It was the scene in Hallet's office, when I told him of his victim's death, and entreated him to provide for, if he did not acknowledge his child. The words which flashed upon my brain, and stayed the curse which rose to my lips, were those of the dying girl: 'Leave him toGod!'
'Go on. Tell me what shesaid,' I exclaimed.
'Mudder doan'tyere; she only see de pictur ob what hab been. Listen!' said Joe; and the old woman again spoke:
'I sees a big city—de fuss city, an' great hous'n—de fuss hous'n. De young missus am dar, wid de pore chile, an' a little chile dat look jess like she do; an' dar'm anoder bery little chile dar, too. Dey'm upstars in a room, wid a bed an' a candle burnin'. Dey'm gwine to bed. Young missus kneel down wid de two chil'ren, an' pray. An' side de pore chile, an' kneelin' down wid har arm roun' him neck, am de buckra angel. She pray, too. Swanga gemman in anoder room yere dem aprayin', an' he come an' look. He say nuffin', but he stan' dar, an' de big tear run down him cheek. De time come back to him whenhewus a little chile, an' he pray like dem. He doan't pray 'nuff now!'
It was the last night I had passed at home. A feeling of indescribable awe crept over me, and I rose halfway from my seat.
'Sit still, sar,' said Joe, almost forcing me back into the chair. 'You'll break de power.'
'You know the past, old woman,' I exclaimed. 'Tell me the future!'
'Hush!' she replied, with an imperious tone. 'Dey'm comin'.'
During all this time she had stood with her hand on my head, as immovable as a marble statue. Her voice had a deep, strong tone, and her face wore a look of calm power. Nothing about her reminded me of the weak, decrepit old woman she had been but an hour before.
'Dey'm yere!' she said; and in another moment the door opened, and Preston and his wife entered.
Without rising or speaking, Joe motioned them to two vacant chairs. As they seated themselves, I exclaimed:
'She has told me all things that ever I did!'
'She has strange powers,' replied Preston.
'Hush, Robert Preston! De swanga gemman ax fur de future!'
Shading then her closed eyes with one hand, and leaning forward, as if peering into the far distance, the old negress laid her other hand again on my head, and continued:
'I see a deep, wide riber flowin' on to de great sea. De swanga gemman, in strong boat, am on it; an' de young missus, an' de pore chile, an' one, two oder chile, am wid him. De storm strike de riber, an' raise de big wave, but de boat gwo on jess de same. De swanga gemman he doan't keer fur de storm, or de big wave, fur he got 'em all dar! An' I see anoder riber—not so deep, not so wide—flowin' on 'side de big riber, to de great sea; an' you' (looking at Preston), 'an' de good missus, an' one, two, free, four chile am dar. De wind blow ober dat riber an' raise de big wave, but de swanga gemman reach out him hand, an' de wave gwo down. An' I see a little riber flow out ob de big riber, an' de pore chile in a little boat am on it. An' a little riber come out ob de oder riber an' gwo into de oder little riber, an' a chile am on dat, too. De two little boats meet, an' de two chile gwo on togedder, but—de storm come dar, an'—de great rocks—oh! oh!' and, covering her face with her hands, she turned away.
'What more do you see? Tell me, Deborah!' exclaimed Preston, bending forward with breathless eagerness.
She raised her head, and seemed to look again in the same direction; then, in a low tone, said:
'I sees no more.'
'What of the other river? What of that?' he exclaimed, with the same breathless anxiety.
'I sees—de boat 'mong de rocks—de great rocks—an' you—dar—all by you'seff—all by you'seff—an'—O Barimo!' and, giving a low scream, she started back as if palsied with dread.
Springing to his feet, Preston seized her by both arms, and screamed out:
'What more! Tell meWHAT MORE!'
Drawing her tall form up to its full height, and looking at him with her closed eyes, she said, in a voice inexpressibly sad and tender:
'I sees de great rocks—de great fall—de great sea!' then pausing a moment, and pointing upward, she added: 'Robert Preston! Trust inGod!'
Overcome with emotion, she staggered back to her seat. A few convulsive shudders passed over her; her eyes slowly opened, and—she was the same weak, old woman as before.
The next morning I bade adieu to my kind friends, and started again on my journey. Preston accompanied me as far as Wilmington, where we parted; he going on to Whitesville, in search of the new turpentine location; and I, proceeding by the Charleston boat, southward.
On my return to my home, a few weeks after the events narrated in the previous chapter, in pursuance of a promise made to Preston, I inserted an advertisement in the papers, which read somewhat as follows:
'Wanted, a suitable person to go South, as governess in a planter's family. She must be thoroughly educated, and competent to instruct a boy of twelve. Such a one may apply by letter;' etc., etc.
'Wanted, a suitable person to go South, as governess in a planter's family. She must be thoroughly educated, and competent to instruct a boy of twelve. Such a one may apply by letter;' etc., etc.
A score of replies flowed in within the few following days, but being excessively occupied with a mass of personal business, which had accumulated in my absence, I laid them all aside, till more than one week had elapsed. Then, one evening I took them home, and Kate and I opened the batch. As each one was read by my wife or myself, we commented on the character of the writers as indicated by the handwriting and general style of the epistles. Rejecting about two thirds as altogether unworthy of attention, we reserved the remaining half dozen for a second inspection. Among these, the one with the cramped, precise chirography was thought to come from an old maid. Another, whose five lines of rail fence covered a sheet nearly as large as a ten-acre lot, was the production of a strong-minded woman. A third, on tintedpaper, and dotted with blots and erasures, was from a fat lady, who wore her shoes down at the heel, and got up too late for breakfast. 'But here, Kate,' I exclaimed, as I opened the fourth missive, 'this one, in this firm yet lady-like hand—this one will do. Hear what it says:
Sir:—I think I can answer your requirements. A line addressed to Catharine Walley, B——, N.H., with full particulars, will receive immediate attention.
Sir:—I think I can answer your requirements. A line addressed to Catharine Walley, B——, N.H., with full particulars, will receive immediate attention.
'That's the woman, Kate. A business man in petticoats!Shecan manage a boy of twelve!'
'Or a man of twice that age,' said Kate, quietly reading the letter. 'I wouldn't have that woman inmyhouse.'
'Why not? She has character—take my word for it. Her letter is as short and sweet as a 'promise to pay.''
'She has too much character, and not of the right sort. There is no womanliness about her.'
'You women are always hard on your own sex. She'll have to manage Joe, and she'll need to be half man to do that. I think I had better write her to come here. I can tell what she is when I see her. I can read a woman like a book.'
There was a slight twinkle in my wife's eyes when I said this, and she made some further objections, but I overruled them; and, on the following morning, dispatched a letter, inviting Miss Walley to the city.
Returning to my office from ''Change,' one afternoon, a few days afterward, I found a lady awaiting me. She rose as I entered, and gave her name as Miss Walley. She was prepossessing and lady-like in appearance, and there was a certain ease and self-possession in her manner, which I was surprised to see in one directly from a remote country town. She wore a plain gray dress, with a cape of the same material; a straw hat, neatly trimmed with brown ribbon, and, on the inside, a bunch of deep pink flowers, which gave a slight coloring to her otherwise pale and sallow but intellectual face. Her whole dress bespoke refinement and taste. She was tall and slender, with an almost imperceptible stoop in the shoulders, indicative of a studious habit; but you forgot this seeming defect in her easy and graceful movements. Her brown hair was combed plainly over a rather low and narrow forehead; her face was long and thin, and her small, clear gray eyes were shaded by brown eyebrows meeting together, and, when she was talking earnestly, or listening attentively, slightly contracting, and deepening her keen and thoughtful expression. Her nose was long and rather prominent; and her mouth and chin were large, showing character and will; but their masculine expression was relieved by a short upper lip, which displayed to full advantage the finest set of teeth I ever saw.
Referring at once to the object of her visit, she handed me a number of credentials, highly commendatory of her character and ability as a teacher. I glanced over them, and assured her they were satisfactory. She then questioned me as to the compensation she would receive, and the position of the family needing her services. Answering these inquiries, I added that I was prepared to engage her on the terms I had named.
'I have been in receipt of the same salary as assistant in a school in my native village, sir,' she replied; 'but what you say of the family of Mr. Preston, and a desire to visit the South, will induce me to accept the situation.'
'When will you be ready to go, madam?' I asked.
'At once, sir. To-day, if necessary.'
Surprised and yet pleased with her promptness, I said:
'And are you entirely ready to go so far on so short notice?'
'Yes, sir. The cars leave in the morning, I am told. I will start then.'
'And alone?'
'Yes, sir. We Yankee girls are accustomed to taking care of ourselves.'
'I admire your independence. But you pass the night in town; you will, I trust, spend it at my residence?'
'Thank you, sir.'
Ordering a carriage and stopping on the way at a hotel to get the single trunk which contained her wardrobe, I conveyed her at once to my residence.
After supper we all gathered in the parlor, and I set about entertaining our guest. I had to make little effort to do that, for her conversation soon displayed a knowledge of books and people, and a wit and keenness of intellect, as decidedly entertained me. She was not only brilliant, but agreeable; and in the course of the evening made some pleasant overtures to the children. Frank, with a book in his hand, had drawn his chair off to another part of the room, and showed, at first, uncommon reserve for a lad of his warm and genial nature; but gradually, as if in spite of himself, he edged his chair nearer to her. Our little 'four year old,' however, resisting the offered temptation of watch and chain, and even sugar-plums, repelled her advances, and hid his curly head only the more closely in the folds of his mother's dress. Kate listened and laughed, but I caught occasionally, as her eyes studied the visitor attentively, a troubled expression, which I well understood. After a while the lady expressed a readiness to retire that she might obtain the rest needed for an early start by the morning train, and Kate conducted her to her apartment.
I felt highly delighted with the idea of being able to send Mrs. Preston so agreeable a companion, and not a little vexed with my wife for not sharing my enthusiasm. When she returned to the parlor, I said:
'Kate, why do you not like her?'
'I can hardly tellwhy,' she replied, 'but my first impression is confirmed. I would not trust her. Why does she go South for the same salary she has had in New Hampshire?'
'Because she wants to see the world; she's a stirring Yankee woman.'
'No; because you told her of Mr. Preston's position in society; and because she hopes to win a plantation and a rich planter.'
'Nonsense,' I replied. 'You misjudge her.'
'I tell you, Edmund, she is a cold, selfish, sordid woman; all intellect, and no heart. If I had never seen her face, I should have known that by her voice, and the shake of her hand.'
But it was too late—I had engaged her; and at seven o'clock on the following morning she was on her way to the South.
I soon received information of her safe arrival at her destination, and the warm thanks of Preston for having sent him so agreeable a person, and one so well fitted to instruct his children.
The turpentine location was soon secured, and early in the following spring, Joe, with about a hundred 'prime hands,' commenced operations in the new field. Constantly increasing shipments soon gave evidence of the energy with which the negro entered upon his work; and by the end of the year, Preston had not only paid the advances we made on receiving the deed of the land, but also the note I had given for the purchase of Phyllis. For the first time in five years he was entirely out of our debt.
The next season he hired a force of nearly two hundred negroes, and generously gave Joe a small interest in the new business, with a view to the black's ultimately buying his freedom. His transactions soon became large and profitable both to him and to us. Shortly afterward he paid off the last of his floating debt, and his balances in our hands grew from nothing till they reached five and seven and often ten thousand dollars.
But heavy affliction overtook himin the midst of his prosperity. His wife and two eldest daughters were stricken down by a prevailing epidemic, and died within a fortnight of each other. A letter which I received from him at this time, will best relate these events. It was as follows:
My dear Friend:—I have sad, very sad news to tell you. A week ago to-day I followed the remains of my beloved wife to the grave. Overcome by watching with our children, and grief at their loss, about three weeks since she took their disease, and sinking rapidly, soon resigned her spotless spirit to the hands of herMaker. Overwhelmed by this treble affliction, I have not been able to write you before. Even now I can hardly hold a pen. I am perfectly paralyzed; I can neither act nor think—I can onlyfeel.You, who have seen her in our home, can realize what she was to my family, but none can know what she was to me: companion, friend, guide! My stay and support through long years of trial, she is taken from me just as prosperity is dawning on me, and I was hoping to repay, by a life of devotion, some part of what she had borne and suffered on my account. Another angel has been welcomed in heaven, but I am left here alone—alone with my grief and my remorse!My son is inconsolable, and even little Selly seems to realize the full extent of her loss. The poor little thing will not leave me for a moment. She is now the only comfort I have. Miss Walley has been unremitting in her kindness and attention, taking the burden of everything upon herself. Indeed, I do not know what I should have done without her.Time may temper my affliction, butnow, my dear friend, I am notRobert Preston.
My dear Friend:—I have sad, very sad news to tell you. A week ago to-day I followed the remains of my beloved wife to the grave. Overcome by watching with our children, and grief at their loss, about three weeks since she took their disease, and sinking rapidly, soon resigned her spotless spirit to the hands of herMaker. Overwhelmed by this treble affliction, I have not been able to write you before. Even now I can hardly hold a pen. I am perfectly paralyzed; I can neither act nor think—I can onlyfeel.
You, who have seen her in our home, can realize what she was to my family, but none can know what she was to me: companion, friend, guide! My stay and support through long years of trial, she is taken from me just as prosperity is dawning on me, and I was hoping to repay, by a life of devotion, some part of what she had borne and suffered on my account. Another angel has been welcomed in heaven, but I am left here alone—alone with my grief and my remorse!
My son is inconsolable, and even little Selly seems to realize the full extent of her loss. The poor little thing will not leave me for a moment. She is now the only comfort I have. Miss Walley has been unremitting in her kindness and attention, taking the burden of everything upon herself. Indeed, I do not know what I should have done without her.
Time may temper my affliction, butnow, my dear friend, I am not
Robert Preston.
Nothing worthy of special mention occurred to the persons whose history I am relating till about a year after the death of Mrs. Preston. Then, one day late in the autumn, I received information of her husband's approaching marriage with the governess. In the letter which invited me to be present at the ceremony, Preston said: 'No one can ever fill the place in my heart that is occupied, and ever will be occupied by the memory of my sainted wife; but Miss Walley has rendered herself indispensable to me and my family. My studious habits and ignorance of business made me, as you know, even in my full health and strength, a poor manager; and during the past year, grief has so broken my spirits that I have been utterly unfitted for attending to the commonest duties. But for Miss Walley, everything would have gone to waste and ruin. With the efficiency of a business man, she has attended to my household, overseen my plantation, and managed my entire affairs. In the first moments of my bereavement, when grief so entirely overwhelmed me that I saw no one, I did not know to what censurious remark her disinterested devotion to my interests was subjecting her; but recently I have realized the impropriety of a young, unmarried woman occupying the position she holds in my household. Miss Walley, also, has felt this, and some time since notified me, though with evident reluctance, that she felt it imperatively necessary to leave my service. What, then, could I do? My people needed a mistress; my children a mother. She was both. Only one course seemed open, and after mature deliberation I offered her my hand, frankly stating that my heart was with the angel who, lost to me here, will be mine hereafter. Satisfied with my friendship and esteem, she has accepted me; and we are to be married on the 26th inst.; when I most sincerely trust that you, my dear friend, and your estimable wife, will be present.
That night I took the letter home to my wife. She read it, and laying it down, sadly said:
'Oh, Edmund! He is, indeed, 'among the rocks!''
Two years went by, and I did not meet Preston, but our business relations kept us in frequent correspondence, and his letters occasionally alluded to his domestic affairs.
Very soon after his marriage with the governess, his son went to live with his uncle, Mr. James Preston, of Mobile, a wealthy bachelor, who long before had expressed the intention of having the boy succeed to his business and estate. 'Boss Joe' continued in charge of the turpentine plantation, and had built him a house, and removed his wife and aged mother to his new home. On one of my visits to the South I stopped overnight with him, and was delighted with his model establishment. Two hundred as cheerful-looking darkies as ever swung a turpentine axe, were gathered in tents and small shanties around his neat log cabin, and Joe seemed as happy as if he were governor of a province.
His operations had grown to such magnitude that Preston then ranked among the largest producers of the North Carolina staple, and his 'account' had become one of the most valuable on our books. Though we sent 'account currents' and duplicates of each 'account sales' to his master, our regular 'returns' were made to Joe, and no one of our correspondents held us to so strict an accountability, or so often expressed dissatisfaction with the result of his shipments, as he.
'I thinks a heap of you, Mr. Kirke,' he said at the close of one of his letters about this time; 'but the fact am, thar's no friendship in trade, and youdidsell that lass pile of truck jess one day too sudden.'
Two more years rolled away. Frank was nearly sixteen. He had grown up a fine, manly lad, and never for one moment had Kate or I regretted the care we had bestowed on his education and training. He was all we could have wished for in our own son, and in his warm love and cheerful obedience we both found the blessing invoked on us by his dying mother.
His affection for Kate was something more than the common feeling of a child for a parent. With that was blended a sort of half worship, which made him listen to her every word, and hang on her every look, as if she were a being of some higher order than he. They were inseparable. He preferred her society to that of his young companions, and often, when he was a child, seated by her knee, and listening, when she told of his 'other mother' in the 'beautiful heaven,' have I seen his eye wander to her face with an expression, which plainly said: 'My heart knows no 'other mother' than you.' Kate was proud of him, and well she might be, for he was a comely youth; and his straight, closely knit, sinewy frame; dark, deepset eyes; and broad, open forehead, overhung with thick, brown hair; only outshadowed a beautiful mind, an open, upright, manly nature, whose firm and steady integrity nothing could shake.
About this time I received a letter from his father, which, as it had an important bearing on the lad's future career, I give to the reader:
Boston,September 20th, 185-.Dear Sir:—A recent illness has brought my past life in its true light before me. I see its sin, and I would make all the atonement in my power. I cannot undo the wrong I have done to one who is gone, but I can do my duty to her child. You, I am told, have been a father to him.Iwould now assume that relation, and make you such recompense for what you have done, as you may require. I am too weak to travel, or indeed, to leave my house, but I am impatient to see my son. May I not ask you to bring him to me at once? Then I will arrange all things to your satisfaction.I need not tell you, after saying what I have, that I should feel greatly gratified to once more possess your confidence, and regard.I am, sincerely yours,John Hallet.
Boston,September 20th, 185-.
Dear Sir:—A recent illness has brought my past life in its true light before me. I see its sin, and I would make all the atonement in my power. I cannot undo the wrong I have done to one who is gone, but I can do my duty to her child. You, I am told, have been a father to him.Iwould now assume that relation, and make you such recompense for what you have done, as you may require. I am too weak to travel, or indeed, to leave my house, but I am impatient to see my son. May I not ask you to bring him to me at once? Then I will arrange all things to your satisfaction.
I need not tell you, after saying what I have, that I should feel greatly gratified to once more possess your confidence, and regard.
I am, sincerely yours,John Hallet.
In another hand was the following postscript:
My dear Boy:—John is sincere. Thee can trust him. He has told meall. He will do the right thing. Come on with the lad as soon as thee can.Love to Kate.Thy old friend,David.
My dear Boy:—John is sincere. Thee can trust him. He has told meall. He will do the right thing. Come on with the lad as soon as thee can.
Love to Kate.Thy old friend,David.
After conferring with my wife, I sent the following reply to these communications:
New York,September 22d, 185-.
David of Old;—Thou man after the Lord's own heart. I have Hallet's letter, seasoned with your P.S. He is shrewd; he knew that nothing but your old-fashioned hand would draw a reply fromme, to anything written byhim.I've no faith in sick-bed repentances; and none in John Hallet, sick or well:'When the devil was sick,The devil a monk would be;When the devil got well,The devil a monk was he.'However, as Hallet is capable of cheating his best friend, even the devil, I will take his letter into consideration; but it having taken him sixteen years to make up his mind to do a right action, it may take me as many days to come to a decision on this subject.Frank is everything to us, and nothing but the clearest conviction that his ultimate good will be promoted by going to his father, will induce us to consent to it.I do not write Hallet. You may give him as much or as little of this letter as you think will be good for him.Kate sends love to you and to Alice; and dear David, with all the love I felt for you when I wore a short jacket, and sat on the old stool,I am your devoted friend.
David of Old;—Thou man after the Lord's own heart. I have Hallet's letter, seasoned with your P.S. He is shrewd; he knew that nothing but your old-fashioned hand would draw a reply fromme, to anything written byhim.
I've no faith in sick-bed repentances; and none in John Hallet, sick or well:
'When the devil was sick,The devil a monk would be;When the devil got well,The devil a monk was he.'
However, as Hallet is capable of cheating his best friend, even the devil, I will take his letter into consideration; but it having taken him sixteen years to make up his mind to do a right action, it may take me as many days to come to a decision on this subject.
Frank is everything to us, and nothing but the clearest conviction that his ultimate good will be promoted by going to his father, will induce us to consent to it.
I do not write Hallet. You may give him as much or as little of this letter as you think will be good for him.
Kate sends love to you and to Alice; and dear David, with all the love I felt for you when I wore a short jacket, and sat on the old stool,
I am your devoted friend.
It was a dingy old sign. It had hung there in sun and rain till its letters were faint and its face was furrowed. It had looked down on a generation that had passed away, and seen those who placed it there go out of that doorway never to return; still it clung to that dingy old warehouse, and still Russell, Rollins & Co. was signed in the dingy old counting room at the head of the stairway. It was known the world over. It was heard of on the cotton fields of Texas, in the canebrakes of Cuba, and amid the rice swamps of Carolina. The Chinaman spoke of it as he sipped his tea and plied his chopsticks in the streets of Canton, and the half-naked negro rattled its gold as he gathered palm oil and the copal gum on the western coast of Africa. Its plain initials, painted in black on a white ground, waved from tall masts over many seas, and its simple 'promise to pay,' scrawled in a bad hand on a narrow strip of paper, unlocked the vaults of the best bankers in Europe. And yet it was a dingy old sign! Men looked up to it as they passed by, and wondered that a cracked, weather-beaten board, that would not sell for a dollar, should be counted 'good for a million.'
It was a dingy old warehouse, with narrow, dark, cobwebbed windows, and wide, rusty iron shutters, which, as the bleak October wind swept up old Long Wharf, swung slowly on their hinges with a sharp, grating creak. I heard them in my boyhood. Perched on a tall stool at that old desk, I used to listen, in the long winter nights, to those strange, wild cries, till I fancied they were voices of the uneasy dead, come back to take the vacant seats beside me, and to pace again, with ghostly tread, the floor of that dark old counting room. They were a mystery and a terror to me; but they never creaked so harshly, or cried so wildly, as on that October night, when for the first time in nine years I turned my steps up the trembling old stairway.
It was just after nightfall. A single gas burner threw a dim, uncertain light over the old desk, and lit up the figure of a tall, gray-haired man, who was bending over it. He had round, stooping shoulders, and long, spindling limbs. One of his large feet, encased in a thick, square-toed shoe, rested on the round of the desk; the other, planted squarely on the floor, upheld his spare, gaunt frame. His face was thin and long, and two deep, black lines under his eyes contrasted strangely with the pallid whiteness of his features. His clothes were of the fashion of those good people called 'Friends,' and had served long as his 'Sunday best' before being degraded to daily duty. They were of plain brown, and, though not shabby, were worn and threadbare, and of decidedly economical appearance. Everything about him, indeed, wore an economical look. His scant coat tails, narrow pants, and short waistcoat showed that the cost of each inch of material had been counted, while his thin hair, brushed carefully over his bald head, had not a lock to spare; and even his large, sharp bones were covered with only just enough flesh to hold them comfortably together. He had stood there till his eye was dim and his step feeble, and though he had, for twenty years—when handing in each semiannual trial balance to the head of the house—declared that was his last, everybody said he would continue to stand there till his own trial balance was struck, and his earthly accounts were closed forever.
As I entered, he turned his mild blue eye upon me, and, taking my hand warmly in his, exclaimed:
'My dear boy, I am glad to see thee!'
'I am glad to seeyou, David. Is Alice well?'
'Very well. And Kate, and thy babies?'
'All well,' I replied.
'Thee has come to see John?'
'Yes. How is he?'
'Oh, better; he got out several days ago. He's inside now,' and opening the door of an inner office, separated from the outer one by a glass partition, he said, 'John, Edmund is here.'
A tall, dark man came to the door, and, with a slightly flurried and embarrassed manner, said:
'Ah, Mr. Kirke! I'm glad to see you. Please step in.'
As he tendered me a chair, a shorter and younger gentleman, who was writing at another desk, sprang from his seat, and slapping me familiarly on the back, exclaimed:
'My dear fellow, how are you?'
'Very well, Cragin; how areyou?' I replied, returning his cordial greeting.
'Good as new—never better in my life. It's good for one's health to see youhere.'
'I have come at Mr. Hallet's invitation.'
'Yes, I know, Hallet has told me you've a smart boy you want us to take. Send him along. Boston's the place to train a youngster to business.'
The last speaker was not more than thirty, but a bald spot on the top of his head, and a slight falling-in of his mouth, caused by premature decay of the front teeth, made him seem several years older. He had marked but not regular features, and a restless, dark eye, that opened and shut with a peculiar wink, which kept time with the motion of his lips in speaking. His clothes were cut in a loose, jaunty style, and his manner, though brusque and abrupt, betokened, like his face, a free, frank, whole-souled character. He was several years the junior of the other, and as unlike him as one man can be unlike another.
The older gentleman, as I have said, was tall and dark. He had a high, bold forehead, a pale, sallow complexion, and wore heavy gray whiskers, trimmed with the utmost nicety, and meeting under a sharp, narrow chin. His face was large, his jaws wide,and his nose pointed and prominent, but his mouth was small and gathered in at the corners like a rat's; and, as if to add to the rat resemblance, its puny, white teeth seemed borrowed from that animal. There was a stately precision in his manner and a stealthy softness in his tread not often seen in combination, which might have impressed a close observer as indicative of a bold, pompous, and yet cunning character.
These two gentlemen—Mr. Hallet and Mr. Cragin—were the only surviving partners of the great house of Russell, Rollins & Co.
'Have you brought him with you?' asked Hallet, his voice trembling a little, and his pale face flushing slightly as he spoke.
'No, sir,' I replied; 'I thought I would confer with you first. I have not yet broached the subject to the lad.'
Some unimportant conversation followed, when Hallet, turning to Cragin, asked:
'Are all the letters written for tomorrow's steamers?'
'Yes,' said Cragin, rising; 'and I believe I'll leave you two together. As you've not spoken for ten years, you must have a good deal to say. Come, David,' he called out, as he drew on his outside coat, 'let's go.'
'No, don't take David,' I exclaimed; 'I want to talk with the old gentleman.'
'But you can see him to-morrow.'
'No, I return in the morning.'
'Well, David, I'll tell Alice you'll be home by nine.'
'Oh, that's it,' I said, laughing. 'It's Alice who makes you leave so early on steamer night.'
'Yes,sir; Alice thatis, and Mrs. Augustus Cragin that isto be—when I get a new set of teeth. Good night,' and saying this, he took up his cane, and left the office.
When he was gone, Hallet said to me:
'Do you desire to have David a witness to our conversation?'
'I want him to be apartyto it. We can come to no arrangement without his coöperation.'
Hallet asked the bookkeeper in. When he was seated, I said:
'Well, Mr. Hallet, what do you propose to do for your son?'
'To treat him as I do my other children. Do all but acknowledge him. That would injurehim.'
'That is not important. But please be explicit as to what you will do.'
'David tells me that his inclinations tend to business, and that you have meant to take him into your office. I will take him intomine, and when he is twenty-one, if he has conducted himself properly, I will give him an interest.'
'I shall be satisfied with nocontingentarrangement, sir. I know Frank will prove worthy of the position.'
'Very well; then I will agree definitely to make him a partner when he is of age.'
'Well, Mr. Hallet, if Frank will consent to come, I will agree to that with certain conditions. I told his mother, when she was dying, that I would consider him my own child; therefore I cannot give up the control of him. He must regard me and depend on me as he does now. Again, I cannot let him come here, and have no home whose influence shall protect him from the temptations which beset young men in a large city. David must take him into his family, and treat him as he treated me when I was a boy, and—this must be reduced to writing.'
Hallet showed some emotion when I spoke of Frank's mother, but his face soon assumed its usual expression, and he promptly replied:
'I will agree to all that, but I would suggest that the fact of his being my son should not be communicated to him; that it be confined to us three. I ask this, believe me, only for the sake of my family.
'I see no objection to that, sir, and I think, Frank, for his own sake, should not know what his prospects are.'
Hallet signified assent, and turning to David, I asked:
'David, what doyousay? Will you take him?'
'I will,' said the old bookkeeper, showing in his expenditure of breath the close economy which was the rule of his life.
'Nothing remains but to arrange his salary and the share he shall have when he becomes a partner,' I remarked to Hallet.
'Will an average of seven hundred a year, and an eighth interest when he's twenty-one, be satisfactory?'
'Entirely so. An eighth in your house will be better than a quarter in ours. As it is now all understood, let David draw up the papers. We will sign them, and leave them with him till I see Frank.'
'Very well. David, please to draw them up,' said Hallet; and then, his voice again trembling a little, he added, 'All is understood, Mr. Kirke, but the compensation I shall make you for your fatherly care of my much neglected son. Money cannot pay for such service, but it will relieve me to reimburse you for your expenditures.'
'I have had my pay, sir, in the love of the boy. I ask no more.'
Hallet was sensibly affected, but without speaking, he turned to the desk, and took down his bankbook. In a few moments he handed me a check. It was for five thousand dollars. I took it, and, hesitating an instant, said:
'I will keep this, sir; not for myself, but for Frank. It may be of service to him at some future time.'
'Keep it for yourself, sir, not for him. He will not need it. He shall share equally with my other children.'
'I am glad to see this spirit in you, sir. Frank will be worthy of all you may do for him.'
'It is not forhissake that I will do it,' replied Hallet, his voice tremulous with emotion; 'it is that I may have the forgiveness of the one I—I—' He said no more, but leaning his head on his hand, he wept!
If there is joy among the angels over one that repents, was there not, then, forgiveness inherheart forhim?
No one spoke for some minutes; then David rose, and handing me one of the papers, laid the other before Hallet.
'This appears right,' I said, after reading it over carefully.
'Yes,' replied Hallet, taking up a pen and signing the other. Passing it to me, he added: 'Keep them both—take them now.'
'But Frank may not wish to come.'
'Then I will find some other way of helping him. He is my son! Take the papers.'
'Well, as you say,' I replied. 'David, please to witness this.'
Hallet pressed me to pass the night at his house, but I declined, and rode out to Cambridge with the old bookkeeper. With many injunctions to watch carefully over Frank, I left him about twelve o'clock, rode into town with Cragin, and the next morning started for New York.
That night, as I recounted the interview to Kate, I said:
'I never did believe in these double-quick conversions; but Halletisan altered man.'
'Then, indeed, can the leopard change his spots.'
As usual, her womanly intuitions were right; my worldly wisdom was wrong!
CHAPTER XV.
Not long after the events I have just related, the mail brought me the following letter from Preston:
My very dear Friend:—Circumstances, which I cannot explain by letter, render itimperativelynecessary that I should provide another home for my daughter. Her education has been sadly neglected, and she should be where she can have experienced tutors, and good social surroundings.With her delicate organization, and sensitive and susceptible nature, she needsmotherlycare and affection, and I shrink from committing her to the hands of strangers. I should feel at rest about her only withyou. You have been my steadfast friend through many years; you have stood by me in, sore trials—may I not then ask you to do me now a greater service than you have ever done, by receiving my little daughter into your family? I know this is an unusual, almost presumptuous request; but if you knew her as she is—gentle, loving, obedient—the light and joy of all about her, I am sure you, and your excellent lady, would love her, and be willing to make her the companion of your children. She is my only earthly comfort, and it will rend my heart to part with her, but—Imust.
Write me at once. You are yourself a father—do not refuse me.
To this, on the next day, I sent the following reply:
My dear Friend:—I would most cheerfully take your daughter into my family, did my wife's health, which has been failing all the summer, allow of her assuming any additional care.I think, however, I can provide Selma with a home equally as good as my own; one where good influences will be about her, and she will have the best educational advantages. I refer to the family of Mr. David Gray, of Cambridge, Massachusetts. He was my father's friend. The years I was a boy with Russell, Rollins & Co., I was an inmate of his house, and my adopted son, Frank, is now in his care. His daughter Alice is a most suitable person to have charge of a young girl. She is like a sister to me, and to oblige me, would no doubt take Selma.Please advise me of your wishes; and believe, my dear friend, I will do all in my power to serve you.
My dear Friend:—I would most cheerfully take your daughter into my family, did my wife's health, which has been failing all the summer, allow of her assuming any additional care.
I think, however, I can provide Selma with a home equally as good as my own; one where good influences will be about her, and she will have the best educational advantages. I refer to the family of Mr. David Gray, of Cambridge, Massachusetts. He was my father's friend. The years I was a boy with Russell, Rollins & Co., I was an inmate of his house, and my adopted son, Frank, is now in his care. His daughter Alice is a most suitable person to have charge of a young girl. She is like a sister to me, and to oblige me, would no doubt take Selma.
Please advise me of your wishes; and believe, my dear friend, I will do all in my power to serve you.
I was sitting down at supper, one evening, about a fortnight after sending this letter, when a gentleman was announced as wishing to see me. I rose and went into the parlor. It was Preston, and with him was Selma, then a beautiful little girl of about eleven years.
Asking Preston to lay aside his outside coat, I was struck by his altered appearance. It was four years since we had met, but looking at him, I imagined it might be ten. His eyes were sunken, deep furrows were about his mouth, and his brown hair was thickly streaked with gray.
'My dear friend,' I exclaimed, as I grasped his hand a second time, 'you are not well!'
'I am as well as usual, Kirke. Time has not done this!'
Fatigued with the long journey, Selma had retired, and our own little ones were in bed, when Kate joined us in the parlor.
'Youdolook ill, Mr. Preston,' she said, seating herself beside him. 'You must stay a while with us, and rest.'
'I would be glad to stay here, madam—anywhere away from home.'
'The care of two plantations, such as yours, must be a burden!'
'It is not that, madam; Joe relieves me entirely from oversight of one of them. My difficulty is at home—mine is not what yours is.'
Kate's sympathizing words soon drew him out (she has a way of winning the confidence of people, and is the depositary of more family secrets than any other woman in the State); and he told us what his home had become since his union with the governess.
Within two months after the marriage her real character began to display itself, and she soon developed into a genuine Xantippe. Getting control of Mulock, who had been made overseer, she had the negroes dreadfully whipped and overworked; she treated young master Joe so badly that the lad rebelled, and in his father's absence ranaway to his uncle at Mobile; and locking Selma up in a dark room without food, or beating her till her back was actually discolored, she made the child's home intolerable to her.
After master Joe went away, no one dared complain; and shut up in his library, brooding over his still fresh grief for the death of his wife, Preston knew nothing of the real state of affairs till more than a year had elapsed. Then one day he found Selma in tears. He questioned her, and learned the whole. A scene followed, in which Mrs. Preston asserted her rights as mistress of the plantation, and defied him. She had run into all sorts of extravagance, the yearly bills which had come in a short time previous were appallingly large, but to secure peace, Preston consented to buy and furnish a winter residence at Newbern. To that she had removed, but with the coming spring she would return to the plantation, and in the mean time Selma must be provided with another home.
'Feel no anxiety about her, sir,' said Kate, as he concluded; 'if Alice Gray will not take her, we will.'
'I thank you, madam; I cannot thank you enough for saying that,' replied Preston, his eyes filling with tears.
I wrote at once to David, and soon received a letter from Alice consenting to take charge of the little girl. Thanksgiving, at which time Kate made annual visits to her early home, was approaching, and it was decided that Selma should accompany her to Boston.
This being arranged, Preston, at the end of a fortnight, took leave of us, and returned to the South. The parting between the father and the child gave evidence of what they were to each other. Preston wept like a woman; but as Kate brushed back the brown curls from the broad forehead of little Selly, she raised her eyes to my wife's face, and while her thin nostrils dilated, and her sensitive chin slightly quivered, said;
'I must not cry for poor papa's sake—it is soveryhard for him to go home alone; and he will miss his little girlsomuch.'
'You are right, dear child,' said Kate, and, as if looking into the far future of the woman, and feeling that such a nature must suffer as well as enjoy keenly, she inwardly thanked God that with her delicate organization He had given her the unselfish and brave heart which those words expressed.
Four years had wrought great changes in David's quiet home. Alice had become Mrs. Augustus Cragin, and a little Alice tottled about the floor; but after supper, David still found his evening cigar on the oak stand, his needle-work slippers—wrought by Alice's own hand—in their place before the fender, and his big armchair rolled up close to the gas burner in the little back parlor at Cambridge.
Frank was twenty, and had fulfilled all the promises of his boyhood. His father, after the honeymoon of his repentance was over, showed no great interest in him, but Cragin, who knew nothing of my arrangement with Hallet, had given him all the advantages in his power.
Selma was only fifteen, but, like the flowers of her own South, she had blossomed early, and was already a woman. Preston had visited her every summer, but she never returned with him, having preferred passing her vacations at my house.
In David's loving household nothing had occurred to disturb her peaceful life. Beloved by her teachers and schoolmates, she everywhere received the homage due to her beauty and her goodness; and in the gay world into which her joyous nature often led her, she was the acknowledged andunenviedqueen! Her father had spared no pains in her education; the best tutors had trained her fine ear and sweet voice, and taught her to give form and coloring to the pictures her glowingimagination created; and, whether her fingers ran over the keys of a musical instrument, or wielded the brush, there was a delicacy and yetspiritin her touch which were the wonder and admiration of all.
I was not surprised, when visiting Boston about this time, to have Frank tell me that he loved her, and ask my consent to his regarding her as his future wife.
Kate and I were to leave for home the following day, and, calling at the office in the afternoon, I said to Frank:
'I have tickets for the opera, including Selma; of course you'd like to have her go.'
'Yes, father; she has never been, and I have promised to take her this winter. She'll be able now to appreciate it.'
The box I had selected was at a happy distance from the stage, and we gave Selma a front seat, that she might see to the best advantage. She was in high spirits; indeed, she was radiant in her beauty. She wore a dark blue dress of silk, fitting closely to her neck, and its short sleeves allowed the plump, fair arms to half disclose themselves from beneath the scarlet mantle Which fell around her shoulders. Her hair fell over her neck in the same simple fashion as in her childhood, except that the thick curls, which had lost their golden tint, and were darker and longer, were looped back from her broad brow, with a few simple flowers. There was the same contour of face and feature, but ennobled by thought and culture; the same sensitive mouth, only that the lips were fuller and of a deeper color; and as she talked or listened, the same rose tint deepened and faded beneath her rich, soft, dark skin, as sunlight shifts and fades across the evening sky. Her eyes, in whose dark depths the soul was reflected, met a stranger's calmly, but took a soft look of loving trust when meeting Frank's. They were shaded by long lashes, as black as the night; and when the lids fell suddenly, as they often did, and her face became quiet, and almost sad, you felt that she was communing with the angels.
The overture burst forth, and with glowing face, and eyes fixed upon the stage, Selma seemed lost to all but the enrapturing sounds; even Frank's whispered words were unheeded. As the opera—'Lucia di Lammermoor'—proceeded, I saw that every eye was attracted to our box, and, bending forward to catch Selma's expression, I called Kate's attention to her. With her head thrown slightly back, a bright spot burning on either cheek, her breath suspended, the large tears coursing from her eyes, and motionless as a statue, she sat with her small hands clasped on the front of the box, as if entranced, and all unconscious of the hundred eyes that were fixed upon her. I thought of the pictures I had seen in the old galleries of Europe, but I said, 'Surely, art cannot equal nature!'
When it was over, she took Frank's arm; I turned to question her, but Kate said:
'Let her alone; she cannot talk now.'
The transactions of Russell, Rollins & Co. extended the world over; but, since the death of Mr. Rollins, which occurred prior to Frank's going with them, they had cultivated particularly the Southern trade, and their operations in cotton had grown to be enormous. They bought largely of that staple on their own account, and for some extensive manufacturing establishments in England. Their purchases were mainly made in New Orleans, and, to attend to this business, Hallet had passed the winters in that city for several years.
His wealth had grown rapidly, and at the date of which I am writing, he ranked among the 'solid men' of Boston. Cragin was not nearly so wealthy. Being on intimate terms with the latter, I remarked, as we were enjoying a cigar together one evening at David's, on the occasion of the visit to which I have referred in the last chapter:
'How is it, Cragin, that you pass for only a hundred thousand, when Hallet is rated at a million?'
'Because, Ned, I'm not worth any more.'
'But how is that, when you have two fifths of the concern?'
'Well, Hallet went into cotton like the devil some eight years ago; and I told him I wouldn't stand it; I like to feel the ground under me. Since then he has speculated on his own account—he and old Roye go it strong, and I guess they've made some pretty heavy lifts.'
'That's uncertain business.'
'Yes, devilish uncertain; but somehow they manage always to hold winning cards. Hallet has told me his New Orleans operations have netted him five hundred thousand.'
'And that, with what he got by his wife, has rolled him into a millionaire before he's forty-five! He's a lucky fellow.'
'Lucky! I wouldn't stand in his boots. What goes upmaycome down. He has no peace. His wife's a hyena. She makes home too hot for him; and somehow he's never easy. He walks about as if treading on torpedoes.
'If you dislike speculation, why don't you increase your legitimate business?'
'Hallet's away so much, I can't do it. I'm glued to the old office. I should have been in Europe half of the time the last three years, but I haven't been able to get away.'
'Why not send Frank? He's old enough now.'
'I mean to, in the spring, and I'm d—d if he shan't be a partner soon, and take some of this load off my shoulders. But do you know that Hallet has a decided dislike to him?'
'No! On what account?' I exclaimed. I had met Hallet only twice during four years, but on both occasions he had spoken favorably of his son. Frank himself had never alluded in other than respectful terms to his father.
'Well, I don't know, and it makes no difference. I'm captain at this end of the towline, and I swear he shall go in.
'As you feel so kindly toward Frank, I'll give him a chance to conciliate Hallet. I'll take him South this winter, and introduce him to our correspondents. With his address he ought to do something with them. Will you let him go?'
'Yes, and be right down glad to have him. When do you start?'
'About the middle of December.'
A fortnight afterward, with Selma and Frank, I again visited Preston's plantation.
It was Christmas morning when we rode up the long, winding avenue, and halted before the doorway of 'Silver Lake'—the new name which the Yankee schoolmistress, aping the custom of her Yankee cousins, had bestowed on Preston's plantation. The day was mild and sunshiny, and the whole population of the little patriarchate was gathered on the green in front of the mansion, distributing Christmas presents among the negroes. When we came in sight, from behind the thick cluster of live oaks which bordered the miniature lake, the whole assemblage sent up a glad shout, and hurried up to welcome us. And such a welcome! As she sprang from the carriage, Selma was caught in her father's arms, then in 'master Joe's,' and then, encircled by a cloud of dark beauties, each one vieing with the others in boisterous expressions of affection, she was the victim of such a demonstration as would have done the heart of Hogarth good to witness. In the midst of it a slight, delicate woman rushed from the house, and, crowding into the thick group around Selma, threw herarms about her neck, and, nearly smothering her with kisses, exclaimed:
'My chile! my chile! I sees you at last!'
'Yes, Phylly!' said Selma, returning her caresses; 'and haven't I grown? I thought you wouldn't know me.'
'Know you! Ain't you my chile—my own dear chile!' and pressing Selma's cheeks between her two hands, and gazing at her beautiful face for a moment, she kissed her over and over again.
My arms had been nearly shaken off, when I noticed 'Boss Joe' limping toward me, his head uncovered, and his broad face shining from out his gray wool like the full moon breaking through a mass of clouds.
'How are you, old gentleman?' I exclaimed, grasping him warmly by the hand.
'Right smart! right smart, massa Kirke. Glad you'm come, sar.'
'And you're home for Christmas?'
'Yes, sar. I'se come to see massa Robert, an' to tend to hirin' a new gang. But darkies 'am high dis yar, sar.'
'How much are they?'
'Well, dey ax, round yere, one fifty, an' 'spences dar an' back; an' it'm a pile, when you tink we hab used up 'most all de new trees.'
'But you must have many second-year cuttings.'
'Yas, right smart; but No. 2 rosum doan't pay at sech prices fur darkies.'
Turning to Preston in a moment, I said:
'Do not let us interfere with the 'doin's'—it's just what we want to see.'
'Well, come, you folks,' said Joe, hobbling back to the green; 'leff us gwo on now.'
Preston, Selma, and Phylly went into the house, but the rest of us followed the grinning group of Africans to the centre of the lawn, where several large packing boxes, and a long table, something like a carpenter's bench, were piled high with a miscellaneous assortment of dry goods and groceries.
'Now, all you dat hab heads, come up yere,' shouted Joe, seating himself on the bench; 'but don't all come ter onst.'
One by one the men and boys filed past him, and, selecting a hat or cap from a couple of boxes near, he adjusted a covering to each woolly cranium that presented itself; interspersing the exercise with humorous remarks on their respective phrenological developments:
'Pomp, you's made fur a preacher, shore. Dat dar head ob your'n gwoes up jess like a steeple. I'll hab ter gib you a cap, Dave; you'm so big ahind de yeres none ob dese hats'll fit, nohow. Jess show de back ob you' head to any gemman, an' he'll say you'm one ob de great ones ob de 'arth. None ob dese am big 'nuff fur you, Ally,' he continued, as a tall, well-clad mulatto man stepped up to him. 'You' bumps hab growed so sense you took to de swamp, dat nuffin'll cober you 'cept massa Robert's hat, or de gal Rosey's sunshade.'
The yellow man laughed, but kept on trying the hats. Finding one at last of suitable dimensions, he turned away to make room for another candidate for cranial honors. As I caught a full view of his face, I exclaimed:
'Why, Ally, is that you?'
'Yas, massa; it'm me,' he replied, making a respectful bow.
'And you live here yet?'
'Yas, massa. Hope you's well, massa?'
'Very well; and your mother—how is she?'
'Oh, she'm right smart, sar.'
'Yas, massa, I'se right smart; an' I'se bery glad ter see 'ou, massa,' said a voice at my elbow. It was Dinah, no longer clad in coarse osnaburg, but arrayed in a worsted gown, and a little grayer and a little bulkier than when I saw her eight years before.
'Why, Dinah, how well you look!'I exclaimed, giving her my hand. 'And you've come up to spend Christmas with Ally?'
'No, massa, Ilibsyere. I'seFREEnow, massa!'
'Free! So you've made enough to buy yourself? I'm glad to hear it.'
'No, massa. Ally—de good chile—he done it, massa.'
'Ally did it! How could he? He's not more than twenty now!'
'No more'n he hain't, massa; but he'm two yar in massa Preston's swamp, wid a hired gang. Massa Preston put de chile ober 'em, an' gib him a haff ob all he make, an' he'm doin' a heap dar, massa.'
'And with his first earnings he bought his mother!'
'Yas, massa; wid de bery fuss.'
'Ally, give me your hand,' I exclaimed, with unaffected pleasure; 'you're a man! You're worthy of such a mother!'
'Yas, he am dat, massa! He'm wordy ob anyting, an' he'm gwine to hab a wife ter day, massa. Boss Joe am gwine ter marry 'em, an' ter gib 'em him own cabin fur dar Chrismus giff.'
'Well, Joeisa trump. I'll remember him in my will for that, aunty, sure.'
'Dat'm bery good ob 'ou, massa; but I reckon 'ou can't tink who Ally'm gwine ter hab, massa,' said the old woman, her face beaming all over.
'No, I can't, Dinah. Who is she?'
'It'm little Rosey, dat 'ou buy ob de trader, massa; an' she'm de pootiest little gal all roun' yere; ebery one say dat, massa.'
'Indeed! And they are to be married to-day?'
'Yas, massa, ter day—dis evenin'. 'Ou'll be dar, woan't 'ou, massa?'
'Yes, certainly I will.'
The old woman and Ally then mingled with the crowd of negroes, and I turned my attention once more to Joe's operations. The men had been supplied with head gear, and the women were receiving their turbans—gaudy pieces of red and yellow muslin.
'Now, all you boys an' gals,' shouted Joe, as he dealt out a handkerchief to the last of the dusky demoiselles, 'you all squat on de groun', an' shovel off you' shoes.'
Down they went in every conceivable attitude, and, uncovering their feet, commenced pelting each other with the cast-off leathers. When the sport had lasted a few minutes, Joe sang out:
'Come! 'nuff ob dat; now ter bisness. Yere, you yaller monkeys (to several small specimens of copper and chrome yellow), tote dese 'mong 'em.'
The young chattels did as they were bidden, and, as each heavy brogan was fitted to the pedal extremity of some one of the darkies, the newly-shod individual sprang to his feet, and commenced dancing about as if he were the happiest mortal in existence.
'Dat'm it,' shouted Joe; 'frow up you' heels; an' some ob you gwo an' fotch de big fiddle. We'll hab a dance, an' show dese Nordern gemmen de raal poker.'
'But we hain't hed de dresses—nor de soogar—nor de 'backer—nor none ob de whiskey,' cried a dozen voices.
'Shet up, you brack crows! You can't hab anudder ting till ye'se hed a high ole heel-scrapin'. Yere, massa Joe; you come up yere, an' holp me wid de 'strumentals,' said Boss Joe, grinning widely, and getting up on the carpenter's bench.
In a few moments, the 'big fiddle,' one or two smaller fiddles, and three or four banjoes were brought out, and the two Joes, and several ebony gentlemen, seating themselves on the boxes of clothing, began tuning the instruments. Soon 'Boss Joe' commenced sawing away with a gusto that might have been somewhat out of keeping with his gray hairs, his sixty years, and his clerical profession. 'Massa Joe' and the others striking in, the male and female darkies paired off two by two, and to a lively air began dancing a sort of 'cotillion breakdown.' Otherdances followed, in which the little negroes joined, and soon the air rang with the creak of the fiddles and the merry shouts of the negroes. In the midst of it my arm was touched lightly, and, turning round, I saw Rosey and Dinah.
'I'se got de little gal yere, massa,' said the latter, looking as proud as a hen over her first brood of chickens. 'She glad to see 'ou, massa.'
I gave Rosey my hand, and made a few good-natured compliments on her beauty and her tidy appearance. She had a simple, guileless expression, and met my half-bantering remarks with an innocent frankness that charmed me. She was only sixteen, but had developed into a beautiful woman. Her form was slight and graceful, with just enoughembonpointto give the appearance of full health; and her thin, delicate features, large, wide-set eyes, and clear, rosy complexion bore a strong resemblance to Selma's. It was evident they were children of the same father; and yet, one was to be the wife of a poor negro, the other to marry the son of a 'merchant prince.'
As the dancing concluded, Boss Joe's fiddle gave out a dying scream, and, turning to me, he sang out:
'War dar eber sprightlier nigs dan dese, massa Kirke? Don't dey beat you' country folks all holler?'
'Yes, they do, Joe. They handle their heels as nimbly as elephants.'
I spoke the truth; most of them did.
The distribution of the presents was resumed; and, as each negro received his full supply of flour, sugar, tea, coffee, molasses, tobacco, and calico, grinning with joy over his new acquisitions, he staggered off to his quarters. When the last box was nearly emptied, with young Preston and Frank, I adjourned to the mansion.
The exterior of the 'great house' was unchanged, but its interior had undergone a complete transformation. The plain oak flooring of the hall had been replaced by porcelain tiling, and the neat, simple furniture of the parlors by huge mirrors; rosewood and brocatelle sofas and lounges; velvet tapestry carpets, in which one's feet sank almost out of sight; and immense paintings, whose aggregate cost might have paid off one half of the mortgage that encumbered the plantation.
Selma and her father were engaged in earnest conversation when we entered the drawing room, and, being unwilling to interrupt them, I was about to retire, but he rose, and said:
'Come in, Kirke; I will call Mrs. Preston. She will be glad to see you.'
The lady soon entered. It was eight years since we had met, but time had touched her gently. Her face wore its old, decided, yet quiet expression, and her manner showed the easy self-possession I had noticed at our first interview. She was richly dressed, and had on a heavy satin pelisse, and a blue velvet bonnet, as if about to ride out.
When the usual greetings were over, she remarked:
'You have been here some time, sir?'
'Yes, madam; we arrived about two hours ago; but I met some old friends outside, and the pleasure of seeing them has made me a little tardy in paying my respects to you.'
'The negroes, you mean, sir,' she replied, with a slight toss of the head, and a look of cool dignity which well became her.
'Yes, madam. I have many friends among the blacks. On many plantations they look for my coming as they do for Christmas.'
'It is quite rare to find a white gentleman so fond of negroes,' she rejoined, with an air slightly more supercilious.
I remembered her as the humble schoolmistress, whose entire possessions were packed in one trunk; and, forgetting myself, said, in a tone which bore a slight trace of indignation:
'More rare, I fear, than it should be; and you and I, madam, who are Yankees, and have 'worked for a living,' surely cannot despise the negroes because they arecompelledto work for theirs.'
'Oh! no, sir! not by any means! But you must excuse me; the carriage is waiting to take me to church;' and, rising, she bowed herself stiffly out of the door.
'Ah, you hit her there!' exclaimed Joe, springing to his feet in great glee, and striding to the window. 'See here, Mr. Kirke! See what a turnout the Yankee 'schulemarm' has worried out of father!'
'My son, you must not speak so; she is your mother!' said Preston.
'No, I'm d—d if she is! Call her anything but that, father; that's an—'he checked himself; but I thought he would have added—'insult to my dead mother!'
Preston made no reply.
Looking out of the window, I saw Mrs. Preston being handed into a magnificent barouche by one of the black gentry she so much despised. Another one in gaudy gold livery sat on the box, and a mounted outrider, also bound up in gold braid, stood behind the carriage.
'There's a two-thousand-dollar turnout, and two fifteen-hundred-dollar niggers, to tote a woman who ought to go afoot. It's a poor investment, I swear,' said Joe, turning away from the window.
Preston made no reply; but I laughingly remarked:
'Come, Joe, she isn'tyourwife. Let your father spend his money as he pleases; he can afford it.'
'Hecan'tafford it; that woman is running him to the devil at a two-forty gait. You have more influence with him than any one, Mr. Kirke—dotry to stop it!'
The young man spoke in a decided but regretful tone, and his manner showed more respect to his father than his words implied. Unwilling to interfere in such an affair, I said nothing; but Preston, in a moment, remarked:
'It is true, Kirke! Her extravagance has ruined my credit at home, and forced me to use Joe's indorsements; besides, I have had to borrow ten thousand dollars of him to keep my head above water.'
[Mr. James Preston—the Squire's uncle—had died the year before, and the young man had succeeded to his large property and business.]
I was thunderstruck; but, before I could reply, Joe said:
'I don't care a rush for the money. Father can have every dollar I've got; but Idowant to see him rid of that woman. I've been here sick for two months, and I've seen the whole. She is worrying the very life out of him. She's made him an old man at forty.'
It was true. His face was lean and haggard, and his hair already thickly streaked with white.
Preston rose, and, walking the room, said:
'But what am I to do? You yourself, Joe, would not have all this made public. You've as much pride about it as I have.'
'I've not a bit of pride about it, father; and it's public now. Everybody knows it, and everybody says you ought to cut her adrift.'
'What had I better do? Tell me, my friend,' said Preston, still walking the room.
'I cannot advise, you, Preston. An outsider should express no opinion on such matters.'
In a moment Preston said:
'Well, Joe, no more of this now. I'll do what is right, however much it may wound my pride.'
The conversation turned to other subjects, till Mrs. Preston's return from church, shortly after which dinner was announced. The lady presided at the table with as much ease and grace as if she had been born to the position; and in her charming conversation, I almost forgot the revelations of the morning. The rest of the day Ispent with Joe and Frank, strolling over the plantation and mingling among the negroes, who, freed from work, were enjoying themselves in a very 'miscellaneous manner.' Preston remained at the house with Selma.