CHAPTER III.
“O little hearts! that throb and beatWith such impatient, feverish heat,Such limitless and strong desires!”Longfellow.
“O little hearts! that throb and beatWith such impatient, feverish heat,Such limitless and strong desires!”Longfellow.
“O little hearts! that throb and beatWith such impatient, feverish heat,Such limitless and strong desires!”
“O little hearts! that throb and beat
With such impatient, feverish heat,
Such limitless and strong desires!”
Longfellow.
Longfellow.
TOM found, however, when he told the incident to the people who were assembled in Aunt Margaret’s cabin when he came in at night, that it created quite a sensation. The idea of any one of them being sent for into the master’s library was a wonder, and Tom found himself a lion among them. He did not feel the least elated, however. He only feared, when he came to think of it, that his master’s discovery of his knowledge would lead to his dismissal, and he had felt as if he was just beginning to gain thefriendship of his fellow-workers which he so much wished to have. Therefore it was with rather a grave face and sober step that he walked in the gathering twilight toward the mansion. Aunt Dinah was standing on the back porch, throwing corn and feed to the chickens, who, having grown tame from long acquaintance, were crowding close around her, in order to get each one a full share of the evening meal.
Tom came up and touched his cap. “Auntie,” said he, “has Mr. Sutherland finished his supper?”
Now Aunt Dinah was crabbed, and she determined, when she saw him coming, that she would send him off rather quicker than he came, but the touched cap and voice of respect went to just the right place in herheart. “Sure, honey, he’s done supper,” she said. “What did you want with him?”
“He bade me come up after tea,” replied Tom, “and he said you would show me the way to the library.” Tom rose higher in Aunt Dinah’s regard immediately. In her own words, “If marster wanted one of them field hands in the lib’ry, it meant sumthin’, sure enough.”
Therefore, with a little smoothing touch to her apron, she led the way through the matted hall, and knocked at one of the doors which opened from it. “This is the library,” she said, and so left him.
A little girl came and opened the door—a sweet-looking, black-eyed child of about seven years old—and held it open as he stepped in. Mr.Sutherland lifted his eyes from a bundle of papers, and seeing who it was, said, “Ah! here you are. Just sit down a few minutes and I shall be able to attend to you.”
Tom seated himself quietly, glad of the few minutes given him to examine the pretty room. Called a library out of compliment, it was more like a tiny drawing-room, so many little things of elegance were gathered here. The taste of the owner had full play, and showed itself rather too fond of gilt and bright colors, but at the same time toned down by a few Parian figures and antique vases, which showed where the wife had been at work. Tom looked at her, after his survey of the room, with eyes which certainly did not lack admiration. A delicate, fair woman, with the languidmanner characteristic of her countrywomen, but with an air of refinement and culture resting upon every move of her hand and turn of her head. A vision of beauty such as Tom had never seen before. The little girl who had opened the door for him was seated at her mother’s feet, very industriously engaged in undressing a large doll, and at the same time singing softly to herself—
“Jesus loves me—this I know,For the Bible tells me so.”
“Jesus loves me—this I know,For the Bible tells me so.”
“Jesus loves me—this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.”
There she would stop, hum the remainder of the tune, and then go back to the beginning again. Tom wondered whether she knew the rest of the verse, and was longing to tell her, when his master called him, and he ceased to listen. “Tom,” said he, “I find you can write much better than Ican—(my education was neglected somehow)” he added in parenthesis, moving uneasily in his chair, with a glance at his wife—“and I have much trouble in making the merchants comprehend the accounts. I thought perhaps you might know how to decipher them, and in that case I thought I would employ you to copy them, spending say an hour every evening. Of course you will be paid,” he added.
Mrs. Sutherland looked up from her delicate work, and eyed the boy as he bent over the papers Mr. Sutherland laid before him.
“Can this boy read?” she asked, indolently.
“Yes,” replied her husband.
“What does he do about the place?”
“He is a field hand,” he replied.
“He had better confine his attention to corn and cotton than serve you as an amanuensis. You are spoiling the hands,” she added, impatiently.
Tom’s eyes never wandered from his paper, but he lost not a word, and the firm set of lips showed him no indifferent listener.
“Can you read these?” asked the master with no reply to his wife’s observation.
“Yes, sir, I think so.”
“Well, then, let me hear them.”
Tom made a Clerk.Freed-Boy in Alabama.Page49.
Tom made a Clerk.Freed-Boy in Alabama.Page49.
Tom made a Clerk.
Freed-Boy in Alabama.Page49.
So Tom read aloud the month’s report of the number of hands employed, the wages of each, the amount of work performed and the expenses of the place. It was all correctly done, and then the two fell to work—the master arranging the books for Tom’s future work, and the boy copying. Therewas nothing very elegant about the writing, but it was a round, even hand, very plain and distinct. Yet as he wrote Tom was troubled. He wondered if his Master knew that these business affairs were all fully understood by him. Mr. Sutherland’s books were very simple, and, with Tom’s late knowledge of arithmetic, very easily understood. He wondered if his master realized that one of his field hands comprehended all the business of the plantation.
By and by, when for a few minutes both came to a standstill, Tom spoke:
“Mr. Sutherland, do you know that I understand all this work I am copying.”
“Do you mean to tell me you understand the losses and gains during the month?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Sutherland looked annoyed and perplexed, and his wife laughed and remarked that he had better take her advice and send the boy back to his cotton.
“I would not care, Bertha,” he replied, “if I were only sure I could trust the boy.”
“Of what are you afraid, Mr. Sutherland?” asked Tom, with a little fire in his eyes.
“Only of your reporting the state of affairs at Aunt Margaret’s gatherings,” he replied.
“I shall not do that, sir,” said Tom, firmly.
“But the question is,” said Mr. Sutherland, “whether I can trust your word.”
Tom’s eyes certainly flashed fire fora moment; all his old spirit of unrestrained passion ran through him, sending the blood throbbing all over his body, trembling on his lips, dancing in his eyes, gathering on his forehead, and causing the fingers that held the pen to close upon it like a vice. This lasted for a minute, and then remembering his love for the Lord Jesus, and at the same time that the master could not know how well he could be trusted, the fingers relaxed their grasp, the brow cleared, the lips unbent and formed a smile, and the eyes dropped.
“I hope I may be trusted, sir. Will you try me?” he asked, quietly.
“Yes, I will,” replied Mr. Sutherland, who had watched the play of feature, and understood a little, although not half, of the boy’s thought.
So they fell to work again—the little battle over and the victory won, and a battle-song of triumph in Tom’s heart, for “he that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that taketh a city.”
By and by, when the minutes had made an hour and more, the books were closed. The master’s little girl had come round near her father’s chair, and stood there holding on to the arm of the chair, swinging to and fro, and singing, “Jesus loves me,” as Tom and Mr. Sutherland finished the evening’s work with arrangements to resume it at the same hour on the morrow.
Then Tom turned to the little girl:
“Miss Lillie, do you know the rest of that verse?” he asked.
“No,” she replied, stopping short; “do you?”
“Yes,” replied Tom; “I know all the hymn.”
“Well, then, sing it,” she demanded.
Tom looked toward Mrs. Sutherland, but her eyes were turned away, so he looked down into the waiting face upturned toward him, and softly and gently gave the sweet words:
“Jesus loves me—this I know,For the Bible tells me so;Little ones to him belong;They are weak, but he is strong.Yes, Jesus loves me.“Jesus loves me—he who died:Heaven’s gate to open wide;He will wash away my sin,Let his little child come in.Yes, Jesus loves me.“Jesus loves me—he will stayClose beside me all the way;If I love him when I die,He will take me home on high.Yes, Jesus love me.”
“Jesus loves me—this I know,For the Bible tells me so;Little ones to him belong;They are weak, but he is strong.Yes, Jesus loves me.“Jesus loves me—he who died:Heaven’s gate to open wide;He will wash away my sin,Let his little child come in.Yes, Jesus loves me.“Jesus loves me—he will stayClose beside me all the way;If I love him when I die,He will take me home on high.Yes, Jesus love me.”
“Jesus loves me—this I know,For the Bible tells me so;Little ones to him belong;They are weak, but he is strong.Yes, Jesus loves me.
“Jesus loves me—this I know,
For the Bible tells me so;
Little ones to him belong;
They are weak, but he is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
“Jesus loves me—he who died:Heaven’s gate to open wide;He will wash away my sin,Let his little child come in.Yes, Jesus loves me.
“Jesus loves me—he who died:
Heaven’s gate to open wide;
He will wash away my sin,
Let his little child come in.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
“Jesus loves me—he will stayClose beside me all the way;If I love him when I die,He will take me home on high.Yes, Jesus love me.”
“Jesus loves me—he will stay
Close beside me all the way;
If I love him when I die,
He will take me home on high.
Yes, Jesus love me.”
She had kept her black eyes fixed upon his face throughout the hymn, and when he had finished, seeing his earnestness, she asked:
“Doyoulove Jesus?”
How it startled him! He glanced quickly toward the two listeners, but Mrs. Sutherland had not changed her position, and the master’s eyes were on the floor and his face unreadable.
It was a pity they were not looking at him, for as his eyes came back to the questioner and saw how she was awaiting his reply, all the new love and allegiance flashed back upon him, and his reply was given with a smile that was worth seeing.
“Oh yes, I love the Lord Jesus.”
Then he rose and moved toward the door, but his bare feet on the carpet made no sound. He stopped at the threshold and waited for a word, but none came; so he said: “Good-evening, Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland.” The mistress dismissed him with a little bow, without raising her head, and the master roused and replied,
“Ah! going? Well, good-night. I’ll see you to-morrow.”
So Tom went out into the night, clear and beautiful, with innumerable stars shining down out of heaven, and the rich earth lying in the beauty of its early spring dress all about him. Down at the quarters he could see sparkling lights from the fires which the open doors left in view. From the little log-barn, long ago out of use, came the voices of the people whowere holding a meeting there. He listened a moment, but he could not catch the words, so he walked nearer, and stopped beneath the tree where he had read his precious letters, and there the words came distinctly to his ear, borne to him by the sweet evening breeze:
“My good Lord’s been here,Has been here, has been here:My good Lord’s been here,And blessed my soul, and gone.Seeker, where were youWhen my good Lord was here?”
“My good Lord’s been here,Has been here, has been here:My good Lord’s been here,And blessed my soul, and gone.Seeker, where were youWhen my good Lord was here?”
“My good Lord’s been here,
Has been here, has been here:
My good Lord’s been here,
And blessed my soul, and gone.
Seeker, where were you
When my good Lord was here?”
“My good Lord’s been here,” said Tom softly to himself, and then he kneeled down and thanked God humbly and gratefully both for the opportunity he had given him, and also for this night’s victory. No pride of the task assigned him entered his mind; and when, after curiousquestioning in Aunt Margaret’s cabin as to the result of his visit to the mansion, he told them that Mr. Sutherland wanted some writing done by him, he had no pride in the announcement; and when he saw, as he could not help seeing, how he rose immediately in the estimation of his questioners, he was very glad, only because it might help in his work for Jesus.
It was Tom’s plan to start a little Sunday-school after a while. He felt very timid about it, and although he had taken no decided step in the matter, he had gradually won his way to the hearts of the people on the place, and by frequent acts of kindness was becoming rather popular among them. As I said before, this was very dangerous. He might forget forwhom he was working, and learn to think only of himself. This could not be yet, however, for he still looked to Jesus for help and strength, and while he did so he was secure.
As soon as it was noised abroad that the master needed Tom’s services to write for him every night, the respect for Tom increased, and put him in the way of more work. The people who, like Tom, had come to the plantation for the summer, came to him to have letters written and messages sent to their absent friends, so Tom’s hands began to be quite full; and always intent as he was upon his work for Jesus, he would send a message or a bit of advice or counsel to the friends of those for whom he wrote, and so his influence became widespread. How much pleasure he took in answeringthe two letters which had brought him so much comfort was best known to himself, but his face was brighter and his step lighter for days afterward.
There was one face, however, which was steadily set against his growing popularity from the first. This was Jimmy, his school-mate in Huntsville and his room-mate here. After a few evenings, he gave up study and withdrew himself from his friend more and more. He knew almost as much as Tom, but he cared nothing at all about it, except to be envious of his friend’s position. “I can write as well as he,” he would often say, but when asked to send a letter, he would always refuse. So he continually boasted of the amount he knew, but would never show his knowledge. Their roomingtogether had been pleasant at first, but of late there had been scarcely a word between them. Jimmy shunned him on every occasion, and when forced into his company would say sneering things with regard to Tom’s “great learning,” as he called it. Yet still Tom was uniformly kind and polite, and when those around would silence Jimmy in some one of his insolent speeches, his replies came always mild and gentle. This conduct gained for him more friends and more kindly attention to the words he spoke for Jesus than anything else could have done. It does not take learned minds to know when those around them live according to their profession.
Not a word of all this reached Martha; and when, months after, he told her of the struggle of these days,she knew that only the strength given him from above had enabled him to bear it. No, the letters that came as a piece of freshness and unbounded pleasure to Martha were full of whatever Tom could find of love and cheer to put in them. Of his efforts in the work for Jesus he told her, with a longing to do more, but there was no mention of trials or difficulties, and the letters were read and put carefully away with just the feeling of joy and thankfulness which Tom had striven for when he wrote them.