LITTLE Snow wuz always askin’ about the little girl who wuz a lyin’ under the white cross and the rose-trees down in the corner of the garden at Belle Fanchon.
And she would ask me sights of questions about her. She would ask “if Belle Fanchon used to walk about and run as she did through the paths of the old garden, and pick the roses, and stand under the orange-trees, and hear the birds sing, and the laugh of the brook as it wound along amongst the flowers?”
And I would say, “Yes, I spoze so.”
And then she would say, “What made her leave it all and go and lie down there under the grass?”
And I would say, “The Lord wanted her.”
And she would say, “Will He want me?”
And I would hold her clost to my heart, and say, “Oh, no, darlin’, Grandma hopes not, not for a long, long time, not till these old eyes are closed many and many a year,” I would say.
“But if He should want me,” she would go on to say earnestly, “I want to lie down by the little girl in the garden. She wouldn’t be so lonesome then in dark nights, would she, if she had another little girl close by her?”
And then she would go on and describe it to me in her own pretty language: How when the moon shone silver bright and the shadows lay long and white over the little girl’s grave like a big, lovin’ hand, it would cover ’em both, and how on warm, sunshiny mornin’s the birds would sing to both of ’em, and the roses and tall lilies bend down over both, and the rivulet would talk to ’em as it went dancin’ by, and—
“Don’t talk so, darlin’,” I would say, “Grandma don’t love to hear you.”
And then mebby she would see the shadow on my face, and she would put up her little hand in that tender caress that wuz better than kisses, lay it on my cheek, and brush my hair back, and then touch my cheek agin.
And mebby the very next minute she would be a askin’ me some deep question about Jack the Giant Killer or the Sleepin’ Beauty.
She had a very active mind, very.
And she wuz a beautiful child. Josiah said, and said well, that she went fur beyend anything on the globe for beauty, and smartness, and goodness. And Josiah Allen is a excellent judge of children, excellent.
But, as I wuz a sayin’, Snow loved to talk about the little girl who had been mistress of this pretty place so long ago. She talked about her a sight. And if she had her way she would always go there to play, by the little grave—carry her dollies down there—Samantha Maggie Tirzah Ann, and the hull caboodle of ’em—she had as many as fourteen of ’em, anyway—and her dolls’ cradles, and wagons, and everything. And she wuz never so happy as when she wuz settled down there in that corner.
Wall, it wuz pleasant as it could be. How clost the little rivulet did seem to hold the child’s grave in its dimpled arm, and its song never said to me:
“My arm is warm and faithful, and is reaching out and reaching out to fold it round another of the nearest ones and dearest, and guard it, hold it safely from danger and from trouble.”
No, I never heard this in its song, and I never heard any undertone of pity for hearts that would break with a new grief.
No, I only heard low murmurs of compassion in its liquid tones for the achin’ hearts that had bent over this one little grave long ago.
But the trees always did seem to cast greener, softer shadows here, and the sunshine and moonlight to rest more lovingly on it than on any other spot in the hull grounds. And I didn’t wonder at all at little Snow’s fancy for it.
Oh, what a judgment that child showed in everything—it was a sight!
One mornin’ I wuz a settin’ out on the veranda, and I see her as usual a settin’ out for that corner, Snow with her arms full of toys, and Genieve wheelin’ Boy in his cart, and the front of that full of Snow’s babies settin’ up stiff and straight, a starin’ back with their round, blank eyes at Boy’s pretty, laughin’ face.
It wuz a lovely mornin’.
The dew sparkled on the grass, and the walks of white shinin’ shells which had been washed clean by a brisk, short rain the night before, shone white and silvery through the fresh, green grass borderin’ ’em on each side.
And the trees tosted out their shinin’ green branches, and the glossy-leaved shrubs shook out their sweet-scented flowers on the balmy air.
The climbin’ roses bloomed out sweet and pink, the orange-trees gleamed with the round globes of gold, and anon clusters of posys amongst the shinin’ green leaves.
It wuz a fair seen, a fair seen.
And I sot enjoyin’ it to the full, and as is the depraved and curius nater of men and wimmen, a enjoyin’ it still more as I turned to it from the pages of a voluminous letter I had jest got and received from Philury.
Yes, as I read of the snow piles, and the dirty slosh of snow and mud that the Jonesvillians had to wade through under gray skies and cotton umberells, I sot with a deeper gratitude and a happier frame to my mind under the clear blue skies of the balmy South land, amongst the beauties and summer fragrance of Belle Fanchon.
There wuz another letter I hadn’t read yet a layin’ in my lap, and my joyful meditation and my comparisons that I had drawed, and drawed so fur, had took my mind from it.
But anon, as I turned back from the sight of Maggie and Thomas Jefferson a ridin’ off through the sunshine towards the depot, I took up the other letter, and as I opened it I involuntarily uttered them words which have sounded out from my lips in so many crysisses of joy or pain. I sez:
The letter wuz from John Richard Allen, writ for him by a friend. It seems that he had seen in the village paper that we wuz in the South and where we wuz; and he lay sick and a dyin’, as they said, in a little hamlet not a dozen miles away.
I read the letter, and then went imegiatly—for to think and to act is but a second or third nater to me—and waked up my pardner, who was stretched out on a bamboo couch on the other end of the piazza fast asleep, with the World a layin’ outstretched and abject at his feet. And I then told him the startlin’ truth that his own relation on his own side lay sick unto death less than a dozen miles from us.
Wall, that noble man riz right up as I would have had him rozen to meet the exigencies of the occasion.
He sez, “The minute our children get back we will take the pony and drive over and see him.”
As I said, they had gone to the depot to meet visitors from Delaware—a very distinguished cousin of Maggie’s on her own side, who had writ that he wuz a goin’ to pass through here on his way further South, and he would stop off a day or two with ’em—he and his little boy, if it wuz agreeable to them.
I had hearn a sight about this rich Senator Coleman—Maggie’s father, old Squire Snow, wuz dretful proud of him.
He had made himself mostly—or, that is, had finished himself off.
He went to Delaware as a teacher, and married a Miss Fairfax, a very rich young woman down there, settled down in her home, went into business, got independent rich, wuz sent to Congress and Senate, and had a hand in makin’ all the laws of his State, so I hearn.
He wuz now takin’ a tower through the Southern States with his motherless boy, little Raymond Fairfax Coleman, so he writ (he thought his eyes on him, and jest worshipped the memory of his wife).
Maggie and Thomas J. had met him in Washington the winter before, and they sort o’ took to each other. And so he wuz a goin’ to stop off a few days with ’em.
Wall, that program of Josiah Allen’s wuz carried out to the very letter. When Thomas J. and Maggie come back (the Senator didn’t come, he wuz delayed, and sent a telegram he should be there in a week or two), we sot off, a preparin’ to come back the next day if John Richard wuz better, but a layin’ out to stay several days if necessary.
We took clothes and things, and I a not forgettin’, you may be sure, a bottle full of my far-famed spignut syrup.
Maggie see that we had a early dinner but a good one, and we sot sail about one o’clock—Snow a ridin’ with us as fur as we dasted to take her, and a walkin’ back agin, watched by her Ma from the gate.
Thomas J. and Maggie told us to bring John Richard right back with us if he wuz well enough to come, and they would help take care of him.
Wall, we got to the picturesque little place called Howletts Bridge about four o’clock, and imegiatly made inquiries for the relation on his side, and found out where he wuz stayin’.
He wuz boardin’ with a likely Methodist Episcopal couple, elderly, and poor but well-principled.
And indeed we found him sick enough.
Miss Elderkin—that wuz the folkses name he wuz a boardin’ with, good creeters as I ever see, if they wuz Southerners, and aristocratic too, brung down by loss of property and etc.—she told me that Cousin John Richard had been comin’ down with this lung difficulty for years—overwork, and hard fare, and neglect of his own comfort makin’ his sickness harder and more difficult to manage.
Sez she, “He is one of the saints on earth, if there ever was one.”
And her husband said the same thing, which I felt that I could indeed depend upon, for as a general thing men don’t get so diffuse a praisin’ up each other, and callin’ each other angels and saints, etc., and men hain’t drawed away by their pities and their sympathies so easy as wimmen be, nor drawed so fur.
Wall, Mr. Elderkin put our pony in the barn, and she made us comfortable with a cup of tea and some toast with a poached egg on top of it. And then we went in to see the patient.
He wuz layin’ in a front room, ruther bare-lookin’, for the Elderkins wuz poor enough so fur as this world’s goods go, but rich in the spirit.
And the bare floor, and whitewashed walls, and green paper curtains looked anything but luxurious, but everything wuz clean.
And on a clean, poor bed lay the relation on his side.
He looked wan—wanner fur than I expected to see him look, though I wuz prepared for wanness. His cheeks wuz fell in, and his eyes wuz holler, but bright still with that glowin’ fire that always seemed to be built up in ’em. But the light of that fire seemed to be a burnin’ down pretty low now. And he looked up and see us and smiled.
It wuz the smile of a homesick child fur away to school, when he sees his own folks a comin’ towards him in the school-room.
Poor John Richard! His school wuz hard, his lessons had been severe, but he had tried to learn ’em all jest as perfect as he could, and the Master wuz pleased with his work.
But now he wuz sick. He wuz a sick man.
As I said, he smiled as he see Josiah and me advancin’ onto him, and he held out his weak hands, and took holt of ourn, and kep’ ’em in hisen for some time, and sez he:
“I am glad—glad to see you.”
He wuz interrupted anon, and even oftener, by his awful cough and short, painful breathin’. But he gin us to understand that he wuz dretful glad to see us once more before he passed away.
He wuzn’t afraid to die—no, indeed! There wuz a deep, sweet smile in his eyes, and his lips seemed to hold some happy and divine secret as he sez:
“I am glad to go home; I am glad to rest.”
But I sez in a cheerful axent, “Cousin John Richard, you hain’t a goin’ to die;” sez I, “By the help of God and my good spignut syrup I believe you will be brung up agin.”
But he shet up his eyes. And I see plain, by the look of his face, that though he wuz willin’ to live and work if it wuz God’s will, he wuz still more ready to depart and be with Christ, which he felt would be fur better.
But it wuzn’t my way to stand and argue with a sick man back and forth as to whether he wuz a goin’ to die or not.
“BOY LAUGHED.”
No, I laid to, helped by my trusty Josiah. And in an hour’s time we see a difference in his breathin’, and anon he fell into a sweet sleep.
And when he waked up that man looked and acted better. And three days and nights did we stay by him, a doctorin’ him up and a gettin’ him nourishin’ things to eat, and a talkin’ encouragin’ and pleasant things to him (good land! the soul and mind has got to be fed as well as the body if you don’t want to starve to death inwardly). And lo and behold! when we left Howletts Bridge and returned to Belle Fanchon, who should accompany us thither but Cousin John Richard Allen!
He had consented, after a deep parley, to go there and rest off for a few weeks.
Maggie and Thomas J. took to him from the very first, and give him a hearty welcome and the best bedroom. They appreciated the noble, martyrous life he had led, and honored him for it.
And the children acted dretful tickled to see him. You needn’t tell me but what Boy knew all about it when I introduced Cousin John Richard to him. To be sure, he wuzn’t only six months old.
But if he didn’t know him, and if he wuzn’t glad to see the relation on his grandmother’s side, what made him laugh all over his face, eyes and all?
I presume the Doctor would have called it “wind.” But I called it perfect courtesy and good manners towards a honored and onexpected guest. That is what I called it. He acted like a perfect little gentleman, and I wuz proud of him.
Snow, the sweet darlin’, went right up to him, with her little snowflake of a hand held out in a warm welcome, and kissed him jest as she did her Grandpa. Oh, what a child—what a child for behavior! I never see her equal, and don’t expect to—nor Josiah don’t either.
Wall, Cousin John Richard jest settled down in that sweet, lovin’ home into a perfect, happy rest—to all appearances—and gained every day.
Victor and Genieve thought everything of him from the first time they laid eyes on him. And they couldn’t do enough for him seemingly. They had heard about his life and labor amongst their own people, and they tried in every way to show their gratitude and affection.
Victor and he talked together for hours, and so did he and Genieve about the plans for the colony. And first I knew, Cousin John Richard told Josiah and me that he had made up his mind to go with them to Africa.
The Doctor had told him that a long sea voyage would be the best of anything for his lungs. And so, as he wuz bound to spend his life for this people, I couldn’t see, and Josiah couldn’t, why it shouldn’t be in Africa as well as America, specially as he had a better chance to live by goin’ there.
And so we gin our consents in our own minds, and showed our two willingnesses to him, and the matter wuz settled.
He had only two children left now, and they wuz married and settled down in homes of their own, and in a good business. So he had no hamperin’ ties to bind him to this land. And he felt that the Lord wuz a pintin’ out to him the path of Duty over the sea.
And I wuzn’t the one to dispute him—no, indeed! And I felt that his calm good sense and undaunted Christian spirit and Gospel teachings would be a perfect boon to the colony.
So it wuz settled. And I imegiatly went to work, Maggie and I, to make him a full dozen of shirts, twelve day ones and six nights.
And we prepared him a better assortment of socks and handkerchiefs, and collars, and cuffs, and such than he had ever dremp of, I’ll venture to say, sence he lost his companion, anyway.
Wall, it wuzn’t more’n several days after this that the relation of Maggie’s—Senator Coleman—bein’ sot free from hampers, writ agin, and also telegrafted, that he would be at the station that day at five o’clock.
RAYMOND FAIRFAX COLEMAN.
So, Maggie and Thomas J. rid over agin, and bein’ luckier this time, they come a ridin’ back in due time with her relation a settin’ up by her side, big as life, and the boy, Raymond Fairfax Coleman, a settin’ on the front seat by Thomas Jefferson.
The boy’s name seemed bigger than he wuz, bein’ a little, pale runt of a child with long, silky hair and a black velvet suit—dretful small for his age, about seven years old. But I spoze his long curls of light hair and his lace collar made him seem younger, and his childish way of talkin’—he had been babied a good deal I could see. And when he would fix his big blue eyes on you with that sort of a confidin’, perplexed, childish look in ’em, I declare for’t he didn’t look so old as Boy.
But he wuz seven years old, so his Pa told me.
His Pa wuz as big and important-lookin’ as Raymond wuz insignificant. And I sez to Josiah the first chance I got, out to one side, sez I:
“I’ve hearn a sight from old Judge Snow about this relation of hisen bein’ a self-made man;” and sez I, “If he did make himself, he did up the job in quite a good shape, didn’t he?”
Josiah can’t bear to have me praise up any man, married or single, bond or free, only jest himself, and he sez:
“If I had made him I would have put in some improvements on him. I wouldn’t have had him so cussed big feelin’ for one thing.”
I wuz deeply mortified to hear him use that wicked word, and told him so.
But I couldn’t help seein’ that Josiah wuz right in thinkin’ Senator Coleman wuz proud and high-headed, for truly he wuz. His head wuz right up in the air, and he sort o’ leaned back when he walked, and over his portly stomach hung a glitterin’ watch-chain that he sort o’ fingered and played with as he walked about, and he had some diamonds a flashin’ on his little finger, and his shirt-front, and cuffs.
His eyes wuz a bright blue and as bold and piercin’ looking as Raymond’s wuz gentle and helpless, and his mustache and short hair wuz a sort of a iron gray; and his face bein’ florid and his features good, he made a handsome appearance; and Maggie, I could see, wuz quite proud of the relation on her side.
“WITH A JUMPIN’ TOOTHACHE.”
Wall, we had a good warm supper all ready for ’em, Maggie’s cook bein’ sort o’ helpless that day with a jumpin’ toothache (it jumped worse after Maggie went away and she see in me a willingness to help her get supper).
I laid holt and got the most of the supper myself, and it wuz a good one, if I hadn’t ort to say it.
Two plump spring fowls roasted to a delicate brown, some sliced potatoes warmed up in cream, some hot cream biscuit; and I had splendid luck with ’em—they wuz jest as light and flaky and tender as they could be. And some perfectly delicious coffee. I thought the fragrance of that coffee would steam up invitingly into Senator Coleman’s nostrils, after a hard day’s journey.
And if the relation had been on Thomas Jefferson’s side I couldn’t have set out to do better by him; I am good to my daughter-in-law—anybody will tell you so that has seen me behave to her.
Aunt Mela, the cook, by bendin’ all her energies onto ’em, had made a tomato salad and some veal croquettes. I hain’t partial to ’em, but want everybody to be suited in the line of vittles, and Maggie loves ’em.
And then on the sideboard wuz cake, and jellies, and fresh berries heaped up in crimson beauty on some china plates, and the table had posys on it and looked well.
The cook’s teeth stopped achin’ about the time the supper wuz all ready—it seemed to give its last hard jump about the time I made the biscuit. I had proposed to have her make ’em, but I see it wouldn’t do.
Wall, Maggie wuz delighted with the supper, and her relation eat more than wuz good for him, I wuz afraid—five wuz the number of the biscuit he consumed (they wuzn’t so very large), and three cups of coffee kep’ ’em company.
Maggie told him who made ’em, and he complimented me so warmly (though still high-headed) that Josiah looked cross as a bear.
Wall, the Senator seemed to like it at Belle Fanchon first rate; and as for Raymond Fairfax Coleman, he jest revelled in the warm home atmosphere and the lovin’ attentions that wuz showered down onto him.
Poor little motherless creeter! He played with Snow, lugged her dolls round for her, and dragged Boy in his little covered carriage, and seemed to be jest about as much of a baby as our Boy.
If you think our boy didn’t have any other name than Boy, there is where you are mistaken. His name wuz Robert Josiah from his birth—after his two grandpas; but Thomas Jefferson wuz so pleased to think he wuz a boy that he got in the habit of callin’ him Boy, and we all joined in and followed on after him, as is the habit of human bein’s or sheep. You know how the him reads:
“First a daughter and then a son,
Then the world is well begun.”
I spoze Thomas J. had this in mind when he wuz so tickled at the birth of Boy.
But howsomever and tenny rate, we all called him Boy. And he knew the name, and would laugh and dimple all over in his pretty glee when we would call him.
Wall, I would take little Raymond up on my lap, and tell him stories, and pet him, and Maggie would mother him jest as she would Snow, and we wuz both on us sorry for him as sorry could be to think of his forlorn little state.
Riches, and fame, and even his big name couldn’t make up for the loss of the tender counsels and broodin’ love of a mother.
His father jest thought his eyes on him. But he couldn’t seem to stop fumblin’ that watch-chain of hisen, and stop a talkin’ them big words, and descend from his ambitious plans of self-advancement to come down to his little boy’s level and talk to him in a lovin’ way.
Little Raymond looked up to his Pa with a sort of a admirin’ awe, jest about as the Jonesville children would to the President.
I believe Senator Coleman had ambitions to be one. I believe my soul he did. Anyway, his ambitions wuz all personal. Havin’ made himself so fur, he wuz bound to put all the adornin’s and embellishin’s onto his work that he could.
I see that he wanted to be made President to once, and the thought that the nation wouldn’t do it rankled in him.
And the fear that somebody else wuz a goin’ to get higher than he wuz in political life wore on him.
His sharp, piercin’ eyes wuz a watchin’ the ever-shiftin’ horizon of our national affairs, the ever-changin’ winds of public favor, hopin’ they would blow him up into greater prominence, fearin’ they would dash him down into a lower place.
The feverishness of perpetual onrest seemed to be a burnin’ him all the time, and the fear that he should do or say sunthin’ to incur the displeasure of the multitude.
What a time, what a time he wuz a havin’!
You could see it all in his linement; yes, ambition and selfishness had ploughed lots of lines in his handsome face, and ploughed ’em deep.
I used to look at him and then at Cousin John Richard Allen, and contrast the two men in my own mind, and the contrast wuz a big and hefty one.
Now, Cousin John Richard’s face wuz peaceful and serene, though considerable worn-lookin’. He had gin his hull life for the True and Right, had gone right on, no matter how much he wuz misunderstood and despised of men, and labored in season and out of season for the poor and down-trodden of earth, without any hope of earthly reward—nay, with the certainty of the world’s contempt and criticism.
But the blame or praise of the multitude seemed so fur off to him that he could scarcely hear it; the confusin’ babble seemed to him only like a distant murmurous background for the close voice of the Master, who walked with him, and told him what to do from day to day and from hour to hour.
“Blessed are ye if ye hear my voice.”
“Ye that are strong, bear the burdens of the weak.”
“If ye love me feed my lambs.”
“And lo, I am with you to the end of the world.”
These wuz some of the words Cousin John Richard heard, and his face shone as he listened to ’em.
“THE RELATION ON MAGGIE’S SIDE.”
He had not sent out his ships on earthly waters; and so, let the winds blow high or the winds blow low, he did not fear any tempestuous waves and storms reachin’ their sails.
No, he had sent his ships into a safer harbor; they wuz anchored in that divine sea where no storms can ever come.
And his face wuz calm with the heavenly calmness and peace of that sure harbor, that waveless sea.
Wall, the relation on Maggie’s side seemed to take a good deal of comfort a walkin’ round with his head up and his hand a playin’ with that heavy gold chain.
Good land! I should have thought he would have wore it out—he would if it hadn’t been made of good stuff.
And he would converse with Thomas Jefferson about political matters, and talk some with my Josiah and Cousin John—not much with the latter, because they wuzn’t congenial, as I have hinted at; and Cousin John Richard seemed to take as much agin comfort a bein’ off with the children, or a layin’ in the green grass a watchin’ the butterflies, or a talkin’ with Genieve and Victor.
And the Senator would compliment Maggie up to the skies. He wuz more’n polite to females, as is the way with such men; and he would write letters by the bushel, and get as many of ’em or more, and telegrams, and such. And little Raymond, poor little creeter, I believe took more comfort than he had before for some time.
He wuzn’t very deep, as I could see, he didn’t act over and above smart; but then, I sez to myself real ironikle, mebby this dulness is caused by lookin’ at the sun so much (his Pa used as a metafor).
And then what could you expect of a child of seven? he wuzn’t much more’n a baby. Good land! I used to hold Thomas Jefferson in my lap and baby him till he wuz nine or ten years old, and his legs dragged on the floor, he wuz so tall.
I thought like as not Raymond Fairfax Coleman would take a turn after a while and live up to the privileges of his name and be quite smart.
He took a great fancy to Rosy’s baby, and it was as cunnin’ a little black image as I ever see, jest a beginnin’ to be playful and full of laugh.
Raymond would carry it down candy and oranges, and give him nickels and little silver pieces to put into his savings-bank.
I gin that bank myself to little Thomas Jefferson Washington, for that wuz the name his Pa and Ma had gin him—we called him Tommy. They gin him the name of Thomas Jefferson, I spoze, to honor the name of my son, and then put on the Washington to kinder prop up the memory of the Father of our Country, or so I spoze.
I gin him that bank to try to give his Pa and Ma some idee of savin’ for a rainy day, and days when it didn’t rain.
It wuz very nice, in the form of a meetin’ house—you put the money down through the steeple.
I thought mebby, bein’ it wuz in this shape, it would sort o’ turn their minds onto meetin’ houses and such moral idees.
Well, finally, one mornin’ early we heard, clear up in our room, Senator Coleman makin’ a great hue and cry.
We hearn his voice lifted up high in agitation and exhortation, and I sez to my pardner:
“What under the sun is the matter with the relation on Maggie’s side?”
And Josiah said, and it pains me to record it:
“He didn’t know, and he didn’t care a dumb.”
He never liked Senator Coleman for a minute.
But as we descended down to breakfast we soon found out and discovered what wuz the matter. Little Raymond (poor little babyish creeter!), a not mistrustin’ its real value, had took a valuable diamond locket and gin it to little Tommy.
It wuz a very valuable locket, with seven great diamonds in it. It wuz one that the Senator’s dead wife had gin him when they wuz first married, and had their two names writ on it, and inside a lock of their two hairs.
It wuz one of the most precious things in the Senator’s hull possessions; and thinkin’ so much of it, he couldn’t make up his mind to leave it to his banker’s with the rest of his jewelry and plate, but he kept it with him, with a little ivory miniature of sweet Kate Fairfax when she first become his girlish bride.
The relation on Maggie’s side did have one or two soft spots in his nater, and one of ’em wuz his adoration of his dead wife, and his clingin’ love for anything that had belonged to her, and the other wuz his love for his child—more because it wuz her child, I do believe, than because it wuz his own.
Them two soft places wuz oasis’es, as you may say, in his nater. All the desert round ’em wuz full of the rocky, sandy soil of ambition, feverish expectations, and aims and plans for political advancement.
Wall, Raymond had took this locket and gin it to Rosy’s baby. His Pa had told him it would be hisen some time, and he thought it wuz hisen now.
Poor little creeter! he didn’t have no more idee of the value on’t than a Hottentot has of snow ploughs, or th
