diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:33:22 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:33:22 -0700 |
| commit | 4ff844fdd669edea9b7695f5150671f81e851705 (patch) | |
| tree | a76cc3c15fcdad79eab3aba419178cb0c1684028 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 9509-0.txt | 6603 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 9509-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 138936 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 9509-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 146751 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 9509-h/9509-h.htm | 7956 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/8slas10.zip | bin | 0 -> 140154 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/9509-h.htm.2021-01-26 | 7955 |
9 files changed, 22530 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9509-0.txt b/9509-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..22dbf2b --- /dev/null +++ b/9509-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6603 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern Lights and Shadows, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Southern Lights and Shadows + +Author: Various + +Editor: William Dean Howells + Henry Mills Alden + + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9509] +This file was first posted on October 7, 2003 +Last Updated: February 25, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS *** + + + + +Produced by Stan Goodman and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + +SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS + +Harper's Novelettes + +By Various + +Edited By William Dean Howells And Henry Mills Alden + +1907 + + + +Table of Contents + + + Grace MacGowan Cooke + THE CAPTURE OF ANDY PROUDFOOT + + Abby Meguire Roach + THE LEVEL OF FORTUNE + + Alice MacGowan + PAP OVERHOLT + + Mrs. B.F. Mayhew + IN THE PINY WOODS + + William L. Sheppard + MY FIFTH IN MAMMY + + Sarah Barnwell Elliott + AN INCIDENT + + M.E.M. Davis + A SNIPE HUNT + + J.J. Eakins + THE COURTSHIP OF COLONEL BILL + + Maurice Thompson + THE BALANCE OF POWER + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +The most noticeable characteristic of the extraordinary literary +development of the South since the Civil War is that it is almost entirely +in the direction of realism. A people who, up to that time, had been so +romantic that they wished to naturalize among themselves the ideals and +usages of the Walter Scott ages of chivalry, suddenly dropped all that, and +in their search for literary material could apparently find nothing so good +as the facts of their native life. The more “commonplace” these facts the +better they seemed to like them. Evidently they believed that there was a +poetry under the rude outside of their mountaineers, their slattern country +wives, their shy rustic men and maids, their grotesque humorists, their +wild religionists, even their black freedmen, which was worth more than the +poetastery of the romantic fiction of their fathers. In this strong faith, +which need not have been a conscious creed, the writers of the New South +have given the world sketches and studies and portraits of the persons and +conditions of their peculiar civilization which the Russians themselves +have not excelled in honesty, and hardly in simplicity. To be sure, this +development was on the lines of those early humorists who antedated the +romantic fictionists, and who were often in their humor so rank, so wild, +so savage, so cruel, but the modern realism has refined both upon their +matter and their manner. Some of the most artistic work in the American +short-story, that is to say the best short-story in the world, has been +done in the South, so that one may be reasonably sure of an artistic +pleasure in taking up a Southern story. One finds in the Southern stories +careful and conscientious character, rich local color, and effective +grouping, and at the same time one finds genuine pathos, true humor, noble +feeling, generous sympathy. The range of this work is so great as to +include even pictures of the more conventional life, but mainly the writers +keep to the life which is not conventional, the life of the fields, the +woods, the cabin, the village, the little country town. It would be easier +to undervalue than to overvalue them, as we believe the reader of the +admirable pieces here collected will agree. + +W.D.H. + + + + +The Capture of Andy Proudfoot + + +By GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE + +A dry branch snapped under Kerry's foot with the report of a toy pistol. He +swore perfunctorily, and gazed greedily at the cave-opening just ahead. He +was a bungling woodsman at best; and now, stalking that greatest of all big +game, man, the blood drummed in his ears and his heart seemed to slip a cog +or two with every beat. He stood tense, yet trembling, for the space in +which a man might count ten; surely if there were any one inside the +cave--if the one whose presence he suspected were there--such a noise would +have brought him forth. But a great banner of trumpet-creeper, which hid +the opening till one was almost upon it, waved its torches unstirred except +by the wind; the sand in the doorway was unpressed by any foot. + +Kerry began to go forward by inches. He was weary as only a town-bred man, +used to the leisurely patrolling of pavements, could be after struggling +obliquely up and across the pathless flank of Big Turkey Track Mountain, +and then climbing to this eyrie upon Old Yellow Bald--Old Yellow, the peak +that reared its “Bald” of golden grass far above the ranges of The Big and +Little Turkey Tracks. + +“Lord, how hungry I am!” he breathed. “I bet the feller's got grub in +there.” He had been out two days. He was light-headed from lack of food; at +the thought of it nervous caution gave way to mere brute instinct, and he +plunged recklessly into the cave. Inside, the sudden darkness blinded him +for a moment. Then there began to be visible in one corner a bed of bracken +and sweet-fern; in another an orderly arrangement of tin cans upon a shelf, +and the ashes of a fire, where sat a Dutch oven. The sight of this last +whetted Kerry's hunger; he almost ran to the shelf, and groaned as he found +the first can filled with gunpowder, the next with shot, and the third +containing some odds and ends of string and nails. + +He had knelt to inspect a rude box, when a little sound caused him to turn. +In the doorway was a figure which raised the hair upon his head, with a +chilly sensation at its roots--a tall man, with a great mane of black locks +blowing unchecked about his shoulders. He stood turned away from Kerry, +having halted in the doorway as though to take a last advantage of the +outer daylight upon some object of interest to him before entering. He was +examining one of his own hands, and a little shivering moan escaped him. A +rifle rested in the hollow of his arm; Kerry could see the outline of a big +navy-pistol in his belt; and as the man shifted, another came to view; +while the Irishman's practised eye did not miss the handle of a long knife +in its sheath. It went swiftly through his mind that those who sent him on +this errand should have warned him of the size of the quarry. Suddenly, +almost without his own volition, he found himself saying: “I ask your +pardon. I was dead beat an' fair famished, an' I crawled in here to--” + +The tall figure in the doorway turned like a thing on a pivot; he did not +start, nor spin round, as a slighter or more nervous person might have +done; and a strange chill fell upon Kerry's heat when the man, whom he +recognized as that one he had come to seek, faced him. The big, dark eyes +looked the intruder up and down; what their owner thought of him, what he +decided concerning him, could no more be guessed than the events of next +year. In a full, grave voice, but one exceedingly gentle, the owner of the +cave repaired the lack of greeting. + +“Howdy, stranger?” he said. “I never seen you as I come up, 'count o' +havin' snagged my hand on this here gun.” + +He came toward Kerry with the bleeding member outstretched. Now was the +Irishman's time--by all his former resolutions, by the need he had for that +money reward--to deftly handcuff the outlaw. What he did was to draw the +other toward the daylight, examine the hand, which was torn and lacerated +on the gun-hammer, and with sundry exclamations of sympathy proceed to bind +it up with strips torn from his own handkerchief. + +“Snagged!” he echoed, as he noted how the great muscle of the thumb was +torn across. “I don't see how you ever done that on a gun-hammer. I've +nursed a good bit--I was in Cuby last year, an' I was detailed for juty in +the hospital more'n half my time,” he went on, eagerly. “This here hand, +it's bad, 'cause it's torn. Ef you had a cut o' that size, now, you +wouldn't be payin' no 'tention to it. The looks o' this here reminds me o' +the tear one o' them there Mauser bullets makes--Gawd! but they rip the men +up shockin'!” He rambled on with uneasy volubility as he attended to the +wound. “You let me clean it, now. It'll hurt some, but it'll save ye +trouble after while. You set down on the bed. Where kin I git some water?” + +“Thar's a spring round the turn in the cave thar--they's a go'd in it.” + +But Kerry took one of the tin cans, emptied and rubbed it nervously, +talking all the while--talking as though to prevent the other from +speaking, and with something more than the ordinary garrulity of the nurse. +“I got lost to-day,” he volunteered, as he cleansed the wound skilfully and +drew its ragged lips together. “Gosh! but you tore that thumb up! You won't +hardly be able to do nothin' with that hand fer a spell. Yessir! I got +lost--that's what I did. One tree looks pretty much like another to me; and +one old rock it's jest the same as the next one. I reckon I've walked +twenty mile sence sunup.” + +He paused in sudden panic; but the other did not ask him whence he had +walked nor whither he was walking. Instead, he ventured, in his serious +tones, as the silence grew oppressive: “You're mighty handy 'bout this sort +o' thing. I reckon I'll have a tough time here alone till that hand heals.” + +“Oh, I'll stay with you a while,” Kerry put in, hastily. “I ain't a-goin' +on, a-leavin' a man in sech a fix, when I ain't got nothin' in particular +to do an' nowheres in particular to go,” he concluded, rather lamely. + +His host's eyes dwelt on him. “Well, now, that'd be mighty kind in you, +stranger,” he began, gently; and added, with the mountaineer's deathless +hospitality, “You're shorely welcome.” + +In Kerry's pocket a pair of steel handcuffs clicked against each other. Any +moment of the time that he was dressing the outlaw's hand, identifying at +short range a dozen marks enumerated in the description furnished him, he +could have snapped them upon those great wrists and made his host his +prisoner. Yet, an hour later, when the big man had told him of a string of +fish tied down in the branch, of a little cellarlike contrivance by the +spring which contained honeycomb and some cold corn-pone, the two men sat +at supper like brothers. + +“Ye don't smoke?” inquired Kerry, commiseratingly, as his host twisted off +a great portion of home-cured tobacco. “Lord! ye'll never know what the +weed is till ye burn it. A chaw'll do when you're in the trenches an' +afraid to show the other fellers where to shoot, so that ye dare not smoke. +Ah-h-h! I've had it taste like nectar to me then; but tobacco's never +tobacco till it's burnt,” and the Irishman smiled fondly upon his stumpy +black pipe. + +They sat and talked over the fire (for a fire is good company in the +mountains, even of a midsummer evening) with that freedom and abandon which +the isolation, the hour, and the circumstances begot. Kerry had told his +name, his birthplace, the habits and temperament of his parents, his +present hopes and aspirations--barring one; he had even sketched an outline +of Katy--Katy, who was waiting for him to save enough to buy that little +farm in the West; and his host, listening in the unbroken silence of deep +sympathy, had not yet offered even so much as his name. + +Then the bed was divided, a bundle of fern and pine boughs being disposed +in the opposite corner of the cave for the newcomer's accommodation. Later, +after good-nights had been exchanged and Kerry fancied that his host was +asleep, he himself stirred, sat up, and being in uneasy need of information +as to whether the cave door should not be stopped in some manner, opened +with a hesitating, “Say!” + +“You might jest call me Andy,” the deep voice answered, before the +mountain-man negatived the proposition of adding a front door to the +habitation. + +Kerry slept again. Mountain air and weariness are drugs potent against a +bad conscience, and it was broad daylight outside the cave when he wakened. +He was a little surprised to find his host still sleeping, yet his +experience told him that the wound was of a nature to induce fever, +followed by considerable exhaustion. As the Irishman lifted his coat from +where he had had it folded into a bundle beneath his head, the handcuffs in +the pocket clicked, and he frowned. He stole across to look at the man who +had called himself Andy, lying now at ease upon his bed of leaves, one +great arm underneath his head, the injured hand nursed upon his broad +breast. Those big eyes which had so appalled Kerry upon a first view +yesterday were closed. The onlooker noted with a sort of wonder how +sumptuous were the fringes of their curtains, long and purple--black, like +the thick, arched brows above. To speak truly, Kerry, although he was a +respectable member of the police force, had the artistic temperament. The +harmony of outline, the justness of proportion in both the face and figure +of the man before him, filled the Irishman with delight; and the splendid +virile bulk of the mountain-man appealed irresistibly to the other's +masculinity. The little threads of silver in the tempestuous black curls +seemed to Kerry but to set off their beauty. + +“Gosh! but you're a good-looker!” he muttered. And putting his estimate of +the man's charm into such form as was possible to him, he added, under his +breath, “I'd hate to have seen a feller as you tryin' to court my Katy.” + +This was the first of many strange days; golden September days they were, +cool and full of the ripened beauty of the departing summer. Kerry's host +taught him to snare woodcock and pheasants--shoot them the Irishman could +not, since the excitement of the thing made him fire wild. + +“Now ain't that the very divil!” he would cry, after he had let his third +bird get away unharmed. “Ef I was shootin' at a man, I'd be as stiddy as a +clock. Gad! I'd be cool as an ice-wagon. But when that little old brown +chicken scoots a-scutterin' up out o' the grass like a hummin'-top, it +rattles me.” His teacher apparently took no note of the significance +contained in this statement; yet Kerry's very ears were red as it slipped +out, and he felt uneasily for the handcuffs, which no longer clinked in his +pocket, but now lay carefully hidden under his fern bed. + +There had been a noon-mark in the doorway of the cave, thrown by the shadow +of a boulder beside it, even before the Irishman's big nickel watch came +with its bustling, authoritative tick to bring the question of time into +the mountains. But the two men kept uncertain hours: sometimes they talked +more than half the night, the close-cropped, sandy poll and the unshorn +crest of Jove-like curls nodding at each other across the fire, then slept +far into the succeeding day; sometimes they were up before dawn and off +after squirrels--with which poor Kerry had no better luck than with the +birds. Every day the Irishman dressed his host's hand; and every day he +tasted more fully the charm of this big, strong, gentle, peaceful nature +clad in its majestic garment of flesh. + +“If he'd 'a' been an ugly, common-looking brute, I'd 'a' nabbed him in a +minute,” he told himself, weakly. And every day the handcuffs under the +dried fern-leaves lay heavier upon his soul. + +On the 20th of September, which Kerry had set for his last day in the cave, +he was moved to begin again at the beginning and tell the big mountaineer +all his affairs. + +“Ye see, it's like this,” he wound up: “Katy--the best gurrl an' the +purtiest I ever set me two eyes on--she's got a father that'll strike her +when the drink's with him. He works her like a dog, hires her out and takes +every cent she earns. Her mother--God rest her soul!--has been dead these +two years. And now the old man is a-marryin' an' takin' home a woman not +fit for my Katy to be with. I says when I heard of it, says I: `Katy, I'll +take ye out o' that hole. I'll do the trick, an' I'll git the reward, an' +it's married we'll be inside of a month, an' we'll go West.' That's what +brought me up here into the mountains--me that was born, as ye might say, +on the stair-steps of a tenement-house, an' fetched up the same.” + +Absorbed in the interest of his own affairs, the Irishman did not notice +what revelations he had made. Whether or not this knowledge was new to his +host the uncertain light of the dying fire upon that grave, impassive face +did not disclose. + +“An' now,” Kerry went on, “I've been thinkin' about Katy a heap in the last +few days. I'm goin' home to her to-morry--home to Philadelphy--goin' with +empty hands. An' I'm a-goin' to say to her, 'Katy, would ye rather take me +jest as I am, out of a job'--fer that's what I'll be when I go +back,--'would ye rather take me so an' wait fer the little farm?' I guess +she'll do it; I guess she'll take me. I've got that love fer her that makes +me think she'll take me. Did ye ever love a woman like that?”--turning +suddenly to the silent figure on the other side of the fire. “Did ye ever +love one so that ye felt like ye could jest trust her, same as you could +trust yourself? It's a--it--well, it's a mighty comfortable thing.” + +The mountaineer stretched out his injured hand, and examined it for so long +a time without speaking that it seemed as though he would not answer at +all. The wound was healing admirably now; he had made shift to shoot, with +Kerry's shoulder for a rest, and their larder was stocked with game once +more. When he at last raised his head and looked across the fire, his black +eyes were such wells of misery as made the other catch his breath. + +Upon the silence fell his big, serious voice, as solemn and sonorous as a +church-bell: “You ast me did I ever love an' trust a woman like that. I +did--an' she failed me. I ain't gwine to call you fool fer sich; you're a +town feller, Dan, with smart town ways; mebby your gal would stick to you, +even ef you was in trouble; but me--” + +Kerry made an inarticulate murmur of sympathy. + +The voice went on. “You say you're goin' home to her with jest your two +bare hands?” it inquired. “But why fer? You've found your man. What makes +you go back that-a-way?” + +Kerry's mouth was open, his jaw fallen; he stared through the smoke at his +host as though he saw him now for the first time. Kerry belongs to a people +who love or hate obviously and openly; that the outlaw should have known +him from the first for a police officer, a creature of prey upon his track, +and should have treated him as a friend, as a brother, appalled and +repelled him. + +“See here, Dan,” the big man went on, leaning forward; “I knowed what your +arrant was the fust minute I clapped eyes on you. You didn't know whether I +could shoot with my left hand as well as my right--I didn't choose you +should know. I watched fer ye to be tryin' to put handcuffs on me any +minute--after you found my right hand was he'pless.” + +“Lord A'mighty! You could lay me on my back with your left hand, Andy,” + Kerry breathed. + +The big man nodded. “They was plenty of times when I was asleep--or you +thort I was. Why didn't ye do it? Where is they? Fetch 'em out.” + +Unwilling, red with shame, penetrated with a grief and ache he scarce +comprehended, Kerry dragged the handcuffs from their hiding-place. The +other took them, and thereafter swung them thoughtfully in his strong brown +fingers as he talked. + +“You was goin' away without makin' use o' these?” he asked, gently. + +Kerry, crimson of face and moist of eye, gulped, frowned, and nodded. + +“Well, now,” the mountain-man pursued, “I been thinkin' this thing over +sence you was a-speakin'. That there gal o' yourn she's in a tight box. +You're the whitest man I ever run up ag'inst. You've done me better than my +own brothers. My own brothers,” he repeated, a look of pain and bitterness +knitting those wonderfully pencilled brows above the big eyes. “Fer my +part, I'm sick o' livin' this-a-way. When you're gone, an' I'm here agin by +my lonesome, I'm as apt as not to put the muzzle o' my gun in my mouth an' +blow the top o' my head off--that's how I feel most o' the time. I tell you +what you do, Dan: you jest put these here on me an' take me down to +Garyville--er plumb on to Asheville--an' draw your money. That'll square up +things fer you an' that pore little gal. What say ye?” + +Into Kerry's sanguine face there surged a yet deeper red; his shoulders +heaved; the tears sprang to his eyes; and before his host could guess the +root of his emotion the Irishman was sobbing, furiously, noisily, turned +away, his head upon his arm. The humiliation of it ate into his soul; and +the tooth was sharpened by his own misdeeds. How many times had he looked +at the great, kindly creature across the fire there and calculated the +chances of getting him to Garyville? + +Andy's face twisted as though he had bitten a green persimmon. “Aw! Don't +_cry!_” he remonstrated, with the mountaineer's quick contempt for +expressed emotion. “My Lord! Dan, don't--” + +“I'll cry if I damn please!” Kerry snorted. “You old fool! Me a-draggin' +you down to Garyville! Me, that's loved you like a brother! An' never had +no thought--an' never had no thought--Oh, hell!” he broke off, at the +bitter irony of the lie; then the sobs broke forth afresh. To deny that he +had come to arrest the outlaw was so pitifully futile. + +“So ye won't git the money that-a-way?” Andy's big voice ruminated, and a +strange note of relief sounded in it; a curious gleam leaped into the +sombre eyes. But he added, softly: “Sleep on it, bud; I'll let ye change +your mind in the mornin'.” + +“You shut your head!” screeched Kerry, fiercely, with a hiccough of +wrenching misery. “You talk to me any more like that, an' I'll lambaste +ye--er try to--big as ye are! Oh, damnation!” + +The last night in the cave was one of gusty, moving breezes and brilliant +moonlight, yet both its tenants slept profoundly, after their strange +outburst of emotion. The first gray of dawn found them stirring, and Kerry +making ready for his return journey. Together, as heretofore, they prepared +their meal, then sat down in silence to eat it. Suddenly the mountain-man +raised his eyes, to whose grave beauty the Irishman's temperament responded +like that of a woman, and said, quietly, + +“I'm a-goin' to tell ye somethin', an' then I'm a-goin' to show ye +somethin'.” + +Kerry's throat ached. In these two weeks he had conceived a love for his +big, silent, gentle companion which rivalled even his devotion to Katy. The +thought of leaving him helpless and alone, a common prey of reward-hunters, +the remembrance of what Andy had said concerning his own despair beneath +the terrible pressure of the mountain solitude, were almost more than Kerry +could bear. + +“Fust and foremost, Dan,” the other began, when the meal was finished, “I'm +goin' to tell ye how come I done what I done. Likely you've hearn tales, +an' likely they was mostly lies. You see, it was this-a-way: Me an' my wife +owned land j'inin'. The Turkey Track Minin' Company they found coal on it, +an' was wishful to buy. Her an' me wasn't wed then, but we was about to be, +an' we j'ined in fer to sell the land an' go West.” His brooding eyes were +on the fire; his voice--which had halted before the words “my wife,” then +taken them with a quick gulp--broke a little every time he said “she” or +“her.” Kerry's heart jumped when he heard the mention of that little +Western farm--why, it might have been in the very locality he and Katy +looked longingly toward. + +“That feller they sent down here fer to buy the ground--Dickert was his +name; you've hearn it, I reckon?” + +Kerry recognized the murdered man's name. He nodded, without a word, his +little blue eyes helplessly fastened on Andy's eyes. + +“Yes, Dickert 'twas. He was took with Euola from the time he put eyes on +her--which ain't sayin' more of him than of any man 'at see her. But a town +feller's hangin' round a mounting-gal hain't no credit to her. Euola she +was promised to me. But ef she hadn't 'a' been, she wouldn't 'a' took no +passin' o' bows an' complyments from that Dickert. I thort the nighest way +out on't was to tell the gentleman that her an' me was to be wed, an' that +we'd make the deeds as man an' wife, an' I done so.” + +Kerry looked at his host and wondered that any man should hope to tamper +with the affections of her who loved him. + +“Wed we was,” the mountain-man went on; and an imperceptible pause followed +the words. “We rid down to Garyville to be wed, an' we went from the +jestice's office to the office of this here Dickert. He had a cuss with him +that was no better'n him; an' when it come to the time in the signin' that +our names was put down, an' my wife was to be 'examined privately and +apart'--ez is right an' lawful--ez to whether I'd made her sign or not, +this other cuss steps with her into the hall, an' Dickert turns an' says to +me, 'You git a thousand dollars each fer your land--you an' that woman,' he +says. + +“I never liked the way he spoke--besides what he said; an' I says to him, +'The bargain was made fer five thousand dollars apiece,' says I, 'an' why +do we git less?' + +“'Beca'se,' says he, a-swellin' up an' lookin' at me red an' +devilish,--'beca'se you take my leavin's--you fool! I bought the land of +you fer a thousand dollars each--an' there's my deed to it, that you jest +signed--I reckon you can read it. Ef I sell the land to the company--it's +none o' your business what I git fer it.' + +“Well, I can't read--not greatly. I don't know how I knowed--but I did +know--that he was gittin' from the company the five thousand dollars apiece +that we was to have had. I seen his eye cut round to the hall door, an' I +thort he had that money on him (beca'se he was their agent an' they'd +trusted him so far) fer to pay me and Euola in cash. With that he grabbed +up the deed an' stuffed it into his pocket. Lord! Lord! I could 'a' shook +it out o' him--an' the money too--hit's what I would 'a' done if the fool +had 'a' kep' his mouth shut. But I reckon hit was God's punishment on him +'at he had to go on sayin', 'Yes, you tuck my leavin's in the money, an' +you've tuck my leavin's agin to-day.' Euola was jest comin' into the room +when he said that, an' he looked at her. I hit him.” He gazed down the +length of his arm thoughtfully. “I ort to be careful when I hit out, bein' +stronger than most. But I was mad, an' I hit harder than I thort. I reached +over an' grabbed open the table drawer jest fer luck--an' thar was the +money. I tuck it. The other cuss he was down on the floor, sorter +whimperin' an' workin' over this feller Dickert; an' he begun to yell that +I'd killed 'im. With that Euola she gives me one look--white ez paper she +was--an' she says, 'Run, Andy honey. I'll git to ye when I kin.'” The +mountain-man was silent so long that Kerry thought he was done. But he +suddenly said: + +“She ketched my sleeve, jest ez I made to start, an' said: 'I'll come, +Andy. Mind, Andy, _I'll come to ye, ef I live_.'” Then there was the +silence of sympathy between the two men. + +So that was the history of the crime--a very different history from the +one Kerry had heard. + +“Hit's right tetchy business--er has been--a-tryin' to take Andy +Proudfoot,” the outlaw continued; “but, Dan, I'd got mighty tired, time you +come. An' Euola--” + +Kerry rose abruptly, the memory hot within him of Proudfoot's offer of the +night before. The mountaineer got slowly to his feet. + +“They's somethin' I wanted to show ye, too, ye remember,” he said. They +walked together down the bluff, to where another little cavern, low and +shallow, hid itself behind huckleberry-bushes. “I kep' the money here,” + Proudfoot said, kneeling in the cramped entrance and delving among the +rocks. He drew out a roll of bills and fingered them thoughtfully. + +“The reward, now, hit was fifteen hundred dollars--with what the State an' +company both give, warn't it? Dan, I was mighty proud ye wouldn't have +it--I wanted to give it to ye this-a-way. I don't know as I've got any +rights on Euola's money. I reckon I mought ax you fer to take it to her, ef +so be you could find her. My half--you kin have it, an' welcome.” + +Fear was in Kerry's heart. “An' what'll you be doin'?” he inquired, +huskily. + +“Me?” asked Andy, listlessly. “Euola she's done gone plumb back on me,” he +explained. “I hain't heard one word from her sence the trouble, an' I've +got that far I hain't a-keerin' what becomes of me. I like you, Dan; I'd +ruther you had the money--” + +“Oh, my Gawd! Don't, Andy,” choked the Irishman. “Let me think, man,” as +the other's surprised gaze dwelt on him. Up to this time all Kerry's +faculties had been engrossed in what was told him, or that which went on +before his eyes. Now memory suddenly roused in him. The woman he had seen +back at Asheville, the woman who called herself Mandy Greefe, but whom the +police there suspected of being Andy Proudfoot's wife, whom they had twice +endeavored, unsuccessfully, to follow in long, secret excursions into the +mountains. What was the story? What had they said? That she was seeking +Proudfoot, or was in communication with him; that was it! They had warned +Kerry that the woman was mild-looking (he had seen her patient, wistful +face the last thing as he left Asheville), but that she might do him a +mischief if she suspected he was on the trail of her husband. “My Lord! Oh, +my Lord! W'y, old man,--w'y, Andy boy!” he cried, joyously, patting the +shoulder of the big man, who still knelt with the roll of money in his +hands,--“Andy, she's waitin' fer you--she's true as steel! She's ready to +go with you. Yes, an' Dan Kerry's the boy to git ye out o' this under the +very noses o' that police an' detective gang at Asheville. 'Tis you an' me +that'll go together, Andy.” + +Proudfoot still knelt. His nostrils flickered; his eyes glowed. “Have a +care what you're a-sayin',” he began, in a low, shaking voice. “Euola! +Euola! You've saw me pretty mild; but don't you be mistook by that, like +that feller Dickert was mistook. Don't you lie to me an' try to fool me +'bout her. One o' them fellers I shot had me half-way to Garyville, tellin' +me she was thar--sick--an' sont him fer me.” + +Kerry laughed aloud. “Me foolin' you!” he jeered. “'Tis a child I've been +in your hands, ye black, big, still, solemn rascal! Here's money a-plenty, +an' you that knows these mountains--the fur side--an' me that knows the +ropes. You'll lend me a stake f'r the West. We'll go together--all four of +us. Oh Lord!” and again tears were on the sanguine cheeks. + + + + +The Level of Fortune + + +BY ABBY MEGUIRE ROACH + +She was the ambition of the younger girls and the envy of the less +fortunate. Bessie Hall had _everything_, they said. + +Her prettiness, indeed, was chiefly in slender plumpness and bloom. But it +served her purpose as no classic mould would have done. She did not +overestimate it. But she was probably better satisfied with it than with +most of those conditions of her life that people were always telling her +were ideal. They spoke of her as the only child in a way that implied +congratulations on the undivided inheritance--and that reminded her how she +had always wanted a sister. They talked of her idyllic life on a blue-grass +stock-farm--when she was wheedling from her father a winter in Washington. +They envied her often when they had the very thing she wanted--or, at +least, she didn't have it. They enlarged on her popularity, and she +answered, “Oh yes, nice boys, most of them, but--” + +She had always said, “_When_ I marry,” not “_if_,” and had said it much as +she said, “When I grow up.” And, yes, she believed in fate: that everybody +who belonged to you would find you out; but--it was only hospitable to +meet them half-way! So her admirers found her in the beginning hopefully +interested, and in the end rather mournfully unconvinced. Her regret seemed +so genuinely on her own account as well as theirs that they usually carried +off a very kind feeling for her. She was equally open to enlistment in any +other proposed diversion. For Bessie lived in a constant state of great +expectation that something really nice would really happen to-morrow. There +was always something wrong to-day. + +“It's not fair!” she complained to Guy Osbourne, when he came to tell her +good-by, all in the gray. “I'm positively discriminated against. If _I_ +have an engagement, it's sure to rain! And now just when I'm beginning to +be a grown young lady, with a prospect _at last_ of a thoroughly good time, +a war has to break out!” + +Her petulance was pretty. Guy laughed. “How disobliging!” he sympathized. +“And how modest!” he added--which the reader may disentangle; Bessie did +not. “_At last!_” he mocked her. + +For Bessie Hall, whose community already moved in an orbit around her, and +whose parents had, according to a familiar phrase, an even more +circumscribed course around her little finger--for Bessie Hall to rail at +fate was deliciously absurd, delightfully feminine! + +When Bessie was most unreasonable one only wanted to kiss her. Guy's +privileges in that line had passed with the days when he used to pick up +bodily his lithe little playfellow to cross a creek or rain-puddled road. +But to-day seemed pleasantly momentous; it called for the unusual. “I say, +Bibi, when a knight went off to fight, you know, his lady used to give him +a stirrup-cup at good-by. Don't you think it would be really sweet of +you--” + +She held off, only to be provoking. She would have thought no more of +kissing Guy than a brother--or she thought she wouldn't. To be sure, she +hadn't for years; there was no occasion; and then, of course, one didn't. +She laughed and shook her head, and retreated laughing. And he promptly +captured her.... She freed herself, suddenly serious. And Guy stood +sobered--sobered not at going to the war, but at leaving her. + +“There now, run along.” + +“Well, good-by.” But he lingered. There was nothing more to say, but he +lingered. “Well, good-by. Be good, Bibi.” + +“It looks as if that was all I'd have a chance to be.” The drawl of the +light voice with its rising inflection was so engaging, no one called it +nasal. “And it's so much more difficult and important to be charming!” + +He was sobered at leaving her, but he never thought of not going with the +rest. He went, and all the rest. And Bessie found herself, just when nature +had crowned her with womanhood, a princess without a kingdom. To be sure, +living on the border gave her double opportunities, and for contrasting +romances. There were episodes that comforted her with the reflection that +she was not getting wholly out of practice in the arts. And there was real +adventure in flying and secret visits from Guy and the rest--Guy, who was +never again just the same with her; but, for that matter, neither was she +just the same with him. But, on the whole, as she pouted to him afterward, +she wouldn't call that four years' war exactly entertaining! + +The Halls personally did not suffer so deeply as their neighbors except +from property loss. All they could afford, and more, they gave to the +South, and the Northern invader took what was left. When there was nothing +left, he hacked the rosewood furniture and made targets of the family +portraits, in the mere wantonness of loot that, as a recriminative +compliment, cannot be laid to the charge of any one period or section. Most +of the farm negroes crossed the river. Funds ran low. + +There had been ease and luxury in the family always, and just when Bessie +reached the time to profit by them she remarked that they failed. + +Even if the Halls were not in mourning, no one lives through such a time +without feeling the common humanity. But Bessie, though she lingered on the +brink of love as of all the other deeps of life--curious, adventurous, at +once willing and reluctant--was still, in the end, quite steady. + +When the war was over, the Halls were poor, on a competence of land run to +waste, with no labor to work it, and no market to sell it. And Mr. Hall, +like so many of his generation, was too hampered by habit and crushed by +reminiscence to meet the new day. + +It was the contrast in Guy's spirit that won Bessie. His was indeed the +immemorial spirit of youth--whether it be of the young world, or the young +male, or the young South--to accept the issue of trial by combat and give +loyalty to one proved equally worthy of sword or hand. + +“We're whipped,” he told her, “and that settles it. Now there's other work +for us than brooding over it. All the same, the South has a future, Bibi, +and that means a future for you and me.” + +“Not in the manufacture of poetry, I'm afraid,” she laughed. “You dropped a +stitch.” + +She did not seem to take his prowess, either past or to come, very +seriously; and her eyebrows and her inflection went up at the assumption of +the “we” in his plans. But--she listened. + +His definiteness was itself effective. She herself did not know what she +wanted. Something was wrong; or rather, everything was. She was finding +life a great bore. But what would be right, she couldn't say, except that +it must be different. + +Guy looked sure and seasoned as he poured out his plans; and together with +the maturing tan and breadth from his rough life, there was an +unconquerable boyishness in the lift of his head and the light of his eyes. + +“This enthusiasm is truly beautiful!” she teased. + +It was, in truth, infectious. + +Why! it was love she had wanted. The four years had been so empty--without +Guy. + +She went into it alert, receptive, optimistic. But it nettled her that +everybody should be so congratulatory, and nobody surprised. It wasn't what +_she_ would call ideal for two impoverished young aristocrats to start life +on nothing but affection and self-confidence. + +It did seem as if the choicest fruit always came to _her_ specked. + +“Never mind,” Guy encouraged her. “Just give me ten years. It will be a +little hard on you at first, Bibi dear, I know, but it would be harder at +your father's now. And it won't be long!” + +There was only one comment of whose intention Bessie was uncertain: “So Guy +is to continue carrying you over the bad places, Bessie?” + +Hm! She had been thinking it rather a fine thing for _her_ to do. And that +appealed to her. + +“And think what an amusing anecdote it will make after a while, Guy,--how, +with all your worldly goods tied up in a red bandanna, and your wife on +your arm instead of her father's doorstep, you set out to make your +fortune, and to live meanwhile in the City of Un-Brotherly Love!” + +But Bessie had the standards of an open-handed people to whom economy was +not a virtue. There had always been on her mother's table for every meal +“salt-risin' light bread” and corn pone or griddle-cakes, half a dozen +kinds of preserves, the staples in proportion. Her mother would have been +humiliated had there been any noticeable diminution in the supply when the +meal was over; and she and the cook would have had a council of war had a +guest failed to eat and praise any single dish. + +Bessie had not realized how inglorious their meagreness would be, until +Mrs. Grey, at the daughter's table, grew unctuously reminiscent about the +mother's. + +“Dear me!” Guy tried afterward to comfort the red eyelids and tremulous +lips, “do you want a table so full it takes your appetite at sight?” + +“I'm afraid I can't joke about disgrace!” Bessie quivered. + +“But, Bibi dear, Mrs. Grey is simply behind the times. The _rationale_ of +those enormous meals was not munificence, but that a horde of +house-servants had to be fed at a second table.” + +Certainly Guy and his good spirits were excellent company. And Bessie came +of a race of women used to gay girlhoods and to settling down thereafter, +as a matter of course, into the best of house-mothers. + +But there was a difference between the domestic arts she had been taught as +necessary to the future lady of a large household and the domestic +industries she had to practise. Supervising and doing were not the same. +For her mother, sewing and cooking had been accomplishments; for her they +were work. She had to do things a lady didn't do. + +However, she was as fastidious about what she did for herself as about what +was done for her. She was quick and efficient. People said Bessie Osbourne +had the dearest home in town, was the best housekeeper, the most nicely +dressed on nothing. You might know Bessie Hall would have the best of +everything! + +And when Bessie began to wonder if that was true, she had entered the last +circle of disappointment. + +The fact was that, after the first novelty, things seemed pretty much the +same as before. Bessie Osbourne was not so different from Bessie Hall. She +might have appreciated that as significant; but doubtless she had never +heard the edifying jingle of the unfortunate youth who “wandered over all +the earth” without ever finding “the land where he would like to stay,” and +all because he was injudicious enough to take “his disposition with him +everywhere he went.” It was as if she had been going in a circle from right +to left, and, after a blare of drums and trumpets and a stirring +“About--face!” she had found herself going in the same circle from left to +right. It all came to the same thing, and that was nothing. Guy was +apparently working hard; but, after all, in real life it seemed one did not +plant the adepts' magic seed that sprouted, grew, bloomed, while you looked +on for a moment. For herself, baking and stitching took all her time, +without taking nearly all her interest, or seeming to matter much when all +was said and done. If she neglected things, they went undone, or some one +else did them; in any case Guy never complained. If she did what came up, +each day was filled with meeting each day's demands. All their lives went +into the means and preparation for living. Other people--Or was it really +any different with them? Nine-tenths of the people nine-tenths of the time +seemed to accomplish only a chance to exist. She had heard women complain +that such was the woman's lot in order that men might progress. But it +struck her very few men worked beyond the provision of present necessities, +either. Was it all a myth, then--happiness, experience, romance? Was this +all there was to life and love? What was the sense, the end? Her +dissatisfaction reproached the Cosmos, grew to that _Weltschmerz_ which is +merely low spirits and reduced vitality, not “an infirmity of growth.” + +She constantly expected perfection, and all that fell below it was its +opposite extreme, and worthless. She began to suspect herself of being an +exceptional and lofty nature deprived of her dues. + +Guy was a little disappointed at her prudent objection to children until +their success was established. Prudence was mere waste of time to his +courage and assurance. And he believed, though without going into the +psychology of the situation, that Bessie would be happier with a child or +two. + +“Oh, how can we do any more?” she answered, in her pretty, spoiled way. +“We're trying to cut a two-yard garment out of a one-yard piece now.” At +least, she was; and so Guy was. + +Well, it wasn't a great matter yet. It is not in the early years of +marriage that that lack is most felt. And Bessie was not very strong; she +never seemed really well any more. She developed a succession of small +ailments, lassitudes, nerves. She dragged on the hand of life, and +complained. The local physician drugged her with a commendable spirit of +optimism and scientific experiment. But the drawl of the light voice with +its rising inflection became distinctly a whine. + +She got a way of surprising Guy and upsetting his calculations with +unannounced extravagances. “What's the good of all this drudgery? We're +making no headway, getting nowhere; we might as well have what good we can +as we go along.” + +There was a negro woman in the kitchen now, and in the sitting-room one of +the new sewing-machines. And Guy, who, so far, had been only excavating for +the cellar of his future business house, was beginning to feel that good +foundation walls were about to start. + +But, even when peevish, Bessie had a way of turning up her eyes at him that +reduced him to helplessness and adoration. And she was delicate! “I know,” + he sympathized with her loyally, “it's like trying to work and be jolly +with a jumping tooth; or rather, in your case, with a constant buzzing in +your head.” + +The jumping tooth was his own simile. The headaches that had begun while he +was soldiering were increasing. He had intermittent periods of numbness in +the lower half of his body. It was annoying to a busy man. He could offer +no explanation, nor could the doctors. “Overwork,” they suggested, and +advised the cure that is of no school--“rest.” That was “impossible.” + Besides, it was all nonsense. He put it aside, went on, kept it from +Bessie. + +The end came, as it always does, even after the longest expectation, with a +rush. He was suffering with one of his acute headaches one night, when +Bessie fell asleep beside him. She woke suddenly, with no judgment of time, +with a start of terror, a sense of oppression, or--death? + +“Guy!” she screamed. + +The strangeness of his answering voice only repeated the stab of fear. She +was on her feet, had made a light.... + +He was not suffering any more. He was perfectly conscious and rational. But +from the waist down he could not move nor feel. + +The doctors came and talked a great deal and said little; they reminded +them that not much was known of this sort of thing; they would be glad to +do what they could.... + +“You don't mean to say this is permanent? Paralyzed? I? Oh, absurd!” Awful +things happened to other people, of course--scandal, death--but to one's +self--“Oh, it doesn't sound true! It can't be true. Paralyzed? _I_?” + +And Bessie wondered why this had been sent on _her_. + +The explanation was hit on long afterward, when in one of his campaign +stories Guy mentioned a fall from his horse, with his spine against a rock, +that had laid him unconscious for twenty-two hours. + +And so the war, which had been responsible for their starting together with +only a past and a future, was responsible for their having shortly only a +past. Guy was not allowed his ten years. + +Though he had now less actual pain, the shock seemed to jar the foundations +of his life, and the sharp change in the habits of an active and vigorous +body seemed to wreck his whole system. For months and months and months he +seemed only a bundle of exposed nerves--that is, where he had any movement +or sensation at all. + +Now a past, however escutcheoned and fame-enrolled, is even more starvation +diet than a future of affection and self-confidence. No help was to be had +from either of their homes; it was the day of self-help for all. + +Bessie wondered why this had been sent on _her_, but she took a couple of +boarders at once, she sold sponge-cake and beaten biscuit, she got up +classes in bread-making. And Guy stopped her busy passing to draw her hand +to his lips, or watched her with dumb eyes. + +Several of her friends, after trying her sewing-machine, then still +something of a novelty, ordered duplicates. Guy suggested as a joke that +she charge the makers a commission. + +“The idea of trading on friendship?” Bessie laughed. + +“Oh, I don't know,” Guy reflected, more seriously. “How about these +boarders, then? That's trading on hospitality.” + +It was one of those minute flashes of illumination that, multiplied and +collected, become the glow of a new light, the signal of a revolution. The +country was full of them in those days. The old codes were melting in the +heat of change. Standards were fluid. Personally, it ended in Bessie's +selling machines, first in her town, then in neighboring ones. + +In the restlessness that youth thinks is aspiration for the ideal, +particularly for the ideal love, is a large element of craving for place +and interest. After her marriage, at least, Bessie might have had enough of +both; but the obvious purpose was too limited to appeal to her. Now two +appetites and the four seasons supplied motive enough for industry. There +was nothing magnificent in this manifest destiny, but it had the advantage +of being imperative and constant. It was no small tax on her acquired +delicacy, but it gave less time for hunting symptoms. It did not answer the +_Whence, Whither, and Why;_ it pointedly changed the subject. Her work +began to carry her out of herself. + +“Bibi dear, what a sorry end to all my promises!” + +She had been thinking just that herself with a sense of injury and +imposition; and she was used all her life to having people see everything +as she saw it, from her side only. But Guy had just turned over to his few +creditors the hole in the ground into which so far most of his work had +gone. “Bibi dear, what a sorry end to all my plans!” was what she expected +him to say. And what he did say and what he didn't, met surprised in her +mind and surveyed each other. + +“Oh, Guy!” she deprecated, suddenly ashamed. For the first time it occurred +to her to wonder why this had been sent on _him_. With a rush of remorseful +sympathy and appreciation, she slipped down beside his chair. “My poor old +boy!” + +He clung to her like a drowning man--Guy, who, after the first single cry +at the blow, had been so self-contained (or self-repressed?) through it +all! + +She remembered that she had omitted a good many things lately. + +“You're tired to-day,” he said. + +“Yes, I am.” She caught at it hurriedly with apologetic self-defence. “I'm +pretty constantly tired lately. And this morning Mrs. Grey was so trying. +She doesn't understand her machine, and she doesn't understand business, +and she was _too_ silly and stupid. I don't wonder you men laugh at us and +don't want us in _your_ affairs!” + +“It's all hard on you, Bibi.” There was a lump in his voice. It was the +first time he had been able to speak of it. + +“Yes;” her own throat was so strained that for a moment she could not go +on. “But,” it struck her again, “I don't suppose an unbiased observer would +think it exactly festive for you.” + +And, to be sure, when one came to think of it, how, pray, was he to blame? + +From that day there began to be more than necessity to her work, and more +than work to carry her out of herself. + +In the present of commercial femininity we have two types--one, the +business man; the other, an individual without gender, impersonal, capable. +She never does anything ill-bred, certainly, but one no more thinks of +specifying that she is a lady than that her hair is black; it isn't the +point. + +Mrs. Osbourne, however, was always first of all a lady. With her, men kept +their hats off and their coats on, and had an inclination to soften +business with bows, and bargains with figures of speech. She was at once so +patrician and so gracious that women felt it a kind of social function to +deal with her. The drawl of the light voice with its rising inflection was +only gently plaintive. The pretty way was winning, and rather pathetic in +her position; it drifted about her an aroma of story, and that had its own +appeal. The unvarying black of dress and bonnet, with touches of white at +neck and wrist, was refined, and made her rosy plumpness look sweeter. It +was all an uninventoried part of her stock in trade. And she came to take +the same satisfaction in returns in success and cash that she had taken as +a girl in results in valentines and cotillion favors. + +Mrs. Osbourne had all the traditions of her class and generation. She let +her distaste of the situation be known. If it had been possible, she would +have concealed it like a scandal. As it was, with very proud apology, she +made the necessity of her case understood: her object was bread and butter, +not any of these new Woman's Rights--unwomanly, bourgeoise! + +Nevertheless, it was not only true that it suited her to be doing something +with some point and result, but that the life of action and influence among +people suited her. The work came to interest her for itself as well as for +its object; that interest was a factor in her success; and the success +again both stimulated and further equipped her. + +As she got into training and over the first sore muscles of mind and body, +work began to strengthen her. The nerves and small ailments grew secondary, +were overlooked, actually lessened. There need be nothing esoteric in +saying that a vital interest in life is as essential to health as to +happiness. One need consider only the practical and physical effects of +interest and self-forgetfulness, serenity and self-resource. + +Sometimes her increasing trade took her away for two or three days, as far +as Louisville or Cincinnati. The thought of Guy followed her, a sweet pain. +She found herself hurrying back to her bright prisoner, and because of both +conditions the marvel of that brightness grew on her, together with certain +embarrassed comparisons. More than anything else, she admired his strength +where she had been weak. + +His brightness seemed to her the most pathetic thing about him; it was so +sorry. It was indeed the epitome of his tragedy. To be as unobtrusive as +possible, and, when necessarily in evidence, as pleasant as possible, was +the role he had assigned himself. It was the one thing he could do, the +only thing he could do for her. + +Doubtless the very controlling of the nervousness helped it. Moreover, his +revolting organization was gradually adapting itself somewhat to the new +conditions. Sensitive and uncertain tendrils of vitality began to creep out +from the roots of a blighted vigor. + +Bessie, increasingly perceptive, began to suspect that what she saw was the +brightness after the storm. She wondered what his long solitary hours were +like when she was away. What must they be, with him helpless, disappointed, +lonely, liable to maddening attacks of nerves? But he assured her that he +was perfectly comfortable; Mammy Dinah was faithful and competent; and he +was really making headway with the German and French that he had taken up +because he could put them down as need was, and because--they might come +in, in some way, some time. “In heaven?” Bessie wondered secretly, but, +enlightened by her own experience, saw the advantage of his being +entertained. + +“You're too much alone,” she said, feeling for the trouble. “And so am I,” + she added, thoughtfully. She should have noticed his eyes at that last. He +had developed a sort of controlled voracity for endearment, but he never +asked for it. In the old days he had taken his own masterfully, with no +doubts. Now he waited. He did not starve. She cajoled him and coaxed his +appetite and patted the pillows, and made pretty, laughing eyes at him and +fate quite in her habitual manner. Her touch and tone of affection had +never been so free. But in that very fact he found another sting. + +“The better I do on the road, the more they keep me out,” she was saying. +“We can't go on this way. I've been thinking lately--Could you bear to go +North, Guy, and to live in a city, among strangers? Perhaps at headquarters +there might be an opening for me that would let me settle down.” + +“What! Cincinnati! Is there any such chance?” + +“You'd _like_ it? Why on earth--Are you so bored here?” + +“Oh, Bibi, have you never thought of it? In a city there'd be some chance +of something I could do!” + +“You? Oh, Guy!” After she had accepted the care of him, and that so +pleasantly, he wasn't satisfied! “Is there anything you lack here?” She was +hurt. + +It was replaying the old parts reversed. Once _he_ had grieved that he +could not give her enough to content her. + +“A--h--” He turned his head away and flung an arm up over his eyes. + +She understood only that he was suffering. “But, Guy, there's nothing you +could do, possibly. It's not to be expected. Have I complained?” She fell +back on the kindly imbecility of the nurse. “Now you're not to worry about +that, at least until you're better--” + +“Better?” He forgot the lines in which he had schooled himself. The man +overrode the amateur actor. “That's not the thing to hope for. Why couldn't +it have killed me--that first fall?” (“My dear, my dear!” she stammered.) +“There would have been some satisfaction in getting out of the way, and +that in decent fashion; like a charge of powder, not like a rubbish-heap. I +can't accept it of you, Bibi. I'm enraged for you. I can't be grateful. I'm +ashamed.” + +She understood now. + +What could she say? A dozen things, and she did; things about as satisfying +as theology at the grave. He did not answer nor respond. When he relaxed at +last it was simply to her arms around him, his head on her bosom, her +wordless notes of tenderness and consolation. + +He was suffering, and chiefly for her, and what a fighter he was! Who but +he would ever have thought of _his_ doing anything? + +So there might be cases in which it was really more helpful and generous +not to do things for people, but to let them do for themselves. She +couldn't fancy his doing enough to amount to anything. He oughtn't to! But +if it would make him any happier he should have his make-believe--yes, and +without knowing it was make-believe. Doing things that were of no value to +any one was so disheartening. She knew. Like perfunctory exercise for your +health. + +Her own business in Cincinnati proved so brief as to take her breath. His +was more difficult. The plough was still mightier than either sword or pen. +Few markets were open to an inactive man whose hours must be short and +irregular, and whose chief qualifications seemed to be a valiant spirit and +a store of reminiscences, in a time when reminiscences were as easy to get +as advice. + +She was delayed in her return, growing more and more anxious at the thought +of his anxiety. When she boarded the south-bound train, she went down the +aisle, looking for a seat, with her short steps hurried as if it would get +her home sooner. + +Mrs. Grey leaned over and motioned her, and as she sat down, looked +critically at the bright eyes and pink cheeks. “You certainly do look well +nowadays, Bessie.” + +Doubtless Bessie's color was partly excitement and rush. + +“Oh, I'm well,” absently. + +“Funny kind of dyspepsia, wasn't it, to be cured by eating around, the way +you have to do.” + +“Oh, dyspepsia!” The nettles brought back her attention. People needn't +belittle her troubles! “I still have that dyspepsia. But if you had to be +as busy as I, Mrs. Grey, you'd know that there are times when nothing but +sudden death can interfere.” Even Mrs. Grey's prickings, however, were +washed over to-day by Balm of Gilead. “Still, it has come to something. The +company has given me Cincinnati for my territory.” + +“Really?” Not that Mrs. Grey doubted her veracity. “Well, you always did +succeed at anything you put your hand to. It has been the most surprising +thing! You know, I tell everybody, Bessie, that you deserve all the credit +in the world for the way you have taken hold.” Bessie stiffened; neither +need they sympathize too much! “A girl brought up as you were, who always +had the best of everything.” _The best of everything!_ The familiar phrase +was like a bell, sending wave after wave of memory singing through Bessie's +mind. “And still I never saw any one to whom the wind has been so tempered +as to you: when you were sick you could afford it, and now that it's +inconvenient--Things always did seem to work smoother with you, and come +out better, than with any of the rest of us.” + +Bessie sat looking at her, and, in the speech, saw her own petulance of a +moment before--any number of her own speeches, in fact, inverted, as things +are in a glass. Indeed, Mrs. Grey had held up a reflector. Bessie had met +herself. And she saw herself, as in a mirror-maze, from all angles, down +diminishing perspectives, from the woman she was to the girl she had been. + +She had been quite unconscious of the slow transformation in her habits of +thought. It is so in life. One toils up the thickly wooded hillside, intent +only on the footing, and comes suddenly on a high clearing, overlooking +valley and path, defining a new horizon. + +“I never had the best of everything, Mrs. Grey,” she said. “Nobody has. +Every life and every situation in life has its bad conditions--and its good +ones. I haven't had any more happiness--nor trouble than most people. It +strikes me things are pretty equally divided. We only think they aren't +when we don't know all about it. We see the surface of other people's +lives, not their private drawbacks or compensations. There are always both. +But other people's troubles are so much easier to bear than our own, their +good luck so much less deserved and qualified! With all I had as a girl I +didn't have contentment. And now, with all I lack, I don't know any one +with whom I'd change places.” + +What was the use with Mrs. Grey? + +But alone, the thought kept widening ring after ring: How little choice +there was of conditions in life; how fortune tends to seek its level; how +one man has the meat and another the appetite; and another, without either, +can find in the fact the flavor of a joke or chew the cud of reflection +over it. Of the three, Bessie thought she would rather be the one with the +disposition. But that could be cultivated. Look at hers! Circumstances had +started it in a sort of aside, but she would take the hint. + +The cure for dissatisfaction was to recognize one's balance of good. + +Guy was watching for her at the window. She was half conscious that he +looked unusually haggard, but there were so many other thoughts at sight of +him that they washed over the first. + +She swung her reticule. “It's all right!” and she ran up the walk, a most +feminine swirl of progress. She got to him breathless. “I've found a house +that will give you its German correspondence to translate and write, and it +won't be so much but that you can do it as you're able, within reason. Now, +sir!” + +For a minute it seemed as if Guy's whole body was alive. The weak and +shaken invalid still had something of unconquerable boyishness in the lift +of his head and the light of his eyes. “Good! That will do for a start.” + The old spirit, to which hers always answered. If she didn't believe he +would actually do something worth while in the end! Then promptly, of old +habit, he thought of her. “Bibi! You took your time for that.” + +“Not all of it, in good sooth, fair lord.” She spread out her skirts, +lady-come-to-see fashion, and strutted across the room. “Mrs. Osbourne has +a new 'job' and a 'raise.'” (Incidentally Mrs. Osbourne had never before +been so advanced in her language.) + +“Bully for you!” he shouted, so genuinely that she ran back to him and +shook and hugged his shoulders. How she _liked_ him! + +“What a thorough girl you are, Bibi!” + +“Oh, and to-day I've been laughing at myself; as silly as I used to be, +counting so much on a mere change of circumstances. Of course something +unpleasant will develop there too. But at least the harness will rub in a +different place. On the whole, it will be better. Guy, do you know, I have +just gotten rid of envy and discontent, and that without endangering +ambition. I'll give you the charm; it's a sort of cabalistic _spell_--the +four P's--Occu_p_ation, Res_p_onsibility, _P_urpose, and _P_hilosophy.” + +“Yes,” he said, “the most worth-while thing in life is to feel you are +accomplishing something--doing your work well and getting proportionate +returns.” + +The tone touched her. “Poor old Guy!” so generously congratulatory of her +flaunted advantages. How stupid she was! Poor Guy! her pretty creed +scattered at a breath like a dead dandelion-ball. Envy she had disposed of, +but what about pity? What had he to make up? “The idea of my talking of +happiness, with you caged here!” + +“Perhaps that was the point of it all,” he said, “to give you your chance.” + +“That would be a beautifully humble thing for me to think, now wouldn't +it?” Yet she had once complained that the point of it all was to interfere +with her. “And so sweetly generous. Your chance being--?” + +“To serve as a means of grace to you?” He smiled. “I am glad to be of some +use--and honored to be of that one!” he hurried to add, elaborately +humorous. + +But what she was noticing was the flagging effort of his vivacity. Her +half-submerged first impression of him was coming to the surface: he did +look unusually haggard. “You haven't been good while I was away. Now don't +tell stories. Don't I know you? No more storms, Guy!” she warned. + +His eye evaded hers. “I am seriously questioning whether you ought to make +this change. All your friends are here.” + +“Oh, as to that! There might be advantages in working among strangers. Mrs. +Grey fairly puts herself out to let me understand that she is a friend in +need!” She reined herself up, recollecting, but too late. “Oh, Guy, don't +mind so for me. Why, the South is full of women doing what I am, only so +many of them are doing it--without--the Guys who never came back!” + +“Lucky dogs!” subterraneously. Then, seeing her apprehensive of a second +flare-up of that volcanic fire: “So gentlemanly of them, too, Bibi. How can +those few years of love be worth a life of this to you?” + +“Those few years? why, Guy! of love? Is that how _you_ feel?” Her eyes +filled; her whole face quivered. “Oh, Guy--be willing for my sake. I never +knew what love could mean until lately.” + +His grasp hurt her knuckles. “Yes, dear, I have seen. It's very sweet. It's +the mother in you, Bibi, and my helplessness. Of course! What could a woman +_love_ in a dependent, half-corpse of a no-man?” + +For a moment she was too surprised to speak. She stared at him. “What a +notion! and it isn't true! You never were any more a man than you've been +through these two dreadful years.” She sounded fairly indignant. “And for +my part, I never appreciated what you were half as much.” + +“Love doesn't begin with a _P_,” he remarked to the opposite wall. + +“But what do you suppose the _purpose_ was?” + +“Love?” + +“More. _You_.” + +“You never told me.” That strange voice and averted face! + +“How should I fancy you wouldn't know? I had never thought it out myself +until just now. It has simply been going on from day to day, as natural and +quiet as growing--” A bewildering illumination was spreading in her mind. +“Look here, young man”--she forced his face around to see it,--“what +goblins have you been hatching in the night-watches?” The raillery broke. +“Dear, is that what has been troubling you? Is there anything else?” + +He looked at her now. “Anything else trouble me, if I really have you, and +a chance to do a little something for you?” + +It was their apotheosis. They had never known a moment equal to it before; +could never know just another such again. In a very deep way it was the +first kiss of love for them both. + +Bessie came back to herself with that sense of arriving, of having been +infinitely away, with which one drops from abstraction. + +Where had they been in that state of absent mind? + +It was as if they had met out of time, space, matter.... And as she thought +of his words, in the light of his eyes, pity too was qualified, and that +without endangering helpfulness. He, too, had his balance of good. Yes, +things squared in the end. + +Her creed was quick. The scattered dandelion seed sprouted all around her. + + + + +Pap Overholt + + +BY ALICE MACGOWAN + +Up and down the long corn rows Pap Overholt guided the old mule and the +small, rickety, inefficient plough, whose low handles bowed his tall, broad +shoulders beneath the mild heat of a mountain June sun. As he went--ever +with a furtive eye upon the cabin--he muttered to himself, shaking his +head: + +“Say I sha'n' do hit. Say he don't want me a-ploughin' his co'n. My law! +Whut you gwine do? Thar's them chillen--thar's Huldy. They got to be +fed--they 'bleeged to have meat and bread. Ef I don't--” + +Again he lifted his apprehensive glance toward the cabin; and this time it +encountered a figure stepping from the low doorway--a young fellow with an +olive face, delicately cut features, black curling hair, the sleep still +lingering in his dark eyes. He approached the fence--the sorry, broken +fence,--put his hands upon it, and called sharply, “Pap!” + +The old man released the plough-handles and came toward the youth, +shrinking like a truant schoolboy called up for discipline. + +“Pap, this is the way you do me all the time--come an' plough in my co'n +when I don't know nothin' about hit--when I don't want hit done,--tryin' to +make everybody think I'm lazy and no 'count. Huldy tellin' me I ought to be +ashamed of myse'f, in bed while my po' old pappy--'at hain't ploughed a row +of his own for years--is a-gittin' my co'n outen the weeds.” + +The father stood, a chidden culprit. The boy had worked himself up to the +desired point. + +“You jest do hit to put a shame on me. Now, Pap, you take that mule--” + +“W'y, Sammy,--w'y, Sammy honey, you know Pappy don't do it fer nair sech a +reason. Hit don't look no sech a thing--like you was shif'less an' lazy. +Hit jes look like Pappy got nothin' to do, an' love to come and give you a +turn with yo' co'n; an', Sammy honey,”--the good farmer for the moment +getting the better of the timid, soft-hearted parent,--“hit is might'ly in +the weeds, boy. Don't you reckon I better jes--” + +The other began, “I tell you--” + +“There, there! Ne'mine, Sammy. Ef you don't want Pappy to plough no mo', +Pappy jes gwine to take the plough right outen the furrow and put old Beck +up. Pappy gwine--” + +The boy turned away, his point made, and strolled back to the cabin. The +old man, murmuring a mixture of apologies, assurances, and expostulations, +went pathetically about the putting up of the mule, the setting away of the +plough. + +Nobody knew when Pap Overholt began to be so called, nor when his wife had +received the affectionate title of Aunt Cornelia. It was a naming that grew +of itself. Forty years ago the pair had been married--John, a sturdy, +sunny-tempered young fellow of twenty-one, six feet in his stockings, broad +of shoulder, deep of chest, and with a name and a nature clean of all +tarnish; Cornelia Blackshears, a typical mountain girl of the best sort. + +When, at the end of the first year, old Dr. Pastergood, who had ushered +Cornelia herself into this world, turned to them with her first child in +his arms, the young father stood by, controlling his great rush of primal +joy, his boyish desire to do something noisy and violent; the mother looked +first at her husband, then into the old doctor's face, with eyes of +passionate delight and appeal. He was speechless a moment, for pity. Then +he said, gently: + +“Hit's gone, befo' hit ever come to us, Cornely. Hit never breathed a +breath of this werrisome world.” + +A man who had practised medicine in the Turkey Tracks for twenty-five years +--a doctor among these mountain people, where poverty is the rule, hardship +a condition of life, and tragedy a fairly familiar element, would have had +his fibre well stiffened. The brave old campaigner, who had sat beside so +many death-beds and so many birth-beds, and had seen so many come and so +many go, at the exits and entrances of life, met the matter stoutly and +without flinching. His stoic air, his words of passive acceptance, laid a +calm upon the first outburst of bitter grief from the two young creatures. +Later, when John had gone to do the chores, the old doctor still sat by +Cornelia's bed. He took the girl's hand in his--an unusual demonstration of +feeling for a mountaineer--and said to her, gently, + +“Cornely, there won't never be no mo'--there'll be nair another baby to +you, honey.” + +The stricken girl fastened her eyes upon his in dumb pain and protest. She +said nothing, the wound was too deep; only her lips quivered pitifully and +the tears ran down upon the pillow. + +“Now, now, honey, don't ye go to fret that-a-way. W'y, Cornely, ye was made +for a mother; the Lord made ye for such--an' do ye 'low 'at He don't know +what He's a-gwine to do with the work of His hands? 'For mo' air the +children of the desolate'--don't ye know Scripter says?--than of them that +has many. Lord love ye, honey, girl, you'll be mother to a minny and a +minny. They air a-comin'; the Lord's a-sendin' 'em. W'y, honey,--you and +John will have children gathered around you--” + +The one cry broke forth from Cornelia which she ever uttered through all +her long grief of childlessness: “Oh, but, Dr. Pastergood, I wanted +mine--my own--and John's! Oh, I reckon it was idolatry the way I felt in my +heart; I thought, to have a little trick-bone o' my bone, flesh o' my +flesh--look up at me with John's eyes--” A sob choked her utterance, and +never again was it resumed. + +In the years that followed, the pair--already come to be called Pap +Overholt and Aunt Cornely--well fulfilled the old doctor's prophecy. The +very next year after their baby was laid away, John's older brother, Jeff, +lost his wife, and the three little children Mandy left were brought at +once to them, remaining in peace and welfare for something over a year +(Jeff was a circumspect widower), making the place blithe with their +laughter and their play. Then their father married, and they were taken to +the new home. He was an Overholt too, and shared that powerful paternal +instinct with John. Three times this thing happened. Three times Jeff +buried a wife, and the little Jeff Overholts, with recruited ranks, were +brought to Aunt Cornelia and Pap John. When Jeff married his fourth +wife--Zulena Spivey, a powerful, vital, affluent creature, of an unusual +type for the mountains,--and the children (there were nine of them by this +time) went to live with their step-mother, whose physique and disposition +promised a longer tenure than any of her predecessors, Pap and Aunt +Cornelia sat upon the lonely hearth and assured each other with tears that +never again would they take into their home and their lives, as their very +own, any children upon whom they could have no sure claim. + +“Tell ye, Cornely, this thing o' windin' yer heart-strings around and +around a passel o' chaps for a year or so and then havin' 'em tore +out--well, hit takes a mighty considerable chunk o' yer heart along with +'em.” And the wife, looking at him with wet eyes, nodded an assent. + +It was next May that Pap Overholt, who had been doing some hauling over as +far as Big Turkey Track, returned one evening with a little figure perched +beside him on the high wagon seat. “The Lord sent him, honey,” he said, and +handed the child down to his wife. “He ain't got a livin' soul on this +earth to lay claim to him. He is ourn as much as ef he was flesh and bone +of us. I even tuck out the papers.” + +That evening, the two sitting watching the little dark face in its sleep, +Pap told his story. Driving across the flank of Yellow Old Bald, beyond +Lost Cabin, he had passed a woman with five children sitting beside the +road in Big Buck Gap. + +“Cornely, she looked like a picture out of a book,” whispered Pap. “This +chap's the livin' image of her. Portugee blood--touch o' that melungeon +tribe from over in the Fur Cove. She had a little smooth face shaped like a +aig; that curly hair hangin' clean to her waist, dark like this baby's, but +with the sun all through it; these eyebrows o' his'n that's lifted in the +middle o' his forred, like he cain't see why some onkindness was did him; +and little slim hands and feet; all mighty furrin to the mountains. I give +'er a lift--she was goin' to Hepzibah, huntin' fer some kind o' charity +she'd heard could be got there; and this little trick he tuck to me right +then.” + +The woman bent over and looked long at the small olive face, so delicately +cut, the damp rings of hair on his forehead, the tragic lift of the brows +above the nose bridge, the thin-lipped scarlet mouth. “My baby,” she +murmured; then lifted her glance with the question: “An' how come ye to +have him? Did she--did that womern--” + +“No, no. 'Twas this-a-way,” Pap interrupted her. “When I came back from Big +Turkey Track, I went down through Hepzibah--I couldn't git this chap's +eyes--ner his little hands--out o' my head; I found myse'f a-studyin' on +'em the hull enjurin' time. She was dead when I got thar. She'd died to +Squire Cannon's, and they was a-passellin' out the chillen 'mongst the +neighbors. No sooner I put foot on the po'ch 'n this little soul come +a-runnin' to me, an' says: W'y, here's my pappy, now. I tole you-all I did +have a pappy. Now look--see--here he is.' Then he peeked up at me, and he +put up his little arms, an' he says, jest as petted, and yit a little +skeered, he says, 'Take me, pappy.' When I tuck him up, he grabbed me round +the neck and dug his little face into mine. Then he looked around at all +the folks, and sort o' shivered, and put his face back in my neck--still ez +a little possum when you've killed the old ones an' split up the tree an' +drug out the nest.” + +Both faces were wet with tears now. Pap went on: “I had the papers made +right out--I knowed you'd say yes, Cornely. He's Samuel Ephraim Overholt. +A-comin' home, the little weenty chap looks up at me suddent an' axes, 'Is +they a mammy to we-all's house whar we goin' now?' Lord! Lord!” Pap shook +his head gently, as signifying the utter inadequacy of mere words. + +Little Sammy grew and thrived in the Overholt home. The tiny rootlets of +his avid, unconscious baby life he thrust out in all directions through +that kind soil, sucking, sucking, grasping, laying hold, drawing to him and +his great little needs sustenance material and spiritual. More keen and +capable to penetrate were those thready little fibres than the irresistible +water-seeking tap-root of the cottonwood or the mesquite of the plains; +more powerful to clasp and to hold than the cablelike roots of the +rock-embracing cedar. The little new member was so much living sunshine, +gay, witching, brilliant, erratic in disposition as he was singular and +beautiful in his form and coloring, but always irresistibly endearing, +dangerously winning. When he had been Sammy Overholt only two weeks, he sat +at table with his parents one day and scornfully rejected the little plate +that was put before him. + +“No!” he cried, sharply. “No, no! I won't have it--ole nassy plate!” + +“W'y, baby! W'y, Sammy,” deprecated Cornelia, “that's yo' own little plate +that mammy washed for you. You mustn't call it naisty.” + +“Hit air nassy,” insisted young Samuel. “Hit got 'pecks--see!” and the +small finger pointed to some minute flaw in the ware which showed as little +dots on the white surface. + +Cornelia, who, though mild and serene, was possessed of firmness and a +sense of justice, would have had the matter fairly settled. “He ort not to +cut up this-away, John,” she urged. “He ort to take his little plate and +behave hisse'f; 'r else he ort to be spanked,--he really ort, John, in +jestice to the child.” + +But John was of another mould. “Law, Cornely! Hit's jest baby-doin's. The +idee o' him a-settin' up 'at yo' dishes ain't clean! That shore do beat +all!” And he had executed an exchange of plates under Cornelia's +deprecating eyes. And so the matter went. + +Again, upon a June day, Sammy was at play with the scion of the only negro +family which had ever been known in all the Turkey Track regions. The +Southern mountaineers have little affinity, socially or politically, with +the people of the settlements. There were never any slaveholders among +them, and the few isolated negroes were treated with almost perfect +equality by the simple-minded mountain dwellers. + +“Sammy honey, you an' Jimmy mus' cl'ar up yo' litter here. Don't leave it +on mammy's nice flo'. Hit's mighty nigh supper-time. Cl'ar up now, 'fo' +Pappy comes.” + +Sammy stiffened his little figure to a startling rigidity. “I ain't a-goin' +to work!” he flung out. “Let him do it; _he's a nigger_!” And this was the +last word of the argument. + +This was Sammy--handsome, graceful, exceedingly winning, sudden and +passionate, disdaining like a young zebra the yoke of labor, and, when +crossed, absolutely beyond all reason or bounds; the life of every +gathering of young people as he grew up; much made of, deferred to, sought +after, yet everywhere blamed as undutiful and ungrateful. + +“Oh, I do p'intedly wish the neighbors would leave us alone,” sighed Pap +Overholt, when these reports came to him. “As ef I didn't know what I +wanted--as ef I couldn't raise my own chile;” and as he said this he ever +avoided Aunt Cornelia's honest eye. + +It was when Sammy was eighteen, the best dressed, the best horsed--and the +idlest--to be found from Little Turkey Track to the Fur Cove, from Tatum's +to Big Buck Gap--that he went one day, riding his sorrel filly, down to +Hepzibah, ostensibly to do some errands for Aunt Cornelia, but in fact +simply in search of a good time. The next day Blev Straly, a rifle over his +shoulder and a couple of hounds at heel, stopped a moment at the +chopping-block where Pap was splitting some kindling. + +“I was a-passin',” he explained--“I was jest a-passin', an' I 'lowed I'd +drap in an' tell ye 'bout Sammy. Hit better be me than somebody 'at likes +to carry mean tales and wants to watch folks suffer.” Aunt Cornelia was +beside her husband now. + +“No, no,” Blev answered the look on the two faces; “nothin' ain't the +matter of Sammy. He's jest married--that little Huldy Frew 'at's been +waitin' on table at Aunt Randy Card's _ho_-tel. You know, Aunt Cornely, she +is a mighty pretty little trick--and there ain't nothin' bad about the gal. +I jest knowed you and Pap 'ud feel mighty hurt over Sammy doin' you-all +like you was cruel to him--like he had to run away to git married; and I +'lowed I better come and tell you fust.” + +The “little Huldy gal” was, as Blev Straly had described her, a mighty +pretty little trick, and nothing bad about her. The orphan child of poor +mountaineers, bound out since the death of her parents when she was ten +years old, she had been two years now working for Aunt Randy Card, who kept +the primitive hotel at Hepzibah. Even in this remote region Huldy showed +that wonderful--that irrepressible--upward impulse of young feminine +America, that instinctive affinity for the finer things of life, that +marvellous understanding of graces and refinements, and that pathetic and +persistent groping after them which is the marked characteristic of +America's daughters. The child was not yet sixteen, a fair little thing +with soft ashen hair and honest gray eyes, the pink upon her cheek like +that of a New England girl. + +At first this marriage--which had been so unkindly conducted by Sammy, used +by him apparently as a weapon of affront--seemed to bring with it only +good, only happiness. The boy was more contented at home, less wayward, and +the feeling of apprehension that had dwelt continually in the hearts of Pap +and Aunt Cornelia ever since his adolescence now slept. The little +Huldy--her own small cup apparently full of happiness--was all affectionate +gratitude and docility. She healed the bruises Sammy made, poured balm in +the wounds he inflicted; she was sunny, obedient, grateful enough for two. + +But a new trait was developed in Sammy's nature--perversity. Life was made +smooth to his feet; the things he needed--even the things which he merely +desired--were procured and brought to him. Love brooded above and around +him--timid, chidden, but absolute, adoring. Nothing was left him--no +occupation was offered for his energies--but to resent these things, to +quarrel with his benefits. And now the quarrel began. + +Its outcome was this: Toward the end of the first year of the marriage, +upon a bleak, forbidding March day--a day of bitter wind and icy +sleet,--there rode one to the Overholt door who called upon Pap and Aunt +Cornelia to hitch up and come with all possible haste to old Eph'm +Blackshears, Cornelia's father--a man who had lived to fourscore, and who +now lay at his last, asking for his daughter, his baby chile, Cornely. + +For days Sammy had been in a very ill-promising mood; but he brightened as +the foster-parents drove away in the bleak, gray, hostile forenoon, Huldy +helping Aunt Cornelia to dress and make ready, tucking her lovingly into +the wagon and beneath the thick old quilt. + +The elder woman yearned over the girl with a mother's compassionate +tenderness. Both Aunt Cornelia and Pap John looked with a passionate, +delighted anticipation to when they would have their own child's baby upon +their hearth. It was the more notable marks of this tenderness, of this +joyous anticipation, which Sammy had begun to resent--the gifts and the +labors showered upon the young wife in relation to her coming importance, +which he had barely come short of refusing and repelling. “Whose wife is +she, I'd like to know? Looks like I cain't do nothin' for my own +woman--a-givin' an' a-givin' to Huldy, like she was some po' white trash, +some beggar!” But he had only “sulled,” as his mother called it, never +quite able to reach the point he desired of actually flinging the care, the +gifts, and the loving labors back in the foster-parents' faces. + +Pappy Blackshears passed away quietly in the evening; and when he had been +made ready for his grave by Cornelia's hands, her anxiety for the little +daughter at home would not let her remain longer. + +“I'm jest 'bleeged to go to Huldy,” she explained to the relatives and +neighbors gathered at the old Blackshears place. “I p'intedly dassent to +leave her over one night--and not a soul with her but Sammy, and he nothin' +but a chile--and not a neighbor within a mild of our place--and sech a +night! Pap and me we'll hitch up an' mak' 'as'e back to Huldy. We'll be +here to the funeral a Sunday--but I dassent to stay away from Huldy nair +another hour now.” And so, at ten o'clock that bitter night, Pap and Aunt +Cornelia came hurrying home. + +As the wagon drove up the mountain trail to the house, the hounds came +belling joyously to meet them; but no light gleamed cheerfully from the +windows; no door was flung gayly open; no little Huldy cried out her glad +greeting. Filled with formless apprehensions, Pap climbed over the wheel, +lifted Cornelia down, and dreading they knew not what, the two +went,--holding by each other's hand,--opened the door, and entered, +shrinking and reluctant. They blew the smouldering coals to a little flame, +piled on light-wood till the broad blaze rolled up the chimney, then looked +about. No living soul was in any room. Finally Cornelia caught sight of a +bit of paper stuck upon the high mantel. She tore it down, and the two read +slowly and laboriously together the few lines written in Sammy's hand: + +“I ain't going to allow my wife to live off any man's charity. I ain't +going to be made to look like nothing in the eyes of people any longer. +I've taken my wife to my own place, where I can support her myself. I had +to borrow your ox-cart and steers to move with, and Huldy made me bring +some things she said mother had give her, but I'll pay all this back, and +more, for I intend to be independent and not live on any man's bounty. + +“Respectfully, your son, + +“SAMUEL” + + +The two old faces, pallid and grief-struck, confronted each other in the +shaken radiance of the pine fire. + +“Oh, my po' chile, my po' little Huldy! Whar? His own place! My law!--whar? +Whar has he drug that little soul?” + +An intuition flashed into Pap Overholt's mind. He grasped his wife's arm. +“W'y, Cornely,” he cried, “hit's that cabin on The Bench! Don't ye know, +honey? I give him that land when he was sixteen year old,--time he brung +the prize home from the school down in the settlemint.” + +“The Bench! Oh, Lord--The Bench! W'y, hit 'll be the death of her. John, we +cain't git to her too quick.” And she ran from cupboard to press, from +press to chest, from chest to bureau drawer, piling into John's arms the +flask of brandy, the homely medicines, the warm garments, such bits of food +as she could catch up that were palatable and portable. Pap, with more +vulnerable emotions and less resolute nature, was incapable of speech; he +could only suffer dumbly. + +Arrived at the abandoned cabin on The Bench, the picture that greeted them +crushed Pap's soft heart to powder, but roused in Aunt Cornelia a rage that +would have resulted in a sharp settlement with Sammy, had it not been that, +now as always, to reach the offender a blow must go through that same +pitiful heart of John's. The young people had not long been at the cabin +when the parents arrived. The little Huldy, moaning piteously, with a +stricken, terrified look in her big, childish eyes, was crouched upon the +floor beside a rickety chair. Sammy, sullen and defiant, was at the +desolate hearth, fumbling with unskilled hands at the sodden chunks of wood +he had there gathered. + +The situation was past words. Pap, after one look at Huldy, went about the +fire-building, the slow tears rolling down his cheeks. While Aunt Cornelia +brought the bedding, the warm blankets and wrappings, and made the little +suffering creature a comfortable couch, Pap wrought at the forlorn, gaping +fireplace like a suffering giant. When the leaping flames danced and +shouted up the chimney till the whole cabin was filled with the physical +joy of their light and warmth, when steaming coffee and the hastily fetched +food had been served to the others, and the little wife lay quietly for the +moment, the two elders talked together outside where a corner of the cabin +cut off the driving sleet. Then Sammy was included, and another council was +held, this time of three. + +No. He would not budge. That was _his_ wife. A fellow that was man enough +to have a wife ought to be man enough to take keer of her. He wasn't going +to have his child born in the house of charity. There was no thoroughfare. +Sammy was allowed to withdraw, and the council of two was resumed. As a +result of its deliberations, Pap John drove away through the darkness and +the sleet. By midnight two trips had been made between the big double log +house at the Overholt place and the wretched cabin on The Bench, and all +that Sammy would suffer to be brought to them or done for them had been +brought and done. The cabin was, in a very humble way, inhabitable. There +was food and a small provision for the immediate present. And here, upon +that wild March night of screaming wind and sleet, and with only Aunt +Cornelia as doctor and nurse, Huldy's child was born. + +And now a new order of things began. + +Sammy's energies appeared to be devoted to the thwarting of Pap Overholt's +care and benefits. There should be no cow brought to the cabin; and so Pap +John, who was getting on in years now, and had long since given up hard, +active work, hastened from his bed at four o'clock in the morning, milked a +cow, and carried the pail of fresh milk to Huldy and the baby, furtively, +apologetically. The food, the raiment, everything had to be smuggled into +the house little by little, explained, apologized for. The land on The +Bench was rich alluvial soil. Sammy, in his first burst of independence, +ploughed it (borrowing mule and plough from a neighbor--the one neighbor +ever known to be on ill terms with Pap Overholt), and planted it to corn. +He put in a little garden, too; while Pap had achieved the establishment of +a small colony of hens (every one of whom, it appeared, laid two or three +eggs each day--at least that was the way the count came out). + +The baby thrived, unconscious of all the grief, the perverse cruelty, the +baffled, defeated tenderness about her, and was the light of Pap Overholt's +doting eyes, the delight of Aunt Cornelia's heart. When she was eighteen +months old, and could toddle about and run to meet them, and chattered that +wonderful language which these two hearts of love had all their lives +yearned to hear--the dialect of babyhood,--the twin boys came to the cabin +on The Bench. And Pap Overholt's lines were harder than ever. Cornelia had +sterner stuff in her. She would have called a halt. + +“Oh, John!” she expostulated finally, when she saw her husband come home +crestfallen one day, with a ham which Sammy had detected him smuggling into +the cabin and ordered back,--“John honey, ef you was to stop toting things +to the cabin and let it all alone--not pester with it another--” + +“Cornely, Cornely!” cried Pap John, “you know Sammy cain't no mo' keep a +wife and chillen than a peckerwood kin. W'y, they'd starve! Huldy and the +chaps would jest p'intedly starve.” + +“No, they won't, John. Ef you could master yo' own soft heart--ef you could +stay away (like he's tole ye a minny a time to do, knowin' 'at you was safe +not to mind him)--Sammy would stop this here foolishness. He'd come to his +senses and be thankful for what the Lord sent, like other people. W'y, +John--” + +“Cornely honey--don't. Don't ye say another word. I tell ye, this last year +there's a feelin' in my throat and in my breast--hyer,”--he laid his hand +pathetically over his heart,--“a cur'us, gone, flutterin' feelin'. And when +Sammy r'ars up and threatens he'll take Huldy and the chaps--you know,”--he +finished with a gesture of the hand and a glance of unspeakable +pain,--“when he does that 'ar way, or something comes at me sudden like +that--that we may lose 'em, hit seems like--right hyer,”--and his hand went +again to his heart,--“that I can't bear it--that hit 'll take my life.” + +This was the last time Cornelia ever remonstrated with Pap John. She had a +little talk with the new doctor from Hepzibah who bad succeeded old Dr. +Pastergood; and after that John was added to the list of her anxieties. He +might carry the milk to the cabin on The Bench; he might slip in, when he +deemed Sammy away--or asleep--and plough the corn; she saw the tragic folly +of it, but must be silent. And so on that particular June morning, when Pap +had put up the mule, clambered down the short-cut footway from The Bench to +the old house, stopping several times to shake his head again and murmur to +himself--“Whut you gwine do? There's them chaps; there's Huldy. Mustn't +plough his co'n; mustn't take over air cow. Whut you gwine do?”--Aunt +Cornelia's seeing eye noted his perturbation the moment he came in at the +door. With tender guile she built up a considerable argument in the matter +of a quarterly meeting which was approaching--the grove quarterly, in which +Pap John was unfailingly interested, and during which there were always +from two to half a dozen preachers, old and young, staying with them. So +she led him away--ever so little away--from his ever-present grief. + +It was the next day that he said to her, “Cornely, I p'intedly ain't gwine +to suffer this hyer filchin' o' co'n them Fusons is a-keepin' up on me.” + +“Is the Fusons a-stealin' yo' co'n, John?” she responded, in surprise. +“W'y, they got a-plenty, ain't they?” + +“Well, no, not adzactly, that is to say, Buck Fuson ain't got a-plenty. He +too lazy and shif'less to make co'n of his own; and he like too well to +filch co'n from them he puts his spite on. Buck Fuson he tuck a spite at +me, last time the raiders was up atter that Fuson hideout; jes set up an' +swore 'at I'd gin the word to 'em. You see, honey, he makes him up a spite +that-a-way--jes out o' nothin'--'cause hit's sech a handy thing to have +around when he comes to want co'n. Thar's some one already purvided to +steal from--some one 'at's done him a injury.” + +“Pappy! W'y, Johnny honey, sakes alive! What air ye ever a-gwine to do +'long o' that there thing?” For the old man had laboriously fetched out a +rusty wolf-trap, and was now earnestly inspecting and overhauling it. + +“Whut am I a-gwine to do 'long o' this hyer, Cornely? W'y, I am jes +p'intedly a-gwine to set it in my grain-room. Buck Fuson air a bad man, +honey. There's two men's blood to his count. They cain't nothin' be done to +him for nair a one of 'em--you know, same's I do--'ca'se hit cain't be +proved in a co't o' law. But I kin ketch him in this meanness with this +hyer little jigger, and I'm a-gwine to do hit, jest ez sure ez my name's +John Overholt!” + +“Oh, Pappy! A leetle bit o' co'n fer a man's chillen--” + +“Now, Cornely honey, that's a womern! Buck Fuson is the wrong kind o' man +to have round. He's ben a stealin' my co'n now fer two weeks and mo'. Ef I +kin ketch him right out, and give him a fa'r shamin', he'll quit the Turkey +Tracks fer good. So fer as Elmiry and the chaps is consarned, they'll be +better off without Buck 'n what they is with him.” + +At this moment Aunt Cornelia cried out joyously, “Oh, thar's my chile!” and +ran to meet her daughter-in-law. The little girl--Cornelia the +second--could navigate bravely by herself now, and Huldy was carrying the +lusty twin boys. In the flutter of delight over this stolen visit, the ugly +wolf-trap threat was forgotten. It had been a month and more since Sammy +had set foot in his parents' house. It had gone all over both Turkey Tracks +that Sam Overholt declared he would never darken Pap Overholt's door +again--Pap Overholt, who had tried to make a pauper of him, loading him +with gifts and benefits, like he was shif'less, no-'count white trash! The +little Huldy reported him gone to Far Canaan, over beyond Big Turkey Track, +in the matter of some employment, which he had not deigned to make clearer +to his wife. He would not be back until the day after to-morrow; and +meantime she might stay with the old folks two whole days and nights! In +the severe school to which life had put her, the little Huldy had developed +an astonishing amount of character, of shrewdness, and perception, and a +very fair philosophy of her own. To the elder woman's sad observation that +it was mighty strange what made Sammy so “onthankful” and so “ha'sh” to his +pappy, who had done so much for him, Huldy responded, + +“No, Aunt Cornely, hit ain't strange, not a bit.” + +“Ain't strange? Huldy child, what do you mean?” + +“W'y, don't you know, Aunt Cornely, ef he do Pappy that-a-way, when Pappy +do so much fer him, then he don't have to be thankful. When everybody's +a-tellin' him, 'Yo' pap's so kind, yo' pap does everything for you; look +like you cain't be good enough to him,' he 'bleeged to find some way to +shake off all that thankfulness 'at's sech a burden to him. And so when +Pappy come a-totin' milk, an' a-totin' pork, an' a-ploughin' his co'n outen +the weeds, w'y, Sammy jest draw down his face an' look black at Pappy, and +make like he mad at him--like he don't want none o' them things--like Pappy +jest pesterin' round him fer nothin'. but meanness. Now mind, Aunt Cornely, +I ain't say Sammy knows this his own se'f. But I studied Sammy mighty well, +an' _I_ know. Sammy gittin' tell he do me the same way. I wait on him hand +and foot; I cook his bacon jest like he tol' me you did it fer him. I fix +everything the best I kin (and mebby all three of the chillen a-cryin' +after me); and when he come in and see it all ready, and see how hard I got +it, and seem like there's a call fer him to be thankful, then Sammy jest +turns on hit all. He draw down his face at me and he say, black like: 'I +don't want no bacon--what did you fix that shirt for that-a-way? Take away +that turnip sallet--I cain't git nothin' like I want it.' Then, you know,” + with a little smile up into the other's face, half pitiful, half +saucy,--“Then you know, Sammy don't have to be thankful. Hit was all done +wrong.” + +It was the next evening--Saturday evening. The entire household (which +included Elder Justice and two young preachers from Big Turkey Track, with +Brother Tarbush, one of the new exhorters) had returned from the +afternoon's meeting in the grove. Supper had been eaten and cleared away. +The babies had been put to sleep; the two women and the five men--all +strong and striking types of the Southern mountaineer--were gathered for +the evening reading and prayer. Elder Justice, now nearly eighty years old, +a beautiful and venerable person, had opened the big Bible, and after +turning the leaves a moment, raised his grave, rugged face and read: +“'Therefore will I divide him a portion with the great, and he shall divide +the spoil with the strong; because he hath poured out his soul unto +death.'” + +He paused, and on the intense stillness which followed the ceasing of his +voice--the silence of evening in the deep mountains--there broke a long, +shrill, agonized scream. + +As every one of the little circle leaped to his feet, Aunt Cornelia's eyes +sought her husband's face, and his hers. After that grinding, terrible cry, +the stillness of the night was unstirred. Pap Overholt sprang to the +hearth--where even in the midsummer months a log smoulders throughout the +day, to be brightened into a cheery blaze mornings and evenings,--seized a +brand, one or two of the others following his example, and ran through the +doorway, across the little chip-yard, making for the low-browed log barn +and the grain-room beside it. + +None who witnessed that scene ever forgot it. Each one told it afterward in +his own way, declaring that not while he lived could the remembrance of it +pass from his mind. Pap Overholt's tall figure leaped crouching through the +low doorway, and next instant lifted the blazing brand high above his head; +the others followed, doing the same. There by the grain-bin, with ashy +countenance and shaking limbs, the sweat of anguish upon his forehead, his +eyes roving dumbly around the circle of faces revealed by the flickering +light of the brands--there with the dreadful wolf-trap (locked by its chain +to a stanchion) hanging to his right arm, its fangs bitten through and +through the flesh, stood Sammy. + +Pap Overholt's mind refused at first to understand. He had known (with that +sort of moral assurance which makes a thing as real to us as the evidence +of the senses themselves) that it was Buck Fuson who had been stealing his +grain. He had set his trap to catch Buck Fuson; not instantly could the +mere sight of his eyes convince him that the trapped thief was the petted, +adored, perverse son, who had refused his father's bounty when it had +seemed the little wife and babies must starve. When he did realize, the cry +that burst from his heart brought tears to all the eyes looking upon him. +Down went the tall, broad figure, down into the dust of the grain-room +floor. And there Pap Overholt grovelled on his knees, his white head almost +at the thief's feet, crying, crying that old cry of David's: “Oh, Sammy, my +son! My son, Sammy! An' I wouldn't 'a' touched a hair o' his head. My God! +have mercy on my soul, that would 'a' fed him my heart's blood--an' he +wouldn't take bite nor sup from my hand. Oh, Sammy! what did you want to do +this to yo' po' old pappy fer?” + +Elder Justice, quick and efficient at eighty years, had sprung to the lad's +right arm, two of the younger men close after. Aunt Cornelia held her piece +of blazing light-wood for them while they cut away the sleeve and made +ready to bear apart the powerful jaws of the trap. The little Huldy had +said never a word. Her small, white face was strained; but it did not bear +the marks of shock and of horror that were written on every other +countenance there. When they had grasped jaws and lever, and Elder +Justice's kind voice murmured, “Mind now, Sammy. Hold firm, son; we air +a-gwine to pull 'em back. Brace yo'se'f,” the boy's haggard eyes sought his +mother's face. + +“Le' me take it, Aunt Cornely,” whispered Huldy, loosing the light-wood +from the elder woman's hand and leaving her free. And the next moment +Sammy's left hand was clasped tight in his mother's; he turned his face +round to her broad breast and hid it there; and there he sobbed and shook +as the savage jaws came slowly back. + + * * * * * + +That strange hour worked a complete revolution in the lives of the little +family in the cabin on The Bench and those in the big, hospitable Pap +Overholt home. Sammy had “met up with” punishment at last; he had +encountered discipline; and the change it wrought upon him was almost +beyond belief. The spell which this winning, wayward, perverse creature had +laid upon Pap Overholt's too affectionate, too indulgent nature was +dissolved in that terrible hour. He was no more to the father now than a +troublesome boy who had been most trying and not very satisfactory. The +ability to wring the hearts of those who wished to benefit him had passed +from Sammy; but it is only fair to say that the wish to do so seemed to be +no longer his. While his arm was still in a sling, before he had yet raised +his shamed eyes to meet the eyes of those about him, Pap Overholt +cheerfully put old Ned and Jerry to the big ox-wagon and bodily removed the +little household from The Bench to the home which had been so long yearning +for them. + +Now, at last, he was Pap Overholt indeed. The little Huldy, whose burden of +gratitude for two had seemed to Aunt Cornelia so grievous a one, was a +daughter after any man's heart, and her brood of smiling children were a +wagon-load which Pap John hauled with joy and pride to and from the +settlement, to the circus--ay, every circus that ever showed its head +within a day's drive of Little Turkey Track,--to meetin', to grove +quarterlies, in response to every call of neighborliness, or of mere +amusement. + + + + +In the Piny Woods + + +BY MRS. B. F. MAYHEW + +A sparsely settled bit of country in the piny woods of North Carolina. A +house rather larger than its neighbors, though only a “story and a jump” of +four rooms, two upper and two lower, and quite a commodius shed on the back +containing two rooms and a small entry; and when Jeems Henry Tyler +increased his rooms as his family grew, his neighbors “allowed” that “arter +er while he'd make er hotel out'n it.” Several out-houses stood at +convenient distances from the house. A rough board paling enclosed the +yard. A clearing of twenty-five or more acres lay around three sides of the +house, and well-to-do Industry and Thrift plainly went hand in hand about +the place. + +A Saturday in early autumn was drawing near its close, and the family had +finished supper, though it was not yet dark. Like all country folk of their +station in life, they ate in the kitchen, a building separate from the +house. There were “Grandmother Tyler,” a sweet-faced old woman, with +silvery hair smoothed away under a red silk kerchief folded cornerwise and +tied under her chin; and her son, “Father Tyler,” with his fifty-odd years +showing themselves in his grizzled hair and beard; and “Mother Tyler,” a +brisk stout woman, with great strength of character in her strong features, +black eyes, and straight black hair. Her neighbors declared that she was +the “main stake” in the “Tyler fence.” + +The children were “Mandy Calline,” the eldest, and her mother's special +pride, built on the same model with her mother; Joseph Zachariah, a +long-legged youth; Ann Elisabeth, a lanky girl; Susan Jane, and Jeems +Henry, or “Little Jim,” to distinguish him from his father; and last, but +by no means least in the household, came the baby. When she was born Mrs. +Tyler declared that as all the rest were named for different members of +both families, she should give this wee blossom a fancy name, and she had +the desire of her heart, and the baby rejoiced in the name of Elthania +Mydora, docked off into “Thancy” for short. + +They had risen from the table, and Father Tyler had hastened to his +mother's side as the old lady moved slowly away, and taking her arm, guided +her carefully to the house, for the eyes in the placid old face, looking +apparently straight before her, were stone-blind. + +“Come, now, gals,” said Mother Tyler, briskly, with the baby in her arms, +“make er hurry 'n' do up th' dishes. Come, Ann Elisabeth, go ter scrapin' +up, 'n', Mandy Calline, pour up th' dish-water.” + +“Ya'as, yer'd better make er hurry,” squeaked “Little Jim,” from his perch +in the window, “fer Mandy Calline's spectin' her beau ter-night.” + +“Ye'd best shet up yer clatter, Jim, lest ye know what yer talkin' erbout,” + retorted Mandy Calline, with a pout, making a dash at him with the +dish-cloth. + +“Yer right, Jim,” drawled Joseph Zachariah, lounging in the doorway. “I +heerd Zeke White tell 'er he was er-comin' ter-night.” + +“Mar--” began Mandy Calline, looking at her mother appealingly. + +“Shet up, you boys,” came in answer. “Zachariah, ha' ye parted th' cows 'n' +calves?” + +“No, 'm.” + +“Then be erbout it straight erway. Jim--you Jeems Henry!” + +“Ya'as, 'm,” from outside the window. + +“Go 'n' shet up the hen-'ouse, 'n' see ef th' black hen 'n' chickens ha' +gone ter roost in there. She'll keep stayin' out o' nights till th' fox 'll +grab 'er. Now, chillen, make 'er hurry 'n' git thee in here. Come, Thaney +gal, we'll go in th' house 'n' find pappy 'n' gra'mammy. Susan Jane, come +fetch th' baby's ole quilt 'n' spread it down on th' floor fer 'er”; and +Mother Tyler repaired to the house with the baby in her arms. + +“Why, mother, ye in here by yerself? I tho't Jeems Henry was with yer.” + +“Ya'as, Malviny, he was tell er minit ergo, 'n' he stepped out to th' lot,” + replied the old lady, in tones so like the expression of her face, mildly +calm, that it was a pleasure to hear her speak. + +“Ha! ye got thet baby wi' ye?” + +“Ya'as, 'm.” + +“I wish ye'd put her on my lap. Gra'mammy 'ain't had 'er none ter-day.” + +“Ya'as, 'm, in er minit. Run, Susan Jane, 'n' fetch er cloth ter wipe 'er +face 'n' han's; they're that stuck up wi' merlasses, ter say nothin' o' +dirt. Therey, therey, now! Mammy's gal don't want ter hev 'er face washed? +Hu! tu! tu! Thaney mustn't cry so. Where's Jeff? Here, Jeff--here, Jeff! +Ole bugger-man, come down the chimbly 'n' ketch this bad gal. You'd better +hush. I tell yer he's er-comin'. Here, Susan Jane, take th' cloth. There, +gra'mammy; there's jest es sweet er little gal es ye'd find in er dog's +age.” And the old lady at once cuddled the little one in her arms, swinging +back and forth in her home-made rocker, and crooning an old-time baby song. + +“Here, Susan Jane, han' me my knittin' from th' table, 'n' go 'n' tell Jim +ter pitch in some pine knots 'n' make er light in here, 'n' be quick erbout +it”; and Mother Tyler settled herself in another home-made rocker and began +to knit rapidly. + +This was the night-work of the female portion of the family, and numerous +stockings of various colors and in various stages of progress were stuck +about the walls of the room, which boasted neither ceiling nor lath and +plaster, making convenient receptacles between the posts and +weather-boarding for knitting-work, turkey-tail fans, bunches of herbs for +drying, etc. + +A pine-knot fire was soon kindled on the hearth, and threw its flickering +shadows on the room and its occupants as the dusk gathered in. + +Mandy Calline and Elisabeth, running a race from the kitchen, burst into +the back door, halting in a good-natured tussle in the entry. + +“Stop that racket, you gals,” called out the mother; and as they came in +with suppressed bustle, panting with smothered laughter, she asked, +briskly, “Have ye shet up everything 'n' locked th' kitchen door?” + +“Ya'as, 'm,” replied Mandy Calline; “'n' here's th' key on th' +mantel-shelf.” She then disappeared up the stairs which came down into the +sitting-room behind the back door. + +“Come, Ann Elisabeth, git yer knittin'. Git your'n too, Susan Jane.” + +“Yer'll ha' ter set th' heel fer me, mar,” said Susan Jane, hoping +privately that she would be too busy to do so. + +“Fetch it here,” from the mother, dashed the hope incontinently. + +“I think we're goin' ter ha' some fallin' weather in er day er two; sky +looks ruther hazy, 'n' I heerd er rain-crow ter-day, 'n' ther's er circle +roun' th' moon,” observed Father Tyler as he entered, and hanging his hat +on a convenient nail in a post, seated himself in the corner opposite his +mother. + +“Ha' ye got th' fodder all in?” queried his wife, with much interest. + +“Ya'as; finished ter-day; that's all safe; but er rain 'ould interfere +mightily wi' pickin' out cotton up in th' swamp, 'n' it's openin, mighty +fast; shouldn't be s'prised ef some er that swamp don't fetch er bale ter +th' acre, 'n' we'll have er right purty lot o' cotton, even atter th' +rent's paid out”; and Father Tyler, with much complacency, lighted his pipe +with a coal from the hearth. + +“Th' gals 'll soon ha' this erround th' house all picked out; they got +purty nigh over it ter-day, 'n' ther'll likely be one more scatterin' +pickin',” said Mother Tyler. + +Here a starched rustling on the stairs betokened the descent of Mandy +Calline. Pushing back the door, she stepped down with all the dignity which +she deemed suitable to don with her present attire. + +A new calico dress of a blue ground, with a bright yellow vine rambling up +its lengths, adorned her round, plump figure; her glossy black hair was +plaited, and surmounted with a huge red bow, the ends of which fluttered +out bravely; as she stepped slowly into the room, busying herself pulling a +basting out of her sleeve. + +“Well, Mandy Calline,” began her mother, “ef I do say it myself, yer frock +fits jest as nice as can be. Looks like ye had been melted 'n' run into it. +Nice langth, too,” eying her critically from head to foot. + +“Ya'as, 'm; 'n' it's comf'ble, too; ain't too tight ner nothin',” giving +her shoulders a little twitch, and moving her arms a bit. + +“I guess th' boys 'll ha' ter look sharp ef that gal sets 'er cap at any on +'em,” put in Father Tyler, gazing proudly at his first-born, whereupon a +toss of her head set the ribbon ends fluttering as she moved with great +dignity across the room to the fireplace. + +“Come, let me feel, dearie,” said the old lady, softly, turning her +sightless eyes toward the girl, hearing her movements in her direction. + +“Ya'as, gra'mammy,” and stepping nearer, she knelt at her grandmother's +feet, and leaning forward, rested her hands lightly on her shoulders. + +The old wrinkled hands groped their way to the girl's face, thence +downward, over her arms, her waist, to the skirt of her dress. + +“It feels nice, dearie, 'n' I know it looks nice.” + +“I'm glad ye like it, gra'mammy,” said the girl, gently. + +“Air ye spectin' comp'ny, dearie, that ye're all dressed up so nice? 'Pears +like ye wouldn't put on yer new frock lest ye wer'.” + +Noting the girl's hesitation, the old lady said, softly, “Whisper 'n' tell +gra'-mammy who's er-comin'”; and Mandy Calline, with an additional shade to +the red in her cheeks, leaned forward and shyly whispered a name in her +grandmother's ear. + +A satisfactory smile broke like sunshine over the kind old face, and she +murmured: “He's come o' good fambly, dearie. I knowed 'em all years ago. +Smart, stiddy, hard-workin', kind, well-ter-do people. I've been thinkin' +he's been er-comin' here purty stiddy, 'n' I knowed in my min' he warn't +er-comin' ter see Zachariah.” + +Bestowing a kiss on one aged cheek and a gentle pat on the other, Mandy +Calline arose to her feet, and lighting a splinter at the fire, opened the +door in the partition separating the two rooms and entered the “parlor.” + +This room was the pride of the family, as none of the neighbors could +afford one set apart specially for company. + +It was the only room in the house lathed and plastered. Mother Tyler, who +was truly an ambitious woman, had, however, declared in the pride of her +heart that this one at least should be properly finished. + +Mandy Calline, with her blazing splinter, lighted the lamp, quite a gay +affair, with a gaudily painted shade, and bits of red flannel with +scalloped edges floating about in the bowl. + +The floor was covered with a neatly woven rag carpet of divers gay colors. +Before the hearth, which displayed a coat of red ochre, lay a home-made rug +of startling pattern. The fireplace was filled with cedar boughs and +sweet-smelling myrtle. Two “boughten” rocking-chairs of painted wood +confronted each other primly from opposite ends of the rug. Half a dozen +straight-back chairs, also “boughten,” were disposed stiffly against the +walls. A large folding-leaf dining-table of real mahogany, an heirloom in +the family, occupied the space between two windows, and held a few +scattered books. + +The windows were covered with paper curtains of a pale blue tint. In the +centre of each a festive couple, a youth and damsel, of apparently Bohemian +type, with clasped hands held high, disported themselves in a frantic +dance. These pictures were considered by the entire neighborhood as resting +triumphantly on the top round of the ladder of art. + +Both parlor and sitting-room opened on a narrow piazza on the front of the +house, Father Tyler not caring to waste space in a hall or passage. + +Mandy Calline had flicked a bit of imaginary dust from the polished surface +of the table, had set a bit straighter, if that were possible, one or two +of the chairs, and turned up the lamp a trifle higher, when “Little Jim” + opened the door leading out on the piazza, and in tones of suppressed +excitement half whispered, “He's er-comin', Mandy Calline; Zeke's +er-comin'; he's nigh 'bout ter th' gate.” + +“Go 'long, Jim, 'n' shet up; ye allers knows more'n the law allows,” said +his sister; but she glanced quickly and shyly out of the door. + +Mr. Ezekiel White was just entering the gate. He was undoubtedly gotten up +at vast expense for the occasion. A suit of store clothes of a startling +plaid adorned his lanky figure, and a pair of new shoes cramped his feet in +the most approved style. A new felt hat rested lightly on his well-oiled +hair. But the crowning glory was a flaming red necktie which flowed in +blazing magnificence over his shirt front. + +Jeff, the yard dog, barked in neighborly fashion, as though yelping a +greeting to a frequent visitor whom he recognized as a favored one. + +“Susan Jane,” said the father, “step ter th' door 'n' see who Jeff's +er-barkin' at.” + +Eagerly the girl dropped her knitting and hastened to reconnoitre, curious +herself. + +“It's Zeke White,” she replied, returning to her work. + +“I knowed Mandy Calline was spectin' him,” muttered Ann Elisabeth, under +her breath. + +Father Tyler arose and sauntered to the door, calling out: “You Jeff, ef ye +don't stop that barkin'--Come here this minit, sir! Good-evenin', Zekle; +come in.” + +“Good-evenin”, Mr. Tyler. “Is Zachariah ter home?” + +“I dun'no'. Malviny, is Zachariah erroun' anywher's 'at ye know of?” + +“I dun'no'; I hain't seed 'im sence supper.” + +“I know,” piped up “Little Jim.” “He said es he was er-goin' ter Bill +Jackson's. But, Zeke,” he added, in a hurried aside, catching hold of the +visitor's coat in his eagerness, “Mandy Calline's ter home, 'n' she's fixed +up ter kill!” + +At this juncture Mandy Calline herself appeared in the doorway, striving to +look calmly indifferent at everything in general and nothing in particular; +but the expression in her bright black eyes was shifty, and the color in +her cheeks vied with that of the bow on her hair; and by this time Zekle's +entire anatomy exposed to view shared the tint of his brilliant necktie. + +“Good-evenin', Zekle,” said the girl, bravely assuming a calm superiority +to all embarrassment and confusion. “Will ye come in th' parlor, er had ye +ruther set out on th' piazza?” + +Zekle was wise; he knew that “Little Jim” dare not intrude on the sacred +precincts of the parlor, and he answered, “I'd jest es live set in th' +parlor, of it's all th' same ter you.” + +“Ya'as, I'd jest es live,” she replied, and led the way into the room; he +followed, and sat down in rather constrained fashion on the chair nearest +the door, deposited his hat on the floor beside him, took from his pocket +and unfolded with a flirt an immense bandanna handkerchief, highly redolent +of cheap cologne, and proceeded to mop his face with it. + +“It's ruther warm,” he observed. + +“Ya'as,” she replied, from a rocking-chair in the corner facing him. Here +there was a long pause, and presently she added, “Pappy said es how he +tho't it mought rain in er day er two.” + +The family in the sitting-room had settled down, the door being closed +between that room and the parlor. + +“There, mother, gi' Thaney ter me,” said Mother Tyler. “I know ye're tired +holdin' of her, fer she ain't no light weight,” and she lifted the little +one away. + +“Heigho, Thaney, air ye erwake yit?” questioned the father. + +“Erwake! Ya'as, 'n' likely ter be,” said the mother. “Thaney's one o' th' +setters-up, she is.” + +“Give 'er ter me, Malviny. Don't pappy's gal want er ride on pappy's foot? +See 'ere, now! Whoopee!” and placing the plump little body astride his +foot, the leg of which crossed the other, and clasping the baby hands in +his, he tossed her up and down till she crowed and laughed in a perfect +abandon of baby glee. A smiling audience looked on in joyous sympathy with +the baby's pleasure, the old gra'mammy murmuring softly, “It's like feelin' +the sunshine ter hear her laugh!” + +“There, pappy,” said Mother Tyler, anxiously, “that'll do; ye're goin' ter +git 'er so wide-erwake there'll be no doin' er thing with 'er. Come, now, +Thaney, let mammy put ye down here on yer quilt. Come, come, I _know_ ye've +forgot that ole bugger-man that stays up th' chimbly 'n' ketches bad gals! +There, now, that's mammy's nice gal. Git 'er playthings fer 'er, Susan +Jane. Jim, don't ye go ter sleep there in that door. Ha' ye washed yer +feet?” + +“No, 'm,” came drowsily from the doorway. + +“Why upon th' yeth do ye wait every blessed night ter be told ter wash yer +feet? Go straight 'n' wash 'em, 'n' then go ter bed. Come, gals, knit ter +th' middle 'n' put up yer knittin'; it's time for all little folks ter go +ter sleep 'n' look for ter-morrer. 'Pears like Thaney's goin' ter look fer +it with eyes wide open.” + +“Malviny, ye'll have ter toe up my knittin' fer me, Monday; I've got it +down ter th' narrerin', 'n' I can't do no more,” came softly from +gra'mammy's corner. + +“Ya'as, mother, I will; I could ha' toed it up this evenin' es well es not, +tho' ef I had, ye'd ha' started ernuther, 'n' ye'd need ter rest; ye're +allers knittin'.” + +“Ya'as, but, darter, it's all I kin do; 'n' I'm so thankful I kin feel ter +knit, fer th' hardest work is ter set wi' folded han's doin' nothin'.” + +“Well, mother, it's but sildom that I ever knowed yer ter set with folded +han's,” remarked her son, with proud tenderness. + +“Maybe, Jeems Henry; but I never tuck no consait ter myself fer workin', +because I jest nachally loved it. Yer pappy use ter say I was er born +worker, 'n' how he did use ter praise me fer bein' smart! 'n' that was sich +er help! Somehow I've minded me of 'im all day ter-day--of th' time when he +logged Whitcombe's mill down on Fallin' Crick. 'Twas--lemme see! Jeems +Henry, ye're how ole?” + +“Fifty-two my las' birthday.” + +“Well, that was fifty-one year ergo. You was all th' one I had then, 'n' +yer pappy was erway from home all th' week, 'cept from Sat'day evenin' tell +'fore day Monday monrin'. Melindy White staid wi' me; she was Zekle's +great-aunt, 'n' er ole maid, 'n' people did say she was monst'ous cross 'n' +crabbed, but she warn't never cross ter me. I mind me of er Sat'day, 'n' +I'd be spectin' of yer pappy home. I'd git up at th' fust cock-crow, 'n' go +wake Melindy, 'n' she'd grumble 'n' laff all in er breath, 'n' say: 'Ann +Elisabeth Tyler, ye're th' most onreasonablest creeter that I ever seed! +What in natur' do ye want ter git up 'fore day fer? Jest ter make th' time +that much longer 'fore Jim Tyler comes? I know ef I was married ter th' +President I wouldn't be es big er fool es ye air.' But, la! she'd git up +jest ter pleasure me, 'n' then sich cleanin' up, 'n' sich cookin' o' pies +'n' cakes 'n' chickens, 'n' gittin' ready fer yer pappy ter come!” And the +placid old face fairly glowed with the remembrance. “'N' I mind me,” she +crooned on, “of th' time when ye fust begun ter talk; I was er whole week +er-teachin' yer ter say two words; I didn't do much else. Melindy allowed +that I'd gone clean daft; 'n' when Sat'day come, 'long erbout milkin'-time, +I put on er pink caliker frock. I 'member it jest es well! it had little +white specks on the pink; he bought it at Miggs's Crossroads, 'n' said I +allers looked like er rose in it. I tuck ye in my arms 'n' went down ter +th' bars, where I allers stood ter watch fer 'im; he come in er boat ter +th' little landin' 'n' walked home, erbout er mile; 'n' when I seed 'im +comin', 'n' he'd got nigh ernuff, I whispered ter ye, 'n' ye clapped yer +little han's, 'n' fairly shouted out, 'Pappy's tumin'! pappy's tumin'!' +Dearie me, dearie me; I kin see 'im now so plain! He broke inter er run, +'n' I stepped over th' bars ter meet 'im, 'n' he gethered us both in his +arms, like es of he'd never turn loose; then he car'ied ye up to th' house +on one arm, the other one roun' my wais', 'n' he made ye say it over 'n' +over--'Pappy's tumin', pappy's tumin';' 'n' Melindy 'lowed we wer' 'th' +biggest pair o' geese'; but we was mighty happy geese jest th' same.” + +There was a pause. They were all listening. Then she went on. “Somehow +ter-day I felt like I use ter of er Sat'-day then, kinder spectin' 'n' +light-hearted. I dun'no' why; I ain't never felt so befo' in all these +years sence he died--forty-one on 'em; 'n' fifteen sence th' Lord shet down +th' dark over my eyes, day 'n' night erlike. Well, well; I've had er heap +ter be thankful fer; th' Lord has been good ter me; fer no mother ever had +er better son than ye've allers ben, Jeems Henry; 'n' of Malviny had er ben +my own darter, she couldn't er ben more like one; I've alleys ben tuck keer +on, 'n' waited on, 'n' 'ain't never ben sat erside fer no one. Ya'as, th' +Lord's ben good ter me.” She began to fumble for her handkerchief. + +“But, mother, ye don't say nothin' o' what er blessin' ye've ben to us,” + said her son. “Ye've teached us many er lesson by yer patience in yer +blindness.” + +“Ya'as, but, Jeems Henry, I had no call ter be nothin' else but patient; I +had no call ter be onreasonable 'n' fret 'n' worry 'n' say that th' Lord +had forsakened me when He hadn't. I knowed I'd only ter bide my time, 'n' +I'm now near seventy-two year old. Dear, dear, how th' time goes! Seems +like only th' other day when I was married! Was that nine the clock +struck?” + +“Ya'as, 'm.” + +“Well, I b'lieve I'll git ter bed.” + +“Wait, mother, let me help yer,” said her daughter, hastily throwing aside +her knitting. + +“We'll both help ye, mother,” said her son, putting one arm gently around +her as she arose from her chair. + +“Well, well,” she laughed, with soft content. “I sh'll be well waited on +with two children 'stid er one; but none too many--none too many.” + +Zekle White had made brave progress from the chair by the door to the other +rocker, drawn closely beside that of Mandy Calline; and he was saying, in +tones that suggested an effort: “I've seed other young ladies which may be +better-lookin' in other folkses' eyes, 'n' they may be more suiterbler ter +marry, but not fer me. Thar ain't but one gurl in this roun' worl' that I'd +ask ter be my wife, 'n', Mandy Calline, I've ben keepin' comp'ny wi' you +long ernuff fer ye ter know that ye air th' one.” He swallowed, and went +on: “I've got my house nigh erbout done. Ter be sho', 'tain't es fine es +this un, nor es big; but I kin add ter it, 'n' jest es soon es it is done I +want ter put my wife in it. Now, Mandy Calline, what yer say--will yer be +my wife?” + +Mandy Calline looked shy--much like a young colt when it is going to break +out of harness. She rocked back and forth with short spasmodic jerks, and +twisted her handkerchief into all conceivable shapes. + +“Yer don't know how sot on it I am,” he went on; “'n' all day long I'm +er-thinkin' how nice it 'll be when I'm er-workin', ploughin' maybe, up one +row 'n' down ernuther, 'n' watchin' th' sun go down, 'n' lookin' forerd ter +goin' ter th' house 'n' hev er nice little wife ter meet me, wi' everything +tidied up 'n' cheerful 'n' comf'ble.” Mandy Calline simply drooped her head +lower, and twisted her handkerchief tighter. “Mandy Calline, don't yer say +'no,'” he said. “I love yer too well ter give yer up easy; 'n' I swear ef +ye don't say `yes,' I'll set fire 'n' burn up th' new house, fer no other +'oman sha'n't never live there. I'm er-waitin', Mandy Calline, 'n' don't, +don't tell me no.” + +“Well, Zekle,” she began, with much hesitation, “bein' es how I don't see +no use in burnin' up er right new house, 'n' it not even finished, I guess +es how--maybe--in erbout two or three years--” + +“Two or three thunderations!” he cried out, ecstatically, seizing both her +hands in his. “Yer mean two or three weeks! Mandy Calline, do ye mean +ya'as, ye'll marry me? I want ter hear ye say it.” + +“Ya'as, Zekle,” she said, shyly. “Whoopee! I feel like I'd like ter jump up +'n' knock my heels tergether 'n' yell!” + +“Yer'd better try it er spell.” she said, smiling at him shyly, “'n' jest +see how soon ye'd ha' th' hull fambly er-rushin' in ter see what was the +matter.” + +Hereupon came the ominous sound of Father Tyler winding the clock in the +sitting-room; Zekle knew 'twas a signal for him to depart. + +“Well,” slowly rising, “I guess I got ter go, but I do mortally hate ter. +Come ter th' door wi' me, Mandy Calline”; and taking her hand, he drew her +up beside him, but she stood off a bit skittishly, and he knew that it +would be useless to ask the question which was trembling on his lips, so, +quick as a flash, he dropped one arm around her waist, tipped up her chin +with the other hand, and kissed her square on the mouth before she fairly +knew what he was about. + +“You Zekle White!” she cried out, snatching herself from his arm and +bestowing a rousing slap on his face. + +“I knowed ye wouldn't give me one, so I tuck it jest so. Good-night tell +ter-morrer, Mandy Calline; I'm goin' home 'n' dream erbout ye.” + +The next morning dawned bright and soft. A perfect September morning. +Father Tyler and the boys were at the lot feeding and milking. Mandy +Calline was cleaning up the house, her comely face aglow with her new-found +happiness. Susan Jane attended to the baby, while Ann Elisabeth helped her +mother “get breakfast.” + +“Gra'mammy was sleepin' so nice when I got up,” said the girl, “that I +crep' out 'n' didn't wake 'er. Had I better go see of she's erwake now, +mar? Breakfus is nigh erbout done.” + +“Not yet. Go tell Mandy Calline ter git th' milk-pitcher 'n' go to the +cow-pen 'n' fetch some milk fer breakfus. No tellin' when they'll git thoo +out there. Then you hurry back 'n' finish fryin' that pan o' pertaters. No +need ter 'sturb gra'mammy till breakfus is ready ter put on th' table; 'n' +yer pappy 'n' th' boys'll ha' ter wash when they come from th' lot.” And +Mother Tyler opened the stove door and put in a generous pan of biscuits to +bake. + +Mandy Calline, with the milk-pitcher in her hand, hurried out to the +cow-pen, which adjoined the stable lot. Her father was milking, Jim holding +the calves. Zachariah was in the lot feeding the horse and pigs. She had +just stepped over the bars into the pen, when who should appear, sauntering +up, but Zeke White! He assumed a brave front, and with hands thrust in his +pantaloons pockets, came up, whistling softly. + +“Good-mornin', Zekle,” greeted Father Tyler, rising from his stooping +position. + +“Good-mornin', Mr. Tyler. Fine mornin'.” + +“Ya'as; but I'm erfeared we're goin' ter hev rain in er day er two. I feel +ruther rheumaticky this mornin', er mighty shore sign that rain ain't fur +off. Want milk fer breakfus, Mandy Calline? Well, fetch here yer pitcher.” + +A shy “good-mornin”' had passed between Mandy Calline and Zekle, and he +sauntered up beside her, taking the pitcher, and as they stepped over the +bars Father Tyler, hospitably inclined, said: “Take breakfus with us, +Zekle? I lay Malviny 'll hev ernuff cooked ter give yer er bite.” + +With assumed hesitation Zekle accepted the invitation, and he and Mandy +Calline passed on to the house, he carefully carrying the pitcher of milk. + +He cleared his throat a time or two, and remarked again on the beauty of +the morning, to which she rather nervously assented; then suddenly, the +words seemingly shot out of him: “Mandy Calline, I'm goin' ter ask th' ole +folks ter-day. What yer say?” + +Mandy Calline was red as a turkey-cock, to which was now added a nervous +confusion which bade fair to overwhelm her. + +“It's too soon, Zekle. Whyn't yer wait er while?” she replied, tremblingly. + +“No, 'tain't too soon,” he answered, promptly. “I want it all done 'n' over +with, then I sh'll feel mo' like ye b'long ter me. I'm goin' ter ask 'em +ter-day; yer needn't say not. I know you're erfeared o' th' teasin'. But ye +needn't min' that; ye won't hev ter put up wi' it long; fer th' way I mean +ter work on that house ter git it done--well, 'twon't be long befo' it 'll +be ready ter put my wife in it.” + +“Well, Zekle,” said the girl, hesitatingly, “ef ye'd ruther ask 'em +ter-day, why--I guess es how--ye mought es well do it. But let's go 'n' +tell gra'mammy now; somehow I'd ruther she knowed it fust.” + +“We will,” replied Zekle, promptly. + +* * * * * + +Mother Tyler was putting breakfast on the table. She suddenly paused and +listened. Something was the matter. There were cries that betokened +trouble. She hastened to the house, followed her husband and the boys on to +gra'mammy's room, and there on the bed, in peaceful contrast to all this +wailing and sorrow, lay dear old gra'mammy, dead. The happiest smile +glorified the kind old withered face, and the wrinkled hands lay crossed +and still on her breast. She had truly met the husband of her youth, and +God had opened in death the eyes so darkened in life. + + + + +My Fifth in Mammy + + +By William Ludwell Sheppard + +I never knew a time in which I did not know Mammy. She was simply a part of +my consciousness; it seems to me now a more vivid one in my earliest years +than that of the existence of my parents. We five, though instructed by an +elder sister in the rudiments of learning, spent many more of our waking +hours with Mammy; and whilst we drew knowledge from one source, we derived +the greater part of our pleasure from the other--that is, outside of our +playmates. + +The moments just preceding bedtime, in which we were undergoing the process +of disrobing at the hands of Mammy, were periods of dreadful pleasure to +us. As I look back upon them, I wonder that we got any sleep at all after +some of her recitals. They were not always sanguinary or ghostly, and of +course when I scan them in the light of later years, it is apparent that +Mammy, like the majority of people, “without regard to color or previous +condition of servitude,” suffered her walk and conversation to be +influenced by her state of health, mental and bodily. Her walk--I am afraid +I must admit, as all biographers seem privileged to deal with the frailties +of their victims as freely as with their virtues--her walk, viewed through +the medium already alluded to, did not owe its occasional uncertainty to +“very coarse veins,” though that malady, with a slight phonetic difference, +Mammy undoubtedly suffered from, in common with the facts. She was a great +believer in “dram” as a remedial agent, and homoeopathic practice was +unknown with us at that period. + +Mammy's code of laws for our moral government was one of threats of being +“repoated to ole mahster,” tempered by tea of her own making dulcified by +brown sugar of fascinating sweetness, anecdote, and autobiography. + +The anecdotal part consisted almost exclusively of the fascinating +répertoire of Uncle Remus. Indeed, to know the charm of that chronicle is +reserved to the man or woman whose childhood dates from the _ante bellum_ +period, and who had a Mammy. + +In the autobiographical part Mammy spread us a chilling feast of horrors, +varied by the supernatural. Long years after this period I read a protest +in some Southern paper against this practice in the nursery, with its +manifest consequences on the minds of children. It set me to wondering how +it was that the consequences in my day seemed inappreciable. I do not +understand it now. Some of Mammy's stories would have been bonanzas to a +police reporter of today; others would have bred emulation in Edgar Poe. +And yet I do not recall any subsequent terrors. + +An account of the execution of some pirates, which she had witnessed when a +“gal,” was popular. She had a rhyme which condensed the details. The +condemned were Spaniards: + + Pepe hung, Qulo fell, + Felix died and went to ---- + +Mammy always gave the rhyme with awful emphasis. + +She had had an experience before coming into our family, by purchase, which +gave her easy precedence over all the mammies of all our friends. To be +sure, it was an experience which the other mammies, as “good membahs of de +chutch,” regarded as unholy; one which they congratulated themselves would +never lie on their consciences, and of which poor Mammy was to die +unshriven in their minds; for she never became a “sister,” so far as I ever +learned. + +But to us this experience was fruitful of many happy hours. Mammy had been +tire-woman to Mrs. Gilfert, the reigning star of that date, at the old +Marshall Theatre--the successor to one burnt in 1811. + +The habit of the stock companies in those days was to remain the whole +season, sometimes two or more, so Mammy had the opportunity to “assist” at +the entire repertoire. It is one of the regrets of my life that I am not +able to recall verbatim Mammy's arguments of the play, her descriptions of +some of the actors, and her comments. + +For some reason, when later on I wished to refresh my memory of these, +Mammy had either forgotten them or suspected the intention of my asking. +She ranked her experiences at the theatre along with her account of the +adventures of the immortal “Mollie Cottontail” (for we did not know him as +“Brer Rabbit”), and the rest of her lore, I suppose, and so could not +realize that my maturer mind would care for any of them. + +When I had subsequently made some acquaintance with plays, or read them, I +recognized most of those described by Mammy. Some remain unidentified. +Hamlet she preserved in name. Whilst she had no quotations of the words, +she had a vivid recollection of the ghost scenes, and “pisenin' de king's +ear.” She also gave us scenes in which “one uv them kings was hollerin' for +his horse”--plainly Richard. Julius Caesar she easily kept in mind, as some +acquaintance of her color bearing that name was long extant. I can still +conjure up her tones and manner when she declaimed “'Dat you, Brutus?' An' +he done stick him like de rest uv um; and him raised in de Caesar fam'ly +like he wuz a son!” + +The ingratitude of the thing struck through our night-gowns even then. + +The period when Mammy's sway weakened was indeterminate. We boys after a +while swapped places with Mammy, and made her the recipient of our small +pedantries. I do not recollect, however, that we were ever cruel enough to +throw her ignorance up to her. + +At last the grown-up sisters absorbed all of Mammy's spare time. Sympathy +was kept up between them after her bond with us was loosened, and they even +took hints from her in matters of the toilet that were souvenirs of her +stage days. + +In the course of time reverses and bereavements came to the family. The +girls had grown to womanhood and matrimony, and had begun their new lives +in other places. Then came the inevitable to the elders, and it became +necessary to convert all property into cash. + +We were happy in being able to retain a good many of our household gods, +and they are the Lares and Penates of our several homes to this day. We had +long since ceased to think of Mammy Becky--she was never Rebecca--as +property. In fact, we younger ones never thought of her as such. By law we +were each entitled to a fifth in Mammy. + +This came upon us in the nature of a shock at a family consultation on ways +and means, and there was a disposition on the part of every party to the +ownership to shift that responsibility to another. + +I must do ourselves the justice to say that such a thing as converting +Mammy into cash, and thus making her divisible, never for a moment entered +our minds. It seemed, however, that the difficulty had occurred to her. + +We all felt so guilty, when Mammy served tea that last evening, that we +were sure she read our thoughts in our countenances. It would be nearer the +truth to say that it was rather our fears that she should ever come to the +knowledge that the word “sale” had been coupled with her name. + +The next day we were to scatter, and it was imperative that some +disposition should be made of Mammy. The old lady--for old we deemed her, +though she could scarcely have been fifty--went calmly about the house +looking to the packing of the thousand and one things, and not only +looking, but using her tongue in language expressing utter contempt for all +“lazy niggers” of these degenerate days--referring to the temporary “help.” + The eldest sister was deputed to approach and sound Mammy on the momentous +question. + +The deputy went on her mission in fear and trembling. The interview was +easily contrived in the adjoining room. + +We were exceedingly embarrassed when we discovered that Mammy's part of the +dialogue was perfectly audible. As for the sister's, her voice could be +barely heard. So that the effect to the unwilling eavesdropper was that +which we are familiar with in these days of hearing a conversation at the +telephone. + +“Don't you bother yo'self 'bout me, Miss Frances.” + +Interval. + +“No, marm. I'd ruther stay right here in dis town whar ev'body knows me. +Doan yawl study 'bout me.” + +Several bars' rest, apparently. + +“Yes'm, I know hit's yo' duty to look after me, an' I belongs to all of +you; but Ise concluded to let yawl off. You can't divide me into five +parts, an' they ain' nah one uv you 'titled to any partickler part if you +could; most uv me ain't much 'count nohow, what with very coarse veins an' +so fothe. Oh, yes'm! I done study 'bout it plenty, an' I done concluded +that I'll let yawl off an' do fur myself. You know I'm a prime cake-maker, +bread-maker, an' kin do a whole pahcel uv other things besides; an' dress +young ladies for parties, whar I learnt at the ole the-etter, which they +built it after the fust one burnt up and all dem people whar dey got the +Monnymental Chutch over um now; an' any kind of hair-dress-in', curlin' wid +irons or quince juice, an' so fothe. No, don't you bother 'bout me.” + +So Mammy was installed in a small house in a portion of the city occupied +by a good many free people, and, as we subsequently ascertained, not +bearing a very savory reputation. + +We had heard it rumored that there were some suitors for Mammy's hand. She +had always avowed that she had been a “likely gal,” but we had to take her +word for this, as she had very slender claims to “likelihood”--if the word +suits hers--in our remembrance. She was nearly a mulatto--very “light +gingerbread,” or “saddle-colored”--and a widow of some years' standing. +Still, there was no accounting for tastes amongst the colored folks, any +more than there was amongst the whites in this matter. We surmised that +some of the aspirants suspected Mammy of having a _dot_, the accumulation +of many perquisites for her assistance on wedding occasions. It may be +remarked that she had no legal right to demand anything for such services. + +One of the sisters approached Mammy timidly on this subject, and was +assured positively by her that “they ain't no nigger in the whole +university whar I would marry. No, ma'm. I done got 'nough of um.” + +We knew that Mammy's married life had been a stormy one. Her husband, +Jerry, had been a skilful coach-painter, and got good wages for his master, +who was liberal in the 'lowance that was made by all generous owners to +slaves of this class. Jerry was a fervent “professor,” who came home drunk +nearly every night, and never failed to throw up to Mammy her dangerous +spiritual condition. Jerry was so vulnerable a subject that Mammy was +prepared to score some strong points against him. He invariably met these +retorts with roars of laughter and loud assertions of his being “in grace +once for all.” + +* * * * * + +Left the sole representative of my family in the city, I had to start a new +establishment, just as Mammy did. + +I made a visit to hers a few days after our separation, and came away with +my heart in my mouth at the sight of some of the familiar objects of +Mammy's room, and such of our own as she had fallen heir to, in strange +places and appositions. I also felt that Mammy's room had a more homelike +aspect than my own. + +There was no doubt that Mammy enjoyed her new conditions and surroundings. +She had been provided with a paper signed by some of us, stating that it +was with our permission that she lived to herself. This secured her free +movement at all times--the privilege of very few of her race not legally +manumitted. + +Her visits to me were quite frequent, and she never failed to find +something that needed putting to rights, and putting it so immediately, +with fierce comments on the worthlessness of all “high-lands,” which was +_negroce_ for hirelings--a class held in contempt by the servants owned in +families. + +I think that Mammy must have discovered the fact that my estate was +somewhat deteriorated. + +I was painfully conscious of this myself, and saw no prospect of its +amelioration. The little cash that had come to me was quite dissipated, and +my meagre salary was insufficient to satisfy my artificial wants--the only +ones that a young man cannot dispense with and be happy. + +In spite of the opinion prevailing in those days, that when a young man +embraced the career of an artist it was a farewell to all hope of a sober +and prosperous career, my father had been willing for me to follow my +manifest bent, and I was to sacrifice a university career as the +alternative. But the last enemy stepped between me and my hopes, and there +was nothing for it but to go to work. + +I had an ardent admirer in Mammy, who, in her innocence of a proper +standard, frequently compared my productions to a “music back” or a tobacco +label. That was before the days of chromos. + +Mammy turned up Sunday mornings to look after my buttons. Those were days +of fond reminiscence and poignant regret on my part. + +“Seems to me hit's time for you to be getting some new shirts, Mahs +William,” she said, one Sunday morning. Mammy touched me sorely there. A +crisis was certainly impending in my lingerie. + +“Oh, I reckon not. You must have got hold of a bad one, Mammy.” + +“I got hole uv all uv um what is out uv wash; and them gwine. The buttons +is shackledy on all uv um, too. I wish I wuz a washer; then you wouldn't +have to give yo' clothes out to these triflin' huzzies whar rams a iron +over yo' things like they wuz made uv iron too.” + +“I suppose that you are getting along pretty well, Mammy,” I remarked, +irrelevantly. + +“Oh, I kain' complain. I made two dollars an' five an' threppence out'n the +Scott party last week; an' I hear tell uv some new folks on Franklin Street +gwine give a big party, an' I'm spectin' somethin' out uv dat. Lawdy, +Lawdy, Mahs William,” she added, after a pause given to reflection, “hit +certainly does 'muse me to see how some 'r dese people done come up. But +they kain' fool me. I knows what's quality in town an' what ain't. I can +reckermember perfick when some uv these vay folks, when dey come to your +pa's front do', never expected to be asked in, but jess wait thar 'bout +their business ontwell yo' pa got ready to talk to um at the do'. Yes, sah. +I bin see some uv dese vay people's daddies”--Mammy used this word +advisedly--“kayin' their vittles in a tin bucket to their work; that what I +bin see.” + +I was shaving during this monologue of Mammy's, with my back to her. A +sudden exclamation of the name of the Lord made me start around and +endanger my nose. I was not startled at the irreverence of the expression, +however, as sacred names were familiar interjections of Mammy's, as of all +her race. + +“Ev'y button off'n these draw's,” Mammy answered to my alarmed +question--alarmed because I anticipated some disaster to my wardrobe. +“Hit's a mortal shame. I'll take 'em home, an' Monday I'll get some buttons +on Broad Street an' sew um on.” + +This was embarrassing. I had twelve and a half cents in Spanish silver coin +which I had reserved for the plate at church that day. I was going under +circumstances that rendered a contribution unavoidable. I hated to expose +my narrow means to Mammy, and said, carelessly, as I returned to my lather: +“Oh, never mind. Another time will do, Mammy.” + +“Another time! You reckermember my old sayin', don't you, 'a stitch in time +saves nine'? An' mo'n dat, bein' as this is the only clean pah you got, you +'bleest to have um next week fer de others to go to wash.” + +Confession was inevitable. “The fact is, Mammy, I don't happen to have any +change to-day that I can hand you for the buttons.” I was thankful that my +occupation permitted me to keep my face from Mammy. + +“Oh, ez fer that, Mahs William, yo' needn't bother. I got 'nough change +'round 'most all de time.” + +Mammy's tone was patronizing, and brought home to me such a realization of +my changed and waning fortunes as no other circumstance could have done. +Possibly I may have imagined it in my hypersensitiveness, but Mammy's voice +in that sentence seemed transformed, and it was another mammy who spoke. + +I apparently reserved my protest until some intricate passage in my shaving +was passed. At least I thought that Mammy would think so. I was really +trying to put my reply in shape. + +I was anticipated. + +“You know you is really 'titled to yo' fif's by law, Mahs William,” resumed +Mammy, in her natural manner, “because still bein' bond, you could call on +me, an' I don't begrudge you; in fact, Ise beholden to you.” + +“Not at all, Mammy. Don't talk any more about my fifth. You are as good as +free, you know.” + +“I knows that, Mahs William; but right is right, and I gwine to pay for +them buttons.” + +“Well, you may do that this time, Mammy, but I shall certainly return you +the money.” + +“Jess as you choose, Mahs William, but you's 'titled to yo' fif' all the +same.” + +I must note here a characteristic of Mammy's which had strengthened as her +powers failed, namely, “nearness.” The euphemism applied at first, though +Mammy yielded to temptations in the way of outfit as long as she deemed +herself “likely.” After that period a stronger expression was required. She +was always in possession of money, and was frequently our banker for a day, +when, in emergencies, our parents were not on hand. + +Monday I found my garment with its full complement of buttons, but of such +diversity of pattern that I planned a protest for Mammy's next visit. + +But when she explained that the bill was only fo'pence--six and a quarter +cents, Spanish--and that it was the fashion now, so she was told, “to have +they buttons diffunt, so they could dentrify they clothes,” I settled +without remark. Mammy's financial skill and resource in imagination +condoned everything. + +It is painful to record that Mammy, encouraged by immunity from inquiry and +investigation, no doubt, was tempted, as thousands of her betters have been +and will be, and yielded under subsequent and similar circumstances. + +My affairs took an unexpected turn now, and circumstances which have no +place here made it possible for me to go to New York, with the intention of +studying for my long-cherished purpose of making art my calling. + +I heard from Mammy from time to time--occasionally got a letter dictated by +her. They opened with the same formula, beginning with the fiction that she +“took her pen in her hand,” and continuing, “these few lines leaves me +tollerbul, and hoping to find you the same.” My friend, the amanuensis, +took great pleasure in reporting Mammy verbatim and phonetically. The times +were always hard for Mammy in these letters, but she “was scufflin' 'long, +thank Gawd, an' ain't don' forgot my duty to the 'state 'bout them fif's.” + +On my periodical visits home I always called upon her, and had a royal +reception. I had casually said in a message to her in one of my letters +that I never would forget her black tea and brown sugar. The old dame +remembered this, and on my first visit home and to her, and on all +succeeding visits, treated me to a brew of my favorite. + +“Jess the same, Mahs William. Come from Mr. Blar's jess the same.” + +But we become sophisticated in time. I found that Mammy's tea lingered in +my memory, it is true; and the prospect of a recurrence very nearly +operated against future visits. But virtue asserted herself, and I always +went. + +War now supervened. To it the brushes and the palette yielded. I returned +home, and to arms. While all this made a complete revolution in my affairs, +those of Mammy seemed to hold the even tenor of their way. + +I saw Mammy every time I had a furlough, and she repaired for me damages of +long standing. In sentiment she was immovably on my side. She objected +decidedly to any more of “them no-'count men bein' sot free,” and was very +doubtful whether any more of her own sex should be so favored, except +“settled women.” + +I do not know whether Mammy had a lurking suspicion that general +manumission meant competition or not. So far as I could make out, she fared +as she had long elected to do. Bacon and greens and her perennial tea were +good enough for her. And here may be noted the average negro's indifference +to cates. In my experience I never knew them to give up “strong food” for +delicate fare except on prescription. + +The next phase of my intercourse with Mammy was after the evacuation of the +city and the event of Appomattox. The first incident was, with the negroes' +usual talent that way, so transmogrified in pronunciation that it could +mean nothing to them. It stood to them for a tremendous change, one which +could not be condensed into a word, even though it exceeded their powers to +pronounce it. + +I had come back, as had thousands of others, with nothing in my hands, and +only a few days' rations accorded by the enemy in my haversack; had come +back to a mass of smoking débris and a wide area of ruin which opened +unrecognized vistas that puzzled, dazed, and pained the home-seeker. + +By instinct, I suppose, I drifted towards my _ante bellum_ quarters. My +former landlord gave me a speechless welcome. To my inquiry as to the +possibility of my reinhabiting my old quarters, he simply nodded and handed +me the key. The tears that I had seen standing on his lids rolled down as +he did so. + +The room was cumbered with the chattels of the last tenant. There was no +bed amongst them, but a roll of tattered carpet served me perfectly. I fell +asleep over a slab of hardtack. That evening, on waking, I bethought me of +Mammy. + +My kind host allowed me to make a toilet in his back room behind the store. +It consisted of a superficial ablution and the loan of a handkerchief. +Mammy was not in. A neighbor of her sex and color offered me a chair in her +house, but I sat in Mammy's tiny porch. + +This part of the city was unchanged, but I missed a familiar steeple which +had always been visible from Mammy's door. + +It was late afternoon when Mammy came. She did not recognize me, but paused +at the gate. + +“Ef you's a sick soldier you must go to the hospital; you kain' stay here,” + I heard her say before I roused myself sufficiently to speak. + +“Mammy.” + +An ejaculation of the name of the Lord that brought the neighbor to her +door went up, and Mammy caught my hands and wept. + +“Come in, my Gawd! Mahs William! you ain' hurted, is you?” + +She pushed a chair to me and took one herself. For a few moments she +confined herself to ejaculations of “Well! well! well!” and the name of the +Deity. Then, “The town is bu'nt up; the army done 'rendered, an' Mahs +William come back ragged ez a buzzard!” + +I did not interrupt her. I could think of nothing to say, and began to be +afraid that something was the matter with my brains. Meanwhile Mammy was +bustling about, and before I knew it she had started the little fire into a +blaze and the tea was boiling. + +The flickering light glinted over the walls. At first I did not heed what +it revealed; then I saw it glow and fade over some early efforts of my own, +frame-less crudities, to which Mammy had fallen heir. They had become old +masters! What centuries ranged themselves between the birth of those +pictures and now! + +This time tea was nectar, and after I had eaten a little cold middling +bacon and hoe-cake, that she had put before me on a fractured member of our +old Canton set, I took a more cheerful view of life. I believe that I would +have shed tears over these poor relics from happier days, except that I was +not quite conscious that anything was real that day. I told Mammy where I +was. She seemed to think it perfectly in the nature of things that I should +be there. Indeed, she appeared singularly calm in this cataclysm. + +I encountered friends on my return to my quarters, and had invitations +innumerable to meals and shelter. My costume was no drawback. Nobody knew +how anybody was dressed. + +The city was in a fever of excitement over the probable fate of those who +had not yet returned, and in making provision for the homeless. Mammy +turned up next morning with some of my civilian clothes that had been +confided to her. + +Mammy's simple “What you gwine do now, Mabs William?” thrown in whilst she +assisted by her presence at my complete change of toilet--lapse of time was +nothing to her--woke me to the momentous problem. There was no commissary +sergeant to distribute even the meagre rations that so long left us +ravenous after every meal. I could not camp in the Capitol Square, even if +I had wished so to do. + +Mammy left me with the injunction to call on her “ef I didn't have nowhar +else to go.” + +I went with unbroken fast to see what was left of the city. I met many +acquaintances on the same errand. None of us seemed to realize that day +what was to be done. For four years our campaigns had been planned for us. + +I learned from one acquaintance, however, that I could have rations for the +asking, and not long after found myself in line at the United States +Commissary Department, along with hundreds of others, and departed thence +bearing a goodly portion of hardtack and codfish. These I took to Mammy, +who cooked the fish for me under loud protests against the smell. + +Not long thereafter a number of us paroled soldiers made a mess, and cooked +for ourselves at the room of one of them. + +On one of these indeterminate days--dates had become nothing to me--I saw a +dapper young man sketching about the ruins. I spoke to him, and mentioned +that his had been my profession. This acquaintance was the beginning of +hope. + +I showed the young man places of interest, gave him points about a good +many things, and at last fell to making sketches to help him out. They were +perfectly satisfactory and liberally paid for. With this capital I set +myself up in another place, which had a north light--by-the-way, I had been +dispossessed of the asylum where I first found shelter, as the previous +tenant returned. I was able to purchase material and apparel. But what was +I to paint, and where to sell the product? My hand was out, I discovered, +so I set to studying still life, and painting those of my friends who had +the patience to sit. + +I would have gone back to my old haunts in New York but for the material +reason that my funds were too low, and the sentimental one that I not only +was not in the humor for appealing to citizens of that section for +patronage, but was not sure that it would not be withheld, from an +analogous state of mind towards me. + +Summer ran into fall. Mammy's visits increased in frequency, and her +conversation drifted towards the difficulties of living. + +I had long ago discharged all of her claims for material and repairs, but I +noticed a tendency on her part to prepare my mind for a regular subsidy. I +ignored these hints because it was impossible for me to carry out Mammy's +plan, and painful for me to say so. + +She approached the matter in a different way finally, and said, one day: + +“Mahs William, you been cayin' on yo' fif' for some time now. Doan you +think it's time for some of the yothers to look after them?” + +I suggested that the whole family was about on a parity financially; that +one brother was drifting in the trans-Mississippi, another living more +precariously than I was. Suddenly a thought struck me, and I proposed that +Mammy should apply to my married sister in the country, who could at least +give her a home. + +Mammy was very nearly indignant in her rejection of the proposition. + +“Me live in de country! Why, Mahs William, I'm town-bred to de backbone. +What I gwine do thar? Whar's anybody whar'll want my sponge-cake, jelly, +and blue-monge, whar I can git ez much ez I wants to do in town? Who gwine +want my clar-starchin' an' pickle-makin' an' ketchups? Dem tacky people +doan want none of my makin's.” + +I ventured to remind Mammy that all dwellers in the country were not +tackies. + +“I know dat, sah; but whole parcel of um is. Besides, heap uv de quality +folks is poor an' in trouble sence the revackeration. I'd rather give up my +other fif's fust.” + +Of course Mammy's propositions were contradictory, but I had long known +that she was not gifted with a logical mind, so I made no attempt to +convict her of inconsistency. + +From time to time I got small jobs of drawings for architects, as people +had begun to bestir themselves and rebuild. I had been assured that I would +find no prejudice against me in New York, but would stand on my own merits. +I was not profoundly convinced that this was a safe risk for me to take. +But living here was becoming impossible. Our own people were out of the +question as purchasers of pictures. My still-lifes, from long exposure in +the window of a friendly merchant in Broad Street, were becoming the +camping-ground of the flies, and deteriorating rapidly. I was not strong in +landscape, and the only subjects which suggested themselves were military, +taken from my point of view politically, and not likely to be convertible +into cash by persons of other convictions. + +I was leaning against my ceiling one gray afternoon--at least I suppose it +should be called ceiling, for it ran from the highest part of the chamber +on an angle to the floor, and was pierced by a dormer--and contemplating a +bunch of withered flowers which I had studied almost into dissolution, when +Mammy knocked. + +I had laid my palette on the floor, and was standing with my hands in my +pockets. They fumbled, on one side with my bunch of keys, on the other with +a small roll of small bills, the dreadful fractional currency of that era, +whilst, in imagination, I projected my motive on the bare canvas, a twenty +by twenty-four. I was sorry that Mammy had come, because a subject was +beginning to take form in my mind. It was suggested by the withered +flowers. + +I thought that it would be a good idea to group them with a bundle of +letters, some showing age, the top one with a recent postmark, and call the +composition “Dead Hopes.” My thoughts were divided between the selection of +a postmark for the top letter and the possibility of getting a frame, +whilst Mammy was going through the process of finding a chair and seating +herself. The invitation to come in implied the other courtesies. + +The old lady was marvellously attired, and I wondered what could be the +occasion of it. She had on a plaid shawl of purple, green, and red +checkers, crossed on her bosom. Around her throat there was a lace collar +of some common sort, held by a breastpin of enormous value if calculated by +the square inch. She wore her usual turban of red and white, but on the top +of it to-day was a straw bonnet of about the fashion of 1835, with flowers +inside, and from it depended a green veil. Her frock was silk of an +indescribable tint, the result of years of fading, and was flounced. The +old lady had freed herself of her black cotton gloves, and was rolling them +into a ball. I sighed inwardly, for this was the outward sign of +undeterminable sitting. + +Suddenly the self-arranged color scheme struck me as the cool light fell +over Mammy. I seated myself and seized my palette. + +“Sit still, Mammy, right where you are. I'm going to paint you.” + +“Namer Gawd! paint me, Mahs William? After all dem pretty things whar you +kin paint, paint yo' old Mammy?” She slapped herself on the knees, called +the name of the Lord several times, and burst into the heartiest laugh that +I had heard from her for some time. + +“Yes, Mammy, just sit right still, and don't talk much, and I won't make +you tired.” + +I worked frantically, getting in the drawing as surely as I could, then +attacked the face in color. The result was a success that astonished me. +Mammy's evident fatigue stopped me. It was fortunate. I might have painted +more and spoiled my study. I thought that she would go now, but her mission +was not fulfilled. She had come to consult me on an important matter. + +“You know this Freedman's Bureau, Mahs William? Well, they tells me--Lawd +knows what they calls it bureau for!--they tells me that of a colored +pusson goes down thar and gives in what he wuz worth--women either, mind +you--that the guv'mint would pay um.” + +Mammy paused for corroboration, but I determined to hear what she might add +to this remarkable statement. “Well?” + +“Well, sah, I didn't want to go down thar without no price, so I called in +to arst you what you might consider yo' fif' worth, an' five times ovah.” + +I did not laugh at Mammy. The emancipated negroes had such utterly wild +notions of what was going to be done for them that Mammy's statement did +not surprise me very much. I let her go with the assurance that I would +inquire into the matter. She left enjoining me not to put that “fif' too +cheap,” and I insisting that she should not go to the Bureau, in deference +to whose officials her astonishing toilet had evidently been made. + +I was so much pleased with my own work that it was nearly twilight before +the knock of a familiar friend roused me. He was a clever amateur, and took +the greatest interest in my work. His enthusiasm over Mammy's effigy made +me glow. He agreed to pose for me in Mammy's costume. + +Next day I borrowed the outfit without intimating that it was to be worn by +anybody. Mammy was over-nervous about its being properly cared for. I think +that she still contemplated appearing in it at the Bureau. + +In a week the picture was complete. My model and I went out and celebrated +appropriately but frugally. + +A small label in the corner gave the title to the picture--“My old Mammy.” + +My friend gave my work a place in his window, and my acquaintances +generally accorded unqualified praise. The older ones recognized Mammy at +once. + +Pending a purchaser for this, I started my deferred subject, and changed it +into a figure piece. A lovely friend was my model. She contemplated the +flowers and letters. Above the old piece of furniture on which she leaned +there hung a photograph, a sword, and a sash--a more striking suggestion of +my first title, “Dead Hopes.” How little I dreamed, as I worked, that there +was such happy irony in the name, and that Mammy could ever, in the +remotest way, conduce to such a result! + +Nearly every morning I hovered about my friend's establishment at a +sufficient distance to elude suspicion of my anxiety, but easily in visual +range of my exhibit. + +One morning it was not visible. I rushed to the store with a throbbing +breast. Alas! the picture had only been shifted to another light. Before +the revulsion of feeling had time to overpower me I was seized by my friend +the merchant. + +“It's a regular play,” he exclaimed. + +He forced me to a seat on a pile of cheese-boxes, and facing me, began: + +“Yesterday, the old lady,” pointing to the picture, “came in. She took no +notice of her portrait, but said that she had failed to find you; that she +was anxious to hear what you had done about the Bureau business.” (I had +forgotten it utterly.) “Well, I could tell her nothing, and she started to +go out just as a group opened the door to come in. Mammy made one of her +courtly bows, and gave place. The young lady who was one of the three +coming in, the others evidently her parents, said, in a loud whisper, 'Why, +it's she!' Mammy, who either did not hear or did not understand, was about +to pass out, when the young lady accosted her with, 'I beg your pardon, but +isn't that your portrait?' + +“'I grant you grace, young mistiss, but sence I looks, hit is. Hit wuz did +by my young mahster, which he can do all kinds of pictures lovely.' + +“'Your young master?' the young lady said--sweet voice, too; dev'lish +handsome girl--'your young master?' Then she said aside to the others, +'Isn't it charmingly interesting?' + +“'Yes, 'm, I call him so. But really I'm only his'n a fif'.' + +“'His fif?' the young lady said, looking puzzled. I stepped up to them to +explain, just for politeness, though I was sure that they weren't +customers, 'She means that he owned a fifth interest in her previous +to--the recent change in affairs.' + +“'That's hit,' said Mammy, nodding to them. 'But I don't expect to hear +from the other fif's. It don't make much diffunce, howsomever, bein' ez how +the Bureau is gwine settle up.' + +“The visitors evidently did not understand this. I explained what Mammy was +after--you had told me, you know. They were very much amused, and asked a +heap of questions. After a little talk between themselves, in which I could +not help seeing that the young lady was very earnest, the gentleman asked: + +“'Is the work for sale?' Was it for sale!” + +My friend nearly prostrated me with a hearty punch by way of expressing his +feelings, whilst I was choking for an answer. + +“Well, sir, I gave him the figger. He bought so quick that it made me sick +I hadn't asked more. Looker here!” + +He displayed two new greenbacks which covered the amount. We embraced. + +At last Mammy had become a source of revenue. I must, in justice to myself, +record the fact that a resolve immediately took form in my mind that she +also should be a beneficiary of my good fortune. + +My friend wanted me to take the picture down myself. I told him that it was +not ethical to do so. The precious burden was confided to his porter. When +we returned to his store we found the gentleman there who had made the +purchase. I was duly presented by my friend. + +The gentleman said that he had not noticed my name on the picture +particularly, nor on the receipt given by the merchant for the money, which +gave the title and painter of the work, until he had gotten back to the +hotel, when his wife recognized it and remembered having been in my +studio--a fine name for a small concern--in New York, and that we had many +friends in common there. + +The upshot of the matter was that the gentleman gave me an invitation to +call at the Spottswood. I went the next day. + +They were immensely amused and interested with any particulars about her. +The father--the names are immaterial, the young lady's was Elaine--asked me +jocularly at what sum I estimated my fifth in Mammy. I had previously +convinced him that we never had the remotest idea of parting with the old +lady. Consequently we had never estimated her value, but that I thought my +fifth at the time of the settling of the estate would have been about one +hundred dollars. After I had made several visits, the three came to see my +other picture. + +The day after their departure Mammy called. She was in fine spirits over a +visit that she had made to my new friends, at their earnest request. All +the time that she was speaking she was working at a knot in the corner of +her handkerchief. I knew that she kept her small valuables there, but was +thunderstruck when she extracted two fifty-dollar bills. + +“Why, Mammy! Where--” + +“Dat's all right, honey. The Bureau gent'man fix it all, jess like I tole +you. He said dat he done 'nquired, an' yo' fif' was wuth dat--two fifties, +one hundred--an' I let him off de res.” + +“But what gentleman?” + +“Dat gent'man whar was at de Spottswood Hotel. He tole me he wuz agent for +de Bureau. An' I tell you, Mahs William, dey's quality, dem folks. You +kain' fool Becky.” + +Of course I did not enlighten Mammy. What would have been the use? + +Not many days thereafter I got a request to ship my “Dead Hopes,” at my +price, to the address of a frame-maker in New York. Elaine's father said +that he had a purchaser for it. I discovered later that he was a master of +pleasant fiction. + +When I wondered, long after, to him that he should have bought a +Confederate picture, he convinced me that my picture had nothing +confederate in it; that he had inferred that I had painted it in a catholic +spirit. The lady was in mourning, the flowers faded, the letters too small +for postmark, the picture on the wall a colorless photograph, and the sword +a regulation pattern common to both armies. He thought it very skilfully +planned, and complimented me on it. I was silent. All the Confederate part +and point had been in my mind. + +About a year after this--I had been located in New York some months--Elaine +and I came on a visit to Richmond. I might just as well say that it was our +bridal trip. + +We looked up Mammy in her comfortable quarters. She had been well provided +for. There was some little confusion in her mind at first as to who Elaine +was, but on being made to understand, called down fervent blessings upon +her head. + +“Now the old lady kin go happy. I always said that I had nussed Mahs +William, an' of I jess could live long 'nuff to--” + +Elaine cut in rather abruptly, I thought. + +“Why, Mammy, what a beautiful vine you have on your stoop!” + +“What's stoop, honey? Dat's a poach.” + +Mammy lived some years longer, aging comfortably, and unvexed by any +question of fractions. She died a serene integer, with such comfortable +assurance of just valuation as is denied most of us, and contented that it +should be expressed in terms that were, to her, the only sure criterion +applicable to her race. + + + + +An Incident + + +BY SARAH BARNWELL ELLIOTT + +It was an ordinary frame house standing on brick legs, and situated on a +barren knoll, which, because of the dead level of marsh and swamp and +deserted fields from which it rose, seemed to achieve the loneliness of a +real height. The south and west sides of the house looked out on marsh and +swamp; the north and east sides on a wide stretch of old fields grown up in +broom-grass. Beyond the marsh rolled a river, now quite beyond its banks +with a freshet; beyond the swamp, which was a cypress swamp, rose a railway +embankment leading to a bridge that crossed the river. On the other two +sides the old fields ended in a solid black wall of pine-barren. A roadway +led from the house through the broom-grass to the barren, and at the +beginning of this road stood an outhouse, also on brick legs, which, save +for a small stable, was the sole out-building. One end of this house was a +kitchen, the other was divided into two rooms for servants. There were some +shattered remnants of oak-trees out in the field, and some chimneys +overgrown with vines, showing where in happier times the real homestead had +stood. + +It was toward the end of February; a clear afternoon drawing toward sunset; +and all the flat, sad country was covered with a drifting red glow that +turned the field of broom-grass into a sea of gold; that lighted up the +black wall of pine-barren, and shot, here and there, long shafts of light +into the sombre depths of the cypress swamp. There was no sign of life +about the dwelling-house, though the doors and windows stood open; but +every now and then a negro woman came out of the kitchen and looked about, +while within a dog whined. + +Shading her eyes with her hand, this woman would gaze across the field +toward the ruin; then down the road; then, descending the steps, she would +walk a little way toward the swamp and look along the dam that, ending the +yard on this side, led out between the marsh and the swamp to the river. +The over-full river had backed up into the yard, however, and the line of +the dam could now only be guessed at by the wall of solemn cypress-trees +that edged the swamp. Still, the woman looked in this direction many times +and also toward the railway embankment, from which a path led toward the +house, crossing the heap of the swamp by a bridge made of two felled trees. + +But look as she would, she evidently did not find what she sought, and +muttering “Lawd! Lawd!” she returned to the kitchen, shook the tied dog +into silence, and seating herself near the fire, gazed sombrely into its +depths. A covered pot hung from the crane over the blaze, making a thick +bubbling noise, as if what it contained had boiled itself almost dry, and a +coffee-pot on the hearth gave forth a pleasant smell. The woman from time +to time turned the spit of a tin kitchen wherein a fowl was roasting, and +moved about the coals on the top of a Dutch oven at one side. She had made +preparation for a comfortable supper, and evidently for others than +herself. + +She went again to the open door and looked about, the dog springing up and +following to the end of his cord. The sun was nearer the horizon now, and +the red glow was brighter. She looked toward the ruin; looked along the +road; came down the steps and looked toward the swamp and the railway path. +This time she took a few steps in the direction of the house; looked up at +its open windows, at the front door standing ajar, at a pair of gloves and +a branch from the vine at the ruin, that lay on the top step of the piazza, +as if in passing one had put them there, intending to return in a moment. +While she looked the distant whistle of a locomotive was heard echoing back +and forth about the empty land, and the rumble of an approaching train. She +turned a little to listen, then went hurriedly back to the kitchen. + +The rumbling sound increased, although the speed was lessened as the river +was neared. Very slowly the train was moving, and the woman, peeping from +the window, watched a gentleman get off and begin the descent of the path. + +“Mass Johnnie!” she said. “Lawd! Lawd!” and again seated herself by the +fire until the rapid, firm footstep having passed, she went to the door, +and standing well in the shadow, watched. + +Up the steps the gentleman ran, pausing to pick up the gloves and the bit +of vine. The negro groaned. Then in the open door, “Nellie!” he called, +“Nellie!” + +The woman heard the call, and going back quickly to her seat by the fire, +threw her apron over her head. + +“Abram!” was the next call; then, “Aggie!” + +She sat quite still, and the master, running up the kitchen steps and +coming in at the door, found her so. + +“Aggie!” + +“Yes, suh.” + +“Why didn't you answer me?” + +The veiled figure rocked a little from side to side. + +“What the mischief is the matter?” walking up to the woman and pulling the +apron from over her face. “Where is your Miss Nellie?” + +“I dun'no', suh; but yo' supper is ready, Mass Johnnie.” + +“Has your mistress driven anywhere?” + +“De horse is in de stable, suh.” The woman now rose as if to meet a climax, +but her eyes were still on the fire. + +“Did she go out walking?” + +“Dis mawnin', suh.” + +“This morning!” he repeated, slowly, wonderingly, “and has not come back +yet?” + +The woman began to tremble, and her eyes, shining and terrified, glanced +furtively at her master. + +“Where is Abram?” + +“I dun'no', suh!” It was a gasping whisper. + +The master gripped her shoulder, and with a maddened roar he cried her name +--“Aggie!” + +The woman sank down. Perhaps his grasp forced her down. “'Fo' Gawd!” she +cried--“'fo Gawd, Mass Johnnie, I dun'no'!” holding up beseeching hands +between herself and the awful glare of his eyes. “I'll tell you, suh, Mass +Johnnie, I'll tell you!” crouching away from him. “Miss Nellie gimme out +dinner en supper, den she put on she hat en gone to de ole chimbly en git +some de brier what grow dey. Den she come back en tell Abram fuh git a +bresh broom en sweep de ya'd. Lemme go, Mass Johnnie, please, suh, en I +tell you better, suh. En Abram teck de hatchet en gone to'des de railroad +fuh cut de bresh. 'Fo' Gawd, Mass Johnnie, it's de trute, suh! Den I tell +Miss Nellie say de chicken is all git out de coop, en she say I muss ketch +one fuh unner supper, suh; en I teck de dawg en gone in de fiel' fuh look +fuh de chicken. En I see Miss Nellie put 'e glub en de brier on de step, en +walk to'des de swamp, like 'e was goin' on de dam--'kase de water ent rise +ober de dam den--en den I gone in de broom-grass en I run de chicken, en I +ent ketch one tay I git clean ober to de woods. En when I come back de glub +is layin' on de step, en de brier, des like Miss Nellie leff um--” She +stopped, and her master straightened himself. + +“Well,” he said, and his voice was strained and weak. + +The servant once more flung her apron over her head, and broke into violent +crying. “Dat's all, Mass Johnnie! dat's all! I dun'no' wey Abram is gone; I +dun'no' what Abram is do! Nobody ent been on de place dis day--dis day but +me--but me! Oh, Lawd! oh, Lawd en Gawd!” + +The master stood as if dazed. His face was drawn and gray, and his breath +came in awful gasps. A moment he stood so, then he strode out of the house. +With a howl the dog sprang forward, snapping the cord, and rushed after his +master. + +The woman's cries ceased, and without moving from her crouching position +she listened with straining ears to the sounds that reached her from the +stable. In a moment the clatter of horses' hoofs going at a furious pace +swept by, then a dead silence fell. The intense quiet seemed to rouse her, +and going to the door, she looked out. The glow had faded, and the gray +mist was gathering in distinct strata above the marsh and the river. She +went out and looked about her as she had done so many times during that +long day. She gazed at the water that was still rising; she peered +cautiously behind the stable and under the houses; she approached the +wood-pile as if under protest, gathered some logs into her arms and an axe +that was lying there; then turning toward the kitchen, she hastened her +steps, looking back over her shoulder now and again, as if fearing pursuit. +Once in the kitchen she threw down the wood and barred the door; she shut +the boarded window-shutter, fastening it with an iron hook; then leaning +the axe against the chimney, she sat down by the fire, muttering, “If dat +nigger come sneakin' back yer now, I'll split 'e haid open, _sho_.” + +Recovering a little from her panic, she was once more a cook, and swung the +crane from over the fire, brushed the coals from the top of the Dutch oven, +and pushed the tin kitchen farther from the blaze. “Mass Johnnie'll want +sump'h'n to eat some time dis night,” she said; then, after a pause, “en I +gwine eat _now_.” She got a plate and cup, and helped herself to hominy out +of the pot, and to a roll out of the oven; but though she looked at the +fowl she did not touch it, helping herself instead to a goodly cup of +coffee. So she ate and drank with the axe close beside her, now and then +pausing to groan and mutter--“Po' Mass Johnnie!--po' Mass Johnnie!--Lawd! +Lawd!--if Miss Nellie had er sen' Abram atter dat chicken--like I tell +um--Lawd!” shaking her head the while. + +Through the gathering dusk John Morris galloped at the top speed of his +horse. Reaching the little railway station, he sprang off, throwing the +reins over a post, and strode in. + +“Write this telegram for me, Green,” he said; “my hand trembles. + +“_To Sam Partin, Sheriff, Pineville:_ + +“My wife missing since morning. Negro, Abram Washington, disappeared. Bring +men and dogs. Get off night train this side of bridge. Will be fire on the +path to mark the place. + +“JOHN MORRIS.” + +“Great God!” the operator said, in a low voice. “I'll come too, Mr. +Morris.” + +“Thank you,” John Morris answered. “I'm going to get the Wilson boys, and +Rountree and Mitchell,” and for the first time the men's eyes met. +Determined, deadly, sombre, was the look exchanged; then Morris went away. + +None of the men whom Morris summoned said much, nor did they take long to +arm themselves, saddle, and mount, and by nine o'clock Aggie heard them +come galloping across the field; then her master's voice calling her. There +was little time in which to make the signal-fire on the railroad +embankment, and to cut light-wood into torches, even though there were many +hands to do the work. John Morris's dog followed him a part of the way to +the wood-pile, then turned aside to where the water had crept up from the +swamp into the yard. Aggie saw the dog, and spoke to Mr. Morris. + +“Dat's de way dat dawg do dis mawnin', Mass Johnnie, an' when I gone to +ketch de chicken, Miss Nellie was walkin' to'des dat berry place.” + +An irresistible shudder went over John Morris, and one of the gentlemen +standing near asked if he had a boat. + +“The bateau was tied to that stake this morning,” Mr. Morris answered, +pointing to a stake some distance out in the water; “but I have another +boat in the top of the stable.” Every man turned to go for it, showing the +direction of their fears, and launched it where the log bridge crossed the +head of the swamp, and where now the water was quite deep. + +The whistle was heard at the station, and the rumble of the on-coming +train. The fire flared high, lighting up the group of men standing about +it, booted and belted with ammunition-belts, quiet, and white, and +determined. + +Many curious heads looked out as the sheriff and his men--six men besides +Green from the station--got off; then the train rumbled away in the +darkness toward the surging, turbulent river, and the crowd moved toward +the house. + +Mr. Morris told of his absence in town on business. That Abram had been +hired first as a field-hand; and that later, after his marriage, he had +taken Abram from the field to look after his horse and to do the heavier +work about the house and yard. + +“And the woman Aggie is trust-worthy?” + +“I am sure of it; she used to belong to us.” + +“Abram is a strange negro?” + +“Yes.” + +Then Aggie was called in to tell her story. Abram had taken the hatchet and +had gone toward the railroad for brush to make a broom. She had taken the +dog and gone into the broom-grass to catch a fowl, and the last she had +seen of her mistress she was walking toward the dam, which was then above +the water. + +“How long were you gone after the chicken?” + +“I dun'no', suh; but I run um clean to de woods 'fo' I ketch um, en I walk +back slow 'kase I tired.” + +“Were you gone an hour?” + +“I spec so, suh, 'kase when I done ketch de chicken I stop fuh pick up some +light-wood I see wey Abram been cuttin' wood yistiddy.” + +“And your mistress was not here when you came back--nor Abram?” + +“No, suh, nobody; en 'e wuz so lonesome I come en look in dis house fuh +Miss Nellie, but 'e ent deyyer; en I look in de bush fuh Abram, but I ent +see um nudder. En de dawg run to de water en howl en ba'k en ba'k tay I tie +um up in de kitchen.” + +“And was the boat tied to the stake this morning?” + +“Yes, suh; en when I been home long time en git scare, den I look en see de +boat gone.” + +“You don't think that your mistress got in the boat and drifted away by +accident?” + +“No, suh, nebber, suh; Miss Nellie 'fraid de water lessen Mass Johnnie is +wid um.” + +“Is Abram a good boy?” + +“I dun'no', suh; I dun'no' nuffin 'tall 'bout Abram, suh; Abram is strange +nigger to we.” + +“Did he take his things out of his room?” + +“Abram t'ings? Ki! Abram ent hab nuttin' ceppen what Miss Nellie en Mass +Johnnie gi' um. No, suh, dat nigger ent hab nuttin' but de close on 'e back +when 'e come to we.” + +The sheriff paused a moment. “I think, Mr. Morris,” he said at last, “that +we'd better separate. You, with Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Rountree, had better +take your boat and hunt in the swamp and marsh, and along the river-bank. +Let Mr. Wilson, his brothers, and Green take your dog and search in the +pine-barren. I'll take my men and my dogs and cross the railroad. The +signal of any discovery will be three shots fired in quick succession. The +gathering-place'll be this house, where a member of the discovering +party'll meet the other parties and bring 'em to the discovery. And I beg +that you'll refrain from violence, at least until we can reach each other. +We've no proof of anything--” + +“Damn proof!” + +“An' our only clew,” the sheriff went on, “the missing boat, points to Mrs. +Morris's safety.” A little consultation ensued; then agreeing to the +sheriff's distribution of forces, they left the house. + +The sheriff's dogs--the lean, small hounds used on such occasions--were +tied, and he held the ropes. There was an anxious look on his face, and he +kept his dogs near the house until the party for the barren had mounted and +ridden away, and the party in the boat had pushed off into the blackness of +the swamp, a torch fastened at the prow casting weird, uncertain shadows. +Then ordering his six men to mount and to lead his horse, he went to the +room of the negro Abram and got an old shirt. The two lean little dogs were +restless, but they made no sound as he led them across the railway. Once on +the other side, he let them smell the shirt, and loosed them, and was about +to mount, when, in the flash of a torch, he saw something in the grass. + +“A hatchet!” he said to his companions, picking it up; “and clean, thank +God!” + +The men looked at each other, then one said, slowly, “He coulder drowned +her?” + +The sheriff did not answer, but followed the dogs that had trotted away +with their noses to the ground. + +“I'm sure the nigger came this way,” the sheriff said, after a while. +“Those others may find the poor young lady, but I feel sure of the nigger.” + +One of the men stopped short. “That nigger's got to die,” he said. + +“Of course,” the sheriff answered, “but not by Judge Lynch's court. This +circuit's got a judge that'll hang him lawfully.” + +“I b'lieve Judge More will,” the recalcitrant admitted, and rode on. “But,” + he added, “if I know Mr. John Morris, that nigger's safe to die one way or +another.” + +They rode more rapidly now, as the dogs had quickened their pace. The moon +had risen, and the riding, for men who hunted recklessly, was not bad. +Through woods and across fields, over fences and streams, down by-paths and +old roads, they followed the little dogs. + +“We're makin' straight for the next county,” the sheriff said. + +“We're makin' straight for the old Powis settlement,” was answered. +“Nothin' but niggers have lived there since the war, an' that nigger's +there, I'll bet.” + +“That's so,” the sheriff said. “About how many niggers live there now?” + +“There ain't more than half a dozen cabins left now. We can easy manage +that many.” + +It was a long rough ride, and in spite of their rapid pace it was some time +after midnight before they saw the clearing where clustered the few cabins +left of the plantation quarters of a well-known place, which in its day had +yielded wealth to its owners. The moon was very bright, and, save for the +sound of the horses' feet, the silence was intense. + +“Look sharp,” the sheriff said; “that nigger ain't sleepin' much if he's +here, and he might try to slip off.” + +The dogs were going faster now, and yelping a little. + +“Keep up, boys!” and the sheriff spurred his horse. + +In a few minutes they thundered into the little settlement, where the dogs +were already barking and leaping against a close-shut door. Frightened +black faces began to peer out. Low exclamations and guttural ejaculations +were heard as the armed men scattered, one to each cabin, while the sheriff +hammered at the door where the dogs were jumping. + +“It's the sheriff!” he called, “come to get Abram Washington. Bring him out +and you kin go back to your beds. We're all armed, and nobody need to try +runnin'.” + +The door opened cautiously, and an old negro looked out. “Abram's my son, +Mr. Partin,” he said, “an' 'fo' Gawd he ent yer.” + +“No lyin', old man; the dogs brought us straight here. Don't make me burn +the house down; open the door.” + +The door was closing, when the sheriff, springing from his horse, forced it +steadily back. A shot came from within, but it ranged wild, and in an +instant the sheriff's pistol covered the open room, where a smouldering +fire gave light. Two of the men followed him, and one, making for the fire, +pushed it into a blaze, which revealed a group of negroes--an old man, a +young woman, some children, and a young man crouching behind with a gun in +his hand. The sheriff walked straight up to the young man, whose teeth were +chattering. + +“I arrest you,” he said; “come on.” + +“That's the feller,” confirmed one of the guard; “I've seen him at Mr. +Morris's place.” + +“Tie him,” the sheriff ordered, “while I git that gun. Give it to me, old +man, or I'll take you to jail too.” It was yielded up--an old-time +rifle--and the sheriff smashed it against the side of the chimney, throwing +the remnants into the fire. “Lead on,” he said, and the young negro was +taken outside. Quickly he was lifted on to a horse and tied there, while +the former rider mounted behind one of his companions, and they rode out of +the settlement into the woods. + +“Git into the shadows,” one said; “they might be fools enough to shoot.” + +Once in the road, the sheriff called a halt. “One of you must ride; back to +Mr. Morris's place and collect the other search-parties, while we make for +Pineville jail. Now, Abram, come on.” + +“I ent done nuttin', Mr. Parin, suh,” the negro urged. “I ent hot Mis' +Morris.” + +“Who said anything 'bout Mrs. Morris?” was asked, sharply. + +The negro groaned. + +“You're hanging yourself, boy,” the sheriff said; “but since you know, +where _is_ Mrs. Morris?” + +“I dun'no', suh.” + +“Why did you run away?” + +“'Kase I 'fraid Mr. Morris.” + +“What were you 'fraid of?” + +“'Kase Mis' Morris gone.” + +They were riding rapidly now, and the talk was jolted out. + +“Where'?” + +“I dun'no', suh, but I ent tech um.” + +“You're a damned liar.” + +“No, suh, I ent tech um; I des look at um.” + +“I'd like to gouge your eyes out!” cried one of the men, and struck him. + +“None o' that!” ordered the sheriff. “And you keep your mouth shut, Abram; +you'll have time to talk on your trial.” + +“Blast a trial!” growled the crowd. + +“The rope's round his neck now,” suggested one, “and I see good trees at +every step.” + +“Please, suh, gentlemen,” pleaded the shaking negro, “I ent done nuttin'.” + +“Shut your mouth!” ordered the sheriff again, “and ride faster. Day'll soon +break.” + +“You're 'fraid Mr. Morris'll ketch us 'fore we reach the jail,” laughed one +of the guard. And the sheriff did not answer. + +The eastern sky was gray when the party rode into Pineville, a small, +straggling country town, and clattered through its one street to the jail. +To the negro, at least, it was a welcome moment, for, with his feet tied +under the horse, his hands tied behind his back, and a rope with a +slip-knot round his neck, he had not found the ride a pleasant one. A +misstep of his horse would surely have precipitated his hanging, and he +knew well that such an accident would have given much satisfaction to his +captors. So he uttered a fervent “Teng Gawd!” as he was hustled into the +jail gate and heard it close behind him. + +Early as it was, most of the town was up and excited. Betting had been high +as to whether the sheriff would get the prisoner safe into the jail, and +even the winners seemed disappointed that he had accomplished this feat, +although they praised his skilful management. But the sheriff knew that if +the lady's body was found, that if Mr. Morris could find any proof against +the negro, that if Mr. Morris even expressed a wish that the negro should +hang, the whole town would side with him instantly; and the sheriff knew, +further, that in such an emergency he would be the negro's only defender, +and that the jail could easily be carried by the mob. + +All these thoughts had been with him during the long night, and though he +himself was quite willing to hang the negro, being fully persuaded of his +guilt, he was determined to do his official duty, and to save the +prisoner's life until sentence was lawfully passed on him. But how? If he +could quiet the town before the day brightened, he had a plan, but to +accomplish this seemed wellnigh impossible. + +He handcuffed the prisoner and locked him into a cell, then advised his +escort to go and get food, as before the day was done--indeed, just as soon +as Mr. Morris should reach the town--he would probably need them to help +him defend the jail. + +They nodded among themselves, and winked, and laughed a little, and one +said, “Right good play-actin'”; and watching, the sheriff knew that he +could depend on only one man, his own brother, to help him. But he sent him +off along with the others, and was glad to see that the crowd of +townspeople went with his guard, listening eagerly to the details of the +suspected tragedy and the subsequent hunt. This was his only chance, and he +went at once to the negro's cell. + +“Now, Abram,” he said, “if you don't want to be a dead man in an hour's +time, you'd better do exactly what I tell you.” + +“Yes, suh, please Gawd.” + +“Put on this old hat,” handing him one, “and pull it down over your eyes, +and follow me. When we get outside, you walk along with me like any +ordinary nigger going to his work; and remember, if you stir hand or foot +more than a walk, you are a dead man. Come on.” + +There was a back way out of the jail, and to this the sheriff went. Once +outside, he walked briskly, the negro keeping step with him diligently. +They did not meet any one, and before very long they reached the sheriff's +house, which stood on the outskirts of the town. Being a widower, he +knocked peremptorily on the door, and when it was opened by his son, he +marched his prisoner in without explanation. + +“Shut the door, Willie,” he said, “and load the Winchester.” + +“Please, suh--” interjected the negro. For answer, the sheriff took a key +from the shelf, and led him out of the back door to where, down a few +steps, there was another door leading into an underground cellar. + +“Now, Abram,” he said, “you're to keep quiet in here till I can take you to +the city jail. There is no use your trying to escape, because my two +boys'll be about here all day with their repeating rifles, and they can +shoot.” + +“Yes, suh.” + +“And whoever unlocks this door and tells you to come out, you do it, and do +it quick.” + +“Yes, suh.” + +Locking the door, the sheriff turned to his son. “You and Charlie must +watch that door all day, Willie,” he said; “but you musn't seem to watch +it; and keep your guns handy, and if that nigger tries to get away, kill +him; don't hesitate. I must go back to the jail and make out like he's +there. And tell Charlie to feed the horse and hitch him to the buggy, and +let him stand ready in the stable, for when I'll want him I'll want him +quick. Above all things, don't let anybody know that the nigger's here. But +keep the cellar key in your pocket, and shoot if he tries to run. If your +uncle Jim comes, do whatever he tells you, but nobody else, lessen they +bring a note from me. Now remember. I'm trusting you, boy; and don't you +make any mistake about killing the nigger if he tries to escape.” + +“All right,” the boy answered, cheerfully, and the father went away. He +almost ran to the jail, and entering once more by the back door, found +things undisturbed. Presently his brother called to him, and the gates and +doors being opened, came in, bringing a waiter of hot food and coffee. + +“I told Jinnie you'd not like to leave the jail,” he said, “an' she fixed +this up.” + +“Jinnie's mighty good,” the sheriff answered, “and sometimes a woman's +mighty handy to have about--sometimes; but I'd not leave one out in the +country like Mr. Morris did; no, sir, not in these days. We could do it +before the war and during the war, but not now. The old niggers were taught +some decency; but these young ones! God help us, for I don't see any safety +for this country 'cept Judge Lynch. And I'll tell you this is my first an' +last term as sheriff. The work's too dirty.” + +“Buck Thomas was a boss sheriff,” his brother answered; “he found the +niggers all right, but the niggers never found the jail, and the niggers +were 'fraid to death of him.” + +“Maybe Buck was right,” the sheriff said, “and 'twas heap the easiest way; +but here comes the town.” + +The two men went to the window and saw a crowd of people advancing down the +road, led by Mr. Morris and his friends on horseback. + +“I b'lieve you're the only man in this town that'll stand by me, Jim,” the +sheriff said. “I swore in six last night, and I see 'em all in that crowd. +Poor Mr. Morris! in his place I'd do just what he's doin'. Blest if yonder +ain't Doty Buxton comin' to help me! I'll let him in; but see here, Jim, +I'm goin' to send Doty to telegraph to the city for Judge More, and I want +you to slip out the back way right now, and run to my house, and tell +Willie to give you the buggy and the nigger, and you drive that nigger into +the city. Of course you'll kill him if he tries to escape.” + +“The nigger ain't here!” + +“I'm no fool, Jim. And I'll hold this jail, me and Doty, as long as +possible, and you drive like hell! You see?” + +“I didn't know you really _wanted_ to save the nigger,” his brother +remonstrated; “nobody b'lieves that” + +“I don't, as a nigger. But you go on now, and I'll send Doty with the +telegram, and make time by talkin' to Mr. Morris. I don't think they've +found anything; if they had, they'd have come a-galloping, and the devil +himself couldn't have stopped 'em. Gosh, but it's awful! Who knows what +that nigger's done When I look at Mr. Morris, I wish you fellers had +overpowered me last night and had fixed things.” + +He let his brother out at the back, then went round to the front gate, +where he met the man whom he called Doty Buxton. + +“Go telegraph Judge More the facts of the case,” he said, “an' ask him to +come. I don't believe I'll need any men if he'll come; and besides, he and +Mr. Morris are friends.” + +As the man turned away, one of the horsemen rode up to the sheriff. + +“We demand that negro,” he said. + +“I supposed that was what you'd come for, Mr. Mitchell,” the sheriff +answered; “but you know, sir, that as much as I'd like to oblige you, I'm +bound to protect the man. He swears that he's never touched Mrs. Morris.” + +“Great God, sheriff! how can you mention the thing quietly? You know--” + +“Yes, I know; and I know that I'll never do the dirty work of a sheriff a +day after my term's up. But we haven't any proof against this nigger except +that he ran away--” + +“Isn't that enough when the lady can't be found, nor a trace of her?” + +“I found the hatchet.” + +“And--!” + +“It was clean, thank God!” + +Mr. Mitchell jerked the reins so violently that his horse, tired as he was, +reared and plunged. + +“Mr. Morris declines to speak with you,” he went on, when the horse had +quieted down, “but he's determined that the negro shall not escape, and the +whole county'll back him.” + +“I know that,” the sheriff answered, patiently, “and in his place I'd do +the same thing; but in my place I must do my official duty. I'll not let +the nigger escape, you may be sure of that, and I've telegraphed for Judge +More to come out here. I've telegraphed the whole case. Surely Mr. +Morris'll trust Judge More?” + +Mitchell dragged at his mustache. “Poor Morris is nearly dead,” he said. + +“Of course; won't he go and eat and rest till Judge More comes? Every house +in the town'll be open to him.” + +“No; he'll not wait nor rest; and we're determined to hang that negro.” + +“It'll be mighty hard to shed our blood--friends and neighbors,” + remonstrated the sheriff--“and all over a worthless nigger.” + +“That's your lookout,” Mr. Mitchell answered. “A trial and a big funeral is +glory for a negro, and the penitentiary means nothing to them but free +board and clothes. I tell you, sheriff, lynching is the only thing that +affects them.” + +“You won't wait even until I get an answer from Judge More?” + +“Well, to please you, I'll ask.” And Mitchell rode back to his companions. + +The conference between the leaders was longer than the sheriff had hoped, +and before he was again approached Doty Buxton had returned, saying that +Judge More's answer would be sent to the jail just as soon as it came. + +“You'll stand by me, Doty?” the sheriff asked. + +“'Cause I like you, Mr. Partin,” Doty answered, slowly; “not 'cause I want +to save the nigger. I b'lieve in my soul he's done drowned the po' lady's +body.” + +“All right; you go inside and be ready to chain the gate if I am run in.” + Then he waited for the return of the envoy. + +John Morris sat on his horse quite apart even from his own friends, and +after a few words with him, Mitchell had gone to the group of horsemen +about whom the townsmen were gathered. The sheriff did not know what this +portended, but he waited patiently, leaning against the wall of the jail +and whittling a stick. He knew quite well that all these men were friendly +to him; that they understood his position perfectly, and that they expected +him to pretend to do his duty to a reasonable extent, and so far their +good-nature would last; but he knew equally well that in their eyes the +negro had put himself beyond the pale of the law; that they were determined +to hang him and would do it at any cost; and that the only mercy which the +culprit could expect from this upper class to which Mr. Morris belonged was +that his death would be quick and quiet. He knew also that if they found +out that he was in earnest in defending the prisoner he himself would be in +danger not only from Mr. Morris and his friends, but from the townsmen as +well. Of course all this could be avoided by showing them that the jail was +empty; but to do this would be at this stage to insure the fugitive's +capture and death. To save the negro he must hold the jail as long as +possible, and if he had to shoot, shoot into the ground. All this was quite +clear to him; what was not clear was what these men would do when they +found that he had saved the negro, and they had stormed an empty jail. + +He was an old soldier, and had been in many battles; he had fought hardest +when he knew that things were most hopeless; he had risked his life +recklessly, and death had been as nothing to him when he had thought that +he would die for his country. But now--now to risk his life for a negro, +for a worthless creature who he thought deserved hanging--was this his +duty? Why not say, “I have sent the negro to the city”? How quickly those +fierce horsemen would dash away down the road! Well, why not? He drew +himself up. He was not going to turn coward at this late day. His duty lay +very plain before him, and he would not flinch. And he fixed his eyes once +more on the little stick he was cutting, and waited. + +Presently he saw a movement in the crowd, and the thought flashed across +him that they might capture him suddenly while he stood there alone and +unarmed. He stepped quickly to the gate, where Doty Buxton waited, and +standing in the opening, asked the crowd to stand back, and to send Mr. +Mitchell to tell him what the decision was. There was a moment's pause; +then Mitchell rode forward. + +“Mr. Morris says that Judge More cannot help matters. The negro must die, +and at once. We don't want to hurt you, and we don't want to destroy public +property, but we are going to have that wretch if we have to burn the jail +down. Will you stop all this by delivering the prisoner to us?” + +The sheriff shook his head. “I can't do that, sir. But one thing I do ask, +that you'll give me warning before you set fire to the jail.” + +“If that'll make you give up, we'll set fire now.” + +“I didn't say it'd make me surrender, but only that I'd like to throw a few +things out--like Doty Buxton, for instance,” smiling a little. + +“All right; when we stop trying to break in, we'll be making ready to smoke +you out. The jail's empty but for this negro, I hear.” + +“Yes, the jail's empty; but don't you think you oughter give me a little +time to weigh matters?” + +“Is there any chance of your surrendering?” + +“To be perfectly honest,” the sheriff answered, “there isn't.” Then, seeing +the crowd approaching, he slipped inside the heavy gate, and Doty Buxton +chained it. “Now, Doty,” he said, “we'll peep through these auger-holes and +watch 'em; and when you see' em coming near, you must shoot through these +lower holes. Shoot into the ground just in front of 'em. It's nasty to have +the dirt jumpin' up right where you've got to walk. I know how it feels. I +always wanted to hold up both feet at once. I reckon they've gone to get a +log to batter down the gate. They can do it, but I'll make 'em take as long +as I can. We musn't hurt anybody, Doty, but we must protect the State +property as far as we're able. Here they come! Keep the dirt dancin', Doty. +See that? They don't like it. I told you they'd want to take up both feet +at once. When bullets are flying round your head, you can't help yourself, +but it's hard to put your feet down right where the nasty little things are +peckin' about. Here they come again! Keep it up, Doty. See that? They've +stopped again. They ain't real mad with me, yet, the boys ain't; only Mr. +Morris and his friends are mad. The boys think I'm just pretending to do my +duty for the looks of it; but I ain't. Gosh! Now they've fixed it! With Mr. +Morris at the front end of that log, there's no hope of scare. He'd walk +over dynamite to get that nigger. Poor feller! Here they come at a run! +Don't hurt anybody, Doty. Bang! Wait; I'll call a halt by knocking on the +gate; it'll gain us a little more time.” + +“What do you want?” came in answer to the sheriff's taps. + +“I'll arrest every man of you for destroying State property,” the sheriff +answered. + +“All right; come do it quick,” was the response. “We're waitin', but we +won't wait long.” + +“I reckon we'll have to go inside, Doty,” the sheriff said; then to the +attacking party, “If you'll wait till Judge More comes, I promise you the +nigger'll hang.” + +For answer there was another blow on the gate. + +“Remember, I've warned you!” the sheriff called. + +“Hush that rot,” was the answer, followed by a third blow. + +The sheriff and Doty retreated to the jail, and the attack went on. It was +a two-story building of wood, but very strongly built, and unless they +tried fire the sheriff hoped to keep the besiegers at bay for a little +while yet. He stationed Doty at one window, and himself took position at +another, each with loaded pistols, which were only to be used as before--to +make “the dirt jump.” + +“To tell you the truth, Doty,” the sheriff said, “if you boys had had any +sense, you'd have overpowered me last night, and we'd not have had all this +trouble.” + +“We wanted to,” Doty answered, “but you're new at the business, an' you +talked so big we didn't like to make you feel little.” + +“Here they come!” the sheriff went on, as the stout gate swayed inwards. +“One more good lick an' it's down. That's it. Now keep the dirt dancin', +Doty, but don't hurt anybody.” + +Mr. Morris was in the lead, and apparently did not see the “dancin' dirt,” + for he approached the jail at a run. + +“It's no use, Doty,” the sheriff said; “all we can do is to wait till they +get in, for I'm not going to shoot anybody. It may be wrong to lynch, but +in a case like this it's the rightest wrong that ever was.” So the sheriff +sat there thinking, while Doty watched the attack from the window. + +According to his calculations of time and distance, the sheriff thought +that the prisoner was now so far on his way as to be almost out of danger +by pursuit, and his mind was busy with the other question as to what would +happen when the jail was found to be empty. He had not heard from Judge +More, but the answer could not have reached him after the attack began. He +felt sure that the judge would come, and come by the earliest train, which +was now nearly due. + +“The old man'll come if he can,” he said to himself, “and he'll help me if +he comes; and I wish the train would hurry.” + +He felt glad when he remembered that he had given the keys of the cells to +his brother, for though he would try to save further destruction of +property by telling the mob that the jail was empty, he felt quite sure +that they would not believe him, and in default of keys, would break open +every door in the building; which obstinacy would grant him more time in +which to hope for Judge More and arbitration. That it was possible for him +to slip out once the besiegers had broken in never occurred to him; his +only thought was to stay where he was until the end came, whatever that +might be. They were taking longer than he had expected, and every moment +was a gain. + +Doty Buxton came in from the hall, where he had gone to watch operations. +“The do' is givin',” he said; “what'll you do?” + +“Nothin',” the sheriff answered, slowly. + +“Won't you give 'em the keys?” + +“I haven't got 'em.” + +“Gosh!” and Doty's eyes got big as saucers. + +Very soon the outer door was down, and the crowd came trooping in, all save +John Morris, who stopped in the hallway. He seemed to be unable even to +look at the sheriff, and the sheriff felt the averted face more than he +would have felt a blow. “We want the keys,” Mitchell said. + +The sheriff, who had risen, stood with his hands in his pockets, and his +eyes, filled with sympathy, fastened on Mr. Morris, standing looking +blankly down the empty hall. + +“I haven't got the keys, Mr. Mitchell,” he answered. + +“Oh, come off!” cried one of the townsmen. “Rocky!” cried another. “Yo' +granny's hat!” came from a third; while Doty Buxton said, gravely, “Give +up, Partin; we've humored this duty business long enough.” + +“Do I understand you to say that you won't give up the keys?” Mitchell +demanded, scornfully. + +“No,” the sheriff retorted, a little hotly, “you don't understand anything +of the kind. I said that I didn't have the keys; and further,” he added, +after a moment's pause, “I say that this jail is empty.” + +There was silence for a moment, while the men looked at one another +incredulously; then the jeering began again. + +“There is nothing to do but to break open the cells,” Morris said, sharply, +but without turning his head. “We trusted the sheriff last night, and he +outwitted us; we must not trust him again.” + +The sheriff's eyes flashed, and the blood sprang to his face. The crowd +stood eagerly silent; but after a second the sheriff answered, quietly, + +“You may say what you please to me, Mr. Morris, and I'll not resent it +under these circumstances, but I'll swear the jail's empty.” + +For answer Morris drove an axe furiously against the nearest cell door, and +the crowd followed suit. There were not many cells, and as he looked from a +window the sheriff counted the doors as they fell in, and listened for the +whistle of the train that he hoped would bring Judge More. The doors were +going down rapidly, and as each yielded the sheriff could hear cries and +demonstrations. What would they do when the last one fell? + +Presently Doty Buxton, who had been making observations, came in, pale and +excited. “You'd better git yo' pistols,” he said, “an' I'll git mine, for +they're gittin' madder an' madder every time he ain't there.” + +“Well,” the sheriff answered, “I want you to witness that I ain't armed. My +pistols are over there on the table, unloaded. Thank the good Lord!” he +exclaimed, suddenly; “there's the train, an' Judge More! I hope he'll come +right along.” + +“An' there goes the last do'!” said Doty, as, after a crash and a momentary +silence, oaths and ejaculations filled the air. He drew near the sheriff, +but the sheriff moved away. + +“Stand back,” he said; “you've got little children.” + +In an instant the crowd rushed in, headed by Morris, whose burning eyes +seemed to be starting from his drawn white face. Like a flash Doty sprang +forward and wrenched an axe from the infuriated man, crying out, “Partin +ain't armed!” + +For answer a blow from Morris's fist dropped the sheriff like a dead man. A +sudden silence fell, and Morris, standing over his fallen foe, looked about +him as if dazed. For an instant he stood so, then with a violent movement +he pushed back the crowding men, and lifting the sheriff, dragged him +toward the open window. + +“Give him air,” he ordered, “and go for the doctor, and for cold water!” He +laid Partin flat and dragged open his collar. “He's not dead--see there; I +struck him on the temple; under the ear would have killed him, but not +this, not this! Give me that water, and plenty of it, and move back. He's +not dead, no; and I didn't mean to kill him; but he has worked against me +all night, and I didn't think a white man would do it.” + +“He's comin' round, Mr. Morris,” said Doty, who knelt on the other side of +the sheriff; “an' he didn't bear no malice against you--don't fret; but +it's a good thing I jerked that axe outer yo' hand! See, he's ketchin' his +breath; it's all right,” as Partin opened his eyes slowly and looked about +him. + +A sound like a sigh came from the crowd, then a voice said, “Here comes +Judge More.” + +Morris was still holding his wet handkerchief on the sheriff's head when +the old judge came in. + +“My dear boy!” he said, laying his hand on John Morris's shoulder. But +Morris shook his head. + +“Let's talk business, Judge More,” he said, “and let's get Partin into a +chair where he can rest; I've just knocked him over.” + +Then Morris left the room, and Mitchell with him, going to the far side of +the jail-yard, where they walked up and down in silence. It was not long +before Judge More and the sheriff joined them. + +“The evidence was too slight for lynching,” the judge said, looking +straight into John Morris's eyes. + +“Great God!” Morris cried, and struck his hands together. + +“What more do you want?” Mitchell demanded, angrily. “His wife has +disappeared, and the negro ran away.” + +“True, and I'll see to the case myself; but I'm glad that you did not hang +the negro.” + +A boy came up with a telegram. + +“From Jim, I reckon,” the sheriff said, taking it. “No; it's for you, Mr. +Morris.” + +It was torn open hastily; then Morris looked from one to the other with a +blank, scared face, while the paper fluttered from his hold. + +Mitchell caught it, and read aloud slowly, as if he did not believe his +eyes: + +“'Am safe. Will be out on the ten o'clock train. ELEANOR.'” + +Morris stood there, shaking, and sobbing hard, dry sobs. + +“It'll kill him!” the sheriff said. “Quick, some whiskey!” + +A flask was forced between the blue, trembling lips. + +“Drink, old fellow,” and Mitchell put his arm about Morris's shoulders. +“It's all right now, thank God!” + +Morris was leaning against his friend, sobbing like a woman. The sheriff +drew his coat-sleeve across his eyes, and shook his head. + +“What made the nigger run away?” he said, slowly--adding, as if to himself, +“God help us!” + +A vehicle was borrowed, and the judge and the sheriff drove with John +Morris over to the station to meet the ten-o'clock train. The sheriff and +the judge remained in the little carriage, and the station agent did his +best to leave the whole platform to John Morris. As the moments went by the +look of anxious agony grew deeper on the face of the waiting man. The +sheriff's ominous words, falling like a pall over the first flash of his +happiness, had filled his mind with wordless terrors. He could scarcely +breathe or move, and could not speak when his wife stepped off and put her +hands in his. She looked up, and without a query, without a word of +explanation, answered the anguished questioning of his eyes, whispering, + +“He did not touch me.” + +Morris staggered a little, then drawing her hand through his arm, he led +her to the carriage. She shrank back when she saw the judge and the sheriff +on the front seat; but Morris saying, “They must hear your story, dear,” + she stepped in. + +“We are very thankful to see you, Mrs. Morris,” the judge said, without +turning his head, when the sheriff had touched up the horse and they moved +away; “and if you feel able to tell us how it all happened, it'll save time +and ease your mind. This is Mr. Partin, the sheriff.” + +Mrs. Morris looked at the backs of the men in front of her; at their heads +that were so studiously held in position that they could not even have +glanced at each other; then up at her husband, appealingly. + +“Tell it,” he said, quietly, and laid his hand on hers that were wrung +together in her lap. “You sent Aggie to catch the chickens, and the dog +went with her?” + +“Yes,” fixing her eyes on his; “and I sent”--she stopped with a shiver, and +her husband said, “Abram”--“to cut some bushes to make a broom,” she went +on. “I had been for a walk to the old house, and as I came back I laid my +gloves and a bit of vine on the steps, intending to return at once; but I +wished to see if the boat was safe, for the water was rising so rapidly.” + She paused, as if to catch her breath, then, with her eyes still fixed on +her husband, she went on, “I did not think that it was safe, and I untied +the rope and picked up the paddle that was lying on the dam, intending to +drag the boat farther up and tie it to a tree.” She stopped again. Her +husband put his arm about her. + +“And then?” he said. + +“And then--something, I don't know what; not a sound, but +something--something made me turn, and I saw him--saw him coming--saw him +stealing up behind me--with the hatchet in his hand, and a look--a +look”--closing her eyes as if in horror--“such an awful, awful look! And +everybody gone. Oh, John!” she gasped, and clinging to her husband, she +broke into hysterical sobs, while the judge gripped his walking-stick and +cleared his throat, and the sheriff swore fiercely under his breath. + +“I was paralyzed,” she went on, recovering herself, “and when he saw me +looking he stopped. The next moment he threw the hatchet at me, and began +to run toward me. The hatchet struck my foot, and the blow roused me, and I +sprang into the boat. There were no trees just there, and jumping in, I +pushed the boat off into the deep water. He picked up the hatchet and shook +it at me, but the water was too deep for him to reach me, and he ran back +along the dam and turned toward the railroad embankment. I was so terrified +I could scarcely breathe; I pushed frantically in and out between the +trees, farther and farther into the swamp. I was afraid that he would go +round to the bridge and come down the bank to where the outlet from the +swamp is and catch me there, but in a little while I saw where the rising +water had broken the dam, and the current was rushing through and out to +the river. The current caught the boat and swept it through the break. Oh, +I was so glad! I'm so afraid of water, but not then. I used the paddle as a +rudder, and to push floating timber away. My foot was hurting me, and I +looked at last and saw that it was cut.” + +A groan came from the judge, and the sheriff's head drooped. + +“All day I drifted, and all night. I was so thirsty, and I grew so weak. At +daylight this morning I found myself in a wide sheet of water, with marshes +all round, and I saw a steamboat coming. I tied my handkerchief to the +paddle and waved it, and they picked me up. And, John, I did not tell them +anything except that the freshet had swept me away. They were kind to me, +and a friendly woman bound up my foot. We got to town this morning early, +and the captain lent me five dollars, John--Captain Meakin--so I +telegraphed you, and took a carriage to the station and came out. +Have--have you caught him? And, oh--but I am afraid--afraid!” And again she +broke into hysterical sobs. + +She asked no explanation. The negro's guilt was so burned in on her mind, +that she was sure that all knew it as well as she. + +“You need have no further fears,” her husband comforted. And the judge +shook his head, and the sheriff swore again. + +* * * * * + +A white-haired woman in rusty black stood talking to a negro convict. It +was in a stockade prison camp in the hill country. She had been a +slave-owner once, long ago, and now for her mission-work taught on Sundays +in the stockade, trying to better the negroes penned there. + +This was a new prisoner, and she was asking him of himself. + +“How long are you in for?” she asked. + +“Fuhrebber, ma'm; fuh des es long es I lib,” the negro answered, looking +down to where he was making marks on the ground with his toes. + +“And how did you get such a dreadful sentence?” + +“I ent do much, ma'm; I des scare a white lady.” + +A wave of revulsion swept over the teacher, and involuntarily she stepped +back. The negro looked up and grinned. + +“De hatchet des cut 'e foot a little bit; but I trow de hatchet. I ent tech +um; no, ma'm. Den atterwards 'e baby daid; den dey say I muss stay yer +fuhrebber. I ent sorry, 'kase I know say I hab to wuck anywheys I is; if I +stay yer, if I go 'way, I hab to wuck. En I know say if I git outer dis +place Mr. Morris'll kill me sho--des sho. So I like fuh stay yer berry +well.” + +And the teacher went away, wondering if her work--if _any_ work--would +avail; and what answer the future would have for this awful problem. + + + + +A Snipe-Hunt + + +A Story of Jim-Ned Creek + +BY M. E. M. DAVIS + +“I ain't sayin' nothin' ag'inst the women o' Jim--Ned Creek _ez women_,” + said Mr. Pinson; “an' what's more, I'll spit on my hands an' lay out any +man ez'll dassen to sass 'em. But _ez wives_ the women o' Jim-Ned air the +outbeatenes' critters in creation!” + +These remarks, uttered in an oracular tone, were received with grave +approbation by the half a dozen idlers gathered about the mesquite fire in +Bishop's store. Old Bishop himself, sorting over some trace-chains behind +the counter, nodded grimly, and then smiled, his wintry face grown suddenly +tender. + +“You've shore struck it, Newt,” assented Joe Trimble. “You never kin tell +how ary one of 'em 'll ack under any succumstances.” + +Jack Carter and Sid Northcutt, the only bachelors present, grinned and +winked slyly at each other. + +“You boys neenter to be so brash,” drawled Mr. Pinson's son-in-law, Sam +Leggett, from his perch on a barrel of pecans; “jest you wait ontell Minty +Cullum an' Loo Slater gits a tight holt! Them gals is ez meek ez +lambs--now. But so was Mis' Pinson an' Mis' Trimble in their day an' time, +I reckon. I know Becky Leggett was.” + +“The studdies'-goin' woman on Jim-Ned,” continued Mr. Pinson, ignoring +these interruptions, “is Mis' Cullum. An' yit, Tobe Cullum ain't no safeter +than anybody else--considerin' of Sissy Cullum ez a wife!” + +Mr. Trimble opened his lips to speak, but shut them again hastily, looking +a little scared, and an awkward silence fell on the group. + +For the shadow of Mrs. Cullum herself had advanced through the wide +door-way, and lay athwart the puncheon floor; and that lady, a large, +comfortable-looking, middle-aged person, with a motherly face and a kindly +smile, after a momentary survey of the scene before her, walked briskly in. +She shook hands across the counter with the storekeeper, and passed the +time of day all around. + +But Hines, the new clerk, shuffled forward eagerly to wait on her. Bud was +a sallow-faced, thin-chested, gawky youth from the States, who had wandered +into these parts in search of health and employment. He was not yet used to +the somewhat drastic ways of Jim-Ned, and there was a homesick look in his +watery blue eyes; he smiled bashfully at her while he measured off calico +and weighed sugar, and he followed her out to the horse-block when she had +concluded her lengthy spell of shopping. + +“You better put on a thicker coat, Bud,” she said, pushing back her +sunbonnet and looking down at him from the saddle before she moved off. +“You've got a rackety cough. I reckon I'll have to make you some mullein +surrup.” + +“Oh, Mis' Cullum, don't trouble yourself about me,” Mr. Hines cried, +gratefully, a lump rising in his throat as he watched her ride away. + +The loungers in the store had strolled out on the porch. “Mis' Cullum +cert'n'y is a sister in Zion,” remarked Mr. Trimble, gazing admiringly at +her retreating figure. + +“M-m-m--y-e-e-s,” admitted Mr. Pinson. “But,” he added, darkly, after a +meditative pause, “Sissy Cullum is a wife, an' the women o' Jim-Nez, _ez +wives_, air liable to conniptions.” + +Mrs. Cullum jogged slowly along the brown, wheel-rifted road which followed +the windings of the creek. It was late in November. A brisk little norther +was blowing, and the nuts dropping from the pecan-trees in the hollows +filled the dusky stillness with a continuous rattling sound. There was a +sprinkling of belated cotton-bolls on the stubbly fields to the right of +the road; a few ragged sunflowers were still abloom in the fence corners, +where the pokeberries were red-ripe on their tall stalks. + +“I must lay in some poke-root for Tobe's knee-j'ints,” mused Mrs. Cullum, +as she turned into the lane which led to her own door-yard. “Pore Tobe! +them j'ints o' his'n is mighty uncertain. Why, Tobe!” she exclaimed, aloud, +as her nag stopped and neighed a friendly greeting to the object of her own +solicitude, “where air you bound for?” + +Mr. Cullum laid an arm across the horse's neck. He was a big, loose-jointed +man, with iron-gray hair, square jaws, and keen, steady, dark eyes. “Well, +ma,” he said, with a touch of reluctance in his dragging tones, “there's a +lodge meetin' at Ebenezer Church to-night, an' I got Mintry to give me my +supper early, so's I could go. I--” + +“All right, Tobe,” interrupted his wife, cheerfully; “a passel of men +prancin' around with a goat oncet a month ain't much harm, I reckon. You go +'long, honey; I'll set up for you.” + +“Sissy is that soft an' innercent an' mild,” muttered Mr. Cullum, striding +away in the gathering twilight, “that a suckin' baby could wrop her aroun' +its finger--much lessen me!” + +About ten o'clock the same night Granny Carnes, peeping through a chink in +the wall beside her bed, saw a squad of men hurrying afoot down the road +from the direction of Ebenezer Church. “Them boys is up to some +devil_mint_, Uncle Dick,” she remarked, placidly, to her rheumatic old +husband. + +Uncle Dick laughed, a soft, toothless laugh. “I ain't begrudgin' 'em the +fun,” he sighed, turning on his pillow, “but I wisht to the Lord I was +along!” + +The “boys” crossed the creek below Bishop's and entered the shinn-oak +prairie on the farther side. + +“Nance ast mighty particular about the lodge meetin',” observed Newt Pinson +to Mr. Cullum, who headed the nocturnal expedition; “she know'd it wa'n't +the regular night, an' she suspicioned sompn, Nance did.” + +“Sissy didn't,” laughed Tobe, complacently. “Sissy is that soft an' +innercent an' mild that a suckin' baby could wrop her aroun' its +finger--much lessen me!” + +Bud Hines, in the rear with the others, was in a quiver of excitement. He +stumbled along, shifting Sid Northcutt's rifle from one shoulder to the +other, and listening open-mouthed to Jack Carter's directions. “You know, +Bud,” said that young gentleman, gravely, “it ain't every man that gets a +chance to go on a snipe-hunt. And if you've got any grit--” + +“I've got plenty of it,” interrupted Mr. Hines, vaingloriously. He was, +indeed, inwardly--and outwardly--bursting with pride. “I thought they tuk +me for a plumb fool,” he kept saying over and over to himself. “They ain't +never noticed me before 'cepn to make fun of me; an' all at oncet Mr. Tobe +Cullum an' Mr. Newt Pinson ups an' asts me to go on a snipe-hunt, an' even +p'oposes to give me the best place in it. An' I've got Mr. Sid's rifle, an' +Mr. Jack is tellin' of me how! Lord, I wouldn't of believed it of I wa'n't +right here! Won't ma be proud when I write her about it!” + +“You've got to whistle all the time,” Jack continued, breaking in upon +these blissful reflections; “if you don't, they won't come.” + +“Oh, I'll whistle,” declared Bud, jauntily. + +Sam Leggett's snigger was dexterously turned into a cough by a punch in his +ribs from Mr. Trimble's elbow, and they trudged on in silence until they +reached Buck Snort Gully, a deep ravine running from the prairie into a +stretch of heavy timber beyond, known as The Rough. + +Here they stopped, and Sid Northcutt produced a coarse bag, whose mouth was +held open by a barrel hoop, and a tallow candle, which he lighted and +handed to the elate hunter. “Now, Bud,” Mr. Cullum said, when the bag was +set on the edge of the gully, with its mouth towards the prairie, “you jest +scrooch down behind this here sack an' hold the candle. You kin lay the +rifle back of you, in case a wild-cat or a cougar prowls up. An' you +whistle jest as hard an' as continual as you can, whilse the balance of us +beats aroun' an' drives in the snipe. They'll run fer the candle ever' +time. An' the minit that sack is full of snipe, all you've got to do is to +pull out the prop, an' they're yourn.” + +“All right, Mr. Tobe,” responded Bud, squatting down and clutching the +candle, his face radiant with expectation. + +The crowd scattered, and for a few moments made a noisy pretence of beating +the shinn-oak thickets for imaginary snipe. + +“Keep a-whisslin', Bud!” Mr. Cullum shouted, from the far edge of the +prairie. A prolonged whistle, with trills and flourishes, was the response; +and the conspirators, bursting with restrained laughter, plunged into the +ford and separated, making each for his own fireside. + +Mrs. Cullum was nodding over the hearth-stone when her husband came in. The +six girls, from Minty--Jack Carter's buxom sweetheart--to Little Sis, the +baby, were long abed. The hands of the wooden clock on the high +mantel-shelf pointed to half-past twelve. “Well, pa,” Sissy said, +good-humoredly, reaching out for the shovel and beginning to cover up the +fire, “you've cavorted pretty late this time! What's the matter?” she +added, suspiciously; “you ack like you've been drinkin'!” + +For Tobe was rolling about the room in an ecstasy of uproarious mirth. + +“I 'ain't teched nary drop, Sissy,” Mr. Cullum returned, “but ever' time I +think about that fool Bud Mines a-settin' out yander at Buck Snort, holdin' +of a candle, and whisslin' fer snipe to run into that coffee-sack, I--oh +Lord!” + +He stopped to slap his thighs and roar again. Finally, wiping the tears of +enjoyment from his eyes, he related the story of the night's adventure. + +“Air you tellin' me, Tobe Cullum,” his wife said, when she had heard him to +the end--“air you p'intedly tellin' me that you've took Bud Hines +_snipin'_? An' that you've left that sickly, consumpted young man a-settin' +out there by hisse'f to catch his death of cold; or maybe git his blood +sucked out by a catamount!” + +“Shucks, Sissy!” replied Tobe; “nothin' ain't goin' to hurt him. He's sech +a derned fool that a catamount wouldn't tech him with a ten-foot pole! An' +him a-whisslin' fer them snipe--oh Lord!” + +“Tobe Cullum,” said Mrs. Cullum, sternly, “you go saddle Buster this minit +and ride out to Buck Snort after Bud Hines.” + +“Why, honey--” remonstrated Tobe. + +“Don't you honey me,” she interrupted, wrathfully. “You saddle that horse +this minit an' fetch that consumpted boy home.” + +Tobe ceased to laugh. His big jaws set themselves suddenly square. “I'll do +no such fool thing,” he declared, doggedly, “an' have the len'th an' +brea'th o' Jim-Ned makin' fun o' me.” + +“Very well,” said his wife, with equal determination, “ef you don't go, I +will. But I give you fair warnin', Tobe Cullum, that ef you don't go, I'll +never speak to you again whilse my head is hot.” + +Tobe snorted incredulously; but he sneaked out to the stable after her, and +when she had saddled and mounted Buster, he followed her on foot, running +noiselessly some distance behind her, keeping her well in sight, and +dodging into the deeper shadows when she chanced to look around. + +“I didn't know Sissy had so much spunk,” he muttered, panting in her wake +at last across the shinn-oak prairie. “Lord, how blazin' mad she is! But +shucks! she'll git over it by mornin'.” + +Mr. Hines was shivering with cold. He still whistled mechanically, but the +hand that held the sputtering candle shook to the trip-hammer thumping of +his heart. “The balance of 'em must of got lost,” he thought, listening to +the lonesome howl of the wind across the prairie. “It's too c-cold for +snipe, I reckon. I wisht I'd staid at home. I c-can't w-whistle any +longer,” he whimpered aloud, dropping the candle-end, the last spark of +courage oozing out of his nerveless fingers. He stood up, straining his +eyes down the black gully and across the dreary waste around him. “Mr. +T-o-o-be!” he called, feebly, and the wavering echoes of his voice came +back to him mingled with an ominous sound. “Oh, Lordy! what is that?” he +stammered. He sank to the ground, grabbing wildly for his gun. “It's a +cougar! I hear him trompin' up from the creek! It's a c-cougar! He's +c-comin' closter! Oh, Lordy!” + +“Hello, Bud,” called Mrs. Cullum, cheerily. She slipped from the saddle as +she spoke and caught the half-fainting snipe-hunter in her motherly arms. + +“Ain't you 'shamed of yourse'f to let a passel o' no-'count men fool you +this-a-way?” she demanded, sternly, when he had somewhat recovered himself. +“Get up behind me. I'm goin' to take you to Mis' Bishop's, where you +belong. No, don't you dassen to tech any o' that trash!” + +Mr. Hines, feeling very humble and abashed, climbed up behind her, and they +rode away, leaving the snipe--hunting gear, including Sid Northcutt's +valuable rifle, on the edge of the gully. + +She left him at Bishop's, charging him to swallow before going to bed a +“dost” of the home-brewed chill medicine from a squat bottle she handed +him. + +“He cert'n'y is weaker'n stump-water,” she murmured, as she turned her +horse's head; “but he's sickly an' consumpted, an' he's jest about the age +my Bud would of been if he'd lived.” + +And thinking of her first-born and only son, who died in babyhood, she rode +homeward in the dim chill starlight. Tobe, spent and foot-sore, followed +warily, carrying the abandoned rifle. + +II + +Consternation reigned the “len'th an' brea'th” of Jim-Ned. Mrs. +Cullum--placid and easy-going Mrs. Tobe--under the same roof with him, +actually had not spoken to her lawful and wedded husband since the +snipe-hunt ten days ago come Monday! + +“It's plumb scan'lous!” Mrs. Pinson exclaimed, at her daughter's quilting. +“I never would of thought sech a thing of Sissy--never!” + +“As of the boys of Jim-Ned couldn't have a little innercent fun without +Mis' Cullum settin' in jedgment on 'em!” sniffed Mrs. Leggett. + +“Shot up, Becky Leggett,” said her mother, severely. “By time you've put up +with a man's capers for twenty-five years, like Sissy Cullum have, you'll +have the right to talk, an' not before.” + +“They say Tobe is wellnigh out'n his mind,” remarked Mrs. Trimble. “Ez for +that soft-headed Bud Mines, he have fair fattened on that snipe-hunt. He's +gittin' ez sassy an' mischeevous ez Jack Carter hisse'f.” + +This last statement was literally true. The victim of Tobe Cullum's +disastrous practical joke had become on a sudden case-hardened, as it were. +The consumptive pallor had miraculously disappeared from his cheeks and the +homesick look from his eyes. He bore the merciless chaffing at Bishop's +with devil-may-care good-nature, and he besought Mrs. Cullum, almost with +tears in his eyes, to “let up on Mr. Tobe.” + +“I was sech a dern fool, Mis' Cullum,” he candidly confessed, “that I don't +blame Mr. Tobe for puttin' up a job on me. Besides,” he added, his eyes +twinkling shrewdly, “I'm goin' to git even. I'm layin' off to take Jim +Belcher, that biggetty drummer from Waco, a-snipin' out Buck Snort next +Sat'day night. He's a bigger idjit than I ever was.” + +“You ten' to your own business, Bud, an' I'll ten' to mine,” Mrs. Cullum +returned, not unkindly. Which business on her part apparently was to make +Mr. Cullum miserable by taking no notice of him whatever. The house under +her supervision was, as it had always been, a model of neatness; the meals +were cooked by her own hands and served with an especial eye to Tobe's +comfort; his clothes were washed and ironed, and his white shirt laid out +on Sunday mornings, with the accustomed care and regularity. But with these +details Mrs. Cullum's wifely attentions ended. She remained absolutely deaf +to any remark addressed to her by her husband, looking through and beyond +him when he was present with a steady, unseeing gaze, which was, to say the +least, exasperating. All necessary communication with him was carried on by +means of the children. “Minty,” she would say at the breakfast-table, “ask +your pa if he wants another cup of coffee”; or at night, “Temp'unce, tell +your pa that Buster has shed a shoe”; or, “Sue, does your pa know where +them well-grabs is?” et caetera, et caetera. + +The demoralized household huddled, so to speak, between the opposing camps, +frightened and unhappy, and things were altogether in a bad way. + +To make matters worse, Miss Minty Cullum, following her mother's example, +took high and mighty ground with Jack Carter, dismissing that gentleman +with a promptness and coolness which left him wellnigh dumb with amazement. + +“Lord, Minty!” he gasped. “Why, I was taken snipe-hunting myself not more'n +five years ago. I--” + +“I didn't know you were such a fool, Jack Carter,” interrupted his +sweetheart, with a toss of her pretty head; “that settles it!” and she +slammed the door in his face. + +Matters were at such a pass finally that Mr. Skaggs, the circuit-rider, +when he came to preach, the third Sunday in the month, at Ebenezer Church, +deemed it his duty to remonstrate and pray with Sister Cullum at her own +house. She listened to his exhortations in grim silence, and knelt without +a word when he summoned her to wrestle before the Throne of Grace. “Lord,” + he concluded, after a long and powerful summing up of the erring sister's +misdeeds, “Thou knowest that she is travelling the broad and flowery road +to destruction. Show her the evil of her ways, and warn her to flee from +the wrath to come.” + +He arose from his knees with a look of satisfaction on his face, which +changed to one of chagrin when he saw Sister Cullum's chair empty, and +Sister Cullum herself out in the backyard tranquilly and silently feeding +her hens. + +“She shore did flee from the wrath to come, Sissy did,” chuckled Granny +Carnes, when this episode reached her ears. + +As for Tobe, he bore himself in the early days of his affliction in a +jaunty debonair fashion, affecting a sprightliness which did not deceive +his cronies at Bishop's. In time, however, finding all his attempts at +reconciliation with Sissy vain, he became uneasy, and almost as silent as +herself, then morose and irritable, and finally black and thunderous. + +“He's that wore upon that nobody dassent to go anigh him,” said Mrs. +Pinson, solemnly. “An' no wonder! Fer of all the conniptions that ever +struck the women o' Jim-Ned, _ez wives_, Sissy Cullum's conniptions air the +outbeatenes'.” + +But human endurance has its limits. Mr. Cullum's reached his at the +supper-table one night about three weeks after the beginning of his +discipline. He had been ploughing all day, and brooding, presumably, over +his tribulations, and there was a techy look in his dark eyes as he seated +himself at the foot of the well-spread table, presided over by Mrs. Cullum, +impassive and dumb as usual. The six girls were ranged on either side. + +“Well, ma,” began Tobe, with assumed gayety, turning up his plate, “what +for a day have you had?” + +Sissy looked through and beyond him with fixed, unresponsive gaze, and said +never a word. + +Then, as Mr. Cullum afterward said, “Ole Satan swep' an' garnish_eed_ him +an' tuk possession of him.” He seized the heavy teacup in front of him and +hurled it at his unsuspecting spouse; she gasped, paling slightly, and +dodged. The missile, striking the brick chimney-jamb behind her, crashed +and fell shivering into fragments on the hearth. The saucer followed. Then, +Tobe's spirits rising, plate after plate hurtled across the table; the air +fairly bristled with flying crockery. Mrs. Cullum, after the first shock of +surprise, continued calmly to eat her supper, moving her head from right to +left or ducking to avoid an unusually well-aimed projectile. + +Little Sis scrambled down from her high chair at the first hint of +hostilities, and dived, screaming, under the table; the others remained in +their places, half paralyzed with terror. + +In less time than it takes to tell it, Mr. Cullum, reaching out his long +arms, had cleared half the board of its stone and glass ware. Finally he +laid a savage hand upon a small, old-fashioned blue pitcher left standing +alone in a wide waste of table-cloth. + +At this Sissy surrendered unconditionally. “Oh, Tobe, fer Gawd's sake!” she +cried, throwing out her hands and quivering from head to foot. “I give in! +I give in! _Don't_ break the little blue-chiny pitcher! You fetched it to +me the day little Bud was born! An' he drunk out'n it jest afore he died! +Fer Gawd's sake, Tobe, honey! I give in!” + +Tobe set down the pitcher as gingerly as if it had been a soap-bubble. +Then, with a whoop which fairly lifted the roof from the cabin, he cleared +the intervening space between them and caught his wife in his arms. + +Minty, with ready tact, dragged Little Sis from under the table, and +driving the rest of the flock before her, fled the room and shut the door +behind her. On the dark porch she ran plump upon Jack Carter. + +“Why, Jack!” she cried, with her tear-wet face tucked before she knew it +against his breast, “what are you doing here?” + +“Oh, just hanging around,” grinned Mr. Carter. + +“Gawd be praised!” roared Tobe, inside the house. + +“Amen!” responded Jack, outside. + +“An' Tobe Cullum,” announced Joe Trimble at Bishop's the next day, “have +ordered up the fines' set o' shiny in Waco fer Sissy.” + +“It beats _me_,” said Newt Pinson; “but I allers did say that the women o' +Jim-Ned, _ez wives_, air the outbeatenes' critters in creation!” + + + + +The Courtship of Colonel Bill + + +BY J. J. EAKINS + +It was early morning in the Bluegrass. The triumphant sun was driving the +white mist before it from wood and rolling meadow-land, rousing the drowsy +cattle from their tranquil dreams and quickening into fuller life all the +inhabitants of that favored region, from the warlike woodpecker with his +head of flame high up in the naked tree-top to the timid ground-squirrel +flitting along the graystone fences. It glorified with splendid +impartiality the apple blossoms in the orchards and the vagabond blackberry +bushes blooming by the roadside; and then, with many a mile of smiling +pastures in its victorious wake, it burst over the low rampart of stable +roofs encircling the old Lexington race-course, and, after a hasty glimpse +at the horses speeding around the track and the black boys singing and +slouching from stall to stall with buckets of water on their heads, it +rushed impetuously into an old-fashioned, deep-waisted family barouche +beside one of the stables, and shone full upon a slender, girlish figure +within. It wasted no time upon a purple-faced old gentleman beside her, nor +upon two young gentlemen on the seat opposite, but rested with bold and +ardent admiration upon the young girl's face, touching her cheeks with a +color as delicate as the apple blossoms in the orchards, and weaving into +her rich brown hair the red gold of its own beams. + +The picture was so dazzling and altogether so unprecedented that Colonel +Bill Jarvis, the young owner of the stable, who had come swinging around +the corner, whistling a lively tune, his hat thrown back on his head, and +who had almost run plump into the carriage, stopped abruptly and stood +staring. He was roused to a realizing sense of his position by Major Cicero +Johnson, editor of the Lexington _Chronicle_ and president of the +association, who was standing beside the barouche, saying, with that +courtliness of manner and amplitude of rhetoric which made him a fixture in +the legislative halls at Frankfort: “Colonel Bill, I want to present you to +General Thomas Anderson Braxton, the hero of two wars, of whom as a +Kentuckian you must be proud, and his sons Matt and Jack, and his daughter, +Miss Sue, the Flower of the Blue-grass. Ladies and gentlemen,” he +continued, with an oratorical wave of his hand towards the Colonel, who had +bowed gravely to each person in turn to whom he was introduced, “this is my +friend Colonel Bill Jarvis, the finest horseman and the most gallant young +turfman between the Ohio River and the Gulf of Mexico.” + +While the Major was speaking, Colonel Bill's eyes wandered from the two +young gentlemen on the front seat to the purple-faced old General on the +rear seat, and then rested on Miss Braxton. Her eyes met his, and she +smiled. It was such a pleasant, gracious, encouraging smile, and there was +so much kindliness in the depths of the soft brown eyes, that the Colonel +was reassured at once. + +“We have come to disturb you at this unearthly hour,” said Miss Braxton, +apologetically, “because I wanted to see the horses at their work, and +father and my brothers were good enough to come with me.” + +Colonel Bill explained that his horses had finished their morning exercise, +but that it would afford him great pleasure to show them in their stalls. +Miss Braxton was sure that they were putting him to a great deal of +trouble, and she was also convinced that to see horses in their stalls must +be delightful; so presently the party was marching along under the shed, +looking at the calm-eyed thoroughbreds in their narrow little homes, the +Colonel and Miss Braxton leading the way. + +With the wisdom of her sex, Miss Braxton concealed her lack of special +knowledge by a generous general enthusiasm which captivated her +simple-hearted host. + +“And that is really Beau Brummel!” she cried, with sparkling eyes, pointing +to a splendid deep-chested animal, who was regarding them with mild +curiosity. “And that is Queen of Sheba next to him! What lovely heads they +have, and how very proud you must be to own them!” One would have thought +her days and nights had been given to a study of these two thoroughbreds. + +“They are the best long-distance horses in the country,” said the Colonel, +flushing with pleasure. And then, in reply to her eager questioning, he +gave their pedigrees and performances, all their battles and victories, in +detail--a list as long and glorious as the triumphs of Napoleon, and +perhaps as useful. At each stall she had fresh questions to ask. Her +brothers, with an eye to the coming meeting, listened eagerly to the +Colonel's answers, while the Major and the General, lagging behind, +discussed affairs of state. At last the horses were all seen; everybody +shook hands with the Colonel and thanked him, the General with great +pompousness, and Miss Braxton with a smile, and a hope that she might see +him during the meeting; and the old barouche went lumbering away down the +road, until it presently buried itself, like a monstrous cuttlefish, in a +cloud of its own making. + +Colonel Bill looked after it with a pleased expression on his face, and +pulling his tawny mustache reflectively, muttered to himself with true +masculine acuteness, “She knew as much about my horses as I did myself.” + +* * * * * + +The great Lexington meeting was in the full tide of its success. +Peach-cheeked, bright-eyed Blue-grass girls, and their big-boned, +deep-chested admirers, riding and driving in couples and parties, filled +all the white, dusty tumpikes leading to the race-course, and made gay the +quaint old Lexington streets. The grand-stand echoed with their merriment, +and they cheered home the horses with an enthusiasm seen nowhere else in +the world. + +The centre of the liveliest of all these merry groups, noticeable for her +grace and beauty even there, where so many lovely girls were gathered, was +Miss Braxton. She was continuously surrounded by a devoted body-guard of +young men, many of whom had ridden miles to catch a glimpse of her +bewitching face, and who felt more than recompensed for their efforts by a +glance from her bright eyes. + +On the first day of the meeting Colonel Bill, arrayed with unusual care, +had eagerly scanned the occupants of the grand-stand. His eyes ran +heedlessly over scores of pretty faces, until finally they rested upon the +group around Miss Braxton. Then carefully buttoning up his coat and +straightening out his tall figure, as a brave man might who was about to +lead a forlorn hope or receive his opponent's fire, he bore down upon them. +Miss Braxton welcomed him cordially, and introduced him to the gentlemen +about her. She straightway became so gracious to him that he aroused an +amazing amount of suspicion and dislike in the little circle, to all of +which, however, he was happily oblivious. He was a capital mimic, and under +the inspiration of her applause he told innumerable negro stories with such +lifelike fidelity to nature that even the hostile circle was convulsed, and +Miss Braxton laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. + +Time sped so swiftly that the last race was run before the Colonel was +aware that the programme was half over, and he found himself saying +good-bye to Miss Braxton, and wishing with all his heart he were one of the +half-dozen lucky young men who were waiting on their horses outside to +escort her carriage back to Lexington. + +It was that same evening old Elias, Colonel Bill's body-servant and general +assistant, noticed a most surprising development in his young employer. One +of the Colonel's most prized possessions was a fiddle. It bad never been +known, in all the years he owned it, to utter aught except the most joyful +sounds. Whenever he picked it up, as he frequently did on winter nights, +when everybody gathered around the big wood fire in his room, the +stable-boys at once made ready to beat time to “Money Musk,” “Old Dan +Tucker,” and other cheerful airs. + +On this particular night the Colonel seized the fiddle and strode gloomily +to the end of the stable. Presently there came forth upon the night air +such melancholy and dismal notes as made every stable-boy, from little Pete +to big Mose, shiver. As the lugubrious sounds continued, the boys fled to +their loft, leaving Elias, who had watched over the Colonel from his +infancy, to keep vigil, with a troubled look on his withered face. Many +nights thereafter was this singular proceeding repeated, to the +ever-increasing wonderment of Elias. + +Every day during the meeting when Miss Braxton was at the track Colonel +Bill sought her out. Sometimes he had a chance for a long talk, but oftener +he was forced to content himself with shorter interviews. More than once he +noticed General Braxton join his daughter when he approached, and he found +that old warrior's manner growing more and more cold. + +“He's a loser,” thought the Colonel, to whom it never for a moment occurred +that his own presence might be disagreeable to any one. “A man oughtn't to +bet when he can't stand a-losing,” he concluded, philosophically, and then +he dismissed the matter from his mind. + +On the last day of the races, after waiting for an hour or more to speak +alone to Miss Braxton, and finding her constantly guarded by her father, +who looked fiercer than usual, Colonel Bill was finally compelled to join +her as she and the General were leaving the grand-stand. She saw him +coming, and stopped, a pleased look on her face. The General, with a frigid +nod, moved on a few paces and left them together. + +“I have come to ask if I might call on you this evening, Miss Braxton,” + said the Colonel, timidly, “if you have no other engagement.” + +“I shall be very glad indeed to have you call,” she replied, cordially, +adding, with a smile, “You know, Lexington is not so wildly gay that we +haven't ample time to see our friends.” + +As he walked away the Colonel thought he heard his name mentioned by +General Braxton, and although the words were inaudible, the tone was sharp +and commanding. He turned and glanced back. The girl's face was flushed, +and she looked excited, something unusual to her self-contained, reposeful +manner. As they moved out of hearing, the General was still talking with +great earnestness, and a feeling of uneasiness began to oppress him. This +feeling had not altogether departed when he galloped into Lexington that +night, his long-tailed, white linen duster buttoned up to his chin, the +brim of his soft black hat pulled down over his eyes. + +The Elms, a roomy old-fashioned house encircled by wide verandas, the home +of the Braxtons for generations, was one of the landmarks of Lexington. A +long stretch of lawn filled with shrubbery and clumps of trees protected +its inmates from the city's dust and turmoil and almost concealed the house +itself from view. The Colonel, to whom the Elms was perfectly well known, +never drew rein till he was before it, and then, checking his horse so +suddenly that a less intelligent animal would have turned a somersault, +swung himself out of the saddle with the ease of one who had spent the +greater part of his life there, fastened the bridle to a ring in a great +oak-tree by the curbing, and opening the big iron gate, strode up the +gravelled walk which wound through the shrubbery. + +Miss Braxton had been sitting at the piano in the drawing-room playing +softly. The long windows looking out on the veranda were opened to admit +the balmy air, and before her visitor arrived she heard his approaching +footsteps. + +“I am very glad you have come,” she said, walking out to meet him; “I was +afraid that in the excitement of the race-track you might have forgotten +our engagement. I felt a little depressed this evening, and that is another +reason why I am glad to see you.” She led the way back into the +drawing-room as she talked, and invited the Colonel to sit beside her on +one of the sofas. In the soft glow of the dimly lighted lamps he thought +she had never appeared so beautiful; and the rich fragrance of the +dew-laden roses and honeysuckle wafted in through the open windows seemed +to him to be an atmosphere peculiar to her alone, like the exceeding +sweetness of her soft, low voice and the easy grace of her movements. + +In reply to her questions he told her of his adventures on far Southern +tracks, and of the careless, reckless life he had led. He had seen many +strange and stirring sights during his wanderings; and to her, whose young +life lead hitherto flown along as peacefully as a meadow-brook, it seemed +like a new and thrilling romance, with a living being in place of the +printed page. Once he mentioned a woman's name, and she started. + +“In all that time,” she inquired, softly, her eyes lowered, “did no woman +ever come into your life?” + +“No,” he answered, simply; “I never thought of a woman then.” + +She raised her eyes to his, and lowered them instantly, her face flushing. + +During a moment's lull in the conversation the hour was struck from a +neighboring steeple. They both started, half-guiltily. It was midnight. He +at once arose to go, apologizing for the lateness of his visit. + +“I would like to see you again, Miss Braxton, before I go North,” he said, +as he prepared to leave. + +She had risen with him, and they were both standing beside the mantel. Her +face paled. Then she turned her head aside, and said, in a tone that was +almost inaudible, “Father objects.” + +He became rigid instantly, and his lips grew white. “I suppose your father +don't know who I am,” he said, proudly. “My family is as good as any in the +State. I loved horses and the life and color of the race-track, and refused +to go to college when I could. Until I met you I never thought of anything +except horses. But that pedigree of my people is straight. There isn't a +cold cross on either side. I know I amount to nothing myself,” he +continued, bitterly, his eyes resting gloomily on the floor; “I'm only a +no-account old selling-plater, and I'll just go back to the stable, where I +belong.” Here an unusual sound interrupted him, and he looked up. The girl, +with her head on her arm, was leaning against the mantel, sobbing quietly. +In a moment he forgot all about himself and snatched up her disengaged +hand. + +“Do you really care?” he cried, pressing the fluttering little hand in both +of his. + +She lifted up her face, the soft brown eyes swimming in tears. “I wouldn't +mind,” she replied, half laughing and half sobbing--“I wouldn't mind at all +about the pedigree, and I know you're not an old selling-plater; but if you +were, I am very sure that I would care for you.” + +The Lexington meeting was over, and the horsemen were scattered far and +wide, from Chicago to Sheepshead Bay. Colonel Bill alone remained behind. +As the days passed and he made no preparation to depart, old Elias's +irritation grew apace, and the lives of the stable-boys under the +increasing rigor of his rule became almost unendurable. The Colonel, +however, saw very little of Elias or the stable-boys. Even his beloved +horses no longer interested him. He passed the days walking the streets of +Lexington, hoping by some chance to meet Miss Braxton, and it was not until +late at night that he returned to the race-track, foot-sore and +disappointed. He had been too deeply wounded and was too proud to make any +further effort to visit the Elms, and he thought it would be unmanly and +ungenerous to ask Miss Braxton to meet him away from her father's house. + +In the mean time the old General's wrath increased as the days passed. He +was unused to any kind of opposition, and the Colonel's persistence +irritated him beyond measure. The dream of his life was a brilliant +marriage for his daughter, and no amount of argument could alter his +opinion that Colonel Bill was a rude, unlettered stable-man. + +“Why, sir,” he would exclaim, over a mint-julep, to his friend Major +Johnson, who always defended the Colonel vigorously, “the idea of such +attentions to my daughter is preposterous--ludicrous! I will not permit it, +sir--not for one moment. If he persists in annoying my family, sir,” and +the purple hue of the General's face deepened, “I would no more hesitate to +shoot him--no more, by gad!--than I would a rattlesnake.” After the fourth +or fifth julep he did not always confine his conversation to his friend, +and so his threats often found their way back to the object of his wrath, +losing nothing by the journey. Although the Colonel's disposition was the +sunniest, the strain to which he was being subjected was telling on his +nerves, and once or twice he replied sharply to the tale-bearers. The +little city was soon excited over the quarrel, and every movement of the +principals was eagerly noted. + +“My money goes on Bill,” said Jule Chinn, the proprietor of the Blue-grass +Club, when the matter came up for discussion there between deals. “I saw +him plug that creole down in Orleans. First he throws him down the steps of +the St. Charles for insultin' a lady. When Frenchy insists on a duel an' +Bill gets up in front of him, he says, in that free-an'-easy way of his, +'We mark puppies up in my country by cutting their ears, and that's what +I'm going to do to you, for you ain't fit to die,' an' blame me if he don't +just pop bullets through that fellow's ears like you'd punch holes in a +piece of cheese!” After that the Colonel ruled a strong favorite in the +betting. + +When this condition of affairs had existed for two weeks, the Colonel arose +one morning from a sleepless bed with a fixed idea in his mind. He sat down +to a table in his room, pulled out some writing-paper, and set to work. +After many sheets had been covered and destroyed, he finally decided upon +the following: + + +“DEAR MISS BRAXTON,--I am going away from Lexington to-morrow, probably +never to return. Will you be at your father's gate at three o'clock this +afternoon, as I would like to say good-bye to you before I go? + +“Your sincere friend, + +“WILLIAM JARVIS” + + +After he had finished this epistle it seemed to him entirely too cold; but +the others, which he had written in a more sentimental vein, had appeared +unduly presumptuous. He finally sealed it and gave it to Pete, with +terrific threats of personal violence in case of anything preventing its +prompt delivery. While Pete was galloping off to Lexington at breakneck +speed, the Colonel was wondering what the answer would be. + +“I'll just say good-bye to her,” he muttered, moodily, “and then I'll never +see her again. I suppose I belong with the horses, anyhow, and that old +bottle-nosed General has me classed all right!” + +When Pete returned he handed the Colonel a dainty little three-cornered +note. It was addressed to “My dear friend,” and the writer was _so sorry_ +he was going away so _very soon_, and had hoped he would stay _ever_ so +much longer, and then signed herself cordially his, Susan Burleigh Braxton. +At the bottom was a postscript--“I will expect you at three o'clock.” + +An hour before the appointed time the Colonel was striding impatiently up +and down before the Elms, incessantly consulting his watch or wistfully +gazing up the gravelled walk. It still lacked several minutes of three, +when his heart gave a great jump as he saw Miss Braxton's graceful figure +flitting in and out through the shrubbery. She stopped to pluck some roses +from a bush that hung over the walk, bending down the richly laden bough so +that the flowers made a complete circle about her bright young face, and as +she raised her eyes she caught the Colonel gazing at her with such a look +of abject idolatry that she laughed and blushed. “You see I am on time,” + she cried, gayly, hastening down to the gate and handing him one of her +roses. “I am going to the post-office, and you may walk with me if you care +to.” If he cared to! Her mere presence beside him, the feeling that he +could reach out his hand and touch her, the music of her voice, filled him +with a joy of which he had never before dreamed. + +After they had left the post-office, by mutual direction their footsteps +turned from the more crowded thoroughfares, and they walked down a quiet +and deserted street where the stones were covered with moss, and where +solemn gnarled old trees lined the way on either side and met above their +heads, the fresh green leaves murmuring softly together like living things. + +They reached the end of the old street, and were almost in the country. A +wide-spreading chestnut-tree stood before them, around whose giant bole a +rustic seat had been built. They walked towards it in silence and sat down +side by side. + +They were entirely alone. A gay young red-bird, his head knowingly cocked +on one side, perched in the branches just above them. A belated bumblebee, +already heavy laden, hung over a cluster of wild flowers at their feet. A +long-legged garrulous grasshopper, undismayed by their presence, uttered +his clarion notes on the seat beside them. + +The inquisitive young red-bird looking down could only see a soft black hat +and a white straw hat with flowers about its broad brim. He heard the black +hat wondering if any one ever thought of him, to which the straw hat +replied softly that it was sure some one did think of him very often. Then +the black hat wondered if some one, when it was away, would continue to +think of it, and the flowered straw, still more softly, was very, very sure +some one would. + +Then the red-bird saw such a remarkable thing happen that his bright eyes +almost popped out of his little head. He saw a hand and a powerful arm +suddenly steal out from below the black hat and move in the direction of +the flowered straw--not hurriedly, but stealthily and surely. Having +reached it, the hand and the arm drew the unresisting flowered straw in the +direction of the black hat, until presently the hats came together. And +then the red-bird, himself desperately in love, knew what it all meant, and +burst into jubilant song. And the hard-working bumblebee, who also had a +sweetheart, took a moment's rest in honor of the event and buzzed his +delight; and even the long-legged grasshopper, an admirer of the sex, but a +confirmed bachelor, shouted his approbation until he was fairly hoarse. + +It was some time before the adventurous hand could be put back where it +properly belonged, and the face beneath the straw, when it came into view, +was a very flushed face, but the brown eyes shone like stars. As they +walked through the old street, the setting sun filling the air with a +golden glory, they passed a sweet-faced old lady cutting flowers in her +garden, and she smiled an indulgent smile, and they nodded and smiled back +at her. + +“I want you to promise me something,” Miss Braxton said, suddenly stopping +and looking up at him. “I want you to promise me,” she continued, not +waiting for his reply, “that you will not quarrel with my father. He is the +best father in the world. My mother died when I was a child, and since then +he has been father and mother and the whole world to me. I could never +forgive myself if you exchanged a harsh word with him.” + +“If all the stories I hear are true,” replied the Colonel, with a +good-humored laugh, “your father is the one for you to see.” + +“My father says a great deal which he frequently regrets the moment +afterwards,” she responded, earnestly. “He is a warm-hearted and an +impulsive man, and the dearest and best father in the world.” The Colonel +gave the desired promise, and they walked on in silence. When they reached +the Elms, and her hand was on the big iron gate, she turned to him, an +appealing look in her eyes. “Must you really go to-morrow?” she asked. + +“I am compelled to go,” he replied, sadly. “I have already remained here +too long. I must start to-morrow night.” + +“I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you are going away,” she said, +softly, extending her hand. He caught it up passionately. + +“I must see you again!” he cried. “I can't go away until I do. It is hard +enough to leave even then. I won't ask you to come away from your father's +house to meet me, but you could be here, couldn't you?” + +“When shall I come?” she asked, simply. + +“The train leaves to-morrow night at twelve. Could you be here at eleven?” + +“I will be here at eleven,” she said; and then, with a brave attempt to +smile, she turned away. Just at that moment General Braxton rounded the +neighboring corner and came straight towards them. + +In the hotel across the way the loungers leaning back in their +cane-bottomed chairs straightened up with keenest interest and delight. +Jule Chinn in the Blue-grass Club up-stairs, happening to glance out of the +window, turned his box over, and remarked that if any gentleman cared to +bet, he would lay any part of $5000 on Bill. When the General was directly +opposite him Colonel Bill gravely and courteously lifted his hat. For an +instant the old man hesitated, and then, with a glance at his daughter, he +lifted his own hat and passed through the gate. + +“Well, I'll be----!” cried Jule, with a whistle of infinite amazement. +“Things is changed in Kentucky!” + +“That,” said Major Cicero Johnson, who had exchanged several hundred +subscriptions to his paper for an ever-decreasing pile of Jule's blue +chips--“that is the tribute which valor pays to beauty. Their pleasure has +only been postponed. Colonel Chinn, you have overlooked that small wager on +the ace. Thanks.” + +Ten minutes later Colonel Bill was galloping out to the race-track, gayly +singing a popular love-song. Suddenly something occurred to him and he +stopped, reached back into his hip-pocket, and drew out a long pistol. He +threw it as far as he could into a neighboring brier-patch, and once more +giving rein to his horse, began to sing with renewed enthusiasm. + +When he reached the track he called old Elias into his room, and they +remained together for a long time in whispered conference. That night any +one who happened to have been belated on the Versailles 'pike might have +passed Elias jogging along on his horse, looking very important, and an air +of mystery enveloping him like a garment. + +It was far into the night when he returned. As he started to creep up the +ladder to the loft above his young master's room, his shoes in his hand so +as not to awaken him, the Colonel, who had been tossing on a sleepless bed +for hours, called out. Elias, who evidently regarded himself as a +conspirator, waited until he had reached the loft, and then whispered back, +“Hit's all right, Marse Bill,” and was instantly swallowed up in the +darkness. + +It was one of those perfect June nights so often seen in Kentucky. The full +moon hung in a cloudless sky, filling the air with a soft white radiance. +There was not a movement in the still, warm atmosphere, and to Colonel +Bill, waiting beneath the shadows of the big oak-tree near the General's +gate, it seemed that all nature was waiting with him. The leaves above his +head, the gray old church steeple beyond the house, the long stretch of +deserted streets--they all wore a hushed, expectant look. + +It was several minutes past the appointed hour, and Miss Braxton had not +come. He had begun to fear that perhaps her father, suspecting something, +had detained her, when he saw her figure, a white outline among the +rose-bushes, far up the walk. As she drew near he stepped out from the +shadows, and she gave a little cry of delight. + +“I know I am late, but I was talking with father,” she said, +apologetically, and the brown eyes became troubled. “He was very restless +and nervous to-night and when he is in that condition he says I soothe +him.” They had slowly walked towards the tree as she was speaking, and when +she had finished they were completely hidden from any chance passer. She +glanced up, and even in the gloom she noticed how white and tense was his +face. + +“Do you know,” he cried, abruptly, “if I go away from Lexington to-night it +will only be to return in a day, or two days? For weeks I have been able to +think of nothing, to dream of nothing, except you. I haven't come here +to-night to say good-bye to you,” he continued, passionately, “because I +cannot say good-bye to you, but to implore you to come with me--to marry +me--to-night--now.” She shrank back. “I have made all my arrangements,” he +continued, feverishly. “I have a cousin, a minister, living in Versailles. +Once a month he preaches in a little church on the 'pike near there. I sent +word by Elias last night for him to meet us there to-night, and he said he +would. Elias has the horses under the trees yonder; they will be here in a +moment, and in an hour we will be married. Come!” His arms were around her, +and while he spoke she was carried away by the rush of his passion, and +yielded to it with a feeling of languorous delight. Then there came the +thought of the lonely old man who would be left behind. She slipped gently +from her lover's arms and looked back at the house which had been her home +for so many years. She saw the light, in her father's room, and recalled +how she went there when she was a little girl to say her prayers at his +knee and kiss him good-night. He had always been so kind to her, so willing +to sacrifice himself for her pleasure, and he was so old. What would he do +when she had gone out of his life? No; she could not desert him. She +covered her face with her hands. “I cannot leave father,” she sobbed. “I +cannot; I must not.” They had moved out from the shadow of the tree into +the moonlight. He had taken her hand, and had begun to renew his appeals, +when they were both startled by the sound of footsteps on the gravelled +walk and the General's voice crying, “Sue! Sue, where are you?” At the same +moment Elias came up, leading two horses. The Colonel and Miss Braxton +stood just as they were, too surprised to move. They could not escape in +any event, for almost as soon as the words reached them the General came +into view. He saw them at once, and it required only a glance at the +approaching horses to tell him everything. With an inarticulate cry of +rage, his gray hair streaming behind him, he rushed wildly back to the +house. The Colonel looked after him, and then turned to Miss Braxton. + +“He has gone to arm himself,” he said, quietly. “He will be back with your +brothers.” + +The girl looked up in his face and shivered. Then she glanced towards the +house, where lights were flashing from room to room, and the doors were +being opened and shut, and she wrung her hands. In the stillness every +sound could be heard--the rush of footsteps down the stairs, the fierce +commands, the creaking of the great stable door in the rear of the house. + +“They are getting out the horses,” she whispered. + +“Yes,” he replied, calmly. “He thought we were running away.” There was not +a tremor in his voice. She was reared in a society where physical bravery +is the first of virtues, and even in that terrible moment she could not +help feeling a thrill of pride as she looked at him. + +She never thought of asking him to fly. She could hear the horses as they +were led out of their stalls one by one, their hoofs echoing sharply on the +stone flagging. Her excited imagination supplied all the details. Now they +were putting on the bridles; now they were fastening the saddles; they were +mounted; the gate was being opened; in another moment they would sweep down +on them. Then she looked at her lover standing there so motionless, +waiting--for what? The thought of it was maddening. + +“Quick! quick!” she cried, wildly, catching his arm; “I will go with you.” + +Without a word he lifted her up in his arms and seated her on one of the +horses. He carefully tested the saddle, although the hoofs of their +pursuers' horses were already ringing on the street behind the house. Then +he swung himself easily into the saddle, and was hardly there before the +General and his two sons swept around the neighboring corner, not fifty +yards away. + +“Good-bye, Elias,” called the Colonel, cheerfully, as they shot out into +the moonlit street; and Elias's “God bless you bofe, Marse Bill!” came to +them above the rush of the horses. + +As they went clattering through the quiet streets and past the rows of +darkened houses, the horses, with their sinewy necks straightened out +speeding so swiftly that the balmy air blew a soft wind in their riders' +faces, Colonel Bill, with a slight shade of disappointment in his voice, +said: + +“I guess you didn't get a good look at the horses, or you would have +recognized them. That's old Beau Brummel you're on, and this is Queen of +Sheba. They're both fit, although they haven't been particularly trained +for these free-for-all scrambles, owners' handicap, ten miles straightaway. +But I don't believe there's a horse in Kentucky can catch us to-night,” he +concluded, proudly patting the neck of his thoroughbred. He glanced over +his shoulder as he spoke, and noted that the distance between them and +their pursuers was constantly widening, until, turning a corner, they could +neither see nor hear them. + +And now the Colonel's spirits fairly bubbled over. He was a superb rider, +and swinging carelessly in his saddle, his hands hardly touching the reins, +he kept up a running stream of jocular comment. + +“It looks to me like the old gentleman's going to be distanced,” he cried, +with a chuckle, “He can't say a word, though, for he made the conditions of +this race. The start was a trifle straggling, as Jack Calloway told me once +when he left seven horses at the post in a field of ten, and perhaps the +Beau and the Queen didn't have the worst of it.” + +In every possible way he sought to divert his companion's mind. Once or +twice she delighted him by faintly smiling a response to his speeches. They +had passed the last of the straggling houses, and the turnpike stretched +before them, a white ribbon winding through the green meadow-land. They had +to wait while a sleepy tollgate-keeper lifted his wooden bar, and straining +their ears, they could just catch the faint, far-away sound of galloping +horses. + +“In another hour,” he cried, pressing her hand, and once more they were +off. A mile farther on they stopped again. Before them was a narrow lane +debauching from the turnpike. + +“That lane,” he said, reflectively, “would save us a good two miles, for +the 'pike makes a big bend here. Elias told me that he heard it was closed +up, and we might get in there and not be able to get out. We can't afford +to take the chance,” he concluded, thoughtfully, and they continued on +their journey. For some time neither spoke. As they were about to enter the +wood through which the road passed they stopped to breathe their horses. + +“I don't hear them,” said the girl. Then she added, joyfully, “Perhaps they +have turned back.” + +He listened attentively. “Perhaps they have,” he said, at last. + +As they rode forward more than once an anxious expression passed over his +face, although his conversation was as cheerful as ever. Miss Braxton, from +whose mind a great weight had been lifted, laughed and chatted as she had +not done since the journey began. + +They had passed through the wood and were out in the open country again. As +they galloped on, only the distant barking of a watch-dog guarding some +lonely farm-house, or the premature crowing of a barn fowl, deceived by the +brilliancy of the moonlight into thinking that day had come, broke the +absolute silence. They might have been the one woman and the one man in a +new world, so profound was their isolation. + +“Do you see that group of trees on the hill there just ahead of us,” he +asked, carelessly, as the horses slowed to a canter. “Well, just the other +side of those trees the lane we passed joins the 'pike again. Now it is +possible that instead of your amiable relatives going home, they may have +taken to the lane. If it hasn't been closed, they may be waiting there to +welcome us.” For a moment the girl was deceived by the lightness of his +manner; and then, as she realized what such a situation meant, she grew +white to the lips. “The chances are,” he continued, cheerfully, “that they +won't be there, but we had just as well be prepared. If they are there we +must approach them just as if we were going to talk to them, slowing up +almost to a walk. They will be on my side, and I will keep in the middle of +the 'pike. You remain as close to the fence as you can. When we get +opposite them I'll yell, 'Now!' You can give your horse his head, and +before they know what's happened we will be a hundred yards away. All my +horses have been trained to get away from the post, and these two are the +quickest breakers on the Western Circuit. Now let's go over the plan +again.” And the Colonel carefully repeated what he had said, illustrating +it as he went along. Yes, she understood him. It was very simple. How could +she forget it? As she told him this her frightened eyes never left his +face, and she followed his movements with such a look of pain that he swore +at her father, under his breath, with a vigor which did full justice to the +occasion. + +A few minutes' ride brought them to the top of the hill, and they both +looked eagerly before them. A furlong away, standing perfectly still in the +middle of the lane, their horses' heads facing the turnpike, were three +mounted men. It required no second glance to identify the watchers. Colonel +Bill's eyes blazed, and his right hand went back instinctively to his empty +pistol-pocket. He regained his composure in a moment. “Go very slow,” he +whispered, “and don't make a move till I shout. Keep as far over to your +side as you can.” They approached the three grim watchers, their horses +almost eased to a walk. Not a word was spoken on either side. When they had +reached a point almost directly opposite their pursuers, Colonel Bill made +a pretence of pulling up his horse, only to catch the reins in a firmer +grip, and then, with a sudden dig of the spurs, he yelled, “Now!” and his +horse sprang forward like a frightened deer. At the same instant Miss +Braxton deliberately swung her horse across the road and behind his. Then +there came the sharp report of a pistol, followed by the rush of the +pursuing horses. But high above all other sounds rose General Braxton's +agonized voice: “My God, don't shoot! Don't shoot!” Before the Colonel +could turn in his saddle Miss Braxton was beside him. + +“Why didn't you stay where you were?” he cried, sharply, the sense of her +peril setting his nerves on edge. As he realized that it was for his sake +she had come between him and danger, his eyes grew moist. “Suppose you had +been hurt?” he added, reproachfully. She did not reply, and they rode on at +full speed. They had once more left their pursuers behind; but as the +church was now only a few miles away, and they needed every spare moment +there, they urged their horses to renewed effort. + +“There is the church now, and it's lighted up,” cried the Colonel, +joyfully, as they dashed around a bend in the road, pointing to a little +one-story building tucked away amid trees and under-brush beside the +turnpike. In the doorway the minister stood waiting for them--a tall young +man whose ruddy face, broad shoulders, and humorous blue eyes suggested the +relationship the Colonel had mentioned. As they pulled up, the young +minister came forward and was introduced by the Colonel as “My cousin, Jim +Bradley.” While they were both assisting Miss Braxton to dismount and +fastening the horses, the Colonel, in a few words, told of the pursuit and +of the necessity of haste. Mr. Bradley led the way into the church, the +lovers following arm in arm. It was a plain whitewashed little room, with +wooden benches for the worshippers, and a narrow aisle leading up to the +platform, where stood the preacher's pulpit. Half a dozen lamps with bright +tin reflectors behind them, like halos, were fastened to brackets high up +on the walls. The young couple stopped when they reached the platform, and +at Mr. Bradley's request joined their hands. He had opened the prayer-book +at the marriage service, and was beginning to read it, when he gave a +start. Far away down the turnpike, faint but unmistakable--now dying away +into a mere murmur, now rising clear and bold--came the sound of galloping +horses. The Colonel felt the girl's hand cold in his, and he whispered a +word of encouragement. Mr. Bradley hurried on with the ceremony. The +centuries-old questions, so often asked beneath splendid domes before +fashionable assemblages to the accompaniment of triumphant music, were +never answered with more truth and fervor than in that little roadside +church, with no one to hear them but the listening trees and the heart of +the night wind. + +“Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love her, comfort +her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all +others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?” + +How he pressed the trembling little hand in his, and how devotedly he +answered, “I will.” + +“Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband? Wilt thou obey him and +serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health, and +forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall +live?” + +The downcast eyes were covered with the drooping lids, and the voice was +faint and low, but what a world of love was in the simple, “I will.” + +As the young minister, very solemn and dignified now, paused for each +reply, there came ever nearer and ever louder the ringing of the +hoof-beats. Once he stole a hurried glance through the window which gave on +the turnpike. Not half a mile away, their figures black against the +sky-line, fiercely lashing their tired horses to fresh effort, were three +desperate riders. The couple before him did not raise their eyes. + +And now the concluding words of the service had been reached, and the +minister had begun, “Those whom God hath joined together--” when the rest +of the sentence was lost in the old General's angry shout, as he flung +himself from his horse, and, with his sons at his heels, rushed into the +church. At the threshold they stopped with blanched faces, for, as they +entered, the girl, uttering a faint cry, her face whiter than her gown, +down which a little stream of blood was trickling, reeled and tottered, and +fell senseless into her husband's arms. + + +A few days later Major Johnson's Lexington _Chronicle_, under the heading +“Jarvis--Braxton,” contained the following: + +“Colonel William Jarvis, the distinguisbed and genial young turfman, and +Miss Susan Braxton, the beautiful and accomplished daughter of General +Thomas Anderson Braxton, the hero of two wars, whose name is a household +word wherever valor is honored and eloquence is admired, were united in +marriage Monday night. With the romance of youth, the young couple +determined to avoid the conventionalities of society, and only the bride's +father and two brothers were present. Immediately preceding the ceremony +the lovely bride was accidentally injured by the premature explosion of a +fire-arm, but her hosts of friends will be delighted to learn that the +mishap was not of a serious character. The young couple are now the guests +of General Braxton at the historic Elms. We are informed, however, that +Colonel Jarvis contemplates retiring from the turf and purchasing a +stock-farm near Lexington. As a souvenir of his marriage he has promised +his distinguished father-in-law the first three good horses he raises.” + + + + +The Balance of Power + + +BY MAURICE THOMPSON + +“I don't hesitate to say to you that I regard him as but a small remove in +nature from absolute trash, Phyllis--absolute trash! His character may be +good--doubtless it is; but he is not of good family, and he shows it. What +is he but a mountain cracker? There is no middle ground; trash is trash!” + +Colonel Mobley Sommerton spoke in a rich bass voice, slowly rolling his +words. The bagging of his trousers at the knees made his straight legs +appear bent, as if for a jump at something, while his daughter Phyllis +looked at him searchingly, but not in the least impatiently, her fine gray +eyes wide open, and her face, with its delicately blooming cheeks, its +peach-petal lips, and its saucy little nose, all attention and +half-indignant surprise. + +“Of course,” the Colonel went on, with a conciliatory touch in his words, +when he had waited some time for his daughter to speak and she spoke +not--“of course you do not care a straw for him, Phyllis; I know that. The +daughter of a Sommerton couldn't care for such a--” + +“I don't mind saying to you that I do care for him, and that I love him, +and want to marry him,” broke in Phyllis, with tremulous vehemence, tears +gushing from her eyes at the same time; and a depth of touching pathos +seemed to open behind her words, albeit they rang like so many notes of +rank boldness in the old man's ears. + +“Phyllis!” he exclaimed; then he stooped a little, his trousers bagging +still more, and he stood in an attitude almost stagy, a flare of choleric +surprise leaping into his face. “Phyllis Sommerton what _do_ you mean? Are +you crazy? You say that to me?” + +The girl--she was just eighteen--faced her father with a look at once +tearfully saucy and lovingly firm. The sauciness, however, was superficial +and physical, not in any degree a part of her mental mood. She could not, +had she tried, have been the least bit wilful or impertinent with her +father, who had always been a model of tenderness. Besides, a girl never +lived who loved a parent more unreservedly than Phyllis loved Colonel +Sommerton. + +“Go to your room, miss! go to your room! Step lively at that, and let me +have no more of this nonsense. Go! I command you!” + +The stamp with which the Colonel's rather substantial boot just then shook +the floor seemed to generate some current of force sufficient to whirl +Phyllis about and send her up-stairs in an old-fashioned fit of hysteria. +She was crying and talking and running all at the same time, her voice made +liquid like a bird's, and yet jangling with its mixed emotions. Down fell +her wavy, long, brown hair almost to her feet, one rich strand trailing +over the rail as she mounted the steps, while the rustling of her muslin +dress told off the springy motion of her limbs till she disappeared in the +gilt-papered gloom aloft, where the windowless hall turned at right angles +with the stairway. + +Colonel Sommerton was smiling grimly by this time, and his iron-gray +mustache quivered humorously. + +“She's a little brick,” he muttered; “a chip off the old log--by zounds, +she is! She means business. Got the bit in her teeth, and fairly splitting +the air!” He chuckled raucously. “Let her go; she'll soon tire out.” + +Sommerton Place, a picturesque old mansion, as mansions have always gone in +north Georgia, stood in a grove of oaks on a hill-top overlooking a little +mountain town, beyond which uprose a crescent of blue peaks against a +dreamy summer sky. Behind the house a broad plantation rolled its +billow-like ridges of corn and cotton. + +The Colonel went out on the veranda and lit a cigar, after breaking two or +three matches that he nervously scratched on a column. + +This was the first quarrel that he had ever had with Phyllis. + +Mrs. Sommerton had died when Phyllis was twelve years old, leaving the +little girl to be brought up in a boarding-school in Atlanta. The widowed +man did not marry again, and when his daughter came home, six months before +the opening of our story, it was natural that he should see nothing but +loveliness in the fair, bright, only child of his happy wedded life, now +ended forever. + +The reader must have taken for granted that the person under discussion in +the conversation touched upon at the outset of this writing was a young +man; but Tom Bannister stood for more than the sum of the average young +man's values. He was what in our republic is recognized as a promising +fellow, bright, magnetic, shifty, well forward in the neologies of society, +business, and politics, a born leader in a small way, and as ambitious as +poverty and a brimming self-esteem could make him. From his humble +law-office window he had seen Phyllis pass along the street in the old +Sommerton carriage, and had fallen in love as promptly as possible with her +plump, lissome form and pretty face. + +He sought her acquaintance, avoided with cleverness a number of annoying +barriers, assaulted her heart, and won it, all of which stood as mere play +when compared with climbing over the pride and prejudice of Colonel +Sommerton. For Bannister was nobody in a social way, as viewed from the +lofty top of the hill at Sommerton Place; indeed, all of his kinspeople +were mountaineers, honest, it is true, but decidedly woodsy, who tilled +stony acres in a pocket beyond the first blue ridge yonder. His education +seemed good, but it had been snatched from the books by force, with the +savage certainty of grip which belongs to genius. + +Colonel Sommerton, having unbounded confidence in Phyllis's aristocratic +breeding, would not open his eyes to the attitude of the young people until +suddenly it came into his head that possibly the almost briefless plebeian +lawyer had ulterior designs while climbing the hill, as he was doing +noticeably often, from town to Sommerton Place. But when this thought +arrived the Colonel was prompt to act. He called up the subject at once, +and we have seen the close of his interview with Phyllis. + +Now he stood on the veranda and puffed his cigar with quick, short +draughts, as a man does who falters between two horns of a dilemma. He +turned his head to one side as if listening to his own thoughts, his tall, +pointed collar meantime fitting snugly in a crease of his furrowed jaw. + +At this moment the shambling, yet in a way facile, footsteps of Barnaby, +the sporadic freedman of the household, were soothing. Colonel Sommerton +turned his eyes on the comer inquiringly, almost eagerly. + +“Well, Barn, you're back,” he said. + +“Yah, sah; I'se had er confab wid 'em,” remarked the negro, seating himself +on the top step of the veranda, and mopping his coal-black face with a red +cotton handkerchief; “an' hit do beat all. Niggahs is mos'ly eejits, +spacially w'en yo' wants 'em to hab some sense.” + +He was a huge, ill-shapen, muscular fellow, old but still vigorous, and in +his small black eyes twinkled an unsounded depth of shrewdness. He had been +the Colonel's slave from his young manhood to the close of the war; since +then he had hung around Ellijay what time he was not sponging a livelihood +from Sommerton Place under color of doing various light turns in the +vegetable garden, and of attending to his quondam master's horses. + +Barnaby was a great banjoist, a charming song-singer, and a leader of the +negroes around about. Lately he was gaining some reputation as a political +boss. + +There was but one political party in the county (for the colored people +were so few that they could not be called a party), and the only struggle +for office came in the pursuit of a nomination, which was always equivalent +to election. Candidates were chosen at a convention or mass-meeting of the +whites and the only figure that the blacks were able to cut in the matter +was by reason of a pretended, rather than a real, prejudice against them +which was used by the candidates (who are always white men) to further +their electioneering schemes, as will presently appear. + +“Hit do beat all,” Barnaby repeated, shaking his heavy head reflectively, +and making a grimace both comical and hideous. “Dat young man desput sma't +and cunnin', sho's yo' bo'n he is. He done been foolin' wid dem niggahs +a'ready.” + +The reader may as well be told at once that if a candidate could by any +means make the negroes support his opponent for the nomination it was the +best card he could possibly play; or, if he could not quite do this, but +make it appear that the other fellow was not unpopular in colored circles, +it served nearly the same turn. + +Phyllis, when she ran crying up-stairs after the conversation with her +father, went to her room, and fell into a chair by the window. So it +chanced that she overheard the conference between Colonel Sommerton and +Barnaby, and long after it was ended she still sat there leaning on the +window-sill. Her eyes showed a trifle of irritation, but the tears were all +gone. + +“Why didn't Tom tell me that he was going to run against my father?” she +inquired of herself over and over. “I think he might have trusted me, so I +do. It's mean of him. And if he should beat papa! Papa could bear that.” + +She sprang to her feet and walked across the room, stopping on the way to +rub her apple-bloom cheeks before a looking-glass. Vaguely enough, but +insistently, the outline of a political plot glimmered in her consciousness +and troubled her understanding. Plainly her father and Tom Bannister were +rival candidates, and just as plainly each was scheming to make it appear +that the negroes were supporting his opponent; but the girl's little head +could not gather up and comprehend all that such a condition of things +meant. She supposed that a sort of disgrace would attach to defeat, and she +clasped her hands and poised her winsome body melodramatically when she +asked herself which she would rather the defeat would fall upon, her father +or Tom. She leaned out of the window and saw Colonel Sommerton walking down +the road towards town, with his cigar elevated at an acute angle with his +nose, his hat pulled well down in front, by which she knew that he was +still excited. Days went by, as days will in any state of affairs, with +just such faultless weather as August engenders amid the cool hills of the +old Cherokee country; and Phyllis noted, by an indirect attention to what +she had never before been interested in, that Colonel Sommerton was growing +strangely confidential and familiar with Barnaby. She had a distinct but +remote impression that her father had hitherto never, at least never +openly, shown such irenic solicitude in that direction, and she knew that +his sudden peace-making with the old negro meant ill to her lover. She +pondered the matter with such discrimination and logic as her clever little +brain could compass; and at last she one evening called Barnaby to come +into the garden with his banjo. + +The sun was down, and the half-grown moon swung yellow and clear against +the violet arch of mid-heaven. Through the sheen a softened outline of the +town wavered fantastically. + +Phyllis sat on a great fragment of limestone, which, embossed with curious +fossils, formed the immovable centre-piece of the garden. + +Barnaby, at a respectful distance, crumpled herself satyr-like on the +ground, with his banjo across his knee, and gazed expectantly aslant at the +girl's sweet face. + +“Now play me my father's favorite song,” she said. + +They heard Mrs. Wren, the housekeeper, opening the windows in the upper +rooms of the mansion to let in the night air, which was stirring over the +valley with a delicious mountain chill on its wings. All around in the +trees and shrubbery the katydids were rasping away in immelodious statement +and denial of the ancient accusation. + +Barnaby demurred. He did not imagine, so at least he said, that Miss +Phyllis would be pleased with the ballad that recently had been the +Colonel's chief musical delight; but he must obey the young lady, and so, +after some throat--clearing and string--tuning, he proceeded: + + + “I'd rudder be er niggah + Dan ter be er whi' man, + Dough the whi' man considdah + He se'f biggah; + But of yo' mus' be white, w'y be hones' of + yo' can, + An ac' es much es poss'ble like er niggah! + + “De colah ob yo' skin + Hit don't constertoot no sin, + An' yo' fambly ain't er-- + Cuttin' any figgah; + Min' w'at yo's er-doin', an' do de bes' yo' kin, + An' ac' es much es poss'ble like er niggah!” + + +The tune of this song was melody itself, brimming with that unkempt, +sarcastic humor which always strikes as if obliquely, and with a flurry of +tipsy fun, into one's ears. + +When the performance was ended, and the final tinkle of the rollicking +banjo accompaniment died away down the slope of Sommerton Hill, Phyllis put +her plump chin in her hands and, with her elbows on her knees, looked +steadily at Barnaby for a while. + +“Barn,” she said, “is my father going to get the colored people to indorse +Mr. Tom Bannister?” + +“Yes, ma'm,” replied the old negro; and then he caught his breath and +checked himself in confusion. “Da-da-dat is, er--I spec' so--er--I dun'no', +ma'm,” he stammered. “Fo' de Lor' I's--” + +Phyllis interrupted him with an impatient laugh, but said no more. In due +time Barnaby sang her some other ditties, and then she went into the house. +She gave the negro a large coin and on the veranda steps she called back to +him, “Good-night, Uncle Barn,” in a voice that made him shake his head and +mutter: + +“De bressed chile! De bressed chile!” And yet he was aware that she had +outwitted him and gained his secret. He knew how matters stood between the +young lady and Tom Bannister, and there arose in his mind a vivid sense of +the danger that might result to his own and Colonel Sommerton's plans from +a disclosure of this one vital detail. Would Phyllis tell her lover? +Barnaby shook his head in a dubious way. + +“Gals is pow'ful onsartin so dey is,” he muttered. “Dey tells der +sweethearts mos'ly all what dey knows, spacially secrets. Spec' de ole boss +an' he plan done gone up de chimbly er-kally-hootin' fo' good.” + +Then the old scamp began to turn over in his brain a scheme which seemed to +offer him a fair way of approaching Mr. Tom Bannister's pocket and the +portemonnaie of Phyllis as well. He chuckled atrociously as a pretty +comprehensive view of “practical politics” opened itself to him. + +Tom Bannister had not been to see Phyllis since her father had delivered +his opinion to her touching the intrinsic merits of that young man, and she +felt uneasy. + +Colonel Sommerton, though notably eccentric, could be depended upon for +outright dealing in general; still Phyllis had a pretty substantial belief +that in politics success lay largely on the side of the trickster. For many +years the Colonel had been in the Legislature. No man had been able to beat +him for the nomination. She had often heard him tell how he laid out his +antagonists by taking excellent and popular short turns on them, and it was +plain to her mind now that he was weaving a snare for Tom Bannister. + +She thought of Tom's running for office against her father as something +prodigiously strange. Certainly it was a bold and daring piece of youthful +audacity for him to be guilty of. He, a young sprig of the law, with his +brown mustache not yet grown, setting himself up to beat Colonel Mobley +Sommerton! Phyllis blushed whenever she thought of it; but the Colonel had +never once mentioned Tom's candidacy to her. + +The convention was approaching, and day by day signs of popular interest in +it increased as the time shortened. Colonel Sommerton was preparing a +speech for the occasion. The manuscript of it lay on the desk in his +library. + +About this time--it was near September 1st and the watermelons and +cantaloupes were in their glory--the Colonel was called away to a distant +town for a few days. In his absence Tom Bannister chanced to visit +Sommerton Place. Of course Phyllis was not expecting him; indeed, she told +him that he ought not to have come; but Tom thought differently in a very +persuasive way. The melons were good, the library delightfully cool, and +conversation caught the fragrance of innocent albeit stolen pleasure. + +Tom Bannister was unquestionably a handsome young fellow, carrying a +hearty, whole-souled expression in his open, almost rosy face. His large +brown eyes, curly brown hair, silken young mustache, and firmly set mouth +and chin well matched his stalwart, symmetrical form. He was not only +handsome, he was brilliant in a way, and his memory was something +prodigious. Unquestionably he would rise rapidly. + +“I am going to beat your father for the nomination,” he remarked, midmost +the discussion of their melons, speaking in a tone of the most absolute +confidence. + +“Tom,” she exclaimed, “you mustn't do it!” + +“Why, I'd like to know?” + +She looked at him as if she felt a sudden fright. His eyes fell before her +intense, searching gaze. + +“It would be dreadful,” she presently managed to say. “Papa couldn't bear +it.” + +“It will ruin me forever if I let him beat me. I shall have to go away from +here.” It was now his turn to become intense. + +“I don't see what makes men think so much of office,” she complained, +evasively. “I've heard papa say that there was absolutely no profit in +going to the Legislature.” Then, becoming insistent, she exclaimed, +“Withdraw, Tom; please do, for my sake!” + +She made a rudimentary movement as if to throw her arms around him, but it +came to nothing. Her voice, however, carried a mighty appeal to Tom's +heart. He looked at her, and thought how commonplace other young women were +when compared with her. + +“You will withdraw, won't you, Tom?” she prayed. One of her hands touched +his arm. “Say yes, Tom.” + +For a moment his political ambition and his standing with men appeared to +dissolve into a mere mist, a finely comminuted sentiment of love; but he +kept a good hold upon himself. + +“I cannot do it, Phyllis,” he said, in a firm voice, which disclosed by +some indescribable inflection how much it pained him to refuse. “My whole +future depends upon success in this race. I am sorry it is your father I +must beat, but, Phyllis, I must be nominated. I can't afford to sit down in +your father's shadow. As sure as you live, I am going to beat him.” + +In her heart she was proud of him, and proud of this resolution that not +even she could break. From that moment she was between the millstones. She +loved her father, it seemed to her, more than ever, and she could not bear +the thought of his defeat. Indeed, with that generosity characteristic of +the sex which can be truly humorous only when absolutely unconscious of it, +she wanted both Tom and the Colonel nominated, and both elected. She was +the partisan on Tom's side, the adherent on her father's. + +Colonel Sommerton returned on the day before the convention, and found his +friends enthusiastic, all his “fences” in good condition, and his +nomination evidently certain. It followed that he was in high good-humor. +He hugged Phyllis, and in a casual way brought up the thought of how +pleasantly they could spend the winter in Atlanta when the Legislature met. + +“But Tom--I mean Mr. Bannister--is going to beat you, and get the +nomination,” she archly remarked. + +“If he does, I'll deed you Sommerton Place!” As he spoke he glared at her +as a lion might glare at thought of being defeated by a cub. + +“To him and me?” she inquired, with sudden eagerness of tone. “If he---” + +“Phyllis!” he interrupted, savagely, “no joking on that subject. I +won't---” + +“No; I'm serious,” she sweetly said. “If he can't beat you, I don't want +him.” + +“Zounds! Is that a bargain?” He put his hand on her shoulder, and bent down +so that his eyes were on a level with hers. + +“Yes,” she replied; “and I'll hold you to it.” + +“You promise me?” he insisted. + +“A man must go ahead of my papa,” she said, putting her arms about the old +gentleman's neck, “or I'll stay by papa.” + +He kissed her with atrocious violence. Even the knee-sag of his trousers +suggested more than ordinary vigor of feeling. + +“Well, it's good-bye, Tom,” he said, pushing her away from him, and letting +go a profound bass laugh. “I'll settle him to-morrow.” + +“You'll see,” she rejoined. “He may not be so easy to settle.” + +He gave her a savage but friendly cuff as they parted. + +That evening old Barnaby brought his banjo around to the veranda. Colonel +Sommerton was down in town mixing with the “boys,” and doing up his final +political chores so that there might be no slip on the morrow. It was near +eleven o'clock when he came up the hill and stopped at the gate to hear the +song that Barnaby was singing. He supposed that the old negro was all +alone. Certainly the captivating voice, with its unkempt melody, and its +throbbing, skipping, harum-scarum banjo accompaniment, was all that broke +the silence of the place. + +His song was: + +“DE SASSAFRAS BLOOM + + “Dey's sugah in de win' when de sassafras bloom, + When de little co'n fluttah in de row, + When de robin in de tree, like er young gal in de loom, + Sing sweet, sing sof', sing low. + + “Oh, de sassafras blossom hab de keen smell o' de root, + An' it hab rich er tender yaller green! + De co'n hit kinder twinkle when hit firs' begin ter shoot, + While de bum'le-bee hit bum'le in between. + + “Oh, de sassafras tassel, an' de young shoot o' de co'n, + An' de young gal er-singing in de loom, + Dey's somefin' 'licious in 'em f'om de day 'at dey is bo'n, + An' dis darky's sort o' took er likin' to 'm. + + “Hit's kind o' sort o' glor'us when yo' feels so quare an' cur'us, + An' yo' don' know what it is yo' wants ter do; + But I takes de chances on it 'at hit jes can't be injur'us + When de whole endurin' natur tells yo' to! + + “Den wake up, niggah, see de sassafras in bloom! + Lis'n how de sleepy wedder blow! + An' de robin in de haw--bush an' de young gal in de loom + Is er-singin' so sof' an' low.” + +“Thank you, Barn; here's your dollar,” said the voice of Tom Bannister when +the song was ended. “You may go now.” + +And while Colonel Sommerton stood amazed, the young man came clown the +veranda steps with Phyllis on his arm. They stopped when they reached the +ground. + +“Good--night, dear. I'll win you to-morrow or my name is not Tom Bannister. +I'll win you, and Sommerton Place too.” And when they parted he came right +down the walk between the trees, to run almost against Colonel Sommerton. + +“Why, good-evening, Colonel,” he said, with a cordial, liberal spirit in +his voice. “I have been waiting in hopes of seeing you.” + +“You'll get enough of me to-morrow to last you a lifetime, sah,” promptly +responded the old man, marching straight on into the house. Nothing could +express more concentrated and yet comprehensive contempt than Colonel +Sommerton's manner. + +“The impudent young scamp,” he growled. “I'll show +him!” + +Phyllis sprang from ambush behind a vine, and covered her father's face +with warm kisses, then broke away before he could say a word, and ran up to +her room. + +In the distant kitchen Barnaby was singing: + + “Kick so high I broke my neck, + An' fling my right foot off'm my leg + Went to work mos' awful quick, + An' mended 'em wid er wooden peg.” + +Next morning at nine o'clock sharp the convention was called to order, +General John Duff Tolliver in the chair. Speeches were expected, and it had +been arranged that Tom Bannister should first appear, Colonel Sommerton +would follow, and then the ballot would be taken. + +This order of business showed the fine tactics of the Colonel, who well +understood how much advantage lay in the vivid impression of a closing +speech. + +As the two candidates made their way from opposite directions through the +throng to the platform, which was under a tree in a beautiful suburban +grove, both were greeted with effusive warmth by admiring constituents. +Many women were present, and Tom Bannister felt the blood surge mightily +through his veins at sight of Phyllis standing tall and beautiful before +him with her hand extended. + +“If you lose, die game, Tom,” she murmured, as he pressed her fingers and +passed on. + +The young man's appearance on the stand called forth a tremendous roar of +applause. Certainly he was popular. Colonel Sommerton felt a queer shock of +surprise thrill along his nerves. Could it be possible that he would lose? +No; the thought was intolerable. He sat a trifle straighter on his bench, +and began gathering the points of his well-conned speech. He saw old +Barnaby moving around the rim of the crowd, apparently looking for a seat. + +Meantime, Tom was proceeding in a clear, soft, far-reaching voice. The +Colonel started and looked askance. What did it mean? At first his brain +was confused, but presently he understood. Word for word, sentence for +sentence, paragraph for paragraph, Tom was delivering the Colonel's own +sonorous speech! Of course the application was reversed here and there, so +that the wit, the humor, and the personal thrusts all went home. It was a +wonderful piece of _ad captandum_ oratory. The crowd went wild from start +to finish. + +Colonel Mobley Sommerton sat dazed and stupefied, mopping his forehead and +trying to collect his faculties. He felt beaten, annihilated, while Tom +soared superbly on the wings of Sommertonian oratory so mysteriously at his +command. + +From a most eligible point of view Phyllis was gazing at Tom and receiving +the full brilliant current of his speech, and she appeared to catch a fine +stimulus from the flow of its opening sentences. As it proceeded her face +alternately flushed and paled, and her heart pounded heavily. All around +rose the tumult of unbridled applause. Men flung up their hats and yelled +themselves hoarse. A speech of that sort from a young fellow like Tom +Bannister was something to create irrepressible enthusiasm. It ended in +such a din that when General John Duff Tolliver arose to introduce Colonel +Sommerton he had to wait some time to be heard. + +The situation was one that absolutely appalled, though it did not quite +paralyze, the older candidate, who, even after he had gained his feet and +stalked to the front of the rude rostrum, was as empty of thought as he was +full of despair. This sudden and unexpected appropriation of his great +speech had sapped and stupefied his intellect. He slowly swept the crowd +with his dazed eyes, and by some accident the only countenance clearly +visible to him was that of old Barnaby, who now sat far back on a stump, +looking for all the world like a mightily mystified baboon. The negro +winked and grimaced, and scratched his flat nose in sheer vacant stupidity. +Colonel Sommerton saw this, and it added an enfeebling increment to his +mental torpor. + +“Fellow-citizens,” he presently roared, in his melodious bass voice, “I am +proud of this honor.” He was not sure of another word as he stood, with +bagging trousers and sweat-beaded face, but he made a superhuman effort to +call up his comatose wits. “I should be ungrateful were I not proud of this +great demonstration.” Just then his gaze fell upon the face of his +daughter. Their eyes met with a mutual flash of restrospection. They were +remembering the bargain. The Colonel was not aware of it, but the +deliberateness and vocal volume of his opening phrases made them very +impressive. “I assure you,” he went on, fumbling for something to say, +“that my heart is brimming with gratitude so that my lips find it hard to +utter the words that crowd into my mind.” At this point some kindly friend +in the audience gingerly set going a ripple of applause, which, though +evidently forced, was like wine to the old man's intellect; it flung a glow +through his imagination. + +“The speech you have heard the youthful lamb of law declaim is a very good +one, a very eloquent one indeed. If it were his own, I should not hesitate +to say right here that I ought to stand aside and let him be nominated; +but, fellow-citizens, that speech belongs to another and far more +distinguished and eligible man than Tom Bannister.” Here he paused again, +and stood silent for a moment. Then, lifting his voice to a clarion pitch, +he added: + +“Fellow-citizens, I wrote that speech, intending to deliver it here to-day. +I was called to Canton on business early in the week, and during my absence +Tom Bannister went to my house and got my manuscript and learned it by +heart. To prove to you what I say is true, I will now read.” + +At this point the Colonel, after deliberately wiping his glasses, drew from +his capacious coat-pocket the manuscript of his address, and proceeded to +read it word for word, just as Bannister had declaimed it. The audience +listened in silence, quite unable to comprehend the situation. There was no +applause. Evidently sentiment was dormant, or it was still with Tom. +Colonel Sommerton, feeling the desperation of the moment, reached forth at +random, and seeing Barnaby's old black face, it amused him, and he chanced +to grab a thought as if out of the expression he saw there. + +“Fellow-citizens,” he added, “there is one thing I desired to say upon this +important occasion. Whatever you do, be sure not to nominate to-day a man +who would, if elected, ally himself with the niggers. I don't pretend to +hint that my young opponent, Tom Bannister, would favor nigger rule, but I +do say--do you hear me, fellow-citizens?--I do say that every nigger in +this county is a Bannister man! How do I know?? I will tell you. Last +Saturday night the niggers had a meeting in an old stable on my premises. +Wishing to know what they were up to, I stole slyly to where I could +overhear their proceedings. My old nigger, Barnaby--yonder he sits, and he +can't deny it--was presiding, and the question before the meeting was, +'Which of the two candidates, Tom Bannister and Colonel Sommerton, shall we +niggers support? On this question there was some debate and difference of +opinion, until old Bob Warmus arose and said, 'Mistah Pres'dent, dey's no +use er talkin'; I likes Colonel Sommerton mighty well; he's a berry good +man; dey's not a bit er niggah in 'im. On t' odder han', Mistah Pres'dent, +Mistah Tom Bannistah is er white man too, jes de same; but I kin say fo' +Mistah Bannistah 'at he's mo' like er niggah an' any white man 'at I ebber +seed afore!”' + +Here the Colonel paused to wait for the shouting and the hat-throwing to +subside. Meantime the face of old Barnaby was drawn into one indescribable +pucker of amazement. He could not believe his eyes or his ears. Surely that +was not Colonel Sommerton standing up there telling such an enormous +falsehood on him! He shook his woolly head dolefully, and gnawed a little +splinter that he had plucked from the stump. + +“Of course, fellow-citizens,” the Colonel went on, “that settled the +matter, and the niggers endorsed Tom Bannister unanimously by a rising +vote!” + +The yell that went up when the speaker, bowing profoundly, took his seat, +made it seem certain that Bannister would be beaten; but when the ballot +was taken it was found that he had been chosen by one vote majority. + +Colonel Mobley Sommerton's face turned as white as his hair. The iron of +defeat went home to his proud heart with terrible effect, and as he tried +to rise, the features of the hundreds of countenances below him swam and +blended confusedly in his vision. The sedentary bubbles on the knees of his +trousers fluttered with sympathetic violence. + +Tom Bannister was on his feet in a moment--it was an appealing look from +Phyllis that inspired him--and once more his genial voice rang out clear +and strong. + +“Fellow-citizens,” he said, “I have a motion to make. Hear me.” He waved +his right hand to command silence, then proceeded: “Mr. President, I +withdraw my name from this convention, and move that the nomination of +Colonel Mobley Sommerton be made unanimous by acclamation. I have no right +to this nomination, and nothing, save a matter greater than life or death +to me, could have induced me to steal it as I this day have done. Colonel +Sommerton knows why I did it. He gave his word of honor that he would cease +all objections to giving his daughter to me in marriage, and that +furthermore he would deed Sommerton Place to us as a wedding present, if I +beat him for the nomination. Mr. President and fellow-citizens, do you +blame me for memorizing his speech? That magnificent speech meant to me the +most beautiful wife in America, and the handsomest estate in this noble +county.” + +If Tom Bannister had been boisterously applauded before this, it was as +nothing beside the noise which followed when Colonel Mobley Sommerton was +declared the unanimous nominee of the convention. Meantime, Phyllis had +hurried to the carriage and been driven home: she dared not stay and let +the crowd gaze at her after that bold confession of Tom's. + +The cheering for the nominee was yet at its flood when Bannister leaped at +Colonel Sommerton and grasped his hand. The old gentleman was flushed and +smiling, as became a politician so wonderfully favored. It was a moment +never to be forgotten by either of the men. + +“I cordially congratulate you, Colonel Sommerton, on your nomination,” said +Tom, with great feeling, “and you may count on my hearty support.” + +“If I don't have to support you, and pay your office rent in the bargain, +all the rest of my life, I miss my guess, you young scamp!” growled the +Colonel, in a major key. “Be off with you!” + +Tom moved away to let the Colonel's friends crowd up and shake hands with +him; but the delighted youth could not withhold a Parthian shaft. As he +retreated he said, “Oh, Colonel, don't bother about my support; Sommerton +Plantation will be ample for that!” + +“Hit do beat all thunder how dese white men syfoogles eroun' in politics,” + old Barnaby thought to himself. Then he rattled the coins in his two +pockets. The contributions of Colonel Sommerton chinked on the left, those +of Tom Bannister and Phyllis rang on the right. “Blame this here ole +chile's eyes,” he went on, “but 'twar a close shabe! Seem lak I's kinder +holdin' de balernce ob power. I use my inflooence fer bofe ob 'em--yah, +yah, yah-r-r! an' hit did look lak I's gwine ter balernce fings up tell I +'lee' 'em bofe ter oncet right dar! Bofe of 'em got de nomination--yah, +yah, yah-r-r! But I say 'rah fo' little Miss Phyllis! She de one 'at know +how to pull de right string--yah, yah, yah-r-r!” + +The wedding at Sommerton Place came on the Wednesday following the fall +election. Besides the great number of guests and the striking beauty of the +bride there was nothing notable in it, unless the song prepared by Barnaby +for the occasion, and sung by him thereupon to a captivating banjo +accompaniment, may be so distinguished. A stanza, the final one of that +masterpiece, has been preserved. It may serve as an informal ending, a +charcoal tail-piece, to our light but truthful little story. + + “Stan' by yo' frien's and nebber mek trouble, + An' so, ef yo's got any sense, + Yo'll know hit's a good t'ing ter be sorter double, + An' walk on bofe sides ob de fence!” + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern Lights and Shadows, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS *** + +***** This file should be named 9509-0.txt or 9509-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/5/0/9509/ + +Produced by Stan Goodman and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/9509-0.zip b/9509-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e2c089 --- /dev/null +++ b/9509-0.zip diff --git a/9509-h.zip b/9509-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2541430 --- /dev/null +++ b/9509-h.zip diff --git a/9509-h/9509-h.htm b/9509-h/9509-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f1b908a --- /dev/null +++ b/9509-h/9509-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7956 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Southern Lights and Shadows, by Various + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern Lights and Shadows, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Southern Lights and Shadows + +Author: Various + +Editor: William Dean Howells + Henry Mills Alden + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9509] +This file was first posted on October 7, 2003 +Last Updated: February 25, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS *** + + + + +Produced by Stan Goodman, David Widger and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS + </h1> + <h3> + Harper's Novelettes + </h3> + <h3> + <b> By Various </b> + </h3> + <h4> + Edited By William Dean Howells And Henry Mills Alden + </h4> + <h3> + 1907 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> Introduction </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> The Capture of Andy Proudfoot </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> The Level of Fortune </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> Pap Overholt </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> In the Piny Woods </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> My Fifth in Mammy </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> An Incident </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> A Snipe-Hunt </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> The Courtship of Colonel Bill </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> The Balance of Power </a> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Table of Contents + </h2> + <div class="middle"> + Grace MacGowan Cooke <br /><br /> THE CAPTURE OF ANDY PROUDFOOT <br /><br /> Abby + Meguire Roach <br /><br /> THE LEVEL OF FORTUNE <br /><br /> Alice MacGowan <br /><br /> PAP + OVERHOLT <br /><br /> Mrs. B.F. Mayhew <br /><br /> IN THE PINY WOODS <br /><br /> William L. + Sheppard <br /><br /> MY FIFTH IN MAMMY <br /><br /> Sarah Barnwell Elliott <br /><br /> AN + INCIDENT <br /><br /> M.E.M. Davis <br /><br /> A SNIPE HUNT <br /><br /> J.J. Eakins <br /><br /> THE + COURTSHIP OF COLONEL BILL <br /><br /> Maurice Thompson <br /><br /> THE BALANCE OF + POWER <br /><br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </div> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + The most noticeable characteristic of the extraordinary literary + development of the South since the Civil War is that it is almost entirely + in the direction of realism. A people who, up to that time, had been so + romantic that they wished to naturalize among themselves the ideals and + usages of the Walter Scott ages of chivalry, suddenly dropped all that, + and in their search for literary material could apparently find nothing so + good as the facts of their native life. The more “commonplace” these facts + the better they seemed to like them. Evidently they believed that there + was a poetry under the rude outside of their mountaineers, their slattern + country wives, their shy rustic men and maids, their grotesque humorists, + their wild religionists, even their black freedmen, which was worth more + than the poetastery of the romantic fiction of their fathers. In this + strong faith, which need not have been a conscious creed, the writers of + the New South have given the world sketches and studies and portraits of + the persons and conditions of their peculiar civilization which the + Russians themselves have not excelled in honesty, and hardly in + simplicity. To be sure, this development was on the lines of those early + humorists who antedated the romantic fictionists, and who were often in + their humor so rank, so wild, so savage, so cruel, but the modern realism + has refined both upon their matter and their manner. Some of the most + artistic work in the American short-story, that is to say the best + short-story in the world, has been done in the South, so that one may be + reasonably sure of an artistic pleasure in taking up a Southern story. One + finds in the Southern stories careful and conscientious character, rich + local color, and effective grouping, and at the same time one finds + genuine pathos, true humor, noble feeling, generous sympathy. The range of + this work is so great as to include even pictures of the more conventional + life, but mainly the writers keep to the life which is not conventional, + the life of the fields, the woods, the cabin, the village, the little + country town. It would be easier to undervalue than to overvalue them, as + we believe the reader of the admirable pieces here collected will agree. + </p> + <h3> + W.D.H. + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CAPTURE OF ANDY PROUDFOOT + </h2> + <h3> + By GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE + </h3> + <p> + A dry branch snapped under Kerry's foot with the report of a toy pistol. + He swore perfunctorily, and gazed greedily at the cave-opening just ahead. + He was a bungling woodsman at best; and now, stalking that greatest of all + big game, man, the blood drummed in his ears and his heart seemed to slip + a cog or two with every beat. He stood tense, yet trembling, for the space + in which a man might count ten; surely if there were any one inside the + cave—if the one whose presence he suspected were there—such a + noise would have brought him forth. But a great banner of trumpet-creeper, + which hid the opening till one was almost upon it, waved its torches + unstirred except by the wind; the sand in the doorway was unpressed by any + foot. + </p> + <p> + Kerry began to go forward by inches. He was weary as only a town-bred man, + used to the leisurely patrolling of pavements, could be after struggling + obliquely up and across the pathless flank of Big Turkey Track Mountain, + and then climbing to this eyrie upon Old Yellow Bald—Old Yellow, the + peak that reared its “Bald” of golden grass far above the ranges of The + Big and Little Turkey Tracks. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, how hungry I am!” he breathed. “I bet the feller's got grub in + there.” He had been out two days. He was light-headed from lack of food; + at the thought of it nervous caution gave way to mere brute instinct, and + he plunged recklessly into the cave. Inside, the sudden darkness blinded + him for a moment. Then there began to be visible in one corner a bed of + bracken and sweet-fern; in another an orderly arrangement of tin cans upon + a shelf, and the ashes of a fire, where sat a Dutch oven. The sight of + this last whetted Kerry's hunger; he almost ran to the shelf, and groaned + as he found the first can filled with gunpowder, the next with shot, and + the third containing some odds and ends of string and nails. + </p> + <p> + He had knelt to inspect a rude box, when a little sound caused him to + turn. In the doorway was a figure which raised the hair upon his head, + with a chilly sensation at its roots—a tall man, with a great mane + of black locks blowing unchecked about his shoulders. He stood turned away + from Kerry, having halted in the doorway as though to take a last + advantage of the outer daylight upon some object of interest to him before + entering. He was examining one of his own hands, and a little shivering + moan escaped him. A rifle rested in the hollow of his arm; Kerry could see + the outline of a big navy-pistol in his belt; and as the man shifted, + another came to view; while the Irishman's practised eye did not miss the + handle of a long knife in its sheath. It went swiftly through his mind + that those who sent him on this errand should have warned him of the size + of the quarry. Suddenly, almost without his own volition, he found himself + saying: “I ask your pardon. I was dead beat an' fair famished, an' I + crawled in here to—” + </p> + <p> + The tall figure in the doorway turned like a thing on a pivot; he did not + start, nor spin round, as a slighter or more nervous person might have + done; and a strange chill fell upon Kerry's heat when the man, whom he + recognized as that one he had come to seek, faced him. The big, dark eyes + looked the intruder up and down; what their owner thought of him, what he + decided concerning him, could no more be guessed than the events of next + year. In a full, grave voice, but one exceedingly gentle, the owner of the + cave repaired the lack of greeting. + </p> + <p> + “Howdy, stranger?” he said. “I never seen you as I come up, 'count o' + havin' snagged my hand on this here gun.” + </p> + <p> + He came toward Kerry with the bleeding member outstretched. Now was the + Irishman's time—by all his former resolutions, by the need he had + for that money reward—to deftly handcuff the outlaw. What he did was + to draw the other toward the daylight, examine the hand, which was torn + and lacerated on the gun-hammer, and with sundry exclamations of sympathy + proceed to bind it up with strips torn from his own handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “Snagged!” he echoed, as he noted how the great muscle of the thumb was + torn across. “I don't see how you ever done that on a gun-hammer. I've + nursed a good bit—I was in Cuby last year, an' I was detailed for + juty in the hospital more'n half my time,” he went on, eagerly. “This here + hand, it's bad, 'cause it's torn. Ef you had a cut o' that size, now, you + wouldn't be payin' no 'tention to it. The looks o' this here reminds me o' + the tear one o' them there Mauser bullets makes—Gawd! but they rip + the men up shockin'!” He rambled on with uneasy volubility as he attended + to the wound. “You let me clean it, now. It'll hurt some, but it'll save + ye trouble after while. You set down on the bed. Where kin I git some + water?” + </p> + <p> + “Thar's a spring round the turn in the cave thar—they's a go'd in + it.” + </p> + <p> + But Kerry took one of the tin cans, emptied and rubbed it nervously, + talking all the while—talking as though to prevent the other from + speaking, and with something more than the ordinary garrulity of the + nurse. “I got lost to-day,” he volunteered, as he cleansed the wound + skilfully and drew its ragged lips together. “Gosh! but you tore that + thumb up! You won't hardly be able to do nothin' with that hand fer a + spell. Yessir! I got lost—that's what I did. One tree looks pretty + much like another to me; and one old rock it's jest the same as the next + one. I reckon I've walked twenty mile sence sunup.” + </p> + <p> + He paused in sudden panic; but the other did not ask him whence he had + walked nor whither he was walking. Instead, he ventured, in his serious + tones, as the silence grew oppressive: “You're mighty handy 'bout this + sort o' thing. I reckon I'll have a tough time here alone till that hand + heals.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll stay with you a while,” Kerry put in, hastily. “I ain't a-goin' + on, a-leavin' a man in sech a fix, when I ain't got nothin' in particular + to do an' nowheres in particular to go,” he concluded, rather lamely. + </p> + <p> + His host's eyes dwelt on him. “Well, now, that'd be mighty kind in you, + stranger,” he began, gently; and added, with the mountaineer's deathless + hospitality, “You're shorely welcome.” + </p> + <p> + In Kerry's pocket a pair of steel handcuffs clicked against each other. + Any moment of the time that he was dressing the outlaw's hand, identifying + at short range a dozen marks enumerated in the description furnished him, + he could have snapped them upon those great wrists and made his host his + prisoner. Yet, an hour later, when the big man had told him of a string of + fish tied down in the branch, of a little cellarlike contrivance by the + spring which contained honeycomb and some cold corn-pone, the two men sat + at supper like brothers. + </p> + <p> + “Ye don't smoke?” inquired Kerry, commiseratingly, as his host twisted off + a great portion of home-cured tobacco. “Lord! ye'll never know what the + weed is till ye burn it. A chaw'll do when you're in the trenches an' + afraid to show the other fellers where to shoot, so that ye dare not + smoke. Ah-h-h! I've had it taste like nectar to me then; but tobacco's + never tobacco till it's burnt,” and the Irishman smiled fondly upon his + stumpy black pipe. + </p> + <p> + They sat and talked over the fire (for a fire is good company in the + mountains, even of a midsummer evening) with that freedom and abandon + which the isolation, the hour, and the circumstances begot. Kerry had told + his name, his birthplace, the habits and temperament of his parents, his + present hopes and aspirations—barring one; he had even sketched an + outline of Katy—Katy, who was waiting for him to save enough to buy + that little farm in the West; and his host, listening in the unbroken + silence of deep sympathy, had not yet offered even so much as his name. + </p> + <p> + Then the bed was divided, a bundle of fern and pine boughs being disposed + in the opposite corner of the cave for the newcomer's accommodation. + Later, after good-nights had been exchanged and Kerry fancied that his + host was asleep, he himself stirred, sat up, and being in uneasy need of + information as to whether the cave door should not be stopped in some + manner, opened with a hesitating, “Say!” + </p> + <p> + “You might jest call me Andy,” the deep voice answered, before the + mountain-man negatived the proposition of adding a front door to the + habitation. + </p> + <p> + Kerry slept again. Mountain air and weariness are drugs potent against a + bad conscience, and it was broad daylight outside the cave when he + wakened. He was a little surprised to find his host still sleeping, yet + his experience told him that the wound was of a nature to induce fever, + followed by considerable exhaustion. As the Irishman lifted his coat from + where he had had it folded into a bundle beneath his head, the handcuffs + in the pocket clicked, and he frowned. He stole across to look at the man + who had called himself Andy, lying now at ease upon his bed of leaves, one + great arm underneath his head, the injured hand nursed upon his broad + breast. Those big eyes which had so appalled Kerry upon a first view + yesterday were closed. The onlooker noted with a sort of wonder how + sumptuous were the fringes of their curtains, long and purple—black, + like the thick, arched brows above. To speak truly, Kerry, although he was + a respectable member of the police force, had the artistic temperament. + The harmony of outline, the justness of proportion in both the face and + figure of the man before him, filled the Irishman with delight; and the + splendid virile bulk of the mountain-man appealed irresistibly to the + other's masculinity. The little threads of silver in the tempestuous black + curls seemed to Kerry but to set off their beauty. + </p> + <p> + “Gosh! but you're a good-looker!” he muttered. And putting his estimate of + the man's charm into such form as was possible to him, he added, under his + breath, “I'd hate to have seen a feller as you tryin' to court my Katy.” + </p> + <p> + This was the first of many strange days; golden September days they were, + cool and full of the ripened beauty of the departing summer. Kerry's host + taught him to snare woodcock and pheasants—shoot them the Irishman + could not, since the excitement of the thing made him fire wild. + </p> + <p> + “Now ain't that the very divil!” he would cry, after he had let his third + bird get away unharmed. “Ef I was shootin' at a man, I'd be as stiddy as a + clock. Gad! I'd be cool as an ice-wagon. But when that little old brown + chicken scoots a-scutterin' up out o' the grass like a hummin'-top, it + rattles me.” His teacher apparently took no note of the significance + contained in this statement; yet Kerry's very ears were red as it slipped + out, and he felt uneasily for the handcuffs, which no longer clinked in + his pocket, but now lay carefully hidden under his fern bed. + </p> + <p> + There had been a noon-mark in the doorway of the cave, thrown by the + shadow of a boulder beside it, even before the Irishman's big nickel watch + came with its bustling, authoritative tick to bring the question of time + into the mountains. But the two men kept uncertain hours: sometimes they + talked more than half the night, the close-cropped, sandy poll and the + unshorn crest of Jove-like curls nodding at each other across the fire, + then slept far into the succeeding day; sometimes they were up before dawn + and off after squirrels—with which poor Kerry had no better luck + than with the birds. Every day the Irishman dressed his host's hand; and + every day he tasted more fully the charm of this big, strong, gentle, + peaceful nature clad in its majestic garment of flesh. + </p> + <p> + “If he'd 'a' been an ugly, common-looking brute, I'd 'a' nabbed him in a + minute,” he told himself, weakly. And every day the handcuffs under the + dried fern-leaves lay heavier upon his soul. + </p> + <p> + On the 20th of September, which Kerry had set for his last day in the + cave, he was moved to begin again at the beginning and tell the big + mountaineer all his affairs. + </p> + <p> + “Ye see, it's like this,” he wound up: “Katy—the best gurrl an' the + purtiest I ever set me two eyes on—she's got a father that'll strike + her when the drink's with him. He works her like a dog, hires her out and + takes every cent she earns. Her mother—God rest her soul!—has + been dead these two years. And now the old man is a-marryin' an' takin' + home a woman not fit for my Katy to be with. I says when I heard of it, + says I: `Katy, I'll take ye out o' that hole. I'll do the trick, an' I'll + git the reward, an' it's married we'll be inside of a month, an' we'll go + West.' That's what brought me up here into the mountains—me that was + born, as ye might say, on the stair-steps of a tenement-house, an' fetched + up the same.” + </p> + <p> + Absorbed in the interest of his own affairs, the Irishman did not notice + what revelations he had made. Whether or not this knowledge was new to his + host the uncertain light of the dying fire upon that grave, impassive face + did not disclose. + </p> + <p> + “An' now,” Kerry went on, “I've been thinkin' about Katy a heap in the + last few days. I'm goin' home to her to-morry—home to Philadelphy—goin' + with empty hands. An' I'm a-goin' to say to her, 'Katy, would ye rather + take me jest as I am, out of a job'—fer that's what I'll be when I + go back,—'would ye rather take me so an' wait fer the little farm?' + I guess she'll do it; I guess she'll take me. I've got that love fer her + that makes me think she'll take me. Did ye ever love a woman like that?”—turning + suddenly to the silent figure on the other side of the fire. “Did ye ever + love one so that ye felt like ye could jest trust her, same as you could + trust yourself? It's a—it—well, it's a mighty comfortable + thing.” + </p> + <p> + The mountaineer stretched out his injured hand, and examined it for so + long a time without speaking that it seemed as though he would not answer + at all. The wound was healing admirably now; he had made shift to shoot, + with Kerry's shoulder for a rest, and their larder was stocked with game + once more. When he at last raised his head and looked across the fire, his + black eyes were such wells of misery as made the other catch his breath. + </p> + <p> + Upon the silence fell his big, serious voice, as solemn and sonorous as a + church-bell: “You ast me did I ever love an' trust a woman like that. I + did—an' she failed me. I ain't gwine to call you fool fer sich; + you're a town feller, Dan, with smart town ways; mebby your gal would + stick to you, even ef you was in trouble; but me—” + </p> + <p> + Kerry made an inarticulate murmur of sympathy. + </p> + <p> + The voice went on. “You say you're goin' home to her with jest your two + bare hands?” it inquired. “But why fer? You've found your man. What makes + you go back that-a-way?” + </p> + <p> + Kerry's mouth was open, his jaw fallen; he stared through the smoke at his + host as though he saw him now for the first time. Kerry belongs to a + people who love or hate obviously and openly; that the outlaw should have + known him from the first for a police officer, a creature of prey upon his + track, and should have treated him as a friend, as a brother, appalled and + repelled him. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Dan,” the big man went on, leaning forward; “I knowed what your + arrant was the fust minute I clapped eyes on you. You didn't know whether + I could shoot with my left hand as well as my right—I didn't choose + you should know. I watched fer ye to be tryin' to put handcuffs on me any + minute—after you found my right hand was he'pless.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord A'mighty! You could lay me on my back with your left hand, Andy,” + Kerry breathed. + </p> + <p> + The big man nodded. “They was plenty of times when I was asleep—or + you thort I was. Why didn't ye do it? Where is they? Fetch 'em out.” + </p> + <p> + Unwilling, red with shame, penetrated with a grief and ache he scarce + comprehended, Kerry dragged the handcuffs from their hiding-place. The + other took them, and thereafter swung them thoughtfully in his strong + brown fingers as he talked. + </p> + <p> + “You was goin' away without makin' use o' these?” he asked, gently. + </p> + <p> + Kerry, crimson of face and moist of eye, gulped, frowned, and nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now,” the mountain-man pursued, “I been thinkin' this thing over + sence you was a-speakin'. That there gal o' yourn she's in a tight box. + You're the whitest man I ever run up ag'inst. You've done me better than + my own brothers. My own brothers,” he repeated, a look of pain and + bitterness knitting those wonderfully pencilled brows above the big eyes. + “Fer my part, I'm sick o' livin' this-a-way. When you're gone, an' I'm + here agin by my lonesome, I'm as apt as not to put the muzzle o' my gun in + my mouth an' blow the top o' my head off—that's how I feel most o' + the time. I tell you what you do, Dan: you jest put these here on me an' + take me down to Garyville—er plumb on to Asheville—an' draw + your money. That'll square up things fer you an' that pore little gal. + What say ye?” + </p> + <p> + Into Kerry's sanguine face there surged a yet deeper red; his shoulders + heaved; the tears sprang to his eyes; and before his host could guess the + root of his emotion the Irishman was sobbing, furiously, noisily, turned + away, his head upon his arm. The humiliation of it ate into his soul; and + the tooth was sharpened by his own misdeeds. How many times had he looked + at the great, kindly creature across the fire there and calculated the + chances of getting him to Garyville? + </p> + <p> + Andy's face twisted as though he had bitten a green persimmon. “Aw! Don't + <i>cry!</i>” he remonstrated, with the mountaineer's quick contempt for + expressed emotion. “My Lord! Dan, don't—” + </p> + <p> + “I'll cry if I damn please!” Kerry snorted. “You old fool! Me a-draggin' + you down to Garyville! Me, that's loved you like a brother! An' never had + no thought—an' never had no thought—Oh, hell!” he broke off, + at the bitter irony of the lie; then the sobs broke forth afresh. To deny + that he had come to arrest the outlaw was so pitifully futile. + </p> + <p> + “So ye won't git the money that-a-way?” Andy's big voice ruminated, and a + strange note of relief sounded in it; a curious gleam leaped into the + sombre eyes. But he added, softly: “Sleep on it, bud; I'll let ye change + your mind in the mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + “You shut your head!” screeched Kerry, fiercely, with a hiccough of + wrenching misery. “You talk to me any more like that, an' I'll lambaste ye—er + try to—big as ye are! Oh, damnation!” + </p> + <p> + The last night in the cave was one of gusty, moving breezes and brilliant + moonlight, yet both its tenants slept profoundly, after their strange + outburst of emotion. The first gray of dawn found them stirring, and Kerry + making ready for his return journey. Together, as heretofore, they + prepared their meal, then sat down in silence to eat it. Suddenly the + mountain-man raised his eyes, to whose grave beauty the Irishman's + temperament responded like that of a woman, and said, quietly, + </p> + <p> + “I'm a-goin' to tell ye somethin', an' then I'm a-goin' to show ye + somethin'.” + </p> + <p> + Kerry's throat ached. In these two weeks he had conceived a love for his + big, silent, gentle companion which rivalled even his devotion to Katy. + The thought of leaving him helpless and alone, a common prey of + reward-hunters, the remembrance of what Andy had said concerning his own + despair beneath the terrible pressure of the mountain solitude, were + almost more than Kerry could bear. + </p> + <p> + “Fust and foremost, Dan,” the other began, when the meal was finished, + “I'm goin' to tell ye how come I done what I done. Likely you've hearn + tales, an' likely they was mostly lies. You see, it was this-a-way: Me an' + my wife owned land j'inin'. The Turkey Track Minin' Company they found + coal on it, an' was wishful to buy. Her an' me wasn't wed then, but we was + about to be, an' we j'ined in fer to sell the land an' go West.” His + brooding eyes were on the fire; his voice—which had halted before + the words “my wife,” then taken them with a quick gulp—broke a + little every time he said “she” or “her.” Kerry's heart jumped when he + heard the mention of that little Western farm—why, it might have + been in the very locality he and Katy looked longingly toward. + </p> + <p> + “That feller they sent down here fer to buy the ground—Dickert was + his name; you've hearn it, I reckon?” + </p> + <p> + Kerry recognized the murdered man's name. He nodded, without a word, his + little blue eyes helplessly fastened on Andy's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Dickert 'twas. He was took with Euola from the time he put eyes on + her—which ain't sayin' more of him than of any man 'at see her. But + a town feller's hangin' round a mounting-gal hain't no credit to her. + Euola she was promised to me. But ef she hadn't 'a' been, she wouldn't 'a' + took no passin' o' bows an' complyments from that Dickert. I thort the + nighest way out on't was to tell the gentleman that her an' me was to be + wed, an' that we'd make the deeds as man an' wife, an' I done so.” + </p> + <p> + Kerry looked at his host and wondered that any man should hope to tamper + with the affections of her who loved him. + </p> + <p> + “Wed we was,” the mountain-man went on; and an imperceptible pause + followed the words. “We rid down to Garyville to be wed, an' we went from + the jestice's office to the office of this here Dickert. He had a cuss + with him that was no better'n him; an' when it come to the time in the + signin' that our names was put down, an' my wife was to be 'examined + privately and apart'—ez is right an' lawful—ez to whether I'd + made her sign or not, this other cuss steps with her into the hall, an' + Dickert turns an' says to me, 'You git a thousand dollars each fer your + land—you an' that woman,' he says. + </p> + <p> + “I never liked the way he spoke—besides what he said; an' I says to + him, 'The bargain was made fer five thousand dollars apiece,' says I, 'an' + why do we git less?' + </p> + <p> + “'Beca'se,' says he, a-swellin' up an' lookin' at me red an' devilish,—'beca'se + you take my leavin's—you fool! I bought the land of you fer a + thousand dollars each—an' there's my deed to it, that you jest + signed—I reckon you can read it. Ef I sell the land to the company—it's + none o' your business what I git fer it.' + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can't read—not greatly. I don't know how I knowed—but + I did know—that he was gittin' from the company the five thousand + dollars apiece that we was to have had. I seen his eye cut round to the + hall door, an' I thort he had that money on him (beca'se he was their + agent an' they'd trusted him so far) fer to pay me and Euola in cash. With + that he grabbed up the deed an' stuffed it into his pocket. Lord! Lord! I + could 'a' shook it out o' him—an' the money too—hit's what I + would 'a' done if the fool had 'a' kep' his mouth shut. But I reckon hit + was God's punishment on him 'at he had to go on sayin', 'Yes, you tuck my + leavin's in the money, an' you've tuck my leavin's agin to-day.' Euola was + jest comin' into the room when he said that, an' he looked at her. I hit + him.” He gazed down the length of his arm thoughtfully. “I ort to be + careful when I hit out, bein' stronger than most. But I was mad, an' I hit + harder than I thort. I reached over an' grabbed open the table drawer jest + fer luck—an' thar was the money. I tuck it. The other cuss he was + down on the floor, sorter whimperin' an' workin' over this feller Dickert; + an' he begun to yell that I'd killed 'im. With that Euola she gives me one + look—white ez paper she was—an' she says, 'Run, Andy honey. + I'll git to ye when I kin.'” The mountain-man was silent so long that + Kerry thought he was done. But he suddenly said: + </p> + <p> + “She ketched my sleeve, jest ez I made to start, an' said: 'I'll come, + Andy. Mind, Andy, <i>I'll come to ye, ef I live</i>.'” Then there was the + silence of sympathy between the two men. + </p> + <p> + So that was the history of the crime—a very different history from + the one Kerry had heard. + </p> + <p> + “Hit's right tetchy business—er has been—a-tryin' to take Andy + Proudfoot,” the outlaw continued; “but, Dan, I'd got mighty tired, time + you come. An' Euola—” + </p> + <p> + Kerry rose abruptly, the memory hot within him of Proudfoot's offer of the + night before. The mountaineer got slowly to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “They's somethin' I wanted to show ye, too, ye remember,” he said. They + walked together down the bluff, to where another little cavern, low and + shallow, hid itself behind huckleberry-bushes. “I kep' the money here,” + Proudfoot said, kneeling in the cramped entrance and delving among the + rocks. He drew out a roll of bills and fingered them thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “The reward, now, hit was fifteen hundred dollars—with what the + State an' company both give, warn't it? Dan, I was mighty proud ye + wouldn't have it—I wanted to give it to ye this-a-way. I don't know + as I've got any rights on Euola's money. I reckon I mought ax you fer to + take it to her, ef so be you could find her. My half—you kin have + it, an' welcome.” + </p> + <p> + Fear was in Kerry's heart. “An' what'll you be doin'?” he inquired, + huskily. + </p> + <p> + “Me?” asked Andy, listlessly. “Euola she's done gone plumb back on me,” he + explained. “I hain't heard one word from her sence the trouble, an' I've + got that far I hain't a-keerin' what becomes of me. I like you, Dan; I'd + ruther you had the money—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Gawd! Don't, Andy,” choked the Irishman. “Let me think, man,” as + the other's surprised gaze dwelt on him. Up to this time all Kerry's + faculties had been engrossed in what was told him, or that which went on + before his eyes. Now memory suddenly roused in him. The woman he had seen + back at Asheville, the woman who called herself Mandy Greefe, but whom the + police there suspected of being Andy Proudfoot's wife, whom they had twice + endeavored, unsuccessfully, to follow in long, secret excursions into the + mountains. What was the story? What had they said? That she was seeking + Proudfoot, or was in communication with him; that was it! They had warned + Kerry that the woman was mild-looking (he had seen her patient, wistful + face the last thing as he left Asheville), but that she might do him a + mischief if she suspected he was on the trail of her husband. “My Lord! + Oh, my Lord! W'y, old man,—w'y, Andy boy!” he cried, joyously, + patting the shoulder of the big man, who still knelt with the roll of + money in his hands,—“Andy, she's waitin' fer you—she's true as + steel! She's ready to go with you. Yes, an' Dan Kerry's the boy to git ye + out o' this under the very noses o' that police an' detective gang at + Asheville. 'Tis you an' me that'll go together, Andy.” + </p> + <p> + Proudfoot still knelt. His nostrils flickered; his eyes glowed. “Have a + care what you're a-sayin',” he began, in a low, shaking voice. “Euola! + Euola! You've saw me pretty mild; but don't you be mistook by that, like + that feller Dickert was mistook. Don't you lie to me an' try to fool me + 'bout her. One o' them fellers I shot had me half-way to Garyville, + tellin' me she was thar—sick—an' sont him fer me.” + </p> + <p> + Kerry laughed aloud. “Me foolin' you!” he jeered. “'Tis a child I've been + in your hands, ye black, big, still, solemn rascal! Here's money a-plenty, + an' you that knows these mountains—the fur side—an' me that + knows the ropes. You'll lend me a stake f'r the West. We'll go together—all + four of us. Oh Lord!” and again tears were on the sanguine cheeks. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LEVEL OF FORTUNE + </h2> + <h3> + BY ABBY MEGUIRE ROACH + </h3> + <p> + She was the ambition of the younger girls and the envy of the less + fortunate. Bessie Hall had <i>everything</i>, they said. + </p> + <p> + Her prettiness, indeed, was chiefly in slender plumpness and bloom. But it + served her purpose as no classic mould would have done. She did not + overestimate it. But she was probably better satisfied with it than with + most of those conditions of her life that people were always telling her + were ideal. They spoke of her as the only child in a way that implied + congratulations on the undivided inheritance—and that reminded her + how she had always wanted a sister. They talked of her idyllic life on a + blue-grass stock-farm—when she was wheedling from her father a + winter in Washington. They envied her often when they had the very thing + she wanted—or, at least, she didn't have it. They enlarged on her + popularity, and she answered, “Oh yes, nice boys, most of them, but—” + </p> + <p> + She had always said, “<i>When</i> I marry,” not “<i>if</i>,” and had said + it much as she said, “When I grow up.” And, yes, she believed in fate: + that everybody who belonged to you would find you out; but—it was + only hospitable to meet them half-way! So her admirers found her in the + beginning hopefully interested, and in the end rather mournfully + unconvinced. Her regret seemed so genuinely on her own account as well as + theirs that they usually carried off a very kind feeling for her. She was + equally open to enlistment in any other proposed diversion. For Bessie + lived in a constant state of great expectation that something really nice + would really happen to-morrow. There was always something wrong to-day. + </p> + <p> + “It's not fair!” she complained to Guy Osbourne, when he came to tell her + good-by, all in the gray. “I'm positively discriminated against. If <i>I</i> + have an engagement, it's sure to rain! And now just when I'm beginning to + be a grown young lady, with a prospect <i>at last</i> of a thoroughly good + time, a war has to break out!” + </p> + <p> + Her petulance was pretty. Guy laughed. “How disobliging!” he sympathized. + “And how modest!” he added—which the reader may disentangle; Bessie + did not. “<i>At last!</i>” he mocked her. + </p> + <p> + For Bessie Hall, whose community already moved in an orbit around her, and + whose parents had, according to a familiar phrase, an even more + circumscribed course around her little finger—for Bessie Hall to + rail at fate was deliciously absurd, delightfully feminine! + </p> + <p> + When Bessie was most unreasonable one only wanted to kiss her. Guy's + privileges in that line had passed with the days when he used to pick up + bodily his lithe little playfellow to cross a creek or rain-puddled road. + But to-day seemed pleasantly momentous; it called for the unusual. “I say, + Bibi, when a knight went off to fight, you know, his lady used to give him + a stirrup-cup at good-by. Don't you think it would be really sweet of you—” + </p> + <p> + She held off, only to be provoking. She would have thought no more of + kissing Guy than a brother—or she thought she wouldn't. To be sure, + she hadn't for years; there was no occasion; and then, of course, one + didn't. She laughed and shook her head, and retreated laughing. And he + promptly captured her.... She freed herself, suddenly serious. And Guy + stood sobered—sobered not at going to the war, but at leaving her. + </p> + <p> + “There now, run along.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-by.” But he lingered. There was nothing more to say, but he + lingered. “Well, good-by. Be good, Bibi.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks as if that was all I'd have a chance to be.” The drawl of the + light voice with its rising inflection was so engaging, no one called it + nasal. “And it's so much more difficult and important to be charming!” + </p> + <p> + He was sobered at leaving her, but he never thought of not going with the + rest. He went, and all the rest. And Bessie found herself, just when + nature had crowned her with womanhood, a princess without a kingdom. To be + sure, living on the border gave her double opportunities, and for + contrasting romances. There were episodes that comforted her with the + reflection that she was not getting wholly out of practice in the arts. + And there was real adventure in flying and secret visits from Guy and the + rest—Guy, who was never again just the same with her; but, for that + matter, neither was she just the same with him. But, on the whole, as she + pouted to him afterward, she wouldn't call that four years' war exactly + entertaining! + </p> + <p> + The Halls personally did not suffer so deeply as their neighbors except + from property loss. All they could afford, and more, they gave to the + South, and the Northern invader took what was left. When there was nothing + left, he hacked the rosewood furniture and made targets of the family + portraits, in the mere wantonness of loot that, as a recriminative + compliment, cannot be laid to the charge of any one period or section. + Most of the farm negroes crossed the river. Funds ran low. + </p> + <p> + There had been ease and luxury in the family always, and just when Bessie + reached the time to profit by them she remarked that they failed. + </p> + <p> + Even if the Halls were not in mourning, no one lives through such a time + without feeling the common humanity. But Bessie, though she lingered on + the brink of love as of all the other deeps of life—curious, + adventurous, at once willing and reluctant—was still, in the end, + quite steady. + </p> + <p> + When the war was over, the Halls were poor, on a competence of land run to + waste, with no labor to work it, and no market to sell it. And Mr. Hall, + like so many of his generation, was too hampered by habit and crushed by + reminiscence to meet the new day. + </p> + <p> + It was the contrast in Guy's spirit that won Bessie. His was indeed the + immemorial spirit of youth—whether it be of the young world, or the + young male, or the young South—to accept the issue of trial by + combat and give loyalty to one proved equally worthy of sword or hand. + </p> + <p> + “We're whipped,” he told her, “and that settles it. Now there's other work + for us than brooding over it. All the same, the South has a future, Bibi, + and that means a future for you and me.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the manufacture of poetry, I'm afraid,” she laughed. “You dropped + a stitch.” + </p> + <p> + She did not seem to take his prowess, either past or to come, very + seriously; and her eyebrows and her inflection went up at the assumption + of the “we” in his plans. But—she listened. + </p> + <p> + His definiteness was itself effective. She herself did not know what she + wanted. Something was wrong; or rather, everything was. She was finding + life a great bore. But what would be right, she couldn't say, except that + it must be different. + </p> + <p> + Guy looked sure and seasoned as he poured out his plans; and together with + the maturing tan and breadth from his rough life, there was an + unconquerable boyishness in the lift of his head and the light of his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “This enthusiasm is truly beautiful!” she teased. + </p> + <p> + It was, in truth, infectious. + </p> + <p> + Why! it was love she had wanted. The four years had been so empty—without + Guy. + </p> + <p> + She went into it alert, receptive, optimistic. But it nettled her that + everybody should be so congratulatory, and nobody surprised. It wasn't + what <i>she</i> would call ideal for two impoverished young aristocrats to + start life on nothing but affection and self-confidence. + </p> + <p> + It did seem as if the choicest fruit always came to <i>her</i> specked. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” Guy encouraged her. “Just give me ten years. It will be a + little hard on you at first, Bibi dear, I know, but it would be harder at + your father's now. And it won't be long!” + </p> + <p> + There was only one comment of whose intention Bessie was uncertain: “So + Guy is to continue carrying you over the bad places, Bessie?” + </p> + <p> + Hm! She had been thinking it rather a fine thing for <i>her</i> to do. And + that appealed to her. + </p> + <p> + “And think what an amusing anecdote it will make after a while, Guy,—how, + with all your worldly goods tied up in a red bandanna, and your wife on + your arm instead of her father's doorstep, you set out to make your + fortune, and to live meanwhile in the City of Un-Brotherly Love!” + </p> + <p> + But Bessie had the standards of an open-handed people to whom economy was + not a virtue. There had always been on her mother's table for every meal + “salt-risin' light bread” and corn pone or griddle-cakes, half a dozen + kinds of preserves, the staples in proportion. Her mother would have been + humiliated had there been any noticeable diminution in the supply when the + meal was over; and she and the cook would have had a council of war had a + guest failed to eat and praise any single dish. + </p> + <p> + Bessie had not realized how inglorious their meagreness would be, until + Mrs. Grey, at the daughter's table, grew unctuously reminiscent about the + mother's. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” Guy tried afterward to comfort the red eyelids and tremulous + lips, “do you want a table so full it takes your appetite at sight?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I can't joke about disgrace!” Bessie quivered. + </p> + <p> + “But, Bibi dear, Mrs. Grey is simply behind the times. The <i>rationale</i> + of those enormous meals was not munificence, but that a horde of + house-servants had to be fed at a second table.” + </p> + <p> + Certainly Guy and his good spirits were excellent company. And Bessie came + of a race of women used to gay girlhoods and to settling down thereafter, + as a matter of course, into the best of house-mothers. + </p> + <p> + But there was a difference between the domestic arts she had been taught + as necessary to the future lady of a large household and the domestic + industries she had to practise. Supervising and doing were not the same. + For her mother, sewing and cooking had been accomplishments; for her they + were work. She had to do things a lady didn't do. + </p> + <p> + However, she was as fastidious about what she did for herself as about + what was done for her. She was quick and efficient. People said Bessie + Osbourne had the dearest home in town, was the best housekeeper, the most + nicely dressed on nothing. You might know Bessie Hall would have the best + of everything! + </p> + <p> + And when Bessie began to wonder if that was true, she had entered the last + circle of disappointment. + </p> + <p> + The fact was that, after the first novelty, things seemed pretty much the + same as before. Bessie Osbourne was not so different from Bessie Hall. She + might have appreciated that as significant; but doubtless she had never + heard the edifying jingle of the unfortunate youth who “wandered over all + the earth” without ever finding “the land where he would like to stay,” + and all because he was injudicious enough to take “his disposition with + him everywhere he went.” It was as if she had been going in a circle from + right to left, and, after a blare of drums and trumpets and a stirring + “About—face!” she had found herself going in the same circle from + left to right. It all came to the same thing, and that was nothing. Guy + was apparently working hard; but, after all, in real life it seemed one + did not plant the adepts' magic seed that sprouted, grew, bloomed, while + you looked on for a moment. For herself, baking and stitching took all her + time, without taking nearly all her interest, or seeming to matter much + when all was said and done. If she neglected things, they went undone, or + some one else did them; in any case Guy never complained. If she did what + came up, each day was filled with meeting each day's demands. All their + lives went into the means and preparation for living. Other people—Or + was it really any different with them? Nine-tenths of the people + nine-tenths of the time seemed to accomplish only a chance to exist. She + had heard women complain that such was the woman's lot in order that men + might progress. But it struck her very few men worked beyond the provision + of present necessities, either. Was it all a myth, then—happiness, + experience, romance? Was this all there was to life and love? What was the + sense, the end? Her dissatisfaction reproached the Cosmos, grew to that <i>Weltschmerz</i> + which is merely low spirits and reduced vitality, not “an infirmity of + growth.” + </p> + <p> + She constantly expected perfection, and all that fell below it was its + opposite extreme, and worthless. She began to suspect herself of being an + exceptional and lofty nature deprived of her dues. + </p> + <p> + Guy was a little disappointed at her prudent objection to children until + their success was established. Prudence was mere waste of time to his + courage and assurance. And he believed, though without going into the + psychology of the situation, that Bessie would be happier with a child or + two. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how can we do any more?” she answered, in her pretty, spoiled way. + “We're trying to cut a two-yard garment out of a one-yard piece now.” At + least, she was; and so Guy was. + </p> + <p> + Well, it wasn't a great matter yet. It is not in the early years of + marriage that that lack is most felt. And Bessie was not very strong; she + never seemed really well any more. She developed a succession of small + ailments, lassitudes, nerves. She dragged on the hand of life, and + complained. The local physician drugged her with a commendable spirit of + optimism and scientific experiment. But the drawl of the light voice with + its rising inflection became distinctly a whine. + </p> + <p> + She got a way of surprising Guy and upsetting his calculations with + unannounced extravagances. “What's the good of all this drudgery? We're + making no headway, getting nowhere; we might as well have what good we can + as we go along.” + </p> + <p> + There was a negro woman in the kitchen now, and in the sitting-room one of + the new sewing-machines. And Guy, who, so far, had been only excavating + for the cellar of his future business house, was beginning to feel that + good foundation walls were about to start. + </p> + <p> + But, even when peevish, Bessie had a way of turning up her eyes at him + that reduced him to helplessness and adoration. And she was delicate! “I + know,” he sympathized with her loyally, “it's like trying to work and be + jolly with a jumping tooth; or rather, in your case, with a constant + buzzing in your head.” + </p> + <p> + The jumping tooth was his own simile. The headaches that had begun while + he was soldiering were increasing. He had intermittent periods of numbness + in the lower half of his body. It was annoying to a busy man. He could + offer no explanation, nor could the doctors. “Overwork,” they suggested, + and advised the cure that is of no school—“rest.” That was + “impossible.” Besides, it was all nonsense. He put it aside, went on, kept + it from Bessie. + </p> + <p> + The end came, as it always does, even after the longest expectation, with + a rush. He was suffering with one of his acute headaches one night, when + Bessie fell asleep beside him. She woke suddenly, with no judgment of + time, with a start of terror, a sense of oppression, or—death? + </p> + <p> + “Guy!” she screamed. + </p> + <p> + The strangeness of his answering voice only repeated the stab of fear. She + was on her feet, had made a light.... + </p> + <p> + He was not suffering any more. He was perfectly conscious and rational. + But from the waist down he could not move nor feel. + </p> + <p> + The doctors came and talked a great deal and said little; they reminded + them that not much was known of this sort of thing; they would be glad to + do what they could.... + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say this is permanent? Paralyzed? I? Oh, absurd!” Awful + things happened to other people, of course—scandal, death—but + to one's self—“Oh, it doesn't sound true! It can't be true. + Paralyzed? <i>I</i>?” + </p> + <p> + And Bessie wondered why this had been sent on <i>her</i>. + </p> + <p> + The explanation was hit on long afterward, when in one of his campaign + stories Guy mentioned a fall from his horse, with his spine against a + rock, that had laid him unconscious for twenty-two hours. + </p> + <p> + And so the war, which had been responsible for their starting together + with only a past and a future, was responsible for their having shortly + only a past. Guy was not allowed his ten years. + </p> + <p> + Though he had now less actual pain, the shock seemed to jar the + foundations of his life, and the sharp change in the habits of an active + and vigorous body seemed to wreck his whole system. For months and months + and months he seemed only a bundle of exposed nerves—that is, where + he had any movement or sensation at all. + </p> + <p> + Now a past, however escutcheoned and fame-enrolled, is even more + starvation diet than a future of affection and self-confidence. No help + was to be had from either of their homes; it was the day of self-help for + all. + </p> + <p> + Bessie wondered why this had been sent on <i>her</i>, but she took a + couple of boarders at once, she sold sponge-cake and beaten biscuit, she + got up classes in bread-making. And Guy stopped her busy passing to draw + her hand to his lips, or watched her with dumb eyes. + </p> + <p> + Several of her friends, after trying her sewing-machine, then still + something of a novelty, ordered duplicates. Guy suggested as a joke that + she charge the makers a commission. + </p> + <p> + “The idea of trading on friendship?” Bessie laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” Guy reflected, more seriously. “How about these + boarders, then? That's trading on hospitality.” + </p> + <p> + It was one of those minute flashes of illumination that, multiplied and + collected, become the glow of a new light, the signal of a revolution. The + country was full of them in those days. The old codes were melting in the + heat of change. Standards were fluid. Personally, it ended in Bessie's + selling machines, first in her town, then in neighboring ones. + </p> + <p> + In the restlessness that youth thinks is aspiration for the ideal, + particularly for the ideal love, is a large element of craving for place + and interest. After her marriage, at least, Bessie might have had enough + of both; but the obvious purpose was too limited to appeal to her. Now two + appetites and the four seasons supplied motive enough for industry. There + was nothing magnificent in this manifest destiny, but it had the advantage + of being imperative and constant. It was no small tax on her acquired + delicacy, but it gave less time for hunting symptoms. It did not answer + the <i>Whence, Whither, and Why;</i> it pointedly changed the subject. Her + work began to carry her out of herself. + </p> + <p> + “Bibi dear, what a sorry end to all my promises!” + </p> + <p> + She had been thinking just that herself with a sense of injury and + imposition; and she was used all her life to having people see everything + as she saw it, from her side only. But Guy had just turned over to his few + creditors the hole in the ground into which so far most of his work had + gone. “Bibi dear, what a sorry end to all my plans!” was what she expected + him to say. And what he did say and what he didn't, met surprised in her + mind and surveyed each other. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Guy!” she deprecated, suddenly ashamed. For the first time it + occurred to her to wonder why this had been sent on <i>him</i>. With a + rush of remorseful sympathy and appreciation, she slipped down beside his + chair. “My poor old boy!” + </p> + <p> + He clung to her like a drowning man—Guy, who, after the first single + cry at the blow, had been so self-contained (or self-repressed?) through + it all! + </p> + <p> + She remembered that she had omitted a good many things lately. + </p> + <p> + “You're tired to-day,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am.” She caught at it hurriedly with apologetic self-defence. “I'm + pretty constantly tired lately. And this morning Mrs. Grey was so trying. + She doesn't understand her machine, and she doesn't understand business, + and she was <i>too</i> silly and stupid. I don't wonder you men laugh at + us and don't want us in <i>your</i> affairs!” + </p> + <p> + “It's all hard on you, Bibi.” There was a lump in his voice. It was the + first time he had been able to speak of it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes;” her own throat was so strained that for a moment she could not go + on. “But,” it struck her again, “I don't suppose an unbiased observer + would think it exactly festive for you.” + </p> + <p> + And, to be sure, when one came to think of it, how, pray, was he to blame? + </p> + <p> + From that day there began to be more than necessity to her work, and more + than work to carry her out of herself. + </p> + <p> + In the present of commercial femininity we have two types—one, the + business man; the other, an individual without gender, impersonal, + capable. She never does anything ill-bred, certainly, but one no more + thinks of specifying that she is a lady than that her hair is black; it + isn't the point. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Osbourne, however, was always first of all a lady. With her, men kept + their hats off and their coats on, and had an inclination to soften + business with bows, and bargains with figures of speech. She was at once + so patrician and so gracious that women felt it a kind of social function + to deal with her. The drawl of the light voice with its rising inflection + was only gently plaintive. The pretty way was winning, and rather pathetic + in her position; it drifted about her an aroma of story, and that had its + own appeal. The unvarying black of dress and bonnet, with touches of white + at neck and wrist, was refined, and made her rosy plumpness look sweeter. + It was all an uninventoried part of her stock in trade. And she came to + take the same satisfaction in returns in success and cash that she had + taken as a girl in results in valentines and cotillion favors. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Osbourne had all the traditions of her class and generation. She let + her distaste of the situation be known. If it had been possible, she would + have concealed it like a scandal. As it was, with very proud apology, she + made the necessity of her case understood: her object was bread and + butter, not any of these new Woman's Rights—unwomanly, bourgeoise! + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, it was not only true that it suited her to be doing + something with some point and result, but that the life of action and + influence among people suited her. The work came to interest her for + itself as well as for its object; that interest was a factor in her + success; and the success again both stimulated and further equipped her. + </p> + <p> + As she got into training and over the first sore muscles of mind and body, + work began to strengthen her. The nerves and small ailments grew + secondary, were overlooked, actually lessened. There need be nothing + esoteric in saying that a vital interest in life is as essential to health + as to happiness. One need consider only the practical and physical effects + of interest and self-forgetfulness, serenity and self-resource. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes her increasing trade took her away for two or three days, as far + as Louisville or Cincinnati. The thought of Guy followed her, a sweet + pain. She found herself hurrying back to her bright prisoner, and because + of both conditions the marvel of that brightness grew on her, together + with certain embarrassed comparisons. More than anything else, she admired + his strength where she had been weak. + </p> + <p> + His brightness seemed to her the most pathetic thing about him; it was so + sorry. It was indeed the epitome of his tragedy. To be as unobtrusive as + possible, and, when necessarily in evidence, as pleasant as possible, was + the role he had assigned himself. It was the one thing he could do, the + only thing he could do for her. + </p> + <p> + Doubtless the very controlling of the nervousness helped it. Moreover, his + revolting organization was gradually adapting itself somewhat to the new + conditions. Sensitive and uncertain tendrils of vitality began to creep + out from the roots of a blighted vigor. + </p> + <p> + Bessie, increasingly perceptive, began to suspect that what she saw was + the brightness after the storm. She wondered what his long solitary hours + were like when she was away. What must they be, with him helpless, + disappointed, lonely, liable to maddening attacks of nerves? But he + assured her that he was perfectly comfortable; Mammy Dinah was faithful + and competent; and he was really making headway with the German and French + that he had taken up because he could put them down as need was, and + because—they might come in, in some way, some time. “In heaven?” + Bessie wondered secretly, but, enlightened by her own experience, saw the + advantage of his being entertained. + </p> + <p> + “You're too much alone,” she said, feeling for the trouble. “And so am I,” + she added, thoughtfully. She should have noticed his eyes at that last. He + had developed a sort of controlled voracity for endearment, but he never + asked for it. In the old days he had taken his own masterfully, with no + doubts. Now he waited. He did not starve. She cajoled him and coaxed his + appetite and patted the pillows, and made pretty, laughing eyes at him and + fate quite in her habitual manner. Her touch and tone of affection had + never been so free. But in that very fact he found another sting. + </p> + <p> + “The better I do on the road, the more they keep me out,” she was saying. + “We can't go on this way. I've been thinking lately—Could you bear + to go North, Guy, and to live in a city, among strangers? Perhaps at + headquarters there might be an opening for me that would let me settle + down.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Cincinnati! Is there any such chance?” + </p> + <p> + “You'd <i>like</i> it? Why on earth—Are you so bored here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bibi, have you never thought of it? In a city there'd be some chance + of something I could do!” + </p> + <p> + “You? Oh, Guy!” After she had accepted the care of him, and that so + pleasantly, he wasn't satisfied! “Is there anything you lack here?” She + was hurt. + </p> + <p> + It was replaying the old parts reversed. Once <i>he</i> had grieved that + he could not give her enough to content her. + </p> + <p> + “A—h—” He turned his head away and flung an arm up over his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + She understood only that he was suffering. “But, Guy, there's nothing you + could do, possibly. It's not to be expected. Have I complained?” She fell + back on the kindly imbecility of the nurse. “Now you're not to worry about + that, at least until you're better—” + </p> + <p> + “Better?” He forgot the lines in which he had schooled himself. The man + overrode the amateur actor. “That's not the thing to hope for. Why + couldn't it have killed me—that first fall?” (“My dear, my dear!” + she stammered.) “There would have been some satisfaction in getting out of + the way, and that in decent fashion; like a charge of powder, not like a + rubbish-heap. I can't accept it of you, Bibi. I'm enraged for you. I can't + be grateful. I'm ashamed.” + </p> + <p> + She understood now. + </p> + <p> + What could she say? A dozen things, and she did; things about as + satisfying as theology at the grave. He did not answer nor respond. When + he relaxed at last it was simply to her arms around him, his head on her + bosom, her wordless notes of tenderness and consolation. + </p> + <p> + He was suffering, and chiefly for her, and what a fighter he was! Who but + he would ever have thought of <i>his</i> doing anything? + </p> + <p> + So there might be cases in which it was really more helpful and generous + not to do things for people, but to let them do for themselves. She + couldn't fancy his doing enough to amount to anything. He oughtn't to! But + if it would make him any happier he should have his make-believe—yes, + and without knowing it was make-believe. Doing things that were of no + value to any one was so disheartening. She knew. Like perfunctory exercise + for your health. + </p> + <p> + Her own business in Cincinnati proved so brief as to take her breath. His + was more difficult. The plough was still mightier than either sword or + pen. Few markets were open to an inactive man whose hours must be short + and irregular, and whose chief qualifications seemed to be a valiant + spirit and a store of reminiscences, in a time when reminiscences were as + easy to get as advice. + </p> + <p> + She was delayed in her return, growing more and more anxious at the + thought of his anxiety. When she boarded the south-bound train, she went + down the aisle, looking for a seat, with her short steps hurried as if it + would get her home sooner. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grey leaned over and motioned her, and as she sat down, looked + critically at the bright eyes and pink cheeks. “You certainly do look well + nowadays, Bessie.” + </p> + <p> + Doubtless Bessie's color was partly excitement and rush. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm well,” absently. + </p> + <p> + “Funny kind of dyspepsia, wasn't it, to be cured by eating around, the way + you have to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dyspepsia!” The nettles brought back her attention. People needn't + belittle her troubles! “I still have that dyspepsia. But if you had to be + as busy as I, Mrs. Grey, you'd know that there are times when nothing but + sudden death can interfere.” Even Mrs. Grey's prickings, however, were + washed over to-day by Balm of Gilead. “Still, it has come to something. + The company has given me Cincinnati for my territory.” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” Not that Mrs. Grey doubted her veracity. “Well, you always did + succeed at anything you put your hand to. It has been the most surprising + thing! You know, I tell everybody, Bessie, that you deserve all the credit + in the world for the way you have taken hold.” Bessie stiffened; neither + need they sympathize too much! “A girl brought up as you were, who always + had the best of everything.” <i>The best of everything!</i> The familiar + phrase was like a bell, sending wave after wave of memory singing through + Bessie's mind. “And still I never saw any one to whom the wind has been so + tempered as to you: when you were sick you could afford it, and now that + it's inconvenient—Things always did seem to work smoother with you, + and come out better, than with any of the rest of us.” + </p> + <p> + Bessie sat looking at her, and, in the speech, saw her own petulance of a + moment before—any number of her own speeches, in fact, inverted, as + things are in a glass. Indeed, Mrs. Grey had held up a reflector. Bessie + had met herself. And she saw herself, as in a mirror-maze, from all + angles, down diminishing perspectives, from the woman she was to the girl + she had been. + </p> + <p> + She had been quite unconscious of the slow transformation in her habits of + thought. It is so in life. One toils up the thickly wooded hillside, + intent only on the footing, and comes suddenly on a high clearing, + overlooking valley and path, defining a new horizon. + </p> + <p> + “I never had the best of everything, Mrs. Grey,” she said. “Nobody has. + Every life and every situation in life has its bad conditions—and + its good ones. I haven't had any more happiness—nor trouble than + most people. It strikes me things are pretty equally divided. We only + think they aren't when we don't know all about it. We see the surface of + other people's lives, not their private drawbacks or compensations. There + are always both. But other people's troubles are so much easier to bear + than our own, their good luck so much less deserved and qualified! With + all I had as a girl I didn't have contentment. And now, with all I lack, I + don't know any one with whom I'd change places.” + </p> + <p> + What was the use with Mrs. Grey? + </p> + <p> + But alone, the thought kept widening ring after ring: How little choice + there was of conditions in life; how fortune tends to seek its level; how + one man has the meat and another the appetite; and another, without + either, can find in the fact the flavor of a joke or chew the cud of + reflection over it. Of the three, Bessie thought she would rather be the + one with the disposition. But that could be cultivated. Look at hers! + Circumstances had started it in a sort of aside, but she would take the + hint. + </p> + <p> + The cure for dissatisfaction was to recognize one's balance of good. + </p> + <p> + Guy was watching for her at the window. She was half conscious that he + looked unusually haggard, but there were so many other thoughts at sight + of him that they washed over the first. + </p> + <p> + She swung her reticule. “It's all right!” and she ran up the walk, a most + feminine swirl of progress. She got to him breathless. “I've found a house + that will give you its German correspondence to translate and write, and + it won't be so much but that you can do it as you're able, within reason. + Now, sir!” + </p> + <p> + For a minute it seemed as if Guy's whole body was alive. The weak and + shaken invalid still had something of unconquerable boyishness in the lift + of his head and the light of his eyes. “Good! That will do for a start.” + The old spirit, to which hers always answered. If she didn't believe he + would actually do something worth while in the end! Then promptly, of old + habit, he thought of her. “Bibi! You took your time for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Not all of it, in good sooth, fair lord.” She spread out her skirts, + lady-come-to-see fashion, and strutted across the room. “Mrs. Osbourne has + a new 'job' and a 'raise.'” (Incidentally Mrs. Osbourne had never before + been so advanced in her language.) + </p> + <p> + “Bully for you!” he shouted, so genuinely that she ran back to him and + shook and hugged his shoulders. How she <i>liked</i> him! + </p> + <p> + “What a thorough girl you are, Bibi!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, and to-day I've been laughing at myself; as silly as I used to be, + counting so much on a mere change of circumstances. Of course something + unpleasant will develop there too. But at least the harness will rub in a + different place. On the whole, it will be better. Guy, do you know, I have + just gotten rid of envy and discontent, and that without endangering + ambition. I'll give you the charm; it's a sort of cabalistic <i>spell</i>—the + four P's—Occu<i>p</i>ation, Res<i>p</i>onsibility, <i>P</i>urpose, + and <i>P</i>hilosophy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “the most worth-while thing in life is to feel you are + accomplishing something—doing your work well and getting + proportionate returns.” + </p> + <p> + The tone touched her. “Poor old Guy!” so generously congratulatory of her + flaunted advantages. How stupid she was! Poor Guy! her pretty creed + scattered at a breath like a dead dandelion-ball. Envy she had disposed + of, but what about pity? What had he to make up? “The idea of my talking + of happiness, with you caged here!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that was the point of it all,” he said, “to give you your + chance.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be a beautifully humble thing for me to think, now wouldn't + it?” Yet she had once complained that the point of it all was to interfere + with her. “And so sweetly generous. Your chance being—?” + </p> + <p> + “To serve as a means of grace to you?” He smiled. “I am glad to be of some + use—and honored to be of that one!” he hurried to add, elaborately + humorous. + </p> + <p> + But what she was noticing was the flagging effort of his vivacity. Her + half-submerged first impression of him was coming to the surface: he did + look unusually haggard. “You haven't been good while I was away. Now don't + tell stories. Don't I know you? No more storms, Guy!” she warned. + </p> + <p> + His eye evaded hers. “I am seriously questioning whether you ought to make + this change. All your friends are here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to that! There might be advantages in working among strangers. + Mrs. Grey fairly puts herself out to let me understand that she is a + friend in need!” She reined herself up, recollecting, but too late. “Oh, + Guy, don't mind so for me. Why, the South is full of women doing what I + am, only so many of them are doing it—without—the Guys who + never came back!” + </p> + <p> + “Lucky dogs!” subterraneously. Then, seeing her apprehensive of a second + flare-up of that volcanic fire: “So gentlemanly of them, too, Bibi. How + can those few years of love be worth a life of this to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Those few years? why, Guy! of love? Is that how <i>you</i> feel?” Her + eyes filled; her whole face quivered. “Oh, Guy—be willing for my + sake. I never knew what love could mean until lately.” + </p> + <p> + His grasp hurt her knuckles. “Yes, dear, I have seen. It's very sweet. + It's the mother in you, Bibi, and my helplessness. Of course! What could a + woman <i>love</i> in a dependent, half-corpse of a no-man?” + </p> + <p> + For a moment she was too surprised to speak. She stared at him. “What a + notion! and it isn't true! You never were any more a man than you've been + through these two dreadful years.” She sounded fairly indignant. “And for + my part, I never appreciated what you were half as much.” + </p> + <p> + “Love doesn't begin with a <i>P</i>,” he remarked to the opposite wall. + </p> + <p> + “But what do you suppose the <i>purpose</i> was?” + </p> + <p> + “Love?” + </p> + <p> + “More. <i>You</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “You never told me.” That strange voice and averted face! + </p> + <p> + “How should I fancy you wouldn't know? I had never thought it out myself + until just now. It has simply been going on from day to day, as natural + and quiet as growing—” A bewildering illumination was spreading in + her mind. “Look here, young man”—she forced his face around to see + it,—“what goblins have you been hatching in the night-watches?” The + raillery broke. “Dear, is that what has been troubling you? Is there + anything else?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her now. “Anything else trouble me, if I really have you, and + a chance to do a little something for you?” + </p> + <p> + It was their apotheosis. They had never known a moment equal to it before; + could never know just another such again. In a very deep way it was the + first kiss of love for them both. + </p> + <p> + Bessie came back to herself with that sense of arriving, of having been + infinitely away, with which one drops from abstraction. + </p> + <p> + Where had they been in that state of absent mind? + </p> + <p> + It was as if they had met out of time, space, matter.... And as she + thought of his words, in the light of his eyes, pity too was qualified, + and that without endangering helpfulness. He, too, had his balance of + good. Yes, things squared in the end. + </p> + <p> + Her creed was quick. The scattered dandelion seed sprouted all around her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PAP OVERHOLT + </h2> + <h3> + BY ALICE MACGOWAN + </h3> + <p> + Up and down the long corn rows Pap Overholt guided the old mule and the + small, rickety, inefficient plough, whose low handles bowed his tall, + broad shoulders beneath the mild heat of a mountain June sun. As he went—ever + with a furtive eye upon the cabin—he muttered to himself, shaking + his head: + </p> + <p> + “Say I sha'n' do hit. Say he don't want me a-ploughin' his co'n. My law! + Whut you gwine do? Thar's them chillen—thar's Huldy. They got to be + fed—they 'bleeged to have meat and bread. Ef I don't—” + </p> + <p> + Again he lifted his apprehensive glance toward the cabin; and this time it + encountered a figure stepping from the low doorway—a young fellow + with an olive face, delicately cut features, black curling hair, the sleep + still lingering in his dark eyes. He approached the fence—the sorry, + broken fence,—put his hands upon it, and called sharply, “Pap!” + </p> + <p> + The old man released the plough-handles and came toward the youth, + shrinking like a truant schoolboy called up for discipline. + </p> + <p> + “Pap, this is the way you do me all the time—come an' plough in my + co'n when I don't know nothin' about hit—when I don't want hit done,—tryin' + to make everybody think I'm lazy and no 'count. Huldy tellin' me I ought + to be ashamed of myse'f, in bed while my po' old pappy—'at hain't + ploughed a row of his own for years—is a-gittin' my co'n outen the + weeds.” + </p> + <p> + The father stood, a chidden culprit. The boy had worked himself up to the + desired point. + </p> + <p> + “You jest do hit to put a shame on me. Now, Pap, you take that mule—” + </p> + <p> + “W'y, Sammy,—w'y, Sammy honey, you know Pappy don't do it fer nair + sech a reason. Hit don't look no sech a thing—like you was shif'less + an' lazy. Hit jes look like Pappy got nothin' to do, an' love to come and + give you a turn with yo' co'n; an', Sammy honey,”—the good farmer + for the moment getting the better of the timid, soft-hearted parent,—“hit + is might'ly in the weeds, boy. Don't you reckon I better jes—” + </p> + <p> + The other began, “I tell you—” + </p> + <p> + “There, there! Ne'mine, Sammy. Ef you don't want Pappy to plough no mo', + Pappy jes gwine to take the plough right outen the furrow and put old Beck + up. Pappy gwine—” + </p> + <p> + The boy turned away, his point made, and strolled back to the cabin. The + old man, murmuring a mixture of apologies, assurances, and expostulations, + went pathetically about the putting up of the mule, the setting away of + the plough. + </p> + <p> + Nobody knew when Pap Overholt began to be so called, nor when his wife had + received the affectionate title of Aunt Cornelia. It was a naming that + grew of itself. Forty years ago the pair had been married—John, a + sturdy, sunny-tempered young fellow of twenty-one, six feet in his + stockings, broad of shoulder, deep of chest, and with a name and a nature + clean of all tarnish; Cornelia Blackshears, a typical mountain girl of the + best sort. + </p> + <p> + When, at the end of the first year, old Dr. Pastergood, who had ushered + Cornelia herself into this world, turned to them with her first child in + his arms, the young father stood by, controlling his great rush of primal + joy, his boyish desire to do something noisy and violent; the mother + looked first at her husband, then into the old doctor's face, with eyes of + passionate delight and appeal. He was speechless a moment, for pity. Then + he said, gently: + </p> + <p> + “Hit's gone, befo' hit ever come to us, Cornely. Hit never breathed a + breath of this werrisome world.” + </p> + <p> + A man who had practised medicine in the Turkey Tracks for twenty-five + years —a doctor among these mountain people, where poverty is the + rule, hardship a condition of life, and tragedy a fairly familiar element, + would have had his fibre well stiffened. The brave old campaigner, who had + sat beside so many death-beds and so many birth-beds, and had seen so many + come and so many go, at the exits and entrances of life, met the matter + stoutly and without flinching. His stoic air, his words of passive + acceptance, laid a calm upon the first outburst of bitter grief from the + two young creatures. Later, when John had gone to do the chores, the old + doctor still sat by Cornelia's bed. He took the girl's hand in his—an + unusual demonstration of feeling for a mountaineer—and said to her, + gently, + </p> + <p> + “Cornely, there won't never be no mo'—there'll be nair another baby + to you, honey.” + </p> + <p> + The stricken girl fastened her eyes upon his in dumb pain and protest. She + said nothing, the wound was too deep; only her lips quivered pitifully and + the tears ran down upon the pillow. + </p> + <p> + “Now, now, honey, don't ye go to fret that-a-way. W'y, Cornely, ye was + made for a mother; the Lord made ye for such—an' do ye 'low 'at He + don't know what He's a-gwine to do with the work of His hands? 'For mo' + air the children of the desolate'—don't ye know Scripter says?—than + of them that has many. Lord love ye, honey, girl, you'll be mother to a + minny and a minny. They air a-comin'; the Lord's a-sendin' 'em. W'y, + honey,—you and John will have children gathered around you—” + </p> + <p> + The one cry broke forth from Cornelia which she ever uttered through all + her long grief of childlessness: “Oh, but, Dr. Pastergood, I wanted mine—my + own—and John's! Oh, I reckon it was idolatry the way I felt in my + heart; I thought, to have a little trick-bone o' my bone, flesh o' my + flesh—look up at me with John's eyes—” A sob choked her + utterance, and never again was it resumed. + </p> + <p> + In the years that followed, the pair—already come to be called Pap + Overholt and Aunt Cornely—well fulfilled the old doctor's prophecy. + The very next year after their baby was laid away, John's older brother, + Jeff, lost his wife, and the three little children Mandy left were brought + at once to them, remaining in peace and welfare for something over a year + (Jeff was a circumspect widower), making the place blithe with their + laughter and their play. Then their father married, and they were taken to + the new home. He was an Overholt too, and shared that powerful paternal + instinct with John. Three times this thing happened. Three times Jeff + buried a wife, and the little Jeff Overholts, with recruited ranks, were + brought to Aunt Cornelia and Pap John. When Jeff married his fourth wife—Zulena + Spivey, a powerful, vital, affluent creature, of an unusual type for the + mountains,—and the children (there were nine of them by this time) + went to live with their step-mother, whose physique and disposition + promised a longer tenure than any of her predecessors, Pap and Aunt + Cornelia sat upon the lonely hearth and assured each other with tears that + never again would they take into their home and their lives, as their very + own, any children upon whom they could have no sure claim. + </p> + <p> + “Tell ye, Cornely, this thing o' windin' yer heart-strings around and + around a passel o' chaps for a year or so and then havin' 'em tore out—well, + hit takes a mighty considerable chunk o' yer heart along with 'em.” And + the wife, looking at him with wet eyes, nodded an assent. + </p> + <p> + It was next May that Pap Overholt, who had been doing some hauling over as + far as Big Turkey Track, returned one evening with a little figure perched + beside him on the high wagon seat. “The Lord sent him, honey,” he said, + and handed the child down to his wife. “He ain't got a livin' soul on this + earth to lay claim to him. He is ourn as much as ef he was flesh and bone + of us. I even tuck out the papers.” + </p> + <p> + That evening, the two sitting watching the little dark face in its sleep, + Pap told his story. Driving across the flank of Yellow Old Bald, beyond + Lost Cabin, he had passed a woman with five children sitting beside the + road in Big Buck Gap. + </p> + <p> + “Cornely, she looked like a picture out of a book,” whispered Pap. “This + chap's the livin' image of her. Portugee blood—touch o' that + melungeon tribe from over in the Fur Cove. She had a little smooth face + shaped like a aig; that curly hair hangin' clean to her waist, dark like + this baby's, but with the sun all through it; these eyebrows o' his'n + that's lifted in the middle o' his forred, like he cain't see why some + onkindness was did him; and little slim hands and feet; all mighty furrin + to the mountains. I give 'er a lift—she was goin' to Hepzibah, + huntin' fer some kind o' charity she'd heard could be got there; and this + little trick he tuck to me right then.” + </p> + <p> + The woman bent over and looked long at the small olive face, so delicately + cut, the damp rings of hair on his forehead, the tragic lift of the brows + above the nose bridge, the thin-lipped scarlet mouth. “My baby,” she + murmured; then lifted her glance with the question: “An' how come ye to + have him? Did she—did that womern—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. 'Twas this-a-way,” Pap interrupted her. “When I came back from + Big Turkey Track, I went down through Hepzibah—I couldn't git this + chap's eyes—ner his little hands—out o' my head; I found + myse'f a-studyin' on 'em the hull enjurin' time. She was dead when I got + thar. She'd died to Squire Cannon's, and they was a-passellin' out the + chillen 'mongst the neighbors. No sooner I put foot on the po'ch 'n this + little soul come a-runnin' to me, an' says: W'y, here's my pappy, now. I + tole you-all I did have a pappy. Now look—see—here he is.' + Then he peeked up at me, and he put up his little arms, an' he says, jest + as petted, and yit a little skeered, he says, 'Take me, pappy.' When I + tuck him up, he grabbed me round the neck and dug his little face into + mine. Then he looked around at all the folks, and sort o' shivered, and + put his face back in my neck—still ez a little possum when you've + killed the old ones an' split up the tree an' drug out the nest.” + </p> + <p> + Both faces were wet with tears now. Pap went on: “I had the papers made + right out—I knowed you'd say yes, Cornely. He's Samuel Ephraim + Overholt. A-comin' home, the little weenty chap looks up at me suddent an' + axes, 'Is they a mammy to we-all's house whar we goin' now?' Lord! Lord!” + Pap shook his head gently, as signifying the utter inadequacy of mere + words. + </p> + <p> + Little Sammy grew and thrived in the Overholt home. The tiny rootlets of + his avid, unconscious baby life he thrust out in all directions through + that kind soil, sucking, sucking, grasping, laying hold, drawing to him + and his great little needs sustenance material and spiritual. More keen + and capable to penetrate were those thready little fibres than the + irresistible water-seeking tap-root of the cottonwood or the mesquite of + the plains; more powerful to clasp and to hold than the cablelike roots of + the rock-embracing cedar. The little new member was so much living + sunshine, gay, witching, brilliant, erratic in disposition as he was + singular and beautiful in his form and coloring, but always irresistibly + endearing, dangerously winning. When he had been Sammy Overholt only two + weeks, he sat at table with his parents one day and scornfully rejected + the little plate that was put before him. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he cried, sharply. “No, no! I won't have it—ole nassy plate!” + </p> + <p> + “W'y, baby! W'y, Sammy,” deprecated Cornelia, “that's yo' own little plate + that mammy washed for you. You mustn't call it naisty.” + </p> + <p> + “Hit air nassy,” insisted young Samuel. “Hit got 'pecks—see!” and + the small finger pointed to some minute flaw in the ware which showed as + little dots on the white surface. + </p> + <p> + Cornelia, who, though mild and serene, was possessed of firmness and a + sense of justice, would have had the matter fairly settled. “He ort not to + cut up this-away, John,” she urged. “He ort to take his little plate and + behave hisse'f; 'r else he ort to be spanked,—he really ort, John, + in jestice to the child.” + </p> + <p> + But John was of another mould. “Law, Cornely! Hit's jest baby-doin's. The + idee o' him a-settin' up 'at yo' dishes ain't clean! That shore do beat + all!” And he had executed an exchange of plates under Cornelia's + deprecating eyes. And so the matter went. + </p> + <p> + Again, upon a June day, Sammy was at play with the scion of the only negro + family which had ever been known in all the Turkey Track regions. The + Southern mountaineers have little affinity, socially or politically, with + the people of the settlements. There were never any slaveholders among + them, and the few isolated negroes were treated with almost perfect + equality by the simple-minded mountain dwellers. + </p> + <p> + “Sammy honey, you an' Jimmy mus' cl'ar up yo' litter here. Don't leave it + on mammy's nice flo'. Hit's mighty nigh supper-time. Cl'ar up now, 'fo' + Pappy comes.” + </p> + <p> + Sammy stiffened his little figure to a startling rigidity. “I ain't + a-goin' to work!” he flung out. “Let him do it; <i>he's a nigger</i>!” And + this was the last word of the argument. + </p> + <p> + This was Sammy—handsome, graceful, exceedingly winning, sudden and + passionate, disdaining like a young zebra the yoke of labor, and, when + crossed, absolutely beyond all reason or bounds; the life of every + gathering of young people as he grew up; much made of, deferred to, sought + after, yet everywhere blamed as undutiful and ungrateful. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I do p'intedly wish the neighbors would leave us alone,” sighed Pap + Overholt, when these reports came to him. “As ef I didn't know what I + wanted—as ef I couldn't raise my own chile;” and as he said this he + ever avoided Aunt Cornelia's honest eye. + </p> + <p> + It was when Sammy was eighteen, the best dressed, the best horsed—and + the idlest—to be found from Little Turkey Track to the Fur Cove, + from Tatum's to Big Buck Gap—that he went one day, riding his sorrel + filly, down to Hepzibah, ostensibly to do some errands for Aunt Cornelia, + but in fact simply in search of a good time. The next day Blev Straly, a + rifle over his shoulder and a couple of hounds at heel, stopped a moment + at the chopping-block where Pap was splitting some kindling. + </p> + <p> + “I was a-passin',” he explained—“I was jest a-passin', an' I 'lowed + I'd drap in an' tell ye 'bout Sammy. Hit better be me than somebody 'at + likes to carry mean tales and wants to watch folks suffer.” Aunt Cornelia + was beside her husband now. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” Blev answered the look on the two faces; “nothin' ain't the + matter of Sammy. He's jest married—that little Huldy Frew 'at's been + waitin' on table at Aunt Randy Card's <i>ho</i>-tel. You know, Aunt + Cornely, she is a mighty pretty little trick—and there ain't nothin' + bad about the gal. I jest knowed you and Pap 'ud feel mighty hurt over + Sammy doin' you-all like you was cruel to him—like he had to run + away to git married; and I 'lowed I better come and tell you fust.” + </p> + <p> + The “little Huldy gal” was, as Blev Straly had described her, a mighty + pretty little trick, and nothing bad about her. The orphan child of poor + mountaineers, bound out since the death of her parents when she was ten + years old, she had been two years now working for Aunt Randy Card, who + kept the primitive hotel at Hepzibah. Even in this remote region Huldy + showed that wonderful—that irrepressible—upward impulse of + young feminine America, that instinctive affinity for the finer things of + life, that marvellous understanding of graces and refinements, and that + pathetic and persistent groping after them which is the marked + characteristic of America's daughters. The child was not yet sixteen, a + fair little thing with soft ashen hair and honest gray eyes, the pink upon + her cheek like that of a New England girl. + </p> + <p> + At first this marriage—which had been so unkindly conducted by + Sammy, used by him apparently as a weapon of affront—seemed to bring + with it only good, only happiness. The boy was more contented at home, + less wayward, and the feeling of apprehension that had dwelt continually + in the hearts of Pap and Aunt Cornelia ever since his adolescence now + slept. The little Huldy—her own small cup apparently full of + happiness—was all affectionate gratitude and docility. She healed + the bruises Sammy made, poured balm in the wounds he inflicted; she was + sunny, obedient, grateful enough for two. + </p> + <p> + But a new trait was developed in Sammy's nature—perversity. Life was + made smooth to his feet; the things he needed—even the things which + he merely desired—were procured and brought to him. Love brooded + above and around him—timid, chidden, but absolute, adoring. Nothing + was left him—no occupation was offered for his energies—but to + resent these things, to quarrel with his benefits. And now the quarrel + began. + </p> + <p> + Its outcome was this: Toward the end of the first year of the marriage, + upon a bleak, forbidding March day—a day of bitter wind and icy + sleet,—there rode one to the Overholt door who called upon Pap and + Aunt Cornelia to hitch up and come with all possible haste to old Eph'm + Blackshears, Cornelia's father—a man who had lived to fourscore, and + who now lay at his last, asking for his daughter, his baby chile, Cornely. + </p> + <p> + For days Sammy had been in a very ill-promising mood; but he brightened as + the foster-parents drove away in the bleak, gray, hostile forenoon, Huldy + helping Aunt Cornelia to dress and make ready, tucking her lovingly into + the wagon and beneath the thick old quilt. + </p> + <p> + The elder woman yearned over the girl with a mother's compassionate + tenderness. Both Aunt Cornelia and Pap John looked with a passionate, + delighted anticipation to when they would have their own child's baby upon + their hearth. It was the more notable marks of this tenderness, of this + joyous anticipation, which Sammy had begun to resent—the gifts and + the labors showered upon the young wife in relation to her coming + importance, which he had barely come short of refusing and repelling. + “Whose wife is she, I'd like to know? Looks like I cain't do nothin' for + my own woman—a-givin' an' a-givin' to Huldy, like she was some po' + white trash, some beggar!” But he had only “sulled,” as his mother called + it, never quite able to reach the point he desired of actually flinging + the care, the gifts, and the loving labors back in the foster-parents' + faces. + </p> + <p> + Pappy Blackshears passed away quietly in the evening; and when he had been + made ready for his grave by Cornelia's hands, her anxiety for the little + daughter at home would not let her remain longer. + </p> + <p> + “I'm jest 'bleeged to go to Huldy,” she explained to the relatives and + neighbors gathered at the old Blackshears place. “I p'intedly dassent to + leave her over one night—and not a soul with her but Sammy, and he + nothin' but a chile—and not a neighbor within a mild of our place—and + sech a night! Pap and me we'll hitch up an' mak' 'as'e back to Huldy. + We'll be here to the funeral a Sunday—but I dassent to stay away + from Huldy nair another hour now.” And so, at ten o'clock that bitter + night, Pap and Aunt Cornelia came hurrying home. + </p> + <p> + As the wagon drove up the mountain trail to the house, the hounds came + belling joyously to meet them; but no light gleamed cheerfully from the + windows; no door was flung gayly open; no little Huldy cried out her glad + greeting. Filled with formless apprehensions, Pap climbed over the wheel, + lifted Cornelia down, and dreading they knew not what, the two went,—holding + by each other's hand,—opened the door, and entered, shrinking and + reluctant. They blew the smouldering coals to a little flame, piled on + light-wood till the broad blaze rolled up the chimney, then looked about. + No living soul was in any room. Finally Cornelia caught sight of a bit of + paper stuck upon the high mantel. She tore it down, and the two read + slowly and laboriously together the few lines written in Sammy's hand: + </p> + <p> + “I ain't going to allow my wife to live off any man's charity. I ain't + going to be made to look like nothing in the eyes of people any longer. + I've taken my wife to my own place, where I can support her myself. I had + to borrow your ox-cart and steers to move with, and Huldy made me bring + some things she said mother had give her, but I'll pay all this back, and + more, for I intend to be independent and not live on any man's bounty. + </p> + <p> + “Respectfully, your son, + </p> + <h3> + “SAMUEL” + </h3> + <p> + The two old faces, pallid and grief-struck, confronted each other in the + shaken radiance of the pine fire. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my po' chile, my po' little Huldy! Whar? His own place! My law!—whar? + Whar has he drug that little soul?” + </p> + <p> + An intuition flashed into Pap Overholt's mind. He grasped his wife's arm. + “W'y, Cornely,” he cried, “hit's that cabin on The Bench! Don't ye know, + honey? I give him that land when he was sixteen year old,—time he + brung the prize home from the school down in the settlemint.” + </p> + <p> + “The Bench! Oh, Lord—The Bench! W'y, hit 'll be the death of her. + John, we cain't git to her too quick.” And she ran from cupboard to press, + from press to chest, from chest to bureau drawer, piling into John's arms + the flask of brandy, the homely medicines, the warm garments, such bits of + food as she could catch up that were palatable and portable. Pap, with + more vulnerable emotions and less resolute nature, was incapable of + speech; he could only suffer dumbly. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the abandoned cabin on The Bench, the picture that greeted them + crushed Pap's soft heart to powder, but roused in Aunt Cornelia a rage + that would have resulted in a sharp settlement with Sammy, had it not been + that, now as always, to reach the offender a blow must go through that + same pitiful heart of John's. The young people had not long been at the + cabin when the parents arrived. The little Huldy, moaning piteously, with + a stricken, terrified look in her big, childish eyes, was crouched upon + the floor beside a rickety chair. Sammy, sullen and defiant, was at the + desolate hearth, fumbling with unskilled hands at the sodden chunks of + wood he had there gathered. + </p> + <p> + The situation was past words. Pap, after one look at Huldy, went about the + fire-building, the slow tears rolling down his cheeks. While Aunt Cornelia + brought the bedding, the warm blankets and wrappings, and made the little + suffering creature a comfortable couch, Pap wrought at the forlorn, gaping + fireplace like a suffering giant. When the leaping flames danced and + shouted up the chimney till the whole cabin was filled with the physical + joy of their light and warmth, when steaming coffee and the hastily + fetched food had been served to the others, and the little wife lay + quietly for the moment, the two elders talked together outside where a + corner of the cabin cut off the driving sleet. Then Sammy was included, + and another council was held, this time of three. + </p> + <p> + No. He would not budge. That was <i>his</i> wife. A fellow that was man + enough to have a wife ought to be man enough to take keer of her. He + wasn't going to have his child born in the house of charity. There was no + thoroughfare. Sammy was allowed to withdraw, and the council of two was + resumed. As a result of its deliberations, Pap John drove away through the + darkness and the sleet. By midnight two trips had been made between the + big double log house at the Overholt place and the wretched cabin on The + Bench, and all that Sammy would suffer to be brought to them or done for + them had been brought and done. The cabin was, in a very humble way, + inhabitable. There was food and a small provision for the immediate + present. And here, upon that wild March night of screaming wind and sleet, + and with only Aunt Cornelia as doctor and nurse, Huldy's child was born. + </p> + <p> + And now a new order of things began. + </p> + <p> + Sammy's energies appeared to be devoted to the thwarting of Pap Overholt's + care and benefits. There should be no cow brought to the cabin; and so Pap + John, who was getting on in years now, and had long since given up hard, + active work, hastened from his bed at four o'clock in the morning, milked + a cow, and carried the pail of fresh milk to Huldy and the baby, + furtively, apologetically. The food, the raiment, everything had to be + smuggled into the house little by little, explained, apologized for. The + land on The Bench was rich alluvial soil. Sammy, in his first burst of + independence, ploughed it (borrowing mule and plough from a neighbor—the + one neighbor ever known to be on ill terms with Pap Overholt), and planted + it to corn. He put in a little garden, too; while Pap had achieved the + establishment of a small colony of hens (every one of whom, it appeared, + laid two or three eggs each day—at least that was the way the count + came out). + </p> + <p> + The baby thrived, unconscious of all the grief, the perverse cruelty, the + baffled, defeated tenderness about her, and was the light of Pap + Overholt's doting eyes, the delight of Aunt Cornelia's heart. When she was + eighteen months old, and could toddle about and run to meet them, and + chattered that wonderful language which these two hearts of love had all + their lives yearned to hear—the dialect of babyhood,—the twin + boys came to the cabin on The Bench. And Pap Overholt's lines were harder + than ever. Cornelia had sterner stuff in her. She would have called a + halt. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, John!” she expostulated finally, when she saw her husband come home + crestfallen one day, with a ham which Sammy had detected him smuggling + into the cabin and ordered back,—“John honey, ef you was to stop + toting things to the cabin and let it all alone—not pester with it + another—” + </p> + <p> + “Cornely, Cornely!” cried Pap John, “you know Sammy cain't no mo' keep a + wife and chillen than a peckerwood kin. W'y, they'd starve! Huldy and the + chaps would jest p'intedly starve.” + </p> + <p> + “No, they won't, John. Ef you could master yo' own soft heart—ef you + could stay away (like he's tole ye a minny a time to do, knowin' 'at you + was safe not to mind him)—Sammy would stop this here foolishness. + He'd come to his senses and be thankful for what the Lord sent, like other + people. W'y, John—” + </p> + <p> + “Cornely honey—don't. Don't ye say another word. I tell ye, this + last year there's a feelin' in my throat and in my breast—hyer,”—he + laid his hand pathetically over his heart,—“a cur'us, gone, + flutterin' feelin'. And when Sammy r'ars up and threatens he'll take Huldy + and the chaps—you know,”—he finished with a gesture of the + hand and a glance of unspeakable pain,—“when he does that 'ar way, + or something comes at me sudden like that—that we may lose 'em, hit + seems like—right hyer,”—and his hand went again to his heart,—“that + I can't bear it—that hit 'll take my life.” + </p> + <p> + This was the last time Cornelia ever remonstrated with Pap John. She had a + little talk with the new doctor from Hepzibah who bad succeeded old Dr. + Pastergood; and after that John was added to the list of her anxieties. He + might carry the milk to the cabin on The Bench; he might slip in, when he + deemed Sammy away—or asleep—and plough the corn; she saw the + tragic folly of it, but must be silent. And so on that particular June + morning, when Pap had put up the mule, clambered down the short-cut + footway from The Bench to the old house, stopping several times to shake + his head again and murmur to himself—“Whut you gwine do? There's + them chaps; there's Huldy. Mustn't plough his co'n; mustn't take over air + cow. Whut you gwine do?”—Aunt Cornelia's seeing eye noted his + perturbation the moment he came in at the door. With tender guile she + built up a considerable argument in the matter of a quarterly meeting + which was approaching—the grove quarterly, in which Pap John was + unfailingly interested, and during which there were always from two to + half a dozen preachers, old and young, staying with them. So she led him + away—ever so little away—from his ever-present grief. + </p> + <p> + It was the next day that he said to her, “Cornely, I p'intedly ain't gwine + to suffer this hyer filchin' o' co'n them Fusons is a-keepin' up on me.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the Fusons a-stealin' yo' co'n, John?” she responded, in surprise. + “W'y, they got a-plenty, ain't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, not adzactly, that is to say, Buck Fuson ain't got a-plenty. He + too lazy and shif'less to make co'n of his own; and he like too well to + filch co'n from them he puts his spite on. Buck Fuson he tuck a spite at + me, last time the raiders was up atter that Fuson hideout; jes set up an' + swore 'at I'd gin the word to 'em. You see, honey, he makes him up a spite + that-a-way—jes out o' nothin'—'cause hit's sech a handy thing + to have around when he comes to want co'n. Thar's some one already + purvided to steal from—some one 'at's done him a injury.” + </p> + <p> + “Pappy! W'y, Johnny honey, sakes alive! What air ye ever a-gwine to do + 'long o' that there thing?” For the old man had laboriously fetched out a + rusty wolf-trap, and was now earnestly inspecting and overhauling it. + </p> + <p> + “Whut am I a-gwine to do 'long o' this hyer, Cornely? W'y, I am jes + p'intedly a-gwine to set it in my grain-room. Buck Fuson air a bad man, + honey. There's two men's blood to his count. They cain't nothin' be done + to him for nair a one of 'em—you know, same's I do—'ca'se hit + cain't be proved in a co't o' law. But I kin ketch him in this meanness + with this hyer little jigger, and I'm a-gwine to do hit, jest ez sure ez + my name's John Overholt!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Pappy! A leetle bit o' co'n fer a man's chillen—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Cornely honey, that's a womern! Buck Fuson is the wrong kind o' man + to have round. He's ben a stealin' my co'n now fer two weeks and mo'. Ef I + kin ketch him right out, and give him a fa'r shamin', he'll quit the + Turkey Tracks fer good. So fer as Elmiry and the chaps is consarned, + they'll be better off without Buck 'n what they is with him.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Aunt Cornelia cried out joyously, “Oh, thar's my chile!” + and ran to meet her daughter-in-law. The little girl—Cornelia the + second—could navigate bravely by herself now, and Huldy was carrying + the lusty twin boys. In the flutter of delight over this stolen visit, the + ugly wolf-trap threat was forgotten. It had been a month and more since + Sammy had set foot in his parents' house. It had gone all over both Turkey + Tracks that Sam Overholt declared he would never darken Pap Overholt's + door again—Pap Overholt, who had tried to make a pauper of him, + loading him with gifts and benefits, like he was shif'less, no-'count + white trash! The little Huldy reported him gone to Far Canaan, over beyond + Big Turkey Track, in the matter of some employment, which he had not + deigned to make clearer to his wife. He would not be back until the day + after to-morrow; and meantime she might stay with the old folks two whole + days and nights! In the severe school to which life had put her, the + little Huldy had developed an astonishing amount of character, of + shrewdness, and perception, and a very fair philosophy of her own. To the + elder woman's sad observation that it was mighty strange what made Sammy + so “onthankful” and so “ha'sh” to his pappy, who had done so much for him, + Huldy responded, + </p> + <p> + “No, Aunt Cornely, hit ain't strange, not a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't strange? Huldy child, what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “W'y, don't you know, Aunt Cornely, ef he do Pappy that-a-way, when Pappy + do so much fer him, then he don't have to be thankful. When everybody's + a-tellin' him, 'Yo' pap's so kind, yo' pap does everything for you; look + like you cain't be good enough to him,' he 'bleeged to find some way to + shake off all that thankfulness 'at's sech a burden to him. And so when + Pappy come a-totin' milk, an' a-totin' pork, an' a-ploughin' his co'n + outen the weeds, w'y, Sammy jest draw down his face an' look black at + Pappy, and make like he mad at him—like he don't want none o' them + things—like Pappy jest pesterin' round him fer nothin'. but + meanness. Now mind, Aunt Cornely, I ain't say Sammy knows this his own + se'f. But I studied Sammy mighty well, an' <i>I</i> know. Sammy gittin' + tell he do me the same way. I wait on him hand and foot; I cook his bacon + jest like he tol' me you did it fer him. I fix everything the best I kin + (and mebby all three of the chillen a-cryin' after me); and when he come + in and see it all ready, and see how hard I got it, and seem like there's + a call fer him to be thankful, then Sammy jest turns on hit all. He draw + down his face at me and he say, black like: 'I don't want no bacon—what + did you fix that shirt for that-a-way? Take away that turnip sallet—I + cain't git nothin' like I want it.' Then, you know,” with a little smile + up into the other's face, half pitiful, half saucy,—“Then you know, + Sammy don't have to be thankful. Hit was all done wrong.” + </p> + <p> + It was the next evening—Saturday evening. The entire household + (which included Elder Justice and two young preachers from Big Turkey + Track, with Brother Tarbush, one of the new exhorters) had returned from + the afternoon's meeting in the grove. Supper had been eaten and cleared + away. The babies had been put to sleep; the two women and the five men—all + strong and striking types of the Southern mountaineer—were gathered + for the evening reading and prayer. Elder Justice, now nearly eighty years + old, a beautiful and venerable person, had opened the big Bible, and after + turning the leaves a moment, raised his grave, rugged face and read: + “'Therefore will I divide him a portion with the great, and he shall + divide the spoil with the strong; because he hath poured out his soul unto + death.'” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and on the intense stillness which followed the ceasing of his + voice—the silence of evening in the deep mountains—there broke + a long, shrill, agonized scream. + </p> + <p> + As every one of the little circle leaped to his feet, Aunt Cornelia's eyes + sought her husband's face, and his hers. After that grinding, terrible + cry, the stillness of the night was unstirred. Pap Overholt sprang to the + hearth—where even in the midsummer months a log smoulders throughout + the day, to be brightened into a cheery blaze mornings and evenings,—seized + a brand, one or two of the others following his example, and ran through + the doorway, across the little chip-yard, making for the low-browed log + barn and the grain-room beside it. + </p> + <p> + None who witnessed that scene ever forgot it. Each one told it afterward + in his own way, declaring that not while he lived could the remembrance of + it pass from his mind. Pap Overholt's tall figure leaped crouching through + the low doorway, and next instant lifted the blazing brand high above his + head; the others followed, doing the same. There by the grain-bin, with + ashy countenance and shaking limbs, the sweat of anguish upon his + forehead, his eyes roving dumbly around the circle of faces revealed by + the flickering light of the brands—there with the dreadful wolf-trap + (locked by its chain to a stanchion) hanging to his right arm, its fangs + bitten through and through the flesh, stood Sammy. + </p> + <p> + Pap Overholt's mind refused at first to understand. He had known (with + that sort of moral assurance which makes a thing as real to us as the + evidence of the senses themselves) that it was Buck Fuson who had been + stealing his grain. He had set his trap to catch Buck Fuson; not instantly + could the mere sight of his eyes convince him that the trapped thief was + the petted, adored, perverse son, who had refused his father's bounty when + it had seemed the little wife and babies must starve. When he did realize, + the cry that burst from his heart brought tears to all the eyes looking + upon him. Down went the tall, broad figure, down into the dust of the + grain-room floor. And there Pap Overholt grovelled on his knees, his white + head almost at the thief's feet, crying, crying that old cry of David's: + “Oh, Sammy, my son! My son, Sammy! An' I wouldn't 'a' touched a hair o' + his head. My God! have mercy on my soul, that would 'a' fed him my heart's + blood—an' he wouldn't take bite nor sup from my hand. Oh, Sammy! + what did you want to do this to yo' po' old pappy fer?” + </p> + <p> + Elder Justice, quick and efficient at eighty years, had sprung to the + lad's right arm, two of the younger men close after. Aunt Cornelia held + her piece of blazing light-wood for them while they cut away the sleeve + and made ready to bear apart the powerful jaws of the trap. The little + Huldy had said never a word. Her small, white face was strained; but it + did not bear the marks of shock and of horror that were written on every + other countenance there. When they had grasped jaws and lever, and Elder + Justice's kind voice murmured, “Mind now, Sammy. Hold firm, son; we air + a-gwine to pull 'em back. Brace yo'se'f,” the boy's haggard eyes sought + his mother's face. + </p> + <p> + “Le' me take it, Aunt Cornely,” whispered Huldy, loosing the light-wood + from the elder woman's hand and leaving her free. And the next moment + Sammy's left hand was clasped tight in his mother's; he turned his face + round to her broad breast and hid it there; and there he sobbed and shook + as the savage jaws came slowly back. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + That strange hour worked a complete revolution in the lives of the little + family in the cabin on The Bench and those in the big, hospitable Pap + Overholt home. Sammy had “met up with” punishment at last; he had + encountered discipline; and the change it wrought upon him was almost + beyond belief. The spell which this winning, wayward, perverse creature + had laid upon Pap Overholt's too affectionate, too indulgent nature was + dissolved in that terrible hour. He was no more to the father now than a + troublesome boy who had been most trying and not very satisfactory. The + ability to wring the hearts of those who wished to benefit him had passed + from Sammy; but it is only fair to say that the wish to do so seemed to be + no longer his. While his arm was still in a sling, before he had yet + raised his shamed eyes to meet the eyes of those about him, Pap Overholt + cheerfully put old Ned and Jerry to the big ox-wagon and bodily removed + the little household from The Bench to the home which had been so long + yearning for them. + </p> + <p> + Now, at last, he was Pap Overholt indeed. The little Huldy, whose burden + of gratitude for two had seemed to Aunt Cornelia so grievous a one, was a + daughter after any man's heart, and her brood of smiling children were a + wagon-load which Pap John hauled with joy and pride to and from the + settlement, to the circus—ay, every circus that ever showed its head + within a day's drive of Little Turkey Track,—to meetin', to grove + quarterlies, in response to every call of neighborliness, or of mere + amusement. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE PINY WOODS + </h2> + <h3> + BY MRS. B. F. MAYHEW + </h3> + <p> + A sparsely settled bit of country in the piny woods of North Carolina. A + house rather larger than its neighbors, though only a “story and a jump” + of four rooms, two upper and two lower, and quite a commodius shed on the + back containing two rooms and a small entry; and when Jeems Henry Tyler + increased his rooms as his family grew, his neighbors “allowed” that + “arter er while he'd make er hotel out'n it.” Several out-houses stood at + convenient distances from the house. A rough board paling enclosed the + yard. A clearing of twenty-five or more acres lay around three sides of + the house, and well-to-do Industry and Thrift plainly went hand in hand + about the place. + </p> + <p> + A Saturday in early autumn was drawing near its close, and the family had + finished supper, though it was not yet dark. Like all country folk of + their station in life, they ate in the kitchen, a building separate from + the house. There were “Grandmother Tyler,” a sweet-faced old woman, with + silvery hair smoothed away under a red silk kerchief folded cornerwise and + tied under her chin; and her son, “Father Tyler,” with his fifty-odd years + showing themselves in his grizzled hair and beard; and “Mother Tyler,” a + brisk stout woman, with great strength of character in her strong + features, black eyes, and straight black hair. Her neighbors declared that + she was the “main stake” in the “Tyler fence.” + </p> + <p> + The children were “Mandy Calline,” the eldest, and her mother's special + pride, built on the same model with her mother; Joseph Zachariah, a + long-legged youth; Ann Elisabeth, a lanky girl; Susan Jane, and Jeems + Henry, or “Little Jim,” to distinguish him from his father; and last, but + by no means least in the household, came the baby. When she was born Mrs. + Tyler declared that as all the rest were named for different members of + both families, she should give this wee blossom a fancy name, and she had + the desire of her heart, and the baby rejoiced in the name of Elthania + Mydora, docked off into “Thancy” for short. + </p> + <p> + They had risen from the table, and Father Tyler had hastened to his + mother's side as the old lady moved slowly away, and taking her arm, + guided her carefully to the house, for the eyes in the placid old face, + looking apparently straight before her, were stone-blind. + </p> + <p> + “Come, now, gals,” said Mother Tyler, briskly, with the baby in her arms, + “make er hurry 'n' do up th' dishes. Come, Ann Elisabeth, go ter scrapin' + up, 'n', Mandy Calline, pour up th' dish-water.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, yer'd better make er hurry,” squeaked “Little Jim,” from his perch + in the window, “fer Mandy Calline's spectin' her beau ter-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye'd best shet up yer clatter, Jim, lest ye know what yer talkin' + erbout,” retorted Mandy Calline, with a pout, making a dash at him with + the dish-cloth. + </p> + <p> + “Yer right, Jim,” drawled Joseph Zachariah, lounging in the doorway. “I + heerd Zeke White tell 'er he was er-comin' ter-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Mar—” began Mandy Calline, looking at her mother appealingly. + </p> + <p> + “Shet up, you boys,” came in answer. “Zachariah, ha' ye parted th' cows + 'n' calves?” + </p> + <p> + “No, 'm.” + </p> + <p> + “Then be erbout it straight erway. Jim—you Jeems Henry!” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm,” from outside the window. + </p> + <p> + “Go 'n' shet up the hen-'ouse, 'n' see ef th' black hen 'n' chickens ha' + gone ter roost in there. She'll keep stayin' out o' nights till th' fox + 'll grab 'er. Now, chillen, make 'er hurry 'n' git thee in here. Come, + Thaney gal, we'll go in th' house 'n' find pappy 'n' gra'mammy. Susan + Jane, come fetch th' baby's ole quilt 'n' spread it down on th' floor fer + 'er”; and Mother Tyler repaired to the house with the baby in her arms. + </p> + <p> + “Why, mother, ye in here by yerself? I tho't Jeems Henry was with yer.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, Malviny, he was tell er minit ergo, 'n' he stepped out to th' + lot,” replied the old lady, in tones so like the expression of her face, + mildly calm, that it was a pleasure to hear her speak. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ye got thet baby wi' ye?” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish ye'd put her on my lap. Gra'mammy 'ain't had 'er none ter-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm, in er minit. Run, Susan Jane, 'n' fetch er cloth ter wipe 'er + face 'n' han's; they're that stuck up wi' merlasses, ter say nothin' o' + dirt. Therey, therey, now! Mammy's gal don't want ter hev 'er face washed? + Hu! tu! tu! Thaney mustn't cry so. Where's Jeff? Here, Jeff—here, + Jeff! Ole bugger-man, come down the chimbly 'n' ketch this bad gal. You'd + better hush. I tell yer he's er-comin'. Here, Susan Jane, take th' cloth. + There, gra'mammy; there's jest es sweet er little gal es ye'd find in er + dog's age.” And the old lady at once cuddled the little one in her arms, + swinging back and forth in her home-made rocker, and crooning an old-time + baby song. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Susan Jane, han' me my knittin' from th' table, 'n' go 'n' tell Jim + ter pitch in some pine knots 'n' make er light in here, 'n' be quick + erbout it”; and Mother Tyler settled herself in another home-made rocker + and began to knit rapidly. + </p> + <p> + This was the night-work of the female portion of the family, and numerous + stockings of various colors and in various stages of progress were stuck + about the walls of the room, which boasted neither ceiling nor lath and + plaster, making convenient receptacles between the posts and + weather-boarding for knitting-work, turkey-tail fans, bunches of herbs for + drying, etc. + </p> + <p> + A pine-knot fire was soon kindled on the hearth, and threw its flickering + shadows on the room and its occupants as the dusk gathered in. + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline and Elisabeth, running a race from the kitchen, burst into + the back door, halting in a good-natured tussle in the entry. + </p> + <p> + “Stop that racket, you gals,” called out the mother; and as they came in + with suppressed bustle, panting with smothered laughter, she asked, + briskly, “Have ye shet up everything 'n' locked th' kitchen door?” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm,” replied Mandy Calline; “'n' here's th' key on th' + mantel-shelf.” She then disappeared up the stairs which came down into the + sitting-room behind the back door. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Ann Elisabeth, git yer knittin'. Git your'n too, Susan Jane.” + </p> + <p> + “Yer'll ha' ter set th' heel fer me, mar,” said Susan Jane, hoping + privately that she would be too busy to do so. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch it here,” from the mother, dashed the hope incontinently. + </p> + <p> + “I think we're goin' ter ha' some fallin' weather in er day er two; sky + looks ruther hazy, 'n' I heerd er rain-crow ter-day, 'n' ther's er circle + roun' th' moon,” observed Father Tyler as he entered, and hanging his hat + on a convenient nail in a post, seated himself in the corner opposite his + mother. + </p> + <p> + “Ha' ye got th' fodder all in?” queried his wife, with much interest. + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as; finished ter-day; that's all safe; but er rain 'ould interfere + mightily wi' pickin' out cotton up in th' swamp, 'n' it's openin, mighty + fast; shouldn't be s'prised ef some er that swamp don't fetch er bale ter + th' acre, 'n' we'll have er right purty lot o' cotton, even atter th' + rent's paid out”; and Father Tyler, with much complacency, lighted his + pipe with a coal from the hearth. + </p> + <p> + “Th' gals 'll soon ha' this erround th' house all picked out; they got + purty nigh over it ter-day, 'n' ther'll likely be one more scatterin' + pickin',” said Mother Tyler. + </p> + <p> + Here a starched rustling on the stairs betokened the descent of Mandy + Calline. Pushing back the door, she stepped down with all the dignity + which she deemed suitable to don with her present attire. + </p> + <p> + A new calico dress of a blue ground, with a bright yellow vine rambling up + its lengths, adorned her round, plump figure; her glossy black hair was + plaited, and surmounted with a huge red bow, the ends of which fluttered + out bravely; as she stepped slowly into the room, busying herself pulling + a basting out of her sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mandy Calline,” began her mother, “ef I do say it myself, yer frock + fits jest as nice as can be. Looks like ye had been melted 'n' run into + it. Nice langth, too,” eying her critically from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm; 'n' it's comf'ble, too; ain't too tight ner nothin',” giving + her shoulders a little twitch, and moving her arms a bit. + </p> + <p> + “I guess th' boys 'll ha' ter look sharp ef that gal sets 'er cap at any + on 'em,” put in Father Tyler, gazing proudly at his first-born, whereupon + a toss of her head set the ribbon ends fluttering as she moved with great + dignity across the room to the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Come, let me feel, dearie,” said the old lady, softly, turning her + sightless eyes toward the girl, hearing her movements in her direction. + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, gra'mammy,” and stepping nearer, she knelt at her grandmother's + feet, and leaning forward, rested her hands lightly on her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + The old wrinkled hands groped their way to the girl's face, thence + downward, over her arms, her waist, to the skirt of her dress. + </p> + <p> + “It feels nice, dearie, 'n' I know it looks nice.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad ye like it, gra'mammy,” said the girl, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Air ye spectin' comp'ny, dearie, that ye're all dressed up so nice? + 'Pears like ye wouldn't put on yer new frock lest ye wer'.” + </p> + <p> + Noting the girl's hesitation, the old lady said, softly, “Whisper 'n' tell + gra'-mammy who's er-comin'”; and Mandy Calline, with an additional shade + to the red in her cheeks, leaned forward and shyly whispered a name in her + grandmother's ear. + </p> + <p> + A satisfactory smile broke like sunshine over the kind old face, and she + murmured: “He's come o' good fambly, dearie. I knowed 'em all years ago. + Smart, stiddy, hard-workin', kind, well-ter-do people. I've been thinkin' + he's been er-comin' here purty stiddy, 'n' I knowed in my min' he warn't + er-comin' ter see Zachariah.” + </p> + <p> + Bestowing a kiss on one aged cheek and a gentle pat on the other, Mandy + Calline arose to her feet, and lighting a splinter at the fire, opened the + door in the partition separating the two rooms and entered the “parlor.” + </p> + <p> + This room was the pride of the family, as none of the neighbors could + afford one set apart specially for company. + </p> + <p> + It was the only room in the house lathed and plastered. Mother Tyler, who + was truly an ambitious woman, had, however, declared in the pride of her + heart that this one at least should be properly finished. + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline, with her blazing splinter, lighted the lamp, quite a gay + affair, with a gaudily painted shade, and bits of red flannel with + scalloped edges floating about in the bowl. + </p> + <p> + The floor was covered with a neatly woven rag carpet of divers gay colors. + Before the hearth, which displayed a coat of red ochre, lay a home-made + rug of startling pattern. The fireplace was filled with cedar boughs and + sweet-smelling myrtle. Two “boughten” rocking-chairs of painted wood + confronted each other primly from opposite ends of the rug. Half a dozen + straight-back chairs, also “boughten,” were disposed stiffly against the + walls. A large folding-leaf dining-table of real mahogany, an heirloom in + the family, occupied the space between two windows, and held a few + scattered books. + </p> + <p> + The windows were covered with paper curtains of a pale blue tint. In the + centre of each a festive couple, a youth and damsel, of apparently + Bohemian type, with clasped hands held high, disported themselves in a + frantic dance. These pictures were considered by the entire neighborhood + as resting triumphantly on the top round of the ladder of art. + </p> + <p> + Both parlor and sitting-room opened on a narrow piazza on the front of the + house, Father Tyler not caring to waste space in a hall or passage. + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline had flicked a bit of imaginary dust from the polished + surface of the table, had set a bit straighter, if that were possible, one + or two of the chairs, and turned up the lamp a trifle higher, when “Little + Jim” opened the door leading out on the piazza, and in tones of suppressed + excitement half whispered, “He's er-comin', Mandy Calline; Zeke's + er-comin'; he's nigh 'bout ter th' gate.” + </p> + <p> + “Go 'long, Jim, 'n' shet up; ye allers knows more'n the law allows,” said + his sister; but she glanced quickly and shyly out of the door. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ezekiel White was just entering the gate. He was undoubtedly gotten up + at vast expense for the occasion. A suit of store clothes of a startling + plaid adorned his lanky figure, and a pair of new shoes cramped his feet + in the most approved style. A new felt hat rested lightly on his + well-oiled hair. But the crowning glory was a flaming red necktie which + flowed in blazing magnificence over his shirt front. + </p> + <p> + Jeff, the yard dog, barked in neighborly fashion, as though yelping a + greeting to a frequent visitor whom he recognized as a favored one. + </p> + <p> + “Susan Jane,” said the father, “step ter th' door 'n' see who Jeff's + er-barkin' at.” + </p> + <p> + Eagerly the girl dropped her knitting and hastened to reconnoitre, curious + herself. + </p> + <p> + “It's Zeke White,” she replied, returning to her work. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed Mandy Calline was spectin' him,” muttered Ann Elisabeth, under + her breath. + </p> + <p> + Father Tyler arose and sauntered to the door, calling out: “You Jeff, ef + ye don't stop that barkin'—Come here this minit, sir! Good-evenin', + Zekle; come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-evenin”, Mr. Tyler. “Is Zachariah ter home?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no'. Malviny, is Zachariah erroun' anywher's 'at ye know of?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no'; I hain't seed 'im sence supper.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” piped up “Little Jim.” “He said es he was er-goin' ter Bill + Jackson's. But, Zeke,” he added, in a hurried aside, catching hold of the + visitor's coat in his eagerness, “Mandy Calline's ter home, 'n' she's + fixed up ter kill!” + </p> + <p> + At this juncture Mandy Calline herself appeared in the doorway, striving + to look calmly indifferent at everything in general and nothing in + particular; but the expression in her bright black eyes was shifty, and + the color in her cheeks vied with that of the bow on her hair; and by this + time Zekle's entire anatomy exposed to view shared the tint of his + brilliant necktie. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evenin', Zekle,” said the girl, bravely assuming a calm superiority + to all embarrassment and confusion. “Will ye come in th' parlor, er had ye + ruther set out on th' piazza?” + </p> + <p> + Zekle was wise; he knew that “Little Jim” dare not intrude on the sacred + precincts of the parlor, and he answered, “I'd jest es live set in th' + parlor, of it's all th' same ter you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, I'd jest es live,” she replied, and led the way into the room; he + followed, and sat down in rather constrained fashion on the chair nearest + the door, deposited his hat on the floor beside him, took from his pocket + and unfolded with a flirt an immense bandanna handkerchief, highly + redolent of cheap cologne, and proceeded to mop his face with it. + </p> + <p> + “It's ruther warm,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as,” she replied, from a rocking-chair in the corner facing him. Here + there was a long pause, and presently she added, “Pappy said es how he + tho't it mought rain in er day er two.” + </p> + <p> + The family in the sitting-room had settled down, the door being closed + between that room and the parlor. + </p> + <p> + “There, mother, gi' Thaney ter me,” said Mother Tyler. “I know ye're tired + holdin' of her, fer she ain't no light weight,” and she lifted the little + one away. + </p> + <p> + “Heigho, Thaney, air ye erwake yit?” questioned the father. + </p> + <p> + “Erwake! Ya'as, 'n' likely ter be,” said the mother. “Thaney's one o' th' + setters-up, she is.” + </p> + <p> + “Give 'er ter me, Malviny. Don't pappy's gal want er ride on pappy's foot? + See 'ere, now! Whoopee!” and placing the plump little body astride his + foot, the leg of which crossed the other, and clasping the baby hands in + his, he tossed her up and down till she crowed and laughed in a perfect + abandon of baby glee. A smiling audience looked on in joyous sympathy with + the baby's pleasure, the old gra'mammy murmuring softly, “It's like + feelin' the sunshine ter hear her laugh!” + </p> + <p> + “There, pappy,” said Mother Tyler, anxiously, “that'll do; ye're goin' ter + git 'er so wide-erwake there'll be no doin' er thing with 'er. Come, now, + Thaney, let mammy put ye down here on yer quilt. Come, come, I <i>know</i> + ye've forgot that ole bugger-man that stays up th' chimbly 'n' ketches bad + gals! There, now, that's mammy's nice gal. Git 'er playthings fer 'er, + Susan Jane. Jim, don't ye go ter sleep there in that door. Ha' ye washed + yer feet?” + </p> + <p> + “No, 'm,” came drowsily from the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Why upon th' yeth do ye wait every blessed night ter be told ter wash yer + feet? Go straight 'n' wash 'em, 'n' then go ter bed. Come, gals, knit ter + th' middle 'n' put up yer knittin'; it's time for all little folks ter go + ter sleep 'n' look for ter-morrer. 'Pears like Thaney's goin' ter look fer + it with eyes wide open.” + </p> + <p> + “Malviny, ye'll have ter toe up my knittin' fer me, Monday; I've got it + down ter th' narrerin', 'n' I can't do no more,” came softly from + gra'mammy's corner. + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, mother, I will; I could ha' toed it up this evenin' es well es + not, tho' ef I had, ye'd ha' started ernuther, 'n' ye'd need ter rest; + ye're allers knittin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, but, darter, it's all I kin do; 'n' I'm so thankful I kin feel ter + knit, fer th' hardest work is ter set wi' folded han's doin' nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, mother, it's but sildom that I ever knowed yer ter set with folded + han's,” remarked her son, with proud tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe, Jeems Henry; but I never tuck no consait ter myself fer workin', + because I jest nachally loved it. Yer pappy use ter say I was er born + worker, 'n' how he did use ter praise me fer bein' smart! 'n' that was + sich er help! Somehow I've minded me of 'im all day ter-day—of th' + time when he logged Whitcombe's mill down on Fallin' Crick. 'Twas—lemme + see! Jeems Henry, ye're how ole?” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty-two my las' birthday.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that was fifty-one year ergo. You was all th' one I had then, 'n' + yer pappy was erway from home all th' week, 'cept from Sat'day evenin' + tell 'fore day Monday monrin'. Melindy White staid wi' me; she was Zekle's + great-aunt, 'n' er ole maid, 'n' people did say she was monst'ous cross + 'n' crabbed, but she warn't never cross ter me. I mind me of er Sat'day, + 'n' I'd be spectin' of yer pappy home. I'd git up at th' fust cock-crow, + 'n' go wake Melindy, 'n' she'd grumble 'n' laff all in er breath, 'n' say: + 'Ann Elisabeth Tyler, ye're th' most onreasonablest creeter that I ever + seed! What in natur' do ye want ter git up 'fore day fer? Jest ter make + th' time that much longer 'fore Jim Tyler comes? I know ef I was married + ter th' President I wouldn't be es big er fool es ye air.' But, la! she'd + git up jest ter pleasure me, 'n' then sich cleanin' up, 'n' sich cookin' + o' pies 'n' cakes 'n' chickens, 'n' gittin' ready fer yer pappy ter come!” + And the placid old face fairly glowed with the remembrance. “'N' I mind + me,” she crooned on, “of th' time when ye fust begun ter talk; I was er + whole week er-teachin' yer ter say two words; I didn't do much else. + Melindy allowed that I'd gone clean daft; 'n' when Sat'day come, 'long + erbout milkin'-time, I put on er pink caliker frock. I 'member it jest es + well! it had little white specks on the pink; he bought it at Miggs's + Crossroads, 'n' said I allers looked like er rose in it. I tuck ye in my + arms 'n' went down ter th' bars, where I allers stood ter watch fer 'im; + he come in er boat ter th' little landin' 'n' walked home, erbout er mile; + 'n' when I seed 'im comin', 'n' he'd got nigh ernuff, I whispered ter ye, + 'n' ye clapped yer little han's, 'n' fairly shouted out, 'Pappy's tumin'! + pappy's tumin'!' Dearie me, dearie me; I kin see 'im now so plain! He + broke inter er run, 'n' I stepped over th' bars ter meet 'im, 'n' he + gethered us both in his arms, like es of he'd never turn loose; then he + car'ied ye up to th' house on one arm, the other one roun' my wais', 'n' + he made ye say it over 'n' over—'Pappy's tumin', pappy's tumin';' + 'n' Melindy 'lowed we wer' 'th' biggest pair o' geese'; but we was mighty + happy geese jest th' same.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. They were all listening. Then she went on. “Somehow + ter-day I felt like I use ter of er Sat'-day then, kinder spectin' 'n' + light-hearted. I dun'no' why; I ain't never felt so befo' in all these + years sence he died—forty-one on 'em; 'n' fifteen sence th' Lord + shet down th' dark over my eyes, day 'n' night erlike. Well, well; I've + had er heap ter be thankful fer; th' Lord has been good ter me; fer no + mother ever had er better son than ye've allers ben, Jeems Henry; 'n' of + Malviny had er ben my own darter, she couldn't er ben more like one; I've + alleys ben tuck keer on, 'n' waited on, 'n' 'ain't never ben sat erside + fer no one. Ya'as, th' Lord's ben good ter me.” She began to fumble for + her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “But, mother, ye don't say nothin' o' what er blessin' ye've ben to us,” + said her son. “Ye've teached us many er lesson by yer patience in yer + blindness.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, but, Jeems Henry, I had no call ter be nothin' else but patient; I + had no call ter be onreasonable 'n' fret 'n' worry 'n' say that th' Lord + had forsakened me when He hadn't. I knowed I'd only ter bide my time, 'n' + I'm now near seventy-two year old. Dear, dear, how th' time goes! Seems + like only th' other day when I was married! Was that nine the clock + struck?” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I b'lieve I'll git ter bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, mother, let me help yer,” said her daughter, hastily throwing aside + her knitting. + </p> + <p> + “We'll both help ye, mother,” said her son, putting one arm gently around + her as she arose from her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” she laughed, with soft content. “I sh'll be well waited on + with two children 'stid er one; but none too many—none too many.” + </p> + <p> + Zekle White had made brave progress from the chair by the door to the + other rocker, drawn closely beside that of Mandy Calline; and he was + saying, in tones that suggested an effort: “I've seed other young ladies + which may be better-lookin' in other folkses' eyes, 'n' they may be more + suiterbler ter marry, but not fer me. Thar ain't but one gurl in this + roun' worl' that I'd ask ter be my wife, 'n', Mandy Calline, I've ben + keepin' comp'ny wi' you long ernuff fer ye ter know that ye air th' one.” + He swallowed, and went on: “I've got my house nigh erbout done. Ter be + sho', 'tain't es fine es this un, nor es big; but I kin add ter it, 'n' + jest es soon es it is done I want ter put my wife in it. Now, Mandy + Calline, what yer say—will yer be my wife?” + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline looked shy—much like a young colt when it is going to + break out of harness. She rocked back and forth with short spasmodic + jerks, and twisted her handkerchief into all conceivable shapes. + </p> + <p> + “Yer don't know how sot on it I am,” he went on; “'n' all day long I'm + er-thinkin' how nice it 'll be when I'm er-workin', ploughin' maybe, up + one row 'n' down ernuther, 'n' watchin' th' sun go down, 'n' lookin' + forerd ter goin' ter th' house 'n' hev er nice little wife ter meet me, + wi' everything tidied up 'n' cheerful 'n' comf'ble.” Mandy Calline simply + drooped her head lower, and twisted her handkerchief tighter. “Mandy + Calline, don't yer say 'no,'” he said. “I love yer too well ter give yer + up easy; 'n' I swear ef ye don't say `yes,' I'll set fire 'n' burn up th' + new house, fer no other 'oman sha'n't never live there. I'm er-waitin', + Mandy Calline, 'n' don't, don't tell me no.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Zekle,” she began, with much hesitation, “bein' es how I don't see + no use in burnin' up er right new house, 'n' it not even finished, I guess + es how—maybe—in erbout two or three years—” + </p> + <p> + “Two or three thunderations!” he cried out, ecstatically, seizing both her + hands in his. “Yer mean two or three weeks! Mandy Calline, do ye mean + ya'as, ye'll marry me? I want ter hear ye say it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, Zekle,” she said, shyly. “Whoopee! I feel like I'd like ter jump + up 'n' knock my heels tergether 'n' yell!” + </p> + <p> + “Yer'd better try it er spell.” she said, smiling at him shyly, “'n' jest + see how soon ye'd ha' th' hull fambly er-rushin' in ter see what was the + matter.” + </p> + <p> + Hereupon came the ominous sound of Father Tyler winding the clock in the + sitting-room; Zekle knew 'twas a signal for him to depart. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” slowly rising, “I guess I got ter go, but I do mortally hate ter. + Come ter th' door wi' me, Mandy Calline”; and taking her hand, he drew her + up beside him, but she stood off a bit skittishly, and he knew that it + would be useless to ask the question which was trembling on his lips, so, + quick as a flash, he dropped one arm around her waist, tipped up her chin + with the other hand, and kissed her square on the mouth before she fairly + knew what he was about. + </p> + <p> + “You Zekle White!” she cried out, snatching herself from his arm and + bestowing a rousing slap on his face. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed ye wouldn't give me one, so I tuck it jest so. Good-night tell + ter-morrer, Mandy Calline; I'm goin' home 'n' dream erbout ye.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning dawned bright and soft. A perfect September morning. + Father Tyler and the boys were at the lot feeding and milking. Mandy + Calline was cleaning up the house, her comely face aglow with her + new-found happiness. Susan Jane attended to the baby, while Ann Elisabeth + helped her mother “get breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Gra'mammy was sleepin' so nice when I got up,” said the girl, “that I + crep' out 'n' didn't wake 'er. Had I better go see of she's erwake now, + mar? Breakfus is nigh erbout done.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. Go tell Mandy Calline ter git th' milk-pitcher 'n' go to the + cow-pen 'n' fetch some milk fer breakfus. No tellin' when they'll git thoo + out there. Then you hurry back 'n' finish fryin' that pan o' pertaters. No + need ter 'sturb gra'mammy till breakfus is ready ter put on th' table; 'n' + yer pappy 'n' th' boys'll ha' ter wash when they come from th' lot.” And + Mother Tyler opened the stove door and put in a generous pan of biscuits + to bake. + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline, with the milk-pitcher in her hand, hurried out to the + cow-pen, which adjoined the stable lot. Her father was milking, Jim + holding the calves. Zachariah was in the lot feeding the horse and pigs. + She had just stepped over the bars into the pen, when who should appear, + sauntering up, but Zeke White! He assumed a brave front, and with hands + thrust in his pantaloons pockets, came up, whistling softly. + </p> + <p> + “Good-mornin', Zekle,” greeted Father Tyler, rising from his stooping + position. + </p> + <p> + “Good-mornin', Mr. Tyler. Fine mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as; but I'm erfeared we're goin' ter hev rain in er day er two. I feel + ruther rheumaticky this mornin', er mighty shore sign that rain ain't fur + off. Want milk fer breakfus, Mandy Calline? Well, fetch here yer pitcher.” + </p> + <p> + A shy “good-mornin”' had passed between Mandy Calline and Zekle, and he + sauntered up beside her, taking the pitcher, and as they stepped over the + bars Father Tyler, hospitably inclined, said: “Take breakfus with us, + Zekle? I lay Malviny 'll hev ernuff cooked ter give yer er bite.” + </p> + <p> + With assumed hesitation Zekle accepted the invitation, and he and Mandy + Calline passed on to the house, he carefully carrying the pitcher of milk. + </p> + <p> + He cleared his throat a time or two, and remarked again on the beauty of + the morning, to which she rather nervously assented; then suddenly, the + words seemingly shot out of him: “Mandy Calline, I'm goin' ter ask th' ole + folks ter-day. What yer say?” + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline was red as a turkey-cock, to which was now added a nervous + confusion which bade fair to overwhelm her. + </p> + <p> + “It's too soon, Zekle. Whyn't yer wait er while?” she replied, + tremblingly. + </p> + <p> + “No, 'tain't too soon,” he answered, promptly. “I want it all done 'n' + over with, then I sh'll feel mo' like ye b'long ter me. I'm goin' ter ask + 'em ter-day; yer needn't say not. I know you're erfeared o' th' teasin'. + But ye needn't min' that; ye won't hev ter put up wi' it long; fer th' way + I mean ter work on that house ter git it done—well, 'twon't be long + befo' it 'll be ready ter put my wife in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Zekle,” said the girl, hesitatingly, “ef ye'd ruther ask 'em + ter-day, why—I guess es how—ye mought es well do it. But let's + go 'n' tell gra'mammy now; somehow I'd ruther she knowed it fust.” + </p> + <p> + “We will,” replied Zekle, promptly. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Mother Tyler was putting breakfast on the table. She suddenly paused and + listened. Something was the matter. There were cries that betokened + trouble. She hastened to the house, followed her husband and the boys on + to gra'mammy's room, and there on the bed, in peaceful contrast to all + this wailing and sorrow, lay dear old gra'mammy, dead. The happiest smile + glorified the kind old withered face, and the wrinkled hands lay crossed + and still on her breast. She had truly met the husband of her youth, and + God had opened in death the eyes so darkened in life. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY FIFTH IN MAMMY + </h2> + <p> + BY WILLIAM LUDWELL SHEPPARD + </p> + <p> + I never knew a time in which I did not know Mammy. She was simply a part + of my consciousness; it seems to me now a more vivid one in my earliest + years than that of the existence of my parents. We five, though instructed + by an elder sister in the rudiments of learning, spent many more of our + waking hours with Mammy; and whilst we drew knowledge from one source, we + derived the greater part of our pleasure from the other—that is, + outside of our playmates. + </p> + <p> + The moments just preceding bedtime, in which we were undergoing the + process of disrobing at the hands of Mammy, were periods of dreadful + pleasure to us. As I look back upon them, I wonder that we got any sleep + at all after some of her recitals. They were not always sanguinary or + ghostly, and of course when I scan them in the light of later years, it is + apparent that Mammy, like the majority of people, “without regard to color + or previous condition of servitude,” suffered her walk and conversation to + be influenced by her state of health, mental and bodily. Her walk—I + am afraid I must admit, as all biographers seem privileged to deal with + the frailties of their victims as freely as with their virtues—her + walk, viewed through the medium already alluded to, did not owe its + occasional uncertainty to “very coarse veins,” though that malady, with a + slight phonetic difference, Mammy undoubtedly suffered from, in common + with the facts. She was a great believer in “dram” as a remedial agent, + and homoeopathic practice was unknown with us at that period. + </p> + <p> + Mammy's code of laws for our moral government was one of threats of being + “repoated to ole mahster,” tempered by tea of her own making dulcified by + brown sugar of fascinating sweetness, anecdote, and autobiography. + </p> + <p> + The anecdotal part consisted almost exclusively of the fascinating + répertoire of Uncle Remus. Indeed, to know the charm of that chronicle is + reserved to the man or woman whose childhood dates from the <i>ante bellum</i> + period, and who had a Mammy. + </p> + <p> + In the autobiographical part Mammy spread us a chilling feast of horrors, + varied by the supernatural. Long years after this period I read a protest + in some Southern paper against this practice in the nursery, with its + manifest consequences on the minds of children. It set me to wondering how + it was that the consequences in my day seemed inappreciable. I do not + understand it now. Some of Mammy's stories would have been bonanzas to a + police reporter of today; others would have bred emulation in Edgar Poe. + And yet I do not recall any subsequent terrors. + </p> + <p> + An account of the execution of some pirates, which she had witnessed when + a “gal,” was popular. She had a rhyme which condensed the details. The + condemned were Spaniards: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pepe hung, Qulo fell, + Felix died and went to —— +</pre> + <p> + Mammy always gave the rhyme with awful emphasis. + </p> + <p> + She had had an experience before coming into our family, by purchase, + which gave her easy precedence over all the mammies of all our friends. To + be sure, it was an experience which the other mammies, as “good membahs of + de chutch,” regarded as unholy; one which they congratulated themselves + would never lie on their consciences, and of which poor Mammy was to die + unshriven in their minds; for she never became a “sister,” so far as I + ever learned. + </p> + <p> + But to us this experience was fruitful of many happy hours. Mammy had been + tire-woman to Mrs. Gilfert, the reigning star of that date, at the old + Marshall Theatre—the successor to one burnt in 1811. + </p> + <p> + The habit of the stock companies in those days was to remain the whole + season, sometimes two or more, so Mammy had the opportunity to “assist” at + the entire repertoire. It is one of the regrets of my life that I am not + able to recall verbatim Mammy's arguments of the play, her descriptions of + some of the actors, and her comments. + </p> + <p> + For some reason, when later on I wished to refresh my memory of these, + Mammy had either forgotten them or suspected the intention of my asking. + She ranked her experiences at the theatre along with her account of the + adventures of the immortal “Mollie Cottontail” (for we did not know him as + “Brer Rabbit”), and the rest of her lore, I suppose, and so could not + realize that my maturer mind would care for any of them. + </p> + <p> + When I had subsequently made some acquaintance with plays, or read them, I + recognized most of those described by Mammy. Some remain unidentified. + Hamlet she preserved in name. Whilst she had no quotations of the words, + she had a vivid recollection of the ghost scenes, and “pisenin' de king's + ear.” She also gave us scenes in which “one uv them kings was hollerin' + for his horse”—plainly Richard. Julius Caesar she easily kept in + mind, as some acquaintance of her color bearing that name was long extant. + I can still conjure up her tones and manner when she declaimed “'Dat you, + Brutus?' An' he done stick him like de rest uv um; and him raised in de + Caesar fam'ly like he wuz a son!” + </p> + <p> + The ingratitude of the thing struck through our night-gowns even then. + </p> + <p> + The period when Mammy's sway weakened was indeterminate. We boys after a + while swapped places with Mammy, and made her the recipient of our small + pedantries. I do not recollect, however, that we were ever cruel enough to + throw her ignorance up to her. + </p> + <p> + At last the grown-up sisters absorbed all of Mammy's spare time. Sympathy + was kept up between them after her bond with us was loosened, and they + even took hints from her in matters of the toilet that were souvenirs of + her stage days. + </p> + <p> + In the course of time reverses and bereavements came to the family. The + girls had grown to womanhood and matrimony, and had begun their new lives + in other places. Then came the inevitable to the elders, and it became + necessary to convert all property into cash. + </p> + <p> + We were happy in being able to retain a good many of our household gods, + and they are the Lares and Penates of our several homes to this day. We + had long since ceased to think of Mammy Becky—she was never Rebecca—as + property. In fact, we younger ones never thought of her as such. By law we + were each entitled to a fifth in Mammy. + </p> + <p> + This came upon us in the nature of a shock at a family consultation on + ways and means, and there was a disposition on the part of every party to + the ownership to shift that responsibility to another. + </p> + <p> + I must do ourselves the justice to say that such a thing as converting + Mammy into cash, and thus making her divisible, never for a moment entered + our minds. It seemed, however, that the difficulty had occurred to her. + </p> + <p> + We all felt so guilty, when Mammy served tea that last evening, that we + were sure she read our thoughts in our countenances. It would be nearer + the truth to say that it was rather our fears that she should ever come to + the knowledge that the word “sale” had been coupled with her name. + </p> + <p> + The next day we were to scatter, and it was imperative that some + disposition should be made of Mammy. The old lady—for old we deemed + her, though she could scarcely have been fifty—went calmly about the + house looking to the packing of the thousand and one things, and not only + looking, but using her tongue in language expressing utter contempt for + all “lazy niggers” of these degenerate days—referring to the + temporary “help.” The eldest sister was deputed to approach and sound + Mammy on the momentous question. + </p> + <p> + The deputy went on her mission in fear and trembling. The interview was + easily contrived in the adjoining room. + </p> + <p> + We were exceedingly embarrassed when we discovered that Mammy's part of + the dialogue was perfectly audible. As for the sister's, her voice could + be barely heard. So that the effect to the unwilling eavesdropper was that + which we are familiar with in these days of hearing a conversation at the + telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you bother yo'self 'bout me, Miss Frances.” + </p> + <p> + Interval. + </p> + <p> + “No, marm. I'd ruther stay right here in dis town whar ev'body knows me. + Doan yawl study 'bout me.” + </p> + <p> + Several bars' rest, apparently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, I know hit's yo' duty to look after me, an' I belongs to all of + you; but Ise concluded to let yawl off. You can't divide me into five + parts, an' they ain' nah one uv you 'titled to any partickler part if you + could; most uv me ain't much 'count nohow, what with very coarse veins an' + so fothe. Oh, yes'm! I done study 'bout it plenty, an' I done concluded + that I'll let yawl off an' do fur myself. You know I'm a prime cake-maker, + bread-maker, an' kin do a whole pahcel uv other things besides; an' dress + young ladies for parties, whar I learnt at the ole the-etter, which they + built it after the fust one burnt up and all dem people whar dey got the + Monnymental Chutch over um now; an' any kind of hair-dress-in', curlin' + wid irons or quince juice, an' so fothe. No, don't you bother 'bout me.” + </p> + <p> + So Mammy was installed in a small house in a portion of the city occupied + by a good many free people, and, as we subsequently ascertained, not + bearing a very savory reputation. + </p> + <p> + We had heard it rumored that there were some suitors for Mammy's hand. She + had always avowed that she had been a “likely gal,” but we had to take her + word for this, as she had very slender claims to “likelihood”—if the + word suits hers—in our remembrance. She was nearly a mulatto—very + “light gingerbread,” or “saddle-colored”—and a widow of some years' + standing. Still, there was no accounting for tastes amongst the colored + folks, any more than there was amongst the whites in this matter. We + surmised that some of the aspirants suspected Mammy of having a <i>dot</i>, + the accumulation of many perquisites for her assistance on wedding + occasions. It may be remarked that she had no legal right to demand + anything for such services. + </p> + <p> + One of the sisters approached Mammy timidly on this subject, and was + assured positively by her that “they ain't no nigger in the whole + university whar I would marry. No, ma'm. I done got 'nough of um.” + </p> + <p> + We knew that Mammy's married life had been a stormy one. Her husband, + Jerry, had been a skilful coach-painter, and got good wages for his + master, who was liberal in the 'lowance that was made by all generous + owners to slaves of this class. Jerry was a fervent “professor,” who came + home drunk nearly every night, and never failed to throw up to Mammy her + dangerous spiritual condition. Jerry was so vulnerable a subject that + Mammy was prepared to score some strong points against him. He invariably + met these retorts with roars of laughter and loud assertions of his being + “in grace once for all.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Left the sole representative of my family in the city, I had to start a + new establishment, just as Mammy did. + </p> + <p> + I made a visit to hers a few days after our separation, and came away with + my heart in my mouth at the sight of some of the familiar objects of + Mammy's room, and such of our own as she had fallen heir to, in strange + places and appositions. I also felt that Mammy's room had a more homelike + aspect than my own. + </p> + <p> + There was no doubt that Mammy enjoyed her new conditions and surroundings. + She had been provided with a paper signed by some of us, stating that it + was with our permission that she lived to herself. This secured her free + movement at all times—the privilege of very few of her race not + legally manumitted. + </p> + <p> + Her visits to me were quite frequent, and she never failed to find + something that needed putting to rights, and putting it so immediately, + with fierce comments on the worthlessness of all “high-lands,” which was + <i>negroce</i> for hirelings—a class held in contempt by the + servants owned in families. + </p> + <p> + I think that Mammy must have discovered the fact that my estate was + somewhat deteriorated. + </p> + <p> + I was painfully conscious of this myself, and saw no prospect of its + amelioration. The little cash that had come to me was quite dissipated, + and my meagre salary was insufficient to satisfy my artificial wants—the + only ones that a young man cannot dispense with and be happy. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the opinion prevailing in those days, that when a young man + embraced the career of an artist it was a farewell to all hope of a sober + and prosperous career, my father had been willing for me to follow my + manifest bent, and I was to sacrifice a university career as the + alternative. But the last enemy stepped between me and my hopes, and there + was nothing for it but to go to work. + </p> + <p> + I had an ardent admirer in Mammy, who, in her innocence of a proper + standard, frequently compared my productions to a “music back” or a + tobacco label. That was before the days of chromos. + </p> + <p> + Mammy turned up Sunday mornings to look after my buttons. Those were days + of fond reminiscence and poignant regret on my part. + </p> + <p> + “Seems to me hit's time for you to be getting some new shirts, Mahs + William,” she said, one Sunday morning. Mammy touched me sorely there. A + crisis was certainly impending in my lingerie. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I reckon not. You must have got hold of a bad one, Mammy.” + </p> + <p> + “I got hole uv all uv um what is out uv wash; and them gwine. The buttons + is shackledy on all uv um, too. I wish I wuz a washer; then you wouldn't + have to give yo' clothes out to these triflin' huzzies whar rams a iron + over yo' things like they wuz made uv iron too.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that you are getting along pretty well, Mammy,” I remarked, + irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I kain' complain. I made two dollars an' five an' threppence out'n + the Scott party last week; an' I hear tell uv some new folks on Franklin + Street gwine give a big party, an' I'm spectin' somethin' out uv dat. + Lawdy, Lawdy, Mahs William,” she added, after a pause given to reflection, + “hit certainly does 'muse me to see how some 'r dese people done come up. + But they kain' fool me. I knows what's quality in town an' what ain't. I + can reckermember perfick when some uv these vay folks, when dey come to + your pa's front do', never expected to be asked in, but jess wait thar + 'bout their business ontwell yo' pa got ready to talk to um at the do'. + Yes, sah. I bin see some uv dese vay people's daddies”—Mammy used + this word advisedly—“kayin' their vittles in a tin bucket to their + work; that what I bin see.” + </p> + <p> + I was shaving during this monologue of Mammy's, with my back to her. A + sudden exclamation of the name of the Lord made me start around and + endanger my nose. I was not startled at the irreverence of the expression, + however, as sacred names were familiar interjections of Mammy's, as of all + her race. + </p> + <p> + “Ev'y button off'n these draw's,” Mammy answered to my alarmed question—alarmed + because I anticipated some disaster to my wardrobe. “Hit's a mortal shame. + I'll take 'em home, an' Monday I'll get some buttons on Broad Street an' + sew um on.” + </p> + <p> + This was embarrassing. I had twelve and a half cents in Spanish silver + coin which I had reserved for the plate at church that day. I was going + under circumstances that rendered a contribution unavoidable. I hated to + expose my narrow means to Mammy, and said, carelessly, as I returned to my + lather: “Oh, never mind. Another time will do, Mammy.” + </p> + <p> + “Another time! You reckermember my old sayin', don't you, 'a stitch in + time saves nine'? An' mo'n dat, bein' as this is the only clean pah you + got, you 'bleest to have um next week fer de others to go to wash.” + </p> + <p> + Confession was inevitable. “The fact is, Mammy, I don't happen to have any + change to-day that I can hand you for the buttons.” I was thankful that my + occupation permitted me to keep my face from Mammy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ez fer that, Mahs William, yo' needn't bother. I got 'nough change + 'round 'most all de time.” + </p> + <p> + Mammy's tone was patronizing, and brought home to me such a realization of + my changed and waning fortunes as no other circumstance could have done. + Possibly I may have imagined it in my hypersensitiveness, but Mammy's + voice in that sentence seemed transformed, and it was another mammy who + spoke. + </p> + <p> + I apparently reserved my protest until some intricate passage in my + shaving was passed. At least I thought that Mammy would think so. I was + really trying to put my reply in shape. + </p> + <p> + I was anticipated. + </p> + <p> + “You know you is really 'titled to yo' fif's by law, Mahs William,” + resumed Mammy, in her natural manner, “because still bein' bond, you could + call on me, an' I don't begrudge you; in fact, Ise beholden to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, Mammy. Don't talk any more about my fifth. You are as good as + free, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I knows that, Mahs William; but right is right, and I gwine to pay for + them buttons.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you may do that this time, Mammy, but I shall certainly return you + the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Jess as you choose, Mahs William, but you's 'titled to yo' fif' all the + same.” + </p> + <p> + I must note here a characteristic of Mammy's which had strengthened as her + powers failed, namely, “nearness.” The euphemism applied at first, though + Mammy yielded to temptations in the way of outfit as long as she deemed + herself “likely.” After that period a stronger expression was required. + She was always in possession of money, and was frequently our banker for a + day, when, in emergencies, our parents were not on hand. + </p> + <p> + Monday I found my garment with its full complement of buttons, but of such + diversity of pattern that I planned a protest for Mammy's next visit. + </p> + <p> + But when she explained that the bill was only fo'pence—six and a + quarter cents, Spanish—and that it was the fashion now, so she was + told, “to have they buttons diffunt, so they could dentrify they clothes,” + I settled without remark. Mammy's financial skill and resource in + imagination condoned everything. + </p> + <p> + It is painful to record that Mammy, encouraged by immunity from inquiry + and investigation, no doubt, was tempted, as thousands of her betters have + been and will be, and yielded under subsequent and similar circumstances. + </p> + <p> + My affairs took an unexpected turn now, and circumstances which have no + place here made it possible for me to go to New York, with the intention + of studying for my long-cherished purpose of making art my calling. + </p> + <p> + I heard from Mammy from time to time—occasionally got a letter + dictated by her. They opened with the same formula, beginning with the + fiction that she “took her pen in her hand,” and continuing, “these few + lines leaves me tollerbul, and hoping to find you the same.” My friend, + the amanuensis, took great pleasure in reporting Mammy verbatim and + phonetically. The times were always hard for Mammy in these letters, but + she “was scufflin' 'long, thank Gawd, an' ain't don' forgot my duty to the + 'state 'bout them fif's.” + </p> + <p> + On my periodical visits home I always called upon her, and had a royal + reception. I had casually said in a message to her in one of my letters + that I never would forget her black tea and brown sugar. The old dame + remembered this, and on my first visit home and to her, and on all + succeeding visits, treated me to a brew of my favorite. + </p> + <p> + “Jess the same, Mahs William. Come from Mr. Blar's jess the same.” + </p> + <p> + But we become sophisticated in time. I found that Mammy's tea lingered in + my memory, it is true; and the prospect of a recurrence very nearly + operated against future visits. But virtue asserted herself, and I always + went. + </p> + <p> + War now supervened. To it the brushes and the palette yielded. I returned + home, and to arms. While all this made a complete revolution in my + affairs, those of Mammy seemed to hold the even tenor of their way. + </p> + <p> + I saw Mammy every time I had a furlough, and she repaired for me damages + of long standing. In sentiment she was immovably on my side. She objected + decidedly to any more of “them no-'count men bein' sot free,” and was very + doubtful whether any more of her own sex should be so favored, except + “settled women.” + </p> + <p> + I do not know whether Mammy had a lurking suspicion that general + manumission meant competition or not. So far as I could make out, she + fared as she had long elected to do. Bacon and greens and her perennial + tea were good enough for her. And here may be noted the average negro's + indifference to cates. In my experience I never knew them to give up + “strong food” for delicate fare except on prescription. + </p> + <p> + The next phase of my intercourse with Mammy was after the evacuation of + the city and the event of Appomattox. The first incident was, with the + negroes' usual talent that way, so transmogrified in pronunciation that it + could mean nothing to them. It stood to them for a tremendous change, one + which could not be condensed into a word, even though it exceeded their + powers to pronounce it. + </p> + <p> + I had come back, as had thousands of others, with nothing in my hands, and + only a few days' rations accorded by the enemy in my haversack; had come + back to a mass of smoking débris and a wide area of ruin which opened + unrecognized vistas that puzzled, dazed, and pained the home-seeker. + </p> + <p> + By instinct, I suppose, I drifted towards my <i>ante bellum</i> quarters. + My former landlord gave me a speechless welcome. To my inquiry as to the + possibility of my reinhabiting my old quarters, he simply nodded and + handed me the key. The tears that I had seen standing on his lids rolled + down as he did so. + </p> + <p> + The room was cumbered with the chattels of the last tenant. There was no + bed amongst them, but a roll of tattered carpet served me perfectly. I + fell asleep over a slab of hardtack. That evening, on waking, I bethought + me of Mammy. + </p> + <p> + My kind host allowed me to make a toilet in his back room behind the + store. It consisted of a superficial ablution and the loan of a + handkerchief. Mammy was not in. A neighbor of her sex and color offered me + a chair in her house, but I sat in Mammy's tiny porch. + </p> + <p> + This part of the city was unchanged, but I missed a familiar steeple which + had always been visible from Mammy's door. + </p> + <p> + It was late afternoon when Mammy came. She did not recognize me, but + paused at the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Ef you's a sick soldier you must go to the hospital; you kain' stay + here,” I heard her say before I roused myself sufficiently to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Mammy.” + </p> + <p> + An ejaculation of the name of the Lord that brought the neighbor to her + door went up, and Mammy caught my hands and wept. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, my Gawd! Mahs William! you ain' hurted, is you?” + </p> + <p> + She pushed a chair to me and took one herself. For a few moments she + confined herself to ejaculations of “Well! well! well!” and the name of + the Deity. Then, “The town is bu'nt up; the army done 'rendered, an' Mahs + William come back ragged ez a buzzard!” + </p> + <p> + I did not interrupt her. I could think of nothing to say, and began to be + afraid that something was the matter with my brains. Meanwhile Mammy was + bustling about, and before I knew it she had started the little fire into + a blaze and the tea was boiling. + </p> + <p> + The flickering light glinted over the walls. At first I did not heed what + it revealed; then I saw it glow and fade over some early efforts of my + own, frame-less crudities, to which Mammy had fallen heir. They had become + old masters! What centuries ranged themselves between the birth of those + pictures and now! + </p> + <p> + This time tea was nectar, and after I had eaten a little cold middling + bacon and hoe-cake, that she had put before me on a fractured member of + our old Canton set, I took a more cheerful view of life. I believe that I + would have shed tears over these poor relics from happier days, except + that I was not quite conscious that anything was real that day. I told + Mammy where I was. She seemed to think it perfectly in the nature of + things that I should be there. Indeed, she appeared singularly calm in + this cataclysm. + </p> + <p> + I encountered friends on my return to my quarters, and had invitations + innumerable to meals and shelter. My costume was no drawback. Nobody knew + how anybody was dressed. + </p> + <p> + The city was in a fever of excitement over the probable fate of those who + had not yet returned, and in making provision for the homeless. Mammy + turned up next morning with some of my civilian clothes that had been + confided to her. + </p> + <p> + Mammy's simple “What you gwine do now, Mabs William?” thrown in whilst she + assisted by her presence at my complete change of toilet—lapse of + time was nothing to her—woke me to the momentous problem. There was + no commissary sergeant to distribute even the meagre rations that so long + left us ravenous after every meal. I could not camp in the Capitol Square, + even if I had wished so to do. + </p> + <p> + Mammy left me with the injunction to call on her “ef I didn't have nowhar + else to go.” + </p> + <p> + I went with unbroken fast to see what was left of the city. I met many + acquaintances on the same errand. None of us seemed to realize that day + what was to be done. For four years our campaigns had been planned for us. + </p> + <p> + I learned from one acquaintance, however, that I could have rations for + the asking, and not long after found myself in line at the United States + Commissary Department, along with hundreds of others, and departed thence + bearing a goodly portion of hardtack and codfish. These I took to Mammy, + who cooked the fish for me under loud protests against the smell. + </p> + <p> + Not long thereafter a number of us paroled soldiers made a mess, and + cooked for ourselves at the room of one of them. + </p> + <p> + On one of these indeterminate days—dates had become nothing to me—I + saw a dapper young man sketching about the ruins. I spoke to him, and + mentioned that his had been my profession. This acquaintance was the + beginning of hope. + </p> + <p> + I showed the young man places of interest, gave him points about a good + many things, and at last fell to making sketches to help him out. They + were perfectly satisfactory and liberally paid for. With this capital I + set myself up in another place, which had a north light—by-the-way, + I had been dispossessed of the asylum where I first found shelter, as the + previous tenant returned. I was able to purchase material and apparel. But + what was I to paint, and where to sell the product? My hand was out, I + discovered, so I set to studying still life, and painting those of my + friends who had the patience to sit. + </p> + <p> + I would have gone back to my old haunts in New York but for the material + reason that my funds were too low, and the sentimental one that I not only + was not in the humor for appealing to citizens of that section for + patronage, but was not sure that it would not be withheld, from an + analogous state of mind towards me. + </p> + <p> + Summer ran into fall. Mammy's visits increased in frequency, and her + conversation drifted towards the difficulties of living. + </p> + <p> + I had long ago discharged all of her claims for material and repairs, but + I noticed a tendency on her part to prepare my mind for a regular subsidy. + I ignored these hints because it was impossible for me to carry out + Mammy's plan, and painful for me to say so. + </p> + <p> + She approached the matter in a different way finally, and said, one day: + </p> + <p> + “Mahs William, you been cayin' on yo' fif' for some time now. Doan you + think it's time for some of the yothers to look after them?” + </p> + <p> + I suggested that the whole family was about on a parity financially; that + one brother was drifting in the trans-Mississippi, another living more + precariously than I was. Suddenly a thought struck me, and I proposed that + Mammy should apply to my married sister in the country, who could at least + give her a home. + </p> + <p> + Mammy was very nearly indignant in her rejection of the proposition. + </p> + <p> + “Me live in de country! Why, Mahs William, I'm town-bred to de backbone. + What I gwine do thar? Whar's anybody whar'll want my sponge-cake, jelly, + and blue-monge, whar I can git ez much ez I wants to do in town? Who gwine + want my clar-starchin' an' pickle-makin' an' ketchups? Dem tacky people + doan want none of my makin's.” + </p> + <p> + I ventured to remind Mammy that all dwellers in the country were not + tackies. + </p> + <p> + “I know dat, sah; but whole parcel of um is. Besides, heap uv de quality + folks is poor an' in trouble sence the revackeration. I'd rather give up + my other fif's fust.” + </p> + <p> + Of course Mammy's propositions were contradictory, but I had long known + that she was not gifted with a logical mind, so I made no attempt to + convict her of inconsistency. + </p> + <p> + From time to time I got small jobs of drawings for architects, as people + had begun to bestir themselves and rebuild. I had been assured that I + would find no prejudice against me in New York, but would stand on my own + merits. I was not profoundly convinced that this was a safe risk for me to + take. But living here was becoming impossible. Our own people were out of + the question as purchasers of pictures. My still-lifes, from long exposure + in the window of a friendly merchant in Broad Street, were becoming the + camping-ground of the flies, and deteriorating rapidly. I was not strong + in landscape, and the only subjects which suggested themselves were + military, taken from my point of view politically, and not likely to be + convertible into cash by persons of other convictions. + </p> + <p> + I was leaning against my ceiling one gray afternoon—at least I + suppose it should be called ceiling, for it ran from the highest part of + the chamber on an angle to the floor, and was pierced by a dormer—and + contemplating a bunch of withered flowers which I had studied almost into + dissolution, when Mammy knocked. + </p> + <p> + I had laid my palette on the floor, and was standing with my hands in my + pockets. They fumbled, on one side with my bunch of keys, on the other + with a small roll of small bills, the dreadful fractional currency of that + era, whilst, in imagination, I projected my motive on the bare canvas, a + twenty by twenty-four. I was sorry that Mammy had come, because a subject + was beginning to take form in my mind. It was suggested by the withered + flowers. + </p> + <p> + I thought that it would be a good idea to group them with a bundle of + letters, some showing age, the top one with a recent postmark, and call + the composition “Dead Hopes.” My thoughts were divided between the + selection of a postmark for the top letter and the possibility of getting + a frame, whilst Mammy was going through the process of finding a chair and + seating herself. The invitation to come in implied the other courtesies. + </p> + <p> + The old lady was marvellously attired, and I wondered what could be the + occasion of it. She had on a plaid shawl of purple, green, and red + checkers, crossed on her bosom. Around her throat there was a lace collar + of some common sort, held by a breastpin of enormous value if calculated + by the square inch. She wore her usual turban of red and white, but on the + top of it to-day was a straw bonnet of about the fashion of 1835, with + flowers inside, and from it depended a green veil. Her frock was silk of + an indescribable tint, the result of years of fading, and was flounced. + The old lady had freed herself of her black cotton gloves, and was rolling + them into a ball. I sighed inwardly, for this was the outward sign of + undeterminable sitting. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the self-arranged color scheme struck me as the cool light fell + over Mammy. I seated myself and seized my palette. + </p> + <p> + “Sit still, Mammy, right where you are. I'm going to paint you.” + </p> + <p> + “Namer Gawd! paint me, Mahs William? After all dem pretty things whar you + kin paint, paint yo' old Mammy?” She slapped herself on the knees, called + the name of the Lord several times, and burst into the heartiest laugh + that I had heard from her for some time. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mammy, just sit right still, and don't talk much, and I won't make + you tired.” + </p> + <p> + I worked frantically, getting in the drawing as surely as I could, then + attacked the face in color. The result was a success that astonished me. + Mammy's evident fatigue stopped me. It was fortunate. I might have painted + more and spoiled my study. I thought that she would go now, but her + mission was not fulfilled. She had come to consult me on an important + matter. + </p> + <p> + “You know this Freedman's Bureau, Mahs William? Well, they tells me—Lawd + knows what they calls it bureau for!—they tells me that of a colored + pusson goes down thar and gives in what he wuz worth—women either, + mind you—that the guv'mint would pay um.” + </p> + <p> + Mammy paused for corroboration, but I determined to hear what she might + add to this remarkable statement. “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sah, I didn't want to go down thar without no price, so I called in + to arst you what you might consider yo' fif' worth, an' five times ovah.” + </p> + <p> + I did not laugh at Mammy. The emancipated negroes had such utterly wild + notions of what was going to be done for them that Mammy's statement did + not surprise me very much. I let her go with the assurance that I would + inquire into the matter. She left enjoining me not to put that “fif' too + cheap,” and I insisting that she should not go to the Bureau, in deference + to whose officials her astonishing toilet had evidently been made. + </p> + <p> + I was so much pleased with my own work that it was nearly twilight before + the knock of a familiar friend roused me. He was a clever amateur, and + took the greatest interest in my work. His enthusiasm over Mammy's effigy + made me glow. He agreed to pose for me in Mammy's costume. + </p> + <p> + Next day I borrowed the outfit without intimating that it was to be worn + by anybody. Mammy was over-nervous about its being properly cared for. I + think that she still contemplated appearing in it at the Bureau. + </p> + <p> + In a week the picture was complete. My model and I went out and celebrated + appropriately but frugally. + </p> + <p> + A small label in the corner gave the title to the picture—“My old + Mammy.” + </p> + <p> + My friend gave my work a place in his window, and my acquaintances + generally accorded unqualified praise. The older ones recognized Mammy at + once. + </p> + <p> + Pending a purchaser for this, I started my deferred subject, and changed + it into a figure piece. A lovely friend was my model. She contemplated the + flowers and letters. Above the old piece of furniture on which she leaned + there hung a photograph, a sword, and a sash—a more striking + suggestion of my first title, “Dead Hopes.” How little I dreamed, as I + worked, that there was such happy irony in the name, and that Mammy could + ever, in the remotest way, conduce to such a result! + </p> + <p> + Nearly every morning I hovered about my friend's establishment at a + sufficient distance to elude suspicion of my anxiety, but easily in visual + range of my exhibit. + </p> + <p> + One morning it was not visible. I rushed to the store with a throbbing + breast. Alas! the picture had only been shifted to another light. Before + the revulsion of feeling had time to overpower me I was seized by my + friend the merchant. + </p> + <p> + “It's a regular play,” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + He forced me to a seat on a pile of cheese-boxes, and facing me, began: + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday, the old lady,” pointing to the picture, “came in. She took no + notice of her portrait, but said that she had failed to find you; that she + was anxious to hear what you had done about the Bureau business.” (I had + forgotten it utterly.) “Well, I could tell her nothing, and she started to + go out just as a group opened the door to come in. Mammy made one of her + courtly bows, and gave place. The young lady who was one of the three + coming in, the others evidently her parents, said, in a loud whisper, + 'Why, it's she!' Mammy, who either did not hear or did not understand, was + about to pass out, when the young lady accosted her with, 'I beg your + pardon, but isn't that your portrait?' + </p> + <p> + “'I grant you grace, young mistiss, but sence I looks, hit is. Hit wuz did + by my young mahster, which he can do all kinds of pictures lovely.' + </p> + <p> + “'Your young master?' the young lady said—sweet voice, too; dev'lish + handsome girl—'your young master?' Then she said aside to the + others, 'Isn't it charmingly interesting?' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, 'm, I call him so. But really I'm only his'n a fif'.' + </p> + <p> + “'His fif?' the young lady said, looking puzzled. I stepped up to them to + explain, just for politeness, though I was sure that they weren't + customers, 'She means that he owned a fifth interest in her previous to—the + recent change in affairs.' + </p> + <p> + “'That's hit,' said Mammy, nodding to them. 'But I don't expect to hear + from the other fif's. It don't make much diffunce, howsomever, bein' ez + how the Bureau is gwine settle up.' + </p> + <p> + “The visitors evidently did not understand this. I explained what Mammy + was after—you had told me, you know. They were very much amused, and + asked a heap of questions. After a little talk between themselves, in + which I could not help seeing that the young lady was very earnest, the + gentleman asked: + </p> + <p> + “'Is the work for sale?' Was it for sale!” + </p> + <p> + My friend nearly prostrated me with a hearty punch by way of expressing + his feelings, whilst I was choking for an answer. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, I gave him the figger. He bought so quick that it made me sick + I hadn't asked more. Looker here!” + </p> + <p> + He displayed two new greenbacks which covered the amount. We embraced. + </p> + <p> + At last Mammy had become a source of revenue. I must, in justice to + myself, record the fact that a resolve immediately took form in my mind + that she also should be a beneficiary of my good fortune. + </p> + <p> + My friend wanted me to take the picture down myself. I told him that it + was not ethical to do so. The precious burden was confided to his porter. + When we returned to his store we found the gentleman there who had made + the purchase. I was duly presented by my friend. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman said that he had not noticed my name on the picture + particularly, nor on the receipt given by the merchant for the money, + which gave the title and painter of the work, until he had gotten back to + the hotel, when his wife recognized it and remembered having been in my + studio—a fine name for a small concern—in New York, and that + we had many friends in common there. + </p> + <p> + The upshot of the matter was that the gentleman gave me an invitation to + call at the Spottswood. I went the next day. + </p> + <p> + They were immensely amused and interested with any particulars about her. + The father—the names are immaterial, the young lady's was Elaine—asked + me jocularly at what sum I estimated my fifth in Mammy. I had previously + convinced him that we never had the remotest idea of parting with the old + lady. Consequently we had never estimated her value, but that I thought my + fifth at the time of the settling of the estate would have been about one + hundred dollars. After I had made several visits, the three came to see my + other picture. + </p> + <p> + The day after their departure Mammy called. She was in fine spirits over a + visit that she had made to my new friends, at their earnest request. All + the time that she was speaking she was working at a knot in the corner of + her handkerchief. I knew that she kept her small valuables there, but was + thunderstruck when she extracted two fifty-dollar bills. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mammy! Where—” + </p> + <p> + “Dat's all right, honey. The Bureau gent'man fix it all, jess like I tole + you. He said dat he done 'nquired, an' yo' fif' was wuth dat—two + fifties, one hundred—an' I let him off de res.” + </p> + <p> + “But what gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “Dat gent'man whar was at de Spottswood Hotel. He tole me he wuz agent for + de Bureau. An' I tell you, Mahs William, dey's quality, dem folks. You + kain' fool Becky.” + </p> + <p> + Of course I did not enlighten Mammy. What would have been the use? + </p> + <p> + Not many days thereafter I got a request to ship my “Dead Hopes,” at my + price, to the address of a frame-maker in New York. Elaine's father said + that he had a purchaser for it. I discovered later that he was a master of + pleasant fiction. + </p> + <p> + When I wondered, long after, to him that he should have bought a + Confederate picture, he convinced me that my picture had nothing + confederate in it; that he had inferred that I had painted it in a + catholic spirit. The lady was in mourning, the flowers faded, the letters + too small for postmark, the picture on the wall a colorless photograph, + and the sword a regulation pattern common to both armies. He thought it + very skilfully planned, and complimented me on it. I was silent. All the + Confederate part and point had been in my mind. + </p> + <p> + About a year after this—I had been located in New York some months—Elaine + and I came on a visit to Richmond. I might just as well say that it was + our bridal trip. + </p> + <p> + We looked up Mammy in her comfortable quarters. She had been well provided + for. There was some little confusion in her mind at first as to who Elaine + was, but on being made to understand, called down fervent blessings upon + her head. + </p> + <p> + “Now the old lady kin go happy. I always said that I had nussed Mahs + William, an' of I jess could live long 'nuff to—” + </p> + <p> + Elaine cut in rather abruptly, I thought. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mammy, what a beautiful vine you have on your stoop!” + </p> + <p> + “What's stoop, honey? Dat's a poach.” + </p> + <p> + Mammy lived some years longer, aging comfortably, and unvexed by any + question of fractions. She died a serene integer, with such comfortable + assurance of just valuation as is denied most of us, and contented that it + should be expressed in terms that were, to her, the only sure criterion + applicable to her race. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN INCIDENT + </h2> + <h3> + BY SARAH BARNWELL ELLIOTT + </h3> + <p> + It was an ordinary frame house standing on brick legs, and situated on a + barren knoll, which, because of the dead level of marsh and swamp and + deserted fields from which it rose, seemed to achieve the loneliness of a + real height. The south and west sides of the house looked out on marsh and + swamp; the north and east sides on a wide stretch of old fields grown up + in broom-grass. Beyond the marsh rolled a river, now quite beyond its + banks with a freshet; beyond the swamp, which was a cypress swamp, rose a + railway embankment leading to a bridge that crossed the river. On the + other two sides the old fields ended in a solid black wall of pine-barren. + A roadway led from the house through the broom-grass to the barren, and at + the beginning of this road stood an outhouse, also on brick legs, which, + save for a small stable, was the sole out-building. One end of this house + was a kitchen, the other was divided into two rooms for servants. There + were some shattered remnants of oak-trees out in the field, and some + chimneys overgrown with vines, showing where in happier times the real + homestead had stood. + </p> + <p> + It was toward the end of February; a clear afternoon drawing toward + sunset; and all the flat, sad country was covered with a drifting red glow + that turned the field of broom-grass into a sea of gold; that lighted up + the black wall of pine-barren, and shot, here and there, long shafts of + light into the sombre depths of the cypress swamp. There was no sign of + life about the dwelling-house, though the doors and windows stood open; + but every now and then a negro woman came out of the kitchen and looked + about, while within a dog whined. + </p> + <p> + Shading her eyes with her hand, this woman would gaze across the field + toward the ruin; then down the road; then, descending the steps, she would + walk a little way toward the swamp and look along the dam that, ending the + yard on this side, led out between the marsh and the swamp to the river. + The over-full river had backed up into the yard, however, and the line of + the dam could now only be guessed at by the wall of solemn cypress-trees + that edged the swamp. Still, the woman looked in this direction many times + and also toward the railway embankment, from which a path led toward the + house, crossing the heap of the swamp by a bridge made of two felled + trees. + </p> + <p> + But look as she would, she evidently did not find what she sought, and + muttering “Lawd! Lawd!” she returned to the kitchen, shook the tied dog + into silence, and seating herself near the fire, gazed sombrely into its + depths. A covered pot hung from the crane over the blaze, making a thick + bubbling noise, as if what it contained had boiled itself almost dry, and + a coffee-pot on the hearth gave forth a pleasant smell. The woman from + time to time turned the spit of a tin kitchen wherein a fowl was roasting, + and moved about the coals on the top of a Dutch oven at one side. She had + made preparation for a comfortable supper, and evidently for others than + herself. + </p> + <p> + She went again to the open door and looked about, the dog springing up and + following to the end of his cord. The sun was nearer the horizon now, and + the red glow was brighter. She looked toward the ruin; looked along the + road; came down the steps and looked toward the swamp and the railway + path. This time she took a few steps in the direction of the house; looked + up at its open windows, at the front door standing ajar, at a pair of + gloves and a branch from the vine at the ruin, that lay on the top step of + the piazza, as if in passing one had put them there, intending to return + in a moment. While she looked the distant whistle of a locomotive was + heard echoing back and forth about the empty land, and the rumble of an + approaching train. She turned a little to listen, then went hurriedly back + to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + The rumbling sound increased, although the speed was lessened as the river + was neared. Very slowly the train was moving, and the woman, peeping from + the window, watched a gentleman get off and begin the descent of the path. + </p> + <p> + “Mass Johnnie!” she said. “Lawd! Lawd!” and again seated herself by the + fire until the rapid, firm footstep having passed, she went to the door, + and standing well in the shadow, watched. + </p> + <p> + Up the steps the gentleman ran, pausing to pick up the gloves and the bit + of vine. The negro groaned. Then in the open door, “Nellie!” he called, + “Nellie!” + </p> + <p> + The woman heard the call, and going back quickly to her seat by the fire, + threw her apron over her head. + </p> + <p> + “Abram!” was the next call; then, “Aggie!” + </p> + <p> + She sat quite still, and the master, running up the kitchen steps and + coming in at the door, found her so. + </p> + <p> + “Aggie!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, suh.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you answer me?” + </p> + <p> + The veiled figure rocked a little from side to side. + </p> + <p> + “What the mischief is the matter?” walking up to the woman and pulling the + apron from over her face. “Where is your Miss Nellie?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh; but yo' supper is ready, Mass Johnnie.” + </p> + <p> + “Has your mistress driven anywhere?” + </p> + <p> + “De horse is in de stable, suh.” The woman now rose as if to meet a + climax, but her eyes were still on the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Did she go out walking?” + </p> + <p> + “Dis mawnin', suh.” + </p> + <p> + “This morning!” he repeated, slowly, wonderingly, “and has not come back + yet?” + </p> + <p> + The woman began to tremble, and her eyes, shining and terrified, glanced + furtively at her master. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Abram?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh!” It was a gasping whisper. + </p> + <p> + The master gripped her shoulder, and with a maddened roar he cried her + name —“Aggie!” + </p> + <p> + The woman sank down. Perhaps his grasp forced her down. “'Fo' Gawd!” she + cried—“'fo Gawd, Mass Johnnie, I dun'no'!” holding up beseeching + hands between herself and the awful glare of his eyes. “I'll tell you, + suh, Mass Johnnie, I'll tell you!” crouching away from him. “Miss Nellie + gimme out dinner en supper, den she put on she hat en gone to de ole + chimbly en git some de brier what grow dey. Den she come back en tell + Abram fuh git a bresh broom en sweep de ya'd. Lemme go, Mass Johnnie, + please, suh, en I tell you better, suh. En Abram teck de hatchet en gone + to'des de railroad fuh cut de bresh. 'Fo' Gawd, Mass Johnnie, it's de + trute, suh! Den I tell Miss Nellie say de chicken is all git out de coop, + en she say I muss ketch one fuh unner supper, suh; en I teck de dawg en + gone in de fiel' fuh look fuh de chicken. En I see Miss Nellie put 'e glub + en de brier on de step, en walk to'des de swamp, like 'e was goin' on de + dam—'kase de water ent rise ober de dam den—en den I gone in + de broom-grass en I run de chicken, en I ent ketch one tay I git clean + ober to de woods. En when I come back de glub is layin' on de step, en de + brier, des like Miss Nellie leff um—” She stopped, and her master + straightened himself. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, and his voice was strained and weak. + </p> + <p> + The servant once more flung her apron over her head, and broke into + violent crying. “Dat's all, Mass Johnnie! dat's all! I dun'no' wey Abram + is gone; I dun'no' what Abram is do! Nobody ent been on de place dis day—dis + day but me—but me! Oh, Lawd! oh, Lawd en Gawd!” + </p> + <p> + The master stood as if dazed. His face was drawn and gray, and his breath + came in awful gasps. A moment he stood so, then he strode out of the + house. With a howl the dog sprang forward, snapping the cord, and rushed + after his master. + </p> + <p> + The woman's cries ceased, and without moving from her crouching position + she listened with straining ears to the sounds that reached her from the + stable. In a moment the clatter of horses' hoofs going at a furious pace + swept by, then a dead silence fell. The intense quiet seemed to rouse her, + and going to the door, she looked out. The glow had faded, and the gray + mist was gathering in distinct strata above the marsh and the river. She + went out and looked about her as she had done so many times during that + long day. She gazed at the water that was still rising; she peered + cautiously behind the stable and under the houses; she approached the + wood-pile as if under protest, gathered some logs into her arms and an axe + that was lying there; then turning toward the kitchen, she hastened her + steps, looking back over her shoulder now and again, as if fearing + pursuit. Once in the kitchen she threw down the wood and barred the door; + she shut the boarded window-shutter, fastening it with an iron hook; then + leaning the axe against the chimney, she sat down by the fire, muttering, + “If dat nigger come sneakin' back yer now, I'll split 'e haid open, <i>sho</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Recovering a little from her panic, she was once more a cook, and swung + the crane from over the fire, brushed the coals from the top of the Dutch + oven, and pushed the tin kitchen farther from the blaze. “Mass Johnnie'll + want sump'h'n to eat some time dis night,” she said; then, after a pause, + “en I gwine eat <i>now</i>.” She got a plate and cup, and helped herself + to hominy out of the pot, and to a roll out of the oven; but though she + looked at the fowl she did not touch it, helping herself instead to a + goodly cup of coffee. So she ate and drank with the axe close beside her, + now and then pausing to groan and mutter—“Po' Mass Johnnie!—po' + Mass Johnnie!—Lawd! Lawd!—if Miss Nellie had er sen' Abram + atter dat chicken—like I tell um—Lawd!” shaking her head the + while. + </p> + <p> + Through the gathering dusk John Morris galloped at the top speed of his + horse. Reaching the little railway station, he sprang off, throwing the + reins over a post, and strode in. + </p> + <p> + “Write this telegram for me, Green,” he said; “my hand trembles. + </p> + <p> + “<i>To Sam Partin, Sheriff, Pineville:</i> + </p> + <p> + “My wife missing since morning. Negro, Abram Washington, disappeared. + Bring men and dogs. Get off night train this side of bridge. Will be fire + on the path to mark the place. + </p> + <h3> + “JOHN MORRIS.” + </h3> + <p> + “Great God!” the operator said, in a low voice. “I'll come too, Mr. + Morris.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” John Morris answered. “I'm going to get the Wilson boys, and + Rountree and Mitchell,” and for the first time the men's eyes met. + Determined, deadly, sombre, was the look exchanged; then Morris went away. + </p> + <p> + None of the men whom Morris summoned said much, nor did they take long to + arm themselves, saddle, and mount, and by nine o'clock Aggie heard them + come galloping across the field; then her master's voice calling her. + There was little time in which to make the signal-fire on the railroad + embankment, and to cut light-wood into torches, even though there were + many hands to do the work. John Morris's dog followed him a part of the + way to the wood-pile, then turned aside to where the water had crept up + from the swamp into the yard. Aggie saw the dog, and spoke to Mr. Morris. + </p> + <p> + “Dat's de way dat dawg do dis mawnin', Mass Johnnie, an' when I gone to + ketch de chicken, Miss Nellie was walkin' to'des dat berry place.” + </p> + <p> + An irresistible shudder went over John Morris, and one of the gentlemen + standing near asked if he had a boat. + </p> + <p> + “The bateau was tied to that stake this morning,” Mr. Morris answered, + pointing to a stake some distance out in the water; “but I have another + boat in the top of the stable.” Every man turned to go for it, showing the + direction of their fears, and launched it where the log bridge crossed the + head of the swamp, and where now the water was quite deep. + </p> + <p> + The whistle was heard at the station, and the rumble of the on-coming + train. The fire flared high, lighting up the group of men standing about + it, booted and belted with ammunition-belts, quiet, and white, and + determined. + </p> + <p> + Many curious heads looked out as the sheriff and his men—six men + besides Green from the station—got off; then the train rumbled away + in the darkness toward the surging, turbulent river, and the crowd moved + toward the house. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Morris told of his absence in town on business. That Abram had been + hired first as a field-hand; and that later, after his marriage, he had + taken Abram from the field to look after his horse and to do the heavier + work about the house and yard. + </p> + <p> + “And the woman Aggie is trust-worthy?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it; she used to belong to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Abram is a strange negro?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Then Aggie was called in to tell her story. Abram had taken the hatchet + and had gone toward the railroad for brush to make a broom. She had taken + the dog and gone into the broom-grass to catch a fowl, and the last she + had seen of her mistress she was walking toward the dam, which was then + above the water. + </p> + <p> + “How long were you gone after the chicken?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh; but I run um clean to de woods 'fo' I ketch um, en I walk + back slow 'kase I tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you gone an hour?” + </p> + <p> + “I spec so, suh, 'kase when I done ketch de chicken I stop fuh pick up + some light-wood I see wey Abram been cuttin' wood yistiddy.” + </p> + <p> + “And your mistress was not here when you came back—nor Abram?” + </p> + <p> + “No, suh, nobody; en 'e wuz so lonesome I come en look in dis house fuh + Miss Nellie, but 'e ent deyyer; en I look in de bush fuh Abram, but I ent + see um nudder. En de dawg run to de water en howl en ba'k en ba'k tay I + tie um up in de kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + “And was the boat tied to the stake this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, suh; en when I been home long time en git scare, den I look en see + de boat gone.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't think that your mistress got in the boat and drifted away by + accident?” + </p> + <p> + “No, suh, nebber, suh; Miss Nellie 'fraid de water lessen Mass Johnnie is + wid um.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Abram a good boy?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh; I dun'no' nuffin 'tall 'bout Abram, suh; Abram is strange + nigger to we.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he take his things out of his room?” + </p> + <p> + “Abram t'ings? Ki! Abram ent hab nuttin' ceppen what Miss Nellie en Mass + Johnnie gi' um. No, suh, dat nigger ent hab nuttin' but de close on 'e + back when 'e come to we.” + </p> + <p> + The sheriff paused a moment. “I think, Mr. Morris,” he said at last, “that + we'd better separate. You, with Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Rountree, had better + take your boat and hunt in the swamp and marsh, and along the river-bank. + Let Mr. Wilson, his brothers, and Green take your dog and search in the + pine-barren. I'll take my men and my dogs and cross the railroad. The + signal of any discovery will be three shots fired in quick succession. The + gathering-place'll be this house, where a member of the discovering + party'll meet the other parties and bring 'em to the discovery. And I beg + that you'll refrain from violence, at least until we can reach each other. + We've no proof of anything—” + </p> + <p> + “Damn proof!” + </p> + <p> + “An' our only clew,” the sheriff went on, “the missing boat, points to + Mrs. Morris's safety.” A little consultation ensued; then agreeing to the + sheriff's distribution of forces, they left the house. + </p> + <p> + The sheriff's dogs—the lean, small hounds used on such occasions—were + tied, and he held the ropes. There was an anxious look on his face, and he + kept his dogs near the house until the party for the barren had mounted + and ridden away, and the party in the boat had pushed off into the + blackness of the swamp, a torch fastened at the prow casting weird, + uncertain shadows. Then ordering his six men to mount and to lead his + horse, he went to the room of the negro Abram and got an old shirt. The + two lean little dogs were restless, but they made no sound as he led them + across the railway. Once on the other side, he let them smell the shirt, + and loosed them, and was about to mount, when, in the flash of a torch, he + saw something in the grass. + </p> + <p> + “A hatchet!” he said to his companions, picking it up; “and clean, thank + God!” + </p> + <p> + The men looked at each other, then one said, slowly, “He coulder drowned + her?” + </p> + <p> + The sheriff did not answer, but followed the dogs that had trotted away + with their noses to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure the nigger came this way,” the sheriff said, after a while. + “Those others may find the poor young lady, but I feel sure of the + nigger.” + </p> + <p> + One of the men stopped short. “That nigger's got to die,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” the sheriff answered, “but not by Judge Lynch's court. This + circuit's got a judge that'll hang him lawfully.” + </p> + <p> + “I b'lieve Judge More will,” the recalcitrant admitted, and rode on. + “But,” he added, “if I know Mr. John Morris, that nigger's safe to die one + way or another.” + </p> + <p> + They rode more rapidly now, as the dogs had quickened their pace. The moon + had risen, and the riding, for men who hunted recklessly, was not bad. + Through woods and across fields, over fences and streams, down by-paths + and old roads, they followed the little dogs. + </p> + <p> + “We're makin' straight for the next county,” the sheriff said. + </p> + <p> + “We're makin' straight for the old Powis settlement,” was answered. + “Nothin' but niggers have lived there since the war, an' that nigger's + there, I'll bet.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” the sheriff said. “About how many niggers live there now?” + </p> + <p> + “There ain't more than half a dozen cabins left now. We can easy manage + that many.” + </p> + <p> + It was a long rough ride, and in spite of their rapid pace it was some + time after midnight before they saw the clearing where clustered the few + cabins left of the plantation quarters of a well-known place, which in its + day had yielded wealth to its owners. The moon was very bright, and, save + for the sound of the horses' feet, the silence was intense. + </p> + <p> + “Look sharp,” the sheriff said; “that nigger ain't sleepin' much if he's + here, and he might try to slip off.” + </p> + <p> + The dogs were going faster now, and yelping a little. + </p> + <p> + “Keep up, boys!” and the sheriff spurred his horse. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes they thundered into the little settlement, where the dogs + were already barking and leaping against a close-shut door. Frightened + black faces began to peer out. Low exclamations and guttural ejaculations + were heard as the armed men scattered, one to each cabin, while the + sheriff hammered at the door where the dogs were jumping. + </p> + <p> + “It's the sheriff!” he called, “come to get Abram Washington. Bring him + out and you kin go back to your beds. We're all armed, and nobody need to + try runnin'.” + </p> + <p> + The door opened cautiously, and an old negro looked out. “Abram's my son, + Mr. Partin,” he said, “an' 'fo' Gawd he ent yer.” + </p> + <p> + “No lyin', old man; the dogs brought us straight here. Don't make me burn + the house down; open the door.” + </p> + <p> + The door was closing, when the sheriff, springing from his horse, forced + it steadily back. A shot came from within, but it ranged wild, and in an + instant the sheriff's pistol covered the open room, where a smouldering + fire gave light. Two of the men followed him, and one, making for the + fire, pushed it into a blaze, which revealed a group of negroes—an + old man, a young woman, some children, and a young man crouching behind + with a gun in his hand. The sheriff walked straight up to the young man, + whose teeth were chattering. + </p> + <p> + “I arrest you,” he said; “come on.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the feller,” confirmed one of the guard; “I've seen him at Mr. + Morris's place.” + </p> + <p> + “Tie him,” the sheriff ordered, “while I git that gun. Give it to me, old + man, or I'll take you to jail too.” It was yielded up—an old-time + rifle—and the sheriff smashed it against the side of the chimney, + throwing the remnants into the fire. “Lead on,” he said, and the young + negro was taken outside. Quickly he was lifted on to a horse and tied + there, while the former rider mounted behind one of his companions, and + they rode out of the settlement into the woods. + </p> + <p> + “Git into the shadows,” one said; “they might be fools enough to shoot.” + </p> + <p> + Once in the road, the sheriff called a halt. “One of you must ride; back + to Mr. Morris's place and collect the other search-parties, while we make + for Pineville jail. Now, Abram, come on.” + </p> + <p> + “I ent done nuttin', Mr. Parin, suh,” the negro urged. “I ent hot Mis' + Morris.” + </p> + <p> + “Who said anything 'bout Mrs. Morris?” was asked, sharply. + </p> + <p> + The negro groaned. + </p> + <p> + “You're hanging yourself, boy,” the sheriff said; “but since you know, + where <i>is</i> Mrs. Morris?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you run away?” + </p> + <p> + “'Kase I 'fraid Mr. Morris.” + </p> + <p> + “What were you 'fraid of?” + </p> + <p> + “'Kase Mis' Morris gone.” + </p> + <p> + They were riding rapidly now, and the talk was jolted out. + </p> + <p> + “Where'?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh, but I ent tech um.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a damned liar.” + </p> + <p> + “No, suh, I ent tech um; I des look at um.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to gouge your eyes out!” cried one of the men, and struck him. + </p> + <p> + “None o' that!” ordered the sheriff. “And you keep your mouth shut, Abram; + you'll have time to talk on your trial.” + </p> + <p> + “Blast a trial!” growled the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “The rope's round his neck now,” suggested one, “and I see good trees at + every step.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, suh, gentlemen,” pleaded the shaking negro, “I ent done nuttin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut your mouth!” ordered the sheriff again, “and ride faster. Day'll + soon break.” + </p> + <p> + “You're 'fraid Mr. Morris'll ketch us 'fore we reach the jail,” laughed + one of the guard. And the sheriff did not answer. + </p> + <p> + The eastern sky was gray when the party rode into Pineville, a small, + straggling country town, and clattered through its one street to the jail. + To the negro, at least, it was a welcome moment, for, with his feet tied + under the horse, his hands tied behind his back, and a rope with a + slip-knot round his neck, he had not found the ride a pleasant one. A + misstep of his horse would surely have precipitated his hanging, and he + knew well that such an accident would have given much satisfaction to his + captors. So he uttered a fervent “Teng Gawd!” as he was hustled into the + jail gate and heard it close behind him. + </p> + <p> + Early as it was, most of the town was up and excited. Betting had been + high as to whether the sheriff would get the prisoner safe into the jail, + and even the winners seemed disappointed that he had accomplished this + feat, although they praised his skilful management. But the sheriff knew + that if the lady's body was found, that if Mr. Morris could find any proof + against the negro, that if Mr. Morris even expressed a wish that the negro + should hang, the whole town would side with him instantly; and the sheriff + knew, further, that in such an emergency he would be the negro's only + defender, and that the jail could easily be carried by the mob. + </p> + <p> + All these thoughts had been with him during the long night, and though he + himself was quite willing to hang the negro, being fully persuaded of his + guilt, he was determined to do his official duty, and to save the + prisoner's life until sentence was lawfully passed on him. But how? If he + could quiet the town before the day brightened, he had a plan, but to + accomplish this seemed wellnigh impossible. + </p> + <p> + He handcuffed the prisoner and locked him into a cell, then advised his + escort to go and get food, as before the day was done—indeed, just + as soon as Mr. Morris should reach the town—he would probably need + them to help him defend the jail. + </p> + <p> + They nodded among themselves, and winked, and laughed a little, and one + said, “Right good play-actin'”; and watching, the sheriff knew that he + could depend on only one man, his own brother, to help him. But he sent + him off along with the others, and was glad to see that the crowd of + townspeople went with his guard, listening eagerly to the details of the + suspected tragedy and the subsequent hunt. This was his only chance, and + he went at once to the negro's cell. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Abram,” he said, “if you don't want to be a dead man in an hour's + time, you'd better do exactly what I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, suh, please Gawd.” + </p> + <p> + “Put on this old hat,” handing him one, “and pull it down over your eyes, + and follow me. When we get outside, you walk along with me like any + ordinary nigger going to his work; and remember, if you stir hand or foot + more than a walk, you are a dead man. Come on.” + </p> + <p> + There was a back way out of the jail, and to this the sheriff went. Once + outside, he walked briskly, the negro keeping step with him diligently. + They did not meet any one, and before very long they reached the sheriff's + house, which stood on the outskirts of the town. Being a widower, he + knocked peremptorily on the door, and when it was opened by his son, he + marched his prisoner in without explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Shut the door, Willie,” he said, “and load the Winchester.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, suh—” interjected the negro. For answer, the sheriff took a + key from the shelf, and led him out of the back door to where, down a few + steps, there was another door leading into an underground cellar. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Abram,” he said, “you're to keep quiet in here till I can take you + to the city jail. There is no use your trying to escape, because my two + boys'll be about here all day with their repeating rifles, and they can + shoot.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, suh.” + </p> + <p> + “And whoever unlocks this door and tells you to come out, you do it, and + do it quick.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, suh.” + </p> + <p> + Locking the door, the sheriff turned to his son. “You and Charlie must + watch that door all day, Willie,” he said; “but you musn't seem to watch + it; and keep your guns handy, and if that nigger tries to get away, kill + him; don't hesitate. I must go back to the jail and make out like he's + there. And tell Charlie to feed the horse and hitch him to the buggy, and + let him stand ready in the stable, for when I'll want him I'll want him + quick. Above all things, don't let anybody know that the nigger's here. + But keep the cellar key in your pocket, and shoot if he tries to run. If + your uncle Jim comes, do whatever he tells you, but nobody else, lessen + they bring a note from me. Now remember. I'm trusting you, boy; and don't + you make any mistake about killing the nigger if he tries to escape.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” the boy answered, cheerfully, and the father went away. He + almost ran to the jail, and entering once more by the back door, found + things undisturbed. Presently his brother called to him, and the gates and + doors being opened, came in, bringing a waiter of hot food and coffee. + </p> + <p> + “I told Jinnie you'd not like to leave the jail,” he said, “an' she fixed + this up.” + </p> + <p> + “Jinnie's mighty good,” the sheriff answered, “and sometimes a woman's + mighty handy to have about—sometimes; but I'd not leave one out in + the country like Mr. Morris did; no, sir, not in these days. We could do + it before the war and during the war, but not now. The old niggers were + taught some decency; but these young ones! God help us, for I don't see + any safety for this country 'cept Judge Lynch. And I'll tell you this is + my first an' last term as sheriff. The work's too dirty.” + </p> + <p> + “Buck Thomas was a boss sheriff,” his brother answered; “he found the + niggers all right, but the niggers never found the jail, and the niggers + were 'fraid to death of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe Buck was right,” the sheriff said, “and 'twas heap the easiest way; + but here comes the town.” + </p> + <p> + The two men went to the window and saw a crowd of people advancing down + the road, led by Mr. Morris and his friends on horseback. + </p> + <p> + “I b'lieve you're the only man in this town that'll stand by me, Jim,” the + sheriff said. “I swore in six last night, and I see 'em all in that crowd. + Poor Mr. Morris! in his place I'd do just what he's doin'. Blest if yonder + ain't Doty Buxton comin' to help me! I'll let him in; but see here, Jim, + I'm goin' to send Doty to telegraph to the city for Judge More, and I want + you to slip out the back way right now, and run to my house, and tell + Willie to give you the buggy and the nigger, and you drive that nigger + into the city. Of course you'll kill him if he tries to escape.” + </p> + <p> + “The nigger ain't here!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm no fool, Jim. And I'll hold this jail, me and Doty, as long as + possible, and you drive like hell! You see?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you really <i>wanted</i> to save the nigger,” his brother + remonstrated; “nobody b'lieves that” + </p> + <p> + “I don't, as a nigger. But you go on now, and I'll send Doty with the + telegram, and make time by talkin' to Mr. Morris. I don't think they've + found anything; if they had, they'd have come a-galloping, and the devil + himself couldn't have stopped 'em. Gosh, but it's awful! Who knows what + that nigger's done When I look at Mr. Morris, I wish you fellers had + overpowered me last night and had fixed things.” + </p> + <p> + He let his brother out at the back, then went round to the front gate, + where he met the man whom he called Doty Buxton. + </p> + <p> + “Go telegraph Judge More the facts of the case,” he said, “an' ask him to + come. I don't believe I'll need any men if he'll come; and besides, he and + Mr. Morris are friends.” + </p> + <p> + As the man turned away, one of the horsemen rode up to the sheriff. + </p> + <p> + “We demand that negro,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I supposed that was what you'd come for, Mr. Mitchell,” the sheriff + answered; “but you know, sir, that as much as I'd like to oblige you, I'm + bound to protect the man. He swears that he's never touched Mrs. Morris.” + </p> + <p> + “Great God, sheriff! how can you mention the thing quietly? You know—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know; and I know that I'll never do the dirty work of a sheriff a + day after my term's up. But we haven't any proof against this nigger + except that he ran away—” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that enough when the lady can't be found, nor a trace of her?” + </p> + <p> + “I found the hatchet.” + </p> + <p> + “And—!” + </p> + <p> + “It was clean, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mitchell jerked the reins so violently that his horse, tired as he + was, reared and plunged. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Morris declines to speak with you,” he went on, when the horse had + quieted down, “but he's determined that the negro shall not escape, and + the whole county'll back him.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” the sheriff answered, patiently, “and in his place I'd do + the same thing; but in my place I must do my official duty. I'll not let + the nigger escape, you may be sure of that, and I've telegraphed for Judge + More to come out here. I've telegraphed the whole case. Surely Mr. + Morris'll trust Judge More?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell dragged at his mustache. “Poor Morris is nearly dead,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course; won't he go and eat and rest till Judge More comes? Every + house in the town'll be open to him.” + </p> + <p> + “No; he'll not wait nor rest; and we're determined to hang that negro.” + </p> + <p> + “It'll be mighty hard to shed our blood—friends and neighbors,” + remonstrated the sheriff—“and all over a worthless nigger.” + </p> + <p> + “That's your lookout,” Mr. Mitchell answered. “A trial and a big funeral + is glory for a negro, and the penitentiary means nothing to them but free + board and clothes. I tell you, sheriff, lynching is the only thing that + affects them.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't wait even until I get an answer from Judge More?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, to please you, I'll ask.” And Mitchell rode back to his companions. + </p> + <p> + The conference between the leaders was longer than the sheriff had hoped, + and before he was again approached Doty Buxton had returned, saying that + Judge More's answer would be sent to the jail just as soon as it came. + </p> + <p> + “You'll stand by me, Doty?” the sheriff asked. + </p> + <p> + “'Cause I like you, Mr. Partin,” Doty answered, slowly; “not 'cause I want + to save the nigger. I b'lieve in my soul he's done drowned the po' lady's + body.” + </p> + <p> + “All right; you go inside and be ready to chain the gate if I am run in.” + Then he waited for the return of the envoy. + </p> + <p> + John Morris sat on his horse quite apart even from his own friends, and + after a few words with him, Mitchell had gone to the group of horsemen + about whom the townsmen were gathered. The sheriff did not know what this + portended, but he waited patiently, leaning against the wall of the jail + and whittling a stick. He knew quite well that all these men were friendly + to him; that they understood his position perfectly, and that they + expected him to pretend to do his duty to a reasonable extent, and so far + their good-nature would last; but he knew equally well that in their eyes + the negro had put himself beyond the pale of the law; that they were + determined to hang him and would do it at any cost; and that the only + mercy which the culprit could expect from this upper class to which Mr. + Morris belonged was that his death would be quick and quiet. He knew also + that if they found out that he was in earnest in defending the prisoner he + himself would be in danger not only from Mr. Morris and his friends, but + from the townsmen as well. Of course all this could be avoided by showing + them that the jail was empty; but to do this would be at this stage to + insure the fugitive's capture and death. To save the negro he must hold + the jail as long as possible, and if he had to shoot, shoot into the + ground. All this was quite clear to him; what was not clear was what these + men would do when they found that he had saved the negro, and they had + stormed an empty jail. + </p> + <p> + He was an old soldier, and had been in many battles; he had fought hardest + when he knew that things were most hopeless; he had risked his life + recklessly, and death had been as nothing to him when he had thought that + he would die for his country. But now—now to risk his life for a + negro, for a worthless creature who he thought deserved hanging—was + this his duty? Why not say, “I have sent the negro to the city”? How + quickly those fierce horsemen would dash away down the road! Well, why + not? He drew himself up. He was not going to turn coward at this late day. + His duty lay very plain before him, and he would not flinch. And he fixed + his eyes once more on the little stick he was cutting, and waited. + </p> + <p> + Presently he saw a movement in the crowd, and the thought flashed across + him that they might capture him suddenly while he stood there alone and + unarmed. He stepped quickly to the gate, where Doty Buxton waited, and + standing in the opening, asked the crowd to stand back, and to send Mr. + Mitchell to tell him what the decision was. There was a moment's pause; + then Mitchell rode forward. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Morris says that Judge More cannot help matters. The negro must die, + and at once. We don't want to hurt you, and we don't want to destroy + public property, but we are going to have that wretch if we have to burn + the jail down. Will you stop all this by delivering the prisoner to us?” + </p> + <p> + The sheriff shook his head. “I can't do that, sir. But one thing I do ask, + that you'll give me warning before you set fire to the jail.” + </p> + <p> + “If that'll make you give up, we'll set fire now.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say it'd make me surrender, but only that I'd like to throw a + few things out—like Doty Buxton, for instance,” smiling a little. + </p> + <p> + “All right; when we stop trying to break in, we'll be making ready to + smoke you out. The jail's empty but for this negro, I hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the jail's empty; but don't you think you oughter give me a little + time to weigh matters?” + </p> + <p> + “Is there any chance of your surrendering?” + </p> + <p> + “To be perfectly honest,” the sheriff answered, “there isn't.” Then, + seeing the crowd approaching, he slipped inside the heavy gate, and Doty + Buxton chained it. “Now, Doty,” he said, “we'll peep through these + auger-holes and watch 'em; and when you see' em coming near, you must + shoot through these lower holes. Shoot into the ground just in front of + 'em. It's nasty to have the dirt jumpin' up right where you've got to + walk. I know how it feels. I always wanted to hold up both feet at once. I + reckon they've gone to get a log to batter down the gate. They can do it, + but I'll make 'em take as long as I can. We musn't hurt anybody, Doty, but + we must protect the State property as far as we're able. Here they come! + Keep the dirt dancin', Doty. See that? They don't like it. I told you + they'd want to take up both feet at once. When bullets are flying round + your head, you can't help yourself, but it's hard to put your feet down + right where the nasty little things are peckin' about. Here they come + again! Keep it up, Doty. See that? They've stopped again. They ain't real + mad with me, yet, the boys ain't; only Mr. Morris and his friends are mad. + The boys think I'm just pretending to do my duty for the looks of it; but + I ain't. Gosh! Now they've fixed it! With Mr. Morris at the front end of + that log, there's no hope of scare. He'd walk over dynamite to get that + nigger. Poor feller! Here they come at a run! Don't hurt anybody, Doty. + Bang! Wait; I'll call a halt by knocking on the gate; it'll gain us a + little more time.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” came in answer to the sheriff's taps. + </p> + <p> + “I'll arrest every man of you for destroying State property,” the sheriff + answered. + </p> + <p> + “All right; come do it quick,” was the response. “We're waitin', but we + won't wait long.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon we'll have to go inside, Doty,” the sheriff said; then to the + attacking party, “If you'll wait till Judge More comes, I promise you the + nigger'll hang.” + </p> + <p> + For answer there was another blow on the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Remember, I've warned you!” the sheriff called. + </p> + <p> + “Hush that rot,” was the answer, followed by a third blow. + </p> + <p> + The sheriff and Doty retreated to the jail, and the attack went on. It was + a two-story building of wood, but very strongly built, and unless they + tried fire the sheriff hoped to keep the besiegers at bay for a little + while yet. He stationed Doty at one window, and himself took position at + another, each with loaded pistols, which were only to be used as before—to + make “the dirt jump.” + </p> + <p> + “To tell you the truth, Doty,” the sheriff said, “if you boys had had any + sense, you'd have overpowered me last night, and we'd not have had all + this trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “We wanted to,” Doty answered, “but you're new at the business, an' you + talked so big we didn't like to make you feel little.” + </p> + <p> + “Here they come!” the sheriff went on, as the stout gate swayed inwards. + “One more good lick an' it's down. That's it. Now keep the dirt dancin', + Doty, but don't hurt anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Morris was in the lead, and apparently did not see the “dancin' dirt,” + for he approached the jail at a run. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use, Doty,” the sheriff said; “all we can do is to wait till they + get in, for I'm not going to shoot anybody. It may be wrong to lynch, but + in a case like this it's the rightest wrong that ever was.” So the sheriff + sat there thinking, while Doty watched the attack from the window. + </p> + <p> + According to his calculations of time and distance, the sheriff thought + that the prisoner was now so far on his way as to be almost out of danger + by pursuit, and his mind was busy with the other question as to what would + happen when the jail was found to be empty. He had not heard from Judge + More, but the answer could not have reached him after the attack began. He + felt sure that the judge would come, and come by the earliest train, which + was now nearly due. + </p> + <p> + “The old man'll come if he can,” he said to himself, “and he'll help me if + he comes; and I wish the train would hurry.” + </p> + <p> + He felt glad when he remembered that he had given the keys of the cells to + his brother, for though he would try to save further destruction of + property by telling the mob that the jail was empty, he felt quite sure + that they would not believe him, and in default of keys, would break open + every door in the building; which obstinacy would grant him more time in + which to hope for Judge More and arbitration. That it was possible for him + to slip out once the besiegers had broken in never occurred to him; his + only thought was to stay where he was until the end came, whatever that + might be. They were taking longer than he had expected, and every moment + was a gain. + </p> + <p> + Doty Buxton came in from the hall, where he had gone to watch operations. + “The do' is givin',” he said; “what'll you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothin',” the sheriff answered, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you give 'em the keys?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't got 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Gosh!” and Doty's eyes got big as saucers. + </p> + <p> + Very soon the outer door was down, and the crowd came trooping in, all + save John Morris, who stopped in the hallway. He seemed to be unable even + to look at the sheriff, and the sheriff felt the averted face more than he + would have felt a blow. “We want the keys,” Mitchell said. + </p> + <p> + The sheriff, who had risen, stood with his hands in his pockets, and his + eyes, filled with sympathy, fastened on Mr. Morris, standing looking + blankly down the empty hall. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't got the keys, Mr. Mitchell,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come off!” cried one of the townsmen. “Rocky!” cried another. “Yo' + granny's hat!” came from a third; while Doty Buxton said, gravely, “Give + up, Partin; we've humored this duty business long enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand you to say that you won't give up the keys?” Mitchell + demanded, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “No,” the sheriff retorted, a little hotly, “you don't understand anything + of the kind. I said that I didn't have the keys; and further,” he added, + after a moment's pause, “I say that this jail is empty.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a moment, while the men looked at one another + incredulously; then the jeering began again. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to do but to break open the cells,” Morris said, + sharply, but without turning his head. “We trusted the sheriff last night, + and he outwitted us; we must not trust him again.” + </p> + <p> + The sheriff's eyes flashed, and the blood sprang to his face. The crowd + stood eagerly silent; but after a second the sheriff answered, quietly, + </p> + <p> + “You may say what you please to me, Mr. Morris, and I'll not resent it + under these circumstances, but I'll swear the jail's empty.” + </p> + <p> + For answer Morris drove an axe furiously against the nearest cell door, + and the crowd followed suit. There were not many cells, and as he looked + from a window the sheriff counted the doors as they fell in, and listened + for the whistle of the train that he hoped would bring Judge More. The + doors were going down rapidly, and as each yielded the sheriff could hear + cries and demonstrations. What would they do when the last one fell? + </p> + <p> + Presently Doty Buxton, who had been making observations, came in, pale and + excited. “You'd better git yo' pistols,” he said, “an' I'll git mine, for + they're gittin' madder an' madder every time he ain't there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” the sheriff answered, “I want you to witness that I ain't armed. + My pistols are over there on the table, unloaded. Thank the good Lord!” he + exclaimed, suddenly; “there's the train, an' Judge More! I hope he'll come + right along.” + </p> + <p> + “An' there goes the last do'!” said Doty, as, after a crash and a + momentary silence, oaths and ejaculations filled the air. He drew near the + sheriff, but the sheriff moved away. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back,” he said; “you've got little children.” + </p> + <p> + In an instant the crowd rushed in, headed by Morris, whose burning eyes + seemed to be starting from his drawn white face. Like a flash Doty sprang + forward and wrenched an axe from the infuriated man, crying out, “Partin + ain't armed!” + </p> + <p> + For answer a blow from Morris's fist dropped the sheriff like a dead man. + A sudden silence fell, and Morris, standing over his fallen foe, looked + about him as if dazed. For an instant he stood so, then with a violent + movement he pushed back the crowding men, and lifting the sheriff, dragged + him toward the open window. + </p> + <p> + “Give him air,” he ordered, “and go for the doctor, and for cold water!” + He laid Partin flat and dragged open his collar. “He's not dead—see + there; I struck him on the temple; under the ear would have killed him, + but not this, not this! Give me that water, and plenty of it, and move + back. He's not dead, no; and I didn't mean to kill him; but he has worked + against me all night, and I didn't think a white man would do it.” + </p> + <p> + “He's comin' round, Mr. Morris,” said Doty, who knelt on the other side of + the sheriff; “an' he didn't bear no malice against you—don't fret; + but it's a good thing I jerked that axe outer yo' hand! See, he's ketchin' + his breath; it's all right,” as Partin opened his eyes slowly and looked + about him. + </p> + <p> + A sound like a sigh came from the crowd, then a voice said, “Here comes + Judge More.” + </p> + <p> + Morris was still holding his wet handkerchief on the sheriff's head when + the old judge came in. + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy!” he said, laying his hand on John Morris's shoulder. But + Morris shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Let's talk business, Judge More,” he said, “and let's get Partin into a + chair where he can rest; I've just knocked him over.” + </p> + <p> + Then Morris left the room, and Mitchell with him, going to the far side of + the jail-yard, where they walked up and down in silence. It was not long + before Judge More and the sheriff joined them. + </p> + <p> + “The evidence was too slight for lynching,” the judge said, looking + straight into John Morris's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Great God!” Morris cried, and struck his hands together. + </p> + <p> + “What more do you want?” Mitchell demanded, angrily. “His wife has + disappeared, and the negro ran away.” + </p> + <p> + “True, and I'll see to the case myself; but I'm glad that you did not hang + the negro.” + </p> + <p> + A boy came up with a telegram. + </p> + <p> + “From Jim, I reckon,” the sheriff said, taking it. “No; it's for you, Mr. + Morris.” + </p> + <p> + It was torn open hastily; then Morris looked from one to the other with a + blank, scared face, while the paper fluttered from his hold. + </p> + <p> + Mitchell caught it, and read aloud slowly, as if he did not believe his + eyes: + </p> + <p> + “'Am safe. Will be out on the ten o'clock train. ELEANOR.'” + </p> + <p> + Morris stood there, shaking, and sobbing hard, dry sobs. + </p> + <p> + “It'll kill him!” the sheriff said. “Quick, some whiskey!” + </p> + <p> + A flask was forced between the blue, trembling lips. + </p> + <p> + “Drink, old fellow,” and Mitchell put his arm about Morris's shoulders. + “It's all right now, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + Morris was leaning against his friend, sobbing like a woman. The sheriff + drew his coat-sleeve across his eyes, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “What made the nigger run away?” he said, slowly—adding, as if to + himself, “God help us!” + </p> + <p> + A vehicle was borrowed, and the judge and the sheriff drove with John + Morris over to the station to meet the ten-o'clock train. The sheriff and + the judge remained in the little carriage, and the station agent did his + best to leave the whole platform to John Morris. As the moments went by + the look of anxious agony grew deeper on the face of the waiting man. The + sheriff's ominous words, falling like a pall over the first flash of his + happiness, had filled his mind with wordless terrors. He could scarcely + breathe or move, and could not speak when his wife stepped off and put her + hands in his. She looked up, and without a query, without a word of + explanation, answered the anguished questioning of his eyes, whispering, + </p> + <p> + “He did not touch me.” + </p> + <p> + Morris staggered a little, then drawing her hand through his arm, he led + her to the carriage. She shrank back when she saw the judge and the + sheriff on the front seat; but Morris saying, “They must hear your story, + dear,” she stepped in. + </p> + <p> + “We are very thankful to see you, Mrs. Morris,” the judge said, without + turning his head, when the sheriff had touched up the horse and they moved + away; “and if you feel able to tell us how it all happened, it'll save + time and ease your mind. This is Mr. Partin, the sheriff.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Morris looked at the backs of the men in front of her; at their heads + that were so studiously held in position that they could not even have + glanced at each other; then up at her husband, appealingly. + </p> + <p> + “Tell it,” he said, quietly, and laid his hand on hers that were wrung + together in her lap. “You sent Aggie to catch the chickens, and the dog + went with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” fixing her eyes on his; “and I sent”—she stopped with a + shiver, and her husband said, “Abram”—“to cut some bushes to make a + broom,” she went on. “I had been for a walk to the old house, and as I + came back I laid my gloves and a bit of vine on the steps, intending to + return at once; but I wished to see if the boat was safe, for the water + was rising so rapidly.” She paused, as if to catch her breath, then, with + her eyes still fixed on her husband, she went on, “I did not think that it + was safe, and I untied the rope and picked up the paddle that was lying on + the dam, intending to drag the boat farther up and tie it to a tree.” She + stopped again. Her husband put his arm about her. + </p> + <p> + “And then?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And then—something, I don't know what; not a sound, but something—something + made me turn, and I saw him—saw him coming—saw him stealing up + behind me—with the hatchet in his hand, and a look—a look”—closing + her eyes as if in horror—“such an awful, awful look! And everybody + gone. Oh, John!” she gasped, and clinging to her husband, she broke into + hysterical sobs, while the judge gripped his walking-stick and cleared his + throat, and the sheriff swore fiercely under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “I was paralyzed,” she went on, recovering herself, “and when he saw me + looking he stopped. The next moment he threw the hatchet at me, and began + to run toward me. The hatchet struck my foot, and the blow roused me, and + I sprang into the boat. There were no trees just there, and jumping in, I + pushed the boat off into the deep water. He picked up the hatchet and + shook it at me, but the water was too deep for him to reach me, and he ran + back along the dam and turned toward the railroad embankment. I was so + terrified I could scarcely breathe; I pushed frantically in and out + between the trees, farther and farther into the swamp. I was afraid that + he would go round to the bridge and come down the bank to where the outlet + from the swamp is and catch me there, but in a little while I saw where + the rising water had broken the dam, and the current was rushing through + and out to the river. The current caught the boat and swept it through the + break. Oh, I was so glad! I'm so afraid of water, but not then. I used the + paddle as a rudder, and to push floating timber away. My foot was hurting + me, and I looked at last and saw that it was cut.” + </p> + <p> + A groan came from the judge, and the sheriff's head drooped. + </p> + <p> + “All day I drifted, and all night. I was so thirsty, and I grew so weak. + At daylight this morning I found myself in a wide sheet of water, with + marshes all round, and I saw a steamboat coming. I tied my handkerchief to + the paddle and waved it, and they picked me up. And, John, I did not tell + them anything except that the freshet had swept me away. They were kind to + me, and a friendly woman bound up my foot. We got to town this morning + early, and the captain lent me five dollars, John—Captain Meakin—so + I telegraphed you, and took a carriage to the station and came out. Have—have + you caught him? And, oh—but I am afraid—afraid!” And again she + broke into hysterical sobs. + </p> + <p> + She asked no explanation. The negro's guilt was so burned in on her mind, + that she was sure that all knew it as well as she. + </p> + <p> + “You need have no further fears,” her husband comforted. And the judge + shook his head, and the sheriff swore again. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A white-haired woman in rusty black stood talking to a negro convict. It + was in a stockade prison camp in the hill country. She had been a + slave-owner once, long ago, and now for her mission-work taught on Sundays + in the stockade, trying to better the negroes penned there. + </p> + <p> + This was a new prisoner, and she was asking him of himself. + </p> + <p> + “How long are you in for?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Fuhrebber, ma'm; fuh des es long es I lib,” the negro answered, looking + down to where he was making marks on the ground with his toes. + </p> + <p> + “And how did you get such a dreadful sentence?” + </p> + <p> + “I ent do much, ma'm; I des scare a white lady.” + </p> + <p> + A wave of revulsion swept over the teacher, and involuntarily she stepped + back. The negro looked up and grinned. + </p> + <p> + “De hatchet des cut 'e foot a little bit; but I trow de hatchet. I ent + tech um; no, ma'm. Den atterwards 'e baby daid; den dey say I muss stay + yer fuhrebber. I ent sorry, 'kase I know say I hab to wuck anywheys I is; + if I stay yer, if I go 'way, I hab to wuck. En I know say if I git outer + dis place Mr. Morris'll kill me sho—des sho. So I like fuh stay yer + berry well.” + </p> + <p> + And the teacher went away, wondering if her work—if <i>any</i> work—would + avail; and what answer the future would have for this awful problem. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SNIPE-HUNT + </h2> + <h3> + A STORY OF JIM-NED CREEK + </h3> + <h3> + BY M. E. M. DAVIS + </h3> + <p> + “I ain't sayin' nothin' ag'inst the women o' Jim—Ned Creek <i>ez + women</i>,” said Mr. Pinson; “an' what's more, I'll spit on my hands an' + lay out any man ez'll dassen to sass 'em. But <i>ez wives</i> the women o' + Jim-Ned air the outbeatenes' critters in creation!” + </p> + <p> + These remarks, uttered in an oracular tone, were received with grave + approbation by the half a dozen idlers gathered about the mesquite fire in + Bishop's store. Old Bishop himself, sorting over some trace-chains behind + the counter, nodded grimly, and then smiled, his wintry face grown + suddenly tender. + </p> + <p> + “You've shore struck it, Newt,” assented Joe Trimble. “You never kin tell + how ary one of 'em 'll ack under any succumstances.” + </p> + <p> + Jack Carter and Sid Northcutt, the only bachelors present, grinned and + winked slyly at each other. + </p> + <p> + “You boys neenter to be so brash,” drawled Mr. Pinson's son-in-law, Sam + Leggett, from his perch on a barrel of pecans; “jest you wait ontell Minty + Cullum an' Loo Slater gits a tight holt! Them gals is ez meek ez lambs—now. + But so was Mis' Pinson an' Mis' Trimble in their day an' time, I reckon. I + know Becky Leggett was.” + </p> + <p> + “The studdies'-goin' woman on Jim-Ned,” continued Mr. Pinson, ignoring + these interruptions, “is Mis' Cullum. An' yit, Tobe Cullum ain't no + safeter than anybody else—considerin' of Sissy Cullum ez a wife!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Trimble opened his lips to speak, but shut them again hastily, looking + a little scared, and an awkward silence fell on the group. + </p> + <p> + For the shadow of Mrs. Cullum herself had advanced through the wide + door-way, and lay athwart the puncheon floor; and that lady, a large, + comfortable-looking, middle-aged person, with a motherly face and a kindly + smile, after a momentary survey of the scene before her, walked briskly + in. She shook hands across the counter with the storekeeper, and passed + the time of day all around. + </p> + <p> + But Hines, the new clerk, shuffled forward eagerly to wait on her. Bud was + a sallow-faced, thin-chested, gawky youth from the States, who had + wandered into these parts in search of health and employment. He was not + yet used to the somewhat drastic ways of Jim-Ned, and there was a homesick + look in his watery blue eyes; he smiled bashfully at her while he measured + off calico and weighed sugar, and he followed her out to the horse-block + when she had concluded her lengthy spell of shopping. + </p> + <p> + “You better put on a thicker coat, Bud,” she said, pushing back her + sunbonnet and looking down at him from the saddle before she moved off. + “You've got a rackety cough. I reckon I'll have to make you some mullein + surrup.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mis' Cullum, don't trouble yourself about me,” Mr. Hines cried, + gratefully, a lump rising in his throat as he watched her ride away. + </p> + <p> + The loungers in the store had strolled out on the porch. “Mis' Cullum + cert'n'y is a sister in Zion,” remarked Mr. Trimble, gazing admiringly at + her retreating figure. + </p> + <p> + “M-m-m—y-e-e-s,” admitted Mr. Pinson. “But,” he added, darkly, after + a meditative pause, “Sissy Cullum is a wife, an' the women o' Jim-Nez, <i>ez + wives</i>, air liable to conniptions.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cullum jogged slowly along the brown, wheel-rifted road which + followed the windings of the creek. It was late in November. A brisk + little norther was blowing, and the nuts dropping from the pecan-trees in + the hollows filled the dusky stillness with a continuous rattling sound. + There was a sprinkling of belated cotton-bolls on the stubbly fields to + the right of the road; a few ragged sunflowers were still abloom in the + fence corners, where the pokeberries were red-ripe on their tall stalks. + </p> + <p> + “I must lay in some poke-root for Tobe's knee-j'ints,” mused Mrs. Cullum, + as she turned into the lane which led to her own door-yard. “Pore Tobe! + them j'ints o' his'n is mighty uncertain. Why, Tobe!” she exclaimed, + aloud, as her nag stopped and neighed a friendly greeting to the object of + her own solicitude, “where air you bound for?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cullum laid an arm across the horse's neck. He was a big, + loose-jointed man, with iron-gray hair, square jaws, and keen, steady, + dark eyes. “Well, ma,” he said, with a touch of reluctance in his dragging + tones, “there's a lodge meetin' at Ebenezer Church to-night, an' I got + Mintry to give me my supper early, so's I could go. I—” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Tobe,” interrupted his wife, cheerfully; “a passel of men + prancin' around with a goat oncet a month ain't much harm, I reckon. You + go 'long, honey; I'll set up for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Sissy is that soft an' innercent an' mild,” muttered Mr. Cullum, striding + away in the gathering twilight, “that a suckin' baby could wrop her aroun' + its finger—much lessen me!” + </p> + <p> + About ten o'clock the same night Granny Carnes, peeping through a chink in + the wall beside her bed, saw a squad of men hurrying afoot down the road + from the direction of Ebenezer Church. “Them boys is up to some devil<i>mint</i>, + Uncle Dick,” she remarked, placidly, to her rheumatic old husband. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Dick laughed, a soft, toothless laugh. “I ain't begrudgin' 'em the + fun,” he sighed, turning on his pillow, “but I wisht to the Lord I was + along!” + </p> + <p> + The “boys” crossed the creek below Bishop's and entered the shinn-oak + prairie on the farther side. + </p> + <p> + “Nance ast mighty particular about the lodge meetin',” observed Newt + Pinson to Mr. Cullum, who headed the nocturnal expedition; “she know'd it + wa'n't the regular night, an' she suspicioned sompn, Nance did.” + </p> + <p> + “Sissy didn't,” laughed Tobe, complacently. “Sissy is that soft an' + innercent an' mild that a suckin' baby could wrop her aroun' its finger—much + lessen me!” + </p> + <p> + Bud Hines, in the rear with the others, was in a quiver of excitement. He + stumbled along, shifting Sid Northcutt's rifle from one shoulder to the + other, and listening open-mouthed to Jack Carter's directions. “You know, + Bud,” said that young gentleman, gravely, “it ain't every man that gets a + chance to go on a snipe-hunt. And if you've got any grit—” + </p> + <p> + “I've got plenty of it,” interrupted Mr. Hines, vaingloriously. He was, + indeed, inwardly—and outwardly—bursting with pride. “I thought + they tuk me for a plumb fool,” he kept saying over and over to himself. + “They ain't never noticed me before 'cepn to make fun of me; an' all at + oncet Mr. Tobe Cullum an' Mr. Newt Pinson ups an' asts me to go on a + snipe-hunt, an' even p'oposes to give me the best place in it. An' I've + got Mr. Sid's rifle, an' Mr. Jack is tellin' of me how! Lord, I wouldn't + of believed it of I wa'n't right here! Won't ma be proud when I write her + about it!” + </p> + <p> + “You've got to whistle all the time,” Jack continued, breaking in upon + these blissful reflections; “if you don't, they won't come.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll whistle,” declared Bud, jauntily. + </p> + <p> + Sam Leggett's snigger was dexterously turned into a cough by a punch in + his ribs from Mr. Trimble's elbow, and they trudged on in silence until + they reached Buck Snort Gully, a deep ravine running from the prairie into + a stretch of heavy timber beyond, known as The Rough. + </p> + <p> + Here they stopped, and Sid Northcutt produced a coarse bag, whose mouth + was held open by a barrel hoop, and a tallow candle, which he lighted and + handed to the elate hunter. “Now, Bud,” Mr. Cullum said, when the bag was + set on the edge of the gully, with its mouth towards the prairie, “you + jest scrooch down behind this here sack an' hold the candle. You kin lay + the rifle back of you, in case a wild-cat or a cougar prowls up. An' you + whistle jest as hard an' as continual as you can, whilse the balance of us + beats aroun' an' drives in the snipe. They'll run fer the candle ever' + time. An' the minit that sack is full of snipe, all you've got to do is to + pull out the prop, an' they're yourn.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Mr. Tobe,” responded Bud, squatting down and clutching the + candle, his face radiant with expectation. + </p> + <p> + The crowd scattered, and for a few moments made a noisy pretence of + beating the shinn-oak thickets for imaginary snipe. + </p> + <p> + “Keep a-whisslin', Bud!” Mr. Cullum shouted, from the far edge of the + prairie. A prolonged whistle, with trills and flourishes, was the + response; and the conspirators, bursting with restrained laughter, plunged + into the ford and separated, making each for his own fireside. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cullum was nodding over the hearth-stone when her husband came in. + The six girls, from Minty—Jack Carter's buxom sweetheart—to + Little Sis, the baby, were long abed. The hands of the wooden clock on the + high mantel-shelf pointed to half-past twelve. “Well, pa,” Sissy said, + good-humoredly, reaching out for the shovel and beginning to cover up the + fire, “you've cavorted pretty late this time! What's the matter?” she + added, suspiciously; “you ack like you've been drinkin'!” + </p> + <p> + For Tobe was rolling about the room in an ecstasy of uproarious mirth. + </p> + <p> + “I 'ain't teched nary drop, Sissy,” Mr. Cullum returned, “but ever' time I + think about that fool Bud Mines a-settin' out yander at Buck Snort, + holdin' of a candle, and whisslin' fer snipe to run into that coffee-sack, + I—oh Lord!” + </p> + <p> + He stopped to slap his thighs and roar again. Finally, wiping the tears of + enjoyment from his eyes, he related the story of the night's adventure. + </p> + <p> + “Air you tellin' me, Tobe Cullum,” his wife said, when she had heard him + to the end—“air you p'intedly tellin' me that you've took Bud Hines + <i>snipin'</i>? An' that you've left that sickly, consumpted young man + a-settin' out there by hisse'f to catch his death of cold; or maybe git + his blood sucked out by a catamount!” + </p> + <p> + “Shucks, Sissy!” replied Tobe; “nothin' ain't goin' to hurt him. He's sech + a derned fool that a catamount wouldn't tech him with a ten-foot pole! An' + him a-whisslin' fer them snipe—oh Lord!” + </p> + <p> + “Tobe Cullum,” said Mrs. Cullum, sternly, “you go saddle Buster this minit + and ride out to Buck Snort after Bud Hines.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, honey—” remonstrated Tobe. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you honey me,” she interrupted, wrathfully. “You saddle that horse + this minit an' fetch that consumpted boy home.” + </p> + <p> + Tobe ceased to laugh. His big jaws set themselves suddenly square. “I'll + do no such fool thing,” he declared, doggedly, “an' have the len'th an' + brea'th o' Jim-Ned makin' fun o' me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said his wife, with equal determination, “ef you don't go, I + will. But I give you fair warnin', Tobe Cullum, that ef you don't go, I'll + never speak to you again whilse my head is hot.” + </p> + <p> + Tobe snorted incredulously; but he sneaked out to the stable after her, + and when she had saddled and mounted Buster, he followed her on foot, + running noiselessly some distance behind her, keeping her well in sight, + and dodging into the deeper shadows when she chanced to look around. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know Sissy had so much spunk,” he muttered, panting in her wake + at last across the shinn-oak prairie. “Lord, how blazin' mad she is! But + shucks! she'll git over it by mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hines was shivering with cold. He still whistled mechanically, but the + hand that held the sputtering candle shook to the trip-hammer thumping of + his heart. “The balance of 'em must of got lost,” he thought, listening to + the lonesome howl of the wind across the prairie. “It's too c-cold for + snipe, I reckon. I wisht I'd staid at home. I c-can't w-whistle any + longer,” he whimpered aloud, dropping the candle-end, the last spark of + courage oozing out of his nerveless fingers. He stood up, straining his + eyes down the black gully and across the dreary waste around him. “Mr. + T-o-o-be!” he called, feebly, and the wavering echoes of his voice came + back to him mingled with an ominous sound. “Oh, Lordy! what is that?” he + stammered. He sank to the ground, grabbing wildly for his gun. “It's a + cougar! I hear him trompin' up from the creek! It's a c-cougar! He's + c-comin' closter! Oh, Lordy!” + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Bud,” called Mrs. Cullum, cheerily. She slipped from the saddle as + she spoke and caught the half-fainting snipe-hunter in her motherly arms. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you 'shamed of yourse'f to let a passel o' no-'count men fool you + this-a-way?” she demanded, sternly, when he had somewhat recovered + himself. “Get up behind me. I'm goin' to take you to Mis' Bishop's, where + you belong. No, don't you dassen to tech any o' that trash!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hines, feeling very humble and abashed, climbed up behind her, and + they rode away, leaving the snipe—hunting gear, including Sid + Northcutt's valuable rifle, on the edge of the gully. + </p> + <p> + She left him at Bishop's, charging him to swallow before going to bed a + “dost” of the home-brewed chill medicine from a squat bottle she handed + him. + </p> + <p> + “He cert'n'y is weaker'n stump-water,” she murmured, as she turned her + horse's head; “but he's sickly an' consumpted, an' he's jest about the age + my Bud would of been if he'd lived.” + </p> + <p> + And thinking of her first-born and only son, who died in babyhood, she + rode homeward in the dim chill starlight. Tobe, spent and foot-sore, + followed warily, carrying the abandoned rifle. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + Consternation reigned the “len'th an' brea'th” of Jim-Ned. Mrs. Cullum—placid + and easy-going Mrs. Tobe—under the same roof with him, actually had + not spoken to her lawful and wedded husband since the snipe-hunt ten days + ago come Monday! + </p> + <p> + “It's plumb scan'lous!” Mrs. Pinson exclaimed, at her daughter's quilting. + “I never would of thought sech a thing of Sissy—never!” + </p> + <p> + “As of the boys of Jim-Ned couldn't have a little innercent fun without + Mis' Cullum settin' in jedgment on 'em!” sniffed Mrs. Leggett. + </p> + <p> + “Shot up, Becky Leggett,” said her mother, severely. “By time you've put + up with a man's capers for twenty-five years, like Sissy Cullum have, + you'll have the right to talk, an' not before.” + </p> + <p> + “They say Tobe is wellnigh out'n his mind,” remarked Mrs. Trimble. “Ez for + that soft-headed Bud Mines, he have fair fattened on that snipe-hunt. He's + gittin' ez sassy an' mischeevous ez Jack Carter hisse'f.” + </p> + <p> + This last statement was literally true. The victim of Tobe Cullum's + disastrous practical joke had become on a sudden case-hardened, as it + were. The consumptive pallor had miraculously disappeared from his cheeks + and the homesick look from his eyes. He bore the merciless chaffing at + Bishop's with devil-may-care good-nature, and he besought Mrs. Cullum, + almost with tears in his eyes, to “let up on Mr. Tobe.” + </p> + <p> + “I was sech a dern fool, Mis' Cullum,” he candidly confessed, “that I + don't blame Mr. Tobe for puttin' up a job on me. Besides,” he added, his + eyes twinkling shrewdly, “I'm goin' to git even. I'm layin' off to take + Jim Belcher, that biggetty drummer from Waco, a-snipin' out Buck Snort + next Sat'day night. He's a bigger idjit than I ever was.” + </p> + <p> + “You ten' to your own business, Bud, an' I'll ten' to mine,” Mrs. Cullum + returned, not unkindly. Which business on her part apparently was to make + Mr. Cullum miserable by taking no notice of him whatever. The house under + her supervision was, as it had always been, a model of neatness; the meals + were cooked by her own hands and served with an especial eye to Tobe's + comfort; his clothes were washed and ironed, and his white shirt laid out + on Sunday mornings, with the accustomed care and regularity. But with + these details Mrs. Cullum's wifely attentions ended. She remained + absolutely deaf to any remark addressed to her by her husband, looking + through and beyond him when he was present with a steady, unseeing gaze, + which was, to say the least, exasperating. All necessary communication + with him was carried on by means of the children. “Minty,” she would say + at the breakfast-table, “ask your pa if he wants another cup of coffee”; + or at night, “Temp'unce, tell your pa that Buster has shed a shoe”; or, + “Sue, does your pa know where them well-grabs is?” et caetera, et caetera. + </p> + <p> + The demoralized household huddled, so to speak, between the opposing + camps, frightened and unhappy, and things were altogether in a bad way. + </p> + <p> + To make matters worse, Miss Minty Cullum, following her mother's example, + took high and mighty ground with Jack Carter, dismissing that gentleman + with a promptness and coolness which left him wellnigh dumb with + amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, Minty!” he gasped. “Why, I was taken snipe-hunting myself not + more'n five years ago. I—” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you were such a fool, Jack Carter,” interrupted his + sweetheart, with a toss of her pretty head; “that settles it!” and she + slammed the door in his face. + </p> + <p> + Matters were at such a pass finally that Mr. Skaggs, the circuit-rider, + when he came to preach, the third Sunday in the month, at Ebenezer Church, + deemed it his duty to remonstrate and pray with Sister Cullum at her own + house. She listened to his exhortations in grim silence, and knelt without + a word when he summoned her to wrestle before the Throne of Grace. “Lord,” + he concluded, after a long and powerful summing up of the erring sister's + misdeeds, “Thou knowest that she is travelling the broad and flowery road + to destruction. Show her the evil of her ways, and warn her to flee from + the wrath to come.” + </p> + <p> + He arose from his knees with a look of satisfaction on his face, which + changed to one of chagrin when he saw Sister Cullum's chair empty, and + Sister Cullum herself out in the backyard tranquilly and silently feeding + her hens. + </p> + <p> + “She shore did flee from the wrath to come, Sissy did,” chuckled Granny + Carnes, when this episode reached her ears. + </p> + <p> + As for Tobe, he bore himself in the early days of his affliction in a + jaunty debonair fashion, affecting a sprightliness which did not deceive + his cronies at Bishop's. In time, however, finding all his attempts at + reconciliation with Sissy vain, he became uneasy, and almost as silent as + herself, then morose and irritable, and finally black and thunderous. + </p> + <p> + “He's that wore upon that nobody dassent to go anigh him,” said Mrs. + Pinson, solemnly. “An' no wonder! Fer of all the conniptions that ever + struck the women o' Jim-Ned, <i>ez wives</i>, Sissy Cullum's conniptions + air the outbeatenes'.” + </p> + <p> + But human endurance has its limits. Mr. Cullum's reached his at the + supper-table one night about three weeks after the beginning of his + discipline. He had been ploughing all day, and brooding, presumably, over + his tribulations, and there was a techy look in his dark eyes as he seated + himself at the foot of the well-spread table, presided over by Mrs. + Cullum, impassive and dumb as usual. The six girls were ranged on either + side. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ma,” began Tobe, with assumed gayety, turning up his plate, “what + for a day have you had?” + </p> + <p> + Sissy looked through and beyond him with fixed, unresponsive gaze, and + said never a word. + </p> + <p> + Then, as Mr. Cullum afterward said, “Ole Satan swep' an' garnish<i>eed</i> + him an' tuk possession of him.” He seized the heavy teacup in front of him + and hurled it at his unsuspecting spouse; she gasped, paling slightly, and + dodged. The missile, striking the brick chimney-jamb behind her, crashed + and fell shivering into fragments on the hearth. The saucer followed. + Then, Tobe's spirits rising, plate after plate hurtled across the table; + the air fairly bristled with flying crockery. Mrs. Cullum, after the first + shock of surprise, continued calmly to eat her supper, moving her head + from right to left or ducking to avoid an unusually well-aimed projectile. + </p> + <p> + Little Sis scrambled down from her high chair at the first hint of + hostilities, and dived, screaming, under the table; the others remained in + their places, half paralyzed with terror. + </p> + <p> + In less time than it takes to tell it, Mr. Cullum, reaching out his long + arms, had cleared half the board of its stone and glass ware. Finally he + laid a savage hand upon a small, old-fashioned blue pitcher left standing + alone in a wide waste of table-cloth. + </p> + <p> + At this Sissy surrendered unconditionally. “Oh, Tobe, fer Gawd's sake!” + she cried, throwing out her hands and quivering from head to foot. “I give + in! I give in! <i>Don't</i> break the little blue-chiny pitcher! You + fetched it to me the day little Bud was born! An' he drunk out'n it jest + afore he died! Fer Gawd's sake, Tobe, honey! I give in!” + </p> + <p> + Tobe set down the pitcher as gingerly as if it had been a soap-bubble. + Then, with a whoop which fairly lifted the roof from the cabin, he cleared + the intervening space between them and caught his wife in his arms. + </p> + <p> + Minty, with ready tact, dragged Little Sis from under the table, and + driving the rest of the flock before her, fled the room and shut the door + behind her. On the dark porch she ran plump upon Jack Carter. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Jack!” she cried, with her tear-wet face tucked before she knew it + against his breast, “what are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just hanging around,” grinned Mr. Carter. + </p> + <p> + “Gawd be praised!” roared Tobe, inside the house. + </p> + <p> + “Amen!” responded Jack, outside. + </p> + <p> + “An' Tobe Cullum,” announced Joe Trimble at Bishop's the next day, “have + ordered up the fines' set o' shiny in Waco fer Sissy.” + </p> + <p> + “It beats <i>me</i>,” said Newt Pinson; “but I allers did say that the + women o' Jim-Ned, <i>ez wives</i>, air the outbeatenes' critters in + creation!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE COURTSHIP OF COLONEL BILL + </h2> + <h3> + BY J. J. EAKINS + </h3> + <p> + It was early morning in the Bluegrass. The triumphant sun was driving the + white mist before it from wood and rolling meadow-land, rousing the drowsy + cattle from their tranquil dreams and quickening into fuller life all the + inhabitants of that favored region, from the warlike woodpecker with his + head of flame high up in the naked tree-top to the timid ground-squirrel + flitting along the graystone fences. It glorified with splendid + impartiality the apple blossoms in the orchards and the vagabond + blackberry bushes blooming by the roadside; and then, with many a mile of + smiling pastures in its victorious wake, it burst over the low rampart of + stable roofs encircling the old Lexington race-course, and, after a hasty + glimpse at the horses speeding around the track and the black boys singing + and slouching from stall to stall with buckets of water on their heads, it + rushed impetuously into an old-fashioned, deep-waisted family barouche + beside one of the stables, and shone full upon a slender, girlish figure + within. It wasted no time upon a purple-faced old gentleman beside her, + nor upon two young gentlemen on the seat opposite, but rested with bold + and ardent admiration upon the young girl's face, touching her cheeks with + a color as delicate as the apple blossoms in the orchards, and weaving + into her rich brown hair the red gold of its own beams. + </p> + <p> + The picture was so dazzling and altogether so unprecedented that Colonel + Bill Jarvis, the young owner of the stable, who had come swinging around + the corner, whistling a lively tune, his hat thrown back on his head, and + who had almost run plump into the carriage, stopped abruptly and stood + staring. He was roused to a realizing sense of his position by Major + Cicero Johnson, editor of the Lexington <i>Chronicle</i> and president of + the association, who was standing beside the barouche, saying, with that + courtliness of manner and amplitude of rhetoric which made him a fixture + in the legislative halls at Frankfort: “Colonel Bill, I want to present + you to General Thomas Anderson Braxton, the hero of two wars, of whom as a + Kentuckian you must be proud, and his sons Matt and Jack, and his + daughter, Miss Sue, the Flower of the Blue-grass. Ladies and gentlemen,” + he continued, with an oratorical wave of his hand towards the Colonel, who + had bowed gravely to each person in turn to whom he was introduced, “this + is my friend Colonel Bill Jarvis, the finest horseman and the most gallant + young turfman between the Ohio River and the Gulf of Mexico.” + </p> + <p> + While the Major was speaking, Colonel Bill's eyes wandered from the two + young gentlemen on the front seat to the purple-faced old General on the + rear seat, and then rested on Miss Braxton. Her eyes met his, and she + smiled. It was such a pleasant, gracious, encouraging smile, and there was + so much kindliness in the depths of the soft brown eyes, that the Colonel + was reassured at once. + </p> + <p> + “We have come to disturb you at this unearthly hour,” said Miss Braxton, + apologetically, “because I wanted to see the horses at their work, and + father and my brothers were good enough to come with me.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Bill explained that his horses had finished their morning + exercise, but that it would afford him great pleasure to show them in + their stalls. Miss Braxton was sure that they were putting him to a great + deal of trouble, and she was also convinced that to see horses in their + stalls must be delightful; so presently the party was marching along under + the shed, looking at the calm-eyed thoroughbreds in their narrow little + homes, the Colonel and Miss Braxton leading the way. + </p> + <p> + With the wisdom of her sex, Miss Braxton concealed her lack of special + knowledge by a generous general enthusiasm which captivated her + simple-hearted host. + </p> + <p> + “And that is really Beau Brummel!” she cried, with sparkling eyes, + pointing to a splendid deep-chested animal, who was regarding them with + mild curiosity. “And that is Queen of Sheba next to him! What lovely heads + they have, and how very proud you must be to own them!” One would have + thought her days and nights had been given to a study of these two + thoroughbreds. + </p> + <p> + “They are the best long-distance horses in the country,” said the Colonel, + flushing with pleasure. And then, in reply to her eager questioning, he + gave their pedigrees and performances, all their battles and victories, in + detail—a list as long and glorious as the triumphs of Napoleon, and + perhaps as useful. At each stall she had fresh questions to ask. Her + brothers, with an eye to the coming meeting, listened eagerly to the + Colonel's answers, while the Major and the General, lagging behind, + discussed affairs of state. At last the horses were all seen; everybody + shook hands with the Colonel and thanked him, the General with great + pompousness, and Miss Braxton with a smile, and a hope that she might see + him during the meeting; and the old barouche went lumbering away down the + road, until it presently buried itself, like a monstrous cuttlefish, in a + cloud of its own making. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Bill looked after it with a pleased expression on his face, and + pulling his tawny mustache reflectively, muttered to himself with true + masculine acuteness, “She knew as much about my horses as I did myself.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The great Lexington meeting was in the full tide of its success. + Peach-cheeked, bright-eyed Blue-grass girls, and their big-boned, + deep-chested admirers, riding and driving in couples and parties, filled + all the white, dusty tumpikes leading to the race-course, and made gay the + quaint old Lexington streets. The grand-stand echoed with their merriment, + and they cheered home the horses with an enthusiasm seen nowhere else in + the world. + </p> + <p> + The centre of the liveliest of all these merry groups, noticeable for her + grace and beauty even there, where so many lovely girls were gathered, was + Miss Braxton. She was continuously surrounded by a devoted body-guard of + young men, many of whom had ridden miles to catch a glimpse of her + bewitching face, and who felt more than recompensed for their efforts by a + glance from her bright eyes. + </p> + <p> + On the first day of the meeting Colonel Bill, arrayed with unusual care, + had eagerly scanned the occupants of the grand-stand. His eyes ran + heedlessly over scores of pretty faces, until finally they rested upon the + group around Miss Braxton. Then carefully buttoning up his coat and + straightening out his tall figure, as a brave man might who was about to + lead a forlorn hope or receive his opponent's fire, he bore down upon + them. Miss Braxton welcomed him cordially, and introduced him to the + gentlemen about her. She straightway became so gracious to him that he + aroused an amazing amount of suspicion and dislike in the little circle, + to all of which, however, he was happily oblivious. He was a capital + mimic, and under the inspiration of her applause he told innumerable negro + stories with such lifelike fidelity to nature that even the hostile circle + was convulsed, and Miss Braxton laughed until the tears ran down her + cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Time sped so swiftly that the last race was run before the Colonel was + aware that the programme was half over, and he found himself saying + good-bye to Miss Braxton, and wishing with all his heart he were one of + the half-dozen lucky young men who were waiting on their horses outside to + escort her carriage back to Lexington. + </p> + <p> + It was that same evening old Elias, Colonel Bill's body-servant and + general assistant, noticed a most surprising development in his young + employer. One of the Colonel's most prized possessions was a fiddle. It + bad never been known, in all the years he owned it, to utter aught except + the most joyful sounds. Whenever he picked it up, as he frequently did on + winter nights, when everybody gathered around the big wood fire in his + room, the stable-boys at once made ready to beat time to “Money Musk,” + “Old Dan Tucker,” and other cheerful airs. + </p> + <p> + On this particular night the Colonel seized the fiddle and strode gloomily + to the end of the stable. Presently there came forth upon the night air + such melancholy and dismal notes as made every stable-boy, from little + Pete to big Mose, shiver. As the lugubrious sounds continued, the boys + fled to their loft, leaving Elias, who had watched over the Colonel from + his infancy, to keep vigil, with a troubled look on his withered face. + Many nights thereafter was this singular proceeding repeated, to the + ever-increasing wonderment of Elias. + </p> + <p> + Every day during the meeting when Miss Braxton was at the track Colonel + Bill sought her out. Sometimes he had a chance for a long talk, but + oftener he was forced to content himself with shorter interviews. More + than once he noticed General Braxton join his daughter when he approached, + and he found that old warrior's manner growing more and more cold. + </p> + <p> + “He's a loser,” thought the Colonel, to whom it never for a moment + occurred that his own presence might be disagreeable to any one. “A man + oughtn't to bet when he can't stand a-losing,” he concluded, + philosophically, and then he dismissed the matter from his mind. + </p> + <p> + On the last day of the races, after waiting for an hour or more to speak + alone to Miss Braxton, and finding her constantly guarded by her father, + who looked fiercer than usual, Colonel Bill was finally compelled to join + her as she and the General were leaving the grand-stand. She saw him + coming, and stopped, a pleased look on her face. The General, with a + frigid nod, moved on a few paces and left them together. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to ask if I might call on you this evening, Miss Braxton,” + said the Colonel, timidly, “if you have no other engagement.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be very glad indeed to have you call,” she replied, cordially, + adding, with a smile, “You know, Lexington is not so wildly gay that we + haven't ample time to see our friends.” + </p> + <p> + As he walked away the Colonel thought he heard his name mentioned by + General Braxton, and although the words were inaudible, the tone was sharp + and commanding. He turned and glanced back. The girl's face was flushed, + and she looked excited, something unusual to her self-contained, reposeful + manner. As they moved out of hearing, the General was still talking with + great earnestness, and a feeling of uneasiness began to oppress him. This + feeling had not altogether departed when he galloped into Lexington that + night, his long-tailed, white linen duster buttoned up to his chin, the + brim of his soft black hat pulled down over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The Elms, a roomy old-fashioned house encircled by wide verandas, the home + of the Braxtons for generations, was one of the landmarks of Lexington. A + long stretch of lawn filled with shrubbery and clumps of trees protected + its inmates from the city's dust and turmoil and almost concealed the + house itself from view. The Colonel, to whom the Elms was perfectly well + known, never drew rein till he was before it, and then, checking his horse + so suddenly that a less intelligent animal would have turned a somersault, + swung himself out of the saddle with the ease of one who had spent the + greater part of his life there, fastened the bridle to a ring in a great + oak-tree by the curbing, and opening the big iron gate, strode up the + gravelled walk which wound through the shrubbery. + </p> + <p> + Miss Braxton had been sitting at the piano in the drawing-room playing + softly. The long windows looking out on the veranda were opened to admit + the balmy air, and before her visitor arrived she heard his approaching + footsteps. + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad you have come,” she said, walking out to meet him; “I was + afraid that in the excitement of the race-track you might have forgotten + our engagement. I felt a little depressed this evening, and that is + another reason why I am glad to see you.” She led the way back into the + drawing-room as she talked, and invited the Colonel to sit beside her on + one of the sofas. In the soft glow of the dimly lighted lamps he thought + she had never appeared so beautiful; and the rich fragrance of the + dew-laden roses and honeysuckle wafted in through the open windows seemed + to him to be an atmosphere peculiar to her alone, like the exceeding + sweetness of her soft, low voice and the easy grace of her movements. + </p> + <p> + In reply to her questions he told her of his adventures on far Southern + tracks, and of the careless, reckless life he had led. He had seen many + strange and stirring sights during his wanderings; and to her, whose young + life lead hitherto flown along as peacefully as a meadow-brook, it seemed + like a new and thrilling romance, with a living being in place of the + printed page. Once he mentioned a woman's name, and she started. + </p> + <p> + “In all that time,” she inquired, softly, her eyes lowered, “did no woman + ever come into your life?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered, simply; “I never thought of a woman then.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her eyes to his, and lowered them instantly, her face flushing. + </p> + <p> + During a moment's lull in the conversation the hour was struck from a + neighboring steeple. They both started, half-guiltily. It was midnight. He + at once arose to go, apologizing for the lateness of his visit. + </p> + <p> + “I would like to see you again, Miss Braxton, before I go North,” he said, + as he prepared to leave. + </p> + <p> + She had risen with him, and they were both standing beside the mantel. Her + face paled. Then she turned her head aside, and said, in a tone that was + almost inaudible, “Father objects.” + </p> + <p> + He became rigid instantly, and his lips grew white. “I suppose your father + don't know who I am,” he said, proudly. “My family is as good as any in + the State. I loved horses and the life and color of the race-track, and + refused to go to college when I could. Until I met you I never thought of + anything except horses. But that pedigree of my people is straight. There + isn't a cold cross on either side. I know I amount to nothing myself,” he + continued, bitterly, his eyes resting gloomily on the floor; “I'm only a + no-account old selling-plater, and I'll just go back to the stable, where + I belong.” Here an unusual sound interrupted him, and he looked up. The + girl, with her head on her arm, was leaning against the mantel, sobbing + quietly. In a moment he forgot all about himself and snatched up her + disengaged hand. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really care?” he cried, pressing the fluttering little hand in + both of his. + </p> + <p> + She lifted up her face, the soft brown eyes swimming in tears. “I wouldn't + mind,” she replied, half laughing and half sobbing—“I wouldn't mind + at all about the pedigree, and I know you're not an old selling-plater; + but if you were, I am very sure that I would care for you.” + </p> + <p> + The Lexington meeting was over, and the horsemen were scattered far and + wide, from Chicago to Sheepshead Bay. Colonel Bill alone remained behind. + As the days passed and he made no preparation to depart, old Elias's + irritation grew apace, and the lives of the stable-boys under the + increasing rigor of his rule became almost unendurable. The Colonel, + however, saw very little of Elias or the stable-boys. Even his beloved + horses no longer interested him. He passed the days walking the streets of + Lexington, hoping by some chance to meet Miss Braxton, and it was not + until late at night that he returned to the race-track, foot-sore and + disappointed. He had been too deeply wounded and was too proud to make any + further effort to visit the Elms, and he thought it would be unmanly and + ungenerous to ask Miss Braxton to meet him away from her father's house. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time the old General's wrath increased as the days passed. He + was unused to any kind of opposition, and the Colonel's persistence + irritated him beyond measure. The dream of his life was a brilliant + marriage for his daughter, and no amount of argument could alter his + opinion that Colonel Bill was a rude, unlettered stable-man. + </p> + <p> + “Why, sir,” he would exclaim, over a mint-julep, to his friend Major + Johnson, who always defended the Colonel vigorously, “the idea of such + attentions to my daughter is preposterous—ludicrous! I will not + permit it, sir—not for one moment. If he persists in annoying my + family, sir,” and the purple hue of the General's face deepened, “I would + no more hesitate to shoot him—no more, by gad!—than I would a + rattlesnake.” After the fourth or fifth julep he did not always confine + his conversation to his friend, and so his threats often found their way + back to the object of his wrath, losing nothing by the journey. Although + the Colonel's disposition was the sunniest, the strain to which he was + being subjected was telling on his nerves, and once or twice he replied + sharply to the tale-bearers. The little city was soon excited over the + quarrel, and every movement of the principals was eagerly noted. + </p> + <p> + “My money goes on Bill,” said Jule Chinn, the proprietor of the Blue-grass + Club, when the matter came up for discussion there between deals. “I saw + him plug that creole down in Orleans. First he throws him down the steps + of the St. Charles for insultin' a lady. When Frenchy insists on a duel + an' Bill gets up in front of him, he says, in that free-an'-easy way of + his, 'We mark puppies up in my country by cutting their ears, and that's + what I'm going to do to you, for you ain't fit to die,' an' blame me if he + don't just pop bullets through that fellow's ears like you'd punch holes + in a piece of cheese!” After that the Colonel ruled a strong favorite in + the betting. + </p> + <p> + When this condition of affairs had existed for two weeks, the Colonel + arose one morning from a sleepless bed with a fixed idea in his mind. He + sat down to a table in his room, pulled out some writing-paper, and set to + work. After many sheets had been covered and destroyed, he finally decided + upon the following: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MISS BRAXTON,—I am going away from Lexington to-morrow, + probably never to return. Will you be at your father's gate at three + o'clock this afternoon, as I would like to say good-bye to you before I + go? + </p> + <p> + “Your sincere friend, + </p> + <h3> + “WILLIAM JARVIS” + </h3> + <p> + After he had finished this epistle it seemed to him entirely too cold; but + the others, which he had written in a more sentimental vein, had appeared + unduly presumptuous. He finally sealed it and gave it to Pete, with + terrific threats of personal violence in case of anything preventing its + prompt delivery. While Pete was galloping off to Lexington at breakneck + speed, the Colonel was wondering what the answer would be. + </p> + <p> + “I'll just say good-bye to her,” he muttered, moodily, “and then I'll + never see her again. I suppose I belong with the horses, anyhow, and that + old bottle-nosed General has me classed all right!” + </p> + <p> + When Pete returned he handed the Colonel a dainty little three-cornered + note. It was addressed to “My dear friend,” and the writer was <i>so sorry</i> + he was going away so <i>very soon</i>, and had hoped he would stay <i>ever</i> + so much longer, and then signed herself cordially his, Susan Burleigh + Braxton. At the bottom was a postscript—“I will expect you at three + o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + An hour before the appointed time the Colonel was striding impatiently up + and down before the Elms, incessantly consulting his watch or wistfully + gazing up the gravelled walk. It still lacked several minutes of three, + when his heart gave a great jump as he saw Miss Braxton's graceful figure + flitting in and out through the shrubbery. She stopped to pluck some roses + from a bush that hung over the walk, bending down the richly laden bough + so that the flowers made a complete circle about her bright young face, + and as she raised her eyes she caught the Colonel gazing at her with such + a look of abject idolatry that she laughed and blushed. “You see I am on + time,” she cried, gayly, hastening down to the gate and handing him one of + her roses. “I am going to the post-office, and you may walk with me if you + care to.” If he cared to! Her mere presence beside him, the feeling that + he could reach out his hand and touch her, the music of her voice, filled + him with a joy of which he had never before dreamed. + </p> + <p> + After they had left the post-office, by mutual direction their footsteps + turned from the more crowded thoroughfares, and they walked down a quiet + and deserted street where the stones were covered with moss, and where + solemn gnarled old trees lined the way on either side and met above their + heads, the fresh green leaves murmuring softly together like living + things. + </p> + <p> + They reached the end of the old street, and were almost in the country. A + wide-spreading chestnut-tree stood before them, around whose giant bole a + rustic seat had been built. They walked towards it in silence and sat down + side by side. + </p> + <p> + They were entirely alone. A gay young red-bird, his head knowingly cocked + on one side, perched in the branches just above them. A belated bumblebee, + already heavy laden, hung over a cluster of wild flowers at their feet. A + long-legged garrulous grasshopper, undismayed by their presence, uttered + his clarion notes on the seat beside them. + </p> + <p> + The inquisitive young red-bird looking down could only see a soft black + hat and a white straw hat with flowers about its broad brim. He heard the + black hat wondering if any one ever thought of him, to which the straw hat + replied softly that it was sure some one did think of him very often. Then + the black hat wondered if some one, when it was away, would continue to + think of it, and the flowered straw, still more softly, was very, very + sure some one would. + </p> + <p> + Then the red-bird saw such a remarkable thing happen that his bright eyes + almost popped out of his little head. He saw a hand and a powerful arm + suddenly steal out from below the black hat and move in the direction of + the flowered straw—not hurriedly, but stealthily and surely. Having + reached it, the hand and the arm drew the unresisting flowered straw in + the direction of the black hat, until presently the hats came together. + And then the red-bird, himself desperately in love, knew what it all + meant, and burst into jubilant song. And the hard-working bumblebee, who + also had a sweetheart, took a moment's rest in honor of the event and + buzzed his delight; and even the long-legged grasshopper, an admirer of + the sex, but a confirmed bachelor, shouted his approbation until he was + fairly hoarse. + </p> + <p> + It was some time before the adventurous hand could be put back where it + properly belonged, and the face beneath the straw, when it came into view, + was a very flushed face, but the brown eyes shone like stars. As they + walked through the old street, the setting sun filling the air with a + golden glory, they passed a sweet-faced old lady cutting flowers in her + garden, and she smiled an indulgent smile, and they nodded and smiled back + at her. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to promise me something,” Miss Braxton said, suddenly stopping + and looking up at him. “I want you to promise me,” she continued, not + waiting for his reply, “that you will not quarrel with my father. He is + the best father in the world. My mother died when I was a child, and since + then he has been father and mother and the whole world to me. I could + never forgive myself if you exchanged a harsh word with him.” + </p> + <p> + “If all the stories I hear are true,” replied the Colonel, with a + good-humored laugh, “your father is the one for you to see.” + </p> + <p> + “My father says a great deal which he frequently regrets the moment + afterwards,” she responded, earnestly. “He is a warm-hearted and an + impulsive man, and the dearest and best father in the world.” The Colonel + gave the desired promise, and they walked on in silence. When they reached + the Elms, and her hand was on the big iron gate, she turned to him, an + appealing look in her eyes. “Must you really go to-morrow?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am compelled to go,” he replied, sadly. “I have already remained here + too long. I must start to-morrow night.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you are going away,” she said, + softly, extending her hand. He caught it up passionately. + </p> + <p> + “I must see you again!” he cried. “I can't go away until I do. It is hard + enough to leave even then. I won't ask you to come away from your father's + house to meet me, but you could be here, couldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “When shall I come?” she asked, simply. + </p> + <p> + “The train leaves to-morrow night at twelve. Could you be here at eleven?” + </p> + <p> + “I will be here at eleven,” she said; and then, with a brave attempt to + smile, she turned away. Just at that moment General Braxton rounded the + neighboring corner and came straight towards them. + </p> + <p> + In the hotel across the way the loungers leaning back in their + cane-bottomed chairs straightened up with keenest interest and delight. + Jule Chinn in the Blue-grass Club up-stairs, happening to glance out of + the window, turned his box over, and remarked that if any gentleman cared + to bet, he would lay any part of $5000 on Bill. When the General was + directly opposite him Colonel Bill gravely and courteously lifted his hat. + For an instant the old man hesitated, and then, with a glance at his + daughter, he lifted his own hat and passed through the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be——!” cried Jule, with a whistle of infinite + amazement. “Things is changed in Kentucky!” + </p> + <p> + “That,” said Major Cicero Johnson, who had exchanged several hundred + subscriptions to his paper for an ever-decreasing pile of Jule's blue + chips—“that is the tribute which valor pays to beauty. Their + pleasure has only been postponed. Colonel Chinn, you have overlooked that + small wager on the ace. Thanks.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later Colonel Bill was galloping out to the race-track, gayly + singing a popular love-song. Suddenly something occurred to him and he + stopped, reached back into his hip-pocket, and drew out a long pistol. He + threw it as far as he could into a neighboring brier-patch, and once more + giving rein to his horse, began to sing with renewed enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the track he called old Elias into his room, and they + remained together for a long time in whispered conference. That night any + one who happened to have been belated on the Versailles 'pike might have + passed Elias jogging along on his horse, looking very important, and an + air of mystery enveloping him like a garment. + </p> + <p> + It was far into the night when he returned. As he started to creep up the + ladder to the loft above his young master's room, his shoes in his hand so + as not to awaken him, the Colonel, who had been tossing on a sleepless bed + for hours, called out. Elias, who evidently regarded himself as a + conspirator, waited until he had reached the loft, and then whispered + back, “Hit's all right, Marse Bill,” and was instantly swallowed up in the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + It was one of those perfect June nights so often seen in Kentucky. The + full moon hung in a cloudless sky, filling the air with a soft white + radiance. There was not a movement in the still, warm atmosphere, and to + Colonel Bill, waiting beneath the shadows of the big oak-tree near the + General's gate, it seemed that all nature was waiting with him. The leaves + above his head, the gray old church steeple beyond the house, the long + stretch of deserted streets—they all wore a hushed, expectant look. + </p> + <p> + It was several minutes past the appointed hour, and Miss Braxton had not + come. He had begun to fear that perhaps her father, suspecting something, + had detained her, when he saw her figure, a white outline among the + rose-bushes, far up the walk. As she drew near he stepped out from the + shadows, and she gave a little cry of delight. + </p> + <p> + “I know I am late, but I was talking with father,” she said, + apologetically, and the brown eyes became troubled. “He was very restless + and nervous to-night and when he is in that condition he says I soothe + him.” They had slowly walked towards the tree as she was speaking, and + when she had finished they were completely hidden from any chance passer. + She glanced up, and even in the gloom she noticed how white and tense was + his face. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” he cried, abruptly, “if I go away from Lexington to-night + it will only be to return in a day, or two days? For weeks I have been + able to think of nothing, to dream of nothing, except you. I haven't come + here to-night to say good-bye to you,” he continued, passionately, + “because I cannot say good-bye to you, but to implore you to come with me—to + marry me—to-night—now.” She shrank back. “I have made all my + arrangements,” he continued, feverishly. “I have a cousin, a minister, + living in Versailles. Once a month he preaches in a little church on the + 'pike near there. I sent word by Elias last night for him to meet us there + to-night, and he said he would. Elias has the horses under the trees + yonder; they will be here in a moment, and in an hour we will be married. + Come!” His arms were around her, and while he spoke she was carried away + by the rush of his passion, and yielded to it with a feeling of languorous + delight. Then there came the thought of the lonely old man who would be + left behind. She slipped gently from her lover's arms and looked back at + the house which had been her home for so many years. She saw the light, in + her father's room, and recalled how she went there when she was a little + girl to say her prayers at his knee and kiss him good-night. He had always + been so kind to her, so willing to sacrifice himself for her pleasure, and + he was so old. What would he do when she had gone out of his life? No; she + could not desert him. She covered her face with her hands. “I cannot leave + father,” she sobbed. “I cannot; I must not.” They had moved out from the + shadow of the tree into the moonlight. He had taken her hand, and had + begun to renew his appeals, when they were both startled by the sound of + footsteps on the gravelled walk and the General's voice crying, “Sue! Sue, + where are you?” At the same moment Elias came up, leading two horses. The + Colonel and Miss Braxton stood just as they were, too surprised to move. + They could not escape in any event, for almost as soon as the words + reached them the General came into view. He saw them at once, and it + required only a glance at the approaching horses to tell him everything. + With an inarticulate cry of rage, his gray hair streaming behind him, he + rushed wildly back to the house. The Colonel looked after him, and then + turned to Miss Braxton. + </p> + <p> + “He has gone to arm himself,” he said, quietly. “He will be back with your + brothers.” + </p> + <p> + The girl looked up in his face and shivered. Then she glanced towards the + house, where lights were flashing from room to room, and the doors were + being opened and shut, and she wrung her hands. In the stillness every + sound could be heard—the rush of footsteps down the stairs, the + fierce commands, the creaking of the great stable door in the rear of the + house. + </p> + <p> + “They are getting out the horses,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied, calmly. “He thought we were running away.” There was + not a tremor in his voice. She was reared in a society where physical + bravery is the first of virtues, and even in that terrible moment she + could not help feeling a thrill of pride as she looked at him. + </p> + <p> + She never thought of asking him to fly. She could hear the horses as they + were led out of their stalls one by one, their hoofs echoing sharply on + the stone flagging. Her excited imagination supplied all the details. Now + they were putting on the bridles; now they were fastening the saddles; + they were mounted; the gate was being opened; in another moment they would + sweep down on them. Then she looked at her lover standing there so + motionless, waiting—for what? The thought of it was maddening. + </p> + <p> + “Quick! quick!” she cried, wildly, catching his arm; “I will go with you.” + </p> + <p> + Without a word he lifted her up in his arms and seated her on one of the + horses. He carefully tested the saddle, although the hoofs of their + pursuers' horses were already ringing on the street behind the house. Then + he swung himself easily into the saddle, and was hardly there before the + General and his two sons swept around the neighboring corner, not fifty + yards away. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Elias,” called the Colonel, cheerfully, as they shot out into + the moonlit street; and Elias's “God bless you bofe, Marse Bill!” came to + them above the rush of the horses. + </p> + <p> + As they went clattering through the quiet streets and past the rows of + darkened houses, the horses, with their sinewy necks straightened out + speeding so swiftly that the balmy air blew a soft wind in their riders' + faces, Colonel Bill, with a slight shade of disappointment in his voice, + said: + </p> + <p> + “I guess you didn't get a good look at the horses, or you would have + recognized them. That's old Beau Brummel you're on, and this is Queen of + Sheba. They're both fit, although they haven't been particularly trained + for these free-for-all scrambles, owners' handicap, ten miles + straightaway. But I don't believe there's a horse in Kentucky can catch us + to-night,” he concluded, proudly patting the neck of his thoroughbred. He + glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, and noted that the distance between + them and their pursuers was constantly widening, until, turning a corner, + they could neither see nor hear them. + </p> + <p> + And now the Colonel's spirits fairly bubbled over. He was a superb rider, + and swinging carelessly in his saddle, his hands hardly touching the + reins, he kept up a running stream of jocular comment. + </p> + <p> + “It looks to me like the old gentleman's going to be distanced,” he cried, + with a chuckle, “He can't say a word, though, for he made the conditions + of this race. The start was a trifle straggling, as Jack Calloway told me + once when he left seven horses at the post in a field of ten, and perhaps + the Beau and the Queen didn't have the worst of it.” + </p> + <p> + In every possible way he sought to divert his companion's mind. Once or + twice she delighted him by faintly smiling a response to his speeches. + They had passed the last of the straggling houses, and the turnpike + stretched before them, a white ribbon winding through the green + meadow-land. They had to wait while a sleepy tollgate-keeper lifted his + wooden bar, and straining their ears, they could just catch the faint, + far-away sound of galloping horses. + </p> + <p> + “In another hour,” he cried, pressing her hand, and once more they were + off. A mile farther on they stopped again. Before them was a narrow lane + debauching from the turnpike. + </p> + <p> + “That lane,” he said, reflectively, “would save us a good two miles, for + the 'pike makes a big bend here. Elias told me that he heard it was closed + up, and we might get in there and not be able to get out. We can't afford + to take the chance,” he concluded, thoughtfully, and they continued on + their journey. For some time neither spoke. As they were about to enter + the wood through which the road passed they stopped to breathe their + horses. + </p> + <p> + “I don't hear them,” said the girl. Then she added, joyfully, “Perhaps + they have turned back.” + </p> + <p> + He listened attentively. “Perhaps they have,” he said, at last. + </p> + <p> + As they rode forward more than once an anxious expression passed over his + face, although his conversation was as cheerful as ever. Miss Braxton, + from whose mind a great weight had been lifted, laughed and chatted as she + had not done since the journey began. + </p> + <p> + They had passed through the wood and were out in the open country again. + As they galloped on, only the distant barking of a watch-dog guarding some + lonely farm-house, or the premature crowing of a barn fowl, deceived by + the brilliancy of the moonlight into thinking that day had come, broke the + absolute silence. They might have been the one woman and the one man in a + new world, so profound was their isolation. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see that group of trees on the hill there just ahead of us,” he + asked, carelessly, as the horses slowed to a canter. “Well, just the other + side of those trees the lane we passed joins the 'pike again. Now it is + possible that instead of your amiable relatives going home, they may have + taken to the lane. If it hasn't been closed, they may be waiting there to + welcome us.” For a moment the girl was deceived by the lightness of his + manner; and then, as she realized what such a situation meant, she grew + white to the lips. “The chances are,” he continued, cheerfully, “that they + won't be there, but we had just as well be prepared. If they are there we + must approach them just as if we were going to talk to them, slowing up + almost to a walk. They will be on my side, and I will keep in the middle + of the 'pike. You remain as close to the fence as you can. When we get + opposite them I'll yell, 'Now!' You can give your horse his head, and + before they know what's happened we will be a hundred yards away. All my + horses have been trained to get away from the post, and these two are the + quickest breakers on the Western Circuit. Now let's go over the plan + again.” And the Colonel carefully repeated what he had said, illustrating + it as he went along. Yes, she understood him. It was very simple. How + could she forget it? As she told him this her frightened eyes never left + his face, and she followed his movements with such a look of pain that he + swore at her father, under his breath, with a vigor which did full justice + to the occasion. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes' ride brought them to the top of the hill, and they both + looked eagerly before them. A furlong away, standing perfectly still in + the middle of the lane, their horses' heads facing the turnpike, were + three mounted men. It required no second glance to identify the watchers. + Colonel Bill's eyes blazed, and his right hand went back instinctively to + his empty pistol-pocket. He regained his composure in a moment. “Go very + slow,” he whispered, “and don't make a move till I shout. Keep as far over + to your side as you can.” They approached the three grim watchers, their + horses almost eased to a walk. Not a word was spoken on either side. When + they had reached a point almost directly opposite their pursuers, Colonel + Bill made a pretence of pulling up his horse, only to catch the reins in a + firmer grip, and then, with a sudden dig of the spurs, he yelled, “Now!” + and his horse sprang forward like a frightened deer. At the same instant + Miss Braxton deliberately swung her horse across the road and behind his. + Then there came the sharp report of a pistol, followed by the rush of the + pursuing horses. But high above all other sounds rose General Braxton's + agonized voice: “My God, don't shoot! Don't shoot!” Before the Colonel + could turn in his saddle Miss Braxton was beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you stay where you were?” he cried, sharply, the sense of her + peril setting his nerves on edge. As he realized that it was for his sake + she had come between him and danger, his eyes grew moist. “Suppose you had + been hurt?” he added, reproachfully. She did not reply, and they rode on + at full speed. They had once more left their pursuers behind; but as the + church was now only a few miles away, and they needed every spare moment + there, they urged their horses to renewed effort. + </p> + <p> + “There is the church now, and it's lighted up,” cried the Colonel, + joyfully, as they dashed around a bend in the road, pointing to a little + one-story building tucked away amid trees and under-brush beside the + turnpike. In the doorway the minister stood waiting for them—a tall + young man whose ruddy face, broad shoulders, and humorous blue eyes + suggested the relationship the Colonel had mentioned. As they pulled up, + the young minister came forward and was introduced by the Colonel as “My + cousin, Jim Bradley.” While they were both assisting Miss Braxton to + dismount and fastening the horses, the Colonel, in a few words, told of + the pursuit and of the necessity of haste. Mr. Bradley led the way into + the church, the lovers following arm in arm. It was a plain whitewashed + little room, with wooden benches for the worshippers, and a narrow aisle + leading up to the platform, where stood the preacher's pulpit. Half a + dozen lamps with bright tin reflectors behind them, like halos, were + fastened to brackets high up on the walls. The young couple stopped when + they reached the platform, and at Mr. Bradley's request joined their + hands. He had opened the prayer-book at the marriage service, and was + beginning to read it, when he gave a start. Far away down the turnpike, + faint but unmistakable—now dying away into a mere murmur, now rising + clear and bold—came the sound of galloping horses. The Colonel felt + the girl's hand cold in his, and he whispered a word of encouragement. Mr. + Bradley hurried on with the ceremony. The centuries-old questions, so + often asked beneath splendid domes before fashionable assemblages to the + accompaniment of triumphant music, were never answered with more truth and + fervor than in that little roadside church, with no one to hear them but + the listening trees and the heart of the night wind. + </p> + <p> + “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love her, comfort + her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all + others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?” + </p> + <p> + How he pressed the trembling little hand in his, and how devotedly he + answered, “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband? Wilt thou obey him and + serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health, and + forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall + live?” + </p> + <p> + The downcast eyes were covered with the drooping lids, and the voice was + faint and low, but what a world of love was in the simple, “I will.” + </p> + <p> + As the young minister, very solemn and dignified now, paused for each + reply, there came ever nearer and ever louder the ringing of the + hoof-beats. Once he stole a hurried glance through the window which gave + on the turnpike. Not half a mile away, their figures black against the + sky-line, fiercely lashing their tired horses to fresh effort, were three + desperate riders. The couple before him did not raise their eyes. + </p> + <p> + And now the concluding words of the service had been reached, and the + minister had begun, “Those whom God hath joined together—” when the + rest of the sentence was lost in the old General's angry shout, as he + flung himself from his horse, and, with his sons at his heels, rushed into + the church. At the threshold they stopped with blanched faces, for, as + they entered, the girl, uttering a faint cry, her face whiter than her + gown, down which a little stream of blood was trickling, reeled and + tottered, and fell senseless into her husband's arms. + </p> + <p> + A few days later Major Johnson's Lexington <i>Chronicle</i>, under the + heading “Jarvis—Braxton,” contained the following: + </p> + <p> + “Colonel William Jarvis, the distinguisbed and genial young turfman, and + Miss Susan Braxton, the beautiful and accomplished daughter of General + Thomas Anderson Braxton, the hero of two wars, whose name is a household + word wherever valor is honored and eloquence is admired, were united in + marriage Monday night. With the romance of youth, the young couple + determined to avoid the conventionalities of society, and only the bride's + father and two brothers were present. Immediately preceding the ceremony + the lovely bride was accidentally injured by the premature explosion of a + fire-arm, but her hosts of friends will be delighted to learn that the + mishap was not of a serious character. The young couple are now the guests + of General Braxton at the historic Elms. We are informed, however, that + Colonel Jarvis contemplates retiring from the turf and purchasing a + stock-farm near Lexington. As a souvenir of his marriage he has promised + his distinguished father-in-law the first three good horses he raises.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALANCE OF POWER + </h2> + <h3> + BY MAURICE THOMPSON + </h3> + <p> + “I don't hesitate to say to you that I regard him as but a small remove in + nature from absolute trash, Phyllis—absolute trash! His character + may be good—doubtless it is; but he is not of good family, and he + shows it. What is he but a mountain cracker? There is no middle ground; + trash is trash!” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Mobley Sommerton spoke in a rich bass voice, slowly rolling his + words. The bagging of his trousers at the knees made his straight legs + appear bent, as if for a jump at something, while his daughter Phyllis + looked at him searchingly, but not in the least impatiently, her fine gray + eyes wide open, and her face, with its delicately blooming cheeks, its + peach-petal lips, and its saucy little nose, all attention and + half-indignant surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” the Colonel went on, with a conciliatory touch in his words, + when he had waited some time for his daughter to speak and she spoke not—“of + course you do not care a straw for him, Phyllis; I know that. The daughter + of a Sommerton couldn't care for such a—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind saying to you that I do care for him, and that I love him, + and want to marry him,” broke in Phyllis, with tremulous vehemence, tears + gushing from her eyes at the same time; and a depth of touching pathos + seemed to open behind her words, albeit they rang like so many notes of + rank boldness in the old man's ears. + </p> + <p> + “Phyllis!” he exclaimed; then he stooped a little, his trousers bagging + still more, and he stood in an attitude almost stagy, a flare of choleric + surprise leaping into his face. “Phyllis Sommerton what <i>do</i> you + mean? Are you crazy? You say that to me?” + </p> + <p> + The girl—she was just eighteen—faced her father with a look at + once tearfully saucy and lovingly firm. The sauciness, however, was + superficial and physical, not in any degree a part of her mental mood. She + could not, had she tried, have been the least bit wilful or impertinent + with her father, who had always been a model of tenderness. Besides, a + girl never lived who loved a parent more unreservedly than Phyllis loved + Colonel Sommerton. + </p> + <p> + “Go to your room, miss! go to your room! Step lively at that, and let me + have no more of this nonsense. Go! I command you!” + </p> + <p> + The stamp with which the Colonel's rather substantial boot just then shook + the floor seemed to generate some current of force sufficient to whirl + Phyllis about and send her up-stairs in an old-fashioned fit of hysteria. + She was crying and talking and running all at the same time, her voice + made liquid like a bird's, and yet jangling with its mixed emotions. Down + fell her wavy, long, brown hair almost to her feet, one rich strand + trailing over the rail as she mounted the steps, while the rustling of her + muslin dress told off the springy motion of her limbs till she disappeared + in the gilt-papered gloom aloft, where the windowless hall turned at right + angles with the stairway. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Sommerton was smiling grimly by this time, and his iron-gray + mustache quivered humorously. + </p> + <p> + “She's a little brick,” he muttered; “a chip off the old log—by + zounds, she is! She means business. Got the bit in her teeth, and fairly + splitting the air!” He chuckled raucously. “Let her go; she'll soon tire + out.” + </p> + <p> + Sommerton Place, a picturesque old mansion, as mansions have always gone + in north Georgia, stood in a grove of oaks on a hill-top overlooking a + little mountain town, beyond which uprose a crescent of blue peaks against + a dreamy summer sky. Behind the house a broad plantation rolled its + billow-like ridges of corn and cotton. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel went out on the veranda and lit a cigar, after breaking two or + three matches that he nervously scratched on a column. + </p> + <p> + This was the first quarrel that he had ever had with Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sommerton had died when Phyllis was twelve years old, leaving the + little girl to be brought up in a boarding-school in Atlanta. The widowed + man did not marry again, and when his daughter came home, six months + before the opening of our story, it was natural that he should see nothing + but loveliness in the fair, bright, only child of his happy wedded life, + now ended forever. + </p> + <p> + The reader must have taken for granted that the person under discussion in + the conversation touched upon at the outset of this writing was a young + man; but Tom Bannister stood for more than the sum of the average young + man's values. He was what in our republic is recognized as a promising + fellow, bright, magnetic, shifty, well forward in the neologies of + society, business, and politics, a born leader in a small way, and as + ambitious as poverty and a brimming self-esteem could make him. From his + humble law-office window he had seen Phyllis pass along the street in the + old Sommerton carriage, and had fallen in love as promptly as possible + with her plump, lissome form and pretty face. + </p> + <p> + He sought her acquaintance, avoided with cleverness a number of annoying + barriers, assaulted her heart, and won it, all of which stood as mere play + when compared with climbing over the pride and prejudice of Colonel + Sommerton. For Bannister was nobody in a social way, as viewed from the + lofty top of the hill at Sommerton Place; indeed, all of his kinspeople + were mountaineers, honest, it is true, but decidedly woodsy, who tilled + stony acres in a pocket beyond the first blue ridge yonder. His education + seemed good, but it had been snatched from the books by force, with the + savage certainty of grip which belongs to genius. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Sommerton, having unbounded confidence in Phyllis's aristocratic + breeding, would not open his eyes to the attitude of the young people + until suddenly it came into his head that possibly the almost briefless + plebeian lawyer had ulterior designs while climbing the hill, as he was + doing noticeably often, from town to Sommerton Place. But when this + thought arrived the Colonel was prompt to act. He called up the subject at + once, and we have seen the close of his interview with Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + Now he stood on the veranda and puffed his cigar with quick, short + draughts, as a man does who falters between two horns of a dilemma. He + turned his head to one side as if listening to his own thoughts, his tall, + pointed collar meantime fitting snugly in a crease of his furrowed jaw. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the shambling, yet in a way facile, footsteps of Barnaby, + the sporadic freedman of the household, were soothing. Colonel Sommerton + turned his eyes on the comer inquiringly, almost eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Barn, you're back,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yah, sah; I'se had er confab wid 'em,” remarked the negro, seating + himself on the top step of the veranda, and mopping his coal-black face + with a red cotton handkerchief; “an' hit do beat all. Niggahs is mos'ly + eejits, spacially w'en yo' wants 'em to hab some sense.” + </p> + <p> + He was a huge, ill-shapen, muscular fellow, old but still vigorous, and in + his small black eyes twinkled an unsounded depth of shrewdness. He had + been the Colonel's slave from his young manhood to the close of the war; + since then he had hung around Ellijay what time he was not sponging a + livelihood from Sommerton Place under color of doing various light turns + in the vegetable garden, and of attending to his quondam master's horses. + </p> + <p> + Barnaby was a great banjoist, a charming song-singer, and a leader of the + negroes around about. Lately he was gaining some reputation as a political + boss. + </p> + <p> + There was but one political party in the county (for the colored people + were so few that they could not be called a party), and the only struggle + for office came in the pursuit of a nomination, which was always + equivalent to election. Candidates were chosen at a convention or + mass-meeting of the whites and the only figure that the blacks were able + to cut in the matter was by reason of a pretended, rather than a real, + prejudice against them which was used by the candidates (who are always + white men) to further their electioneering schemes, as will presently + appear. + </p> + <p> + “Hit do beat all,” Barnaby repeated, shaking his heavy head reflectively, + and making a grimace both comical and hideous. “Dat young man desput sma't + and cunnin', sho's yo' bo'n he is. He done been foolin' wid dem niggahs + a'ready.” + </p> + <p> + The reader may as well be told at once that if a candidate could by any + means make the negroes support his opponent for the nomination it was the + best card he could possibly play; or, if he could not quite do this, but + make it appear that the other fellow was not unpopular in colored circles, + it served nearly the same turn. + </p> + <p> + Phyllis, when she ran crying up-stairs after the conversation with her + father, went to her room, and fell into a chair by the window. So it + chanced that she overheard the conference between Colonel Sommerton and + Barnaby, and long after it was ended she still sat there leaning on the + window-sill. Her eyes showed a trifle of irritation, but the tears were + all gone. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't Tom tell me that he was going to run against my father?” she + inquired of herself over and over. “I think he might have trusted me, so I + do. It's mean of him. And if he should beat papa! Papa could bear that.” + </p> + <p> + She sprang to her feet and walked across the room, stopping on the way to + rub her apple-bloom cheeks before a looking-glass. Vaguely enough, but + insistently, the outline of a political plot glimmered in her + consciousness and troubled her understanding. Plainly her father and Tom + Bannister were rival candidates, and just as plainly each was scheming to + make it appear that the negroes were supporting his opponent; but the + girl's little head could not gather up and comprehend all that such a + condition of things meant. She supposed that a sort of disgrace would + attach to defeat, and she clasped her hands and poised her winsome body + melodramatically when she asked herself which she would rather the defeat + would fall upon, her father or Tom. She leaned out of the window and saw + Colonel Sommerton walking down the road towards town, with his cigar + elevated at an acute angle with his nose, his hat pulled well down in + front, by which she knew that he was still excited. Days went by, as days + will in any state of affairs, with just such faultless weather as August + engenders amid the cool hills of the old Cherokee country; and Phyllis + noted, by an indirect attention to what she had never before been + interested in, that Colonel Sommerton was growing strangely confidential + and familiar with Barnaby. She had a distinct but remote impression that + her father had hitherto never, at least never openly, shown such irenic + solicitude in that direction, and she knew that his sudden peace-making + with the old negro meant ill to her lover. She pondered the matter with + such discrimination and logic as her clever little brain could compass; + and at last she one evening called Barnaby to come into the garden with + his banjo. + </p> + <p> + The sun was down, and the half-grown moon swung yellow and clear against + the violet arch of mid-heaven. Through the sheen a softened outline of the + town wavered fantastically. + </p> + <p> + Phyllis sat on a great fragment of limestone, which, embossed with curious + fossils, formed the immovable centre-piece of the garden. + </p> + <p> + Barnaby, at a respectful distance, crumpled herself satyr-like on the + ground, with his banjo across his knee, and gazed expectantly aslant at + the girl's sweet face. + </p> + <p> + “Now play me my father's favorite song,” she said. + </p> + <p> + They heard Mrs. Wren, the housekeeper, opening the windows in the upper + rooms of the mansion to let in the night air, which was stirring over the + valley with a delicious mountain chill on its wings. All around in the + trees and shrubbery the katydids were rasping away in immelodious + statement and denial of the ancient accusation. + </p> + <p> + Barnaby demurred. He did not imagine, so at least he said, that Miss + Phyllis would be pleased with the ballad that recently had been the + Colonel's chief musical delight; but he must obey the young lady, and so, + after some throat—clearing and string—tuning, he proceeded: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I'd rudder be er niggah + Dan ter be er whi' man, + Dough the whi' man considdah + He se'f biggah; + But of yo' mus' be white, w'y be hones' of + yo' can, + An ac' es much es poss'ble like er niggah! + + “De colah ob yo' skin + Hit don't constertoot no sin, + An' yo' fambly ain't er— + Cuttin' any figgah; + Min' w'at yo's er-doin', an' do de bes' yo' kin, + An' ac' es much es poss'ble like er niggah!” + </pre> + <p> + The tune of this song was melody itself, brimming with that unkempt, + sarcastic humor which always strikes as if obliquely, and with a flurry of + tipsy fun, into one's ears. + </p> + <p> + When the performance was ended, and the final tinkle of the rollicking + banjo accompaniment died away down the slope of Sommerton Hill, Phyllis + put her plump chin in her hands and, with her elbows on her knees, looked + steadily at Barnaby for a while. + </p> + <p> + “Barn,” she said, “is my father going to get the colored people to indorse + Mr. Tom Bannister?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'm,” replied the old negro; and then he caught his breath and + checked himself in confusion. “Da-da-dat is, er—I spec' so—er—I + dun'no', ma'm,” he stammered. “Fo' de Lor' I's—” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis interrupted him with an impatient laugh, but said no more. In due + time Barnaby sang her some other ditties, and then she went into the + house. She gave the negro a large coin and on the veranda steps she called + back to him, “Good-night, Uncle Barn,” in a voice that made him shake his + head and mutter: + </p> + <p> + “De bressed chile! De bressed chile!” And yet he was aware that she had + outwitted him and gained his secret. He knew how matters stood between the + young lady and Tom Bannister, and there arose in his mind a vivid sense of + the danger that might result to his own and Colonel Sommerton's plans from + a disclosure of this one vital detail. Would Phyllis tell her lover? + Barnaby shook his head in a dubious way. + </p> + <p> + “Gals is pow'ful onsartin so dey is,” he muttered. “Dey tells der + sweethearts mos'ly all what dey knows, spacially secrets. Spec' de ole + boss an' he plan done gone up de chimbly er-kally-hootin' fo' good.” + </p> + <p> + Then the old scamp began to turn over in his brain a scheme which seemed + to offer him a fair way of approaching Mr. Tom Bannister's pocket and the + portemonnaie of Phyllis as well. He chuckled atrociously as a pretty + comprehensive view of “practical politics” opened itself to him. + </p> + <p> + Tom Bannister had not been to see Phyllis since her father had delivered + his opinion to her touching the intrinsic merits of that young man, and + she felt uneasy. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Sommerton, though notably eccentric, could be depended upon for + outright dealing in general; still Phyllis had a pretty substantial belief + that in politics success lay largely on the side of the trickster. For + many years the Colonel had been in the Legislature. No man had been able + to beat him for the nomination. She had often heard him tell how he laid + out his antagonists by taking excellent and popular short turns on them, + and it was plain to her mind now that he was weaving a snare for Tom + Bannister. + </p> + <p> + She thought of Tom's running for office against her father as something + prodigiously strange. Certainly it was a bold and daring piece of youthful + audacity for him to be guilty of. He, a young sprig of the law, with his + brown mustache not yet grown, setting himself up to beat Colonel Mobley + Sommerton! Phyllis blushed whenever she thought of it; but the Colonel had + never once mentioned Tom's candidacy to her. + </p> + <p> + The convention was approaching, and day by day signs of popular interest + in it increased as the time shortened. Colonel Sommerton was preparing a + speech for the occasion. The manuscript of it lay on the desk in his + library. + </p> + <p> + About this time—it was near September 1st and the watermelons and + cantaloupes were in their glory—the Colonel was called away to a + distant town for a few days. In his absence Tom Bannister chanced to visit + Sommerton Place. Of course Phyllis was not expecting him; indeed, she told + him that he ought not to have come; but Tom thought differently in a very + persuasive way. The melons were good, the library delightfully cool, and + conversation caught the fragrance of innocent albeit stolen pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Tom Bannister was unquestionably a handsome young fellow, carrying a + hearty, whole-souled expression in his open, almost rosy face. His large + brown eyes, curly brown hair, silken young mustache, and firmly set mouth + and chin well matched his stalwart, symmetrical form. He was not only + handsome, he was brilliant in a way, and his memory was something + prodigious. Unquestionably he would rise rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to beat your father for the nomination,” he remarked, midmost + the discussion of their melons, speaking in a tone of the most absolute + confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” she exclaimed, “you mustn't do it!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I'd like to know?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him as if she felt a sudden fright. His eyes fell before her + intense, searching gaze. + </p> + <p> + “It would be dreadful,” she presently managed to say. “Papa couldn't bear + it.” + </p> + <p> + “It will ruin me forever if I let him beat me. I shall have to go away + from here.” It was now his turn to become intense. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see what makes men think so much of office,” she complained, + evasively. “I've heard papa say that there was absolutely no profit in + going to the Legislature.” Then, becoming insistent, she exclaimed, + “Withdraw, Tom; please do, for my sake!” + </p> + <p> + She made a rudimentary movement as if to throw her arms around him, but it + came to nothing. Her voice, however, carried a mighty appeal to Tom's + heart. He looked at her, and thought how commonplace other young women + were when compared with her. + </p> + <p> + “You will withdraw, won't you, Tom?” she prayed. One of her hands touched + his arm. “Say yes, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment his political ambition and his standing with men appeared to + dissolve into a mere mist, a finely comminuted sentiment of love; but he + kept a good hold upon himself. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot do it, Phyllis,” he said, in a firm voice, which disclosed by + some indescribable inflection how much it pained him to refuse. “My whole + future depends upon success in this race. I am sorry it is your father I + must beat, but, Phyllis, I must be nominated. I can't afford to sit down + in your father's shadow. As sure as you live, I am going to beat him.” + </p> + <p> + In her heart she was proud of him, and proud of this resolution that not + even she could break. From that moment she was between the millstones. She + loved her father, it seemed to her, more than ever, and she could not bear + the thought of his defeat. Indeed, with that generosity characteristic of + the sex which can be truly humorous only when absolutely unconscious of + it, she wanted both Tom and the Colonel nominated, and both elected. She + was the partisan on Tom's side, the adherent on her father's. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Sommerton returned on the day before the convention, and found his + friends enthusiastic, all his “fences” in good condition, and his + nomination evidently certain. It followed that he was in high good-humor. + He hugged Phyllis, and in a casual way brought up the thought of how + pleasantly they could spend the winter in Atlanta when the Legislature + met. + </p> + <p> + “But Tom—I mean Mr. Bannister—is going to beat you, and get + the nomination,” she archly remarked. + </p> + <p> + “If he does, I'll deed you Sommerton Place!” As he spoke he glared at her + as a lion might glare at thought of being defeated by a cub. + </p> + <p> + “To him and me?” she inquired, with sudden eagerness of tone. “If he—-” + </p> + <p> + “Phyllis!” he interrupted, savagely, “no joking on that subject. I won't—-” + </p> + <p> + “No; I'm serious,” she sweetly said. “If he can't beat you, I don't want + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Zounds! Is that a bargain?” He put his hand on her shoulder, and bent + down so that his eyes were on a level with hers. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied; “and I'll hold you to it.” + </p> + <p> + “You promise me?” he insisted. + </p> + <p> + “A man must go ahead of my papa,” she said, putting her arms about the old + gentleman's neck, “or I'll stay by papa.” + </p> + <p> + He kissed her with atrocious violence. Even the knee-sag of his trousers + suggested more than ordinary vigor of feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's good-bye, Tom,” he said, pushing her away from him, and + letting go a profound bass laugh. “I'll settle him to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll see,” she rejoined. “He may not be so easy to settle.” + </p> + <p> + He gave her a savage but friendly cuff as they parted. + </p> + <p> + That evening old Barnaby brought his banjo around to the veranda. Colonel + Sommerton was down in town mixing with the “boys,” and doing up his final + political chores so that there might be no slip on the morrow. It was near + eleven o'clock when he came up the hill and stopped at the gate to hear + the song that Barnaby was singing. He supposed that the old negro was all + alone. Certainly the captivating voice, with its unkempt melody, and its + throbbing, skipping, harum-scarum banjo accompaniment, was all that broke + the silence of the place. + </p> + <p> + His song was: + </p> + <h3> + “DE SASSAFRAS BLOOM + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dey's sugah in de win' when de sassafras bloom, + When de little co'n fluttah in de row, + When de robin in de tree, like er young gal in de loom, + Sing sweet, sing sof', sing low. + + “Oh, de sassafras blossom hab de keen smell o' de root, + An' it hab rich er tender yaller green! + De co'n hit kinder twinkle when hit firs' begin ter shoot, + While de bum'le-bee hit bum'le in between. + + “Oh, de sassafras tassel, an' de young shoot o' de co'n, + An' de young gal er-singing in de loom, + Dey's somefin' 'licious in 'em f'om de day 'at dey is bo'n, + An' dis darky's sort o' took er likin' to 'm. + + “Hit's kind o' sort o' glor'us when yo' feels so quare an' cur'us, + An' yo' don' know what it is yo' wants ter do; + But I takes de chances on it 'at hit jes can't be injur'us + When de whole endurin' natur tells yo' to! + + “Den wake up, niggah, see de sassafras in bloom! + Lis'n how de sleepy wedder blow! + An' de robin in de haw—bush an' de young gal in de loom + Is er-singin' so sof' an' low.” + </pre> + <p> + “Thank you, Barn; here's your dollar,” said the voice of Tom Bannister + when the song was ended. “You may go now.” + </p> + <p> + And while Colonel Sommerton stood amazed, the young man came clown the + veranda steps with Phyllis on his arm. They stopped when they reached the + ground. + </p> + <p> + “Good—night, dear. I'll win you to-morrow or my name is not Tom + Bannister. I'll win you, and Sommerton Place too.” And when they parted he + came right down the walk between the trees, to run almost against Colonel + Sommerton. + </p> + <p> + “Why, good-evening, Colonel,” he said, with a cordial, liberal spirit in + his voice. “I have been waiting in hopes of seeing you.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll get enough of me to-morrow to last you a lifetime, sah,” promptly + responded the old man, marching straight on into the house. Nothing could + express more concentrated and yet comprehensive contempt than Colonel + Sommerton's manner. + </p> + <p> + “The impudent young scamp,” he growled. “I'll show him!” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis sprang from ambush behind a vine, and covered her father's face + with warm kisses, then broke away before he could say a word, and ran up + to her room. + </p> + <p> + In the distant kitchen Barnaby was singing: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Kick so high I broke my neck, + An' fling my right foot off'm my leg + Went to work mos' awful quick, + An' mended 'em wid er wooden peg.” + </pre> + <p> + Next morning at nine o'clock sharp the convention was called to order, + General John Duff Tolliver in the chair. Speeches were expected, and it + had been arranged that Tom Bannister should first appear, Colonel + Sommerton would follow, and then the ballot would be taken. + </p> + <p> + This order of business showed the fine tactics of the Colonel, who well + understood how much advantage lay in the vivid impression of a closing + speech. + </p> + <p> + As the two candidates made their way from opposite directions through the + throng to the platform, which was under a tree in a beautiful suburban + grove, both were greeted with effusive warmth by admiring constituents. + Many women were present, and Tom Bannister felt the blood surge mightily + through his veins at sight of Phyllis standing tall and beautiful before + him with her hand extended. + </p> + <p> + “If you lose, die game, Tom,” she murmured, as he pressed her fingers and + passed on. + </p> + <p> + The young man's appearance on the stand called forth a tremendous roar of + applause. Certainly he was popular. Colonel Sommerton felt a queer shock + of surprise thrill along his nerves. Could it be possible that he would + lose? No; the thought was intolerable. He sat a trifle straighter on his + bench, and began gathering the points of his well-conned speech. He saw + old Barnaby moving around the rim of the crowd, apparently looking for a + seat. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, Tom was proceeding in a clear, soft, far-reaching voice. The + Colonel started and looked askance. What did it mean? At first his brain + was confused, but presently he understood. Word for word, sentence for + sentence, paragraph for paragraph, Tom was delivering the Colonel's own + sonorous speech! Of course the application was reversed here and there, so + that the wit, the humor, and the personal thrusts all went home. It was a + wonderful piece of <i>ad captandum</i> oratory. The crowd went wild from + start to finish. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Mobley Sommerton sat dazed and stupefied, mopping his forehead and + trying to collect his faculties. He felt beaten, annihilated, while Tom + soared superbly on the wings of Sommertonian oratory so mysteriously at + his command. + </p> + <p> + From a most eligible point of view Phyllis was gazing at Tom and receiving + the full brilliant current of his speech, and she appeared to catch a fine + stimulus from the flow of its opening sentences. As it proceeded her face + alternately flushed and paled, and her heart pounded heavily. All around + rose the tumult of unbridled applause. Men flung up their hats and yelled + themselves hoarse. A speech of that sort from a young fellow like Tom + Bannister was something to create irrepressible enthusiasm. It ended in + such a din that when General John Duff Tolliver arose to introduce Colonel + Sommerton he had to wait some time to be heard. + </p> + <p> + The situation was one that absolutely appalled, though it did not quite + paralyze, the older candidate, who, even after he had gained his feet and + stalked to the front of the rude rostrum, was as empty of thought as he + was full of despair. This sudden and unexpected appropriation of his great + speech had sapped and stupefied his intellect. He slowly swept the crowd + with his dazed eyes, and by some accident the only countenance clearly + visible to him was that of old Barnaby, who now sat far back on a stump, + looking for all the world like a mightily mystified baboon. The negro + winked and grimaced, and scratched his flat nose in sheer vacant + stupidity. Colonel Sommerton saw this, and it added an enfeebling + increment to his mental torpor. + </p> + <p> + “Fellow-citizens,” he presently roared, in his melodious bass voice, “I am + proud of this honor.” He was not sure of another word as he stood, with + bagging trousers and sweat-beaded face, but he made a superhuman effort to + call up his comatose wits. “I should be ungrateful were I not proud of + this great demonstration.” Just then his gaze fell upon the face of his + daughter. Their eyes met with a mutual flash of restrospection. They were + remembering the bargain. The Colonel was not aware of it, but the + deliberateness and vocal volume of his opening phrases made them very + impressive. “I assure you,” he went on, fumbling for something to say, + “that my heart is brimming with gratitude so that my lips find it hard to + utter the words that crowd into my mind.” At this point some kindly friend + in the audience gingerly set going a ripple of applause, which, though + evidently forced, was like wine to the old man's intellect; it flung a + glow through his imagination. + </p> + <p> + “The speech you have heard the youthful lamb of law declaim is a very good + one, a very eloquent one indeed. If it were his own, I should not hesitate + to say right here that I ought to stand aside and let him be nominated; + but, fellow-citizens, that speech belongs to another and far more + distinguished and eligible man than Tom Bannister.” Here he paused again, + and stood silent for a moment. Then, lifting his voice to a clarion pitch, + he added: + </p> + <p> + “Fellow-citizens, I wrote that speech, intending to deliver it here + to-day. I was called to Canton on business early in the week, and during + my absence Tom Bannister went to my house and got my manuscript and + learned it by heart. To prove to you what I say is true, I will now read.” + </p> + <p> + At this point the Colonel, after deliberately wiping his glasses, drew + from his capacious coat-pocket the manuscript of his address, and + proceeded to read it word for word, just as Bannister had declaimed it. + The audience listened in silence, quite unable to comprehend the + situation. There was no applause. Evidently sentiment was dormant, or it + was still with Tom. Colonel Sommerton, feeling the desperation of the + moment, reached forth at random, and seeing Barnaby's old black face, it + amused him, and he chanced to grab a thought as if out of the expression + he saw there. + </p> + <p> + “Fellow-citizens,” he added, “there is one thing I desired to say upon + this important occasion. Whatever you do, be sure not to nominate to-day a + man who would, if elected, ally himself with the niggers. I don't pretend + to hint that my young opponent, Tom Bannister, would favor nigger rule, + but I do say—do you hear me, fellow-citizens?—I do say that + every nigger in this county is a Bannister man! How do I know?? I will + tell you. Last Saturday night the niggers had a meeting in an old stable + on my premises. Wishing to know what they were up to, I stole slyly to + where I could overhear their proceedings. My old nigger, Barnaby—yonder + he sits, and he can't deny it—was presiding, and the question before + the meeting was, 'Which of the two candidates, Tom Bannister and Colonel + Sommerton, shall we niggers support? On this question there was some + debate and difference of opinion, until old Bob Warmus arose and said, + 'Mistah Pres'dent, dey's no use er talkin'; I likes Colonel Sommerton + mighty well; he's a berry good man; dey's not a bit er niggah in 'im. On + t' odder han', Mistah Pres'dent, Mistah Tom Bannistah is er white man too, + jes de same; but I kin say fo' Mistah Bannistah 'at he's mo' like er + niggah an' any white man 'at I ebber seed afore!”' + </p> + <p> + Here the Colonel paused to wait for the shouting and the hat-throwing to + subside. Meantime the face of old Barnaby was drawn into one indescribable + pucker of amazement. He could not believe his eyes or his ears. Surely + that was not Colonel Sommerton standing up there telling such an enormous + falsehood on him! He shook his woolly head dolefully, and gnawed a little + splinter that he had plucked from the stump. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, fellow-citizens,” the Colonel went on, “that settled the + matter, and the niggers endorsed Tom Bannister unanimously by a rising + vote!” + </p> + <p> + The yell that went up when the speaker, bowing profoundly, took his seat, + made it seem certain that Bannister would be beaten; but when the ballot + was taken it was found that he had been chosen by one vote majority. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Mobley Sommerton's face turned as white as his hair. The iron of + defeat went home to his proud heart with terrible effect, and as he tried + to rise, the features of the hundreds of countenances below him swam and + blended confusedly in his vision. The sedentary bubbles on the knees of + his trousers fluttered with sympathetic violence. + </p> + <p> + Tom Bannister was on his feet in a moment—it was an appealing look + from Phyllis that inspired him—and once more his genial voice rang + out clear and strong. + </p> + <p> + “Fellow-citizens,” he said, “I have a motion to make. Hear me.” He waved + his right hand to command silence, then proceeded: “Mr. President, I + withdraw my name from this convention, and move that the nomination of + Colonel Mobley Sommerton be made unanimous by acclamation. I have no right + to this nomination, and nothing, save a matter greater than life or death + to me, could have induced me to steal it as I this day have done. Colonel + Sommerton knows why I did it. He gave his word of honor that he would + cease all objections to giving his daughter to me in marriage, and that + furthermore he would deed Sommerton Place to us as a wedding present, if I + beat him for the nomination. Mr. President and fellow-citizens, do you + blame me for memorizing his speech? That magnificent speech meant to me + the most beautiful wife in America, and the handsomest estate in this + noble county.” + </p> + <p> + If Tom Bannister had been boisterously applauded before this, it was as + nothing beside the noise which followed when Colonel Mobley Sommerton was + declared the unanimous nominee of the convention. Meantime, Phyllis had + hurried to the carriage and been driven home: she dared not stay and let + the crowd gaze at her after that bold confession of Tom's. + </p> + <p> + The cheering for the nominee was yet at its flood when Bannister leaped at + Colonel Sommerton and grasped his hand. The old gentleman was flushed and + smiling, as became a politician so wonderfully favored. It was a moment + never to be forgotten by either of the men. + </p> + <p> + “I cordially congratulate you, Colonel Sommerton, on your nomination,” + said Tom, with great feeling, “and you may count on my hearty support.” + </p> + <p> + “If I don't have to support you, and pay your office rent in the bargain, + all the rest of my life, I miss my guess, you young scamp!” growled the + Colonel, in a major key. “Be off with you!” + </p> + <p> + Tom moved away to let the Colonel's friends crowd up and shake hands with + him; but the delighted youth could not withhold a Parthian shaft. As he + retreated he said, “Oh, Colonel, don't bother about my support; Sommerton + Plantation will be ample for that!” + </p> + <p> + “Hit do beat all thunder how dese white men syfoogles eroun' in politics,” + old Barnaby thought to himself. Then he rattled the coins in his two + pockets. The contributions of Colonel Sommerton chinked on the left, those + of Tom Bannister and Phyllis rang on the right. “Blame this here ole + chile's eyes,” he went on, “but 'twar a close shabe! Seem lak I's kinder + holdin' de balernce ob power. I use my inflooence fer bofe ob 'em—yah, + yah, yah-r-r! an' hit did look lak I's gwine ter balernce fings up tell I + 'lee' 'em bofe ter oncet right dar! Bofe of 'em got de nomination—yah, + yah, yah-r-r! But I say 'rah fo' little Miss Phyllis! She de one 'at know + how to pull de right string—yah, yah, yah-r-r!” + </p> + <p> + The wedding at Sommerton Place came on the Wednesday following the fall + election. Besides the great number of guests and the striking beauty of + the bride there was nothing notable in it, unless the song prepared by + Barnaby for the occasion, and sung by him thereupon to a captivating banjo + accompaniment, may be so distinguished. A stanza, the final one of that + masterpiece, has been preserved. It may serve as an informal ending, a + charcoal tail-piece, to our light but truthful little story. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Stan' by yo' frien's and nebber mek trouble, + An' so, ef yo's got any sense, + Yo'll know hit's a good t'ing ter be sorter double, + An' walk on bofe sides ob de fence!” + </pre> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern Lights and Shadows, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS *** + +***** This file should be named 9509-h.htm or 9509-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/5/0/9509/ + +Produced by Stan Goodman,David Widger and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + + +</pre> + + </body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..84363ce --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #9509 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9509) diff --git a/old/8slas10.zip b/old/8slas10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b93c8f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8slas10.zip diff --git a/old/9509-h.htm.2021-01-26 b/old/9509-h.htm.2021-01-26 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8337c9b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/9509-h.htm.2021-01-26 @@ -0,0 +1,7955 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Southern Lights and Shadows, by Various + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern Lights and Shadows, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Southern Lights and Shadows + +Author: Various + +Editor: William Dean Howells + Henry Mills Alden + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9509] +This file was first posted on October 7, 2003 +Last Updated: February 25, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS *** + + + + +Produced by Stan Goodman, David Widger and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS + </h1> + <h3> + Harper's Novelettes + </h3> + <h3> + <b> By Various </b> + </h3> + <h4> + Edited By William Dean Howells And Henry Mills Alden + </h4> + <h3> + 1907 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> Introduction </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> The Capture of Andy Proudfoot </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> The Level of Fortune </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> Pap Overholt </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> In the Piny Woods </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> My Fifth in Mammy </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> An Incident </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> A Snipe-Hunt </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> The Courtship of Colonel Bill </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> The Balance of Power </a> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Table of Contents + </h2> + <div class="middle"> + Grace MacGowan Cooke <br /><br /> THE CAPTURE OF ANDY PROUDFOOT <br /><br /> Abby + Meguire Roach <br /><br /> THE LEVEL OF FORTUNE <br /><br /> Alice MacGowan <br /><br /> PAP + OVERHOLT <br /><br /> Mrs. B.F. Mayhew <br /><br /> IN THE PINY WOODS <br /><br /> William L. + Sheppard <br /><br /> MY FIFTH IN MAMMY <br /><br /> Sarah Barnwell Elliott <br /><br /> AN + INCIDENT <br /><br /> M.E.M. Davis <br /><br /> A SNIPE HUNT <br /><br /> J.J. Eakins <br /><br /> THE + COURTSHIP OF COLONEL BILL <br /><br /> Maurice Thompson <br /><br /> THE BALANCE OF + POWER <br /><br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </div> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + The most noticeable characteristic of the extraordinary literary + development of the South since the Civil War is that it is almost entirely + in the direction of realism. A people who, up to that time, had been so + romantic that they wished to naturalize among themselves the ideals and + usages of the Walter Scott ages of chivalry, suddenly dropped all that, + and in their search for literary material could apparently find nothing so + good as the facts of their native life. The more “commonplace” these facts + the better they seemed to like them. Evidently they believed that there + was a poetry under the rude outside of their mountaineers, their slattern + country wives, their shy rustic men and maids, their grotesque humorists, + their wild religionists, even their black freedmen, which was worth more + than the poetastery of the romantic fiction of their fathers. In this + strong faith, which need not have been a conscious creed, the writers of + the New South have given the world sketches and studies and portraits of + the persons and conditions of their peculiar civilization which the + Russians themselves have not excelled in honesty, and hardly in + simplicity. To be sure, this development was on the lines of those early + humorists who antedated the romantic fictionists, and who were often in + their humor so rank, so wild, so savage, so cruel, but the modern realism + has refined both upon their matter and their manner. Some of the most + artistic work in the American short-story, that is to say the best + short-story in the world, has been done in the South, so that one may be + reasonably sure of an artistic pleasure in taking up a Southern story. One + finds in the Southern stories careful and conscientious character, rich + local color, and effective grouping, and at the same time one finds + genuine pathos, true humor, noble feeling, generous sympathy. The range of + this work is so great as to include even pictures of the more conventional + life, but mainly the writers keep to the life which is not conventional, + the life of the fields, the woods, the cabin, the village, the little + country town. It would be easier to undervalue than to overvalue them, as + we believe the reader of the admirable pieces here collected will agree. + </p> + <h3> + W.D.H. + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CAPTURE OF ANDY PROUDFOOT + </h2> + <h3> + By GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE + </h3> + <p> + A dry branch snapped under Kerry's foot with the report of a toy pistol. + He swore perfunctorily, and gazed greedily at the cave-opening just ahead. + He was a bungling woodsman at best; and now, stalking that greatest of all + big game, man, the blood drummed in his ears and his heart seemed to slip + a cog or two with every beat. He stood tense, yet trembling, for the space + in which a man might count ten; surely if there were any one inside the + cave—if the one whose presence he suspected were there—such a + noise would have brought him forth. But a great banner of trumpet-creeper, + which hid the opening till one was almost upon it, waved its torches + unstirred except by the wind; the sand in the doorway was unpressed by any + foot. + </p> + <p> + Kerry began to go forward by inches. He was weary as only a town-bred man, + used to the leisurely patrolling of pavements, could be after struggling + obliquely up and across the pathless flank of Big Turkey Track Mountain, + and then climbing to this eyrie upon Old Yellow Bald—Old Yellow, the + peak that reared its “Bald” of golden grass far above the ranges of The + Big and Little Turkey Tracks. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, how hungry I am!” he breathed. “I bet the feller's got grub in + there.” He had been out two days. He was light-headed from lack of food; + at the thought of it nervous caution gave way to mere brute instinct, and + he plunged recklessly into the cave. Inside, the sudden darkness blinded + him for a moment. Then there began to be visible in one corner a bed of + bracken and sweet-fern; in another an orderly arrangement of tin cans upon + a shelf, and the ashes of a fire, where sat a Dutch oven. The sight of + this last whetted Kerry's hunger; he almost ran to the shelf, and groaned + as he found the first can filled with gunpowder, the next with shot, and + the third containing some odds and ends of string and nails. + </p> + <p> + He had knelt to inspect a rude box, when a little sound caused him to + turn. In the doorway was a figure which raised the hair upon his head, + with a chilly sensation at its roots—a tall man, with a great mane + of black locks blowing unchecked about his shoulders. He stood turned away + from Kerry, having halted in the doorway as though to take a last + advantage of the outer daylight upon some object of interest to him before + entering. He was examining one of his own hands, and a little shivering + moan escaped him. A rifle rested in the hollow of his arm; Kerry could see + the outline of a big navy-pistol in his belt; and as the man shifted, + another came to view; while the Irishman's practised eye did not miss the + handle of a long knife in its sheath. It went swiftly through his mind + that those who sent him on this errand should have warned him of the size + of the quarry. Suddenly, almost without his own volition, he found himself + saying: “I ask your pardon. I was dead beat an' fair famished, an' I + crawled in here to—” + </p> + <p> + The tall figure in the doorway turned like a thing on a pivot; he did not + start, nor spin round, as a slighter or more nervous person might have + done; and a strange chill fell upon Kerry's heat when the man, whom he + recognized as that one he had come to seek, faced him. The big, dark eyes + looked the intruder up and down; what their owner thought of him, what he + decided concerning him, could no more be guessed than the events of next + year. In a full, grave voice, but one exceedingly gentle, the owner of the + cave repaired the lack of greeting. + </p> + <p> + “Howdy, stranger?” he said. “I never seen you as I come up, 'count o' + havin' snagged my hand on this here gun.” + </p> + <p> + He came toward Kerry with the bleeding member outstretched. Now was the + Irishman's time—by all his former resolutions, by the need he had + for that money reward—to deftly handcuff the outlaw. What he did was + to draw the other toward the daylight, examine the hand, which was torn + and lacerated on the gun-hammer, and with sundry exclamations of sympathy + proceed to bind it up with strips torn from his own handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “Snagged!” he echoed, as he noted how the great muscle of the thumb was + torn across. “I don't see how you ever done that on a gun-hammer. I've + nursed a good bit—I was in Cuby last year, an' I was detailed for + juty in the hospital more'n half my time,” he went on, eagerly. “This here + hand, it's bad, 'cause it's torn. Ef you had a cut o' that size, now, you + wouldn't be payin' no 'tention to it. The looks o' this here reminds me o' + the tear one o' them there Mauser bullets makes—Gawd! but they rip + the men up shockin'!” He rambled on with uneasy volubility as he attended + to the wound. “You let me clean it, now. It'll hurt some, but it'll save + ye trouble after while. You set down on the bed. Where kin I git some + water?” + </p> + <p> + “Thar's a spring round the turn in the cave thar—they's a go'd in + it.” + </p> + <p> + But Kerry took one of the tin cans, emptied and rubbed it nervously, + talking all the while—talking as though to prevent the other from + speaking, and with something more than the ordinary garrulity of the + nurse. “I got lost to-day,” he volunteered, as he cleansed the wound + skilfully and drew its ragged lips together. “Gosh! but you tore that + thumb up! You won't hardly be able to do nothin' with that hand fer a + spell. Yessir! I got lost—that's what I did. One tree looks pretty + much like another to me; and one old rock it's jest the same as the next + one. I reckon I've walked twenty mile sence sunup.” + </p> + <p> + He paused in sudden panic; but the other did not ask him whence he had + walked nor whither he was walking. Instead, he ventured, in his serious + tones, as the silence grew oppressive: “You're mighty handy 'bout this + sort o' thing. I reckon I'll have a tough time here alone till that hand + heals.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll stay with you a while,” Kerry put in, hastily. “I ain't a-goin' + on, a-leavin' a man in sech a fix, when I ain't got nothin' in particular + to do an' nowheres in particular to go,” he concluded, rather lamely. + </p> + <p> + His host's eyes dwelt on him. “Well, now, that'd be mighty kind in you, + stranger,” he began, gently; and added, with the mountaineer's deathless + hospitality, “You're shorely welcome.” + </p> + <p> + In Kerry's pocket a pair of steel handcuffs clicked against each other. + Any moment of the time that he was dressing the outlaw's hand, identifying + at short range a dozen marks enumerated in the description furnished him, + he could have snapped them upon those great wrists and made his host his + prisoner. Yet, an hour later, when the big man had told him of a string of + fish tied down in the branch, of a little cellarlike contrivance by the + spring which contained honeycomb and some cold corn-pone, the two men sat + at supper like brothers. + </p> + <p> + “Ye don't smoke?” inquired Kerry, commiseratingly, as his host twisted off + a great portion of home-cured tobacco. “Lord! ye'll never know what the + weed is till ye burn it. A chaw'll do when you're in the trenches an' + afraid to show the other fellers where to shoot, so that ye dare not + smoke. Ah-h-h! I've had it taste like nectar to me then; but tobacco's + never tobacco till it's burnt,” and the Irishman smiled fondly upon his + stumpy black pipe. + </p> + <p> + They sat and talked over the fire (for a fire is good company in the + mountains, even of a midsummer evening) with that freedom and abandon + which the isolation, the hour, and the circumstances begot. Kerry had told + his name, his birthplace, the habits and temperament of his parents, his + present hopes and aspirations—barring one; he had even sketched an + outline of Katy—Katy, who was waiting for him to save enough to buy + that little farm in the West; and his host, listening in the unbroken + silence of deep sympathy, had not yet offered even so much as his name. + </p> + <p> + Then the bed was divided, a bundle of fern and pine boughs being disposed + in the opposite corner of the cave for the newcomer's accommodation. + Later, after good-nights had been exchanged and Kerry fancied that his + host was asleep, he himself stirred, sat up, and being in uneasy need of + information as to whether the cave door should not be stopped in some + manner, opened with a hesitating, “Say!” + </p> + <p> + “You might jest call me Andy,” the deep voice answered, before the + mountain-man negatived the proposition of adding a front door to the + habitation. + </p> + <p> + Kerry slept again. Mountain air and weariness are drugs potent against a + bad conscience, and it was broad daylight outside the cave when he + wakened. He was a little surprised to find his host still sleeping, yet + his experience told him that the wound was of a nature to induce fever, + followed by considerable exhaustion. As the Irishman lifted his coat from + where he had had it folded into a bundle beneath his head, the handcuffs + in the pocket clicked, and he frowned. He stole across to look at the man + who had called himself Andy, lying now at ease upon his bed of leaves, one + great arm underneath his head, the injured hand nursed upon his broad + breast. Those big eyes which had so appalled Kerry upon a first view + yesterday were closed. The onlooker noted with a sort of wonder how + sumptuous were the fringes of their curtains, long and purple—black, + like the thick, arched brows above. To speak truly, Kerry, although he was + a respectable member of the police force, had the artistic temperament. + The harmony of outline, the justness of proportion in both the face and + figure of the man before him, filled the Irishman with delight; and the + splendid virile bulk of the mountain-man appealed irresistibly to the + other's masculinity. The little threads of silver in the tempestuous black + curls seemed to Kerry but to set off their beauty. + </p> + <p> + “Gosh! but you're a good-looker!” he muttered. And putting his estimate of + the man's charm into such form as was possible to him, he added, under his + breath, “I'd hate to have seen a feller as you tryin' to court my Katy.” + </p> + <p> + This was the first of many strange days; golden September days they were, + cool and full of the ripened beauty of the departing summer. Kerry's host + taught him to snare woodcock and pheasants—shoot them the Irishman + could not, since the excitement of the thing made him fire wild. + </p> + <p> + “Now ain't that the very divil!” he would cry, after he had let his third + bird get away unharmed. “Ef I was shootin' at a man, I'd be as stiddy as a + clock. Gad! I'd be cool as an ice-wagon. But when that little old brown + chicken scoots a-scutterin' up out o' the grass like a hummin'-top, it + rattles me.” His teacher apparently took no note of the significance + contained in this statement; yet Kerry's very ears were red as it slipped + out, and he felt uneasily for the handcuffs, which no longer clinked in + his pocket, but now lay carefully hidden under his fern bed. + </p> + <p> + There had been a noon-mark in the doorway of the cave, thrown by the + shadow of a boulder beside it, even before the Irishman's big nickel watch + came with its bustling, authoritative tick to bring the question of time + into the mountains. But the two men kept uncertain hours: sometimes they + talked more than half the night, the close-cropped, sandy poll and the + unshorn crest of Jove-like curls nodding at each other across the fire, + then slept far into the succeeding day; sometimes they were up before dawn + and off after squirrels—with which poor Kerry had no better luck + than with the birds. Every day the Irishman dressed his host's hand; and + every day he tasted more fully the charm of this big, strong, gentle, + peaceful nature clad in its majestic garment of flesh. + </p> + <p> + “If he'd 'a' been an ugly, common-looking brute, I'd 'a' nabbed him in a + minute,” he told himself, weakly. And every day the handcuffs under the + dried fern-leaves lay heavier upon his soul. + </p> + <p> + On the 20th of September, which Kerry had set for his last day in the + cave, he was moved to begin again at the beginning and tell the big + mountaineer all his affairs. + </p> + <p> + “Ye see, it's like this,” he wound up: “Katy—the best gurrl an' the + purtiest I ever set me two eyes on—she's got a father that'll strike + her when the drink's with him. He works her like a dog, hires her out and + takes every cent she earns. Her mother—God rest her soul!—has + been dead these two years. And now the old man is a-marryin' an' takin' + home a woman not fit for my Katy to be with. I says when I heard of it, + says I: `Katy, I'll take ye out o' that hole. I'll do the trick, an' I'll + git the reward, an' it's married we'll be inside of a month, an' we'll go + West.' That's what brought me up here into the mountains—me that was + born, as ye might say, on the stair-steps of a tenement-house, an' fetched + up the same.” + </p> + <p> + Absorbed in the interest of his own affairs, the Irishman did not notice + what revelations he had made. Whether or not this knowledge was new to his + host the uncertain light of the dying fire upon that grave, impassive face + did not disclose. + </p> + <p> + “An' now,” Kerry went on, “I've been thinkin' about Katy a heap in the + last few days. I'm goin' home to her to-morry—home to Philadelphy—goin' + with empty hands. An' I'm a-goin' to say to her, 'Katy, would ye rather + take me jest as I am, out of a job'—fer that's what I'll be when I + go back,—'would ye rather take me so an' wait fer the little farm?' + I guess she'll do it; I guess she'll take me. I've got that love fer her + that makes me think she'll take me. Did ye ever love a woman like that?”—turning + suddenly to the silent figure on the other side of the fire. “Did ye ever + love one so that ye felt like ye could jest trust her, same as you could + trust yourself? It's a—it—well, it's a mighty comfortable + thing.” + </p> + <p> + The mountaineer stretched out his injured hand, and examined it for so + long a time without speaking that it seemed as though he would not answer + at all. The wound was healing admirably now; he had made shift to shoot, + with Kerry's shoulder for a rest, and their larder was stocked with game + once more. When he at last raised his head and looked across the fire, his + black eyes were such wells of misery as made the other catch his breath. + </p> + <p> + Upon the silence fell his big, serious voice, as solemn and sonorous as a + church-bell: “You ast me did I ever love an' trust a woman like that. I + did—an' she failed me. I ain't gwine to call you fool fer sich; + you're a town feller, Dan, with smart town ways; mebby your gal would + stick to you, even ef you was in trouble; but me—” + </p> + <p> + Kerry made an inarticulate murmur of sympathy. + </p> + <p> + The voice went on. “You say you're goin' home to her with jest your two + bare hands?” it inquired. “But why fer? You've found your man. What makes + you go back that-a-way?” + </p> + <p> + Kerry's mouth was open, his jaw fallen; he stared through the smoke at his + host as though he saw him now for the first time. Kerry belongs to a + people who love or hate obviously and openly; that the outlaw should have + known him from the first for a police officer, a creature of prey upon his + track, and should have treated him as a friend, as a brother, appalled and + repelled him. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Dan,” the big man went on, leaning forward; “I knowed what your + arrant was the fust minute I clapped eyes on you. You didn't know whether + I could shoot with my left hand as well as my right—I didn't choose + you should know. I watched fer ye to be tryin' to put handcuffs on me any + minute—after you found my right hand was he'pless.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord A'mighty! You could lay me on my back with your left hand, Andy,” + Kerry breathed. + </p> + <p> + The big man nodded. “They was plenty of times when I was asleep—or + you thort I was. Why didn't ye do it? Where is they? Fetch 'em out.” + </p> + <p> + Unwilling, red with shame, penetrated with a grief and ache he scarce + comprehended, Kerry dragged the handcuffs from their hiding-place. The + other took them, and thereafter swung them thoughtfully in his strong + brown fingers as he talked. + </p> + <p> + “You was goin' away without makin' use o' these?” he asked, gently. + </p> + <p> + Kerry, crimson of face and moist of eye, gulped, frowned, and nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now,” the mountain-man pursued, “I been thinkin' this thing over + sence you was a-speakin'. That there gal o' yourn she's in a tight box. + You're the whitest man I ever run up ag'inst. You've done me better than + my own brothers. My own brothers,” he repeated, a look of pain and + bitterness knitting those wonderfully pencilled brows above the big eyes. + “Fer my part, I'm sick o' livin' this-a-way. When you're gone, an' I'm + here agin by my lonesome, I'm as apt as not to put the muzzle o' my gun in + my mouth an' blow the top o' my head off—that's how I feel most o' + the time. I tell you what you do, Dan: you jest put these here on me an' + take me down to Garyville—er plumb on to Asheville—an' draw + your money. That'll square up things fer you an' that pore little gal. + What say ye?” + </p> + <p> + Into Kerry's sanguine face there surged a yet deeper red; his shoulders + heaved; the tears sprang to his eyes; and before his host could guess the + root of his emotion the Irishman was sobbing, furiously, noisily, turned + away, his head upon his arm. The humiliation of it ate into his soul; and + the tooth was sharpened by his own misdeeds. How many times had he looked + at the great, kindly creature across the fire there and calculated the + chances of getting him to Garyville? + </p> + <p> + Andy's face twisted as though he had bitten a green persimmon. “Aw! Don't + <i>cry!</i>” he remonstrated, with the mountaineer's quick contempt for + expressed emotion. “My Lord! Dan, don't—” + </p> + <p> + “I'll cry if I damn please!” Kerry snorted. “You old fool! Me a-draggin' + you down to Garyville! Me, that's loved you like a brother! An' never had + no thought—an' never had no thought—Oh, hell!” he broke off, + at the bitter irony of the lie; then the sobs broke forth afresh. To deny + that he had come to arrest the outlaw was so pitifully futile. + </p> + <p> + “So ye won't git the money that-a-way?” Andy's big voice ruminated, and a + strange note of relief sounded in it; a curious gleam leaped into the + sombre eyes. But he added, softly: “Sleep on it, bud; I'll let ye change + your mind in the mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + “You shut your head!” screeched Kerry, fiercely, with a hiccough of + wrenching misery. “You talk to me any more like that, an' I'll lambaste ye—er + try to—big as ye are! Oh, damnation!” + </p> + <p> + The last night in the cave was one of gusty, moving breezes and brilliant + moonlight, yet both its tenants slept profoundly, after their strange + outburst of emotion. The first gray of dawn found them stirring, and Kerry + making ready for his return journey. Together, as heretofore, they + prepared their meal, then sat down in silence to eat it. Suddenly the + mountain-man raised his eyes, to whose grave beauty the Irishman's + temperament responded like that of a woman, and said, quietly, + </p> + <p> + “I'm a-goin' to tell ye somethin', an' then I'm a-goin' to show ye + somethin'.” + </p> + <p> + Kerry's throat ached. In these two weeks he had conceived a love for his + big, silent, gentle companion which rivalled even his devotion to Katy. + The thought of leaving him helpless and alone, a common prey of + reward-hunters, the remembrance of what Andy had said concerning his own + despair beneath the terrible pressure of the mountain solitude, were + almost more than Kerry could bear. + </p> + <p> + “Fust and foremost, Dan,” the other began, when the meal was finished, + “I'm goin' to tell ye how come I done what I done. Likely you've hearn + tales, an' likely they was mostly lies. You see, it was this-a-way: Me an' + my wife owned land j'inin'. The Turkey Track Minin' Company they found + coal on it, an' was wishful to buy. Her an' me wasn't wed then, but we was + about to be, an' we j'ined in fer to sell the land an' go West.” His + brooding eyes were on the fire; his voice—which had halted before + the words “my wife,” then taken them with a quick gulp—broke a + little every time he said “she” or “her.” Kerry's heart jumped when he + heard the mention of that little Western farm—why, it might have + been in the very locality he and Katy looked longingly toward. + </p> + <p> + “That feller they sent down here fer to buy the ground—Dickert was + his name; you've hearn it, I reckon?” + </p> + <p> + Kerry recognized the murdered man's name. He nodded, without a word, his + little blue eyes helplessly fastened on Andy's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Dickert 'twas. He was took with Euola from the time he put eyes on + her—which ain't sayin' more of him than of any man 'at see her. But + a town feller's hangin' round a mounting-gal hain't no credit to her. + Euola she was promised to me. But ef she hadn't 'a' been, she wouldn't 'a' + took no passin' o' bows an' complyments from that Dickert. I thort the + nighest way out on't was to tell the gentleman that her an' me was to be + wed, an' that we'd make the deeds as man an' wife, an' I done so.” + </p> + <p> + Kerry looked at his host and wondered that any man should hope to tamper + with the affections of her who loved him. + </p> + <p> + “Wed we was,” the mountain-man went on; and an imperceptible pause + followed the words. “We rid down to Garyville to be wed, an' we went from + the jestice's office to the office of this here Dickert. He had a cuss + with him that was no better'n him; an' when it come to the time in the + signin' that our names was put down, an' my wife was to be 'examined + privately and apart'—ez is right an' lawful—ez to whether I'd + made her sign or not, this other cuss steps with her into the hall, an' + Dickert turns an' says to me, 'You git a thousand dollars each fer your + land—you an' that woman,' he says. + </p> + <p> + “I never liked the way he spoke—besides what he said; an' I says to + him, 'The bargain was made fer five thousand dollars apiece,' says I, 'an' + why do we git less?' + </p> + <p> + “'Beca'se,' says he, a-swellin' up an' lookin' at me red an' devilish,—'beca'se + you take my leavin's—you fool! I bought the land of you fer a + thousand dollars each—an' there's my deed to it, that you jest + signed—I reckon you can read it. Ef I sell the land to the company—it's + none o' your business what I git fer it.' + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can't read—not greatly. I don't know how I knowed—but + I did know—that he was gittin' from the company the five thousand + dollars apiece that we was to have had. I seen his eye cut round to the + hall door, an' I thort he had that money on him (beca'se he was their + agent an' they'd trusted him so far) fer to pay me and Euola in cash. With + that he grabbed up the deed an' stuffed it into his pocket. Lord! Lord! I + could 'a' shook it out o' him—an' the money too—hit's what I + would 'a' done if the fool had 'a' kep' his mouth shut. But I reckon hit + was God's punishment on him 'at he had to go on sayin', 'Yes, you tuck my + leavin's in the money, an' you've tuck my leavin's agin to-day.' Euola was + jest comin' into the room when he said that, an' he looked at her. I hit + him.” He gazed down the length of his arm thoughtfully. “I ort to be + careful when I hit out, bein' stronger than most. But I was mad, an' I hit + harder than I thort. I reached over an' grabbed open the table drawer jest + fer luck—an' thar was the money. I tuck it. The other cuss he was + down on the floor, sorter whimperin' an' workin' over this feller Dickert; + an' he begun to yell that I'd killed 'im. With that Euola she gives me one + look—white ez paper she was—an' she says, 'Run, Andy honey. + I'll git to ye when I kin.'” The mountain-man was silent so long that + Kerry thought he was done. But he suddenly said: + </p> + <p> + “She ketched my sleeve, jest ez I made to start, an' said: 'I'll come, + Andy. Mind, Andy, <i>I'll come to ye, ef I live</i>.'” Then there was the + silence of sympathy between the two men. + </p> + <p> + So that was the history of the crime—a very different history from + the one Kerry had heard. + </p> + <p> + “Hit's right tetchy business—er has been—a-tryin' to take Andy + Proudfoot,” the outlaw continued; “but, Dan, I'd got mighty tired, time + you come. An' Euola—” + </p> + <p> + Kerry rose abruptly, the memory hot within him of Proudfoot's offer of the + night before. The mountaineer got slowly to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “They's somethin' I wanted to show ye, too, ye remember,” he said. They + walked together down the bluff, to where another little cavern, low and + shallow, hid itself behind huckleberry-bushes. “I kep' the money here,” + Proudfoot said, kneeling in the cramped entrance and delving among the + rocks. He drew out a roll of bills and fingered them thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “The reward, now, hit was fifteen hundred dollars—with what the + State an' company both give, warn't it? Dan, I was mighty proud ye + wouldn't have it—I wanted to give it to ye this-a-way. I don't know + as I've got any rights on Euola's money. I reckon I mought ax you fer to + take it to her, ef so be you could find her. My half—you kin have + it, an' welcome.” + </p> + <p> + Fear was in Kerry's heart. “An' what'll you be doin'?” he inquired, + huskily. + </p> + <p> + “Me?” asked Andy, listlessly. “Euola she's done gone plumb back on me,” he + explained. “I hain't heard one word from her sence the trouble, an' I've + got that far I hain't a-keerin' what becomes of me. I like you, Dan; I'd + ruther you had the money—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Gawd! Don't, Andy,” choked the Irishman. “Let me think, man,” as + the other's surprised gaze dwelt on him. Up to this time all Kerry's + faculties had been engrossed in what was told him, or that which went on + before his eyes. Now memory suddenly roused in him. The woman he had seen + back at Asheville, the woman who called herself Mandy Greefe, but whom the + police there suspected of being Andy Proudfoot's wife, whom they had twice + endeavored, unsuccessfully, to follow in long, secret excursions into the + mountains. What was the story? What had they said? That she was seeking + Proudfoot, or was in communication with him; that was it! They had warned + Kerry that the woman was mild-looking (he had seen her patient, wistful + face the last thing as he left Asheville), but that she might do him a + mischief if she suspected he was on the trail of her husband. “My Lord! + Oh, my Lord! W'y, old man,—w'y, Andy boy!” he cried, joyously, + patting the shoulder of the big man, who still knelt with the roll of + money in his hands,—“Andy, she's waitin' fer you—she's true as + steel! She's ready to go with you. Yes, an' Dan Kerry's the boy to git ye + out o' this under the very noses o' that police an' detective gang at + Asheville. 'Tis you an' me that'll go together, Andy.” + </p> + <p> + Proudfoot still knelt. His nostrils flickered; his eyes glowed. “Have a + care what you're a-sayin',” he began, in a low, shaking voice. “Euola! + Euola! You've saw me pretty mild; but don't you be mistook by that, like + that feller Dickert was mistook. Don't you lie to me an' try to fool me + 'bout her. One o' them fellers I shot had me half-way to Garyville, + tellin' me she was thar—sick—an' sont him fer me.” + </p> + <p> + Kerry laughed aloud. “Me foolin' you!” he jeered. “'Tis a child I've been + in your hands, ye black, big, still, solemn rascal! Here's money a-plenty, + an' you that knows these mountains—the fur side—an' me that + knows the ropes. You'll lend me a stake f'r the West. We'll go together—all + four of us. Oh Lord!” and again tears were on the sanguine cheeks. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LEVEL OF FORTUNE + </h2> + <h3> + BY ABBY MEGUIRE ROACH + </h3> + <p> + She was the ambition of the younger girls and the envy of the less + fortunate. Bessie Hall had <i>everything</i>, they said. + </p> + <p> + Her prettiness, indeed, was chiefly in slender plumpness and bloom. But it + served her purpose as no classic mould would have done. She did not + overestimate it. But she was probably better satisfied with it than with + most of those conditions of her life that people were always telling her + were ideal. They spoke of her as the only child in a way that implied + congratulations on the undivided inheritance—and that reminded her + how she had always wanted a sister. They talked of her idyllic life on a + blue-grass stock-farm—when she was wheedling from her father a + winter in Washington. They envied her often when they had the very thing + she wanted—or, at least, she didn't have it. They enlarged on her + popularity, and she answered, “Oh yes, nice boys, most of them, but—” + </p> + <p> + She had always said, “<i>When</i> I marry,” not “<i>if</i>,” and had said + it much as she said, “When I grow up.” And, yes, she believed in fate: + that everybody who belonged to you would find you out; but—it was + only hospitable to meet them half-way! So her admirers found her in the + beginning hopefully interested, and in the end rather mournfully + unconvinced. Her regret seemed so genuinely on her own account as well as + theirs that they usually carried off a very kind feeling for her. She was + equally open to enlistment in any other proposed diversion. For Bessie + lived in a constant state of great expectation that something really nice + would really happen to-morrow. There was always something wrong to-day. + </p> + <p> + “It's not fair!” she complained to Guy Osbourne, when he came to tell her + good-by, all in the gray. “I'm positively discriminated against. If <i>I</i> + have an engagement, it's sure to rain! And now just when I'm beginning to + be a grown young lady, with a prospect <i>at last</i> of a thoroughly good + time, a war has to break out!” + </p> + <p> + Her petulance was pretty. Guy laughed. “How disobliging!” he sympathized. + “And how modest!” he added—which the reader may disentangle; Bessie + did not. “<i>At last!</i>” he mocked her. + </p> + <p> + For Bessie Hall, whose community already moved in an orbit around her, and + whose parents had, according to a familiar phrase, an even more + circumscribed course around her little finger—for Bessie Hall to + rail at fate was deliciously absurd, delightfully feminine! + </p> + <p> + When Bessie was most unreasonable one only wanted to kiss her. Guy's + privileges in that line had passed with the days when he used to pick up + bodily his lithe little playfellow to cross a creek or rain-puddled road. + But to-day seemed pleasantly momentous; it called for the unusual. “I say, + Bibi, when a knight went off to fight, you know, his lady used to give him + a stirrup-cup at good-by. Don't you think it would be really sweet of you—” + </p> + <p> + She held off, only to be provoking. She would have thought no more of + kissing Guy than a brother—or she thought she wouldn't. To be sure, + she hadn't for years; there was no occasion; and then, of course, one + didn't. She laughed and shook her head, and retreated laughing. And he + promptly captured her.... She freed herself, suddenly serious. And Guy + stood sobered—sobered not at going to the war, but at leaving her. + </p> + <p> + “There now, run along.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-by.” But he lingered. There was nothing more to say, but he + lingered. “Well, good-by. Be good, Bibi.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks as if that was all I'd have a chance to be.” The drawl of the + light voice with its rising inflection was so engaging, no one called it + nasal. “And it's so much more difficult and important to be charming!” + </p> + <p> + He was sobered at leaving her, but he never thought of not going with the + rest. He went, and all the rest. And Bessie found herself, just when + nature had crowned her with womanhood, a princess without a kingdom. To be + sure, living on the border gave her double opportunities, and for + contrasting romances. There were episodes that comforted her with the + reflection that she was not getting wholly out of practice in the arts. + And there was real adventure in flying and secret visits from Guy and the + rest—Guy, who was never again just the same with her; but, for that + matter, neither was she just the same with him. But, on the whole, as she + pouted to him afterward, she wouldn't call that four years' war exactly + entertaining! + </p> + <p> + The Halls personally did not suffer so deeply as their neighbors except + from property loss. All they could afford, and more, they gave to the + South, and the Northern invader took what was left. When there was nothing + left, he hacked the rosewood furniture and made targets of the family + portraits, in the mere wantonness of loot that, as a recriminative + compliment, cannot be laid to the charge of any one period or section. + Most of the farm negroes crossed the river. Funds ran low. + </p> + <p> + There had been ease and luxury in the family always, and just when Bessie + reached the time to profit by them she remarked that they failed. + </p> + <p> + Even if the Halls were not in mourning, no one lives through such a time + without feeling the common humanity. But Bessie, though she lingered on + the brink of love as of all the other deeps of life—curious, + adventurous, at once willing and reluctant—was still, in the end, + quite steady. + </p> + <p> + When the war was over, the Halls were poor, on a competence of land run to + waste, with no labor to work it, and no market to sell it. And Mr. Hall, + like so many of his generation, was too hampered by habit and crushed by + reminiscence to meet the new day. + </p> + <p> + It was the contrast in Guy's spirit that won Bessie. His was indeed the + immemorial spirit of youth—whether it be of the young world, or the + young male, or the young South—to accept the issue of trial by + combat and give loyalty to one proved equally worthy of sword or hand. + </p> + <p> + “We're whipped,” he told her, “and that settles it. Now there's other work + for us than brooding over it. All the same, the South has a future, Bibi, + and that means a future for you and me.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the manufacture of poetry, I'm afraid,” she laughed. “You dropped + a stitch.” + </p> + <p> + She did not seem to take his prowess, either past or to come, very + seriously; and her eyebrows and her inflection went up at the assumption + of the “we” in his plans. But—she listened. + </p> + <p> + His definiteness was itself effective. She herself did not know what she + wanted. Something was wrong; or rather, everything was. She was finding + life a great bore. But what would be right, she couldn't say, except that + it must be different. + </p> + <p> + Guy looked sure and seasoned as he poured out his plans; and together with + the maturing tan and breadth from his rough life, there was an + unconquerable boyishness in the lift of his head and the light of his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “This enthusiasm is truly beautiful!” she teased. + </p> + <p> + It was, in truth, infectious. + </p> + <p> + Why! it was love she had wanted. The four years had been so empty—without + Guy. + </p> + <p> + She went into it alert, receptive, optimistic. But it nettled her that + everybody should be so congratulatory, and nobody surprised. It wasn't + what <i>she</i> would call ideal for two impoverished young aristocrats to + start life on nothing but affection and self-confidence. + </p> + <p> + It did seem as if the choicest fruit always came to <i>her</i> specked. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” Guy encouraged her. “Just give me ten years. It will be a + little hard on you at first, Bibi dear, I know, but it would be harder at + your father's now. And it won't be long!” + </p> + <p> + There was only one comment of whose intention Bessie was uncertain: “So + Guy is to continue carrying you over the bad places, Bessie?” + </p> + <p> + Hm! She had been thinking it rather a fine thing for <i>her</i> to do. And + that appealed to her. + </p> + <p> + “And think what an amusing anecdote it will make after a while, Guy,—how, + with all your worldly goods tied up in a red bandanna, and your wife on + your arm instead of her father's doorstep, you set out to make your + fortune, and to live meanwhile in the City of Un-Brotherly Love!” + </p> + <p> + But Bessie had the standards of an open-handed people to whom economy was + not a virtue. There had always been on her mother's table for every meal + “salt-risin' light bread” and corn pone or griddle-cakes, half a dozen + kinds of preserves, the staples in proportion. Her mother would have been + humiliated had there been any noticeable diminution in the supply when the + meal was over; and she and the cook would have had a council of war had a + guest failed to eat and praise any single dish. + </p> + <p> + Bessie had not realized how inglorious their meagreness would be, until + Mrs. Grey, at the daughter's table, grew unctuously reminiscent about the + mother's. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” Guy tried afterward to comfort the red eyelids and tremulous + lips, “do you want a table so full it takes your appetite at sight?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I can't joke about disgrace!” Bessie quivered. + </p> + <p> + “But, Bibi dear, Mrs. Grey is simply behind the times. The <i>rationale</i> + of those enormous meals was not munificence, but that a horde of + house-servants had to be fed at a second table.” + </p> + <p> + Certainly Guy and his good spirits were excellent company. And Bessie came + of a race of women used to gay girlhoods and to settling down thereafter, + as a matter of course, into the best of house-mothers. + </p> + <p> + But there was a difference between the domestic arts she had been taught + as necessary to the future lady of a large household and the domestic + industries she had to practise. Supervising and doing were not the same. + For her mother, sewing and cooking had been accomplishments; for her they + were work. She had to do things a lady didn't do. + </p> + <p> + However, she was as fastidious about what she did for herself as about + what was done for her. She was quick and efficient. People said Bessie + Osbourne had the dearest home in town, was the best housekeeper, the most + nicely dressed on nothing. You might know Bessie Hall would have the best + of everything! + </p> + <p> + And when Bessie began to wonder if that was true, she had entered the last + circle of disappointment. + </p> + <p> + The fact was that, after the first novelty, things seemed pretty much the + same as before. Bessie Osbourne was not so different from Bessie Hall. She + might have appreciated that as significant; but doubtless she had never + heard the edifying jingle of the unfortunate youth who “wandered over all + the earth” without ever finding “the land where he would like to stay,” + and all because he was injudicious enough to take “his disposition with + him everywhere he went.” It was as if she had been going in a circle from + right to left, and, after a blare of drums and trumpets and a stirring + “About—face!” she had found herself going in the same circle from + left to right. It all came to the same thing, and that was nothing. Guy + was apparently working hard; but, after all, in real life it seemed one + did not plant the adepts' magic seed that sprouted, grew, bloomed, while + you looked on for a moment. For herself, baking and stitching took all her + time, without taking nearly all her interest, or seeming to matter much + when all was said and done. If she neglected things, they went undone, or + some one else did them; in any case Guy never complained. If she did what + came up, each day was filled with meeting each day's demands. All their + lives went into the means and preparation for living. Other people—Or + was it really any different with them? Nine-tenths of the people + nine-tenths of the time seemed to accomplish only a chance to exist. She + had heard women complain that such was the woman's lot in order that men + might progress. But it struck her very few men worked beyond the provision + of present necessities, either. Was it all a myth, then—happiness, + experience, romance? Was this all there was to life and love? What was the + sense, the end? Her dissatisfaction reproached the Cosmos, grew to that <i>Weltschmerz</i> + which is merely low spirits and reduced vitality, not “an infirmity of + growth.” + </p> + <p> + She constantly expected perfection, and all that fell below it was its + opposite extreme, and worthless. She began to suspect herself of being an + exceptional and lofty nature deprived of her dues. + </p> + <p> + Guy was a little disappointed at her prudent objection to children until + their success was established. Prudence was mere waste of time to his + courage and assurance. And he believed, though without going into the + psychology of the situation, that Bessie would be happier with a child or + two. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how can we do any more?” she answered, in her pretty, spoiled way. + “We're trying to cut a two-yard garment out of a one-yard piece now.” At + least, she was; and so Guy was. + </p> + <p> + Well, it wasn't a great matter yet. It is not in the early years of + marriage that that lack is most felt. And Bessie was not very strong; she + never seemed really well any more. She developed a succession of small + ailments, lassitudes, nerves. She dragged on the hand of life, and + complained. The local physician drugged her with a commendable spirit of + optimism and scientific experiment. But the drawl of the light voice with + its rising inflection became distinctly a whine. + </p> + <p> + She got a way of surprising Guy and upsetting his calculations with + unannounced extravagances. “What's the good of all this drudgery? We're + making no headway, getting nowhere; we might as well have what good we can + as we go along.” + </p> + <p> + There was a negro woman in the kitchen now, and in the sitting-room one of + the new sewing-machines. And Guy, who, so far, had been only excavating + for the cellar of his future business house, was beginning to feel that + good foundation walls were about to start. + </p> + <p> + But, even when peevish, Bessie had a way of turning up her eyes at him + that reduced him to helplessness and adoration. And she was delicate! “I + know,” he sympathized with her loyally, “it's like trying to work and be + jolly with a jumping tooth; or rather, in your case, with a constant + buzzing in your head.” + </p> + <p> + The jumping tooth was his own simile. The headaches that had begun while + he was soldiering were increasing. He had intermittent periods of numbness + in the lower half of his body. It was annoying to a busy man. He could + offer no explanation, nor could the doctors. “Overwork,” they suggested, + and advised the cure that is of no school—“rest.” That was + “impossible.” Besides, it was all nonsense. He put it aside, went on, kept + it from Bessie. + </p> + <p> + The end came, as it always does, even after the longest expectation, with + a rush. He was suffering with one of his acute headaches one night, when + Bessie fell asleep beside him. She woke suddenly, with no judgment of + time, with a start of terror, a sense of oppression, or—death? + </p> + <p> + “Guy!” she screamed. + </p> + <p> + The strangeness of his answering voice only repeated the stab of fear. She + was on her feet, had made a light.... + </p> + <p> + He was not suffering any more. He was perfectly conscious and rational. + But from the waist down he could not move nor feel. + </p> + <p> + The doctors came and talked a great deal and said little; they reminded + them that not much was known of this sort of thing; they would be glad to + do what they could.... + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say this is permanent? Paralyzed? I? Oh, absurd!” Awful + things happened to other people, of course—scandal, death—but + to one's self—“Oh, it doesn't sound true! It can't be true. + Paralyzed? <i>I</i>?” + </p> + <p> + And Bessie wondered why this had been sent on <i>her</i>. + </p> + <p> + The explanation was hit on long afterward, when in one of his campaign + stories Guy mentioned a fall from his horse, with his spine against a + rock, that had laid him unconscious for twenty-two hours. + </p> + <p> + And so the war, which had been responsible for their starting together + with only a past and a future, was responsible for their having shortly + only a past. Guy was not allowed his ten years. + </p> + <p> + Though he had now less actual pain, the shock seemed to jar the + foundations of his life, and the sharp change in the habits of an active + and vigorous body seemed to wreck his whole system. For months and months + and months he seemed only a bundle of exposed nerves—that is, where + he had any movement or sensation at all. + </p> + <p> + Now a past, however escutcheoned and fame-enrolled, is even more + starvation diet than a future of affection and self-confidence. No help + was to be had from either of their homes; it was the day of self-help for + all. + </p> + <p> + Bessie wondered why this had been sent on <i>her</i>, but she took a + couple of boarders at once, she sold sponge-cake and beaten biscuit, she + got up classes in bread-making. And Guy stopped her busy passing to draw + her hand to his lips, or watched her with dumb eyes. + </p> + <p> + Several of her friends, after trying her sewing-machine, then still + something of a novelty, ordered duplicates. Guy suggested as a joke that + she charge the makers a commission. + </p> + <p> + “The idea of trading on friendship?” Bessie laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” Guy reflected, more seriously. “How about these + boarders, then? That's trading on hospitality.” + </p> + <p> + It was one of those minute flashes of illumination that, multiplied and + collected, become the glow of a new light, the signal of a revolution. The + country was full of them in those days. The old codes were melting in the + heat of change. Standards were fluid. Personally, it ended in Bessie's + selling machines, first in her town, then in neighboring ones. + </p> + <p> + In the restlessness that youth thinks is aspiration for the ideal, + particularly for the ideal love, is a large element of craving for place + and interest. After her marriage, at least, Bessie might have had enough + of both; but the obvious purpose was too limited to appeal to her. Now two + appetites and the four seasons supplied motive enough for industry. There + was nothing magnificent in this manifest destiny, but it had the advantage + of being imperative and constant. It was no small tax on her acquired + delicacy, but it gave less time for hunting symptoms. It did not answer + the <i>Whence, Whither, and Why;</i> it pointedly changed the subject. Her + work began to carry her out of herself. + </p> + <p> + “Bibi dear, what a sorry end to all my promises!” + </p> + <p> + She had been thinking just that herself with a sense of injury and + imposition; and she was used all her life to having people see everything + as she saw it, from her side only. But Guy had just turned over to his few + creditors the hole in the ground into which so far most of his work had + gone. “Bibi dear, what a sorry end to all my plans!” was what she expected + him to say. And what he did say and what he didn't, met surprised in her + mind and surveyed each other. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Guy!” she deprecated, suddenly ashamed. For the first time it + occurred to her to wonder why this had been sent on <i>him</i>. With a + rush of remorseful sympathy and appreciation, she slipped down beside his + chair. “My poor old boy!” + </p> + <p> + He clung to her like a drowning man—Guy, who, after the first single + cry at the blow, had been so self-contained (or self-repressed?) through + it all! + </p> + <p> + She remembered that she had omitted a good many things lately. + </p> + <p> + “You're tired to-day,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am.” She caught at it hurriedly with apologetic self-defence. “I'm + pretty constantly tired lately. And this morning Mrs. Grey was so trying. + She doesn't understand her machine, and she doesn't understand business, + and she was <i>too</i> silly and stupid. I don't wonder you men laugh at + us and don't want us in <i>your</i> affairs!” + </p> + <p> + “It's all hard on you, Bibi.” There was a lump in his voice. It was the + first time he had been able to speak of it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes;” her own throat was so strained that for a moment she could not go + on. “But,” it struck her again, “I don't suppose an unbiased observer + would think it exactly festive for you.” + </p> + <p> + And, to be sure, when one came to think of it, how, pray, was he to blame? + </p> + <p> + From that day there began to be more than necessity to her work, and more + than work to carry her out of herself. + </p> + <p> + In the present of commercial femininity we have two types—one, the + business man; the other, an individual without gender, impersonal, + capable. She never does anything ill-bred, certainly, but one no more + thinks of specifying that she is a lady than that her hair is black; it + isn't the point. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Osbourne, however, was always first of all a lady. With her, men kept + their hats off and their coats on, and had an inclination to soften + business with bows, and bargains with figures of speech. She was at once + so patrician and so gracious that women felt it a kind of social function + to deal with her. The drawl of the light voice with its rising inflection + was only gently plaintive. The pretty way was winning, and rather pathetic + in her position; it drifted about her an aroma of story, and that had its + own appeal. The unvarying black of dress and bonnet, with touches of white + at neck and wrist, was refined, and made her rosy plumpness look sweeter. + It was all an uninventoried part of her stock in trade. And she came to + take the same satisfaction in returns in success and cash that she had + taken as a girl in results in valentines and cotillion favors. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Osbourne had all the traditions of her class and generation. She let + her distaste of the situation be known. If it had been possible, she would + have concealed it like a scandal. As it was, with very proud apology, she + made the necessity of her case understood: her object was bread and + butter, not any of these new Woman's Rights—unwomanly, bourgeoise! + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, it was not only true that it suited her to be doing + something with some point and result, but that the life of action and + influence among people suited her. The work came to interest her for + itself as well as for its object; that interest was a factor in her + success; and the success again both stimulated and further equipped her. + </p> + <p> + As she got into training and over the first sore muscles of mind and body, + work began to strengthen her. The nerves and small ailments grew + secondary, were overlooked, actually lessened. There need be nothing + esoteric in saying that a vital interest in life is as essential to health + as to happiness. One need consider only the practical and physical effects + of interest and self-forgetfulness, serenity and self-resource. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes her increasing trade took her away for two or three days, as far + as Louisville or Cincinnati. The thought of Guy followed her, a sweet + pain. She found herself hurrying back to her bright prisoner, and because + of both conditions the marvel of that brightness grew on her, together + with certain embarrassed comparisons. More than anything else, she admired + his strength where she had been weak. + </p> + <p> + His brightness seemed to her the most pathetic thing about him; it was so + sorry. It was indeed the epitome of his tragedy. To be as unobtrusive as + possible, and, when necessarily in evidence, as pleasant as possible, was + the role he had assigned himself. It was the one thing he could do, the + only thing he could do for her. + </p> + <p> + Doubtless the very controlling of the nervousness helped it. Moreover, his + revolting organization was gradually adapting itself somewhat to the new + conditions. Sensitive and uncertain tendrils of vitality began to creep + out from the roots of a blighted vigor. + </p> + <p> + Bessie, increasingly perceptive, began to suspect that what she saw was + the brightness after the storm. She wondered what his long solitary hours + were like when she was away. What must they be, with him helpless, + disappointed, lonely, liable to maddening attacks of nerves? But he + assured her that he was perfectly comfortable; Mammy Dinah was faithful + and competent; and he was really making headway with the German and French + that he had taken up because he could put them down as need was, and + because—they might come in, in some way, some time. “In heaven?” + Bessie wondered secretly, but, enlightened by her own experience, saw the + advantage of his being entertained. + </p> + <p> + “You're too much alone,” she said, feeling for the trouble. “And so am I,” + she added, thoughtfully. She should have noticed his eyes at that last. He + had developed a sort of controlled voracity for endearment, but he never + asked for it. In the old days he had taken his own masterfully, with no + doubts. Now he waited. He did not starve. She cajoled him and coaxed his + appetite and patted the pillows, and made pretty, laughing eyes at him and + fate quite in her habitual manner. Her touch and tone of affection had + never been so free. But in that very fact he found another sting. + </p> + <p> + “The better I do on the road, the more they keep me out,” she was saying. + “We can't go on this way. I've been thinking lately—Could you bear + to go North, Guy, and to live in a city, among strangers? Perhaps at + headquarters there might be an opening for me that would let me settle + down.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Cincinnati! Is there any such chance?” + </p> + <p> + “You'd <i>like</i> it? Why on earth—Are you so bored here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bibi, have you never thought of it? In a city there'd be some chance + of something I could do!” + </p> + <p> + “You? Oh, Guy!” After she had accepted the care of him, and that so + pleasantly, he wasn't satisfied! “Is there anything you lack here?” She + was hurt. + </p> + <p> + It was replaying the old parts reversed. Once <i>he</i> had grieved that + he could not give her enough to content her. + </p> + <p> + “A—h—” He turned his head away and flung an arm up over his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + She understood only that he was suffering. “But, Guy, there's nothing you + could do, possibly. It's not to be expected. Have I complained?” She fell + back on the kindly imbecility of the nurse. “Now you're not to worry about + that, at least until you're better—” + </p> + <p> + “Better?” He forgot the lines in which he had schooled himself. The man + overrode the amateur actor. “That's not the thing to hope for. Why + couldn't it have killed me—that first fall?” (“My dear, my dear!” + she stammered.) “There would have been some satisfaction in getting out of + the way, and that in decent fashion; like a charge of powder, not like a + rubbish-heap. I can't accept it of you, Bibi. I'm enraged for you. I can't + be grateful. I'm ashamed.” + </p> + <p> + She understood now. + </p> + <p> + What could she say? A dozen things, and she did; things about as + satisfying as theology at the grave. He did not answer nor respond. When + he relaxed at last it was simply to her arms around him, his head on her + bosom, her wordless notes of tenderness and consolation. + </p> + <p> + He was suffering, and chiefly for her, and what a fighter he was! Who but + he would ever have thought of <i>his</i> doing anything? + </p> + <p> + So there might be cases in which it was really more helpful and generous + not to do things for people, but to let them do for themselves. She + couldn't fancy his doing enough to amount to anything. He oughtn't to! But + if it would make him any happier he should have his make-believe—yes, + and without knowing it was make-believe. Doing things that were of no + value to any one was so disheartening. She knew. Like perfunctory exercise + for your health. + </p> + <p> + Her own business in Cincinnati proved so brief as to take her breath. His + was more difficult. The plough was still mightier than either sword or + pen. Few markets were open to an inactive man whose hours must be short + and irregular, and whose chief qualifications seemed to be a valiant + spirit and a store of reminiscences, in a time when reminiscences were as + easy to get as advice. + </p> + <p> + She was delayed in her return, growing more and more anxious at the + thought of his anxiety. When she boarded the south-bound train, she went + down the aisle, looking for a seat, with her short steps hurried as if it + would get her home sooner. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grey leaned over and motioned her, and as she sat down, looked + critically at the bright eyes and pink cheeks. “You certainly do look well + nowadays, Bessie.” + </p> + <p> + Doubtless Bessie's color was partly excitement and rush. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm well,” absently. + </p> + <p> + “Funny kind of dyspepsia, wasn't it, to be cured by eating around, the way + you have to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dyspepsia!” The nettles brought back her attention. People needn't + belittle her troubles! “I still have that dyspepsia. But if you had to be + as busy as I, Mrs. Grey, you'd know that there are times when nothing but + sudden death can interfere.” Even Mrs. Grey's prickings, however, were + washed over to-day by Balm of Gilead. “Still, it has come to something. + The company has given me Cincinnati for my territory.” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” Not that Mrs. Grey doubted her veracity. “Well, you always did + succeed at anything you put your hand to. It has been the most surprising + thing! You know, I tell everybody, Bessie, that you deserve all the credit + in the world for the way you have taken hold.” Bessie stiffened; neither + need they sympathize too much! “A girl brought up as you were, who always + had the best of everything.” <i>The best of everything!</i> The familiar + phrase was like a bell, sending wave after wave of memory singing through + Bessie's mind. “And still I never saw any one to whom the wind has been so + tempered as to you: when you were sick you could afford it, and now that + it's inconvenient—Things always did seem to work smoother with you, + and come out better, than with any of the rest of us.” + </p> + <p> + Bessie sat looking at her, and, in the speech, saw her own petulance of a + moment before—any number of her own speeches, in fact, inverted, as + things are in a glass. Indeed, Mrs. Grey had held up a reflector. Bessie + had met herself. And she saw herself, as in a mirror-maze, from all + angles, down diminishing perspectives, from the woman she was to the girl + she had been. + </p> + <p> + She had been quite unconscious of the slow transformation in her habits of + thought. It is so in life. One toils up the thickly wooded hillside, + intent only on the footing, and comes suddenly on a high clearing, + overlooking valley and path, defining a new horizon. + </p> + <p> + “I never had the best of everything, Mrs. Grey,” she said. “Nobody has. + Every life and every situation in life has its bad conditions—and + its good ones. I haven't had any more happiness—nor trouble than + most people. It strikes me things are pretty equally divided. We only + think they aren't when we don't know all about it. We see the surface of + other people's lives, not their private drawbacks or compensations. There + are always both. But other people's troubles are so much easier to bear + than our own, their good luck so much less deserved and qualified! With + all I had as a girl I didn't have contentment. And now, with all I lack, I + don't know any one with whom I'd change places.” + </p> + <p> + What was the use with Mrs. Grey? + </p> + <p> + But alone, the thought kept widening ring after ring: How little choice + there was of conditions in life; how fortune tends to seek its level; how + one man has the meat and another the appetite; and another, without + either, can find in the fact the flavor of a joke or chew the cud of + reflection over it. Of the three, Bessie thought she would rather be the + one with the disposition. But that could be cultivated. Look at hers! + Circumstances had started it in a sort of aside, but she would take the + hint. + </p> + <p> + The cure for dissatisfaction was to recognize one's balance of good. + </p> + <p> + Guy was watching for her at the window. She was half conscious that he + looked unusually haggard, but there were so many other thoughts at sight + of him that they washed over the first. + </p> + <p> + She swung her reticule. “It's all right!” and she ran up the walk, a most + feminine swirl of progress. She got to him breathless. “I've found a house + that will give you its German correspondence to translate and write, and + it won't be so much but that you can do it as you're able, within reason. + Now, sir!” + </p> + <p> + For a minute it seemed as if Guy's whole body was alive. The weak and + shaken invalid still had something of unconquerable boyishness in the lift + of his head and the light of his eyes. “Good! That will do for a start.” + The old spirit, to which hers always answered. If she didn't believe he + would actually do something worth while in the end! Then promptly, of old + habit, he thought of her. “Bibi! You took your time for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Not all of it, in good sooth, fair lord.” She spread out her skirts, + lady-come-to-see fashion, and strutted across the room. “Mrs. Osbourne has + a new 'job' and a 'raise.'” (Incidentally Mrs. Osbourne had never before + been so advanced in her language.) + </p> + <p> + “Bully for you!” he shouted, so genuinely that she ran back to him and + shook and hugged his shoulders. How she <i>liked</i> him! + </p> + <p> + “What a thorough girl you are, Bibi!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, and to-day I've been laughing at myself; as silly as I used to be, + counting so much on a mere change of circumstances. Of course something + unpleasant will develop there too. But at least the harness will rub in a + different place. On the whole, it will be better. Guy, do you know, I have + just gotten rid of envy and discontent, and that without endangering + ambition. I'll give you the charm; it's a sort of cabalistic <i>spell</i>—the + four P's—Occu<i>p</i>ation, Res<i>p</i>onsibility, <i>P</i>urpose, + and <i>P</i>hilosophy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “the most worth-while thing in life is to feel you are + accomplishing something—doing your work well and getting + proportionate returns.” + </p> + <p> + The tone touched her. “Poor old Guy!” so generously congratulatory of her + flaunted advantages. How stupid she was! Poor Guy! her pretty creed + scattered at a breath like a dead dandelion-ball. Envy she had disposed + of, but what about pity? What had he to make up? “The idea of my talking + of happiness, with you caged here!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that was the point of it all,” he said, “to give you your + chance.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be a beautifully humble thing for me to think, now wouldn't + it?” Yet she had once complained that the point of it all was to interfere + with her. “And so sweetly generous. Your chance being—?” + </p> + <p> + “To serve as a means of grace to you?” He smiled. “I am glad to be of some + use—and honored to be of that one!” he hurried to add, elaborately + humorous. + </p> + <p> + But what she was noticing was the flagging effort of his vivacity. Her + half-submerged first impression of him was coming to the surface: he did + look unusually haggard. “You haven't been good while I was away. Now don't + tell stories. Don't I know you? No more storms, Guy!” she warned. + </p> + <p> + His eye evaded hers. “I am seriously questioning whether you ought to make + this change. All your friends are here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to that! There might be advantages in working among strangers. + Mrs. Grey fairly puts herself out to let me understand that she is a + friend in need!” She reined herself up, recollecting, but too late. “Oh, + Guy, don't mind so for me. Why, the South is full of women doing what I + am, only so many of them are doing it—without—the Guys who + never came back!” + </p> + <p> + “Lucky dogs!” subterraneously. Then, seeing her apprehensive of a second + flare-up of that volcanic fire: “So gentlemanly of them, too, Bibi. How + can those few years of love be worth a life of this to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Those few years? why, Guy! of love? Is that how <i>you</i> feel?” Her + eyes filled; her whole face quivered. “Oh, Guy—be willing for my + sake. I never knew what love could mean until lately.” + </p> + <p> + His grasp hurt her knuckles. “Yes, dear, I have seen. It's very sweet. + It's the mother in you, Bibi, and my helplessness. Of course! What could a + woman <i>love</i> in a dependent, half-corpse of a no-man?” + </p> + <p> + For a moment she was too surprised to speak. She stared at him. “What a + notion! and it isn't true! You never were any more a man than you've been + through these two dreadful years.” She sounded fairly indignant. “And for + my part, I never appreciated what you were half as much.” + </p> + <p> + “Love doesn't begin with a <i>P</i>,” he remarked to the opposite wall. + </p> + <p> + “But what do you suppose the <i>purpose</i> was?” + </p> + <p> + “Love?” + </p> + <p> + “More. <i>You</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “You never told me.” That strange voice and averted face! + </p> + <p> + “How should I fancy you wouldn't know? I had never thought it out myself + until just now. It has simply been going on from day to day, as natural + and quiet as growing—” A bewildering illumination was spreading in + her mind. “Look here, young man”—she forced his face around to see + it,—“what goblins have you been hatching in the night-watches?” The + raillery broke. “Dear, is that what has been troubling you? Is there + anything else?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her now. “Anything else trouble me, if I really have you, and + a chance to do a little something for you?” + </p> + <p> + It was their apotheosis. They had never known a moment equal to it before; + could never know just another such again. In a very deep way it was the + first kiss of love for them both. + </p> + <p> + Bessie came back to herself with that sense of arriving, of having been + infinitely away, with which one drops from abstraction. + </p> + <p> + Where had they been in that state of absent mind? + </p> + <p> + It was as if they had met out of time, space, matter.... And as she + thought of his words, in the light of his eyes, pity too was qualified, + and that without endangering helpfulness. He, too, had his balance of + good. Yes, things squared in the end. + </p> + <p> + Her creed was quick. The scattered dandelion seed sprouted all around her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PAP OVERHOLT + </h2> + <h3> + BY ALICE MACGOWAN + </h3> + <p> + Up and down the long corn rows Pap Overholt guided the old mule and the + small, rickety, inefficient plough, whose low handles bowed his tall, + broad shoulders beneath the mild heat of a mountain June sun. As he went—ever + with a furtive eye upon the cabin—he muttered to himself, shaking + his head: + </p> + <p> + “Say I sha'n' do hit. Say he don't want me a-ploughin' his co'n. My law! + Whut you gwine do? Thar's them chillen—thar's Huldy. They got to be + fed—they 'bleeged to have meat and bread. Ef I don't—” + </p> + <p> + Again he lifted his apprehensive glance toward the cabin; and this time it + encountered a figure stepping from the low doorway—a young fellow + with an olive face, delicately cut features, black curling hair, the sleep + still lingering in his dark eyes. He approached the fence—the sorry, + broken fence,—put his hands upon it, and called sharply, “Pap!” + </p> + <p> + The old man released the plough-handles and came toward the youth, + shrinking like a truant schoolboy called up for discipline. + </p> + <p> + “Pap, this is the way you do me all the time—come an' plough in my + co'n when I don't know nothin' about hit—when I don't want hit done,—tryin' + to make everybody think I'm lazy and no 'count. Huldy tellin' me I ought + to be ashamed of myse'f, in bed while my po' old pappy—'at hain't + ploughed a row of his own for years—is a-gittin' my co'n outen the + weeds.” + </p> + <p> + The father stood, a chidden culprit. The boy had worked himself up to the + desired point. + </p> + <p> + “You jest do hit to put a shame on me. Now, Pap, you take that mule—” + </p> + <p> + “W'y, Sammy,—w'y, Sammy honey, you know Pappy don't do it fer nair + sech a reason. Hit don't look no sech a thing—like you was shif'less + an' lazy. Hit jes look like Pappy got nothin' to do, an' love to come and + give you a turn with yo' co'n; an', Sammy honey,”—the good farmer + for the moment getting the better of the timid, soft-hearted parent,—“hit + is might'ly in the weeds, boy. Don't you reckon I better jes—” + </p> + <p> + The other began, “I tell you—” + </p> + <p> + “There, there! Ne'mine, Sammy. Ef you don't want Pappy to plough no mo', + Pappy jes gwine to take the plough right outen the furrow and put old Beck + up. Pappy gwine—” + </p> + <p> + The boy turned away, his point made, and strolled back to the cabin. The + old man, murmuring a mixture of apologies, assurances, and expostulations, + went pathetically about the putting up of the mule, the setting away of + the plough. + </p> + <p> + Nobody knew when Pap Overholt began to be so called, nor when his wife had + received the affectionate title of Aunt Cornelia. It was a naming that + grew of itself. Forty years ago the pair had been married—John, a + sturdy, sunny-tempered young fellow of twenty-one, six feet in his + stockings, broad of shoulder, deep of chest, and with a name and a nature + clean of all tarnish; Cornelia Blackshears, a typical mountain girl of the + best sort. + </p> + <p> + When, at the end of the first year, old Dr. Pastergood, who had ushered + Cornelia herself into this world, turned to them with her first child in + his arms, the young father stood by, controlling his great rush of primal + joy, his boyish desire to do something noisy and violent; the mother + looked first at her husband, then into the old doctor's face, with eyes of + passionate delight and appeal. He was speechless a moment, for pity. Then + he said, gently: + </p> + <p> + “Hit's gone, befo' hit ever come to us, Cornely. Hit never breathed a + breath of this werrisome world.” + </p> + <p> + A man who had practised medicine in the Turkey Tracks for twenty-five + years —a doctor among these mountain people, where poverty is the + rule, hardship a condition of life, and tragedy a fairly familiar element, + would have had his fibre well stiffened. The brave old campaigner, who had + sat beside so many death-beds and so many birth-beds, and had seen so many + come and so many go, at the exits and entrances of life, met the matter + stoutly and without flinching. His stoic air, his words of passive + acceptance, laid a calm upon the first outburst of bitter grief from the + two young creatures. Later, when John had gone to do the chores, the old + doctor still sat by Cornelia's bed. He took the girl's hand in his—an + unusual demonstration of feeling for a mountaineer—and said to her, + gently, + </p> + <p> + “Cornely, there won't never be no mo'—there'll be nair another baby + to you, honey.” + </p> + <p> + The stricken girl fastened her eyes upon his in dumb pain and protest. She + said nothing, the wound was too deep; only her lips quivered pitifully and + the tears ran down upon the pillow. + </p> + <p> + “Now, now, honey, don't ye go to fret that-a-way. W'y, Cornely, ye was + made for a mother; the Lord made ye for such—an' do ye 'low 'at He + don't know what He's a-gwine to do with the work of His hands? 'For mo' + air the children of the desolate'—don't ye know Scripter says?—than + of them that has many. Lord love ye, honey, girl, you'll be mother to a + minny and a minny. They air a-comin'; the Lord's a-sendin' 'em. W'y, + honey,—you and John will have children gathered around you—” + </p> + <p> + The one cry broke forth from Cornelia which she ever uttered through all + her long grief of childlessness: “Oh, but, Dr. Pastergood, I wanted mine—my + own—and John's! Oh, I reckon it was idolatry the way I felt in my + heart; I thought, to have a little trick-bone o' my bone, flesh o' my + flesh—look up at me with John's eyes—” A sob choked her + utterance, and never again was it resumed. + </p> + <p> + In the years that followed, the pair—already come to be called Pap + Overholt and Aunt Cornely—well fulfilled the old doctor's prophecy. + The very next year after their baby was laid away, John's older brother, + Jeff, lost his wife, and the three little children Mandy left were brought + at once to them, remaining in peace and welfare for something over a year + (Jeff was a circumspect widower), making the place blithe with their + laughter and their play. Then their father married, and they were taken to + the new home. He was an Overholt too, and shared that powerful paternal + instinct with John. Three times this thing happened. Three times Jeff + buried a wife, and the little Jeff Overholts, with recruited ranks, were + brought to Aunt Cornelia and Pap John. When Jeff married his fourth wife—Zulena + Spivey, a powerful, vital, affluent creature, of an unusual type for the + mountains,—and the children (there were nine of them by this time) + went to live with their step-mother, whose physique and disposition + promised a longer tenure than any of her predecessors, Pap and Aunt + Cornelia sat upon the lonely hearth and assured each other with tears that + never again would they take into their home and their lives, as their very + own, any children upon whom they could have no sure claim. + </p> + <p> + “Tell ye, Cornely, this thing o' windin' yer heart-strings around and + around a passel o' chaps for a year or so and then havin' 'em tore out—well, + hit takes a mighty considerable chunk o' yer heart along with 'em.” And + the wife, looking at him with wet eyes, nodded an assent. + </p> + <p> + It was next May that Pap Overholt, who had been doing some hauling over as + far as Big Turkey Track, returned one evening with a little figure perched + beside him on the high wagon seat. “The Lord sent him, honey,” he said, + and handed the child down to his wife. “He ain't got a livin' soul on this + earth to lay claim to him. He is ourn as much as ef he was flesh and bone + of us. I even tuck out the papers.” + </p> + <p> + That evening, the two sitting watching the little dark face in its sleep, + Pap told his story. Driving across the flank of Yellow Old Bald, beyond + Lost Cabin, he had passed a woman with five children sitting beside the + road in Big Buck Gap. + </p> + <p> + “Cornely, she looked like a picture out of a book,” whispered Pap. “This + chap's the livin' image of her. Portugee blood—touch o' that + melungeon tribe from over in the Fur Cove. She had a little smooth face + shaped like a aig; that curly hair hangin' clean to her waist, dark like + this baby's, but with the sun all through it; these eyebrows o' his'n + that's lifted in the middle o' his forred, like he cain't see why some + onkindness was did him; and little slim hands and feet; all mighty furrin + to the mountains. I give 'er a lift—she was goin' to Hepzibah, + huntin' fer some kind o' charity she'd heard could be got there; and this + little trick he tuck to me right then.” + </p> + <p> + The woman bent over and looked long at the small olive face, so delicately + cut, the damp rings of hair on his forehead, the tragic lift of the brows + above the nose bridge, the thin-lipped scarlet mouth. “My baby,” she + murmured; then lifted her glance with the question: “An' how come ye to + have him? Did she—did that womern—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. 'Twas this-a-way,” Pap interrupted her. “When I came back from + Big Turkey Track, I went down through Hepzibah—I couldn't git this + chap's eyes—ner his little hands—out o' my head; I found + myse'f a-studyin' on 'em the hull enjurin' time. She was dead when I got + thar. She'd died to Squire Cannon's, and they was a-passellin' out the + chillen 'mongst the neighbors. No sooner I put foot on the po'ch 'n this + little soul come a-runnin' to me, an' says: W'y, here's my pappy, now. I + tole you-all I did have a pappy. Now look—see—here he is.' + Then he peeked up at me, and he put up his little arms, an' he says, jest + as petted, and yit a little skeered, he says, 'Take me, pappy.' When I + tuck him up, he grabbed me round the neck and dug his little face into + mine. Then he looked around at all the folks, and sort o' shivered, and + put his face back in my neck—still ez a little possum when you've + killed the old ones an' split up the tree an' drug out the nest.” + </p> + <p> + Both faces were wet with tears now. Pap went on: “I had the papers made + right out—I knowed you'd say yes, Cornely. He's Samuel Ephraim + Overholt. A-comin' home, the little weenty chap looks up at me suddent an' + axes, 'Is they a mammy to we-all's house whar we goin' now?' Lord! Lord!” + Pap shook his head gently, as signifying the utter inadequacy of mere + words. + </p> + <p> + Little Sammy grew and thrived in the Overholt home. The tiny rootlets of + his avid, unconscious baby life he thrust out in all directions through + that kind soil, sucking, sucking, grasping, laying hold, drawing to him + and his great little needs sustenance material and spiritual. More keen + and capable to penetrate were those thready little fibres than the + irresistible water-seeking tap-root of the cottonwood or the mesquite of + the plains; more powerful to clasp and to hold than the cablelike roots of + the rock-embracing cedar. The little new member was so much living + sunshine, gay, witching, brilliant, erratic in disposition as he was + singular and beautiful in his form and coloring, but always irresistibly + endearing, dangerously winning. When he had been Sammy Overholt only two + weeks, he sat at table with his parents one day and scornfully rejected + the little plate that was put before him. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he cried, sharply. “No, no! I won't have it—ole nassy plate!” + </p> + <p> + “W'y, baby! W'y, Sammy,” deprecated Cornelia, “that's yo' own little plate + that mammy washed for you. You mustn't call it naisty.” + </p> + <p> + “Hit air nassy,” insisted young Samuel. “Hit got 'pecks—see!” and + the small finger pointed to some minute flaw in the ware which showed as + little dots on the white surface. + </p> + <p> + Cornelia, who, though mild and serene, was possessed of firmness and a + sense of justice, would have had the matter fairly settled. “He ort not to + cut up this-away, John,” she urged. “He ort to take his little plate and + behave hisse'f; 'r else he ort to be spanked,—he really ort, John, + in jestice to the child.” + </p> + <p> + But John was of another mould. “Law, Cornely! Hit's jest baby-doin's. The + idee o' him a-settin' up 'at yo' dishes ain't clean! That shore do beat + all!” And he had executed an exchange of plates under Cornelia's + deprecating eyes. And so the matter went. + </p> + <p> + Again, upon a June day, Sammy was at play with the scion of the only negro + family which had ever been known in all the Turkey Track regions. The + Southern mountaineers have little affinity, socially or politically, with + the people of the settlements. There were never any slaveholders among + them, and the few isolated negroes were treated with almost perfect + equality by the simple-minded mountain dwellers. + </p> + <p> + “Sammy honey, you an' Jimmy mus' cl'ar up yo' litter here. Don't leave it + on mammy's nice flo'. Hit's mighty nigh supper-time. Cl'ar up now, 'fo' + Pappy comes.” + </p> + <p> + Sammy stiffened his little figure to a startling rigidity. “I ain't + a-goin' to work!” he flung out. “Let him do it; <i>he's a nigger</i>!” And + this was the last word of the argument. + </p> + <p> + This was Sammy—handsome, graceful, exceedingly winning, sudden and + passionate, disdaining like a young zebra the yoke of labor, and, when + crossed, absolutely beyond all reason or bounds; the life of every + gathering of young people as he grew up; much made of, deferred to, sought + after, yet everywhere blamed as undutiful and ungrateful. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I do p'intedly wish the neighbors would leave us alone,” sighed Pap + Overholt, when these reports came to him. “As ef I didn't know what I + wanted—as ef I couldn't raise my own chile;” and as he said this he + ever avoided Aunt Cornelia's honest eye. + </p> + <p> + It was when Sammy was eighteen, the best dressed, the best horsed—and + the idlest—to be found from Little Turkey Track to the Fur Cove, + from Tatum's to Big Buck Gap—that he went one day, riding his sorrel + filly, down to Hepzibah, ostensibly to do some errands for Aunt Cornelia, + but in fact simply in search of a good time. The next day Blev Straly, a + rifle over his shoulder and a couple of hounds at heel, stopped a moment + at the chopping-block where Pap was splitting some kindling. + </p> + <p> + “I was a-passin',” he explained—“I was jest a-passin', an' I 'lowed + I'd drap in an' tell ye 'bout Sammy. Hit better be me than somebody 'at + likes to carry mean tales and wants to watch folks suffer.” Aunt Cornelia + was beside her husband now. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” Blev answered the look on the two faces; “nothin' ain't the + matter of Sammy. He's jest married—that little Huldy Frew 'at's been + waitin' on table at Aunt Randy Card's <i>ho</i>-tel. You know, Aunt + Cornely, she is a mighty pretty little trick—and there ain't nothin' + bad about the gal. I jest knowed you and Pap 'ud feel mighty hurt over + Sammy doin' you-all like you was cruel to him—like he had to run + away to git married; and I 'lowed I better come and tell you fust.” + </p> + <p> + The “little Huldy gal” was, as Blev Straly had described her, a mighty + pretty little trick, and nothing bad about her. The orphan child of poor + mountaineers, bound out since the death of her parents when she was ten + years old, she had been two years now working for Aunt Randy Card, who + kept the primitive hotel at Hepzibah. Even in this remote region Huldy + showed that wonderful—that irrepressible—upward impulse of + young feminine America, that instinctive affinity for the finer things of + life, that marvellous understanding of graces and refinements, and that + pathetic and persistent groping after them which is the marked + characteristic of America's daughters. The child was not yet sixteen, a + fair little thing with soft ashen hair and honest gray eyes, the pink upon + her cheek like that of a New England girl. + </p> + <p> + At first this marriage—which had been so unkindly conducted by + Sammy, used by him apparently as a weapon of affront—seemed to bring + with it only good, only happiness. The boy was more contented at home, + less wayward, and the feeling of apprehension that had dwelt continually + in the hearts of Pap and Aunt Cornelia ever since his adolescence now + slept. The little Huldy—her own small cup apparently full of + happiness—was all affectionate gratitude and docility. She healed + the bruises Sammy made, poured balm in the wounds he inflicted; she was + sunny, obedient, grateful enough for two. + </p> + <p> + But a new trait was developed in Sammy's nature—perversity. Life was + made smooth to his feet; the things he needed—even the things which + he merely desired—were procured and brought to him. Love brooded + above and around him—timid, chidden, but absolute, adoring. Nothing + was left him—no occupation was offered for his energies—but to + resent these things, to quarrel with his benefits. And now the quarrel + began. + </p> + <p> + Its outcome was this: Toward the end of the first year of the marriage, + upon a bleak, forbidding March day—a day of bitter wind and icy + sleet,—there rode one to the Overholt door who called upon Pap and + Aunt Cornelia to hitch up and come with all possible haste to old Eph'm + Blackshears, Cornelia's father—a man who had lived to fourscore, and + who now lay at his last, asking for his daughter, his baby chile, Cornely. + </p> + <p> + For days Sammy had been in a very ill-promising mood; but he brightened as + the foster-parents drove away in the bleak, gray, hostile forenoon, Huldy + helping Aunt Cornelia to dress and make ready, tucking her lovingly into + the wagon and beneath the thick old quilt. + </p> + <p> + The elder woman yearned over the girl with a mother's compassionate + tenderness. Both Aunt Cornelia and Pap John looked with a passionate, + delighted anticipation to when they would have their own child's baby upon + their hearth. It was the more notable marks of this tenderness, of this + joyous anticipation, which Sammy had begun to resent—the gifts and + the labors showered upon the young wife in relation to her coming + importance, which he had barely come short of refusing and repelling. + “Whose wife is she, I'd like to know? Looks like I cain't do nothin' for + my own woman—a-givin' an' a-givin' to Huldy, like she was some po' + white trash, some beggar!” But he had only “sulled,” as his mother called + it, never quite able to reach the point he desired of actually flinging + the care, the gifts, and the loving labors back in the foster-parents' + faces. + </p> + <p> + Pappy Blackshears passed away quietly in the evening; and when he had been + made ready for his grave by Cornelia's hands, her anxiety for the little + daughter at home would not let her remain longer. + </p> + <p> + “I'm jest 'bleeged to go to Huldy,” she explained to the relatives and + neighbors gathered at the old Blackshears place. “I p'intedly dassent to + leave her over one night—and not a soul with her but Sammy, and he + nothin' but a chile—and not a neighbor within a mild of our place—and + sech a night! Pap and me we'll hitch up an' mak' 'as'e back to Huldy. + We'll be here to the funeral a Sunday—but I dassent to stay away + from Huldy nair another hour now.” And so, at ten o'clock that bitter + night, Pap and Aunt Cornelia came hurrying home. + </p> + <p> + As the wagon drove up the mountain trail to the house, the hounds came + belling joyously to meet them; but no light gleamed cheerfully from the + windows; no door was flung gayly open; no little Huldy cried out her glad + greeting. Filled with formless apprehensions, Pap climbed over the wheel, + lifted Cornelia down, and dreading they knew not what, the two went,—holding + by each other's hand,—opened the door, and entered, shrinking and + reluctant. They blew the smouldering coals to a little flame, piled on + light-wood till the broad blaze rolled up the chimney, then looked about. + No living soul was in any room. Finally Cornelia caught sight of a bit of + paper stuck upon the high mantel. She tore it down, and the two read + slowly and laboriously together the few lines written in Sammy's hand: + </p> + <p> + “I ain't going to allow my wife to live off any man's charity. I ain't + going to be made to look like nothing in the eyes of people any longer. + I've taken my wife to my own place, where I can support her myself. I had + to borrow your ox-cart and steers to move with, and Huldy made me bring + some things she said mother had give her, but I'll pay all this back, and + more, for I intend to be independent and not live on any man's bounty. + </p> + <p> + “Respectfully, your son, + </p> + <h3> + “SAMUEL” + </h3> + <p> + The two old faces, pallid and grief-struck, confronted each other in the + shaken radiance of the pine fire. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my po' chile, my po' little Huldy! Whar? His own place! My law!—whar? + Whar has he drug that little soul?” + </p> + <p> + An intuition flashed into Pap Overholt's mind. He grasped his wife's arm. + “W'y, Cornely,” he cried, “hit's that cabin on The Bench! Don't ye know, + honey? I give him that land when he was sixteen year old,—time he + brung the prize home from the school down in the settlemint.” + </p> + <p> + “The Bench! Oh, Lord—The Bench! W'y, hit 'll be the death of her. + John, we cain't git to her too quick.” And she ran from cupboard to press, + from press to chest, from chest to bureau drawer, piling into John's arms + the flask of brandy, the homely medicines, the warm garments, such bits of + food as she could catch up that were palatable and portable. Pap, with + more vulnerable emotions and less resolute nature, was incapable of + speech; he could only suffer dumbly. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the abandoned cabin on The Bench, the picture that greeted them + crushed Pap's soft heart to powder, but roused in Aunt Cornelia a rage + that would have resulted in a sharp settlement with Sammy, had it not been + that, now as always, to reach the offender a blow must go through that + same pitiful heart of John's. The young people had not long been at the + cabin when the parents arrived. The little Huldy, moaning piteously, with + a stricken, terrified look in her big, childish eyes, was crouched upon + the floor beside a rickety chair. Sammy, sullen and defiant, was at the + desolate hearth, fumbling with unskilled hands at the sodden chunks of + wood he had there gathered. + </p> + <p> + The situation was past words. Pap, after one look at Huldy, went about the + fire-building, the slow tears rolling down his cheeks. While Aunt Cornelia + brought the bedding, the warm blankets and wrappings, and made the little + suffering creature a comfortable couch, Pap wrought at the forlorn, gaping + fireplace like a suffering giant. When the leaping flames danced and + shouted up the chimney till the whole cabin was filled with the physical + joy of their light and warmth, when steaming coffee and the hastily + fetched food had been served to the others, and the little wife lay + quietly for the moment, the two elders talked together outside where a + corner of the cabin cut off the driving sleet. Then Sammy was included, + and another council was held, this time of three. + </p> + <p> + No. He would not budge. That was <i>his</i> wife. A fellow that was man + enough to have a wife ought to be man enough to take keer of her. He + wasn't going to have his child born in the house of charity. There was no + thoroughfare. Sammy was allowed to withdraw, and the council of two was + resumed. As a result of its deliberations, Pap John drove away through the + darkness and the sleet. By midnight two trips had been made between the + big double log house at the Overholt place and the wretched cabin on The + Bench, and all that Sammy would suffer to be brought to them or done for + them had been brought and done. The cabin was, in a very humble way, + inhabitable. There was food and a small provision for the immediate + present. And here, upon that wild March night of screaming wind and sleet, + and with only Aunt Cornelia as doctor and nurse, Huldy's child was born. + </p> + <p> + And now a new order of things began. + </p> + <p> + Sammy's energies appeared to be devoted to the thwarting of Pap Overholt's + care and benefits. There should be no cow brought to the cabin; and so Pap + John, who was getting on in years now, and had long since given up hard, + active work, hastened from his bed at four o'clock in the morning, milked + a cow, and carried the pail of fresh milk to Huldy and the baby, + furtively, apologetically. The food, the raiment, everything had to be + smuggled into the house little by little, explained, apologized for. The + land on The Bench was rich alluvial soil. Sammy, in his first burst of + independence, ploughed it (borrowing mule and plough from a neighbor—the + one neighbor ever known to be on ill terms with Pap Overholt), and planted + it to corn. He put in a little garden, too; while Pap had achieved the + establishment of a small colony of hens (every one of whom, it appeared, + laid two or three eggs each day—at least that was the way the count + came out). + </p> + <p> + The baby thrived, unconscious of all the grief, the perverse cruelty, the + baffled, defeated tenderness about her, and was the light of Pap + Overholt's doting eyes, the delight of Aunt Cornelia's heart. When she was + eighteen months old, and could toddle about and run to meet them, and + chattered that wonderful language which these two hearts of love had all + their lives yearned to hear—the dialect of babyhood,—the twin + boys came to the cabin on The Bench. And Pap Overholt's lines were harder + than ever. Cornelia had sterner stuff in her. She would have called a + halt. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, John!” she expostulated finally, when she saw her husband come home + crestfallen one day, with a ham which Sammy had detected him smuggling + into the cabin and ordered back,—“John honey, ef you was to stop + toting things to the cabin and let it all alone—not pester with it + another—” + </p> + <p> + “Cornely, Cornely!” cried Pap John, “you know Sammy cain't no mo' keep a + wife and chillen than a peckerwood kin. W'y, they'd starve! Huldy and the + chaps would jest p'intedly starve.” + </p> + <p> + “No, they won't, John. Ef you could master yo' own soft heart—ef you + could stay away (like he's tole ye a minny a time to do, knowin' 'at you + was safe not to mind him)—Sammy would stop this here foolishness. + He'd come to his senses and be thankful for what the Lord sent, like other + people. W'y, John—” + </p> + <p> + “Cornely honey—don't. Don't ye say another word. I tell ye, this + last year there's a feelin' in my throat and in my breast—hyer,”—he + laid his hand pathetically over his heart,—“a cur'us, gone, + flutterin' feelin'. And when Sammy r'ars up and threatens he'll take Huldy + and the chaps—you know,”—he finished with a gesture of the + hand and a glance of unspeakable pain,—“when he does that 'ar way, + or something comes at me sudden like that—that we may lose 'em, hit + seems like—right hyer,”—and his hand went again to his heart,—“that + I can't bear it—that hit 'll take my life.” + </p> + <p> + This was the last time Cornelia ever remonstrated with Pap John. She had a + little talk with the new doctor from Hepzibah who bad succeeded old Dr. + Pastergood; and after that John was added to the list of her anxieties. He + might carry the milk to the cabin on The Bench; he might slip in, when he + deemed Sammy away—or asleep—and plough the corn; she saw the + tragic folly of it, but must be silent. And so on that particular June + morning, when Pap had put up the mule, clambered down the short-cut + footway from The Bench to the old house, stopping several times to shake + his head again and murmur to himself—“Whut you gwine do? There's + them chaps; there's Huldy. Mustn't plough his co'n; mustn't take over air + cow. Whut you gwine do?”—Aunt Cornelia's seeing eye noted his + perturbation the moment he came in at the door. With tender guile she + built up a considerable argument in the matter of a quarterly meeting + which was approaching—the grove quarterly, in which Pap John was + unfailingly interested, and during which there were always from two to + half a dozen preachers, old and young, staying with them. So she led him + away—ever so little away—from his ever-present grief. + </p> + <p> + It was the next day that he said to her, “Cornely, I p'intedly ain't gwine + to suffer this hyer filchin' o' co'n them Fusons is a-keepin' up on me.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the Fusons a-stealin' yo' co'n, John?” she responded, in surprise. + “W'y, they got a-plenty, ain't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, not adzactly, that is to say, Buck Fuson ain't got a-plenty. He + too lazy and shif'less to make co'n of his own; and he like too well to + filch co'n from them he puts his spite on. Buck Fuson he tuck a spite at + me, last time the raiders was up atter that Fuson hideout; jes set up an' + swore 'at I'd gin the word to 'em. You see, honey, he makes him up a spite + that-a-way—jes out o' nothin'—'cause hit's sech a handy thing + to have around when he comes to want co'n. Thar's some one already + purvided to steal from—some one 'at's done him a injury.” + </p> + <p> + “Pappy! W'y, Johnny honey, sakes alive! What air ye ever a-gwine to do + 'long o' that there thing?” For the old man had laboriously fetched out a + rusty wolf-trap, and was now earnestly inspecting and overhauling it. + </p> + <p> + “Whut am I a-gwine to do 'long o' this hyer, Cornely? W'y, I am jes + p'intedly a-gwine to set it in my grain-room. Buck Fuson air a bad man, + honey. There's two men's blood to his count. They cain't nothin' be done + to him for nair a one of 'em—you know, same's I do—'ca'se hit + cain't be proved in a co't o' law. But I kin ketch him in this meanness + with this hyer little jigger, and I'm a-gwine to do hit, jest ez sure ez + my name's John Overholt!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Pappy! A leetle bit o' co'n fer a man's chillen—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Cornely honey, that's a womern! Buck Fuson is the wrong kind o' man + to have round. He's ben a stealin' my co'n now fer two weeks and mo'. Ef I + kin ketch him right out, and give him a fa'r shamin', he'll quit the + Turkey Tracks fer good. So fer as Elmiry and the chaps is consarned, + they'll be better off without Buck 'n what they is with him.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Aunt Cornelia cried out joyously, “Oh, thar's my chile!” + and ran to meet her daughter-in-law. The little girl—Cornelia the + second—could navigate bravely by herself now, and Huldy was carrying + the lusty twin boys. In the flutter of delight over this stolen visit, the + ugly wolf-trap threat was forgotten. It had been a month and more since + Sammy had set foot in his parents' house. It had gone all over both Turkey + Tracks that Sam Overholt declared he would never darken Pap Overholt's + door again—Pap Overholt, who had tried to make a pauper of him, + loading him with gifts and benefits, like he was shif'less, no-'count + white trash! The little Huldy reported him gone to Far Canaan, over beyond + Big Turkey Track, in the matter of some employment, which he had not + deigned to make clearer to his wife. He would not be back until the day + after to-morrow; and meantime she might stay with the old folks two whole + days and nights! In the severe school to which life had put her, the + little Huldy had developed an astonishing amount of character, of + shrewdness, and perception, and a very fair philosophy of her own. To the + elder woman's sad observation that it was mighty strange what made Sammy + so “onthankful” and so “ha'sh” to his pappy, who had done so much for him, + Huldy responded, + </p> + <p> + “No, Aunt Cornely, hit ain't strange, not a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't strange? Huldy child, what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “W'y, don't you know, Aunt Cornely, ef he do Pappy that-a-way, when Pappy + do so much fer him, then he don't have to be thankful. When everybody's + a-tellin' him, 'Yo' pap's so kind, yo' pap does everything for you; look + like you cain't be good enough to him,' he 'bleeged to find some way to + shake off all that thankfulness 'at's sech a burden to him. And so when + Pappy come a-totin' milk, an' a-totin' pork, an' a-ploughin' his co'n + outen the weeds, w'y, Sammy jest draw down his face an' look black at + Pappy, and make like he mad at him—like he don't want none o' them + things—like Pappy jest pesterin' round him fer nothin'. but + meanness. Now mind, Aunt Cornely, I ain't say Sammy knows this his own + se'f. But I studied Sammy mighty well, an' <i>I</i> know. Sammy gittin' + tell he do me the same way. I wait on him hand and foot; I cook his bacon + jest like he tol' me you did it fer him. I fix everything the best I kin + (and mebby all three of the chillen a-cryin' after me); and when he come + in and see it all ready, and see how hard I got it, and seem like there's + a call fer him to be thankful, then Sammy jest turns on hit all. He draw + down his face at me and he say, black like: 'I don't want no bacon—what + did you fix that shirt for that-a-way? Take away that turnip sallet—I + cain't git nothin' like I want it.' Then, you know,” with a little smile + up into the other's face, half pitiful, half saucy,—“Then you know, + Sammy don't have to be thankful. Hit was all done wrong.” + </p> + <p> + It was the next evening—Saturday evening. The entire household + (which included Elder Justice and two young preachers from Big Turkey + Track, with Brother Tarbush, one of the new exhorters) had returned from + the afternoon's meeting in the grove. Supper had been eaten and cleared + away. The babies had been put to sleep; the two women and the five men—all + strong and striking types of the Southern mountaineer—were gathered + for the evening reading and prayer. Elder Justice, now nearly eighty years + old, a beautiful and venerable person, had opened the big Bible, and after + turning the leaves a moment, raised his grave, rugged face and read: + “'Therefore will I divide him a portion with the great, and he shall + divide the spoil with the strong; because he hath poured out his soul unto + death.'” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and on the intense stillness which followed the ceasing of his + voice—the silence of evening in the deep mountains—there broke + a long, shrill, agonized scream. + </p> + <p> + As every one of the little circle leaped to his feet, Aunt Cornelia's eyes + sought her husband's face, and his hers. After that grinding, terrible + cry, the stillness of the night was unstirred. Pap Overholt sprang to the + hearth—where even in the midsummer months a log smoulders throughout + the day, to be brightened into a cheery blaze mornings and evenings,—seized + a brand, one or two of the others following his example, and ran through + the doorway, across the little chip-yard, making for the low-browed log + barn and the grain-room beside it. + </p> + <p> + None who witnessed that scene ever forgot it. Each one told it afterward + in his own way, declaring that not while he lived could the remembrance of + it pass from his mind. Pap Overholt's tall figure leaped crouching through + the low doorway, and next instant lifted the blazing brand high above his + head; the others followed, doing the same. There by the grain-bin, with + ashy countenance and shaking limbs, the sweat of anguish upon his + forehead, his eyes roving dumbly around the circle of faces revealed by + the flickering light of the brands—there with the dreadful wolf-trap + (locked by its chain to a stanchion) hanging to his right arm, its fangs + bitten through and through the flesh, stood Sammy. + </p> + <p> + Pap Overholt's mind refused at first to understand. He had known (with + that sort of moral assurance which makes a thing as real to us as the + evidence of the senses themselves) that it was Buck Fuson who had been + stealing his grain. He had set his trap to catch Buck Fuson; not instantly + could the mere sight of his eyes convince him that the trapped thief was + the petted, adored, perverse son, who had refused his father's bounty when + it had seemed the little wife and babies must starve. When he did realize, + the cry that burst from his heart brought tears to all the eyes looking + upon him. Down went the tall, broad figure, down into the dust of the + grain-room floor. And there Pap Overholt grovelled on his knees, his white + head almost at the thief's feet, crying, crying that old cry of David's: + “Oh, Sammy, my son! My son, Sammy! An' I wouldn't 'a' touched a hair o' + his head. My God! have mercy on my soul, that would 'a' fed him my heart's + blood—an' he wouldn't take bite nor sup from my hand. Oh, Sammy! + what did you want to do this to yo' po' old pappy fer?” + </p> + <p> + Elder Justice, quick and efficient at eighty years, had sprung to the + lad's right arm, two of the younger men close after. Aunt Cornelia held + her piece of blazing light-wood for them while they cut away the sleeve + and made ready to bear apart the powerful jaws of the trap. The little + Huldy had said never a word. Her small, white face was strained; but it + did not bear the marks of shock and of horror that were written on every + other countenance there. When they had grasped jaws and lever, and Elder + Justice's kind voice murmured, “Mind now, Sammy. Hold firm, son; we air + a-gwine to pull 'em back. Brace yo'se'f,” the boy's haggard eyes sought + his mother's face. + </p> + <p> + “Le' me take it, Aunt Cornely,” whispered Huldy, loosing the light-wood + from the elder woman's hand and leaving her free. And the next moment + Sammy's left hand was clasped tight in his mother's; he turned his face + round to her broad breast and hid it there; and there he sobbed and shook + as the savage jaws came slowly back. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + That strange hour worked a complete revolution in the lives of the little + family in the cabin on The Bench and those in the big, hospitable Pap + Overholt home. Sammy had “met up with” punishment at last; he had + encountered discipline; and the change it wrought upon him was almost + beyond belief. The spell which this winning, wayward, perverse creature + had laid upon Pap Overholt's too affectionate, too indulgent nature was + dissolved in that terrible hour. He was no more to the father now than a + troublesome boy who had been most trying and not very satisfactory. The + ability to wring the hearts of those who wished to benefit him had passed + from Sammy; but it is only fair to say that the wish to do so seemed to be + no longer his. While his arm was still in a sling, before he had yet + raised his shamed eyes to meet the eyes of those about him, Pap Overholt + cheerfully put old Ned and Jerry to the big ox-wagon and bodily removed + the little household from The Bench to the home which had been so long + yearning for them. + </p> + <p> + Now, at last, he was Pap Overholt indeed. The little Huldy, whose burden + of gratitude for two had seemed to Aunt Cornelia so grievous a one, was a + daughter after any man's heart, and her brood of smiling children were a + wagon-load which Pap John hauled with joy and pride to and from the + settlement, to the circus—ay, every circus that ever showed its head + within a day's drive of Little Turkey Track,—to meetin', to grove + quarterlies, in response to every call of neighborliness, or of mere + amusement. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE PINY WOODS + </h2> + <h3> + BY MRS. B. F. MAYHEW + </h3> + <p> + A sparsely settled bit of country in the piny woods of North Carolina. A + house rather larger than its neighbors, though only a “story and a jump” + of four rooms, two upper and two lower, and quite a commodius shed on the + back containing two rooms and a small entry; and when Jeems Henry Tyler + increased his rooms as his family grew, his neighbors “allowed” that + “arter er while he'd make er hotel out'n it.” Several out-houses stood at + convenient distances from the house. A rough board paling enclosed the + yard. A clearing of twenty-five or more acres lay around three sides of + the house, and well-to-do Industry and Thrift plainly went hand in hand + about the place. + </p> + <p> + A Saturday in early autumn was drawing near its close, and the family had + finished supper, though it was not yet dark. Like all country folk of + their station in life, they ate in the kitchen, a building separate from + the house. There were “Grandmother Tyler,” a sweet-faced old woman, with + silvery hair smoothed away under a red silk kerchief folded cornerwise and + tied under her chin; and her son, “Father Tyler,” with his fifty-odd years + showing themselves in his grizzled hair and beard; and “Mother Tyler,” a + brisk stout woman, with great strength of character in her strong + features, black eyes, and straight black hair. Her neighbors declared that + she was the “main stake” in the “Tyler fence.” + </p> + <p> + The children were “Mandy Calline,” the eldest, and her mother's special + pride, built on the same model with her mother; Joseph Zachariah, a + long-legged youth; Ann Elisabeth, a lanky girl; Susan Jane, and Jeems + Henry, or “Little Jim,” to distinguish him from his father; and last, but + by no means least in the household, came the baby. When she was born Mrs. + Tyler declared that as all the rest were named for different members of + both families, she should give this wee blossom a fancy name, and she had + the desire of her heart, and the baby rejoiced in the name of Elthania + Mydora, docked off into “Thancy” for short. + </p> + <p> + They had risen from the table, and Father Tyler had hastened to his + mother's side as the old lady moved slowly away, and taking her arm, + guided her carefully to the house, for the eyes in the placid old face, + looking apparently straight before her, were stone-blind. + </p> + <p> + “Come, now, gals,” said Mother Tyler, briskly, with the baby in her arms, + “make er hurry 'n' do up th' dishes. Come, Ann Elisabeth, go ter scrapin' + up, 'n', Mandy Calline, pour up th' dish-water.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, yer'd better make er hurry,” squeaked “Little Jim,” from his perch + in the window, “fer Mandy Calline's spectin' her beau ter-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye'd best shet up yer clatter, Jim, lest ye know what yer talkin' + erbout,” retorted Mandy Calline, with a pout, making a dash at him with + the dish-cloth. + </p> + <p> + “Yer right, Jim,” drawled Joseph Zachariah, lounging in the doorway. “I + heerd Zeke White tell 'er he was er-comin' ter-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Mar—” began Mandy Calline, looking at her mother appealingly. + </p> + <p> + “Shet up, you boys,” came in answer. “Zachariah, ha' ye parted th' cows + 'n' calves?” + </p> + <p> + “No, 'm.” + </p> + <p> + “Then be erbout it straight erway. Jim—you Jeems Henry!” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm,” from outside the window. + </p> + <p> + “Go 'n' shet up the hen-'ouse, 'n' see ef th' black hen 'n' chickens ha' + gone ter roost in there. She'll keep stayin' out o' nights till th' fox + 'll grab 'er. Now, chillen, make 'er hurry 'n' git thee in here. Come, + Thaney gal, we'll go in th' house 'n' find pappy 'n' gra'mammy. Susan + Jane, come fetch th' baby's ole quilt 'n' spread it down on th' floor fer + 'er”; and Mother Tyler repaired to the house with the baby in her arms. + </p> + <p> + “Why, mother, ye in here by yerself? I tho't Jeems Henry was with yer.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, Malviny, he was tell er minit ergo, 'n' he stepped out to th' + lot,” replied the old lady, in tones so like the expression of her face, + mildly calm, that it was a pleasure to hear her speak. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ye got thet baby wi' ye?” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish ye'd put her on my lap. Gra'mammy 'ain't had 'er none ter-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm, in er minit. Run, Susan Jane, 'n' fetch er cloth ter wipe 'er + face 'n' han's; they're that stuck up wi' merlasses, ter say nothin' o' + dirt. Therey, therey, now! Mammy's gal don't want ter hev 'er face washed? + Hu! tu! tu! Thaney mustn't cry so. Where's Jeff? Here, Jeff—here, + Jeff! Ole bugger-man, come down the chimbly 'n' ketch this bad gal. You'd + better hush. I tell yer he's er-comin'. Here, Susan Jane, take th' cloth. + There, gra'mammy; there's jest es sweet er little gal es ye'd find in er + dog's age.” And the old lady at once cuddled the little one in her arms, + swinging back and forth in her home-made rocker, and crooning an old-time + baby song. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Susan Jane, han' me my knittin' from th' table, 'n' go 'n' tell Jim + ter pitch in some pine knots 'n' make er light in here, 'n' be quick + erbout it”; and Mother Tyler settled herself in another home-made rocker + and began to knit rapidly. + </p> + <p> + This was the night-work of the female portion of the family, and numerous + stockings of various colors and in various stages of progress were stuck + about the walls of the room, which boasted neither ceiling nor lath and + plaster, making convenient receptacles between the posts and + weather-boarding for knitting-work, turkey-tail fans, bunches of herbs for + drying, etc. + </p> + <p> + A pine-knot fire was soon kindled on the hearth, and threw its flickering + shadows on the room and its occupants as the dusk gathered in. + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline and Elisabeth, running a race from the kitchen, burst into + the back door, halting in a good-natured tussle in the entry. + </p> + <p> + “Stop that racket, you gals,” called out the mother; and as they came in + with suppressed bustle, panting with smothered laughter, she asked, + briskly, “Have ye shet up everything 'n' locked th' kitchen door?” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm,” replied Mandy Calline; “'n' here's th' key on th' + mantel-shelf.” She then disappeared up the stairs which came down into the + sitting-room behind the back door. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Ann Elisabeth, git yer knittin'. Git your'n too, Susan Jane.” + </p> + <p> + “Yer'll ha' ter set th' heel fer me, mar,” said Susan Jane, hoping + privately that she would be too busy to do so. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch it here,” from the mother, dashed the hope incontinently. + </p> + <p> + “I think we're goin' ter ha' some fallin' weather in er day er two; sky + looks ruther hazy, 'n' I heerd er rain-crow ter-day, 'n' ther's er circle + roun' th' moon,” observed Father Tyler as he entered, and hanging his hat + on a convenient nail in a post, seated himself in the corner opposite his + mother. + </p> + <p> + “Ha' ye got th' fodder all in?” queried his wife, with much interest. + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as; finished ter-day; that's all safe; but er rain 'ould interfere + mightily wi' pickin' out cotton up in th' swamp, 'n' it's openin, mighty + fast; shouldn't be s'prised ef some er that swamp don't fetch er bale ter + th' acre, 'n' we'll have er right purty lot o' cotton, even atter th' + rent's paid out”; and Father Tyler, with much complacency, lighted his + pipe with a coal from the hearth. + </p> + <p> + “Th' gals 'll soon ha' this erround th' house all picked out; they got + purty nigh over it ter-day, 'n' ther'll likely be one more scatterin' + pickin',” said Mother Tyler. + </p> + <p> + Here a starched rustling on the stairs betokened the descent of Mandy + Calline. Pushing back the door, she stepped down with all the dignity + which she deemed suitable to don with her present attire. + </p> + <p> + A new calico dress of a blue ground, with a bright yellow vine rambling up + its lengths, adorned her round, plump figure; her glossy black hair was + plaited, and surmounted with a huge red bow, the ends of which fluttered + out bravely; as she stepped slowly into the room, busying herself pulling + a basting out of her sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mandy Calline,” began her mother, “ef I do say it myself, yer frock + fits jest as nice as can be. Looks like ye had been melted 'n' run into + it. Nice langth, too,” eying her critically from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm; 'n' it's comf'ble, too; ain't too tight ner nothin',” giving + her shoulders a little twitch, and moving her arms a bit. + </p> + <p> + “I guess th' boys 'll ha' ter look sharp ef that gal sets 'er cap at any + on 'em,” put in Father Tyler, gazing proudly at his first-born, whereupon + a toss of her head set the ribbon ends fluttering as she moved with great + dignity across the room to the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Come, let me feel, dearie,” said the old lady, softly, turning her + sightless eyes toward the girl, hearing her movements in her direction. + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, gra'mammy,” and stepping nearer, she knelt at her grandmother's + feet, and leaning forward, rested her hands lightly on her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + The old wrinkled hands groped their way to the girl's face, thence + downward, over her arms, her waist, to the skirt of her dress. + </p> + <p> + “It feels nice, dearie, 'n' I know it looks nice.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad ye like it, gra'mammy,” said the girl, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Air ye spectin' comp'ny, dearie, that ye're all dressed up so nice? + 'Pears like ye wouldn't put on yer new frock lest ye wer'.” + </p> + <p> + Noting the girl's hesitation, the old lady said, softly, “Whisper 'n' tell + gra'-mammy who's er-comin'”; and Mandy Calline, with an additional shade + to the red in her cheeks, leaned forward and shyly whispered a name in her + grandmother's ear. + </p> + <p> + A satisfactory smile broke like sunshine over the kind old face, and she + murmured: “He's come o' good fambly, dearie. I knowed 'em all years ago. + Smart, stiddy, hard-workin', kind, well-ter-do people. I've been thinkin' + he's been er-comin' here purty stiddy, 'n' I knowed in my min' he warn't + er-comin' ter see Zachariah.” + </p> + <p> + Bestowing a kiss on one aged cheek and a gentle pat on the other, Mandy + Calline arose to her feet, and lighting a splinter at the fire, opened the + door in the partition separating the two rooms and entered the “parlor.” + </p> + <p> + This room was the pride of the family, as none of the neighbors could + afford one set apart specially for company. + </p> + <p> + It was the only room in the house lathed and plastered. Mother Tyler, who + was truly an ambitious woman, had, however, declared in the pride of her + heart that this one at least should be properly finished. + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline, with her blazing splinter, lighted the lamp, quite a gay + affair, with a gaudily painted shade, and bits of red flannel with + scalloped edges floating about in the bowl. + </p> + <p> + The floor was covered with a neatly woven rag carpet of divers gay colors. + Before the hearth, which displayed a coat of red ochre, lay a home-made + rug of startling pattern. The fireplace was filled with cedar boughs and + sweet-smelling myrtle. Two “boughten” rocking-chairs of painted wood + confronted each other primly from opposite ends of the rug. Half a dozen + straight-back chairs, also “boughten,” were disposed stiffly against the + walls. A large folding-leaf dining-table of real mahogany, an heirloom in + the family, occupied the space between two windows, and held a few + scattered books. + </p> + <p> + The windows were covered with paper curtains of a pale blue tint. In the + centre of each a festive couple, a youth and damsel, of apparently + Bohemian type, with clasped hands held high, disported themselves in a + frantic dance. These pictures were considered by the entire neighborhood + as resting triumphantly on the top round of the ladder of art. + </p> + <p> + Both parlor and sitting-room opened on a narrow piazza on the front of the + house, Father Tyler not caring to waste space in a hall or passage. + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline had flicked a bit of imaginary dust from the polished + surface of the table, had set a bit straighter, if that were possible, one + or two of the chairs, and turned up the lamp a trifle higher, when “Little + Jim” opened the door leading out on the piazza, and in tones of suppressed + excitement half whispered, “He's er-comin', Mandy Calline; Zeke's + er-comin'; he's nigh 'bout ter th' gate.” + </p> + <p> + “Go 'long, Jim, 'n' shet up; ye allers knows more'n the law allows,” said + his sister; but she glanced quickly and shyly out of the door. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ezekiel White was just entering the gate. He was undoubtedly gotten up + at vast expense for the occasion. A suit of store clothes of a startling + plaid adorned his lanky figure, and a pair of new shoes cramped his feet + in the most approved style. A new felt hat rested lightly on his + well-oiled hair. But the crowning glory was a flaming red necktie which + flowed in blazing magnificence over his shirt front. + </p> + <p> + Jeff, the yard dog, barked in neighborly fashion, as though yelping a + greeting to a frequent visitor whom he recognized as a favored one. + </p> + <p> + “Susan Jane,” said the father, “step ter th' door 'n' see who Jeff's + er-barkin' at.” + </p> + <p> + Eagerly the girl dropped her knitting and hastened to reconnoitre, curious + herself. + </p> + <p> + “It's Zeke White,” she replied, returning to her work. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed Mandy Calline was spectin' him,” muttered Ann Elisabeth, under + her breath. + </p> + <p> + Father Tyler arose and sauntered to the door, calling out: “You Jeff, ef + ye don't stop that barkin'—Come here this minit, sir! Good-evenin', + Zekle; come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-evenin”, Mr. Tyler. “Is Zachariah ter home?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no'. Malviny, is Zachariah erroun' anywher's 'at ye know of?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no'; I hain't seed 'im sence supper.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” piped up “Little Jim.” “He said es he was er-goin' ter Bill + Jackson's. But, Zeke,” he added, in a hurried aside, catching hold of the + visitor's coat in his eagerness, “Mandy Calline's ter home, 'n' she's + fixed up ter kill!” + </p> + <p> + At this juncture Mandy Calline herself appeared in the doorway, striving + to look calmly indifferent at everything in general and nothing in + particular; but the expression in her bright black eyes was shifty, and + the color in her cheeks vied with that of the bow on her hair; and by this + time Zekle's entire anatomy exposed to view shared the tint of his + brilliant necktie. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evenin', Zekle,” said the girl, bravely assuming a calm superiority + to all embarrassment and confusion. “Will ye come in th' parlor, er had ye + ruther set out on th' piazza?” + </p> + <p> + Zekle was wise; he knew that “Little Jim” dare not intrude on the sacred + precincts of the parlor, and he answered, “I'd jest es live set in th' + parlor, of it's all th' same ter you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, I'd jest es live,” she replied, and led the way into the room; he + followed, and sat down in rather constrained fashion on the chair nearest + the door, deposited his hat on the floor beside him, took from his pocket + and unfolded with a flirt an immense bandanna handkerchief, highly + redolent of cheap cologne, and proceeded to mop his face with it. + </p> + <p> + “It's ruther warm,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as,” she replied, from a rocking-chair in the corner facing him. Here + there was a long pause, and presently she added, “Pappy said es how he + tho't it mought rain in er day er two.” + </p> + <p> + The family in the sitting-room had settled down, the door being closed + between that room and the parlor. + </p> + <p> + “There, mother, gi' Thaney ter me,” said Mother Tyler. “I know ye're tired + holdin' of her, fer she ain't no light weight,” and she lifted the little + one away. + </p> + <p> + “Heigho, Thaney, air ye erwake yit?” questioned the father. + </p> + <p> + “Erwake! Ya'as, 'n' likely ter be,” said the mother. “Thaney's one o' th' + setters-up, she is.” + </p> + <p> + “Give 'er ter me, Malviny. Don't pappy's gal want er ride on pappy's foot? + See 'ere, now! Whoopee!” and placing the plump little body astride his + foot, the leg of which crossed the other, and clasping the baby hands in + his, he tossed her up and down till she crowed and laughed in a perfect + abandon of baby glee. A smiling audience looked on in joyous sympathy with + the baby's pleasure, the old gra'mammy murmuring softly, “It's like + feelin' the sunshine ter hear her laugh!” + </p> + <p> + “There, pappy,” said Mother Tyler, anxiously, “that'll do; ye're goin' ter + git 'er so wide-erwake there'll be no doin' er thing with 'er. Come, now, + Thaney, let mammy put ye down here on yer quilt. Come, come, I <i>know</i> + ye've forgot that ole bugger-man that stays up th' chimbly 'n' ketches bad + gals! There, now, that's mammy's nice gal. Git 'er playthings fer 'er, + Susan Jane. Jim, don't ye go ter sleep there in that door. Ha' ye washed + yer feet?” + </p> + <p> + “No, 'm,” came drowsily from the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Why upon th' yeth do ye wait every blessed night ter be told ter wash yer + feet? Go straight 'n' wash 'em, 'n' then go ter bed. Come, gals, knit ter + th' middle 'n' put up yer knittin'; it's time for all little folks ter go + ter sleep 'n' look for ter-morrer. 'Pears like Thaney's goin' ter look fer + it with eyes wide open.” + </p> + <p> + “Malviny, ye'll have ter toe up my knittin' fer me, Monday; I've got it + down ter th' narrerin', 'n' I can't do no more,” came softly from + gra'mammy's corner. + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, mother, I will; I could ha' toed it up this evenin' es well es + not, tho' ef I had, ye'd ha' started ernuther, 'n' ye'd need ter rest; + ye're allers knittin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, but, darter, it's all I kin do; 'n' I'm so thankful I kin feel ter + knit, fer th' hardest work is ter set wi' folded han's doin' nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, mother, it's but sildom that I ever knowed yer ter set with folded + han's,” remarked her son, with proud tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe, Jeems Henry; but I never tuck no consait ter myself fer workin', + because I jest nachally loved it. Yer pappy use ter say I was er born + worker, 'n' how he did use ter praise me fer bein' smart! 'n' that was + sich er help! Somehow I've minded me of 'im all day ter-day—of th' + time when he logged Whitcombe's mill down on Fallin' Crick. 'Twas—lemme + see! Jeems Henry, ye're how ole?” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty-two my las' birthday.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that was fifty-one year ergo. You was all th' one I had then, 'n' + yer pappy was erway from home all th' week, 'cept from Sat'day evenin' + tell 'fore day Monday monrin'. Melindy White staid wi' me; she was Zekle's + great-aunt, 'n' er ole maid, 'n' people did say she was monst'ous cross + 'n' crabbed, but she warn't never cross ter me. I mind me of er Sat'day, + 'n' I'd be spectin' of yer pappy home. I'd git up at th' fust cock-crow, + 'n' go wake Melindy, 'n' she'd grumble 'n' laff all in er breath, 'n' say: + 'Ann Elisabeth Tyler, ye're th' most onreasonablest creeter that I ever + seed! What in natur' do ye want ter git up 'fore day fer? Jest ter make + th' time that much longer 'fore Jim Tyler comes? I know ef I was married + ter th' President I wouldn't be es big er fool es ye air.' But, la! she'd + git up jest ter pleasure me, 'n' then sich cleanin' up, 'n' sich cookin' + o' pies 'n' cakes 'n' chickens, 'n' gittin' ready fer yer pappy ter come!” + And the placid old face fairly glowed with the remembrance. “'N' I mind + me,” she crooned on, “of th' time when ye fust begun ter talk; I was er + whole week er-teachin' yer ter say two words; I didn't do much else. + Melindy allowed that I'd gone clean daft; 'n' when Sat'day come, 'long + erbout milkin'-time, I put on er pink caliker frock. I 'member it jest es + well! it had little white specks on the pink; he bought it at Miggs's + Crossroads, 'n' said I allers looked like er rose in it. I tuck ye in my + arms 'n' went down ter th' bars, where I allers stood ter watch fer 'im; + he come in er boat ter th' little landin' 'n' walked home, erbout er mile; + 'n' when I seed 'im comin', 'n' he'd got nigh ernuff, I whispered ter ye, + 'n' ye clapped yer little han's, 'n' fairly shouted out, 'Pappy's tumin'! + pappy's tumin'!' Dearie me, dearie me; I kin see 'im now so plain! He + broke inter er run, 'n' I stepped over th' bars ter meet 'im, 'n' he + gethered us both in his arms, like es of he'd never turn loose; then he + car'ied ye up to th' house on one arm, the other one roun' my wais', 'n' + he made ye say it over 'n' over—'Pappy's tumin', pappy's tumin';' + 'n' Melindy 'lowed we wer' 'th' biggest pair o' geese'; but we was mighty + happy geese jest th' same.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. They were all listening. Then she went on. “Somehow + ter-day I felt like I use ter of er Sat'-day then, kinder spectin' 'n' + light-hearted. I dun'no' why; I ain't never felt so befo' in all these + years sence he died—forty-one on 'em; 'n' fifteen sence th' Lord + shet down th' dark over my eyes, day 'n' night erlike. Well, well; I've + had er heap ter be thankful fer; th' Lord has been good ter me; fer no + mother ever had er better son than ye've allers ben, Jeems Henry; 'n' of + Malviny had er ben my own darter, she couldn't er ben more like one; I've + alleys ben tuck keer on, 'n' waited on, 'n' 'ain't never ben sat erside + fer no one. Ya'as, th' Lord's ben good ter me.” She began to fumble for + her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “But, mother, ye don't say nothin' o' what er blessin' ye've ben to us,” + said her son. “Ye've teached us many er lesson by yer patience in yer + blindness.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, but, Jeems Henry, I had no call ter be nothin' else but patient; I + had no call ter be onreasonable 'n' fret 'n' worry 'n' say that th' Lord + had forsakened me when He hadn't. I knowed I'd only ter bide my time, 'n' + I'm now near seventy-two year old. Dear, dear, how th' time goes! Seems + like only th' other day when I was married! Was that nine the clock + struck?” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, 'm.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I b'lieve I'll git ter bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, mother, let me help yer,” said her daughter, hastily throwing aside + her knitting. + </p> + <p> + “We'll both help ye, mother,” said her son, putting one arm gently around + her as she arose from her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” she laughed, with soft content. “I sh'll be well waited on + with two children 'stid er one; but none too many—none too many.” + </p> + <p> + Zekle White had made brave progress from the chair by the door to the + other rocker, drawn closely beside that of Mandy Calline; and he was + saying, in tones that suggested an effort: “I've seed other young ladies + which may be better-lookin' in other folkses' eyes, 'n' they may be more + suiterbler ter marry, but not fer me. Thar ain't but one gurl in this + roun' worl' that I'd ask ter be my wife, 'n', Mandy Calline, I've ben + keepin' comp'ny wi' you long ernuff fer ye ter know that ye air th' one.” + He swallowed, and went on: “I've got my house nigh erbout done. Ter be + sho', 'tain't es fine es this un, nor es big; but I kin add ter it, 'n' + jest es soon es it is done I want ter put my wife in it. Now, Mandy + Calline, what yer say—will yer be my wife?” + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline looked shy—much like a young colt when it is going to + break out of harness. She rocked back and forth with short spasmodic + jerks, and twisted her handkerchief into all conceivable shapes. + </p> + <p> + “Yer don't know how sot on it I am,” he went on; “'n' all day long I'm + er-thinkin' how nice it 'll be when I'm er-workin', ploughin' maybe, up + one row 'n' down ernuther, 'n' watchin' th' sun go down, 'n' lookin' + forerd ter goin' ter th' house 'n' hev er nice little wife ter meet me, + wi' everything tidied up 'n' cheerful 'n' comf'ble.” Mandy Calline simply + drooped her head lower, and twisted her handkerchief tighter. “Mandy + Calline, don't yer say 'no,'” he said. “I love yer too well ter give yer + up easy; 'n' I swear ef ye don't say `yes,' I'll set fire 'n' burn up th' + new house, fer no other 'oman sha'n't never live there. I'm er-waitin', + Mandy Calline, 'n' don't, don't tell me no.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Zekle,” she began, with much hesitation, “bein' es how I don't see + no use in burnin' up er right new house, 'n' it not even finished, I guess + es how—maybe—in erbout two or three years—” + </p> + <p> + “Two or three thunderations!” he cried out, ecstatically, seizing both her + hands in his. “Yer mean two or three weeks! Mandy Calline, do ye mean + ya'as, ye'll marry me? I want ter hear ye say it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as, Zekle,” she said, shyly. “Whoopee! I feel like I'd like ter jump + up 'n' knock my heels tergether 'n' yell!” + </p> + <p> + “Yer'd better try it er spell.” she said, smiling at him shyly, “'n' jest + see how soon ye'd ha' th' hull fambly er-rushin' in ter see what was the + matter.” + </p> + <p> + Hereupon came the ominous sound of Father Tyler winding the clock in the + sitting-room; Zekle knew 'twas a signal for him to depart. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” slowly rising, “I guess I got ter go, but I do mortally hate ter. + Come ter th' door wi' me, Mandy Calline”; and taking her hand, he drew her + up beside him, but she stood off a bit skittishly, and he knew that it + would be useless to ask the question which was trembling on his lips, so, + quick as a flash, he dropped one arm around her waist, tipped up her chin + with the other hand, and kissed her square on the mouth before she fairly + knew what he was about. + </p> + <p> + “You Zekle White!” she cried out, snatching herself from his arm and + bestowing a rousing slap on his face. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed ye wouldn't give me one, so I tuck it jest so. Good-night tell + ter-morrer, Mandy Calline; I'm goin' home 'n' dream erbout ye.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning dawned bright and soft. A perfect September morning. + Father Tyler and the boys were at the lot feeding and milking. Mandy + Calline was cleaning up the house, her comely face aglow with her + new-found happiness. Susan Jane attended to the baby, while Ann Elisabeth + helped her mother “get breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Gra'mammy was sleepin' so nice when I got up,” said the girl, “that I + crep' out 'n' didn't wake 'er. Had I better go see of she's erwake now, + mar? Breakfus is nigh erbout done.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. Go tell Mandy Calline ter git th' milk-pitcher 'n' go to the + cow-pen 'n' fetch some milk fer breakfus. No tellin' when they'll git thoo + out there. Then you hurry back 'n' finish fryin' that pan o' pertaters. No + need ter 'sturb gra'mammy till breakfus is ready ter put on th' table; 'n' + yer pappy 'n' th' boys'll ha' ter wash when they come from th' lot.” And + Mother Tyler opened the stove door and put in a generous pan of biscuits + to bake. + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline, with the milk-pitcher in her hand, hurried out to the + cow-pen, which adjoined the stable lot. Her father was milking, Jim + holding the calves. Zachariah was in the lot feeding the horse and pigs. + She had just stepped over the bars into the pen, when who should appear, + sauntering up, but Zeke White! He assumed a brave front, and with hands + thrust in his pantaloons pockets, came up, whistling softly. + </p> + <p> + “Good-mornin', Zekle,” greeted Father Tyler, rising from his stooping + position. + </p> + <p> + “Good-mornin', Mr. Tyler. Fine mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Ya'as; but I'm erfeared we're goin' ter hev rain in er day er two. I feel + ruther rheumaticky this mornin', er mighty shore sign that rain ain't fur + off. Want milk fer breakfus, Mandy Calline? Well, fetch here yer pitcher.” + </p> + <p> + A shy “good-mornin”' had passed between Mandy Calline and Zekle, and he + sauntered up beside her, taking the pitcher, and as they stepped over the + bars Father Tyler, hospitably inclined, said: “Take breakfus with us, + Zekle? I lay Malviny 'll hev ernuff cooked ter give yer er bite.” + </p> + <p> + With assumed hesitation Zekle accepted the invitation, and he and Mandy + Calline passed on to the house, he carefully carrying the pitcher of milk. + </p> + <p> + He cleared his throat a time or two, and remarked again on the beauty of + the morning, to which she rather nervously assented; then suddenly, the + words seemingly shot out of him: “Mandy Calline, I'm goin' ter ask th' ole + folks ter-day. What yer say?” + </p> + <p> + Mandy Calline was red as a turkey-cock, to which was now added a nervous + confusion which bade fair to overwhelm her. + </p> + <p> + “It's too soon, Zekle. Whyn't yer wait er while?” she replied, + tremblingly. + </p> + <p> + “No, 'tain't too soon,” he answered, promptly. “I want it all done 'n' + over with, then I sh'll feel mo' like ye b'long ter me. I'm goin' ter ask + 'em ter-day; yer needn't say not. I know you're erfeared o' th' teasin'. + But ye needn't min' that; ye won't hev ter put up wi' it long; fer th' way + I mean ter work on that house ter git it done—well, 'twon't be long + befo' it 'll be ready ter put my wife in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Zekle,” said the girl, hesitatingly, “ef ye'd ruther ask 'em + ter-day, why—I guess es how—ye mought es well do it. But let's + go 'n' tell gra'mammy now; somehow I'd ruther she knowed it fust.” + </p> + <p> + “We will,” replied Zekle, promptly. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Mother Tyler was putting breakfast on the table. She suddenly paused and + listened. Something was the matter. There were cries that betokened + trouble. She hastened to the house, followed her husband and the boys on + to gra'mammy's room, and there on the bed, in peaceful contrast to all + this wailing and sorrow, lay dear old gra'mammy, dead. The happiest smile + glorified the kind old withered face, and the wrinkled hands lay crossed + and still on her breast. She had truly met the husband of her youth, and + God had opened in death the eyes so darkened in life. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY FIFTH IN MAMMY + </h2> + <p> + BY WILLIAM LUDWELL SHEPPARD + </p> + <p> + I never knew a time in which I did not know Mammy. She was simply a part + of my consciousness; it seems to me now a more vivid one in my earliest + years than that of the existence of my parents. We five, though instructed + by an elder sister in the rudiments of learning, spent many more of our + waking hours with Mammy; and whilst we drew knowledge from one source, we + derived the greater part of our pleasure from the other—that is, + outside of our playmates. + </p> + <p> + The moments just preceding bedtime, in which we were undergoing the + process of disrobing at the hands of Mammy, were periods of dreadful + pleasure to us. As I look back upon them, I wonder that we got any sleep + at all after some of her recitals. They were not always sanguinary or + ghostly, and of course when I scan them in the light of later years, it is + apparent that Mammy, like the majority of people, “without regard to color + or previous condition of servitude,” suffered her walk and conversation to + be influenced by her state of health, mental and bodily. Her walk—I + am afraid I must admit, as all biographers seem privileged to deal with + the frailties of their victims as freely as with their virtues—her + walk, viewed through the medium already alluded to, did not owe its + occasional uncertainty to “very coarse veins,” though that malady, with a + slight phonetic difference, Mammy undoubtedly suffered from, in common + with the facts. She was a great believer in “dram” as a remedial agent, + and homoeopathic practice was unknown with us at that period. + </p> + <p> + Mammy's code of laws for our moral government was one of threats of being + “repoated to ole mahster,” tempered by tea of her own making dulcified by + brown sugar of fascinating sweetness, anecdote, and autobiography. + </p> + <p> + The anecdotal part consisted almost exclusively of the fascinating + répertoire of Uncle Remus. Indeed, to know the charm of that chronicle is + reserved to the man or woman whose childhood dates from the <i>ante bellum</i> + period, and who had a Mammy. + </p> + <p> + In the autobiographical part Mammy spread us a chilling feast of horrors, + varied by the supernatural. Long years after this period I read a protest + in some Southern paper against this practice in the nursery, with its + manifest consequences on the minds of children. It set me to wondering how + it was that the consequences in my day seemed inappreciable. I do not + understand it now. Some of Mammy's stories would have been bonanzas to a + police reporter of today; others would have bred emulation in Edgar Poe. + And yet I do not recall any subsequent terrors. + </p> + <p> + An account of the execution of some pirates, which she had witnessed when + a “gal,” was popular. She had a rhyme which condensed the details. The + condemned were Spaniards: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pepe hung, Qulo fell, + Felix died and went to —— +</pre> + <p> + Mammy always gave the rhyme with awful emphasis. + </p> + <p> + She had had an experience before coming into our family, by purchase, + which gave her easy precedence over all the mammies of all our friends. To + be sure, it was an experience which the other mammies, as “good membahs of + de chutch,” regarded as unholy; one which they congratulated themselves + would never lie on their consciences, and of which poor Mammy was to die + unshriven in their minds; for she never became a “sister,” so far as I + ever learned. + </p> + <p> + But to us this experience was fruitful of many happy hours. Mammy had been + tire-woman to Mrs. Gilfert, the reigning star of that date, at the old + Marshall Theatre—the successor to one burnt in 1811. + </p> + <p> + The habit of the stock companies in those days was to remain the whole + season, sometimes two or more, so Mammy had the opportunity to “assist” at + the entire repertoire. It is one of the regrets of my life that I am not + able to recall verbatim Mammy's arguments of the play, her descriptions of + some of the actors, and her comments. + </p> + <p> + For some reason, when later on I wished to refresh my memory of these, + Mammy had either forgotten them or suspected the intention of my asking. + She ranked her experiences at the theatre along with her account of the + adventures of the immortal “Mollie Cottontail” (for we did not know him as + “Brer Rabbit”), and the rest of her lore, I suppose, and so could not + realize that my maturer mind would care for any of them. + </p> + <p> + When I had subsequently made some acquaintance with plays, or read them, I + recognized most of those described by Mammy. Some remain unidentified. + Hamlet she preserved in name. Whilst she had no quotations of the words, + she had a vivid recollection of the ghost scenes, and “pisenin' de king's + ear.” She also gave us scenes in which “one uv them kings was hollerin' + for his horse”—plainly Richard. Julius Caesar she easily kept in + mind, as some acquaintance of her color bearing that name was long extant. + I can still conjure up her tones and manner when she declaimed “'Dat you, + Brutus?' An' he done stick him like de rest uv um; and him raised in de + Caesar fam'ly like he wuz a son!” + </p> + <p> + The ingratitude of the thing struck through our night-gowns even then. + </p> + <p> + The period when Mammy's sway weakened was indeterminate. We boys after a + while swapped places with Mammy, and made her the recipient of our small + pedantries. I do not recollect, however, that we were ever cruel enough to + throw her ignorance up to her. + </p> + <p> + At last the grown-up sisters absorbed all of Mammy's spare time. Sympathy + was kept up between them after her bond with us was loosened, and they + even took hints from her in matters of the toilet that were souvenirs of + her stage days. + </p> + <p> + In the course of time reverses and bereavements came to the family. The + girls had grown to womanhood and matrimony, and had begun their new lives + in other places. Then came the inevitable to the elders, and it became + necessary to convert all property into cash. + </p> + <p> + We were happy in being able to retain a good many of our household gods, + and they are the Lares and Penates of our several homes to this day. We + had long since ceased to think of Mammy Becky—she was never Rebecca—as + property. In fact, we younger ones never thought of her as such. By law we + were each entitled to a fifth in Mammy. + </p> + <p> + This came upon us in the nature of a shock at a family consultation on + ways and means, and there was a disposition on the part of every party to + the ownership to shift that responsibility to another. + </p> + <p> + I must do ourselves the justice to say that such a thing as converting + Mammy into cash, and thus making her divisible, never for a moment entered + our minds. It seemed, however, that the difficulty had occurred to her. + </p> + <p> + We all felt so guilty, when Mammy served tea that last evening, that we + were sure she read our thoughts in our countenances. It would be nearer + the truth to say that it was rather our fears that she should ever come to + the knowledge that the word “sale” had been coupled with her name. + </p> + <p> + The next day we were to scatter, and it was imperative that some + disposition should be made of Mammy. The old lady—for old we deemed + her, though she could scarcely have been fifty—went calmly about the + house looking to the packing of the thousand and one things, and not only + looking, but using her tongue in language expressing utter contempt for + all “lazy niggers” of these degenerate days—referring to the + temporary “help.” The eldest sister was deputed to approach and sound + Mammy on the momentous question. + </p> + <p> + The deputy went on her mission in fear and trembling. The interview was + easily contrived in the adjoining room. + </p> + <p> + We were exceedingly embarrassed when we discovered that Mammy's part of + the dialogue was perfectly audible. As for the sister's, her voice could + be barely heard. So that the effect to the unwilling eavesdropper was that + which we are familiar with in these days of hearing a conversation at the + telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you bother yo'self 'bout me, Miss Frances.” + </p> + <p> + Interval. + </p> + <p> + “No, marm. I'd ruther stay right here in dis town whar ev'body knows me. + Doan yawl study 'bout me.” + </p> + <p> + Several bars' rest, apparently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, I know hit's yo' duty to look after me, an' I belongs to all of + you; but Ise concluded to let yawl off. You can't divide me into five + parts, an' they ain' nah one uv you 'titled to any partickler part if you + could; most uv me ain't much 'count nohow, what with very coarse veins an' + so fothe. Oh, yes'm! I done study 'bout it plenty, an' I done concluded + that I'll let yawl off an' do fur myself. You know I'm a prime cake-maker, + bread-maker, an' kin do a whole pahcel uv other things besides; an' dress + young ladies for parties, whar I learnt at the ole the-etter, which they + built it after the fust one burnt up and all dem people whar dey got the + Monnymental Chutch over um now; an' any kind of hair-dress-in', curlin' + wid irons or quince juice, an' so fothe. No, don't you bother 'bout me.” + </p> + <p> + So Mammy was installed in a small house in a portion of the city occupied + by a good many free people, and, as we subsequently ascertained, not + bearing a very savory reputation. + </p> + <p> + We had heard it rumored that there were some suitors for Mammy's hand. She + had always avowed that she had been a “likely gal,” but we had to take her + word for this, as she had very slender claims to “likelihood”—if the + word suits hers—in our remembrance. She was nearly a mulatto—very + “light gingerbread,” or “saddle-colored”—and a widow of some years' + standing. Still, there was no accounting for tastes amongst the colored + folks, any more than there was amongst the whites in this matter. We + surmised that some of the aspirants suspected Mammy of having a <i>dot</i>, + the accumulation of many perquisites for her assistance on wedding + occasions. It may be remarked that she had no legal right to demand + anything for such services. + </p> + <p> + One of the sisters approached Mammy timidly on this subject, and was + assured positively by her that “they ain't no nigger in the whole + university whar I would marry. No, ma'm. I done got 'nough of um.” + </p> + <p> + We knew that Mammy's married life had been a stormy one. Her husband, + Jerry, had been a skilful coach-painter, and got good wages for his + master, who was liberal in the 'lowance that was made by all generous + owners to slaves of this class. Jerry was a fervent “professor,” who came + home drunk nearly every night, and never failed to throw up to Mammy her + dangerous spiritual condition. Jerry was so vulnerable a subject that + Mammy was prepared to score some strong points against him. He invariably + met these retorts with roars of laughter and loud assertions of his being + “in grace once for all.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Left the sole representative of my family in the city, I had to start a + new establishment, just as Mammy did. + </p> + <p> + I made a visit to hers a few days after our separation, and came away with + my heart in my mouth at the sight of some of the familiar objects of + Mammy's room, and such of our own as she had fallen heir to, in strange + places and appositions. I also felt that Mammy's room had a more homelike + aspect than my own. + </p> + <p> + There was no doubt that Mammy enjoyed her new conditions and surroundings. + She had been provided with a paper signed by some of us, stating that it + was with our permission that she lived to herself. This secured her free + movement at all times—the privilege of very few of her race not + legally manumitted. + </p> + <p> + Her visits to me were quite frequent, and she never failed to find + something that needed putting to rights, and putting it so immediately, + with fierce comments on the worthlessness of all “high-lands,” which was + <i>negroce</i> for hirelings—a class held in contempt by the + servants owned in families. + </p> + <p> + I think that Mammy must have discovered the fact that my estate was + somewhat deteriorated. + </p> + <p> + I was painfully conscious of this myself, and saw no prospect of its + amelioration. The little cash that had come to me was quite dissipated, + and my meagre salary was insufficient to satisfy my artificial wants—the + only ones that a young man cannot dispense with and be happy. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the opinion prevailing in those days, that when a young man + embraced the career of an artist it was a farewell to all hope of a sober + and prosperous career, my father had been willing for me to follow my + manifest bent, and I was to sacrifice a university career as the + alternative. But the last enemy stepped between me and my hopes, and there + was nothing for it but to go to work. + </p> + <p> + I had an ardent admirer in Mammy, who, in her innocence of a proper + standard, frequently compared my productions to a “music back” or a + tobacco label. That was before the days of chromos. + </p> + <p> + Mammy turned up Sunday mornings to look after my buttons. Those were days + of fond reminiscence and poignant regret on my part. + </p> + <p> + “Seems to me hit's time for you to be getting some new shirts, Mahs + William,” she said, one Sunday morning. Mammy touched me sorely there. A + crisis was certainly impending in my lingerie. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I reckon not. You must have got hold of a bad one, Mammy.” + </p> + <p> + “I got hole uv all uv um what is out uv wash; and them gwine. The buttons + is shackledy on all uv um, too. I wish I wuz a washer; then you wouldn't + have to give yo' clothes out to these triflin' huzzies whar rams a iron + over yo' things like they wuz made uv iron too.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that you are getting along pretty well, Mammy,” I remarked, + irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I kain' complain. I made two dollars an' five an' threppence out'n + the Scott party last week; an' I hear tell uv some new folks on Franklin + Street gwine give a big party, an' I'm spectin' somethin' out uv dat. + Lawdy, Lawdy, Mahs William,” she added, after a pause given to reflection, + “hit certainly does 'muse me to see how some 'r dese people done come up. + But they kain' fool me. I knows what's quality in town an' what ain't. I + can reckermember perfick when some uv these vay folks, when dey come to + your pa's front do', never expected to be asked in, but jess wait thar + 'bout their business ontwell yo' pa got ready to talk to um at the do'. + Yes, sah. I bin see some uv dese vay people's daddies”—Mammy used + this word advisedly—“kayin' their vittles in a tin bucket to their + work; that what I bin see.” + </p> + <p> + I was shaving during this monologue of Mammy's, with my back to her. A + sudden exclamation of the name of the Lord made me start around and + endanger my nose. I was not startled at the irreverence of the expression, + however, as sacred names were familiar interjections of Mammy's, as of all + her race. + </p> + <p> + “Ev'y button off'n these draw's,” Mammy answered to my alarmed question—alarmed + because I anticipated some disaster to my wardrobe. “Hit's a mortal shame. + I'll take 'em home, an' Monday I'll get some buttons on Broad Street an' + sew um on.” + </p> + <p> + This was embarrassing. I had twelve and a half cents in Spanish silver + coin which I had reserved for the plate at church that day. I was going + under circumstances that rendered a contribution unavoidable. I hated to + expose my narrow means to Mammy, and said, carelessly, as I returned to my + lather: “Oh, never mind. Another time will do, Mammy.” + </p> + <p> + “Another time! You reckermember my old sayin', don't you, 'a stitch in + time saves nine'? An' mo'n dat, bein' as this is the only clean pah you + got, you 'bleest to have um next week fer de others to go to wash.” + </p> + <p> + Confession was inevitable. “The fact is, Mammy, I don't happen to have any + change to-day that I can hand you for the buttons.” I was thankful that my + occupation permitted me to keep my face from Mammy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ez fer that, Mahs William, yo' needn't bother. I got 'nough change + 'round 'most all de time.” + </p> + <p> + Mammy's tone was patronizing, and brought home to me such a realization of + my changed and waning fortunes as no other circumstance could have done. + Possibly I may have imagined it in my hypersensitiveness, but Mammy's + voice in that sentence seemed transformed, and it was another mammy who + spoke. + </p> + <p> + I apparently reserved my protest until some intricate passage in my + shaving was passed. At least I thought that Mammy would think so. I was + really trying to put my reply in shape. + </p> + <p> + I was anticipated. + </p> + <p> + “You know you is really 'titled to yo' fif's by law, Mahs William,” + resumed Mammy, in her natural manner, “because still bein' bond, you could + call on me, an' I don't begrudge you; in fact, Ise beholden to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, Mammy. Don't talk any more about my fifth. You are as good as + free, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I knows that, Mahs William; but right is right, and I gwine to pay for + them buttons.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you may do that this time, Mammy, but I shall certainly return you + the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Jess as you choose, Mahs William, but you's 'titled to yo' fif' all the + same.” + </p> + <p> + I must note here a characteristic of Mammy's which had strengthened as her + powers failed, namely, “nearness.” The euphemism applied at first, though + Mammy yielded to temptations in the way of outfit as long as she deemed + herself “likely.” After that period a stronger expression was required. + She was always in possession of money, and was frequently our banker for a + day, when, in emergencies, our parents were not on hand. + </p> + <p> + Monday I found my garment with its full complement of buttons, but of such + diversity of pattern that I planned a protest for Mammy's next visit. + </p> + <p> + But when she explained that the bill was only fo'pence—six and a + quarter cents, Spanish—and that it was the fashion now, so she was + told, “to have they buttons diffunt, so they could dentrify they clothes,” + I settled without remark. Mammy's financial skill and resource in + imagination condoned everything. + </p> + <p> + It is painful to record that Mammy, encouraged by immunity from inquiry + and investigation, no doubt, was tempted, as thousands of her betters have + been and will be, and yielded under subsequent and similar circumstances. + </p> + <p> + My affairs took an unexpected turn now, and circumstances which have no + place here made it possible for me to go to New York, with the intention + of studying for my long-cherished purpose of making art my calling. + </p> + <p> + I heard from Mammy from time to time—occasionally got a letter + dictated by her. They opened with the same formula, beginning with the + fiction that she “took her pen in her hand,” and continuing, “these few + lines leaves me tollerbul, and hoping to find you the same.” My friend, + the amanuensis, took great pleasure in reporting Mammy verbatim and + phonetically. The times were always hard for Mammy in these letters, but + she “was scufflin' 'long, thank Gawd, an' ain't don' forgot my duty to the + 'state 'bout them fif's.” + </p> + <p> + On my periodical visits home I always called upon her, and had a royal + reception. I had casually said in a message to her in one of my letters + that I never would forget her black tea and brown sugar. The old dame + remembered this, and on my first visit home and to her, and on all + succeeding visits, treated me to a brew of my favorite. + </p> + <p> + “Jess the same, Mahs William. Come from Mr. Blar's jess the same.” + </p> + <p> + But we become sophisticated in time. I found that Mammy's tea lingered in + my memory, it is true; and the prospect of a recurrence very nearly + operated against future visits. But virtue asserted herself, and I always + went. + </p> + <p> + War now supervened. To it the brushes and the palette yielded. I returned + home, and to arms. While all this made a complete revolution in my + affairs, those of Mammy seemed to hold the even tenor of their way. + </p> + <p> + I saw Mammy every time I had a furlough, and she repaired for me damages + of long standing. In sentiment she was immovably on my side. She objected + decidedly to any more of “them no-'count men bein' sot free,” and was very + doubtful whether any more of her own sex should be so favored, except + “settled women.” + </p> + <p> + I do not know whether Mammy had a lurking suspicion that general + manumission meant competition or not. So far as I could make out, she + fared as she had long elected to do. Bacon and greens and her perennial + tea were good enough for her. And here may be noted the average negro's + indifference to cates. In my experience I never knew them to give up + “strong food” for delicate fare except on prescription. + </p> + <p> + The next phase of my intercourse with Mammy was after the evacuation of + the city and the event of Appomattox. The first incident was, with the + negroes' usual talent that way, so transmogrified in pronunciation that it + could mean nothing to them. It stood to them for a tremendous change, one + which could not be condensed into a word, even though it exceeded their + powers to pronounce it. + </p> + <p> + I had come back, as had thousands of others, with nothing in my hands, and + only a few days' rations accorded by the enemy in my haversack; had come + back to a mass of smoking débris and a wide area of ruin which opened + unrecognized vistas that puzzled, dazed, and pained the home-seeker. + </p> + <p> + By instinct, I suppose, I drifted towards my <i>ante bellum</i> quarters. + My former landlord gave me a speechless welcome. To my inquiry as to the + possibility of my reinhabiting my old quarters, he simply nodded and + handed me the key. The tears that I had seen standing on his lids rolled + down as he did so. + </p> + <p> + The room was cumbered with the chattels of the last tenant. There was no + bed amongst them, but a roll of tattered carpet served me perfectly. I + fell asleep over a slab of hardtack. That evening, on waking, I bethought + me of Mammy. + </p> + <p> + My kind host allowed me to make a toilet in his back room behind the + store. It consisted of a superficial ablution and the loan of a + handkerchief. Mammy was not in. A neighbor of her sex and color offered me + a chair in her house, but I sat in Mammy's tiny porch. + </p> + <p> + This part of the city was unchanged, but I missed a familiar steeple which + had always been visible from Mammy's door. + </p> + <p> + It was late afternoon when Mammy came. She did not recognize me, but + paused at the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Ef you's a sick soldier you must go to the hospital; you kain' stay + here,” I heard her say before I roused myself sufficiently to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Mammy.” + </p> + <p> + An ejaculation of the name of the Lord that brought the neighbor to her + door went up, and Mammy caught my hands and wept. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, my Gawd! Mahs William! you ain' hurted, is you?” + </p> + <p> + She pushed a chair to me and took one herself. For a few moments she + confined herself to ejaculations of “Well! well! well!” and the name of + the Deity. Then, “The town is bu'nt up; the army done 'rendered, an' Mahs + William come back ragged ez a buzzard!” + </p> + <p> + I did not interrupt her. I could think of nothing to say, and began to be + afraid that something was the matter with my brains. Meanwhile Mammy was + bustling about, and before I knew it she had started the little fire into + a blaze and the tea was boiling. + </p> + <p> + The flickering light glinted over the walls. At first I did not heed what + it revealed; then I saw it glow and fade over some early efforts of my + own, frame-less crudities, to which Mammy had fallen heir. They had become + old masters! What centuries ranged themselves between the birth of those + pictures and now! + </p> + <p> + This time tea was nectar, and after I had eaten a little cold middling + bacon and hoe-cake, that she had put before me on a fractured member of + our old Canton set, I took a more cheerful view of life. I believe that I + would have shed tears over these poor relics from happier days, except + that I was not quite conscious that anything was real that day. I told + Mammy where I was. She seemed to think it perfectly in the nature of + things that I should be there. Indeed, she appeared singularly calm in + this cataclysm. + </p> + <p> + I encountered friends on my return to my quarters, and had invitations + innumerable to meals and shelter. My costume was no drawback. Nobody knew + how anybody was dressed. + </p> + <p> + The city was in a fever of excitement over the probable fate of those who + had not yet returned, and in making provision for the homeless. Mammy + turned up next morning with some of my civilian clothes that had been + confided to her. + </p> + <p> + Mammy's simple “What you gwine do now, Mabs William?” thrown in whilst she + assisted by her presence at my complete change of toilet—lapse of + time was nothing to her—woke me to the momentous problem. There was + no commissary sergeant to distribute even the meagre rations that so long + left us ravenous after every meal. I could not camp in the Capitol Square, + even if I had wished so to do. + </p> + <p> + Mammy left me with the injunction to call on her “ef I didn't have nowhar + else to go.” + </p> + <p> + I went with unbroken fast to see what was left of the city. I met many + acquaintances on the same errand. None of us seemed to realize that day + what was to be done. For four years our campaigns had been planned for us. + </p> + <p> + I learned from one acquaintance, however, that I could have rations for + the asking, and not long after found myself in line at the United States + Commissary Department, along with hundreds of others, and departed thence + bearing a goodly portion of hardtack and codfish. These I took to Mammy, + who cooked the fish for me under loud protests against the smell. + </p> + <p> + Not long thereafter a number of us paroled soldiers made a mess, and + cooked for ourselves at the room of one of them. + </p> + <p> + On one of these indeterminate days—dates had become nothing to me—I + saw a dapper young man sketching about the ruins. I spoke to him, and + mentioned that his had been my profession. This acquaintance was the + beginning of hope. + </p> + <p> + I showed the young man places of interest, gave him points about a good + many things, and at last fell to making sketches to help him out. They + were perfectly satisfactory and liberally paid for. With this capital I + set myself up in another place, which had a north light—by-the-way, + I had been dispossessed of the asylum where I first found shelter, as the + previous tenant returned. I was able to purchase material and apparel. But + what was I to paint, and where to sell the product? My hand was out, I + discovered, so I set to studying still life, and painting those of my + friends who had the patience to sit. + </p> + <p> + I would have gone back to my old haunts in New York but for the material + reason that my funds were too low, and the sentimental one that I not only + was not in the humor for appealing to citizens of that section for + patronage, but was not sure that it would not be withheld, from an + analogous state of mind towards me. + </p> + <p> + Summer ran into fall. Mammy's visits increased in frequency, and her + conversation drifted towards the difficulties of living. + </p> + <p> + I had long ago discharged all of her claims for material and repairs, but + I noticed a tendency on her part to prepare my mind for a regular subsidy. + I ignored these hints because it was impossible for me to carry out + Mammy's plan, and painful for me to say so. + </p> + <p> + She approached the matter in a different way finally, and said, one day: + </p> + <p> + “Mahs William, you been cayin' on yo' fif' for some time now. Doan you + think it's time for some of the yothers to look after them?” + </p> + <p> + I suggested that the whole family was about on a parity financially; that + one brother was drifting in the trans-Mississippi, another living more + precariously than I was. Suddenly a thought struck me, and I proposed that + Mammy should apply to my married sister in the country, who could at least + give her a home. + </p> + <p> + Mammy was very nearly indignant in her rejection of the proposition. + </p> + <p> + “Me live in de country! Why, Mahs William, I'm town-bred to de backbone. + What I gwine do thar? Whar's anybody whar'll want my sponge-cake, jelly, + and blue-monge, whar I can git ez much ez I wants to do in town? Who gwine + want my clar-starchin' an' pickle-makin' an' ketchups? Dem tacky people + doan want none of my makin's.” + </p> + <p> + I ventured to remind Mammy that all dwellers in the country were not + tackies. + </p> + <p> + “I know dat, sah; but whole parcel of um is. Besides, heap uv de quality + folks is poor an' in trouble sence the revackeration. I'd rather give up + my other fif's fust.” + </p> + <p> + Of course Mammy's propositions were contradictory, but I had long known + that she was not gifted with a logical mind, so I made no attempt to + convict her of inconsistency. + </p> + <p> + From time to time I got small jobs of drawings for architects, as people + had begun to bestir themselves and rebuild. I had been assured that I + would find no prejudice against me in New York, but would stand on my own + merits. I was not profoundly convinced that this was a safe risk for me to + take. But living here was becoming impossible. Our own people were out of + the question as purchasers of pictures. My still-lifes, from long exposure + in the window of a friendly merchant in Broad Street, were becoming the + camping-ground of the flies, and deteriorating rapidly. I was not strong + in landscape, and the only subjects which suggested themselves were + military, taken from my point of view politically, and not likely to be + convertible into cash by persons of other convictions. + </p> + <p> + I was leaning against my ceiling one gray afternoon—at least I + suppose it should be called ceiling, for it ran from the highest part of + the chamber on an angle to the floor, and was pierced by a dormer—and + contemplating a bunch of withered flowers which I had studied almost into + dissolution, when Mammy knocked. + </p> + <p> + I had laid my palette on the floor, and was standing with my hands in my + pockets. They fumbled, on one side with my bunch of keys, on the other + with a small roll of small bills, the dreadful fractional currency of that + era, whilst, in imagination, I projected my motive on the bare canvas, a + twenty by twenty-four. I was sorry that Mammy had come, because a subject + was beginning to take form in my mind. It was suggested by the withered + flowers. + </p> + <p> + I thought that it would be a good idea to group them with a bundle of + letters, some showing age, the top one with a recent postmark, and call + the composition “Dead Hopes.” My thoughts were divided between the + selection of a postmark for the top letter and the possibility of getting + a frame, whilst Mammy was going through the process of finding a chair and + seating herself. The invitation to come in implied the other courtesies. + </p> + <p> + The old lady was marvellously attired, and I wondered what could be the + occasion of it. She had on a plaid shawl of purple, green, and red + checkers, crossed on her bosom. Around her throat there was a lace collar + of some common sort, held by a breastpin of enormous value if calculated + by the square inch. She wore her usual turban of red and white, but on the + top of it to-day was a straw bonnet of about the fashion of 1835, with + flowers inside, and from it depended a green veil. Her frock was silk of + an indescribable tint, the result of years of fading, and was flounced. + The old lady had freed herself of her black cotton gloves, and was rolling + them into a ball. I sighed inwardly, for this was the outward sign of + undeterminable sitting. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the self-arranged color scheme struck me as the cool light fell + over Mammy. I seated myself and seized my palette. + </p> + <p> + “Sit still, Mammy, right where you are. I'm going to paint you.” + </p> + <p> + “Namer Gawd! paint me, Mahs William? After all dem pretty things whar you + kin paint, paint yo' old Mammy?” She slapped herself on the knees, called + the name of the Lord several times, and burst into the heartiest laugh + that I had heard from her for some time. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mammy, just sit right still, and don't talk much, and I won't make + you tired.” + </p> + <p> + I worked frantically, getting in the drawing as surely as I could, then + attacked the face in color. The result was a success that astonished me. + Mammy's evident fatigue stopped me. It was fortunate. I might have painted + more and spoiled my study. I thought that she would go now, but her + mission was not fulfilled. She had come to consult me on an important + matter. + </p> + <p> + “You know this Freedman's Bureau, Mahs William? Well, they tells me—Lawd + knows what they calls it bureau for!—they tells me that of a colored + pusson goes down thar and gives in what he wuz worth—women either, + mind you—that the guv'mint would pay um.” + </p> + <p> + Mammy paused for corroboration, but I determined to hear what she might + add to this remarkable statement. “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sah, I didn't want to go down thar without no price, so I called in + to arst you what you might consider yo' fif' worth, an' five times ovah.” + </p> + <p> + I did not laugh at Mammy. The emancipated negroes had such utterly wild + notions of what was going to be done for them that Mammy's statement did + not surprise me very much. I let her go with the assurance that I would + inquire into the matter. She left enjoining me not to put that “fif' too + cheap,” and I insisting that she should not go to the Bureau, in deference + to whose officials her astonishing toilet had evidently been made. + </p> + <p> + I was so much pleased with my own work that it was nearly twilight before + the knock of a familiar friend roused me. He was a clever amateur, and + took the greatest interest in my work. His enthusiasm over Mammy's effigy + made me glow. He agreed to pose for me in Mammy's costume. + </p> + <p> + Next day I borrowed the outfit without intimating that it was to be worn + by anybody. Mammy was over-nervous about its being properly cared for. I + think that she still contemplated appearing in it at the Bureau. + </p> + <p> + In a week the picture was complete. My model and I went out and celebrated + appropriately but frugally. + </p> + <p> + A small label in the corner gave the title to the picture—“My old + Mammy.” + </p> + <p> + My friend gave my work a place in his window, and my acquaintances + generally accorded unqualified praise. The older ones recognized Mammy at + once. + </p> + <p> + Pending a purchaser for this, I started my deferred subject, and changed + it into a figure piece. A lovely friend was my model. She contemplated the + flowers and letters. Above the old piece of furniture on which she leaned + there hung a photograph, a sword, and a sash—a more striking + suggestion of my first title, “Dead Hopes.” How little I dreamed, as I + worked, that there was such happy irony in the name, and that Mammy could + ever, in the remotest way, conduce to such a result! + </p> + <p> + Nearly every morning I hovered about my friend's establishment at a + sufficient distance to elude suspicion of my anxiety, but easily in visual + range of my exhibit. + </p> + <p> + One morning it was not visible. I rushed to the store with a throbbing + breast. Alas! the picture had only been shifted to another light. Before + the revulsion of feeling had time to overpower me I was seized by my + friend the merchant. + </p> + <p> + “It's a regular play,” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + He forced me to a seat on a pile of cheese-boxes, and facing me, began: + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday, the old lady,” pointing to the picture, “came in. She took no + notice of her portrait, but said that she had failed to find you; that she + was anxious to hear what you had done about the Bureau business.” (I had + forgotten it utterly.) “Well, I could tell her nothing, and she started to + go out just as a group opened the door to come in. Mammy made one of her + courtly bows, and gave place. The young lady who was one of the three + coming in, the others evidently her parents, said, in a loud whisper, + 'Why, it's she!' Mammy, who either did not hear or did not understand, was + about to pass out, when the young lady accosted her with, 'I beg your + pardon, but isn't that your portrait?' + </p> + <p> + “'I grant you grace, young mistiss, but sence I looks, hit is. Hit wuz did + by my young mahster, which he can do all kinds of pictures lovely.' + </p> + <p> + “'Your young master?' the young lady said—sweet voice, too; dev'lish + handsome girl—'your young master?' Then she said aside to the + others, 'Isn't it charmingly interesting?' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, 'm, I call him so. But really I'm only his'n a fif'.' + </p> + <p> + “'His fif?' the young lady said, looking puzzled. I stepped up to them to + explain, just for politeness, though I was sure that they weren't + customers, 'She means that he owned a fifth interest in her previous to—the + recent change in affairs.' + </p> + <p> + “'That's hit,' said Mammy, nodding to them. 'But I don't expect to hear + from the other fif's. It don't make much diffunce, howsomever, bein' ez + how the Bureau is gwine settle up.' + </p> + <p> + “The visitors evidently did not understand this. I explained what Mammy + was after—you had told me, you know. They were very much amused, and + asked a heap of questions. After a little talk between themselves, in + which I could not help seeing that the young lady was very earnest, the + gentleman asked: + </p> + <p> + “'Is the work for sale?' Was it for sale!” + </p> + <p> + My friend nearly prostrated me with a hearty punch by way of expressing + his feelings, whilst I was choking for an answer. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, I gave him the figger. He bought so quick that it made me sick + I hadn't asked more. Looker here!” + </p> + <p> + He displayed two new greenbacks which covered the amount. We embraced. + </p> + <p> + At last Mammy had become a source of revenue. I must, in justice to + myself, record the fact that a resolve immediately took form in my mind + that she also should be a beneficiary of my good fortune. + </p> + <p> + My friend wanted me to take the picture down myself. I told him that it + was not ethical to do so. The precious burden was confided to his porter. + When we returned to his store we found the gentleman there who had made + the purchase. I was duly presented by my friend. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman said that he had not noticed my name on the picture + particularly, nor on the receipt given by the merchant for the money, + which gave the title and painter of the work, until he had gotten back to + the hotel, when his wife recognized it and remembered having been in my + studio—a fine name for a small concern—in New York, and that + we had many friends in common there. + </p> + <p> + The upshot of the matter was that the gentleman gave me an invitation to + call at the Spottswood. I went the next day. + </p> + <p> + They were immensely amused and interested with any particulars about her. + The father—the names are immaterial, the young lady's was Elaine—asked + me jocularly at what sum I estimated my fifth in Mammy. I had previously + convinced him that we never had the remotest idea of parting with the old + lady. Consequently we had never estimated her value, but that I thought my + fifth at the time of the settling of the estate would have been about one + hundred dollars. After I had made several visits, the three came to see my + other picture. + </p> + <p> + The day after their departure Mammy called. She was in fine spirits over a + visit that she had made to my new friends, at their earnest request. All + the time that she was speaking she was working at a knot in the corner of + her handkerchief. I knew that she kept her small valuables there, but was + thunderstruck when she extracted two fifty-dollar bills. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mammy! Where—” + </p> + <p> + “Dat's all right, honey. The Bureau gent'man fix it all, jess like I tole + you. He said dat he done 'nquired, an' yo' fif' was wuth dat—two + fifties, one hundred—an' I let him off de res.” + </p> + <p> + “But what gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “Dat gent'man whar was at de Spottswood Hotel. He tole me he wuz agent for + de Bureau. An' I tell you, Mahs William, dey's quality, dem folks. You + kain' fool Becky.” + </p> + <p> + Of course I did not enlighten Mammy. What would have been the use? + </p> + <p> + Not many days thereafter I got a request to ship my “Dead Hopes,” at my + price, to the address of a frame-maker in New York. Elaine's father said + that he had a purchaser for it. I discovered later that he was a master of + pleasant fiction. + </p> + <p> + When I wondered, long after, to him that he should have bought a + Confederate picture, he convinced me that my picture had nothing + confederate in it; that he had inferred that I had painted it in a + catholic spirit. The lady was in mourning, the flowers faded, the letters + too small for postmark, the picture on the wall a colorless photograph, + and the sword a regulation pattern common to both armies. He thought it + very skilfully planned, and complimented me on it. I was silent. All the + Confederate part and point had been in my mind. + </p> + <p> + About a year after this—I had been located in New York some months—Elaine + and I came on a visit to Richmond. I might just as well say that it was + our bridal trip. + </p> + <p> + We looked up Mammy in her comfortable quarters. She had been well provided + for. There was some little confusion in her mind at first as to who Elaine + was, but on being made to understand, called down fervent blessings upon + her head. + </p> + <p> + “Now the old lady kin go happy. I always said that I had nussed Mahs + William, an' of I jess could live long 'nuff to—” + </p> + <p> + Elaine cut in rather abruptly, I thought. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mammy, what a beautiful vine you have on your stoop!” + </p> + <p> + “What's stoop, honey? Dat's a poach.” + </p> + <p> + Mammy lived some years longer, aging comfortably, and unvexed by any + question of fractions. She died a serene integer, with such comfortable + assurance of just valuation as is denied most of us, and contented that it + should be expressed in terms that were, to her, the only sure criterion + applicable to her race. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN INCIDENT + </h2> + <h3> + BY SARAH BARNWELL ELLIOTT + </h3> + <p> + It was an ordinary frame house standing on brick legs, and situated on a + barren knoll, which, because of the dead level of marsh and swamp and + deserted fields from which it rose, seemed to achieve the loneliness of a + real height. The south and west sides of the house looked out on marsh and + swamp; the north and east sides on a wide stretch of old fields grown up + in broom-grass. Beyond the marsh rolled a river, now quite beyond its + banks with a freshet; beyond the swamp, which was a cypress swamp, rose a + railway embankment leading to a bridge that crossed the river. On the + other two sides the old fields ended in a solid black wall of pine-barren. + A roadway led from the house through the broom-grass to the barren, and at + the beginning of this road stood an outhouse, also on brick legs, which, + save for a small stable, was the sole out-building. One end of this house + was a kitchen, the other was divided into two rooms for servants. There + were some shattered remnants of oak-trees out in the field, and some + chimneys overgrown with vines, showing where in happier times the real + homestead had stood. + </p> + <p> + It was toward the end of February; a clear afternoon drawing toward + sunset; and all the flat, sad country was covered with a drifting red glow + that turned the field of broom-grass into a sea of gold; that lighted up + the black wall of pine-barren, and shot, here and there, long shafts of + light into the sombre depths of the cypress swamp. There was no sign of + life about the dwelling-house, though the doors and windows stood open; + but every now and then a negro woman came out of the kitchen and looked + about, while within a dog whined. + </p> + <p> + Shading her eyes with her hand, this woman would gaze across the field + toward the ruin; then down the road; then, descending the steps, she would + walk a little way toward the swamp and look along the dam that, ending the + yard on this side, led out between the marsh and the swamp to the river. + The over-full river had backed up into the yard, however, and the line of + the dam could now only be guessed at by the wall of solemn cypress-trees + that edged the swamp. Still, the woman looked in this direction many times + and also toward the railway embankment, from which a path led toward the + house, crossing the heap of the swamp by a bridge made of two felled + trees. + </p> + <p> + But look as she would, she evidently did not find what she sought, and + muttering “Lawd! Lawd!” she returned to the kitchen, shook the tied dog + into silence, and seating herself near the fire, gazed sombrely into its + depths. A covered pot hung from the crane over the blaze, making a thick + bubbling noise, as if what it contained had boiled itself almost dry, and + a coffee-pot on the hearth gave forth a pleasant smell. The woman from + time to time turned the spit of a tin kitchen wherein a fowl was roasting, + and moved about the coals on the top of a Dutch oven at one side. She had + made preparation for a comfortable supper, and evidently for others than + herself. + </p> + <p> + She went again to the open door and looked about, the dog springing up and + following to the end of his cord. The sun was nearer the horizon now, and + the red glow was brighter. She looked toward the ruin; looked along the + road; came down the steps and looked toward the swamp and the railway + path. This time she took a few steps in the direction of the house; looked + up at its open windows, at the front door standing ajar, at a pair of + gloves and a branch from the vine at the ruin, that lay on the top step of + the piazza, as if in passing one had put them there, intending to return + in a moment. While she looked the distant whistle of a locomotive was + heard echoing back and forth about the empty land, and the rumble of an + approaching train. She turned a little to listen, then went hurriedly back + to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + The rumbling sound increased, although the speed was lessened as the river + was neared. Very slowly the train was moving, and the woman, peeping from + the window, watched a gentleman get off and begin the descent of the path. + </p> + <p> + “Mass Johnnie!” she said. “Lawd! Lawd!” and again seated herself by the + fire until the rapid, firm footstep having passed, she went to the door, + and standing well in the shadow, watched. + </p> + <p> + Up the steps the gentleman ran, pausing to pick up the gloves and the bit + of vine. The negro groaned. Then in the open door, “Nellie!” he called, + “Nellie!” + </p> + <p> + The woman heard the call, and going back quickly to her seat by the fire, + threw her apron over her head. + </p> + <p> + “Abram!” was the next call; then, “Aggie!” + </p> + <p> + She sat quite still, and the master, running up the kitchen steps and + coming in at the door, found her so. + </p> + <p> + “Aggie!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, suh.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you answer me?” + </p> + <p> + The veiled figure rocked a little from side to side. + </p> + <p> + “What the mischief is the matter?” walking up to the woman and pulling the + apron from over her face. “Where is your Miss Nellie?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh; but yo' supper is ready, Mass Johnnie.” + </p> + <p> + “Has your mistress driven anywhere?” + </p> + <p> + “De horse is in de stable, suh.” The woman now rose as if to meet a + climax, but her eyes were still on the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Did she go out walking?” + </p> + <p> + “Dis mawnin', suh.” + </p> + <p> + “This morning!” he repeated, slowly, wonderingly, “and has not come back + yet?” + </p> + <p> + The woman began to tremble, and her eyes, shining and terrified, glanced + furtively at her master. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Abram?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh!” It was a gasping whisper. + </p> + <p> + The master gripped her shoulder, and with a maddened roar he cried her + name —“Aggie!” + </p> + <p> + The woman sank down. Perhaps his grasp forced her down. “'Fo' Gawd!” she + cried—“'fo Gawd, Mass Johnnie, I dun'no'!” holding up beseeching + hands between herself and the awful glare of his eyes. “I'll tell you, + suh, Mass Johnnie, I'll tell you!” crouching away from him. “Miss Nellie + gimme out dinner en supper, den she put on she hat en gone to de ole + chimbly en git some de brier what grow dey. Den she come back en tell + Abram fuh git a bresh broom en sweep de ya'd. Lemme go, Mass Johnnie, + please, suh, en I tell you better, suh. En Abram teck de hatchet en gone + to'des de railroad fuh cut de bresh. 'Fo' Gawd, Mass Johnnie, it's de + trute, suh! Den I tell Miss Nellie say de chicken is all git out de coop, + en she say I muss ketch one fuh unner supper, suh; en I teck de dawg en + gone in de fiel' fuh look fuh de chicken. En I see Miss Nellie put 'e glub + en de brier on de step, en walk to'des de swamp, like 'e was goin' on de + dam—'kase de water ent rise ober de dam den—en den I gone in + de broom-grass en I run de chicken, en I ent ketch one tay I git clean + ober to de woods. En when I come back de glub is layin' on de step, en de + brier, des like Miss Nellie leff um—” She stopped, and her master + straightened himself. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, and his voice was strained and weak. + </p> + <p> + The servant once more flung her apron over her head, and broke into + violent crying. “Dat's all, Mass Johnnie! dat's all! I dun'no' wey Abram + is gone; I dun'no' what Abram is do! Nobody ent been on de place dis day—dis + day but me—but me! Oh, Lawd! oh, Lawd en Gawd!” + </p> + <p> + The master stood as if dazed. His face was drawn and gray, and his breath + came in awful gasps. A moment he stood so, then he strode out of the + house. With a howl the dog sprang forward, snapping the cord, and rushed + after his master. + </p> + <p> + The woman's cries ceased, and without moving from her crouching position + she listened with straining ears to the sounds that reached her from the + stable. In a moment the clatter of horses' hoofs going at a furious pace + swept by, then a dead silence fell. The intense quiet seemed to rouse her, + and going to the door, she looked out. The glow had faded, and the gray + mist was gathering in distinct strata above the marsh and the river. She + went out and looked about her as she had done so many times during that + long day. She gazed at the water that was still rising; she peered + cautiously behind the stable and under the houses; she approached the + wood-pile as if under protest, gathered some logs into her arms and an axe + that was lying there; then turning toward the kitchen, she hastened her + steps, looking back over her shoulder now and again, as if fearing + pursuit. Once in the kitchen she threw down the wood and barred the door; + she shut the boarded window-shutter, fastening it with an iron hook; then + leaning the axe against the chimney, she sat down by the fire, muttering, + “If dat nigger come sneakin' back yer now, I'll split 'e haid open, <i>sho</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Recovering a little from her panic, she was once more a cook, and swung + the crane from over the fire, brushed the coals from the top of the Dutch + oven, and pushed the tin kitchen farther from the blaze. “Mass Johnnie'll + want sump'h'n to eat some time dis night,” she said; then, after a pause, + “en I gwine eat <i>now</i>.” She got a plate and cup, and helped herself + to hominy out of the pot, and to a roll out of the oven; but though she + looked at the fowl she did not touch it, helping herself instead to a + goodly cup of coffee. So she ate and drank with the axe close beside her, + now and then pausing to groan and mutter—“Po' Mass Johnnie!—po' + Mass Johnnie!—Lawd! Lawd!—if Miss Nellie had er sen' Abram + atter dat chicken—like I tell um—Lawd!” shaking her head the + while. + </p> + <p> + Through the gathering dusk John Morris galloped at the top speed of his + horse. Reaching the little railway station, he sprang off, throwing the + reins over a post, and strode in. + </p> + <p> + “Write this telegram for me, Green,” he said; “my hand trembles. + </p> + <p> + “<i>To Sam Partin, Sheriff, Pineville:</i> + </p> + <p> + “My wife missing since morning. Negro, Abram Washington, disappeared. + Bring men and dogs. Get off night train this side of bridge. Will be fire + on the path to mark the place. + </p> + <h3> + “JOHN MORRIS.” + </h3> + <p> + “Great God!” the operator said, in a low voice. “I'll come too, Mr. + Morris.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” John Morris answered. “I'm going to get the Wilson boys, and + Rountree and Mitchell,” and for the first time the men's eyes met. + Determined, deadly, sombre, was the look exchanged; then Morris went away. + </p> + <p> + None of the men whom Morris summoned said much, nor did they take long to + arm themselves, saddle, and mount, and by nine o'clock Aggie heard them + come galloping across the field; then her master's voice calling her. + There was little time in which to make the signal-fire on the railroad + embankment, and to cut light-wood into torches, even though there were + many hands to do the work. John Morris's dog followed him a part of the + way to the wood-pile, then turned aside to where the water had crept up + from the swamp into the yard. Aggie saw the dog, and spoke to Mr. Morris. + </p> + <p> + “Dat's de way dat dawg do dis mawnin', Mass Johnnie, an' when I gone to + ketch de chicken, Miss Nellie was walkin' to'des dat berry place.” + </p> + <p> + An irresistible shudder went over John Morris, and one of the gentlemen + standing near asked if he had a boat. + </p> + <p> + “The bateau was tied to that stake this morning,” Mr. Morris answered, + pointing to a stake some distance out in the water; “but I have another + boat in the top of the stable.” Every man turned to go for it, showing the + direction of their fears, and launched it where the log bridge crossed the + head of the swamp, and where now the water was quite deep. + </p> + <p> + The whistle was heard at the station, and the rumble of the on-coming + train. The fire flared high, lighting up the group of men standing about + it, booted and belted with ammunition-belts, quiet, and white, and + determined. + </p> + <p> + Many curious heads looked out as the sheriff and his men—six men + besides Green from the station—got off; then the train rumbled away + in the darkness toward the surging, turbulent river, and the crowd moved + toward the house. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Morris told of his absence in town on business. That Abram had been + hired first as a field-hand; and that later, after his marriage, he had + taken Abram from the field to look after his horse and to do the heavier + work about the house and yard. + </p> + <p> + “And the woman Aggie is trust-worthy?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it; she used to belong to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Abram is a strange negro?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Then Aggie was called in to tell her story. Abram had taken the hatchet + and had gone toward the railroad for brush to make a broom. She had taken + the dog and gone into the broom-grass to catch a fowl, and the last she + had seen of her mistress she was walking toward the dam, which was then + above the water. + </p> + <p> + “How long were you gone after the chicken?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh; but I run um clean to de woods 'fo' I ketch um, en I walk + back slow 'kase I tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you gone an hour?” + </p> + <p> + “I spec so, suh, 'kase when I done ketch de chicken I stop fuh pick up + some light-wood I see wey Abram been cuttin' wood yistiddy.” + </p> + <p> + “And your mistress was not here when you came back—nor Abram?” + </p> + <p> + “No, suh, nobody; en 'e wuz so lonesome I come en look in dis house fuh + Miss Nellie, but 'e ent deyyer; en I look in de bush fuh Abram, but I ent + see um nudder. En de dawg run to de water en howl en ba'k en ba'k tay I + tie um up in de kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + “And was the boat tied to the stake this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, suh; en when I been home long time en git scare, den I look en see + de boat gone.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't think that your mistress got in the boat and drifted away by + accident?” + </p> + <p> + “No, suh, nebber, suh; Miss Nellie 'fraid de water lessen Mass Johnnie is + wid um.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Abram a good boy?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh; I dun'no' nuffin 'tall 'bout Abram, suh; Abram is strange + nigger to we.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he take his things out of his room?” + </p> + <p> + “Abram t'ings? Ki! Abram ent hab nuttin' ceppen what Miss Nellie en Mass + Johnnie gi' um. No, suh, dat nigger ent hab nuttin' but de close on 'e + back when 'e come to we.” + </p> + <p> + The sheriff paused a moment. “I think, Mr. Morris,” he said at last, “that + we'd better separate. You, with Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Rountree, had better + take your boat and hunt in the swamp and marsh, and along the river-bank. + Let Mr. Wilson, his brothers, and Green take your dog and search in the + pine-barren. I'll take my men and my dogs and cross the railroad. The + signal of any discovery will be three shots fired in quick succession. The + gathering-place'll be this house, where a member of the discovering + party'll meet the other parties and bring 'em to the discovery. And I beg + that you'll refrain from violence, at least until we can reach each other. + We've no proof of anything—” + </p> + <p> + “Damn proof!” + </p> + <p> + “An' our only clew,” the sheriff went on, “the missing boat, points to + Mrs. Morris's safety.” A little consultation ensued; then agreeing to the + sheriff's distribution of forces, they left the house. + </p> + <p> + The sheriff's dogs—the lean, small hounds used on such occasions—were + tied, and he held the ropes. There was an anxious look on his face, and he + kept his dogs near the house until the party for the barren had mounted + and ridden away, and the party in the boat had pushed off into the + blackness of the swamp, a torch fastened at the prow casting weird, + uncertain shadows. Then ordering his six men to mount and to lead his + horse, he went to the room of the negro Abram and got an old shirt. The + two lean little dogs were restless, but they made no sound as he led them + across the railway. Once on the other side, he let them smell the shirt, + and loosed them, and was about to mount, when, in the flash of a torch, he + saw something in the grass. + </p> + <p> + “A hatchet!” he said to his companions, picking it up; “and clean, thank + God!” + </p> + <p> + The men looked at each other, then one said, slowly, “He coulder drowned + her?” + </p> + <p> + The sheriff did not answer, but followed the dogs that had trotted away + with their noses to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure the nigger came this way,” the sheriff said, after a while. + “Those others may find the poor young lady, but I feel sure of the + nigger.” + </p> + <p> + One of the men stopped short. “That nigger's got to die,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” the sheriff answered, “but not by Judge Lynch's court. This + circuit's got a judge that'll hang him lawfully.” + </p> + <p> + “I b'lieve Judge More will,” the recalcitrant admitted, and rode on. + “But,” he added, “if I know Mr. John Morris, that nigger's safe to die one + way or another.” + </p> + <p> + They rode more rapidly now, as the dogs had quickened their pace. The moon + had risen, and the riding, for men who hunted recklessly, was not bad. + Through woods and across fields, over fences and streams, down by-paths + and old roads, they followed the little dogs. + </p> + <p> + “We're makin' straight for the next county,” the sheriff said. + </p> + <p> + “We're makin' straight for the old Powis settlement,” was answered. + “Nothin' but niggers have lived there since the war, an' that nigger's + there, I'll bet.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” the sheriff said. “About how many niggers live there now?” + </p> + <p> + “There ain't more than half a dozen cabins left now. We can easy manage + that many.” + </p> + <p> + It was a long rough ride, and in spite of their rapid pace it was some + time after midnight before they saw the clearing where clustered the few + cabins left of the plantation quarters of a well-known place, which in its + day had yielded wealth to its owners. The moon was very bright, and, save + for the sound of the horses' feet, the silence was intense. + </p> + <p> + “Look sharp,” the sheriff said; “that nigger ain't sleepin' much if he's + here, and he might try to slip off.” + </p> + <p> + The dogs were going faster now, and yelping a little. + </p> + <p> + “Keep up, boys!” and the sheriff spurred his horse. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes they thundered into the little settlement, where the dogs + were already barking and leaping against a close-shut door. Frightened + black faces began to peer out. Low exclamations and guttural ejaculations + were heard as the armed men scattered, one to each cabin, while the + sheriff hammered at the door where the dogs were jumping. + </p> + <p> + “It's the sheriff!” he called, “come to get Abram Washington. Bring him + out and you kin go back to your beds. We're all armed, and nobody need to + try runnin'.” + </p> + <p> + The door opened cautiously, and an old negro looked out. “Abram's my son, + Mr. Partin,” he said, “an' 'fo' Gawd he ent yer.” + </p> + <p> + “No lyin', old man; the dogs brought us straight here. Don't make me burn + the house down; open the door.” + </p> + <p> + The door was closing, when the sheriff, springing from his horse, forced + it steadily back. A shot came from within, but it ranged wild, and in an + instant the sheriff's pistol covered the open room, where a smouldering + fire gave light. Two of the men followed him, and one, making for the + fire, pushed it into a blaze, which revealed a group of negroes—an + old man, a young woman, some children, and a young man crouching behind + with a gun in his hand. The sheriff walked straight up to the young man, + whose teeth were chattering. + </p> + <p> + “I arrest you,” he said; “come on.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the feller,” confirmed one of the guard; “I've seen him at Mr. + Morris's place.” + </p> + <p> + “Tie him,” the sheriff ordered, “while I git that gun. Give it to me, old + man, or I'll take you to jail too.” It was yielded up—an old-time + rifle—and the sheriff smashed it against the side of the chimney, + throwing the remnants into the fire. “Lead on,” he said, and the young + negro was taken outside. Quickly he was lifted on to a horse and tied + there, while the former rider mounted behind one of his companions, and + they rode out of the settlement into the woods. + </p> + <p> + “Git into the shadows,” one said; “they might be fools enough to shoot.” + </p> + <p> + Once in the road, the sheriff called a halt. “One of you must ride; back + to Mr. Morris's place and collect the other search-parties, while we make + for Pineville jail. Now, Abram, come on.” + </p> + <p> + “I ent done nuttin', Mr. Parin, suh,” the negro urged. “I ent hot Mis' + Morris.” + </p> + <p> + “Who said anything 'bout Mrs. Morris?” was asked, sharply. + </p> + <p> + The negro groaned. + </p> + <p> + “You're hanging yourself, boy,” the sheriff said; “but since you know, + where <i>is</i> Mrs. Morris?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you run away?” + </p> + <p> + “'Kase I 'fraid Mr. Morris.” + </p> + <p> + “What were you 'fraid of?” + </p> + <p> + “'Kase Mis' Morris gone.” + </p> + <p> + They were riding rapidly now, and the talk was jolted out. + </p> + <p> + “Where'?” + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no', suh, but I ent tech um.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a damned liar.” + </p> + <p> + “No, suh, I ent tech um; I des look at um.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to gouge your eyes out!” cried one of the men, and struck him. + </p> + <p> + “None o' that!” ordered the sheriff. “And you keep your mouth shut, Abram; + you'll have time to talk on your trial.” + </p> + <p> + “Blast a trial!” growled the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “The rope's round his neck now,” suggested one, “and I see good trees at + every step.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, suh, gentlemen,” pleaded the shaking negro, “I ent done nuttin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut your mouth!” ordered the sheriff again, “and ride faster. Day'll + soon break.” + </p> + <p> + “You're 'fraid Mr. Morris'll ketch us 'fore we reach the jail,” laughed + one of the guard. And the sheriff did not answer. + </p> + <p> + The eastern sky was gray when the party rode into Pineville, a small, + straggling country town, and clattered through its one street to the jail. + To the negro, at least, it was a welcome moment, for, with his feet tied + under the horse, his hands tied behind his back, and a rope with a + slip-knot round his neck, he had not found the ride a pleasant one. A + misstep of his horse would surely have precipitated his hanging, and he + knew well that such an accident would have given much satisfaction to his + captors. So he uttered a fervent “Teng Gawd!” as he was hustled into the + jail gate and heard it close behind him. + </p> + <p> + Early as it was, most of the town was up and excited. Betting had been + high as to whether the sheriff would get the prisoner safe into the jail, + and even the winners seemed disappointed that he had accomplished this + feat, although they praised his skilful management. But the sheriff knew + that if the lady's body was found, that if Mr. Morris could find any proof + against the negro, that if Mr. Morris even expressed a wish that the negro + should hang, the whole town would side with him instantly; and the sheriff + knew, further, that in such an emergency he would be the negro's only + defender, and that the jail could easily be carried by the mob. + </p> + <p> + All these thoughts had been with him during the long night, and though he + himself was quite willing to hang the negro, being fully persuaded of his + guilt, he was determined to do his official duty, and to save the + prisoner's life until sentence was lawfully passed on him. But how? If he + could quiet the town before the day brightened, he had a plan, but to + accomplish this seemed wellnigh impossible. + </p> + <p> + He handcuffed the prisoner and locked him into a cell, then advised his + escort to go and get food, as before the day was done—indeed, just + as soon as Mr. Morris should reach the town—he would probably need + them to help him defend the jail. + </p> + <p> + They nodded among themselves, and winked, and laughed a little, and one + said, “Right good play-actin'”; and watching, the sheriff knew that he + could depend on only one man, his own brother, to help him. But he sent + him off along with the others, and was glad to see that the crowd of + townspeople went with his guard, listening eagerly to the details of the + suspected tragedy and the subsequent hunt. This was his only chance, and + he went at once to the negro's cell. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Abram,” he said, “if you don't want to be a dead man in an hour's + time, you'd better do exactly what I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, suh, please Gawd.” + </p> + <p> + “Put on this old hat,” handing him one, “and pull it down over your eyes, + and follow me. When we get outside, you walk along with me like any + ordinary nigger going to his work; and remember, if you stir hand or foot + more than a walk, you are a dead man. Come on.” + </p> + <p> + There was a back way out of the jail, and to this the sheriff went. Once + outside, he walked briskly, the negro keeping step with him diligently. + They did not meet any one, and before very long they reached the sheriff's + house, which stood on the outskirts of the town. Being a widower, he + knocked peremptorily on the door, and when it was opened by his son, he + marched his prisoner in without explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Shut the door, Willie,” he said, “and load the Winchester.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, suh—” interjected the negro. For answer, the sheriff took a + key from the shelf, and led him out of the back door to where, down a few + steps, there was another door leading into an underground cellar. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Abram,” he said, “you're to keep quiet in here till I can take you + to the city jail. There is no use your trying to escape, because my two + boys'll be about here all day with their repeating rifles, and they can + shoot.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, suh.” + </p> + <p> + “And whoever unlocks this door and tells you to come out, you do it, and + do it quick.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, suh.” + </p> + <p> + Locking the door, the sheriff turned to his son. “You and Charlie must + watch that door all day, Willie,” he said; “but you musn't seem to watch + it; and keep your guns handy, and if that nigger tries to get away, kill + him; don't hesitate. I must go back to the jail and make out like he's + there. And tell Charlie to feed the horse and hitch him to the buggy, and + let him stand ready in the stable, for when I'll want him I'll want him + quick. Above all things, don't let anybody know that the nigger's here. + But keep the cellar key in your pocket, and shoot if he tries to run. If + your uncle Jim comes, do whatever he tells you, but nobody else, lessen + they bring a note from me. Now remember. I'm trusting you, boy; and don't + you make any mistake about killing the nigger if he tries to escape.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” the boy answered, cheerfully, and the father went away. He + almost ran to the jail, and entering once more by the back door, found + things undisturbed. Presently his brother called to him, and the gates and + doors being opened, came in, bringing a waiter of hot food and coffee. + </p> + <p> + “I told Jinnie you'd not like to leave the jail,” he said, “an' she fixed + this up.” + </p> + <p> + “Jinnie's mighty good,” the sheriff answered, “and sometimes a woman's + mighty handy to have about—sometimes; but I'd not leave one out in + the country like Mr. Morris did; no, sir, not in these days. We could do + it before the war and during the war, but not now. The old niggers were + taught some decency; but these young ones! God help us, for I don't see + any safety for this country 'cept Judge Lynch. And I'll tell you this is + my first an' last term as sheriff. The work's too dirty.” + </p> + <p> + “Buck Thomas was a boss sheriff,” his brother answered; “he found the + niggers all right, but the niggers never found the jail, and the niggers + were 'fraid to death of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe Buck was right,” the sheriff said, “and 'twas heap the easiest way; + but here comes the town.” + </p> + <p> + The two men went to the window and saw a crowd of people advancing down + the road, led by Mr. Morris and his friends on horseback. + </p> + <p> + “I b'lieve you're the only man in this town that'll stand by me, Jim,” the + sheriff said. “I swore in six last night, and I see 'em all in that crowd. + Poor Mr. Morris! in his place I'd do just what he's doin'. Blest if yonder + ain't Doty Buxton comin' to help me! I'll let him in; but see here, Jim, + I'm goin' to send Doty to telegraph to the city for Judge More, and I want + you to slip out the back way right now, and run to my house, and tell + Willie to give you the buggy and the nigger, and you drive that nigger + into the city. Of course you'll kill him if he tries to escape.” + </p> + <p> + “The nigger ain't here!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm no fool, Jim. And I'll hold this jail, me and Doty, as long as + possible, and you drive like hell! You see?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you really <i>wanted</i> to save the nigger,” his brother + remonstrated; “nobody b'lieves that” + </p> + <p> + “I don't, as a nigger. But you go on now, and I'll send Doty with the + telegram, and make time by talkin' to Mr. Morris. I don't think they've + found anything; if they had, they'd have come a-galloping, and the devil + himself couldn't have stopped 'em. Gosh, but it's awful! Who knows what + that nigger's done When I look at Mr. Morris, I wish you fellers had + overpowered me last night and had fixed things.” + </p> + <p> + He let his brother out at the back, then went round to the front gate, + where he met the man whom he called Doty Buxton. + </p> + <p> + “Go telegraph Judge More the facts of the case,” he said, “an' ask him to + come. I don't believe I'll need any men if he'll come; and besides, he and + Mr. Morris are friends.” + </p> + <p> + As the man turned away, one of the horsemen rode up to the sheriff. + </p> + <p> + “We demand that negro,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I supposed that was what you'd come for, Mr. Mitchell,” the sheriff + answered; “but you know, sir, that as much as I'd like to oblige you, I'm + bound to protect the man. He swears that he's never touched Mrs. Morris.” + </p> + <p> + “Great God, sheriff! how can you mention the thing quietly? You know—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know; and I know that I'll never do the dirty work of a sheriff a + day after my term's up. But we haven't any proof against this nigger + except that he ran away—” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that enough when the lady can't be found, nor a trace of her?” + </p> + <p> + “I found the hatchet.” + </p> + <p> + “And—!” + </p> + <p> + “It was clean, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mitchell jerked the reins so violently that his horse, tired as he + was, reared and plunged. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Morris declines to speak with you,” he went on, when the horse had + quieted down, “but he's determined that the negro shall not escape, and + the whole county'll back him.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” the sheriff answered, patiently, “and in his place I'd do + the same thing; but in my place I must do my official duty. I'll not let + the nigger escape, you may be sure of that, and I've telegraphed for Judge + More to come out here. I've telegraphed the whole case. Surely Mr. + Morris'll trust Judge More?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchell dragged at his mustache. “Poor Morris is nearly dead,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course; won't he go and eat and rest till Judge More comes? Every + house in the town'll be open to him.” + </p> + <p> + “No; he'll not wait nor rest; and we're determined to hang that negro.” + </p> + <p> + “It'll be mighty hard to shed our blood—friends and neighbors,” + remonstrated the sheriff—“and all over a worthless nigger.” + </p> + <p> + “That's your lookout,” Mr. Mitchell answered. “A trial and a big funeral + is glory for a negro, and the penitentiary means nothing to them but free + board and clothes. I tell you, sheriff, lynching is the only thing that + affects them.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't wait even until I get an answer from Judge More?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, to please you, I'll ask.” And Mitchell rode back to his companions. + </p> + <p> + The conference between the leaders was longer than the sheriff had hoped, + and before he was again approached Doty Buxton had returned, saying that + Judge More's answer would be sent to the jail just as soon as it came. + </p> + <p> + “You'll stand by me, Doty?” the sheriff asked. + </p> + <p> + “'Cause I like you, Mr. Partin,” Doty answered, slowly; “not 'cause I want + to save the nigger. I b'lieve in my soul he's done drowned the po' lady's + body.” + </p> + <p> + “All right; you go inside and be ready to chain the gate if I am run in.” + Then he waited for the return of the envoy. + </p> + <p> + John Morris sat on his horse quite apart even from his own friends, and + after a few words with him, Mitchell had gone to the group of horsemen + about whom the townsmen were gathered. The sheriff did not know what this + portended, but he waited patiently, leaning against the wall of the jail + and whittling a stick. He knew quite well that all these men were friendly + to him; that they understood his position perfectly, and that they + expected him to pretend to do his duty to a reasonable extent, and so far + their good-nature would last; but he knew equally well that in their eyes + the negro had put himself beyond the pale of the law; that they were + determined to hang him and would do it at any cost; and that the only + mercy which the culprit could expect from this upper class to which Mr. + Morris belonged was that his death would be quick and quiet. He knew also + that if they found out that he was in earnest in defending the prisoner he + himself would be in danger not only from Mr. Morris and his friends, but + from the townsmen as well. Of course all this could be avoided by showing + them that the jail was empty; but to do this would be at this stage to + insure the fugitive's capture and death. To save the negro he must hold + the jail as long as possible, and if he had to shoot, shoot into the + ground. All this was quite clear to him; what was not clear was what these + men would do when they found that he had saved the negro, and they had + stormed an empty jail. + </p> + <p> + He was an old soldier, and had been in many battles; he had fought hardest + when he knew that things were most hopeless; he had risked his life + recklessly, and death had been as nothing to him when he had thought that + he would die for his country. But now—now to risk his life for a + negro, for a worthless creature who he thought deserved hanging—was + this his duty? Why not say, “I have sent the negro to the city”? How + quickly those fierce horsemen would dash away down the road! Well, why + not? He drew himself up. He was not going to turn coward at this late day. + His duty lay very plain before him, and he would not flinch. And he fixed + his eyes once more on the little stick he was cutting, and waited. + </p> + <p> + Presently he saw a movement in the crowd, and the thought flashed across + him that they might capture him suddenly while he stood there alone and + unarmed. He stepped quickly to the gate, where Doty Buxton waited, and + standing in the opening, asked the crowd to stand back, and to send Mr. + Mitchell to tell him what the decision was. There was a moment's pause; + then Mitchell rode forward. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Morris says that Judge More cannot help matters. The negro must die, + and at once. We don't want to hurt you, and we don't want to destroy + public property, but we are going to have that wretch if we have to burn + the jail down. Will you stop all this by delivering the prisoner to us?” + </p> + <p> + The sheriff shook his head. “I can't do that, sir. But one thing I do ask, + that you'll give me warning before you set fire to the jail.” + </p> + <p> + “If that'll make you give up, we'll set fire now.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say it'd make me surrender, but only that I'd like to throw a + few things out—like Doty Buxton, for instance,” smiling a little. + </p> + <p> + “All right; when we stop trying to break in, we'll be making ready to + smoke you out. The jail's empty but for this negro, I hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the jail's empty; but don't you think you oughter give me a little + time to weigh matters?” + </p> + <p> + “Is there any chance of your surrendering?” + </p> + <p> + “To be perfectly honest,” the sheriff answered, “there isn't.” Then, + seeing the crowd approaching, he slipped inside the heavy gate, and Doty + Buxton chained it. “Now, Doty,” he said, “we'll peep through these + auger-holes and watch 'em; and when you see' em coming near, you must + shoot through these lower holes. Shoot into the ground just in front of + 'em. It's nasty to have the dirt jumpin' up right where you've got to + walk. I know how it feels. I always wanted to hold up both feet at once. I + reckon they've gone to get a log to batter down the gate. They can do it, + but I'll make 'em take as long as I can. We musn't hurt anybody, Doty, but + we must protect the State property as far as we're able. Here they come! + Keep the dirt dancin', Doty. See that? They don't like it. I told you + they'd want to take up both feet at once. When bullets are flying round + your head, you can't help yourself, but it's hard to put your feet down + right where the nasty little things are peckin' about. Here they come + again! Keep it up, Doty. See that? They've stopped again. They ain't real + mad with me, yet, the boys ain't; only Mr. Morris and his friends are mad. + The boys think I'm just pretending to do my duty for the looks of it; but + I ain't. Gosh! Now they've fixed it! With Mr. Morris at the front end of + that log, there's no hope of scare. He'd walk over dynamite to get that + nigger. Poor feller! Here they come at a run! Don't hurt anybody, Doty. + Bang! Wait; I'll call a halt by knocking on the gate; it'll gain us a + little more time.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” came in answer to the sheriff's taps. + </p> + <p> + “I'll arrest every man of you for destroying State property,” the sheriff + answered. + </p> + <p> + “All right; come do it quick,” was the response. “We're waitin', but we + won't wait long.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon we'll have to go inside, Doty,” the sheriff said; then to the + attacking party, “If you'll wait till Judge More comes, I promise you the + nigger'll hang.” + </p> + <p> + For answer there was another blow on the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Remember, I've warned you!” the sheriff called. + </p> + <p> + “Hush that rot,” was the answer, followed by a third blow. + </p> + <p> + The sheriff and Doty retreated to the jail, and the attack went on. It was + a two-story building of wood, but very strongly built, and unless they + tried fire the sheriff hoped to keep the besiegers at bay for a little + while yet. He stationed Doty at one window, and himself took position at + another, each with loaded pistols, which were only to be used as before—to + make “the dirt jump.” + </p> + <p> + “To tell you the truth, Doty,” the sheriff said, “if you boys had had any + sense, you'd have overpowered me last night, and we'd not have had all + this trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “We wanted to,” Doty answered, “but you're new at the business, an' you + talked so big we didn't like to make you feel little.” + </p> + <p> + “Here they come!” the sheriff went on, as the stout gate swayed inwards. + “One more good lick an' it's down. That's it. Now keep the dirt dancin', + Doty, but don't hurt anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Morris was in the lead, and apparently did not see the “dancin' dirt,” + for he approached the jail at a run. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use, Doty,” the sheriff said; “all we can do is to wait till they + get in, for I'm not going to shoot anybody. It may be wrong to lynch, but + in a case like this it's the rightest wrong that ever was.” So the sheriff + sat there thinking, while Doty watched the attack from the window. + </p> + <p> + According to his calculations of time and distance, the sheriff thought + that the prisoner was now so far on his way as to be almost out of danger + by pursuit, and his mind was busy with the other question as to what would + happen when the jail was found to be empty. He had not heard from Judge + More, but the answer could not have reached him after the attack began. He + felt sure that the judge would come, and come by the earliest train, which + was now nearly due. + </p> + <p> + “The old man'll come if he can,” he said to himself, “and he'll help me if + he comes; and I wish the train would hurry.” + </p> + <p> + He felt glad when he remembered that he had given the keys of the cells to + his brother, for though he would try to save further destruction of + property by telling the mob that the jail was empty, he felt quite sure + that they would not believe him, and in default of keys, would break open + every door in the building; which obstinacy would grant him more time in + which to hope for Judge More and arbitration. That it was possible for him + to slip out once the besiegers had broken in never occurred to him; his + only thought was to stay where he was until the end came, whatever that + might be. They were taking longer than he had expected, and every moment + was a gain. + </p> + <p> + Doty Buxton came in from the hall, where he had gone to watch operations. + “The do' is givin',” he said; “what'll you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothin',” the sheriff answered, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you give 'em the keys?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't got 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Gosh!” and Doty's eyes got big as saucers. + </p> + <p> + Very soon the outer door was down, and the crowd came trooping in, all + save John Morris, who stopped in the hallway. He seemed to be unable even + to look at the sheriff, and the sheriff felt the averted face more than he + would have felt a blow. “We want the keys,” Mitchell said. + </p> + <p> + The sheriff, who had risen, stood with his hands in his pockets, and his + eyes, filled with sympathy, fastened on Mr. Morris, standing looking + blankly down the empty hall. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't got the keys, Mr. Mitchell,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come off!” cried one of the townsmen. “Rocky!” cried another. “Yo' + granny's hat!” came from a third; while Doty Buxton said, gravely, “Give + up, Partin; we've humored this duty business long enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand you to say that you won't give up the keys?” Mitchell + demanded, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “No,” the sheriff retorted, a little hotly, “you don't understand anything + of the kind. I said that I didn't have the keys; and further,” he added, + after a moment's pause, “I say that this jail is empty.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a moment, while the men looked at one another + incredulously; then the jeering began again. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to do but to break open the cells,” Morris said, + sharply, but without turning his head. “We trusted the sheriff last night, + and he outwitted us; we must not trust him again.” + </p> + <p> + The sheriff's eyes flashed, and the blood sprang to his face. The crowd + stood eagerly silent; but after a second the sheriff answered, quietly, + </p> + <p> + “You may say what you please to me, Mr. Morris, and I'll not resent it + under these circumstances, but I'll swear the jail's empty.” + </p> + <p> + For answer Morris drove an axe furiously against the nearest cell door, + and the crowd followed suit. There were not many cells, and as he looked + from a window the sheriff counted the doors as they fell in, and listened + for the whistle of the train that he hoped would bring Judge More. The + doors were going down rapidly, and as each yielded the sheriff could hear + cries and demonstrations. What would they do when the last one fell? + </p> + <p> + Presently Doty Buxton, who had been making observations, came in, pale and + excited. “You'd better git yo' pistols,” he said, “an' I'll git mine, for + they're gittin' madder an' madder every time he ain't there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” the sheriff answered, “I want you to witness that I ain't armed. + My pistols are over there on the table, unloaded. Thank the good Lord!” he + exclaimed, suddenly; “there's the train, an' Judge More! I hope he'll come + right along.” + </p> + <p> + “An' there goes the last do'!” said Doty, as, after a crash and a + momentary silence, oaths and ejaculations filled the air. He drew near the + sheriff, but the sheriff moved away. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back,” he said; “you've got little children.” + </p> + <p> + In an instant the crowd rushed in, headed by Morris, whose burning eyes + seemed to be starting from his drawn white face. Like a flash Doty sprang + forward and wrenched an axe from the infuriated man, crying out, “Partin + ain't armed!” + </p> + <p> + For answer a blow from Morris's fist dropped the sheriff like a dead man. + A sudden silence fell, and Morris, standing over his fallen foe, looked + about him as if dazed. For an instant he stood so, then with a violent + movement he pushed back the crowding men, and lifting the sheriff, dragged + him toward the open window. + </p> + <p> + “Give him air,” he ordered, “and go for the doctor, and for cold water!” + He laid Partin flat and dragged open his collar. “He's not dead—see + there; I struck him on the temple; under the ear would have killed him, + but not this, not this! Give me that water, and plenty of it, and move + back. He's not dead, no; and I didn't mean to kill him; but he has worked + against me all night, and I didn't think a white man would do it.” + </p> + <p> + “He's comin' round, Mr. Morris,” said Doty, who knelt on the other side of + the sheriff; “an' he didn't bear no malice against you—don't fret; + but it's a good thing I jerked that axe outer yo' hand! See, he's ketchin' + his breath; it's all right,” as Partin opened his eyes slowly and looked + about him. + </p> + <p> + A sound like a sigh came from the crowd, then a voice said, “Here comes + Judge More.” + </p> + <p> + Morris was still holding his wet handkerchief on the sheriff's head when + the old judge came in. + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy!” he said, laying his hand on John Morris's shoulder. But + Morris shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Let's talk business, Judge More,” he said, “and let's get Partin into a + chair where he can rest; I've just knocked him over.” + </p> + <p> + Then Morris left the room, and Mitchell with him, going to the far side of + the jail-yard, where they walked up and down in silence. It was not long + before Judge More and the sheriff joined them. + </p> + <p> + “The evidence was too slight for lynching,” the judge said, looking + straight into John Morris's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Great God!” Morris cried, and struck his hands together. + </p> + <p> + “What more do you want?” Mitchell demanded, angrily. “His wife has + disappeared, and the negro ran away.” + </p> + <p> + “True, and I'll see to the case myself; but I'm glad that you did not hang + the negro.” + </p> + <p> + A boy came up with a telegram. + </p> + <p> + “From Jim, I reckon,” the sheriff said, taking it. “No; it's for you, Mr. + Morris.” + </p> + <p> + It was torn open hastily; then Morris looked from one to the other with a + blank, scared face, while the paper fluttered from his hold. + </p> + <p> + Mitchell caught it, and read aloud slowly, as if he did not believe his + eyes: + </p> + <p> + “'Am safe. Will be out on the ten o'clock train. ELEANOR.'” + </p> + <p> + Morris stood there, shaking, and sobbing hard, dry sobs. + </p> + <p> + “It'll kill him!” the sheriff said. “Quick, some whiskey!” + </p> + <p> + A flask was forced between the blue, trembling lips. + </p> + <p> + “Drink, old fellow,” and Mitchell put his arm about Morris's shoulders. + “It's all right now, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + Morris was leaning against his friend, sobbing like a woman. The sheriff + drew his coat-sleeve across his eyes, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “What made the nigger run away?” he said, slowly—adding, as if to + himself, “God help us!” + </p> + <p> + A vehicle was borrowed, and the judge and the sheriff drove with John + Morris over to the station to meet the ten-o'clock train. The sheriff and + the judge remained in the little carriage, and the station agent did his + best to leave the whole platform to John Morris. As the moments went by + the look of anxious agony grew deeper on the face of the waiting man. The + sheriff's ominous words, falling like a pall over the first flash of his + happiness, had filled his mind with wordless terrors. He could scarcely + breathe or move, and could not speak when his wife stepped off and put her + hands in his. She looked up, and without a query, without a word of + explanation, answered the anguished questioning of his eyes, whispering, + </p> + <p> + “He did not touch me.” + </p> + <p> + Morris staggered a little, then drawing her hand through his arm, he led + her to the carriage. She shrank back when she saw the judge and the + sheriff on the front seat; but Morris saying, “They must hear your story, + dear,” she stepped in. + </p> + <p> + “We are very thankful to see you, Mrs. Morris,” the judge said, without + turning his head, when the sheriff had touched up the horse and they moved + away; “and if you feel able to tell us how it all happened, it'll save + time and ease your mind. This is Mr. Partin, the sheriff.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Morris looked at the backs of the men in front of her; at their heads + that were so studiously held in position that they could not even have + glanced at each other; then up at her husband, appealingly. + </p> + <p> + “Tell it,” he said, quietly, and laid his hand on hers that were wrung + together in her lap. “You sent Aggie to catch the chickens, and the dog + went with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” fixing her eyes on his; “and I sent”—she stopped with a + shiver, and her husband said, “Abram”—“to cut some bushes to make a + broom,” she went on. “I had been for a walk to the old house, and as I + came back I laid my gloves and a bit of vine on the steps, intending to + return at once; but I wished to see if the boat was safe, for the water + was rising so rapidly.” She paused, as if to catch her breath, then, with + her eyes still fixed on her husband, she went on, “I did not think that it + was safe, and I untied the rope and picked up the paddle that was lying on + the dam, intending to drag the boat farther up and tie it to a tree.” She + stopped again. Her husband put his arm about her. + </p> + <p> + “And then?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And then—something, I don't know what; not a sound, but something—something + made me turn, and I saw him—saw him coming—saw him stealing up + behind me—with the hatchet in his hand, and a look—a look”—closing + her eyes as if in horror—“such an awful, awful look! And everybody + gone. Oh, John!” she gasped, and clinging to her husband, she broke into + hysterical sobs, while the judge gripped his walking-stick and cleared his + throat, and the sheriff swore fiercely under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “I was paralyzed,” she went on, recovering herself, “and when he saw me + looking he stopped. The next moment he threw the hatchet at me, and began + to run toward me. The hatchet struck my foot, and the blow roused me, and + I sprang into the boat. There were no trees just there, and jumping in, I + pushed the boat off into the deep water. He picked up the hatchet and + shook it at me, but the water was too deep for him to reach me, and he ran + back along the dam and turned toward the railroad embankment. I was so + terrified I could scarcely breathe; I pushed frantically in and out + between the trees, farther and farther into the swamp. I was afraid that + he would go round to the bridge and come down the bank to where the outlet + from the swamp is and catch me there, but in a little while I saw where + the rising water had broken the dam, and the current was rushing through + and out to the river. The current caught the boat and swept it through the + break. Oh, I was so glad! I'm so afraid of water, but not then. I used the + paddle as a rudder, and to push floating timber away. My foot was hurting + me, and I looked at last and saw that it was cut.” + </p> + <p> + A groan came from the judge, and the sheriff's head drooped. + </p> + <p> + “All day I drifted, and all night. I was so thirsty, and I grew so weak. + At daylight this morning I found myself in a wide sheet of water, with + marshes all round, and I saw a steamboat coming. I tied my handkerchief to + the paddle and waved it, and they picked me up. And, John, I did not tell + them anything except that the freshet had swept me away. They were kind to + me, and a friendly woman bound up my foot. We got to town this morning + early, and the captain lent me five dollars, John—Captain Meakin—so + I telegraphed you, and took a carriage to the station and came out. Have—have + you caught him? And, oh—but I am afraid—afraid!” And again she + broke into hysterical sobs. + </p> + <p> + She asked no explanation. The negro's guilt was so burned in on her mind, + that she was sure that all knew it as well as she. + </p> + <p> + “You need have no further fears,” her husband comforted. And the judge + shook his head, and the sheriff swore again. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A white-haired woman in rusty black stood talking to a negro convict. It + was in a stockade prison camp in the hill country. She had been a + slave-owner once, long ago, and now for her mission-work taught on Sundays + in the stockade, trying to better the negroes penned there. + </p> + <p> + This was a new prisoner, and she was asking him of himself. + </p> + <p> + “How long are you in for?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Fuhrebber, ma'm; fuh des es long es I lib,” the negro answered, looking + down to where he was making marks on the ground with his toes. + </p> + <p> + “And how did you get such a dreadful sentence?” + </p> + <p> + “I ent do much, ma'm; I des scare a white lady.” + </p> + <p> + A wave of revulsion swept over the teacher, and involuntarily she stepped + back. The negro looked up and grinned. + </p> + <p> + “De hatchet des cut 'e foot a little bit; but I trow de hatchet. I ent + tech um; no, ma'm. Den atterwards 'e baby daid; den dey say I muss stay + yer fuhrebber. I ent sorry, 'kase I know say I hab to wuck anywheys I is; + if I stay yer, if I go 'way, I hab to wuck. En I know say if I git outer + dis place Mr. Morris'll kill me sho—des sho. So I like fuh stay yer + berry well.” + </p> + <p> + And the teacher went away, wondering if her work—if <i>any</i> work—would + avail; and what answer the future would have for this awful problem. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SNIPE-HUNT + </h2> + <h3> + A STORY OF JIM-NED CREEK + </h3> + <h3> + BY M. E. M. DAVIS + </h3> + <p> + “I ain't sayin' nothin' ag'inst the women o' Jim—Ned Creek <i>ez + women</i>,” said Mr. Pinson; “an' what's more, I'll spit on my hands an' + lay out any man ez'll dassen to sass 'em. But <i>ez wives</i> the women o' + Jim-Ned air the outbeatenes' critters in creation!” + </p> + <p> + These remarks, uttered in an oracular tone, were received with grave + approbation by the half a dozen idlers gathered about the mesquite fire in + Bishop's store. Old Bishop himself, sorting over some trace-chains behind + the counter, nodded grimly, and then smiled, his wintry face grown + suddenly tender. + </p> + <p> + “You've shore struck it, Newt,” assented Joe Trimble. “You never kin tell + how ary one of 'em 'll ack under any succumstances.” + </p> + <p> + Jack Carter and Sid Northcutt, the only bachelors present, grinned and + winked slyly at each other. + </p> + <p> + “You boys neenter to be so brash,” drawled Mr. Pinson's son-in-law, Sam + Leggett, from his perch on a barrel of pecans; “jest you wait ontell Minty + Cullum an' Loo Slater gits a tight holt! Them gals is ez meek ez lambs—now. + But so was Mis' Pinson an' Mis' Trimble in their day an' time, I reckon. I + know Becky Leggett was.” + </p> + <p> + “The studdies'-goin' woman on Jim-Ned,” continued Mr. Pinson, ignoring + these interruptions, “is Mis' Cullum. An' yit, Tobe Cullum ain't no + safeter than anybody else—considerin' of Sissy Cullum ez a wife!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Trimble opened his lips to speak, but shut them again hastily, looking + a little scared, and an awkward silence fell on the group. + </p> + <p> + For the shadow of Mrs. Cullum herself had advanced through the wide + door-way, and lay athwart the puncheon floor; and that lady, a large, + comfortable-looking, middle-aged person, with a motherly face and a kindly + smile, after a momentary survey of the scene before her, walked briskly + in. She shook hands across the counter with the storekeeper, and passed + the time of day all around. + </p> + <p> + But Hines, the new clerk, shuffled forward eagerly to wait on her. Bud was + a sallow-faced, thin-chested, gawky youth from the States, who had + wandered into these parts in search of health and employment. He was not + yet used to the somewhat drastic ways of Jim-Ned, and there was a homesick + look in his watery blue eyes; he smiled bashfully at her while he measured + off calico and weighed sugar, and he followed her out to the horse-block + when she had concluded her lengthy spell of shopping. + </p> + <p> + “You better put on a thicker coat, Bud,” she said, pushing back her + sunbonnet and looking down at him from the saddle before she moved off. + “You've got a rackety cough. I reckon I'll have to make you some mullein + surrup.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mis' Cullum, don't trouble yourself about me,” Mr. Hines cried, + gratefully, a lump rising in his throat as he watched her ride away. + </p> + <p> + The loungers in the store had strolled out on the porch. “Mis' Cullum + cert'n'y is a sister in Zion,” remarked Mr. Trimble, gazing admiringly at + her retreating figure. + </p> + <p> + “M-m-m—y-e-e-s,” admitted Mr. Pinson. “But,” he added, darkly, after + a meditative pause, “Sissy Cullum is a wife, an' the women o' Jim-Nez, <i>ez + wives</i>, air liable to conniptions.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cullum jogged slowly along the brown, wheel-rifted road which + followed the windings of the creek. It was late in November. A brisk + little norther was blowing, and the nuts dropping from the pecan-trees in + the hollows filled the dusky stillness with a continuous rattling sound. + There was a sprinkling of belated cotton-bolls on the stubbly fields to + the right of the road; a few ragged sunflowers were still abloom in the + fence corners, where the pokeberries were red-ripe on their tall stalks. + </p> + <p> + “I must lay in some poke-root for Tobe's knee-j'ints,” mused Mrs. Cullum, + as she turned into the lane which led to her own door-yard. “Pore Tobe! + them j'ints o' his'n is mighty uncertain. Why, Tobe!” she exclaimed, + aloud, as her nag stopped and neighed a friendly greeting to the object of + her own solicitude, “where air you bound for?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cullum laid an arm across the horse's neck. He was a big, + loose-jointed man, with iron-gray hair, square jaws, and keen, steady, + dark eyes. “Well, ma,” he said, with a touch of reluctance in his dragging + tones, “there's a lodge meetin' at Ebenezer Church to-night, an' I got + Mintry to give me my supper early, so's I could go. I—” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Tobe,” interrupted his wife, cheerfully; “a passel of men + prancin' around with a goat oncet a month ain't much harm, I reckon. You + go 'long, honey; I'll set up for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Sissy is that soft an' innercent an' mild,” muttered Mr. Cullum, striding + away in the gathering twilight, “that a suckin' baby could wrop her aroun' + its finger—much lessen me!” + </p> + <p> + About ten o'clock the same night Granny Carnes, peeping through a chink in + the wall beside her bed, saw a squad of men hurrying afoot down the road + from the direction of Ebenezer Church. “Them boys is up to some devil<i>mint</i>, + Uncle Dick,” she remarked, placidly, to her rheumatic old husband. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Dick laughed, a soft, toothless laugh. “I ain't begrudgin' 'em the + fun,” he sighed, turning on his pillow, “but I wisht to the Lord I was + along!” + </p> + <p> + The “boys” crossed the creek below Bishop's and entered the shinn-oak + prairie on the farther side. + </p> + <p> + “Nance ast mighty particular about the lodge meetin',” observed Newt + Pinson to Mr. Cullum, who headed the nocturnal expedition; “she know'd it + wa'n't the regular night, an' she suspicioned sompn, Nance did.” + </p> + <p> + “Sissy didn't,” laughed Tobe, complacently. “Sissy is that soft an' + innercent an' mild that a suckin' baby could wrop her aroun' its finger—much + lessen me!” + </p> + <p> + Bud Hines, in the rear with the others, was in a quiver of excitement. He + stumbled along, shifting Sid Northcutt's rifle from one shoulder to the + other, and listening open-mouthed to Jack Carter's directions. “You know, + Bud,” said that young gentleman, gravely, “it ain't every man that gets a + chance to go on a snipe-hunt. And if you've got any grit—” + </p> + <p> + “I've got plenty of it,” interrupted Mr. Hines, vaingloriously. He was, + indeed, inwardly—and outwardly—bursting with pride. “I thought + they tuk me for a plumb fool,” he kept saying over and over to himself. + “They ain't never noticed me before 'cepn to make fun of me; an' all at + oncet Mr. Tobe Cullum an' Mr. Newt Pinson ups an' asts me to go on a + snipe-hunt, an' even p'oposes to give me the best place in it. An' I've + got Mr. Sid's rifle, an' Mr. Jack is tellin' of me how! Lord, I wouldn't + of believed it of I wa'n't right here! Won't ma be proud when I write her + about it!” + </p> + <p> + “You've got to whistle all the time,” Jack continued, breaking in upon + these blissful reflections; “if you don't, they won't come.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll whistle,” declared Bud, jauntily. + </p> + <p> + Sam Leggett's snigger was dexterously turned into a cough by a punch in + his ribs from Mr. Trimble's elbow, and they trudged on in silence until + they reached Buck Snort Gully, a deep ravine running from the prairie into + a stretch of heavy timber beyond, known as The Rough. + </p> + <p> + Here they stopped, and Sid Northcutt produced a coarse bag, whose mouth + was held open by a barrel hoop, and a tallow candle, which he lighted and + handed to the elate hunter. “Now, Bud,” Mr. Cullum said, when the bag was + set on the edge of the gully, with its mouth towards the prairie, “you + jest scrooch down behind this here sack an' hold the candle. You kin lay + the rifle back of you, in case a wild-cat or a cougar prowls up. An' you + whistle jest as hard an' as continual as you can, whilse the balance of us + beats aroun' an' drives in the snipe. They'll run fer the candle ever' + time. An' the minit that sack is full of snipe, all you've got to do is to + pull out the prop, an' they're yourn.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Mr. Tobe,” responded Bud, squatting down and clutching the + candle, his face radiant with expectation. + </p> + <p> + The crowd scattered, and for a few moments made a noisy pretence of + beating the shinn-oak thickets for imaginary snipe. + </p> + <p> + “Keep a-whisslin', Bud!” Mr. Cullum shouted, from the far edge of the + prairie. A prolonged whistle, with trills and flourishes, was the + response; and the conspirators, bursting with restrained laughter, plunged + into the ford and separated, making each for his own fireside. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cullum was nodding over the hearth-stone when her husband came in. + The six girls, from Minty—Jack Carter's buxom sweetheart—to + Little Sis, the baby, were long abed. The hands of the wooden clock on the + high mantel-shelf pointed to half-past twelve. “Well, pa,” Sissy said, + good-humoredly, reaching out for the shovel and beginning to cover up the + fire, “you've cavorted pretty late this time! What's the matter?” she + added, suspiciously; “you ack like you've been drinkin'!” + </p> + <p> + For Tobe was rolling about the room in an ecstasy of uproarious mirth. + </p> + <p> + “I 'ain't teched nary drop, Sissy,” Mr. Cullum returned, “but ever' time I + think about that fool Bud Mines a-settin' out yander at Buck Snort, + holdin' of a candle, and whisslin' fer snipe to run into that coffee-sack, + I—oh Lord!” + </p> + <p> + He stopped to slap his thighs and roar again. Finally, wiping the tears of + enjoyment from his eyes, he related the story of the night's adventure. + </p> + <p> + “Air you tellin' me, Tobe Cullum,” his wife said, when she had heard him + to the end—“air you p'intedly tellin' me that you've took Bud Hines + <i>snipin'</i>? An' that you've left that sickly, consumpted young man + a-settin' out there by hisse'f to catch his death of cold; or maybe git + his blood sucked out by a catamount!” + </p> + <p> + “Shucks, Sissy!” replied Tobe; “nothin' ain't goin' to hurt him. He's sech + a derned fool that a catamount wouldn't tech him with a ten-foot pole! An' + him a-whisslin' fer them snipe—oh Lord!” + </p> + <p> + “Tobe Cullum,” said Mrs. Cullum, sternly, “you go saddle Buster this minit + and ride out to Buck Snort after Bud Hines.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, honey—” remonstrated Tobe. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you honey me,” she interrupted, wrathfully. “You saddle that horse + this minit an' fetch that consumpted boy home.” + </p> + <p> + Tobe ceased to laugh. His big jaws set themselves suddenly square. “I'll + do no such fool thing,” he declared, doggedly, “an' have the len'th an' + brea'th o' Jim-Ned makin' fun o' me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said his wife, with equal determination, “ef you don't go, I + will. But I give you fair warnin', Tobe Cullum, that ef you don't go, I'll + never speak to you again whilse my head is hot.” + </p> + <p> + Tobe snorted incredulously; but he sneaked out to the stable after her, + and when she had saddled and mounted Buster, he followed her on foot, + running noiselessly some distance behind her, keeping her well in sight, + and dodging into the deeper shadows when she chanced to look around. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know Sissy had so much spunk,” he muttered, panting in her wake + at last across the shinn-oak prairie. “Lord, how blazin' mad she is! But + shucks! she'll git over it by mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hines was shivering with cold. He still whistled mechanically, but the + hand that held the sputtering candle shook to the trip-hammer thumping of + his heart. “The balance of 'em must of got lost,” he thought, listening to + the lonesome howl of the wind across the prairie. “It's too c-cold for + snipe, I reckon. I wisht I'd staid at home. I c-can't w-whistle any + longer,” he whimpered aloud, dropping the candle-end, the last spark of + courage oozing out of his nerveless fingers. He stood up, straining his + eyes down the black gully and across the dreary waste around him. “Mr. + T-o-o-be!” he called, feebly, and the wavering echoes of his voice came + back to him mingled with an ominous sound. “Oh, Lordy! what is that?” he + stammered. He sank to the ground, grabbing wildly for his gun. “It's a + cougar! I hear him trompin' up from the creek! It's a c-cougar! He's + c-comin' closter! Oh, Lordy!” + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Bud,” called Mrs. Cullum, cheerily. She slipped from the saddle as + she spoke and caught the half-fainting snipe-hunter in her motherly arms. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you 'shamed of yourse'f to let a passel o' no-'count men fool you + this-a-way?” she demanded, sternly, when he had somewhat recovered + himself. “Get up behind me. I'm goin' to take you to Mis' Bishop's, where + you belong. No, don't you dassen to tech any o' that trash!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hines, feeling very humble and abashed, climbed up behind her, and + they rode away, leaving the snipe—hunting gear, including Sid + Northcutt's valuable rifle, on the edge of the gully. + </p> + <p> + She left him at Bishop's, charging him to swallow before going to bed a + “dost” of the home-brewed chill medicine from a squat bottle she handed + him. + </p> + <p> + “He cert'n'y is weaker'n stump-water,” she murmured, as she turned her + horse's head; “but he's sickly an' consumpted, an' he's jest about the age + my Bud would of been if he'd lived.” + </p> + <p> + And thinking of her first-born and only son, who died in babyhood, she + rode homeward in the dim chill starlight. Tobe, spent and foot-sore, + followed warily, carrying the abandoned rifle. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + Consternation reigned the “len'th an' brea'th” of Jim-Ned. Mrs. Cullum—placid + and easy-going Mrs. Tobe—under the same roof with him, actually had + not spoken to her lawful and wedded husband since the snipe-hunt ten days + ago come Monday! + </p> + <p> + “It's plumb scan'lous!” Mrs. Pinson exclaimed, at her daughter's quilting. + “I never would of thought sech a thing of Sissy—never!” + </p> + <p> + “As of the boys of Jim-Ned couldn't have a little innercent fun without + Mis' Cullum settin' in jedgment on 'em!” sniffed Mrs. Leggett. + </p> + <p> + “Shot up, Becky Leggett,” said her mother, severely. “By time you've put + up with a man's capers for twenty-five years, like Sissy Cullum have, + you'll have the right to talk, an' not before.” + </p> + <p> + “They say Tobe is wellnigh out'n his mind,” remarked Mrs. Trimble. “Ez for + that soft-headed Bud Mines, he have fair fattened on that snipe-hunt. He's + gittin' ez sassy an' mischeevous ez Jack Carter hisse'f.” + </p> + <p> + This last statement was literally true. The victim of Tobe Cullum's + disastrous practical joke had become on a sudden case-hardened, as it + were. The consumptive pallor had miraculously disappeared from his cheeks + and the homesick look from his eyes. He bore the merciless chaffing at + Bishop's with devil-may-care good-nature, and he besought Mrs. Cullum, + almost with tears in his eyes, to “let up on Mr. Tobe.” + </p> + <p> + “I was sech a dern fool, Mis' Cullum,” he candidly confessed, “that I + don't blame Mr. Tobe for puttin' up a job on me. Besides,” he added, his + eyes twinkling shrewdly, “I'm goin' to git even. I'm layin' off to take + Jim Belcher, that biggetty drummer from Waco, a-snipin' out Buck Snort + next Sat'day night. He's a bigger idjit than I ever was.” + </p> + <p> + “You ten' to your own business, Bud, an' I'll ten' to mine,” Mrs. Cullum + returned, not unkindly. Which business on her part apparently was to make + Mr. Cullum miserable by taking no notice of him whatever. The house under + her supervision was, as it had always been, a model of neatness; the meals + were cooked by her own hands and served with an especial eye to Tobe's + comfort; his clothes were washed and ironed, and his white shirt laid out + on Sunday mornings, with the accustomed care and regularity. But with + these details Mrs. Cullum's wifely attentions ended. She remained + absolutely deaf to any remark addressed to her by her husband, looking + through and beyond him when he was present with a steady, unseeing gaze, + which was, to say the least, exasperating. All necessary communication + with him was carried on by means of the children. “Minty,” she would say + at the breakfast-table, “ask your pa if he wants another cup of coffee”; + or at night, “Temp'unce, tell your pa that Buster has shed a shoe”; or, + “Sue, does your pa know where them well-grabs is?” et caetera, et caetera. + </p> + <p> + The demoralized household huddled, so to speak, between the opposing + camps, frightened and unhappy, and things were altogether in a bad way. + </p> + <p> + To make matters worse, Miss Minty Cullum, following her mother's example, + took high and mighty ground with Jack Carter, dismissing that gentleman + with a promptness and coolness which left him wellnigh dumb with + amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, Minty!” he gasped. “Why, I was taken snipe-hunting myself not + more'n five years ago. I—” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you were such a fool, Jack Carter,” interrupted his + sweetheart, with a toss of her pretty head; “that settles it!” and she + slammed the door in his face. + </p> + <p> + Matters were at such a pass finally that Mr. Skaggs, the circuit-rider, + when he came to preach, the third Sunday in the month, at Ebenezer Church, + deemed it his duty to remonstrate and pray with Sister Cullum at her own + house. She listened to his exhortations in grim silence, and knelt without + a word when he summoned her to wrestle before the Throne of Grace. “Lord,” + he concluded, after a long and powerful summing up of the erring sister's + misdeeds, “Thou knowest that she is travelling the broad and flowery road + to destruction. Show her the evil of her ways, and warn her to flee from + the wrath to come.” + </p> + <p> + He arose from his knees with a look of satisfaction on his face, which + changed to one of chagrin when he saw Sister Cullum's chair empty, and + Sister Cullum herself out in the backyard tranquilly and silently feeding + her hens. + </p> + <p> + “She shore did flee from the wrath to come, Sissy did,” chuckled Granny + Carnes, when this episode reached her ears. + </p> + <p> + As for Tobe, he bore himself in the early days of his affliction in a + jaunty debonair fashion, affecting a sprightliness which did not deceive + his cronies at Bishop's. In time, however, finding all his attempts at + reconciliation with Sissy vain, he became uneasy, and almost as silent as + herself, then morose and irritable, and finally black and thunderous. + </p> + <p> + “He's that wore upon that nobody dassent to go anigh him,” said Mrs. + Pinson, solemnly. “An' no wonder! Fer of all the conniptions that ever + struck the women o' Jim-Ned, <i>ez wives</i>, Sissy Cullum's conniptions + air the outbeatenes'.” + </p> + <p> + But human endurance has its limits. Mr. Cullum's reached his at the + supper-table one night about three weeks after the beginning of his + discipline. He had been ploughing all day, and brooding, presumably, over + his tribulations, and there was a techy look in his dark eyes as he seated + himself at the foot of the well-spread table, presided over by Mrs. + Cullum, impassive and dumb as usual. The six girls were ranged on either + side. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ma,” began Tobe, with assumed gayety, turning up his plate, “what + for a day have you had?” + </p> + <p> + Sissy looked through and beyond him with fixed, unresponsive gaze, and + said never a word. + </p> + <p> + Then, as Mr. Cullum afterward said, “Ole Satan swep' an' garnish<i>eed</i> + him an' tuk possession of him.” He seized the heavy teacup in front of him + and hurled it at his unsuspecting spouse; she gasped, paling slightly, and + dodged. The missile, striking the brick chimney-jamb behind her, crashed + and fell shivering into fragments on the hearth. The saucer followed. + Then, Tobe's spirits rising, plate after plate hurtled across the table; + the air fairly bristled with flying crockery. Mrs. Cullum, after the first + shock of surprise, continued calmly to eat her supper, moving her head + from right to left or ducking to avoid an unusually well-aimed projectile. + </p> + <p> + Little Sis scrambled down from her high chair at the first hint of + hostilities, and dived, screaming, under the table; the others remained in + their places, half paralyzed with terror. + </p> + <p> + In less time than it takes to tell it, Mr. Cullum, reaching out his long + arms, had cleared half the board of its stone and glass ware. Finally he + laid a savage hand upon a small, old-fashioned blue pitcher left standing + alone in a wide waste of table-cloth. + </p> + <p> + At this Sissy surrendered unconditionally. “Oh, Tobe, fer Gawd's sake!” + she cried, throwing out her hands and quivering from head to foot. “I give + in! I give in! <i>Don't</i> break the little blue-chiny pitcher! You + fetched it to me the day little Bud was born! An' he drunk out'n it jest + afore he died! Fer Gawd's sake, Tobe, honey! I give in!” + </p> + <p> + Tobe set down the pitcher as gingerly as if it had been a soap-bubble. + Then, with a whoop which fairly lifted the roof from the cabin, he cleared + the intervening space between them and caught his wife in his arms. + </p> + <p> + Minty, with ready tact, dragged Little Sis from under the table, and + driving the rest of the flock before her, fled the room and shut the door + behind her. On the dark porch she ran plump upon Jack Carter. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Jack!” she cried, with her tear-wet face tucked before she knew it + against his breast, “what are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just hanging around,” grinned Mr. Carter. + </p> + <p> + “Gawd be praised!” roared Tobe, inside the house. + </p> + <p> + “Amen!” responded Jack, outside. + </p> + <p> + “An' Tobe Cullum,” announced Joe Trimble at Bishop's the next day, “have + ordered up the fines' set o' shiny in Waco fer Sissy.” + </p> + <p> + “It beats <i>me</i>,” said Newt Pinson; “but I allers did say that the + women o' Jim-Ned, <i>ez wives</i>, air the outbeatenes' critters in + creation!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE COURTSHIP OF COLONEL BILL + </h2> + <h3> + BY J. J. EAKINS + </h3> + <p> + It was early morning in the Bluegrass. The triumphant sun was driving the + white mist before it from wood and rolling meadow-land, rousing the drowsy + cattle from their tranquil dreams and quickening into fuller life all the + inhabitants of that favored region, from the warlike woodpecker with his + head of flame high up in the naked tree-top to the timid ground-squirrel + flitting along the graystone fences. It glorified with splendid + impartiality the apple blossoms in the orchards and the vagabond + blackberry bushes blooming by the roadside; and then, with many a mile of + smiling pastures in its victorious wake, it burst over the low rampart of + stable roofs encircling the old Lexington race-course, and, after a hasty + glimpse at the horses speeding around the track and the black boys singing + and slouching from stall to stall with buckets of water on their heads, it + rushed impetuously into an old-fashioned, deep-waisted family barouche + beside one of the stables, and shone full upon a slender, girlish figure + within. It wasted no time upon a purple-faced old gentleman beside her, + nor upon two young gentlemen on the seat opposite, but rested with bold + and ardent admiration upon the young girl's face, touching her cheeks with + a color as delicate as the apple blossoms in the orchards, and weaving + into her rich brown hair the red gold of its own beams. + </p> + <p> + The picture was so dazzling and altogether so unprecedented that Colonel + Bill Jarvis, the young owner of the stable, who had come swinging around + the corner, whistling a lively tune, his hat thrown back on his head, and + who had almost run plump into the carriage, stopped abruptly and stood + staring. He was roused to a realizing sense of his position by Major + Cicero Johnson, editor of the Lexington <i>Chronicle</i> and president of + the association, who was standing beside the barouche, saying, with that + courtliness of manner and amplitude of rhetoric which made him a fixture + in the legislative halls at Frankfort: “Colonel Bill, I want to present + you to General Thomas Anderson Braxton, the hero of two wars, of whom as a + Kentuckian you must be proud, and his sons Matt and Jack, and his + daughter, Miss Sue, the Flower of the Blue-grass. Ladies and gentlemen,” + he continued, with an oratorical wave of his hand towards the Colonel, who + had bowed gravely to each person in turn to whom he was introduced, “this + is my friend Colonel Bill Jarvis, the finest horseman and the most gallant + young turfman between the Ohio River and the Gulf of Mexico.” + </p> + <p> + While the Major was speaking, Colonel Bill's eyes wandered from the two + young gentlemen on the front seat to the purple-faced old General on the + rear seat, and then rested on Miss Braxton. Her eyes met his, and she + smiled. It was such a pleasant, gracious, encouraging smile, and there was + so much kindliness in the depths of the soft brown eyes, that the Colonel + was reassured at once. + </p> + <p> + “We have come to disturb you at this unearthly hour,” said Miss Braxton, + apologetically, “because I wanted to see the horses at their work, and + father and my brothers were good enough to come with me.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Bill explained that his horses had finished their morning + exercise, but that it would afford him great pleasure to show them in + their stalls. Miss Braxton was sure that they were putting him to a great + deal of trouble, and she was also convinced that to see horses in their + stalls must be delightful; so presently the party was marching along under + the shed, looking at the calm-eyed thoroughbreds in their narrow little + homes, the Colonel and Miss Braxton leading the way. + </p> + <p> + With the wisdom of her sex, Miss Braxton concealed her lack of special + knowledge by a generous general enthusiasm which captivated her + simple-hearted host. + </p> + <p> + “And that is really Beau Brummel!” she cried, with sparkling eyes, + pointing to a splendid deep-chested animal, who was regarding them with + mild curiosity. “And that is Queen of Sheba next to him! What lovely heads + they have, and how very proud you must be to own them!” One would have + thought her days and nights had been given to a study of these two + thoroughbreds. + </p> + <p> + “They are the best long-distance horses in the country,” said the Colonel, + flushing with pleasure. And then, in reply to her eager questioning, he + gave their pedigrees and performances, all their battles and victories, in + detail—a list as long and glorious as the triumphs of Napoleon, and + perhaps as useful. At each stall she had fresh questions to ask. Her + brothers, with an eye to the coming meeting, listened eagerly to the + Colonel's answers, while the Major and the General, lagging behind, + discussed affairs of state. At last the horses were all seen; everybody + shook hands with the Colonel and thanked him, the General with great + pompousness, and Miss Braxton with a smile, and a hope that she might see + him during the meeting; and the old barouche went lumbering away down the + road, until it presently buried itself, like a monstrous cuttlefish, in a + cloud of its own making. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Bill looked after it with a pleased expression on his face, and + pulling his tawny mustache reflectively, muttered to himself with true + masculine acuteness, “She knew as much about my horses as I did myself.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The great Lexington meeting was in the full tide of its success. + Peach-cheeked, bright-eyed Blue-grass girls, and their big-boned, + deep-chested admirers, riding and driving in couples and parties, filled + all the white, dusty tumpikes leading to the race-course, and made gay the + quaint old Lexington streets. The grand-stand echoed with their merriment, + and they cheered home the horses with an enthusiasm seen nowhere else in + the world. + </p> + <p> + The centre of the liveliest of all these merry groups, noticeable for her + grace and beauty even there, where so many lovely girls were gathered, was + Miss Braxton. She was continuously surrounded by a devoted body-guard of + young men, many of whom had ridden miles to catch a glimpse of her + bewitching face, and who felt more than recompensed for their efforts by a + glance from her bright eyes. + </p> + <p> + On the first day of the meeting Colonel Bill, arrayed with unusual care, + had eagerly scanned the occupants of the grand-stand. His eyes ran + heedlessly over scores of pretty faces, until finally they rested upon the + group around Miss Braxton. Then carefully buttoning up his coat and + straightening out his tall figure, as a brave man might who was about to + lead a forlorn hope or receive his opponent's fire, he bore down upon + them. Miss Braxton welcomed him cordially, and introduced him to the + gentlemen about her. She straightway became so gracious to him that he + aroused an amazing amount of suspicion and dislike in the little circle, + to all of which, however, he was happily oblivious. He was a capital + mimic, and under the inspiration of her applause he told innumerable negro + stories with such lifelike fidelity to nature that even the hostile circle + was convulsed, and Miss Braxton laughed until the tears ran down her + cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Time sped so swiftly that the last race was run before the Colonel was + aware that the programme was half over, and he found himself saying + good-bye to Miss Braxton, and wishing with all his heart he were one of + the half-dozen lucky young men who were waiting on their horses outside to + escort her carriage back to Lexington. + </p> + <p> + It was that same evening old Elias, Colonel Bill's body-servant and + general assistant, noticed a most surprising development in his young + employer. One of the Colonel's most prized possessions was a fiddle. It + bad never been known, in all the years he owned it, to utter aught except + the most joyful sounds. Whenever he picked it up, as he frequently did on + winter nights, when everybody gathered around the big wood fire in his + room, the stable-boys at once made ready to beat time to “Money Musk,” + “Old Dan Tucker,” and other cheerful airs. + </p> + <p> + On this particular night the Colonel seized the fiddle and strode gloomily + to the end of the stable. Presently there came forth upon the night air + such melancholy and dismal notes as made every stable-boy, from little + Pete to big Mose, shiver. As the lugubrious sounds continued, the boys + fled to their loft, leaving Elias, who had watched over the Colonel from + his infancy, to keep vigil, with a troubled look on his withered face. + Many nights thereafter was this singular proceeding repeated, to the + ever-increasing wonderment of Elias. + </p> + <p> + Every day during the meeting when Miss Braxton was at the track Colonel + Bill sought her out. Sometimes he had a chance for a long talk, but + oftener he was forced to content himself with shorter interviews. More + than once he noticed General Braxton join his daughter when he approached, + and he found that old warrior's manner growing more and more cold. + </p> + <p> + “He's a loser,” thought the Colonel, to whom it never for a moment + occurred that his own presence might be disagreeable to any one. “A man + oughtn't to bet when he can't stand a-losing,” he concluded, + philosophically, and then he dismissed the matter from his mind. + </p> + <p> + On the last day of the races, after waiting for an hour or more to speak + alone to Miss Braxton, and finding her constantly guarded by her father, + who looked fiercer than usual, Colonel Bill was finally compelled to join + her as she and the General were leaving the grand-stand. She saw him + coming, and stopped, a pleased look on her face. The General, with a + frigid nod, moved on a few paces and left them together. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to ask if I might call on you this evening, Miss Braxton,” + said the Colonel, timidly, “if you have no other engagement.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be very glad indeed to have you call,” she replied, cordially, + adding, with a smile, “You know, Lexington is not so wildly gay that we + haven't ample time to see our friends.” + </p> + <p> + As he walked away the Colonel thought he heard his name mentioned by + General Braxton, and although the words were inaudible, the tone was sharp + and commanding. He turned and glanced back. The girl's face was flushed, + and she looked excited, something unusual to her self-contained, reposeful + manner. As they moved out of hearing, the General was still talking with + great earnestness, and a feeling of uneasiness began to oppress him. This + feeling had not altogether departed when he galloped into Lexington that + night, his long-tailed, white linen duster buttoned up to his chin, the + brim of his soft black hat pulled down over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The Elms, a roomy old-fashioned house encircled by wide verandas, the home + of the Braxtons for generations, was one of the landmarks of Lexington. A + long stretch of lawn filled with shrubbery and clumps of trees protected + its inmates from the city's dust and turmoil and almost concealed the + house itself from view. The Colonel, to whom the Elms was perfectly well + known, never drew rein till he was before it, and then, checking his horse + so suddenly that a less intelligent animal would have turned a somersault, + swung himself out of the saddle with the ease of one who had spent the + greater part of his life there, fastened the bridle to a ring in a great + oak-tree by the curbing, and opening the big iron gate, strode up the + gravelled walk which wound through the shrubbery. + </p> + <p> + Miss Braxton had been sitting at the piano in the drawing-room playing + softly. The long windows looking out on the veranda were opened to admit + the balmy air, and before her visitor arrived she heard his approaching + footsteps. + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad you have come,” she said, walking out to meet him; “I was + afraid that in the excitement of the race-track you might have forgotten + our engagement. I felt a little depressed this evening, and that is + another reason why I am glad to see you.” She led the way back into the + drawing-room as she talked, and invited the Colonel to sit beside her on + one of the sofas. In the soft glow of the dimly lighted lamps he thought + she had never appeared so beautiful; and the rich fragrance of the + dew-laden roses and honeysuckle wafted in through the open windows seemed + to him to be an atmosphere peculiar to her alone, like the exceeding + sweetness of her soft, low voice and the easy grace of her movements. + </p> + <p> + In reply to her questions he told her of his adventures on far Southern + tracks, and of the careless, reckless life he had led. He had seen many + strange and stirring sights during his wanderings; and to her, whose young + life lead hitherto flown along as peacefully as a meadow-brook, it seemed + like a new and thrilling romance, with a living being in place of the + printed page. Once he mentioned a woman's name, and she started. + </p> + <p> + “In all that time,” she inquired, softly, her eyes lowered, “did no woman + ever come into your life?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered, simply; “I never thought of a woman then.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her eyes to his, and lowered them instantly, her face flushing. + </p> + <p> + During a moment's lull in the conversation the hour was struck from a + neighboring steeple. They both started, half-guiltily. It was midnight. He + at once arose to go, apologizing for the lateness of his visit. + </p> + <p> + “I would like to see you again, Miss Braxton, before I go North,” he said, + as he prepared to leave. + </p> + <p> + She had risen with him, and they were both standing beside the mantel. Her + face paled. Then she turned her head aside, and said, in a tone that was + almost inaudible, “Father objects.” + </p> + <p> + He became rigid instantly, and his lips grew white. “I suppose your father + don't know who I am,” he said, proudly. “My family is as good as any in + the State. I loved horses and the life and color of the race-track, and + refused to go to college when I could. Until I met you I never thought of + anything except horses. But that pedigree of my people is straight. There + isn't a cold cross on either side. I know I amount to nothing myself,” he + continued, bitterly, his eyes resting gloomily on the floor; “I'm only a + no-account old selling-plater, and I'll just go back to the stable, where + I belong.” Here an unusual sound interrupted him, and he looked up. The + girl, with her head on her arm, was leaning against the mantel, sobbing + quietly. In a moment he forgot all about himself and snatched up her + disengaged hand. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really care?” he cried, pressing the fluttering little hand in + both of his. + </p> + <p> + She lifted up her face, the soft brown eyes swimming in tears. “I wouldn't + mind,” she replied, half laughing and half sobbing—“I wouldn't mind + at all about the pedigree, and I know you're not an old selling-plater; + but if you were, I am very sure that I would care for you.” + </p> + <p> + The Lexington meeting was over, and the horsemen were scattered far and + wide, from Chicago to Sheepshead Bay. Colonel Bill alone remained behind. + As the days passed and he made no preparation to depart, old Elias's + irritation grew apace, and the lives of the stable-boys under the + increasing rigor of his rule became almost unendurable. The Colonel, + however, saw very little of Elias or the stable-boys. Even his beloved + horses no longer interested him. He passed the days walking the streets of + Lexington, hoping by some chance to meet Miss Braxton, and it was not + until late at night that he returned to the race-track, foot-sore and + disappointed. He had been too deeply wounded and was too proud to make any + further effort to visit the Elms, and he thought it would be unmanly and + ungenerous to ask Miss Braxton to meet him away from her father's house. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time the old General's wrath increased as the days passed. He + was unused to any kind of opposition, and the Colonel's persistence + irritated him beyond measure. The dream of his life was a brilliant + marriage for his daughter, and no amount of argument could alter his + opinion that Colonel Bill was a rude, unlettered stable-man. + </p> + <p> + “Why, sir,” he would exclaim, over a mint-julep, to his friend Major + Johnson, who always defended the Colonel vigorously, “the idea of such + attentions to my daughter is preposterous—ludicrous! I will not + permit it, sir—not for one moment. If he persists in annoying my + family, sir,” and the purple hue of the General's face deepened, “I would + no more hesitate to shoot him—no more, by gad!—than I would a + rattlesnake.” After the fourth or fifth julep he did not always confine + his conversation to his friend, and so his threats often found their way + back to the object of his wrath, losing nothing by the journey. Although + the Colonel's disposition was the sunniest, the strain to which he was + being subjected was telling on his nerves, and once or twice he replied + sharply to the tale-bearers. The little city was soon excited over the + quarrel, and every movement of the principals was eagerly noted. + </p> + <p> + “My money goes on Bill,” said Jule Chinn, the proprietor of the Blue-grass + Club, when the matter came up for discussion there between deals. “I saw + him plug that creole down in Orleans. First he throws him down the steps + of the St. Charles for insultin' a lady. When Frenchy insists on a duel + an' Bill gets up in front of him, he says, in that free-an'-easy way of + his, 'We mark puppies up in my country by cutting their ears, and that's + what I'm going to do to you, for you ain't fit to die,' an' blame me if he + don't just pop bullets through that fellow's ears like you'd punch holes + in a piece of cheese!” After that the Colonel ruled a strong favorite in + the betting. + </p> + <p> + When this condition of affairs had existed for two weeks, the Colonel + arose one morning from a sleepless bed with a fixed idea in his mind. He + sat down to a table in his room, pulled out some writing-paper, and set to + work. After many sheets had been covered and destroyed, he finally decided + upon the following: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MISS BRAXTON,—I am going away from Lexington to-morrow, + probably never to return. Will you be at your father's gate at three + o'clock this afternoon, as I would like to say good-bye to you before I + go? + </p> + <p> + “Your sincere friend, + </p> + <h3> + “WILLIAM JARVIS” + </h3> + <p> + After he had finished this epistle it seemed to him entirely too cold; but + the others, which he had written in a more sentimental vein, had appeared + unduly presumptuous. He finally sealed it and gave it to Pete, with + terrific threats of personal violence in case of anything preventing its + prompt delivery. While Pete was galloping off to Lexington at breakneck + speed, the Colonel was wondering what the answer would be. + </p> + <p> + “I'll just say good-bye to her,” he muttered, moodily, “and then I'll + never see her again. I suppose I belong with the horses, anyhow, and that + old bottle-nosed General has me classed all right!” + </p> + <p> + When Pete returned he handed the Colonel a dainty little three-cornered + note. It was addressed to “My dear friend,” and the writer was <i>so sorry</i> + he was going away so <i>very soon</i>, and had hoped he would stay <i>ever</i> + so much longer, and then signed herself cordially his, Susan Burleigh + Braxton. At the bottom was a postscript—“I will expect you at three + o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + An hour before the appointed time the Colonel was striding impatiently up + and down before the Elms, incessantly consulting his watch or wistfully + gazing up the gravelled walk. It still lacked several minutes of three, + when his heart gave a great jump as he saw Miss Braxton's graceful figure + flitting in and out through the shrubbery. She stopped to pluck some roses + from a bush that hung over the walk, bending down the richly laden bough + so that the flowers made a complete circle about her bright young face, + and as she raised her eyes she caught the Colonel gazing at her with such + a look of abject idolatry that she laughed and blushed. “You see I am on + time,” she cried, gayly, hastening down to the gate and handing him one of + her roses. “I am going to the post-office, and you may walk with me if you + care to.” If he cared to! Her mere presence beside him, the feeling that + he could reach out his hand and touch her, the music of her voice, filled + him with a joy of which he had never before dreamed. + </p> + <p> + After they had left the post-office, by mutual direction their footsteps + turned from the more crowded thoroughfares, and they walked down a quiet + and deserted street where the stones were covered with moss, and where + solemn gnarled old trees lined the way on either side and met above their + heads, the fresh green leaves murmuring softly together like living + things. + </p> + <p> + They reached the end of the old street, and were almost in the country. A + wide-spreading chestnut-tree stood before them, around whose giant bole a + rustic seat had been built. They walked towards it in silence and sat down + side by side. + </p> + <p> + They were entirely alone. A gay young red-bird, his head knowingly cocked + on one side, perched in the branches just above them. A belated bumblebee, + already heavy laden, hung over a cluster of wild flowers at their feet. A + long-legged garrulous grasshopper, undismayed by their presence, uttered + his clarion notes on the seat beside them. + </p> + <p> + The inquisitive young red-bird looking down could only see a soft black + hat and a white straw hat with flowers about its broad brim. He heard the + black hat wondering if any one ever thought of him, to which the straw hat + replied softly that it was sure some one did think of him very often. Then + the black hat wondered if some one, when it was away, would continue to + think of it, and the flowered straw, still more softly, was very, very + sure some one would. + </p> + <p> + Then the red-bird saw such a remarkable thing happen that his bright eyes + almost popped out of his little head. He saw a hand and a powerful arm + suddenly steal out from below the black hat and move in the direction of + the flowered straw—not hurriedly, but stealthily and surely. Having + reached it, the hand and the arm drew the unresisting flowered straw in + the direction of the black hat, until presently the hats came together. + And then the red-bird, himself desperately in love, knew what it all + meant, and burst into jubilant song. And the hard-working bumblebee, who + also had a sweetheart, took a moment's rest in honor of the event and + buzzed his delight; and even the long-legged grasshopper, an admirer of + the sex, but a confirmed bachelor, shouted his approbation until he was + fairly hoarse. + </p> + <p> + It was some time before the adventurous hand could be put back where it + properly belonged, and the face beneath the straw, when it came into view, + was a very flushed face, but the brown eyes shone like stars. As they + walked through the old street, the setting sun filling the air with a + golden glory, they passed a sweet-faced old lady cutting flowers in her + garden, and she smiled an indulgent smile, and they nodded and smiled back + at her. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to promise me something,” Miss Braxton said, suddenly stopping + and looking up at him. “I want you to promise me,” she continued, not + waiting for his reply, “that you will not quarrel with my father. He is + the best father in the world. My mother died when I was a child, and since + then he has been father and mother and the whole world to me. I could + never forgive myself if you exchanged a harsh word with him.” + </p> + <p> + “If all the stories I hear are true,” replied the Colonel, with a + good-humored laugh, “your father is the one for you to see.” + </p> + <p> + “My father says a great deal which he frequently regrets the moment + afterwards,” she responded, earnestly. “He is a warm-hearted and an + impulsive man, and the dearest and best father in the world.” The Colonel + gave the desired promise, and they walked on in silence. When they reached + the Elms, and her hand was on the big iron gate, she turned to him, an + appealing look in her eyes. “Must you really go to-morrow?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am compelled to go,” he replied, sadly. “I have already remained here + too long. I must start to-morrow night.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you are going away,” she said, + softly, extending her hand. He caught it up passionately. + </p> + <p> + “I must see you again!” he cried. “I can't go away until I do. It is hard + enough to leave even then. I won't ask you to come away from your father's + house to meet me, but you could be here, couldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “When shall I come?” she asked, simply. + </p> + <p> + “The train leaves to-morrow night at twelve. Could you be here at eleven?” + </p> + <p> + “I will be here at eleven,” she said; and then, with a brave attempt to + smile, she turned away. Just at that moment General Braxton rounded the + neighboring corner and came straight towards them. + </p> + <p> + In the hotel across the way the loungers leaning back in their + cane-bottomed chairs straightened up with keenest interest and delight. + Jule Chinn in the Blue-grass Club up-stairs, happening to glance out of + the window, turned his box over, and remarked that if any gentleman cared + to bet, he would lay any part of $5000 on Bill. When the General was + directly opposite him Colonel Bill gravely and courteously lifted his hat. + For an instant the old man hesitated, and then, with a glance at his + daughter, he lifted his own hat and passed through the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be——!” cried Jule, with a whistle of infinite + amazement. “Things is changed in Kentucky!” + </p> + <p> + “That,” said Major Cicero Johnson, who had exchanged several hundred + subscriptions to his paper for an ever-decreasing pile of Jule's blue + chips—“that is the tribute which valor pays to beauty. Their + pleasure has only been postponed. Colonel Chinn, you have overlooked that + small wager on the ace. Thanks.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later Colonel Bill was galloping out to the race-track, gayly + singing a popular love-song. Suddenly something occurred to him and he + stopped, reached back into his hip-pocket, and drew out a long pistol. He + threw it as far as he could into a neighboring brier-patch, and once more + giving rein to his horse, began to sing with renewed enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the track he called old Elias into his room, and they + remained together for a long time in whispered conference. That night any + one who happened to have been belated on the Versailles 'pike might have + passed Elias jogging along on his horse, looking very important, and an + air of mystery enveloping him like a garment. + </p> + <p> + It was far into the night when he returned. As he started to creep up the + ladder to the loft above his young master's room, his shoes in his hand so + as not to awaken him, the Colonel, who had been tossing on a sleepless bed + for hours, called out. Elias, who evidently regarded himself as a + conspirator, waited until he had reached the loft, and then whispered + back, “Hit's all right, Marse Bill,” and was instantly swallowed up in the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + It was one of those perfect June nights so often seen in Kentucky. The + full moon hung in a cloudless sky, filling the air with a soft white + radiance. There was not a movement in the still, warm atmosphere, and to + Colonel Bill, waiting beneath the shadows of the big oak-tree near the + General's gate, it seemed that all nature was waiting with him. The leaves + above his head, the gray old church steeple beyond the house, the long + stretch of deserted streets—they all wore a hushed, expectant look. + </p> + <p> + It was several minutes past the appointed hour, and Miss Braxton had not + come. He had begun to fear that perhaps her father, suspecting something, + had detained her, when he saw her figure, a white outline among the + rose-bushes, far up the walk. As she drew near he stepped out from the + shadows, and she gave a little cry of delight. + </p> + <p> + “I know I am late, but I was talking with father,” she said, + apologetically, and the brown eyes became troubled. “He was very restless + and nervous to-night and when he is in that condition he says I soothe + him.” They had slowly walked towards the tree as she was speaking, and + when she had finished they were completely hidden from any chance passer. + She glanced up, and even in the gloom she noticed how white and tense was + his face. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” he cried, abruptly, “if I go away from Lexington to-night + it will only be to return in a day, or two days? For weeks I have been + able to think of nothing, to dream of nothing, except you. I haven't come + here to-night to say good-bye to you,” he continued, passionately, + “because I cannot say good-bye to you, but to implore you to come with me—to + marry me—to-night—now.” She shrank back. “I have made all my + arrangements,” he continued, feverishly. “I have a cousin, a minister, + living in Versailles. Once a month he preaches in a little church on the + 'pike near there. I sent word by Elias last night for him to meet us there + to-night, and he said he would. Elias has the horses under the trees + yonder; they will be here in a moment, and in an hour we will be married. + Come!” His arms were around her, and while he spoke she was carried away + by the rush of his passion, and yielded to it with a feeling of languorous + delight. Then there came the thought of the lonely old man who would be + left behind. She slipped gently from her lover's arms and looked back at + the house which had been her home for so many years. She saw the light, in + her father's room, and recalled how she went there when she was a little + girl to say her prayers at his knee and kiss him good-night. He had always + been so kind to her, so willing to sacrifice himself for her pleasure, and + he was so old. What would he do when she had gone out of his life? No; she + could not desert him. She covered her face with her hands. “I cannot leave + father,” she sobbed. “I cannot; I must not.” They had moved out from the + shadow of the tree into the moonlight. He had taken her hand, and had + begun to renew his appeals, when they were both startled by the sound of + footsteps on the gravelled walk and the General's voice crying, “Sue! Sue, + where are you?” At the same moment Elias came up, leading two horses. The + Colonel and Miss Braxton stood just as they were, too surprised to move. + They could not escape in any event, for almost as soon as the words + reached them the General came into view. He saw them at once, and it + required only a glance at the approaching horses to tell him everything. + With an inarticulate cry of rage, his gray hair streaming behind him, he + rushed wildly back to the house. The Colonel looked after him, and then + turned to Miss Braxton. + </p> + <p> + “He has gone to arm himself,” he said, quietly. “He will be back with your + brothers.” + </p> + <p> + The girl looked up in his face and shivered. Then she glanced towards the + house, where lights were flashing from room to room, and the doors were + being opened and shut, and she wrung her hands. In the stillness every + sound could be heard—the rush of footsteps down the stairs, the + fierce commands, the creaking of the great stable door in the rear of the + house. + </p> + <p> + “They are getting out the horses,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied, calmly. “He thought we were running away.” There was + not a tremor in his voice. She was reared in a society where physical + bravery is the first of virtues, and even in that terrible moment she + could not help feeling a thrill of pride as she looked at him. + </p> + <p> + She never thought of asking him to fly. She could hear the horses as they + were led out of their stalls one by one, their hoofs echoing sharply on + the stone flagging. Her excited imagination supplied all the details. Now + they were putting on the bridles; now they were fastening the saddles; + they were mounted; the gate was being opened; in another moment they would + sweep down on them. Then she looked at her lover standing there so + motionless, waiting—for what? The thought of it was maddening. + </p> + <p> + “Quick! quick!” she cried, wildly, catching his arm; “I will go with you.” + </p> + <p> + Without a word he lifted her up in his arms and seated her on one of the + horses. He carefully tested the saddle, although the hoofs of their + pursuers' horses were already ringing on the street behind the house. Then + he swung himself easily into the saddle, and was hardly there before the + General and his two sons swept around the neighboring corner, not fifty + yards away. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Elias,” called the Colonel, cheerfully, as they shot out into + the moonlit street; and Elias's “God bless you bofe, Marse Bill!” came to + them above the rush of the horses. + </p> + <p> + As they went clattering through the quiet streets and past the rows of + darkened houses, the horses, with their sinewy necks straightened out + speeding so swiftly that the balmy air blew a soft wind in their riders' + faces, Colonel Bill, with a slight shade of disappointment in his voice, + said: + </p> + <p> + “I guess you didn't get a good look at the horses, or you would have + recognized them. That's old Beau Brummel you're on, and this is Queen of + Sheba. They're both fit, although they haven't been particularly trained + for these free-for-all scrambles, owners' handicap, ten miles + straightaway. But I don't believe there's a horse in Kentucky can catch us + to-night,” he concluded, proudly patting the neck of his thoroughbred. He + glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, and noted that the distance between + them and their pursuers was constantly widening, until, turning a corner, + they could neither see nor hear them. + </p> + <p> + And now the Colonel's spirits fairly bubbled over. He was a superb rider, + and swinging carelessly in his saddle, his hands hardly touching the + reins, he kept up a running stream of jocular comment. + </p> + <p> + “It looks to me like the old gentleman's going to be distanced,” he cried, + with a chuckle, “He can't say a word, though, for he made the conditions + of this race. The start was a trifle straggling, as Jack Calloway told me + once when he left seven horses at the post in a field of ten, and perhaps + the Beau and the Queen didn't have the worst of it.” + </p> + <p> + In every possible way he sought to divert his companion's mind. Once or + twice she delighted him by faintly smiling a response to his speeches. + They had passed the last of the straggling houses, and the turnpike + stretched before them, a white ribbon winding through the green + meadow-land. They had to wait while a sleepy tollgate-keeper lifted his + wooden bar, and straining their ears, they could just catch the faint, + far-away sound of galloping horses. + </p> + <p> + “In another hour,” he cried, pressing her hand, and once more they were + off. A mile farther on they stopped again. Before them was a narrow lane + debauching from the turnpike. + </p> + <p> + “That lane,” he said, reflectively, “would save us a good two miles, for + the 'pike makes a big bend here. Elias told me that he heard it was closed + up, and we might get in there and not be able to get out. We can't afford + to take the chance,” he concluded, thoughtfully, and they continued on + their journey. For some time neither spoke. As they were about to enter + the wood through which the road passed they stopped to breathe their + horses. + </p> + <p> + “I don't hear them,” said the girl. Then she added, joyfully, “Perhaps + they have turned back.” + </p> + <p> + He listened attentively. “Perhaps they have,” he said, at last. + </p> + <p> + As they rode forward more than once an anxious expression passed over his + face, although his conversation was as cheerful as ever. Miss Braxton, + from whose mind a great weight had been lifted, laughed and chatted as she + had not done since the journey began. + </p> + <p> + They had passed through the wood and were out in the open country again. + As they galloped on, only the distant barking of a watch-dog guarding some + lonely farm-house, or the premature crowing of a barn fowl, deceived by + the brilliancy of the moonlight into thinking that day had come, broke the + absolute silence. They might have been the one woman and the one man in a + new world, so profound was their isolation. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see that group of trees on the hill there just ahead of us,” he + asked, carelessly, as the horses slowed to a canter. “Well, just the other + side of those trees the lane we passed joins the 'pike again. Now it is + possible that instead of your amiable relatives going home, they may have + taken to the lane. If it hasn't been closed, they may be waiting there to + welcome us.” For a moment the girl was deceived by the lightness of his + manner; and then, as she realized what such a situation meant, she grew + white to the lips. “The chances are,” he continued, cheerfully, “that they + won't be there, but we had just as well be prepared. If they are there we + must approach them just as if we were going to talk to them, slowing up + almost to a walk. They will be on my side, and I will keep in the middle + of the 'pike. You remain as close to the fence as you can. When we get + opposite them I'll yell, 'Now!' You can give your horse his head, and + before they know what's happened we will be a hundred yards away. All my + horses have been trained to get away from the post, and these two are the + quickest breakers on the Western Circuit. Now let's go over the plan + again.” And the Colonel carefully repeated what he had said, illustrating + it as he went along. Yes, she understood him. It was very simple. How + could she forget it? As she told him this her frightened eyes never left + his face, and she followed his movements with such a look of pain that he + swore at her father, under his breath, with a vigor which did full justice + to the occasion. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes' ride brought them to the top of the hill, and they both + looked eagerly before them. A furlong away, standing perfectly still in + the middle of the lane, their horses' heads facing the turnpike, were + three mounted men. It required no second glance to identify the watchers. + Colonel Bill's eyes blazed, and his right hand went back instinctively to + his empty pistol-pocket. He regained his composure in a moment. “Go very + slow,” he whispered, “and don't make a move till I shout. Keep as far over + to your side as you can.” They approached the three grim watchers, their + horses almost eased to a walk. Not a word was spoken on either side. When + they had reached a point almost directly opposite their pursuers, Colonel + Bill made a pretence of pulling up his horse, only to catch the reins in a + firmer grip, and then, with a sudden dig of the spurs, he yelled, “Now!” + and his horse sprang forward like a frightened deer. At the same instant + Miss Braxton deliberately swung her horse across the road and behind his. + Then there came the sharp report of a pistol, followed by the rush of the + pursuing horses. But high above all other sounds rose General Braxton's + agonized voice: “My God, don't shoot! Don't shoot!” Before the Colonel + could turn in his saddle Miss Braxton was beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you stay where you were?” he cried, sharply, the sense of her + peril setting his nerves on edge. As he realized that it was for his sake + she had come between him and danger, his eyes grew moist. “Suppose you had + been hurt?” he added, reproachfully. She did not reply, and they rode on + at full speed. They had once more left their pursuers behind; but as the + church was now only a few miles away, and they needed every spare moment + there, they urged their horses to renewed effort. + </p> + <p> + “There is the church now, and it's lighted up,” cried the Colonel, + joyfully, as they dashed around a bend in the road, pointing to a little + one-story building tucked away amid trees and under-brush beside the + turnpike. In the doorway the minister stood waiting for them—a tall + young man whose ruddy face, broad shoulders, and humorous blue eyes + suggested the relationship the Colonel had mentioned. As they pulled up, + the young minister came forward and was introduced by the Colonel as “My + cousin, Jim Bradley.” While they were both assisting Miss Braxton to + dismount and fastening the horses, the Colonel, in a few words, told of + the pursuit and of the necessity of haste. Mr. Bradley led the way into + the church, the lovers following arm in arm. It was a plain whitewashed + little room, with wooden benches for the worshippers, and a narrow aisle + leading up to the platform, where stood the preacher's pulpit. Half a + dozen lamps with bright tin reflectors behind them, like halos, were + fastened to brackets high up on the walls. The young couple stopped when + they reached the platform, and at Mr. Bradley's request joined their + hands. He had opened the prayer-book at the marriage service, and was + beginning to read it, when he gave a start. Far away down the turnpike, + faint but unmistakable—now dying away into a mere murmur, now rising + clear and bold—came the sound of galloping horses. The Colonel felt + the girl's hand cold in his, and he whispered a word of encouragement. Mr. + Bradley hurried on with the ceremony. The centuries-old questions, so + often asked beneath splendid domes before fashionable assemblages to the + accompaniment of triumphant music, were never answered with more truth and + fervor than in that little roadside church, with no one to hear them but + the listening trees and the heart of the night wind. + </p> + <p> + “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love her, comfort + her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all + others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?” + </p> + <p> + How he pressed the trembling little hand in his, and how devotedly he + answered, “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband? Wilt thou obey him and + serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health, and + forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall + live?” + </p> + <p> + The downcast eyes were covered with the drooping lids, and the voice was + faint and low, but what a world of love was in the simple, “I will.” + </p> + <p> + As the young minister, very solemn and dignified now, paused for each + reply, there came ever nearer and ever louder the ringing of the + hoof-beats. Once he stole a hurried glance through the window which gave + on the turnpike. Not half a mile away, their figures black against the + sky-line, fiercely lashing their tired horses to fresh effort, were three + desperate riders. The couple before him did not raise their eyes. + </p> + <p> + And now the concluding words of the service had been reached, and the + minister had begun, “Those whom God hath joined together—” when the + rest of the sentence was lost in the old General's angry shout, as he + flung himself from his horse, and, with his sons at his heels, rushed into + the church. At the threshold they stopped with blanched faces, for, as + they entered, the girl, uttering a faint cry, her face whiter than her + gown, down which a little stream of blood was trickling, reeled and + tottered, and fell senseless into her husband's arms. + </p> + <p> + A few days later Major Johnson's Lexington <i>Chronicle</i>, under the + heading “Jarvis—Braxton,” contained the following: + </p> + <p> + “Colonel William Jarvis, the distinguisbed and genial young turfman, and + Miss Susan Braxton, the beautiful and accomplished daughter of General + Thomas Anderson Braxton, the hero of two wars, whose name is a household + word wherever valor is honored and eloquence is admired, were united in + marriage Monday night. With the romance of youth, the young couple + determined to avoid the conventionalities of society, and only the bride's + father and two brothers were present. Immediately preceding the ceremony + the lovely bride was accidentally injured by the premature explosion of a + fire-arm, but her hosts of friends will be delighted to learn that the + mishap was not of a serious character. The young couple are now the guests + of General Braxton at the historic Elms. We are informed, however, that + Colonel Jarvis contemplates retiring from the turf and purchasing a + stock-farm near Lexington. As a souvenir of his marriage he has promised + his distinguished father-in-law the first three good horses he raises.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALANCE OF POWER + </h2> + <h3> + BY MAURICE THOMPSON + </h3> + <p> + “I don't hesitate to say to you that I regard him as but a small remove in + nature from absolute trash, Phyllis—absolute trash! His character + may be good—doubtless it is; but he is not of good family, and he + shows it. What is he but a mountain cracker? There is no middle ground; + trash is trash!” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Mobley Sommerton spoke in a rich bass voice, slowly rolling his + words. The bagging of his trousers at the knees made his straight legs + appear bent, as if for a jump at something, while his daughter Phyllis + looked at him searchingly, but not in the least impatiently, her fine gray + eyes wide open, and her face, with its delicately blooming cheeks, its + peach-petal lips, and its saucy little nose, all attention and + half-indignant surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” the Colonel went on, with a conciliatory touch in his words, + when he had waited some time for his daughter to speak and she spoke not—“of + course you do not care a straw for him, Phyllis; I know that. The daughter + of a Sommerton couldn't care for such a—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind saying to you that I do care for him, and that I love him, + and want to marry him,” broke in Phyllis, with tremulous vehemence, tears + gushing from her eyes at the same time; and a depth of touching pathos + seemed to open behind her words, albeit they rang like so many notes of + rank boldness in the old man's ears. + </p> + <p> + “Phyllis!” he exclaimed; then he stooped a little, his trousers bagging + still more, and he stood in an attitude almost stagy, a flare of choleric + surprise leaping into his face. “Phyllis Sommerton what <i>do</i> you + mean? Are you crazy? You say that to me?” + </p> + <p> + The girl—she was just eighteen—faced her father with a look at + once tearfully saucy and lovingly firm. The sauciness, however, was + superficial and physical, not in any degree a part of her mental mood. She + could not, had she tried, have been the least bit wilful or impertinent + with her father, who had always been a model of tenderness. Besides, a + girl never lived who loved a parent more unreservedly than Phyllis loved + Colonel Sommerton. + </p> + <p> + “Go to your room, miss! go to your room! Step lively at that, and let me + have no more of this nonsense. Go! I command you!” + </p> + <p> + The stamp with which the Colonel's rather substantial boot just then shook + the floor seemed to generate some current of force sufficient to whirl + Phyllis about and send her up-stairs in an old-fashioned fit of hysteria. + She was crying and talking and running all at the same time, her voice + made liquid like a bird's, and yet jangling with its mixed emotions. Down + fell her wavy, long, brown hair almost to her feet, one rich strand + trailing over the rail as she mounted the steps, while the rustling of her + muslin dress told off the springy motion of her limbs till she disappeared + in the gilt-papered gloom aloft, where the windowless hall turned at right + angles with the stairway. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Sommerton was smiling grimly by this time, and his iron-gray + mustache quivered humorously. + </p> + <p> + “She's a little brick,” he muttered; “a chip off the old log—by + zounds, she is! She means business. Got the bit in her teeth, and fairly + splitting the air!” He chuckled raucously. “Let her go; she'll soon tire + out.” + </p> + <p> + Sommerton Place, a picturesque old mansion, as mansions have always gone + in north Georgia, stood in a grove of oaks on a hill-top overlooking a + little mountain town, beyond which uprose a crescent of blue peaks against + a dreamy summer sky. Behind the house a broad plantation rolled its + billow-like ridges of corn and cotton. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel went out on the veranda and lit a cigar, after breaking two or + three matches that he nervously scratched on a column. + </p> + <p> + This was the first quarrel that he had ever had with Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sommerton had died when Phyllis was twelve years old, leaving the + little girl to be brought up in a boarding-school in Atlanta. The widowed + man did not marry again, and when his daughter came home, six months + before the opening of our story, it was natural that he should see nothing + but loveliness in the fair, bright, only child of his happy wedded life, + now ended forever. + </p> + <p> + The reader must have taken for granted that the person under discussion in + the conversation touched upon at the outset of this writing was a young + man; but Tom Bannister stood for more than the sum of the average young + man's values. He was what in our republic is recognized as a promising + fellow, bright, magnetic, shifty, well forward in the neologies of + society, business, and politics, a born leader in a small way, and as + ambitious as poverty and a brimming self-esteem could make him. From his + humble law-office window he had seen Phyllis pass along the street in the + old Sommerton carriage, and had fallen in love as promptly as possible + with her plump, lissome form and pretty face. + </p> + <p> + He sought her acquaintance, avoided with cleverness a number of annoying + barriers, assaulted her heart, and won it, all of which stood as mere play + when compared with climbing over the pride and prejudice of Colonel + Sommerton. For Bannister was nobody in a social way, as viewed from the + lofty top of the hill at Sommerton Place; indeed, all of his kinspeople + were mountaineers, honest, it is true, but decidedly woodsy, who tilled + stony acres in a pocket beyond the first blue ridge yonder. His education + seemed good, but it had been snatched from the books by force, with the + savage certainty of grip which belongs to genius. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Sommerton, having unbounded confidence in Phyllis's aristocratic + breeding, would not open his eyes to the attitude of the young people + until suddenly it came into his head that possibly the almost briefless + plebeian lawyer had ulterior designs while climbing the hill, as he was + doing noticeably often, from town to Sommerton Place. But when this + thought arrived the Colonel was prompt to act. He called up the subject at + once, and we have seen the close of his interview with Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + Now he stood on the veranda and puffed his cigar with quick, short + draughts, as a man does who falters between two horns of a dilemma. He + turned his head to one side as if listening to his own thoughts, his tall, + pointed collar meantime fitting snugly in a crease of his furrowed jaw. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the shambling, yet in a way facile, footsteps of Barnaby, + the sporadic freedman of the household, were soothing. Colonel Sommerton + turned his eyes on the comer inquiringly, almost eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Barn, you're back,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yah, sah; I'se had er confab wid 'em,” remarked the negro, seating + himself on the top step of the veranda, and mopping his coal-black face + with a red cotton handkerchief; “an' hit do beat all. Niggahs is mos'ly + eejits, spacially w'en yo' wants 'em to hab some sense.” + </p> + <p> + He was a huge, ill-shapen, muscular fellow, old but still vigorous, and in + his small black eyes twinkled an unsounded depth of shrewdness. He had + been the Colonel's slave from his young manhood to the close of the war; + since then he had hung around Ellijay what time he was not sponging a + livelihood from Sommerton Place under color of doing various light turns + in the vegetable garden, and of attending to his quondam master's horses. + </p> + <p> + Barnaby was a great banjoist, a charming song-singer, and a leader of the + negroes around about. Lately he was gaining some reputation as a political + boss. + </p> + <p> + There was but one political party in the county (for the colored people + were so few that they could not be called a party), and the only struggle + for office came in the pursuit of a nomination, which was always + equivalent to election. Candidates were chosen at a convention or + mass-meeting of the whites and the only figure that the blacks were able + to cut in the matter was by reason of a pretended, rather than a real, + prejudice against them which was used by the candidates (who are always + white men) to further their electioneering schemes, as will presently + appear. + </p> + <p> + “Hit do beat all,” Barnaby repeated, shaking his heavy head reflectively, + and making a grimace both comical and hideous. “Dat young man desput sma't + and cunnin', sho's yo' bo'n he is. He done been foolin' wid dem niggahs + a'ready.” + </p> + <p> + The reader may as well be told at once that if a candidate could by any + means make the negroes support his opponent for the nomination it was the + best card he could possibly play; or, if he could not quite do this, but + make it appear that the other fellow was not unpopular in colored circles, + it served nearly the same turn. + </p> + <p> + Phyllis, when she ran crying up-stairs after the conversation with her + father, went to her room, and fell into a chair by the window. So it + chanced that she overheard the conference between Colonel Sommerton and + Barnaby, and long after it was ended she still sat there leaning on the + window-sill. Her eyes showed a trifle of irritation, but the tears were + all gone. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't Tom tell me that he was going to run against my father?” she + inquired of herself over and over. “I think he might have trusted me, so I + do. It's mean of him. And if he should beat papa! Papa could bear that.” + </p> + <p> + She sprang to her feet and walked across the room, stopping on the way to + rub her apple-bloom cheeks before a looking-glass. Vaguely enough, but + insistently, the outline of a political plot glimmered in her + consciousness and troubled her understanding. Plainly her father and Tom + Bannister were rival candidates, and just as plainly each was scheming to + make it appear that the negroes were supporting his opponent; but the + girl's little head could not gather up and comprehend all that such a + condition of things meant. She supposed that a sort of disgrace would + attach to defeat, and she clasped her hands and poised her winsome body + melodramatically when she asked herself which she would rather the defeat + would fall upon, her father or Tom. She leaned out of the window and saw + Colonel Sommerton walking down the road towards town, with his cigar + elevated at an acute angle with his nose, his hat pulled well down in + front, by which she knew that he was still excited. Days went by, as days + will in any state of affairs, with just such faultless weather as August + engenders amid the cool hills of the old Cherokee country; and Phyllis + noted, by an indirect attention to what she had never before been + interested in, that Colonel Sommerton was growing strangely confidential + and familiar with Barnaby. She had a distinct but remote impression that + her father had hitherto never, at least never openly, shown such irenic + solicitude in that direction, and she knew that his sudden peace-making + with the old negro meant ill to her lover. She pondered the matter with + such discrimination and logic as her clever little brain could compass; + and at last she one evening called Barnaby to come into the garden with + his banjo. + </p> + <p> + The sun was down, and the half-grown moon swung yellow and clear against + the violet arch of mid-heaven. Through the sheen a softened outline of the + town wavered fantastically. + </p> + <p> + Phyllis sat on a great fragment of limestone, which, embossed with curious + fossils, formed the immovable centre-piece of the garden. + </p> + <p> + Barnaby, at a respectful distance, crumpled herself satyr-like on the + ground, with his banjo across his knee, and gazed expectantly aslant at + the girl's sweet face. + </p> + <p> + “Now play me my father's favorite song,” she said. + </p> + <p> + They heard Mrs. Wren, the housekeeper, opening the windows in the upper + rooms of the mansion to let in the night air, which was stirring over the + valley with a delicious mountain chill on its wings. All around in the + trees and shrubbery the katydids were rasping away in immelodious + statement and denial of the ancient accusation. + </p> + <p> + Barnaby demurred. He did not imagine, so at least he said, that Miss + Phyllis would be pleased with the ballad that recently had been the + Colonel's chief musical delight; but he must obey the young lady, and so, + after some throat—clearing and string—tuning, he proceeded: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I'd rudder be er niggah + Dan ter be er whi' man, + Dough the whi' man considdah + He se'f biggah; + But of yo' mus' be white, w'y be hones' of + yo' can, + An ac' es much es poss'ble like er niggah! + + “De colah ob yo' skin + Hit don't constertoot no sin, + An' yo' fambly ain't er— + Cuttin' any figgah; + Min' w'at yo's er-doin', an' do de bes' yo' kin, + An' ac' es much es poss'ble like er niggah!” + </pre> + <p> + The tune of this song was melody itself, brimming with that unkempt, + sarcastic humor which always strikes as if obliquely, and with a flurry of + tipsy fun, into one's ears. + </p> + <p> + When the performance was ended, and the final tinkle of the rollicking + banjo accompaniment died away down the slope of Sommerton Hill, Phyllis + put her plump chin in her hands and, with her elbows on her knees, looked + steadily at Barnaby for a while. + </p> + <p> + “Barn,” she said, “is my father going to get the colored people to indorse + Mr. Tom Bannister?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'm,” replied the old negro; and then he caught his breath and + checked himself in confusion. “Da-da-dat is, er—I spec' so—er—I + dun'no', ma'm,” he stammered. “Fo' de Lor' I's—” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis interrupted him with an impatient laugh, but said no more. In due + time Barnaby sang her some other ditties, and then she went into the + house. She gave the negro a large coin and on the veranda steps she called + back to him, “Good-night, Uncle Barn,” in a voice that made him shake his + head and mutter: + </p> + <p> + “De bressed chile! De bressed chile!” And yet he was aware that she had + outwitted him and gained his secret. He knew how matters stood between the + young lady and Tom Bannister, and there arose in his mind a vivid sense of + the danger that might result to his own and Colonel Sommerton's plans from + a disclosure of this one vital detail. Would Phyllis tell her lover? + Barnaby shook his head in a dubious way. + </p> + <p> + “Gals is pow'ful onsartin so dey is,” he muttered. “Dey tells der + sweethearts mos'ly all what dey knows, spacially secrets. Spec' de ole + boss an' he plan done gone up de chimbly er-kally-hootin' fo' good.” + </p> + <p> + Then the old scamp began to turn over in his brain a scheme which seemed + to offer him a fair way of approaching Mr. Tom Bannister's pocket and the + portemonnaie of Phyllis as well. He chuckled atrociously as a pretty + comprehensive view of “practical politics” opened itself to him. + </p> + <p> + Tom Bannister had not been to see Phyllis since her father had delivered + his opinion to her touching the intrinsic merits of that young man, and + she felt uneasy. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Sommerton, though notably eccentric, could be depended upon for + outright dealing in general; still Phyllis had a pretty substantial belief + that in politics success lay largely on the side of the trickster. For + many years the Colonel had been in the Legislature. No man had been able + to beat him for the nomination. She had often heard him tell how he laid + out his antagonists by taking excellent and popular short turns on them, + and it was plain to her mind now that he was weaving a snare for Tom + Bannister. + </p> + <p> + She thought of Tom's running for office against her father as something + prodigiously strange. Certainly it was a bold and daring piece of youthful + audacity for him to be guilty of. He, a young sprig of the law, with his + brown mustache not yet grown, setting himself up to beat Colonel Mobley + Sommerton! Phyllis blushed whenever she thought of it; but the Colonel had + never once mentioned Tom's candidacy to her. + </p> + <p> + The convention was approaching, and day by day signs of popular interest + in it increased as the time shortened. Colonel Sommerton was preparing a + speech for the occasion. The manuscript of it lay on the desk in his + library. + </p> + <p> + About this time—it was near September 1st and the watermelons and + cantaloupes were in their glory—the Colonel was called away to a + distant town for a few days. In his absence Tom Bannister chanced to visit + Sommerton Place. Of course Phyllis was not expecting him; indeed, she told + him that he ought not to have come; but Tom thought differently in a very + persuasive way. The melons were good, the library delightfully cool, and + conversation caught the fragrance of innocent albeit stolen pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Tom Bannister was unquestionably a handsome young fellow, carrying a + hearty, whole-souled expression in his open, almost rosy face. His large + brown eyes, curly brown hair, silken young mustache, and firmly set mouth + and chin well matched his stalwart, symmetrical form. He was not only + handsome, he was brilliant in a way, and his memory was something + prodigious. Unquestionably he would rise rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to beat your father for the nomination,” he remarked, midmost + the discussion of their melons, speaking in a tone of the most absolute + confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” she exclaimed, “you mustn't do it!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I'd like to know?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him as if she felt a sudden fright. His eyes fell before her + intense, searching gaze. + </p> + <p> + “It would be dreadful,” she presently managed to say. “Papa couldn't bear + it.” + </p> + <p> + “It will ruin me forever if I let him beat me. I shall have to go away + from here.” It was now his turn to become intense. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see what makes men think so much of office,” she complained, + evasively. “I've heard papa say that there was absolutely no profit in + going to the Legislature.” Then, becoming insistent, she exclaimed, + “Withdraw, Tom; please do, for my sake!” + </p> + <p> + She made a rudimentary movement as if to throw her arms around him, but it + came to nothing. Her voice, however, carried a mighty appeal to Tom's + heart. He looked at her, and thought how commonplace other young women + were when compared with her. + </p> + <p> + “You will withdraw, won't you, Tom?” she prayed. One of her hands touched + his arm. “Say yes, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment his political ambition and his standing with men appeared to + dissolve into a mere mist, a finely comminuted sentiment of love; but he + kept a good hold upon himself. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot do it, Phyllis,” he said, in a firm voice, which disclosed by + some indescribable inflection how much it pained him to refuse. “My whole + future depends upon success in this race. I am sorry it is your father I + must beat, but, Phyllis, I must be nominated. I can't afford to sit down + in your father's shadow. As sure as you live, I am going to beat him.” + </p> + <p> + In her heart she was proud of him, and proud of this resolution that not + even she could break. From that moment she was between the millstones. She + loved her father, it seemed to her, more than ever, and she could not bear + the thought of his defeat. Indeed, with that generosity characteristic of + the sex which can be truly humorous only when absolutely unconscious of + it, she wanted both Tom and the Colonel nominated, and both elected. She + was the partisan on Tom's side, the adherent on her father's. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Sommerton returned on the day before the convention, and found his + friends enthusiastic, all his “fences” in good condition, and his + nomination evidently certain. It followed that he was in high good-humor. + He hugged Phyllis, and in a casual way brought up the thought of how + pleasantly they could spend the winter in Atlanta when the Legislature + met. + </p> + <p> + “But Tom—I mean Mr. Bannister—is going to beat you, and get + the nomination,” she archly remarked. + </p> + <p> + “If he does, I'll deed you Sommerton Place!” As he spoke he glared at her + as a lion might glare at thought of being defeated by a cub. + </p> + <p> + “To him and me?” she inquired, with sudden eagerness of tone. “If he—-” + </p> + <p> + “Phyllis!” he interrupted, savagely, “no joking on that subject. I won't—-” + </p> + <p> + “No; I'm serious,” she sweetly said. “If he can't beat you, I don't want + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Zounds! Is that a bargain?” He put his hand on her shoulder, and bent + down so that his eyes were on a level with hers. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied; “and I'll hold you to it.” + </p> + <p> + “You promise me?” he insisted. + </p> + <p> + “A man must go ahead of my papa,” she said, putting her arms about the old + gentleman's neck, “or I'll stay by papa.” + </p> + <p> + He kissed her with atrocious violence. Even the knee-sag of his trousers + suggested more than ordinary vigor of feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's good-bye, Tom,” he said, pushing her away from him, and + letting go a profound bass laugh. “I'll settle him to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll see,” she rejoined. “He may not be so easy to settle.” + </p> + <p> + He gave her a savage but friendly cuff as they parted. + </p> + <p> + That evening old Barnaby brought his banjo around to the veranda. Colonel + Sommerton was down in town mixing with the “boys,” and doing up his final + political chores so that there might be no slip on the morrow. It was near + eleven o'clock when he came up the hill and stopped at the gate to hear + the song that Barnaby was singing. He supposed that the old negro was all + alone. Certainly the captivating voice, with its unkempt melody, and its + throbbing, skipping, harum-scarum banjo accompaniment, was all that broke + the silence of the place. + </p> + <p> + His song was: + </p> + <h3> + “DE SASSAFRAS BLOOM + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dey's sugah in de win' when de sassafras bloom, + When de little co'n fluttah in de row, + When de robin in de tree, like er young gal in de loom, + Sing sweet, sing sof', sing low. + + “Oh, de sassafras blossom hab de keen smell o' de root, + An' it hab rich er tender yaller green! + De co'n hit kinder twinkle when hit firs' begin ter shoot, + While de bum'le-bee hit bum'le in between. + + “Oh, de sassafras tassel, an' de young shoot o' de co'n, + An' de young gal er-singing in de loom, + Dey's somefin' 'licious in 'em f'om de day 'at dey is bo'n, + An' dis darky's sort o' took er likin' to 'm. + + “Hit's kind o' sort o' glor'us when yo' feels so quare an' cur'us, + An' yo' don' know what it is yo' wants ter do; + But I takes de chances on it 'at hit jes can't be injur'us + When de whole endurin' natur tells yo' to! + + “Den wake up, niggah, see de sassafras in bloom! + Lis'n how de sleepy wedder blow! + An' de robin in de haw—bush an' de young gal in de loom + Is er-singin' so sof' an' low.” + </pre> + <p> + “Thank you, Barn; here's your dollar,” said the voice of Tom Bannister + when the song was ended. “You may go now.” + </p> + <p> + And while Colonel Sommerton stood amazed, the young man came clown the + veranda steps with Phyllis on his arm. They stopped when they reached the + ground. + </p> + <p> + “Good—night, dear. I'll win you to-morrow or my name is not Tom + Bannister. I'll win you, and Sommerton Place too.” And when they parted he + came right down the walk between the trees, to run almost against Colonel + Sommerton. + </p> + <p> + “Why, good-evening, Colonel,” he said, with a cordial, liberal spirit in + his voice. “I have been waiting in hopes of seeing you.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll get enough of me to-morrow to last you a lifetime, sah,” promptly + responded the old man, marching straight on into the house. Nothing could + express more concentrated and yet comprehensive contempt than Colonel + Sommerton's manner. + </p> + <p> + “The impudent young scamp,” he growled. “I'll show him!” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis sprang from ambush behind a vine, and covered her father's face + with warm kisses, then broke away before he could say a word, and ran up + to her room. + </p> + <p> + In the distant kitchen Barnaby was singing: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Kick so high I broke my neck, + An' fling my right foot off'm my leg + Went to work mos' awful quick, + An' mended 'em wid er wooden peg.” + </pre> + <p> + Next morning at nine o'clock sharp the convention was called to order, + General John Duff Tolliver in the chair. Speeches were expected, and it + had been arranged that Tom Bannister should first appear, Colonel + Sommerton would follow, and then the ballot would be taken. + </p> + <p> + This order of business showed the fine tactics of the Colonel, who well + understood how much advantage lay in the vivid impression of a closing + speech. + </p> + <p> + As the two candidates made their way from opposite directions through the + throng to the platform, which was under a tree in a beautiful suburban + grove, both were greeted with effusive warmth by admiring constituents. + Many women were present, and Tom Bannister felt the blood surge mightily + through his veins at sight of Phyllis standing tall and beautiful before + him with her hand extended. + </p> + <p> + “If you lose, die game, Tom,” she murmured, as he pressed her fingers and + passed on. + </p> + <p> + The young man's appearance on the stand called forth a tremendous roar of + applause. Certainly he was popular. Colonel Sommerton felt a queer shock + of surprise thrill along his nerves. Could it be possible that he would + lose? No; the thought was intolerable. He sat a trifle straighter on his + bench, and began gathering the points of his well-conned speech. He saw + old Barnaby moving around the rim of the crowd, apparently looking for a + seat. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, Tom was proceeding in a clear, soft, far-reaching voice. The + Colonel started and looked askance. What did it mean? At first his brain + was confused, but presently he understood. Word for word, sentence for + sentence, paragraph for paragraph, Tom was delivering the Colonel's own + sonorous speech! Of course the application was reversed here and there, so + that the wit, the humor, and the personal thrusts all went home. It was a + wonderful piece of <i>ad captandum</i> oratory. The crowd went wild from + start to finish. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Mobley Sommerton sat dazed and stupefied, mopping his forehead and + trying to collect his faculties. He felt beaten, annihilated, while Tom + soared superbly on the wings of Sommertonian oratory so mysteriously at + his command. + </p> + <p> + From a most eligible point of view Phyllis was gazing at Tom and receiving + the full brilliant current of his speech, and she appeared to catch a fine + stimulus from the flow of its opening sentences. As it proceeded her face + alternately flushed and paled, and her heart pounded heavily. All around + rose the tumult of unbridled applause. Men flung up their hats and yelled + themselves hoarse. A speech of that sort from a young fellow like Tom + Bannister was something to create irrepressible enthusiasm. It ended in + such a din that when General John Duff Tolliver arose to introduce Colonel + Sommerton he had to wait some time to be heard. + </p> + <p> + The situation was one that absolutely appalled, though it did not quite + paralyze, the older candidate, who, even after he had gained his feet and + stalked to the front of the rude rostrum, was as empty of thought as he + was full of despair. This sudden and unexpected appropriation of his great + speech had sapped and stupefied his intellect. He slowly swept the crowd + with his dazed eyes, and by some accident the only countenance clearly + visible to him was that of old Barnaby, who now sat far back on a stump, + looking for all the world like a mightily mystified baboon. The negro + winked and grimaced, and scratched his flat nose in sheer vacant + stupidity. Colonel Sommerton saw this, and it added an enfeebling + increment to his mental torpor. + </p> + <p> + “Fellow-citizens,” he presently roared, in his melodious bass voice, “I am + proud of this honor.” He was not sure of another word as he stood, with + bagging trousers and sweat-beaded face, but he made a superhuman effort to + call up his comatose wits. “I should be ungrateful were I not proud of + this great demonstration.” Just then his gaze fell upon the face of his + daughter. Their eyes met with a mutual flash of restrospection. They were + remembering the bargain. The Colonel was not aware of it, but the + deliberateness and vocal volume of his opening phrases made them very + impressive. “I assure you,” he went on, fumbling for something to say, + “that my heart is brimming with gratitude so that my lips find it hard to + utter the words that crowd into my mind.” At this point some kindly friend + in the audience gingerly set going a ripple of applause, which, though + evidently forced, was like wine to the old man's intellect; it flung a + glow through his imagination. + </p> + <p> + “The speech you have heard the youthful lamb of law declaim is a very good + one, a very eloquent one indeed. If it were his own, I should not hesitate + to say right here that I ought to stand aside and let him be nominated; + but, fellow-citizens, that speech belongs to another and far more + distinguished and eligible man than Tom Bannister.” Here he paused again, + and stood silent for a moment. Then, lifting his voice to a clarion pitch, + he added: + </p> + <p> + “Fellow-citizens, I wrote that speech, intending to deliver it here + to-day. I was called to Canton on business early in the week, and during + my absence Tom Bannister went to my house and got my manuscript and + learned it by heart. To prove to you what I say is true, I will now read.” + </p> + <p> + At this point the Colonel, after deliberately wiping his glasses, drew + from his capacious coat-pocket the manuscript of his address, and + proceeded to read it word for word, just as Bannister had declaimed it. + The audience listened in silence, quite unable to comprehend the + situation. There was no applause. Evidently sentiment was dormant, or it + was still with Tom. Colonel Sommerton, feeling the desperation of the + moment, reached forth at random, and seeing Barnaby's old black face, it + amused him, and he chanced to grab a thought as if out of the expression + he saw there. + </p> + <p> + “Fellow-citizens,” he added, “there is one thing I desired to say upon + this important occasion. Whatever you do, be sure not to nominate to-day a + man who would, if elected, ally himself with the niggers. I don't pretend + to hint that my young opponent, Tom Bannister, would favor nigger rule, + but I do say—do you hear me, fellow-citizens?—I do say that + every nigger in this county is a Bannister man! How do I know?? I will + tell you. Last Saturday night the niggers had a meeting in an old stable + on my premises. Wishing to know what they were up to, I stole slyly to + where I could overhear their proceedings. My old nigger, Barnaby—yonder + he sits, and he can't deny it—was presiding, and the question before + the meeting was, 'Which of the two candidates, Tom Bannister and Colonel + Sommerton, shall we niggers support? On this question there was some + debate and difference of opinion, until old Bob Warmus arose and said, + 'Mistah Pres'dent, dey's no use er talkin'; I likes Colonel Sommerton + mighty well; he's a berry good man; dey's not a bit er niggah in 'im. On + t' odder han', Mistah Pres'dent, Mistah Tom Bannistah is er white man too, + jes de same; but I kin say fo' Mistah Bannistah 'at he's mo' like er + niggah an' any white man 'at I ebber seed afore!”' + </p> + <p> + Here the Colonel paused to wait for the shouting and the hat-throwing to + subside. Meantime the face of old Barnaby was drawn into one indescribable + pucker of amazement. He could not believe his eyes or his ears. Surely + that was not Colonel Sommerton standing up there telling such an enormous + falsehood on him! He shook his woolly head dolefully, and gnawed a little + splinter that he had plucked from the stump. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, fellow-citizens,” the Colonel went on, “that settled the + matter, and the niggers endorsed Tom Bannister unanimously by a rising + vote!” + </p> + <p> + The yell that went up when the speaker, bowing profoundly, took his seat, + made it seem certain that Bannister would be beaten; but when the ballot + was taken it was found that he had been chosen by one vote majority. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Mobley Sommerton's face turned as white as his hair. The iron of + defeat went home to his proud heart with terrible effect, and as he tried + to rise, the features of the hundreds of countenances below him swam and + blended confusedly in his vision. The sedentary bubbles on the knees of + his trousers fluttered with sympathetic violence. + </p> + <p> + Tom Bannister was on his feet in a moment—it was an appealing look + from Phyllis that inspired him—and once more his genial voice rang + out clear and strong. + </p> + <p> + “Fellow-citizens,” he said, “I have a motion to make. Hear me.” He waved + his right hand to command silence, then proceeded: “Mr. President, I + withdraw my name from this convention, and move that the nomination of + Colonel Mobley Sommerton be made unanimous by acclamation. I have no right + to this nomination, and nothing, save a matter greater than life or death + to me, could have induced me to steal it as I this day have done. Colonel + Sommerton knows why I did it. He gave his word of honor that he would + cease all objections to giving his daughter to me in marriage, and that + furthermore he would deed Sommerton Place to us as a wedding present, if I + beat him for the nomination. Mr. President and fellow-citizens, do you + blame me for memorizing his speech? That magnificent speech meant to me + the most beautiful wife in America, and the handsomest estate in this + noble county.” + </p> + <p> + If Tom Bannister had been boisterously applauded before this, it was as + nothing beside the noise which followed when Colonel Mobley Sommerton was + declared the unanimous nominee of the convention. Meantime, Phyllis had + hurried to the carriage and been driven home: she dared not stay and let + the crowd gaze at her after that bold confession of Tom's. + </p> + <p> + The cheering for the nominee was yet at its flood when Bannister leaped at + Colonel Sommerton and grasped his hand. The old gentleman was flushed and + smiling, as became a politician so wonderfully favored. It was a moment + never to be forgotten by either of the men. + </p> + <p> + “I cordially congratulate you, Colonel Sommerton, on your nomination,” + said Tom, with great feeling, “and you may count on my hearty support.” + </p> + <p> + “If I don't have to support you, and pay your office rent in the bargain, + all the rest of my life, I miss my guess, you young scamp!” growled the + Colonel, in a major key. “Be off with you!” + </p> + <p> + Tom moved away to let the Colonel's friends crowd up and shake hands with + him; but the delighted youth could not withhold a Parthian shaft. As he + retreated he said, “Oh, Colonel, don't bother about my support; Sommerton + Plantation will be ample for that!” + </p> + <p> + “Hit do beat all thunder how dese white men syfoogles eroun' in politics,” + old Barnaby thought to himself. Then he rattled the coins in his two + pockets. The contributions of Colonel Sommerton chinked on the left, those + of Tom Bannister and Phyllis rang on the right. “Blame this here ole + chile's eyes,” he went on, “but 'twar a close shabe! Seem lak I's kinder + holdin' de balernce ob power. I use my inflooence fer bofe ob 'em—yah, + yah, yah-r-r! an' hit did look lak I's gwine ter balernce fings up tell I + 'lee' 'em bofe ter oncet right dar! Bofe of 'em got de nomination—yah, + yah, yah-r-r! But I say 'rah fo' little Miss Phyllis! She de one 'at know + how to pull de right string—yah, yah, yah-r-r!” + </p> + <p> + The wedding at Sommerton Place came on the Wednesday following the fall + election. Besides the great number of guests and the striking beauty of + the bride there was nothing notable in it, unless the song prepared by + Barnaby for the occasion, and sung by him thereupon to a captivating banjo + accompaniment, may be so distinguished. A stanza, the final one of that + masterpiece, has been preserved. It may serve as an informal ending, a + charcoal tail-piece, to our light but truthful little story. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Stan' by yo' frien's and nebber mek trouble, + An' so, ef yo's got any sense, + Yo'll know hit's a good t'ing ter be sorter double, + An' walk on bofe sides ob de fence!” + </pre> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern Lights and Shadows, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS *** + +***** This file should be named 9509-h.htm or 9509-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/5/0/9509/ + +Produced by Stan Goodman,David Widger and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + + +</pre> + + </body> +</html> |