CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER IV.

She paused and looked behind her to see if the black snake still pursued her, but she had left it far behind in her headlong race, and to her dismay she perceived by the brilliant hues of the western sky that the sun had almost set.

Badly frightened as she had been at first, the sudden feeling of safety roused in her the sense of the ludicrous, and Molly laughed aloud at her forlorn plight. Her white dress was in rags and soiled with the mud of the little brooks through which she had splashed headlong, she was bare-headed, her hair all loose and disordered, and the perspiration ran in streams down her flushed face.

“What a beauty I must look!” she ejaculated, merrily. “And I wonder what disaster will befall me next. I shall have to go and ask one of those ‘sassy Laurens niggers,’ as Abe calls them, to go home with me, for I daren’t go alone. I might meet that old snake again. But they will be frightened, I am such a sight, and perhaps they will set the dogs on me.”

She sat down on the grass to rest herself before going in at the gate and to think over the suddencontretempsthat had befallen her after her two weeks of irreproachable good behavior.

A feeling of remorse came to her at the thought of her step-sister who might lose so much by the misdemeanor of the girl she had trusted.

“Oh, why didn’t I bear all and hold my tongue,little virago that I am?” she exclaimed. “I knew when I came that I must take a great deal. Aunt Lucy cautioned me carefully. Suppose—suppose—old Mrs. Barry should disinherit Louise for this.Shewouldn’t forgive me as long as she lived, I know, and I couldn’t forgive myself, either.”

The beautiful young face wore an expression of dismay and the young heart throbbed with pain.

“Oh, how wicked I have been! How cruel to poor Louise,” she continued, springing excitedly to her feet. “My bad temper and love of fun are always leading me into mischief. But I’ll make it up, yes, I will. I’ll go and beg the old dragoness’ pardon. Not that she didn’t deserve all I said, but for Louise’s sake.”

With rapid footsteps she made her way to the servants’ quarters, which she saw some distance in the rear of the grand mansion. With some trepidation through fear of dogs, Molly approached the commodious white-washed kitchen in the door of which sat an old negress in a homely blue linsey dress with a red handkerchief twisted turban-wise about her head and a little black pipe in her mouth.

“Lor’ A’mighty, who dat?” she sputtered, as Molly came up in her ragged dress, and minus one slipper which she had dropped in her flight.

“Good-evening, auntie,” said Molly, putting on a smile like sunshine. “Don’t mind my looks, please. I fell from a tree and tore my dress, and ran from a snake and lost my slipper, and I’m so tired and hot and thirsty, please give me a drink.”

“Sartinly, chile, but did de snake bite ye? ’Cause, ef he bit you, honey, I better give you some reverend whisky to cure snake bite!”

“No, I was not bitten, auntie,” said Molly; then with a quizzical glance: “Isn’t it odd, auntie, that whisky will make men see snakes but it will cure snake bites?”

“Go ’long wid yer foolishness, chile,” said old Betsy, chuckling. She hobbled slowly to a little stone spring house near by and brought Molly a clean gourd full of cool, sparkling water. “Whut’s yer name, honey?” she continued, as Molly drank thirstily of the delicious draught.

“Will-o’-the-wisp!” said the girl, whimsically.

“Willy Whisk! Soun’s more like a boy’s den a geerl’s name. But won’t you take a cheer, honey, and tell me all about you-self?” wheedlingly.

“No, I thank you, aunt—what’s your name?”

“Aunt Betsy Bell, chile—named arter de big mountain, Betsy Bell,” said the old negress with pride.

“Well, Aunt Betsy, I’m in a great hurry. Won’t you send somebody with me to Ferndale? I’m afraid to go alone, it’s getting so dark, and that old snake is somewhere on the road waiting for me to come, I know,” with a shudder.

To her dismay the old woman shook her turbaned head and answered:

“Dere ain’t a soul on de place but me, honey. De men aine come f’om de corn-fiel’ yet, and my ole man tuck de ole mare dis morn’ and car’e’ some spring chickings down to de White Sulphur Springs, and he won’t git back till de cool o’ de night!”

“My gracious, this is awful,” said Molly, in dismay. Then she brightened and beamed on the old woman. “Won’t you go with me, Aunt Betsy?” she exclaimed.

“Lor’ me, chile, I got rheumatiz too bad! I ainewalk as far ez Ferndale in two years. My laig all drawed wid rheumatiz. Set down an’ wait till de men come from de fiel’s, den you hab company to take you home.”

“How long until they come?”

“Two, free hours, I ’spect. Dey’s gwine work late, dey said, tryin’ to git all de corn plantin’ done tonight.”

Molly flung herself down tempestuously on the kitchen door-step, leaned her dark, curly head against Aunt Betsy’s linsey knee, and dissolved into stormy sobs and tears.

Aunt Betsy’s tender heart was touched to its center.

“Lor’ honey, you make me t’ink o’ my little white chillern I used to nurse, a-comin’ and layin’ deir curly heads ’g’in deir black mammy’s knee, and cryin’ and sobbin’! Hush, honey; I’ll fix a way fur ye—on’y don’t cry so, fur it makes my heart ache, t’inkin’ o’ my little white nurslin’s ober in dat furrin’ kentry. Now tell me, honey, Miss Willie Whisk, kin you ride hossback?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Molly, unblushingly; for although she had never ridden horseback in her life, she said to herself undauntedly:

“I can do it if I try.”

“All right; den I’ll lend you my ole misses’ ridin’ hoss, Miss Willie Whisk, and you kin turn him loose soon’s you git to ole Miss Barry’s gate, and dat hoss will come straight home to his stable.”

“Oh, thank you, Aunt Betsy. God bless you, you kind soul. I’ll try to pay you for this some day!” gushed Molly, gratefully, little dreaming how the keeping of that promise would come to pass.

She went with Betsy to the stable, where the oldwoman brought out and saddled a fine bay horse on which she mounted Molly. Then she hobbled to a gate which she threw open, saying kindly:

“Dar’s your road straight to Ferndale. Good-night, Miss Willie Whisk. Gib my ’spects to ole Miss Barry, and my lub to Ginny Ann and old Unc’ Abe, her husband, and to Nancy Jane, and all de res’, and tell ’em all to come ober.”

“I will, Aunt Betsy. Good-night to you,” Molly called back cheerily, as the bay horse pranced down the road in the deepening twilight and starlight.

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