LADY JANE
LADY JANE
LADY JANECHAPTER ITHE BLUE HERON
LADY JANE
Itwas in the beautiful Teche country, on a passenger train of the Louisiana and Texas Railroad, that “Lady Jane” first saw a blue heron.
The month was July, the weather was intensely hot, and the dusty, ill-ventilated car was closely packed with a motley crowd. Among the travelers were Texas ranchmen, cattle dealers from the Opelousas, Cajan farmers from the Attakapas, nuns, priests, itinerant merchants, tired, dusty women, dressed in cotton gowns and sun-bonnets, and barefooted, white-headed children, very noisy and restless, wandering constantly back and forth between the water-tank and their lunch-baskets, eating cold chicken or munching stale biscuit. The ranchmen and cattle dealers talked in loud, good-natured voices; the nuns bent over their prayer-books; thepriests yawned and nodded; the merchants displayed their wares; the children fretted; the babies cried, while the weary mothers patted, tossed, and coaxed them with untiring love and patience; and the train flew on, with its hot, dusty passengers, over as beautiful a country as ever was seen, through level stretches of sugar-cane and rice, crossed by narrow bayous that intersected the green plane, catching here and there gleams of sunlight, like silver threads, through the dark cypress swamps, whose bleached trees were crowned with hoary moss, while the trunks were clothed in living green, and festooned with the lovely blossoms of the jasmine, and wild passion-flowers entwined with masses of delicate vines, twisted together in cords and loops of luxuriant verdure, that clambered upward from the dank soil toward the sunlight and the blue sky. In places the track seemed to run over beds of glossy latanea and swaying swamp-grasses, where glistened little shallow pools covered with lily-pads and white fragrant blossoms.
In spite of the intense heat, the day was beautiful. Great banks of white clouds drifted across the sun, softening its ruddy glare, and throwing fantastic shadows over the floating prairies and purple islandsof cypress that dotted the broad yellow expanse. Now and then, a flock of birds, startled by the rush of the train, rose up with a shrill cry and noisy whirr of wings, and soared away in a long, trailing line toward the lazy drifting clouds.
Of all the passengers, there were, perhaps, none who noticed or cared for the strange and beautiful scenery, that constantly changed as the train sped on, except the quiet occupants of one seat, who were so unlike those around them as to attract no little attention and curiosity. They were a woman and a child; the lady, young, elegant, and pretty, was dressed in deep mourning; the little girl, who was about five years of age, wore a white cambric frock, plain, but exquisitely fine, a wide straw hat, and long black-silk stockings, and her neat shoes were tied with tiny bows. Her skin was delicately fair and rosy, her eyes of purple-blue were shaded by long dark lashes, and her hair, of a pure golden yellow, hung in a thick, wavy mass down to the loops of her black sash. She was a dainty, delicate little creature, and, although very warm and very tired, was evidently too well-bred to annoy others with restlessness or impatience, but remained quietly kneeling on the seat, at the window of the car, her brighteyes fixed on the beautiful landscape, as the train rushed along.
The mother had thrown back her heavy crape veil, and a little ripple of hair as yellow as the child’s showed beneath the widow’s cap. She looked very weary and ill; her eyes were heavy and swollen with weeping; her face, thin and worn in spite of her youth, was flushed with fever, and her lips were parched and drawn as if she suffered intense pain. At times, she pressed her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes; then, she would start suddenly and look about her, with a glance of apprehension, and her clasp would tighten around the child at her side, as if she feared to lose her hold of her even for a moment; and, now and then, the little girl would lean back her rosy face, and press it to her mother’s flushed cheek, saying softly:
“Does your dear head ache, now, mama?”
“A little, darling,” the mother would answer, as she smoothed the golden hair that fell over her black gown.
Then the child would turn back to the window to watch the flight of birds, the purple islands of cypress, and the shadows sailing over the billowy grasses of the floating prairies. And so the trainsped on and on, and the morning was verging to noon, when suddenly she turned with eyes full of delight, and said to her mother, whose head had drooped into her open palms:
“Look, mama! Oh, look at the lovely river! See what big trees, and pretty houses, and there is a big boat coming, and lots and lots of lambs are playing in the field. Oh, I wish we could stop here, and walk about a little! Can’t we, mama?”
“No, my dear; there’s no time to get off,” replied the mother, raising her hand and looking out wearily. “Be patient, darling; we shall soon be in New Orleans, and there you shall have everything you wish.”
The train had stopped at a small station on the Teche to take on a passenger, who entered with a brisk step, and slipped into a seat just vacated opposite the mother and child. He was a handsome lad of about sixteen years. His merry brown eyes looked out frankly from under his dark brows; he had a pleasant smile, and the manly, self-reliant air of one accustomed to travel alone.
In one hand he carried a traveling-bag, and in the other a small basket, over which a piece of thin cloth was tightly tied. He sat down, glancing aroundhim with a bright smile, and placing the basket beside him, tapped on the thin cover with his forefinger, and chirruped merrily to the occupant. Presently an answering “Peep—peep!” came from the depths of the basket, at which he laughed heartily.
From the first moment that the new passenger entered the car, the little yellow head of the child was turned in his direction, and the deep blue eyes were fixed on him with an expression of serious interest.
When he laughed so merrily, her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears, and overcome with some emotion that she vainly tried to suppress, she buried her face on her mother’s shoulder and whispered brokenly:
“Oh, mama, mama, he laughs as papa used to.”
“Hush, hush, my darling!” said the mother, bending an agonized face over the child, while she soothed her gently; “Don’t cry, my love, don’t cry, or I shall be ill again.”
In an instant the little head was raised resolutely, and the child smiled with the tears glistening on her lashes, while her eyes turned again toward the stranger, who seemed to attract her greatly.
The boy had noticed the lovely little creature andthe sorrowful young mother, and his generous heart went out to them at once; therefore, when the child raised her tearful eyes and looked at him so earnestly, he smiled responsively and invitingly.
Again the little head went shyly down to the mother’s shoulder, and she whispered:
“Mama, there’s something alive in that basket. How I wish I could see it!”
“My dear, he’s a stranger. I can’t ask him to show it to you; he might not be willing.”
“Oh, I think he would, mama! He smiled at me when I looked at him. Can’tIask him? Please,—please let me.”
The mother turned a side glance in the direction of the boy, who moved a little nearer the end of the seat and looked at her intelligently, as if he understood that they were speaking of him. Their eyes met, and he smiled good-naturedly, while he nodded and pointed to the basket. “I thought she would like to see it,” he said, as he began untying the string that fastened the cover.
“You’re very kind to gratify her curiosity,” said the mother, in a gentle voice; “she’s sure that it’s something alive.”
“It is,” laughed the boy. “It’s very much alive; so much so that I’m almost afraid to take off the cover.”
“Go, my darling, and see what it is,” said the mother, as the child slipped past her and stood before the boy, looking at him from under the shadow of her black hat with eager, inquiring eyes.
“I don’t think you’ve ever seen anything like him before. They’re not common, and he’s a funny little beggar. I thought you’d like to see him when I saw you looking at the basket. He’s very tame, but we must be careful he doesn’t get out. With all these windows open, he’d be gone before we knew it. Now I’ll lift the cover and hold my hand so that you can peep in.”
The child’s head was bent over the basket, intense curiosity in her wide eyes, and a little, anxious smile on her parted lips. “Oh, oh, how pretty! What is it?” she asked, catching a glimpse of a strange-looking bird, with a very long bill and little, bright eyes, huddled up at the bottom of the basket. “I never saw one like it. What is it?” she repeated, her sparkling eyes full of delight and surprise.
“It’s a blue heron, and they’re very rare about here.”
“He’s not blue—notveryblue; but he’s pretty. I wish I could just touch his feathers.”
“You can. You can put your hand in the basket; he won’t bite.”
“I’m not afraid,” she said with confidence, as she stroked the soft feathers.
“If these windows were closed I’d take him out, and let you see him walk. He’s very funny when he walks; and he’s so intelligent. Why, he comes to me when I call him.”
“What do you call him? What is his name?”
“I call him Tony, because when he was very small he made a noise like ‘tone—tone.’”
“Tony,” she repeated, “that’s a pretty name; and it’s a funny one too,” she added, dimpling with smiles.
“Now, won’t you tell meyourname?” asked the boy. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d like to know your name.”
“Why, yes, I’ll tell you,” she replied, with charming frankness; “I’m called ‘Lady Jane.’”
“Lady Jane!” repeated the boy; “why, that’s a very odd name.”
“Papa always called me Lady Jane, and now every one does.”
The mother looked at the child sadly, while tears dimmed her eyes.
“Perhaps you would like to see the little fellow, too,” said the boy, rising and holding the basket so that the lady could look into it. “White herons are very common about here, but blue herons are something of a curiosity.”
“Thank you. It is indeed very odd. Did you find it yourself?” she asked with some show of interest.
“Yes, I came upon it quite unexpectedly. I was hunting on my uncle’s plantation, just beyond the station where I got on. It was almost dark; and I was getting out of the swamp as fast as I could, when right under my feet I heard ‘tone—tone,’ and there was this little beggar, so young that he couldn’t fly, looking up at me with his bright eyes. I took him home and tamed him, and now he knows my voice the moment I speak. He’s very amusing.”
The boy was standing, resting the basket on the arm of the seat, and the child was caressing the bird with both dimpled hands.
“She likes him very much,” he said, smiling brightly.
“Yes, she is very fond of pets; she has left hers behind, and she misses them,” and again the mother’s eyes filled.
“I wish,—I wish you’d let me give her Tony—if—if you’d like her to have him.”
“Oh, thank you! No, no, I couldn’t allow you to deprive yourself.”
“I should be very willing, I assure you. I must give him away. I’m going to give him to some one when I get to the city. I can’t take him to college with me, and there’s no one in particular I care to give him to. I wish you’d let me give him to this little lady,” urged the handsome fellow, smiling into the child’s upturned eyes as he spoke.
“Oh, mama,—dear, sweet mama, let me have him; do, do let me have him!” cried Lady Jane, clasping her dimpled hands in entreaty.
“My dear, it would be so selfish to take it. You must not, indeed you must not,” said the mother, looking from the child to the boy in great perplexity.
“But if I wish it—it would be a pleasure to me,” insisted the boy, flushing with eager generosity.
“Well, I’ll think of it. You are really very kind,” she replied wearily. “We still have some hours to decide about it. I find it very hard to refusethe child, especially when you are so generous, but I think she ought not to take it.”
The boy took the basket with a disappointed air, and turned toward the seat opposite. “I hope you’ll decide to let her have it,” he said respectfully.
“Mama,” whispered Lady Jane with her face pressed close to her mother’s, “if youcan, if you think it’s right, please let me have the blue heron. You know, I had to leave my kitten, and Carlo, and the lambs, and—and—I’m so sorry, and—I’m lonesome, mama.”
“My darling, my darling,—if you want the bird so much, I’ll try to let you have him. I’ll think about it.”
“And, mama, may I go and sit by the basket and put my hand on his feathers?”
“Let her come and sit with me,” said the boy; “she seems tired, and I may be able to amuse her.”
“Thank you. Yes, sheisvery tired. We have come a long way,—from San Antonio,—and she’s been very good and patient.”
The boy made room for his charming little companion next the window, and after lowering the blind, so that the bird could not escape, he took thepet from the basket, and placed him in Lady Jane’s arms.
“See here,” he said, “I’ve sewed this band of leather around his leg, and you can fasten a strong string to it. If your mama allows you to have him, you can always tie him to something when you go out, and leave him alone, and he will be there quite safe when you come back.”
“I should never leave him alone. I should keep him with me always,” said the child.
“But, if you should lose him,” continued the boy, spreading one of the pretty wings over Lady Jane’s plump little arm, “I’ll tell you how you can always know him. He’s marked. It’s as good as a brand. See those three black crosses on his wing feathers. As he grows larger they will grow too, and no matter how long a time should pass without your seeing him, you’d always know him by these three little crosses.”
“If mama says I can have him, I can take him with me, can’t I?”
“Certainly, this basket is very light. You can carry it yourself.”
“You know,” she whispered, glancing at hermother, who had leaned her head on the back of the seat in front of her, and appeared to be sleeping, “I want to see Carlo and kitty, and the ranch, and all the lambs; but I mustn’t let mama know, because it’ll make her cry.”
“You’re a good little girl to think of your mother,” said the boy, who was anxious to cultivate her confidence, but too well-bred to question her.
“She has no one now but me to love her,” she continued, lowering her voice. “They took papa from us, and carried him away, and mama says he’ll never come back. He’s not gone to San Antonio, he’s gone to heaven; and we can’t go there now. We’re going to New York; but I’d rather go to heaven where papa is, only mama says there are no trains or ships to take us there, now, but by-and-by we’re going if we’re very good.”
The boy listened to her innocent prattle with a sad smile, glancing uneasily now and then at the mother, fearful lest the plaintive little voice might reach her ear; but she seemed to be sleeping, sleeping uneasily, and with that hot flush still burning on her cheeks.
“Have you ever been in New York?” he asked, looking tenderly at the little head nestled against his arm. She had taken off her hat, and was very comfortablycurled up on the seat with Tony in her lap. The bird also seemed perfectly satisfied with his position.
“Oh, no; I’ve never been anywhere only on the ranch. That’s where Carlo, and kitty, and the lambs were, and my pony, Sunflower; he was named Sunflower, because he was yellow. I used to ride on him, and papa lifted me on, and took me off; and Sunflower was so gentle. Dear papa—I—loved him best of all and now he’s gone away, and I can’t see him again.”
Here the rosy little face was buried in Tony’s feathers, and something like a sob made the listener’s heart ache.
“Come, come,” he said softly, “you mustn’t cry, or I shall think you don’t care for the blue heron.”
In a moment, her little head was raised, and a smile shone through her tears. “Oh, I do, I do. And if I can have him I won’t cry for the others.”
“I’m quite sure your mama will consent. Now, let me tell you about my home. I live in New Orleans, and I have lots of pets,” and the boy went on to describe so many delightful things that the child forgot her grief in listening; and soon, very soon the weary little head drooped, and she was sleepingwith her rosy cheek pressed against his shoulder, and Tony clasped close in her arms.
And so the long, hot afternoon passed away, and the train sped on toward its destination, while the mother and the child slept, happily unconscious of the strange fate that awaited them in that city, of which the spires and walls were even now visible, bathed in the red light of the evening sun.