. Sherman watched her through a blur of tears. It had been
nearly seven years since she had last stood at that old gate. Such
a crowd of memories came rushing up!</p>
<p>She looked again. There was a flutter of a white handkerchief as
the Little Colonel and Fritz went up the steps. Then the great
front door closed behind them.</p>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<br>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII."></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
<br>
<p>That early twilight hour just before the lamps were lit was the
lonesomest one the Little Colonel had ever spent.</p>
<p>Her grandfather was asleep up-stairs. There was a cheery wood
fire crackling on the hearth of the big fireplace in the hall, but
the great house was so still. The corners were full of shadows.</p>
<p>She opened the front door with a wild longing to run away.</p>
<p>"Come, Fritz," she said, closing the door softly behind her,
"let's go down to the gate."</p>
<p>The air was cold. She shivered as they raced along under the
bare branches of the locusts. She leaned against the gate, peering
out through the bars. The road stretched white through the
gathering darkness in the direction of the little cottage.</p>
<p>"Oh, I want to go home so bad!" she sobbed. "I want to see my
mothah."</p>
<p>She laid her hand irresolutely on the latch, pushed the gate
ajar, and then hesitated.</p>
<p>"No, I promised the doctah I'd stay," she thought. "He said I
could help mothah and Papa Jack, both of 'em, by stayin' heah, an'
I'll do it."</p>
<p>Fritz, who had pushed himself through the partly opened gate to
rustle around among the dead leaves outside, came bounding back
with something in his mouth.</p>
<p>"Heah, suh!" she called. "Give it to me!" He dropped a small
gray kid glove in her outstretched hand. "Oh, it's mothah's!" she
cried. "I reckon she dropped it when she was tellin' me good-bye.
Oh, you deah old dog fo' findin' it."</p>
<p>She laid the glove against her cheek as fondly as if it had been
her mother's soft hand. There was something wonderfully comforting
in the touch.</p>
<p>As they walked slowly back toward the house she rolled it up and
put it lovingly away in her tiny apron pocket.</p>
<p>All that week it was a talisman whose touch helped the homesick
little soul to be brave and womanly.</p>
<p>When Maria, the coloured housekeeper, went into the hall to
light the lamps, the Little Colonel was sitting on the big fur rug
in front of the fire, talking contentedly to Fritz, who lay with
his curly head in her lap.</p>
<p>"You all's goin' to have tea in the Cun'ls room to-night," said
Maria. "He tole me to tote it up soon as he rung the bell."</p>
<p>"There it goes now," cried the child, jumping up from the
rug.</p>
<p>She followed Maria up the wide stairs. The Colonel was sitting
in a large easy chair, wrapped in a gaily flowered dressing-gown,
that made his hair look unusually white by contrast.</p>
<p>His dark eyes were intently watching the door. As it opened to
let the Little Colonel pass through, a very tender smile lighted up
his stern face.</p>
<p>"So you did come to see grandpa after all," he cried,
triumphantly. "Come here and give me a kiss. Seems to me you've
been staying away a mighty long time."</p>
<p>As she stood beside him with his arm around her, Walker came in
with a tray full of dishes. "We're going to have a regular little
tea-party," said the Colonel.</p>
<p>Lloyd watched with sparkling eyes as Walker set out the rare
old-fashioned dishes. There was a fat little silver sugar-bowl with
a butterfly perched on each side to form the handles, and there was
a slim, graceful cream-pitcher shaped like a lily.</p>
<p>"They belonged to your great-great-grandmother," said the
Colonel, "and they're going to be yours some day if you grow up and
have a house of your own."</p>
<p>The expression on her beaming face was worth a fortune to the
Colonel.</p>
<p>When Walker pushed her chair up to the table, she turned to her
grandfather with shining eyes.</p>
<p>"Oh, it's just like a pink story," she cried, clapping her
hands. "The shades on the can'les, the icin' on the cake, an' the
posies in the bowl,--why, even the jelly is that colah, too. Oh, my
darlin' little teacup! It's jus' like a pink rosebud. I'm so glad I
came!"</p>
<p>The Colonel smiled at the success of his plan. In the depths of
his satisfaction he even had a plate of quail and toast set down on
the hearth for Fritz.</p>
<p>"This is the nicest pahty I evah was at," remarked the Little
Colonel, as Walker helped her to jam the third time.</p>
<p>Her grandfather chuckled.</p>
<p>"Blackberry jam always makes me think of Tom," he said. "Did you
ever hear what your Uncle Tom did when he was a little fellow in
dresses?"</p>
<p>She shook her head gravely.</p>
<p>"Well, the children were all playing hide-and-seek one day. They
hunted high and they hunted low after everybody else had been
caught, but they couldn't find Tom. At last they began to call,
'Home free! You can come home free!' but he did not come. When he
had been hidden so long they were frightened about him, they went
to their mother and told her he wasn't to be found anywhere. She
looked down the well and behind the fire-boards in the fireplaces.
They called and called till they were out of breath. Finally she
thought of looking in the big dark pantry where she kept her fruit.
There stood Mister Tom. He had opened a jar of blackberry jam, and
was just going for it with both hands. The jam was all over his
face and hair and little gingham apron, and even up his wrists. He
was the funniest sight I ever saw."</p>
<p>The Little Colonel laughed heartily at his description, and
begged for more stories. Before he knew it he was back in the past
with his little Tom and Elizabeth.</p>
<p>Nothing could have entertained the child more than these scenes
he recalled of her mother's childhood.</p>
<p>"All her old playthings are up in the garret," he said, as they
rose from the table. "I'll have them brought down to-morrow.
There's a doll I brought her from New Orleans once when she was
about your size. No telling what it looks like now, but it was a
beauty when it was new."</p>
<p>Lloyd clapped her hands and spun around the room like a top.</p>
<p>"Oh, I'm so glad I came!" she exclaimed for the third time.
"What did she call the doll, gran'fathah, do you remembah?"</p>
<p>"I never paid much attention to such things," he answered, "but
I do remember the name of this one, because she named it for her
mother,--Amanthis."</p>
<p>"Amanthis," repeated the child, dreamily, as she leaned against
his knee. "I think that is a lovely name, gran'fathah. I wish they
had called me that." She repeated it softly several times. "It
sounds like the wind a-blowin' through white clovah, doesn't
it?"</p>
<a name="0008.jpg"></a><br>
<p class="ctr"><img src="images/0008.jpg" width="60%" alt=""></p>
<br>
<p>"It is a beautiful name to me, my child," answered the old man,
laying his hand tenderly on her soft hair, "but not so beautiful as
the woman who bore it. She was the fairest flower of all Kentucky.
There never was another lived as sweet and gentle as your
Grandmother Amanthis."</p>
<p>He stroked her hair absently, and gazed into the fire. He
scarcely noticed when she slipped away from him.</p>
<p>She buried her face a moment in the bowl of pink roses. Then she
went to the window and drew back the curtain. Leaning her head
against the window-sill, she began stringing on the thread of a
tune the things that just then thrilled her with a sense of their
beauty.</p>
<p>"Oh, the locus'-trees a-blowin'," she sang, softly. "An' the
moon a-shinin' through them. An' the starlight an' pink roses; an'
Amanthis--an' Amanthis!"</p>
<p>She hummed it over and over until Walker had finished carrying
the dishes away.</p>
<p>It was a strange thing that the Colonel's unfrequent moods of
tenderness were like those warm days that they call
weather-breeders.</p>
<p>They were sure to be followed by a change of atmosphere. This
time as the fierce rheumatic pain came back he stormed at Walker,
and scolded him for everything he did and everything he left
undone.</p>
<p>When Maria came up to put Lloyd to bed, Fritz was tearing around
the room barking at his shadow.</p>
<p>"Put that dog out, M'ria!" roared the Colonel, almost crazy with
its antics. "Take it down-stairs, and put it out of the house, I
say! Nobody but a heathen would let a dog sleep in the house,
anyway."</p>
<p>The homesick feeling began to creep over Lloyd again. She had
expected to keep Fritz in her room at night for company. But for
the touch of the little glove in her pocket, she would have said
something ugly to her grandfather when he spoke so harshly.</p>
<p>His own ill humour was reflected in her scowl as she followed
Maria down the stairs to drive Fritz out into the dark. They stood
a moment in the open door, after Maria had slapped him with her
apron to make him go off the porch.</p>
<p>"Oh, look at the new moon!" cried Lloyd, pointing to the slender
crescent in the autumn sky.</p>
<p>"I'se feared to, honey," answered Maria, "less I should see it
through the trees. That 'ud bring me bad luck for a month, suah.
I'll go out on the lawn where it's open, an' look at it ovah my
right shouldah."</p>
<p>While they were walking backward down the path, intent on
reaching a place where they could have an uninterrupted view of the
moon, Fritz sneaked around to the other end of the porch.</p>
<p>No one was watching. He slipped into the house as noiselessly as
his four soft feet could carry him.</p>
<p>Maria, going through the dark upper hall, with a candle held
high above her head and Lloyd clinging to her skirts, did not see a
tasselled tail swinging along in front of her. It disappeared under
the big bed when she led Lloyd into the room next the old
Colonel's.</p>
<p>The child felt very sober while she was being put to bed.</p>
<p>The furniture was heavy and dark. An ugly portrait of a cross
old man in a wig frowned at her from over the mantel. The dancing
firelight made his eyes frightfully lifelike.</p>
<p>The bed was so high she had to climb on a chair to get in. She
heard Maria's heavy feet go shuffling down the stairs. A door
banged. Then it was so still she could hear the clock tick in the
next room.</p>
<p>It was the first time in all her life that her mother had not
come to kiss her good night. Her lips quivered, and a big tear
rolled down on the pillow.</p>
<p>She reached out to the chair beside her bed, where her clothes
were hanging, and felt in her apron pocket for the little glove.
She sat up in bed, and looked at it in the dim firelight. Then she
held it against her face. "Oh, I want my mothah! I want my mothah!"
she sobbed, in a heart-broken whisper.</p>
<p>Laying her head on her knees, she began to cry quietly, but with
great sobs that nearly choked her.</p>
<p>There was a rustling under the bed. She lifted her wet face in
alarm. Then she smiled through her tears, for there was Fritz, her
own dear dog, and not an unknown horror waiting to grab her.</p>
<p>He stood on his hind legs, eagerly trying to lap away her tears
with his friendly red tongue.</p>
<p>She clasped him in her arms with an ecstatic hug. "Oh, you're
such a comfort!" she whispered. "I can go to sleep now."</p>
<p>She spread her apron on the bed, and motioned him to jump. With
one spring he was beside her.</p>
<p>It was nearly midnight when the door from the Colonel's room was
noiselessly opened.</p>
<p>The old man stirred the fire gently until it burst into a bright
flame. Then he turned to the bed. "You rascal!" he whispered,
looking at Fritz, who raised his head quickly with a threatening
look in his wicked eyes.</p>
<p>Lloyd lay with one hand stretched out, holding the dog's
protecting paw. The other held something against her tear-stained
cheek.</p>
<p>"What under the sun!" he thought, as he drew it gently from her
fingers. The little glove lay across his hand, slim and
aristocratic-looking. He knew instinctively whose it was. "Poor
little thing's been crying," he thought. "She wants Elizabeth. And
so do I! And so do I!" his heart cried out with bitter longing.
"It's never been like home since she left."</p>
<p>He laid the glove back on her pillow, and went to his room.</p>
<p>"If Jack Sherman should die," he said to himself many times that
night, "then she would come home again. Oh, little daughter, little
daughter! why did you ever leave me?"</p>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<br>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII."></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
<br>
<p>The first thing that greeted the Little Colonel's eyes when she
opened them next morning was her mother's old doll. Maria had laid
it on the pillow beside her.</p>
<p>It was beautifully dressed, although in a queer, old-fashioned
style that seemed very strange to the child.</p>
<p>She took it up with careful fingers, remembering its great age.
Maria had warned her not to waken her grandfather, so she admired
it in whispers.</p>
<p>"Jus' think, Fritz," she exclaimed, "this doll has seen my
Gran'mothah Amanthis, an' it's named for her. My mothah wasn't any
bigger'n me when she played with it. I think it is the loveliest
doll I evah saw in my whole life."</p>
<p>Fritz gave a jealous bark.</p>
<p>"Sh!" commanded his little mistress. "Didn't you heah M'ria say,
'Fo' de Lawd's sake don't wake up ole Marse?' Why don't you
mind?"</p>
<p>The Colonel was not in the best of humours after such a wakeful
night, but the sight of her happiness made him smile in spite of
himself, when she danced into his room with the doll.</p>
<p>She had eaten an early breakfast and gone back up-stairs to
examine the other toys that were spread out in her room.</p>
<p>The door between the two rooms was ajar. All the time he was
dressing and taking his coffee he could hear her talking to some
one. He supposed it was Maria. But as he glanced over his mail he
heard the Little Colonel saying, "May Lilly, do you know about
Billy Goat Gruff? Do you want me to tell you that story?"</p>
<p>He leaned forward until he could look through the narrow opening
of the door. Two heads were all he could see,--Lloyd's, soft-haired
and golden, May Lilly's, covered with dozens of tightly braided
little black tails.</p>
<p>He was about to order May Lilly back to the cabin, when he
remembered the scene that followed the last time he had done so. He
concluded to keep quiet and listen.</p>
<p>"Billy Goat Gruff was so fat," the story went on, "jus' as fat
as gran'fathah."</p>
<p>The Colonel glanced up with an amused smile at the fine figure
reflected in an opposite mirror.</p>
<p>"Trip-trap, trip-trap, went Billy Goat Gruff's little feet ovah
the bridge to the giant's house."</p>
<p>Just at this point Walker, who was putting things in order,
closed the door between the rooms.</p>
<p>"Open that door, you black rascal!" called the Colonel, furious
at the interruption.</p>
<p>In his haste to obey, Walker knocked over a pitcher of water
that had been left on the floor beside the wash-stand.</p>
<p>Then the Colonel yelled at him to be quick about mopping it up,
so that by the time the door was finally opened, Lloyd was
finishing her story.</p>
<p>The Colonel looked in just in time to see her put her hands to
her temples, with her forefingers protruding from her forehead like
horns. She said in a deep voice, as she brandished them at May
Lilly, "With my two long speahs I'll poke yo' eyeballs through yo'
yeahs." The little darky fell back giggling. "That sut'n'y was like
a billy-goat. We had one once that 'ud make a body step around
mighty peart. It slip up behine me one mawnin' on the poach, an'
fo' awhile I thought my haid was buss open suah. I got up toreckly,
though, an' I cotch him, and when I done got through, Mistah
Billy-goat feel po'ly moah'n a week. He sut'n'y did."</p>
<p>Walker grinned, for he had witnessed the scene.</p>
<p>Just then Maria put her head in at the door to say, "May Lilly,
yo' mammy's callin' you."</p>
<p>Lloyd and Fritz followed her noisily down-stairs. Then for
nearly an hour it was very quiet in the great house.</p>
<p>The Colonel, looking out of the window, could see Lloyd playing
hide-and-seek with Fritz under the bare locust-trees. When she came
in her cheeks were glowing from her run in the frosty air. Her eyes
shone like stars, and her face was radiant.</p>
<p>"See what I've found down in the dead leaves," she cried. "A
little blue violet, bloomin' all by itself."</p>
<p>She brought a tiny cup from the next room, that belonged to the
set of doll dishes, and put the violet in it.</p>
<p>"There!" she said, setting it on the table at her grandfather's
elbow. "Now I'll put Amanthis in this chair, where you can look at
her, an' you won't get lonesome while I'm playing outdoors."</p>
<p>He drew her toward him and kissed her.</p>
<p>"Why, how cold your hands are!" he exclaimed. "Staying in this
warm room all the time makes me forget it is so wintry outdoors. I
don't believe you are dressed warmly enough. You ought not to wear
sunbonnets this time of year."</p>
<p>Then for the first time he noticed her outgrown cloak and shabby
shoes.</p>
<p>"What are you wearing these old clothes for?" he said,
impatiently. "Why didn't they dress you up when you were going
visiting? It isn't showing proper respect to send you off in the
oldest things you've got."</p>
<p>It was a sore point with the Little Colonel. It hurt her pride
enough to have to wear old clothes without being scolded for it.
Besides, she felt that in some way her mother was being blamed for
what could not be helped.</p>
<p>"They's the best I've got," she answered, proudly choking back
the tears. "I don't need any new ones, 'cause maybe we'll be goin'
away pretty soon."</p>
<p>"Going away!" he echoed, blankly, "Where?" She did not answer
until he repeated the question. Then she turned her back on him,
and started toward the door. The tears she was too proud to let him
see were running down her face.</p>
<p>"We's goin' to the poah-house," she exclaimed, defiantly, "jus'
as soon as the money in the pocketbook is used up. It was nearly
gone when I came away."</p>
<p>Here she began to sob, as she fumbled at the door she could not
see to open.</p>
<p>"I'm goin' home to my mothah right now. She loves me if my
clothes are old and ugly."</p>
<p>"Why, Lloyd," called the Colonel, amazed and distressed by her
sudden burst of grief. "Come here to grandpa. Why didn't you tell
me so before?"</p>
<p>The face, the tone, the outstretched arm, all drew her
irresistibly to him. It was a relief to lay her head on his
shoulder, and unburden herself of the fear that had haunted her so
many days.</p>
<p>With her arms around his neck, and the precious little head held
close to his heart, the old Colonel was in such a softened mood
that he would have promised anything to comfort her.</p>
<p>"There, there," he said, soothingly, stroking her hair with a
gentle hand, when she had told him all her troubles. "Don't you
worry about that, my dear. Nobody is going to eat out of tin pans
and sleep on straw. Grandpa just won't let them."</p>
<p>She sat up and wiped her eyes on her apron. "But Papa Jack would
die befo' he'd take help from you," she wailed. "An' so would
mothah. I heard her tell the doctah so."</p>
<p>The tender expression on the Colonel's face changed to one like
flint, but he kept on stroking her hair. "People sometimes change
their minds," he said, grimly. "I wouldn't worry over a little
thing like that if I were you. Don't you want to run down-stairs
and tell M'ria to give you a piece of cake?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes," she exclaimed, smiling up at him. "I'll bring you
some, too."</p>
<p>When the first train went into Louisville that afternoon, Walker
was on board with an order in his pocket to one of the largest dry
goods establishments in the city. When he came out again, that
evening, he carried a large box into the Colonel's room.</p>
<p>Lloyd's eyes shone as she looked into it. There was an elegant
fur-trimmed cloak, a pair of dainty shoes, and a muff that she
caught up with a shriek of delight.</p>
<p>"What kind of a thing is this?" grumbled the Colonel, as he took
out a hat that had been carefully packed in one corner of the box.
"I told them to send the most stylish thing they had. It looks like
a scarecrow," he continued, as he set it askew on the child's
head.</p>
<p>She snatched it off to look at it herself. "Oh, it's jus' like
Emma Louise Wyfo'd's!" she exclaimed. "You didn't put it on
straight. See! This is the way it goes."</p>
<p>She climbed up in front of the mirror, and put it on as she had
seen Emma Louise wear hers.</p>
<a name="0009.jpg"></a><br>
<p class="rgt"><img src="images/0009.jpg" width="50%" alt=""></p>
<br>
<p>"Well, it's a regular Napoleon hat," exclaimed the Colonel, much
pleased. "So little girls nowadays have taken to wearing soldier's
caps, have they? It's right becoming to you with your short hair.
Grandpa is real proud of his 'little Colonel.'"</p>
<p>She gave him the military salute he had taught her, and then ran
to throw her arms around him. "Oh, gran'fathah!" she exclaimed,
between her kisses, "you'se jus' as good as Santa Claus, every
bit."</p>
<p>The Colonel's rheumatism was better next day; so much better
that toward evening he walked down-stairs into the long
drawing-room. The room had not been illuminated in years as it was
that night.</p>
<p>Every wax taper was lighted in the silver candelabra, and the
dim old mirrors multiplied their lights on every side. A great wood
fire threw a cheerful glow over the portraits and the frescoed
ceiling. All the linen covers had been taken from the
furniture.</p>
<p>Lloyd, who had never seen this room except with the chairs
shrouded and the blinds down, came running in presently. She was
bewildered at first by the change. Then she began walking softly
around the room, examining everything.</p>
<p>In one corner stood a tall, gilded harp that her grandmother had
played in her girlhood. The heavy cover had kept it fair and
untarnished through all the years it had stood unused. To the
child's beauty-loving eyes it seemed the loveliest thing she had
ever seen.</p>
<p>She stood with her hands clasped behind her as her gaze wandered
from its pedals to the graceful curves of its tall frame. It shone
like burnished gold in the soft firelight.</p>
<p>"Oh, gran'fathah!" she asked at last in a low, reverent tone,
"where did you get it? Did an angel leave it heah fo' you?"</p>
<p>He did not answer for a moment. Then he said, huskily, as he
looked up at a portrait over the mantel, "Yes, my darling, an angel
did leave it here. She always was one. Come here to grandpa."</p>
<p>He took her on his knee, and pointed up to the portrait. The
same harp was in the picture. Standing beside it, with one hand
resting on its shining strings, was a young girl all in white.</p>
<p>"That's the way she looked the first time I ever saw her," said
the Colonel, dreamily. "A June rose in her hair, and another at her
throat; and her soul looked right out through those great, dark
eyes--the purest, sweetest soul God ever made! My beautiful
Amanthis!"</p>
<p>"My bu'ful Amanthis!" repeated the child, in an awed
whisper.</p>
<p>She sat gazing into the lovely young face for a long time, while
the old man seemed lost in dreams.</p>
<p>"Gran'fathah," she said at length, patting his cheek to attract
his attention, and then nodding toward the portrait, "did she love
my mothah like my mothah loves me?"</p>
<p>"Certainly, my dear," was the gentle reply.</p>
<p>It was the twilight hour, when the homesick feeling always came
back strongest to Lloyd.</p>
<p>"Then I jus' know that if my bu'ful gran'mothah Amanthis could
come down out of that frame, she'd go straight and put her arms
around my mothah an' kiss away all her sorry feelin's."</p>
<p>The Colonel fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair a moment. Then
to his great relief the tea-bell rang.</p>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<br>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX."></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
<br>
<p>Every evening after that during Lloyd's visit the fire burned on
the hearth of the long drawing-room. All the wax candles were
lighted, and the vases were kept full of flowers, fresh from the
conservatory.</p>
<p>She loved to steal into the room before her grandfather came
down, and carry on imaginary conversations with the old
portraits.</p>
<p>Tom's handsome, boyish face had the greatest attraction for her.
His eyes looked down so smilingly into hers that she felt he surely
understood every word she said to him. Once Walker overheard her
saying, "Uncle Tom, I'm goin' to tell you a story 'bout Billy Goat
Gruff."</p>
<p>Peeping into the room, he saw the child looking earnestly up at
the picture, with her hands clasped behind her, as she began to
repeat her favourite story. "It do beat all," he said to himself,
"how one little chile like that can wake up a whole house. She's
the life of the place."</p>
<p>The last evening of her visit, as the Colonel was coming
down-stairs he heard the faint vibration of a harp-string. It was
the first time Lloyd had ever ventured to touch one. He paused on
the steps opposite the door, and looked in.</p>
<p>"Heah, Fritz," she was saying, "you get up on the sofa, an' be
the company, an' I'll sing fo' you."</p>
<p>Fritz, on the rug before the fire, opened one sleepy eye and
closed it again. She stamped her foot and repeated her order. He
paid no attention. Then she picked him up bodily, and, with much
puffing and pulling, lifted him into a chair.</p>
<p>He waited until she had gone back to the harp, and then, with
one spring, disappeared under the sofa.</p>
<p>"N'm min'," she said, in a disgusted tone. "I'll pay you back,
mistah." Then she looked up at the portrait. "Uncle Tom," she said,
"you be the company, an' I'll play fo' you."</p>
<a name="0010.jpg"></a><br>
<p class="ctr"><img src="images/0010.jpg" width="50%" alt=""></p>
<br>
<p>Her fingers touched the strings so lightly that there was no
discord in the random tones. Her voice carried the air clear and
true, and the faint trembling of the harp-strings interfered with
the harmony no more than if a wandering breeze had been tangled in
them as it passed.</p>
<blockquote>Sing me the songs that to me were so deah<br>
Long, long ago, long ago.<br>
Tell me the tales I delighted to heah<br>
Long, long ago, long ago."</blockquote>
<p>The sweet little voice sang it to the end without missing a
word. It was the lullaby her mother oftenest sang to her.</p>
<p>The Colonel, who had sat down on the steps to listen, wiped his
eyes.</p>
<p>"My 'long ago' is all that I have left to me," he thought,
bitterly, "for to-morrow this little one, who brings back my past
with every word and gesture, will leave me, too. Why can't that
Jack Sherman die while he's about it, and let me have my own back
again?"</p>
<p>That question recurred to him many times during the week after
Lloyd's departure. He missed her happy voice at every turn. He
missed her bright face at the table. The house seemed so big and
desolate without her. He ordered all the covers put back on the
drawing-room furniture, and the door locked as before.</p>
<p>It was a happy moment for the Little Colonel when she was lifted
down from Maggie Boy at the cottage gate.</p>
<p>She went dancing into the house, so glad to find herself in her
mother's arms that she forgot all about the new cloak and muff that
had made her so proud and happy.</p>
<p>She found her father propped up among the pillows, his fever all
gone, and the old mischievous twinkle in his eyes.</p>
<p>He admired her new clothes extravagantly, paying her joking
compliments until her face beamed; but when she had danced off to
find Mom Beck, he turned to his wife. "Elizabeth," he said,
wonderingly, "what do you suppose the old fellow gave her clothes
for? I don't like it. I'm no beggar if I have lost lots of money.
After all that's passed between us I don't feel like taking
anything from his hands, or letting my child do it, either."</p>
<p>To his great surprise she laid her head down on his pillow
beside his and burst into tears.</p>
<p>"Oh, Jack," she sobbed, "I spent the last dollar this morning. I
wasn't going to tell you, but I don't know what is to become of us.
He gave Lloyd those things because she was just in rags, and I
couldn't afford to get anything new."</p>
<p>He looked perplexed. "Why, I brought home so much," he said, in
a distressed tone. "I knew I was in for a long siege of sickness,
but I was sure there was enough to tide us over that."</p>
<p>She raised her head. "You brought money home!" she replied, in
surprise. "I hoped you had, and looked through all your things, but
there was only a little change in one of your pockets. You must
have imagined it when you were delirious."</p>
<p>"What!" he cried, sitting bolt upright, and then sinking weakly
back among the pillows. "You poor child! You don't mean to tell me
you have been skimping along all these weeks on just that check I
sent you before starting home?"</p>
<p>"Yes," she sobbed, her face still buried in the pillow. She had
borne the strain of continued anxiety so long that she could not
stop her tears, now they had once started.</p>
<p>It was with a very thankful heart she watched him take a pack of
letters from the coat she brought to his bedside, and draw out a
sealed envelope.</p>
<p>"Well, I never once thought of looking among those letters for
money," she exclaimed, as he held it up with a smile.</p>
<p>His investments of the summer before had prospered beyond his
greatest hopes, he told her. "Brother Rob is looking after my
interests out West, as well as his own," he explained, "and as his
father-in-law is the grand mogul of the place, I have the inside
track. Then that firm I went security for in New York is nearly on
its feet again, and I'll have back every dollar I ever paid out for
them. Nobody ever lost anything by those men in the long run. We'll
be on top again by this time next year, little wife; so don't
borrow any more trouble on that score."</p>
<p>The doctor made his last visit that afternoon. It really seemed
as if there would never be any more dark days at the little
cottage.</p>
<p>"The clouds have all blown away and left us their silver
linings," said Mrs. Sherman the day her husband was able to go
out-of-doors for the first time. He walked down to the post-office,
and brought back a letter from the West. It had such encouraging
reports of his business that he was impatient to get back to it. He
wrote a reply early in the afternoon, and insisted on going to mail
it himself.</p>
<p>"I'll never get my strength back," he protested, "unless I have
more exercise."</p>
<p>It was a cold, gray November day. A few flakes of snow were
falling when he started.</p>
<p>"I'll stop and rest at the Tylers'," he called back, "so don't
be uneasy if I'm out some time."</p>
<p>After he left the post-office the fresh air tempted him to go
farther than he had intended. At a long distance from his home his
strength seemed suddenly to desert him. The snow began to fall in
earnest. Numb with cold, he groped his way back to the house,
almost fainting from exhaustion.</p>
<p>Lloyd was blowing soap-bubbles when she saw him come in and fall
heavily across the couch. The ghastly pallor of his face and his
closed eyes frightened her so that she dropped the little clay pipe
she was using. As she stooped to pick up the broken pieces, her
mother's cry startled her still more. "Lloyd, run call Becky,
quick, quick! Oh, he's dying!"</p>
<p>Lloyd gave one more terrified look and ran to the kitchen,
screaming for Mom Beck. No one was there.</p>
<p>The next instant she was running bareheaded as fast as she could
go, up the road to Locust. She was confident of finding help there.
The snowflakes clung to her hair and blew against her soft cheeks.
All she could see was her mother wringing her hands, and her
father's white face. When she burst into the house where the
Colonel sat reading by the fire, she was so breathless at first
that she could only gasp when she tried to speak.</p>
<p>"Come quick!" she cried. "Papa Jack's a-dyin'! Come stop
him!"</p>
<p>At her first impetuous words the Colonel was on his feet. She
caught him by the hand and led him to the door before he fully
realized what she wanted. Then he drew back. She was impatient at
the slightest delay, and only half answered his questions.</p>
<p>"Oh, come, gran'fathah!" she pleaded. "Don't wait to talk!" But
he held her until he had learned all the circumstances. He was
convinced by what she told him that both Lloyd and her mother were
unduly alarmed. When he found that no one had sent for him, but
that the child had come of her own accord, he refused to go.</p>
<p>He did not believe that the man was dying, and he did not intend
to step aside one inch from the position he had taken. For seven
years he had kept the vow he made when he swore to be a stranger to
his daughter. He would keep it for seventy times seven years if
need be.</p>
<p>She looked at him perfectly bewildered. She had been so
accustomed to his humouring her slightest whims, that it had never
occurred to her he would fail to help in a time of such
distress.</p>
<p>"Why, gran'fathah," she began, her lips trembling piteously.
Then her whole expression changed. Her face grew startlingly white,
and her eyes seemed so big and black. The Colonel looked at her in
surprise. He had never seen a child in such a passion before. "I
hate you! I hate you!" she exclaimed, all in a tremble. "You's a
cruel, wicked man. I'll nevah come heah again, nevah! nevah!
nevah!"</p>
<p>The tears rolled down her cheeks as she banged the door behind
her and ran down the avenue, her little heart so full of grief and
disappointment that she felt she could not possibly bear it.</p>
<p>For more than an hour the Colonel walked up and down the room,
unable to shut out the anger and disappointment of that little
face.</p>
<p>He knew she was too much like himself ever to retract her words.
She would never come back. He never knew until that hour how much
he loved her, or how much she had come to mean in his life. She was
gone hopelessly beyond recall, unless--He unlocked the door of the
drawing-room and went in. A faint breath of dried rose-leaves
greeted him. He walked over to the empty fireplace and looked up at
the sweet face of the portrait a long time. Then he leaned his arm
on the mantel and bowed his head on it. "Oh, Amanthis," he groaned,
"tell me what to do."</p>
<p>Lloyd's own words came back to him. "She'd go right straight an'
put her arms around my mothah an' kiss away all the sorry
feelin's."</p>
<p>It was a long time he stood there. The battle between his love
and pride was a hard one. At last he raised his head and saw that
the short winter day was almost over. Without waiting to order his
horse he started off in the falling snow toward the cottage.</p>
<br>
<br>
<hr style="width: 35%;">
<br>
<br>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X."></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>
<br>
<p>A good many forebodings crowded into the Colonel's mind as he
walked hurriedly on. He wondered how he would be received. What if
Jack Sherman had died after all? What if Elizabeth should refuse to
see him? A dozen times before he reached the gate he pictured to
himself the probable scene of their meeting.</p>
<p>He was out of breath and decidedly disturbed in mind when he
walked up the path. As he paused on the porch steps, Lloyd came
running around the house carrying her parrot on a broom. Her hair
was blowing around her rosy face under the Napoleon hat she wore,
and she was singing.</p>
<p>The last two hours had made a vast change in her feelings. Her
father had only fainted from exhaustion.</p>
<p>When she came running back from Locust, she was afraid to go in
the house, lest what she dreaded most had happened while she was
gone. She opened the door timidly and peeped in. Her father's eyes
were open. Then she heard him speak. She ran into the room, and,
burying her head in her mother's lap, sobbed out the story of her
visit to Locust.</p>
<p>To her great surprise her father began to laugh, and laughed so
heartily as she repeated her saucy speech to her grandfather, that
it took the worst sting out of her disappointment.</p>
<p>All the time the Colonel had been fighting his pride among the
memories of the dim old drawing-room, Lloyd had been playing with
Fritz and Polly.</p>
<p>Now as she came suddenly face to face with her grandfather, she
dropped the disgusted bird in the snow, and stood staring at him
with startled eyes. If he had fallen out of the sky she could not
have been more astonished.</p>
<p>"Where is your mother, child?" he asked, trying to speak calmly.
With a backward look, as if she could not believe the evidence of
her own sight, she led the way into the hall.</p>
<p>"Mothah! Mothah!" she called, pushing open the parlour door.
"Come heah, quick!"</p>
<p>The Colonel, taking the hat from his white head, and dropping it
on the floor, took an expectant step forward. There was a slight
rustle, and Elizabeth stood in the doorway. For just a moment they
looked into each other's faces. Then the Colonel held out his
arm.</p>
<p>"Little daughter," he said, in a tremulous voice. The love of a
lifetime seemed to tremble in those two words.</p>
<p>In an instant her arms were around his neck, and he was "kissing
away the sorry feelin's" as tenderly as the lost Amanthis could
have done.</p>
<p>As soon as Lloyd began to realize what was happening, her face
grew radiant. She danced around in such excitement that Fritz
barked wildly.</p>
<p>"Come an' see Papa Jack, too," she cried, leading him into the
next room.</p>
<p>Whatever deep-rooted prejudices Jack Sherman may have had, they
were unselfishly put aside after one look into his wife's happy
face.</p>
<p>He raised himself on his elbow as the dignified old soldier
crossed the room. The white hair, the empty sleeve, the remembrance
of all the old man had lost, and the thought that after all he was
Elizabeth's father, sent a very tender feeling through the younger
man's heart.</p>
<p>"Will you take my hand, sir?" he asked, sitting up and offering
it in his straightforward way.</p>
<p>"Of co'se he will!" exclaimed Lloyd, who still clung to her
grandfather's arm. "Of co'se he will!"</p>
<p>"I have been too near death to harbour ill will any longer,"
said the younger man, as their hands met in a strong, forgiving
clasp.</p>
<p>The old Colonel smiled grimly.</p>
<p>"I had thought that even death itself could not make me give
in," he said, "but I've had to make a complete surrender to the
Little Colonel." That Christmas there was such a celebration at
Locust that May Lilly and Henry Clay nearly went wild in the
general excitement of the preparation. Walker hung up cedar and
holly and mistletoe till the big house looked like a bower. Maria
bustled about, airing rooms and bringing out stores of linen and
silver.</p>
<p>The Colonel himself filled the great punch-bowl that his
grandfather had brought from Virginia.</p>
<p>"I'm glad we're goin' to stay heah to-night," said Lloyd, as she
hung up her stocking Christmas Eve. "It will be so much easiah fo'
Santa Claus to get down these big chimneys."</p>
<p>In the morning when she found four tiny stockings hanging beside
her own, overflowing with candy for Fritz, her happiness was
complete.</p>
<p>That night there was a tree in the drawing-room that reached to
the frescoed ceiling. When May Lilly came in to admire it and get
her share from its loaded branches, Lloyd came skipping up to her.
"Oh, I'm goin' to live heah all wintah," she cried. "Mom Beck's
goin' to stay heah with me, too, while mothah an' Papa Jack go down
South where the alligatahs live. Then when they get well an' come
back, Papa Jack is goin' to build a house on the othah side of the
lawn. I'm to live in both places at once; mothah said so."</p>
<p>There were music and light, laughing voices and happy hearts in
the old home that night. It seemed as if the old place had awakened
from a long dream and found itself young again.</p>
<p>The plan the Little Colonel unfolded to May Lilly was carried
out in every detail. It seemed a long winter to the child, but it
was a happy one. There were not so many displays of temper now that
she was growing older, but the letters that went southward every
week were full of her odd speeches and mischievous pranks. The old
Colonel found it hard to refuse her anything. If it had not been
for Mom Beck's decided ways, the child would have been sadly
spoiled.</p>
<p>At last the spring came again. The pewees sang in the cedars.
The dandelions sprinkled the roadsides like stars. The locust-trees
tossed up the white spray of their fragrant blossoms with every
wave of their green boughs.</p>
<p>"They'll soon be heah! They'll soon be heah!" chanted the Little
Colonel every day.</p>
<p>The morning they came she had been down the avenue a dozen times
to look for them before the carriage had even started to meet them.
"Walkah," she called, "cut me a big locus' bough. I want to wave it
fo' a flag!"</p>
<p>Just as he dropped a branch down at her feet, she caught the
sound of wheels. "Hurry, gran'fathah," she called; "they's comin'."
But the old Colonel had already started on toward the gate to meet
them. The carriage stopped, and in a moment more Papa Jack was
tossing Lloyd up in his arms, while the old Colonel was helping
Elizabeth to alight.</p>
<p>"Isn't this a happy mawnin'?" exclaimed the Little Colonel, as
she leaned from her seat on her father's shoulder to kiss his
sunburned cheek.</p>
<p>"A very happy morning," echoed her grandfather, as he walked on
toward the house with Elizabeth's hand clasped close in his
own.</p>
<p>Long after they had passed up the steps the old locusts kept
echoing the Little Colonel's words. Years ago they had showered
their fragrant blossoms in this same path to make a sweet white way
for Amanthis's little feet to tread when the Colonel brought home
his bride.</p>
<p>They had dropped their tribute on the coffin-lid when Tom was
carried home under their drooping branches. The soldier-boy had
loved them so, that a little cluster had been laid on the breast of
the gray coat he wore.</p>
<p>Night and day they had guarded this old home like silent
sentinels that loved it well.</p>
<p>Now, as they looked down on the united family, a thrill passed
through them to their remotest bloom-tipped branches.</p>
<p>It sounded only like a faint rustling of leaves, but it was the
locusts whispering together. "The children have come home at last,"
they kept repeating. "What a happy morning! Oh, what a happy
morning!"</p>
<br>
<hr class="full" noshade>
<br>
<br>
<pre>
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