CHAPTER XV.THE ELFIN GIRL.
But who is this? What thing of sea or land!Female of sex it seems.—Samson Agonistes.
But who is this? What thing of sea or land!Female of sex it seems.—Samson Agonistes.
But who is this? What thing of sea or land!Female of sex it seems.—Samson Agonistes.
But who is this? What thing of sea or land!
Female of sex it seems.
—Samson Agonistes.
For a time Miss Joe had grieved immoderately over the untimely and mysterious fate of her niece, and the loneliness of her own lot, and the prospect of a poor and solitary old age before her; but soon, in the native kindness and disinterestedness of her heart, she turned to the child thus thrown upon her exclusive protection, and only hoped that she might be spared long enough to raise him, and see him able to take his own part; for, after all, small and helpless, and abandoned as he was, he was the last Hutton of the Isles, and the heir of—the little sand bank in the bay, yclept St. Clara’s Isle or Hutton’s Isle.
Very strange was the lot and life of the lonely recluse of the sea-girt isle and her little protégé. Their only possessions were the nearly barren islet, the dilapidated lodge, a cow, a sheep or two, a little poultry and a dog. No cart or horse had they, nor even any use for either. The small skiff conveyed them to the mainland whenever, for the purpose of laying in a few groceries or dry goods, or of attending divine service, they found it necessary or agreeable to go. Their faithful old servant, Pontius Pilate, whose duty it was to till the land, row the boat, fish the weir, rake the oyster bed, and cut and bring wood from the mainland, was their only companion. The soil immediately around the house being mixed with clay and marl, still yielded, with careful cultivation, corn and wheat enough for the small consumption of the little family. And Pontius Pilate saved money by grinding this in a hand-mill. The little garden produced vegetables enough for their table. And the two sheep yielded wool enough for their winter socks and mits—carded, spun, and woven by the indefatigable fingers ofMiss Joe. And so time passed on, until Miss Joe, not having trouble enough on her hands already, was induced to assume the responsibility of rearing another child, a little wild elf-like girl, whose advent was almost as great a subject of gossiping speculation as the disappearance of Agnes had been. And the name of this elfin child was Garnet Seabright.
The history of Garnet Seabright, as it was understood in the neighborhood, was very briefly this:
When Hugh was about six years of age Miss Joe received a letter from a distant relation living in Calvert County, beseeching her, for the Redeemer’s sake, to lose no time in hastening to the sick-bed of the writer, who was most anxious to see her before she died.
Miss Joe had to rub her organ of eventuality before she could recognize in the writer a cousin, a wild young girl of exceeding beauty and willfulness, who had, years before, eloped with a soldier, a certain George Seabright, a distant relation of Captain Seabright.
Miss Joe never slighted any appeal to her benevolence. She shut up house, left the island in care of Pontius Pilate, took Hugh to Huttontown and left him in charge of Mrs. Fig, the grocer’s wife, borrowed a mule, and set out for Calvert County.
The house of her cousin she heard upon inquiry was a miserably poor cottage, with scarcely any cleared ground around it, and situated in the midst of a deep, dark forest. It was approached for miles only by a narrow bridle path. It was near nightfall when Miss Joe entered this lonesome path; it was quite dark before she got near the house.
“Oh, good Lord! this is a great deal more lonesomer and more wilder than my sea-girt island they make such a fuss about; for there, at least, I could see an enemy a long ways off. But here! Lord, there might be an Injun, or a bandit, or more likely still, a runaway nigger, behind every tree. Get up, Jinny! Hark! Lord deliver us! what was that?”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Highe! cheep! th-sh-sh-e-e-e-e!” laughed, screamed, chirped, chirruped a sharp,shrill voice, high up in the trees, or somewhere between them and the blinking stars.
“Lord save us, what was that?” ejaculated Miss Joe, looking up at the branches overhead, in the direction of the eerie voice.
And there she saw, in the dark, bright starlight, in the highest branches of the trees, among the green and glistening leaves, a little elfin face, with glittering eyes, and gleaming teeth and streaming hair, mopping and mowing at her—chattering, gibing, laughing, and screaming at her.
“St. John and all the Holy Evangelists! St. Mary and all the Holy Virgins!—what’s that? It’s—it’s—a fairy—it’s—it’s—a brownie!” exclaimed Miss Joe, bursting out into a profuse perspiration.
Miss Joe was neither cowardly nor superstitious, yet when the little elf, with its wild eyes and streaming hair, glided down the tree with the swiftness and celerity of a monkey down a mainmast, and leaped, with a yell of malice and delight, upon the mule, behind her, Miss Joe opened her throat with a prolonged shriek, that might have waked the dead.
And at the same time the mule dashed, plunging and kicking, forward.
The elf stuck its little hands into Miss Joe’s fat sides, and, as the good lady herself afterward said, clung there like a craw-fish or a crab. The mule plunged madly on.
Miss Joe, delirious with terrors, real and imaginary, lost all power of controlling the animal, dropped the reins, and must have fallen off, had not the bit been seized by a strong hand, and the mule forced back upon her haunches.
“That’s Godfather!” cried the elf, in human words and tones, and Miss Joe, looking up, recognized in her deliverer General Garnet.
The sprite leaped from the saddle to the bosom of General Garnet, and clung there in her crab-like fashion, her little head rubbed, rooted, under his chin, her little arms around his neck, and her little figure almost veiled by her long hair, screaming with her inarticulate tones of affection and delight.
Miss Joe dismounted from the now stationary mule, and began in an eager voice to pour forth her surprise, gratitude, and wonder.
General Garnet, with a look of vexation, tinged with amusement, tried to shake off his little encumbrance. But it was like trying to get rid of a chestnut burr; for if he succeeded in pulling her off from one place, she would stick at another, screaming with wild delight and elfish perversity, clinging to him, rooting her little head into him.
“Come, Netty! Come, come! this will not do; release me. Goodness, child, are your hands and feet furnished with claws?” exclaimed General Garnet, trying to tear off the little human bramble.
“Chip! Chip! Chee-ee-ee! H-sh-sh-sh! Whip!”
It is impossible to convey in words the saucy, defiant, chirping, inarticulate cry of the sprite, as it rammed its head again into the bosom of its victim. Presently the elf sprang away of itself, and perched upon the back of the mule.
“How is your mother, Netty?” then asked General Garnet.
“Waiting for you and the old woman, too. She sent me after you.”
And now Miss Joe and the general looked at each other in astonishment, as if mutually inquiring, “You, too?”
General Garnet, putting his hand upon the shoulder of the elf, and giving her a slight shake, put her upon the ground, took her hand, and walked up to the dark forest path, drawing her after him.
Miss Joe took the bridle, and leading her mule, followed.
A little way up the path was a horse standing perfectly still, saddled and bridled, and with a portmanteau on the crupper.
General Garnet remounted this horse, and, taking the wood-sprite before him, rode on up the path.
Miss Joe, not wishing to be left behind, tumbled up into her old saddle, and urged old Jenny to her bestspeed. They soon came to a little clearing in the forest, and paused before the humble door of a log house. The elf sprang down from her seat, and, darting into the door, cried:
“They’ve come, Minny! Godfather and the old body, both.”
“Poke up the fire, and let them both come in, Netty!” was the answer; and presently the sprite pulled open the door with a bang, and stood there with her glittering eyes and streaming hair and naked legs, to admit them.
They entered and found the room occupied by two persons; a young woman, who sat propped up in an armchair by the fire; and an old negress, who seemed to be her servant or nurse. The young woman bore a singular resemblance to the elf-like child; but her dark eyes were burning, and her face was bathed with the fatal fires of consumption. She held out an emaciated hand to welcome her visitors, while the old negress set rude stools for their accommodation. The young invalid, pressing the hand of Miss Joe, thanked her many times for her kindness in taking this journey, and begged her to sit down quite close to her, for that she could not raise her voice much. Miss Joe drew the stool to the side of the invalid and begged to be informed how she could serve her, expressing at the same time her perfect willingness to do so. Then the young woman, in a feeble voice, interrupted by frequent fits of coughing, said that she felt she had but little time to live,—that her days, nay, her very hours were numbered,—that after her death she wished Miss Joe to take charge of her orphan child; that General Garnet, who considered himself under great obligations to her late husband, would be at the costs of its rearing and education, and would, besides, liberally repay Miss Joe for the trouble she might be put to in taking care of it.
General Garnet was there to indorse her promises. He approached them; and taking the feverish hand of the invalid, and turning to Miss Joe, said:
“The husband of this young woman was a soldier under my command; he fought under me during thewhole course of the war. Once he saved me from death. Once he saved me from dishonor. He received his death-wound—for, years after, it caused his death—in the same battle in which I won my present military rank. I am under eternal obligations to him; and while I have an acre of ground, or a dollar at my banker’s, I will never see this child want!”
The invalid died the next morning, immediately after being placed in her chair, where she had insisted upon sitting.
General Garnet arrived within an hour after, and took the direction of the humble funeral.
Within four days from this Miss Joe found herself at home with her grandnephew, little Hugh, her ward, Garnet Seabright, the old negress, who had fallen to little Garnet’s possession, along with the personal effects of her mother, and, lastly, with old Pontius Pilate, who had complained of great loneliness during his mistress’ absence.
Little Hugh Hutton was a proud and happy little man the day of Netty’s arrival. He tried to multiply himself into a train of attendants to wait upon the little girl. He first proposed to give up his cot bed, his chair, and his little chest for her use. He brought her all his playthings, his bows and arrows, and guns and traps, and hammered all day at what he fondly supposed to be a boat, that he was making for her benefit.
When General Garnet had taken leave of Miss Joe at Huttontown, just as she was about to cross over to her island, he had begged her to apply to him in any emergency, and to call on him for anything her young charge might want. The child of the soldier who had served under him throughout the Revolutionary war, who had once interposed his body to save his life, should never suffer for the necessaries or comforts of existence while that life was spared. And this he had said with that earnest and fervent tone, and with that benign and beautiful smile that never failed to fascinate the love and trust of all who heard and saw him. And Miss Joe felt assured and comfortable.
But now, as days slid into weeks, and weeks grew into months, Miss Joe heard no more of General Garnet and his promises, nor did she like to take him at his word and apply to him. He ought to prevent that and save her feelings, she said.
As years passed away, however, Miss Joe occasionally wrote to General Garnet in behalf of her little protégée. For the most part, her letters would remain unanswered, but when one did elicit a reply, General Garnet’s epistle would be full of kindness, blessing, encouragement, good advice, and—nothing else.
At last, during a bitter winter, their main dependence, their faithful servant, poor old Pontius Pilate, caught the pleurisy and died. In the midst of this trouble Miss Joe wrote again to General Garnet, and once more, and for the last time, invoked his promised assistance. After the lapse of several days she received a letter from the benignant general, full of condolence, sympathy, and exhortation to hope and patience, and—nothing else! The letter concluded with the assurance that she had nothing to fear—that God never made a mouth for which he had not also provided food. To this letter the long-suffering old lady was exasperated to reply—that though it was true God had made both the mouths and the food, yet the mouths had fallen to her lot, and the food to his.
The general never replied to this last letter, and here the correspondence ceased.