VIII
The next week passed more swiftly than any of its predecessors had donesince I came to this idyllic spot. House-cleaning began on Monday, andunder Mrs. Grundy's experienced eye the half-dozen negresses employed inthe work moved with alacrity and precision. But what with beatingcarpets, scrubbing floors, and turning things topsy-turvy in general,the task was not accomplished with any considerable despatch. A man is acumbrous article at house-cleaning time, as any housewife will aver, andMr. Grundy, recognizing this fact, betook himself to the neighboringLittle Beach River to fish, and let "the boss" tear up things to herheart's content. His request that I should accompany him was almost awarning, so I assented, for my room was not to be spared in the generaloverhauling. Inky and Jim--Mr. Grundy's factotum--went along to pitchour tent and attend to the cooking.
I was not a disciple of Walton, and as a consequence my success wasanything but extraordinary; still I derived a hearty enjoyment from theouting.
Did you ever lazy along a river-bank in May, and just live, and fish,and smoke, and do nothing else? If you have not, you have missed a verygreat pleasure. If you fail to catch many fish, it doesn't matter much.There is a certain spell in the air which defies _ennui_, and a kind oftonic steals into your blood which makes it tingle through your veins,much as the rising sap in the young trees, I imagine. You rise in themorning and bathe your eyes open in a near-by spring, whose crystal coolwater is like the touch of a healing hand. Then comes breakfast ofbacon, coffee, and good, light bread. Then your pipe comes as naturallyas a deep breath of the forest-scented air, and you take your rod andminnows and wander up the bank through the weeds and the dewy grass.Under the shadow of that old, half-sunken log is where the bass stay.The water is deep and clear, and your hook sinks with a low gurgle, likean infant's laughter. What matters it whether a bite comes at once, ornot? You sit in a hollow formed by a curving tree-root, rest your backagainst the tree-trunk, and are very contented. The other side of thestream is lined with endless stretches of trees,--sycamore, elm, dogwoodwith their starry eyes peering in innate vanity over the bank into themirror beneath them, and underbrush of all descriptions. Where the tidehas once been, and receded, is a stretch of yellow clay, now glisteningfrom the dews of night. After a while the sun strikes this, and the wetsurface glows like gold. Then your wandering eye--for you have forgottenyour cork--observes a bubble as it rises and bursts midway across thestream, and you idly watch the widening circle which radiates from it.Then in the centre of the circle the tiniest dark spot appears, whichgradually assumes the shape of a black, shining head. It remainsstationary for a while, then slowly moves to the opposite bank. Adisc-like shell is lifted, two broad feet dig their claws into the mud,and Mr. Turtle drags himself up high and dry for a sunning.
The delightful silence is suddenly broken by the harshest ofchattering, and a crested kingfisher descends like a shot from somedead limb high up in the very tree under which you are sitting, and,skimming low over the surface of the water, finally disappears withouthis prey. Then the pole is almost jerked from your careless hands, and,if you have luck, a fine bass is floundering at your feet in a fewmoments. Then another spell of sitting and dreaming, while you lay yourpipe aside for a while, and look up to where a squadron of fleecyargosies are drifting calmly along to some unknown bourn, bearing,mayhap, behind their filmy bulwarks the simple prayers of trustingchildren.
Dinner-time comes too quickly, but it is over soon, and you seek a newhaunt, and stretch your legs out, and thank the Lord that you are alive.Above you and around you is the fragrant new life of blooming things,and the odor of the woods is as rare and sweet as some strange perfume.As the sun goes down slowly, the shadows lengthen across the river. Thelittle wood violets nod on their slender stems by your side, and duskcreeps upon you like a caress. The bird notes grow still, and a gentlerustling comes from the leaves, and falls upon you like a benedictionfrom Nature. After supper you lie upon your bunk in the tent, anddrowsily watch the stars wink at you through the open door. Then thebull-frogs' lullaby begins, and you drift into dreamland listening tothat deep chorus from the river banks.
I passed four days like this,--elysian days to me. Friday we went backhome, and the next day she came.
The household was astir very early that morning, as was natural andproper that it should be, considering the event which was to happen.Contrary to my custom, I was up before the sun, and I smiled, in anamused way, at the extra touches which I almost unconsciously put to mydress. I actually halted over my necktie, but decided at last upon ablack string, as most becoming to my age and quiet habits. The graystreaks about my temples seemed to show more plainly than usual, as Icarefully brushed my hair. I put on some clean cuffs, too, though theones I had been wearing were not soiled.
At breakfast everybody was happy. Mrs. Grundy beamed from behind thetea-urn, and put three spoonfuls of sugar into my tea instead of two.Mr. Grundy succeeded in upsetting his cup of black coffee, and laughedat it as though it were a joke, and even the mulatto maid who moveddeftly about the table wore a broad grin. One thing was on the mind ofeach: Salome was coming home.
The carriage was waiting at the front door when breakfast was over. Twodarkies had been rubbing on it for an hour, and not a speck could beseen anywhere. There were two horses hitched to it this time, as fittedthe occasion. A span of high-strung blacks, with white feet, and theygave the negro at their heads all he could do to keep them from going.They chafed their bits, and stamped, and fretted at the delay, theirtiny feet eager to be speeding away. The master was going alone to meethis darling. Springfield had no railway, and Salome was to arrive atLebanon, eighteen miles distant, by noon. Mr. Grundy came out arrayed inhis best, as though he was going to meet the Queen of England. Hisstrong old face was alight with a great happiness, as he bent and kissedhis wife, then leaped down the steps like a school-boy. He shouted backhis adieus to each of us; the negro on the front seat gathered up hislines, and braced his feet; the negro standing at the head of the teamloosened his hold, and stepped swiftly to one side. There was a prancingof slender limbs, a tossing of two black heads, and they were gone.There were tears of joy in the eyes of the good woman at my side when Ilooked at her.
"She's coming, Mr. Stone, and we're all so happy!"
That was all she could say. Her voice broke, and with a smile on hersweet old face she turned away into the house to hide her emotion.
The day was a restless one for me. I took a book, and went down to arustic seat under an elm tree. But the book lay open on my crossed kneeswithout my eyes ever seeking its pages. I was thinking of Salome--of thewonderful charm which made every one love her. Elderly women, marriedwomen, I had known and liked, but school-girls were my especialabomination. Truth to tell, I had never known any, and I did not want toknow any. Even this paragon I would have gladly escaped had there been away. But flight was impossible, and since I must meet her, it was quitenatural to wonder what she was like, and to brood upon the mystery ofher ensnaring all about her. I was ashamed of my restlessness. Therustic chair grew uncomfortable, and I paced up and down. The damp grassdeadened the shine of my boots, and I walked back to the house andsummoned Inky to put them in shape again. Even this African's face wasbeaming like a freshly polished stove, and I became almost irritated.
"What are you grinning about?" I demanded, as he bent to his work withblacking and brush.
"Miss S'lome's comin' home, Marse," he panted, rolling his white eyes atme in ecstasy.
"Are you very glad?" I continued.
"Yas,'r, I is. Miss Salome's jes' so sweet that honey can't tech 'er.She picked a br'ar out 'n my foot once, Marse; out 'n my ugly, blackfoot. An' she hel' it in her lap, too, an' it nuvver hurt a speck."
I did not say anything more. I knew now why the birds were singing sosweetly that morning, and why the squirrels in the yard were frisking sogayly. Everything was glad because she was coming home.
The big bell on the tall pole behind the house rang at eleven that dayinstead of half
past. And away out in the fields hearts were quickenedin black bosoms. The slaves left the plough in the furrow, and the cornundropped, and hurried home. The summons at this unusual hour meantthat something out of the ordinary had happened. It was the master'sorder, and as they all came trooping in with inquiring faces, and stoodgrouped near the back porch, Mrs. Grundy appeared, and told them brieflythat their young mistress was coming that afternoon, and that therewould be no more work that day. They cheered the news with many a lustyshout, and the pickaninnies rolled over each other, and the youthsturned handsprings, while upon each face was a look of high good humor.
About four o'clock Mrs. Grundy and I repaired to the settee to watch theroad, which could be seen for perhaps a mile, winding through thevalley. Then around the corner of the house began to appear the vassalsof this Kentucky lord. The stain of the soil had been washed from theirhands and faces, and their cotton shirts were clean, though patched andworn. The negresses, also, appeared, with their kinky hair done upin multitudes of "horns," and tied with bits of the mostextravagant-colored ribbon that their wearers possessed. Every one wasattired in his best, as though on a holiday occasion, which, in truth,this was.
"Dar dey come!"
A six-year-old piece of midnight suddenly made this announcement in ashrill treble key, and all eyes were turned at once towards the highway.A carriage and a span of blacks were sweeping up the road. Mrs. Grundygave some orders in a low, yet positive tone, and in a trice two rows ofslaves were standing along each side of the avenue. They were going togive her a royal welcome. Mrs. Grundy stood upon the lowest step, and Imodestly remained upon the porch, leaning against one of the massivepillars. I can scarcely describe my feelings at that time now, but Ithink my nerves were in a condition similar to that of the small boywhen he makes his first speech at school. They had reached the meadow,and were coming up the slow incline. I could see nothing as yet but astraw hat, a white blur beneath it, and a brown travelling suit. Throughthe wide-open yard gate they rolled. Then those who had been calledtogether to welcome her gave cheer after cheer, and waved their handsand hats above their heads.
"Hi, Miss S'lome!" from a sturdy field hand.
"Hi, baby!" from an old mammy.
"Howdy, Missus!" from a housemaid.
"Hi, Mi' 'Ome!" from a pickaninny in arms.
And so the welcome greetings fell upon her. And from out thepandemonium a high, sweet voice thrilled into my ears.
"Hello, Sambo! Here's Aunt Cynthy! Look how 'Lindy has grown!"
It was almost like the confused panorama of a dream. The horses stopped;a lithe figure leaped, unaided, to the ground; I heard that dear word"mother,"--and Salome was home.
The Love Story of Abner Stone Page 8
