CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH.
"The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational; But he whose soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from." --BAILLIE.
The Travillas returned home to Ion in November and took up with new zestthe old and loved routine of study, work and play.
Elsie was no longer a schoolgirl, but still devoted some hours of each dayto the cultivation of her mind and the keeping up of her accomplishments;also pursued her art studies with renewed ardor under the tuition ofLester Leland, who, his health requiring during the winter, a warmerclimate than that of his northern home, had come at the urgent request ofhis relatives, to spend the season at Fairview.
Elsie had a number of gentlemen friends, some of whom she highly esteemed,but Lester's society was preferred to that of any other.
Malcom Lilburn had grown very jealous of Lester, and found it difficultindeed to refrain from telling his love, but had gone away withoutbreathing a word of it to any one.
Not to Scotland, however; he and his father were traveling through theWest, visiting the principal points of interest, and had partly promisedto take Ion in their way as they returned; which would probably not bebefore spring.
Mr. and Mrs. Travilla were not exempt from the cares and trials incidentto our fallen state, but no happier parents could be found; they werealready reaping as they had sowed; indeed it seemed to them that they hadbeen reaping all the way along, so sweet was the return of affection fromthe little clinging, helpless ones, the care of whom had been no less apleasure than a sacred, God-given duty; but with each passing year theharvest grew richer and more abundant; the eldest three had become verycompanionable and the intercourse between the two Elsies was more likethat of sisters, than of mother and daughter; the young girl loved hermother's society above that of any other of her sex, and "mamma" wasstill, as she had ever been, her most intimate friend and confidante.
And was it not wise? who so tender, faithful and prudent a guide andcounsellor as the mother to whom she was dearer than life.
It was the same with the others also--both sons and daughters; and theywere scarcely less open with their wisely indulgent father.
Life was not at all sunshine; the children had their faults which wouldoccasionally show themselves; but the parents, conscious of their ownimperfections, were patient and forbearing. They were sometimes triedwith sickness too, but it was borne with cheerful resignation; and no onecould say what the future held in store for any of them; but God reigned,the God whom they had chosen as their portion, and their inheritanceforever, and they left all with him, striving to obey the command to bewithout carefulness.
The winter passed quietly, almost without incident save one.
Eddie had been spending the afternoon with his cousins at Pinegrove (someof them were lads near his own age, and fine, intelligent, good boys), hadstayed to tea and was riding home alone, except that he had an attendantin the person of a young negro boy, who rode some yards in his rear.
It was already dark when they started, but the stars shone down from aclear sky, although a keen, cold wind blew from the north.
Part of the way lay through a wood, in the midst of which stood a hutoccupied by a family by the name of Smith, belonging to the class known as"poor whites"; shiftless, lazy, and consequently very poor indeed, theywere. Many efforts had been put forth in their behalf, by the families ofthe Oaks and Ion, and by others also, but thus far with small results, forit is no easy matter to effectually help those who will not try to helpthemselves.
As Eddie entered the wood, he thought he smelt smoke, and presently asudden turn in the road brought into view the dwelling of the Smiths allwrapped in flames.
Putting spurs to his horse, at the sight, Eddie flew along the roadshouting at the top of his lungs, "Fire! fire! fire!" Jim, his attendant,following his example.
But there was no one within hearing, save the Smiths themselves.
The head of the family, half stupefied with rum, stood leaning against thefence, his hands in the pockets of his ragged coat, a pipe in his mouth,gazing in a dazed sort of way upon the work of destruction; while the wifeand children ran hither and thither, screaming and wringing their handswith never a thought of an attempt to extinguish the flames or save any oftheir few poor possessions.
"Sam Smith," shouted Eddie, reining in his horse close to the individualaddressed, "why don't you drop that old pipe, take your hands out of yourpockets, and go to work to put out the fire!"
"Eh!" cried Sam, turning slowly round so as to face his interlocutor,"why--I--I--I couldn't do nothin'; it's bound to go--that house is; don'tyou see how the wind's a blowin'? Well, 'tain't much 'count nohow, and Iwouldn't care, on'y she says she's left the baby in there; so she does."
"The baby?" and almost before the words had left his lips, Eddie hadcleared the rough rail fence at a bound, and was rushing toward theburning house.
How the flames crackled and roared, seeming like demons greedily devouringall that came in their way.
"That horse blanket, Jim! bring it here quick, quick!" he shouted back tohis servant. Then to the half-crazed woman, "Where is your baby? where didyou leave it?"
"In there, in there on the bed, oh, oh, it's burnin' all up! I forgot it,an' I couldn't get back."
Eddie made one step backward, and ran his eye rapidly over the burningpile, calmly taking in the situation, considering whether the chances ofsuccess were sufficient to warrant the awful risk.
It was the work of an instant to do that, snatch the blanket from Jim,wrap it around his person, and plunge in among the flames, smoke, andfalling firebrands, regardless of the boy's frightened protest, "Oh, Mr.Eddie don't; you'll be killed! you'll burn all up!"
He had looked into the cabin but a day or two before, and remembered inwhich corner stood the rude bed of the family, their only one. He gropedhis way to it, half suffocated by the heat and smoke, and in momentarydread of the falling in of the roof, reached it at last, and feeling aboutamong the scanty coverings, laid hold of the child, which was eitherinsensible or sound asleep.
Taking it in his young, strong arms, holding it underneath the blanket,which he drew closer about his person, he rushed back again, stepping fromthe door just as the roof fell in with a crash.
The woman snatched her babe, and its gallant rescuer fell fainting to theground. A falling beam had grazed his head and struck him a heavy blowupon the shoulder.
With a cry Jim sprang forward, dragged his young master out of reach ofthe flying sparks, the overpowering heat, and suffocating smoke, anddropping, blubbering, down by his side, tried to loosen his cravat.
"Fetch some wattah!" he called, "quick dar, you ongrateful white trash!you gwine let young Marse Eddie die, when he done gone saved yo' baby fromburnin' up?"
"Take the gourd and run to the spring Celestia Ann; quick, quick as youkin go," said the mother hugging up her rescued child, and wiping a tearfrom her eye with the corner of a very dirty apron.
"There ain't none," answered the child, "we uns ain't got nothin' left;it's all burnt up."
But a keen, fresh air was already reviving our hero.
"Take me home, Jim," he said faintly. "Stop that wagon," as one was heardrumbling down the road, still at some distance.
"Hollo dar! jes stop an' take a passenger aboard!" shouted Jim, springingto his feet and rushing into the road, waving his cap above his head.
"Hollo!" shouted back the other, "dat you Jim Yates? Burnin' down Smith'shouse. Dat's a plenepotentiary crime, dat is, sah!"
"Oh go 'long, you fool, Pete White!" retorted Jim, as the other drew reinclose at his side, "you bet you don't catch dis niggah a burnin' nohouses. Spect ole Smith set de fire goin' hisself wid dat ole pipe o'his'n!"
"An' it's clar burnt down to de ground," observed Pete, gazing with eagerinterest at the smouldering ruins. "What you s'pose dey's gwine to do forsheltah for dem po' chillen?"
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"Dat ain't no concern ob mine," returned Jim indifferently. "Ise consarned'bout getting young Marse Ed'ard safe home, an' don't care nuffin' for allde white trash in de country. Jes hitch yo' hoss an' help me lift him intode wagon."
"What's de mattah?" queried Pete, leisurely dismounting and slowlyhitching his horse to a tree.
"Oh you hurry up, you ole darky!" returned Jim impatiently. "Mr. Ed'ard'slyin' dar in de cold; 'catch his diff if you's gwine to be all night 'boutgittin' to him."
"Ise got de rheumatiz, chile; ole folks can't turn roun' like young uns,"returned Pete quickening his movements somewhat as he clambered over thefence and followed Jim to the spot where Eddie lay.
"Hurt, sah?" he asked.
"A little; I fear I can hardly sit my horse--for this faintness," Eddieanswered, low and feebly. "Can you put me into your wagon and drive me toIon?"
"Yes, sah; wid de greatest pleasah in life, sah. Mr. Travilla and de Ionladies ben berry kind to me an' my ole woman and de chillen."
Mrs. Smith and her dirty ragged little troop had gathered round, stillcrying over their fright and their losses, curious too about the younggentleman who had saved the baby and was lying there on the ground sohelpless.
"Are ye much hurt, Mr. Edward?" asked the woman. "Oh yer mother'll neverforgive me fur lettin' ye risk yer life that away!"
"I don't think the injury is serious, Mrs. Smith, at least I hope not; andyou were not to blame," he answered, "so make yourself easy. Now, Pete andJim, give me an arm, each of you."
They helped him into the wagon and laid him down, putting the scorchedhorse blanket under his head for a pillow.
"Now drive a little carefully, Pete," he said, suppressing a groan, "andlook out for the ruts, I'd rather not be jolted.
"And you, Sim, ride on ahead and lead Prince. I want you to get in beforeus, ask for my father and tell him I've had an accident; am not seriouslyhurt, but want my mother prepared. She must not be alarmed by seeing mebrought in unexpectedly, in this state."
His orders were obeyed, Jim reached Ion some ten minutes ahead of thewagon and gave due warning of its approach. He met his master in theavenue and told his story in a tolerably straightforward manner.
"Where is Mr. Edward now?" asked Mr. Travilla.
"De wagon's jes down de road dar a piece, sah; be here in 'bout fiveminutes, sah."
"Then off for the doctor, Jim, as fast as you can go. Here, give mePrince's bridle. Now don't let the grass grow under your horse's feet.Either Dr. Barton, or Dr. Arthur; it doesn't matter which; only get himhere speedily." And vaulting into the saddle Mr. Travilla rode back to thehouse, dismounted, throwing the bridle to Solon, and went in.
Opening the door of the drawing-room where the family were gathered:
"Wife," he said cheerfully, "will you please step here a moment?"
She came at once and followed him down the hall, asking, "What is it,Edward?" for her heart misgave her that something was wrong.
"Not much, I hope, dearest," he said, turning and taking her in his arms."Our boy, Eddie, has done a brave deed and suffered some injury by it,but nothing serious, I trust. He will be here in a moment."
He felt her cling to him with a convulsive grasp, he heard her quickcoming breath, the whispered words, "Oh, my son! Dear Lord, help!" then,as the rumble of the wagon wheels was heard nearing the door, she put herhand in his, calm and quiet, and went forth with him to meet their woundedchild.
His father helped him to alight, and supported him up the veranda steps.
"Don't be alarmed, mother, I'm not badly hurt," he said, but staggered ashe spoke, and would have fallen but for his father's sustaining arm, andby the light from the open door, she saw his eyes close and a deadlypallor overspread his face.
"He's fainting!" she exclaimed, springing to his other side. "Oh, my boy,this is no trifle!"
Servants were already crowding about them, and Eddie was quickly borne tohis room, laid upon the bed, and restoratives administered.
"Fire!" his mother said with a start and shudder, pointing to his singedlocks, "oh, where has the child been?"
Her husband told her in a few words.
"And he has saved a life!" she cried with tears of mingled joy and grief,proud of her brave son, though her tender mother heart ached for hissuffering. "Thank God for that, if--if he has not sacrificed his own."
The door opened and Arthur Conly came in.
Consciousness was returning to the lad, and looking up at his cousin as hebent over him, "Tell mother," he murmured, "that I'm not much hurt."
"I have to find that out, first," said Arthur. "Do you feel any burns,bruises? whereabouts are you injured, do you think?"
"Something--a falling beam, I suppose, grazed my head and struck me on theshoulder; I think, too, that my hands and face are scorched."
"Yes, your face is; and your hands--scorched? why they are badly burned!And your collar bone's broken. That's all, I believe; enough to satisfyyou, I hope?"
"Quite," Eddie returned with a faint smile. "Don't cry, mother dear, yousee it's nothing but what can be made right in a few days or weeks."
"Yes," she said, kissing him and smiling through her tears; "and oh, letus thank God that it is no worse!"
Eddie's adventure created quite a stir in the family and among outsiderelatives and friends, he was dubbed the hero of the hour, and attentionswere lavished upon him without stint.
He bore his honors meekly. "Mother," he said privately to her, "I don'tdeserve all these encomiums and they make me ashamed; for I am not reallybrave. In fact I'm afraid I'm an arrant coward; for do you know I wasafraid to rush in among those flames; but I could not bear the thought ofleaving that poor baby to burn up, and you had taught me that it was rightand noble to risk my own life to save another's."
"That was not cowardice, my dear boy," she said, her eyes shining, "butthe truest courage. I think you deserve far more credit for bravery, thanyou would if you had rushed in impulsively without a thought of the realdanger you were encountering."
"Praise is very sweet from the lips of those I love; especially mymother's," he responded, with a glad smile. "And what a nurse you are,mother mine! it pays to be ill when one can be so tended."
"That is when one is not very seriously ill, I suppose?" she saidplayfully, stroking his hair. "By the way, it will take longer to restorethese damaged locks, than to repair any of the other injuries caused byyour escapade."
"Never mind," he said, "they'll grow again in time. What has become of theSmiths?"
"Your father has found temporary shelter for them at the quarter, and isrebuilding their hut."
"I knew he would; it is just like him--always so kind, so generous."
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