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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Homespun, by Ruth Ogden
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Little Homespun
-
-Author: Ruth Ogden
-
-Illustrator: Mabel Humphrey
-
-Release Date: May 23, 2017 [EBook #54763]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE HOMESPUN ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-LITTLE HOMESPUN
-
-By Ruth Ogden
-
-(Mrs. Charles W. Ide)
-
-Author Of “A Loyal Little Red-Coat”
-
-“A Little Queen Of Hearts”
-
-“His Little Royal Highness”
-
-“Courage” etc.
-
-With Numerous Original Illustrations By Mabel Humphrey
-
-New York: Frederick A. Stokes Company
-
-1897
-
-[Illustration: 0001]
-
-[Illustration: 0006]
-
-[Illustration: 0007]
-
-
-
-
-ONE MOMENT PLEASE.
-
-In a way, this book, “Little Homespun,” is a story quite by itself. In
-another way it is a sequel to “Courage,” although you can “catch
-its thread” without having read a line of “Courage.” Now some grown
-people, and I presume some children, do not care for sequels at all, but
-I happen to know that the children who are good enough to read and care
-for my stories are fond of sequels. Those who have taken the trouble
-to write me, in little letters that are worth their weight in gold
-many times over, almost invariably ask for another book about the same
-people. Sometimes they tell me just what to put into the new story
-and what name to give it. So here lies my excuse if one is needed for
-writing “Little Homespun.” Besides, I could hardly help it, for there
-seemed to be quite a little yet to tell about Courage and Sylvia, and
-some new little friends of theirs. And one thing more--everything
-in this story that has to do with real people or actual events is
-absolutely true; a little book, named “Historic Arlington,” giving most
-of the information needed. Even old black Joe has his counterpart in
-Wesley Morris, one of the slaves of Mr. Custis, born on the estate, and
-employed for many years following the war as a workman about the grounds
-at Arlington.
-
-“RUTH OGDEN.”
-
-Oakdene
-
-Sept. 1, 1897.
-
-
-
-[Illustration: 0013]
-
-
-{001}
-
-
-
-
-LITTLE HOMESPUN
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER I.--TWO OLD CRONIES
-
-JUNE morning, clear and cool as October, and everything far and near
-fairly revelling in the early summer sunshine. The Potomac, blue as the
-sky above it, sparkling and dancing, the new young leaves on the oak
-trees shimmering and shining with the marvellous green of springtime,
-and the dear old Virginia homestead, overhanging the river, never
-looking {002}more homelike and attractive in all its quiet life. The
-reason for this did not lie all in the sunshine either. Just outside
-the door, on the wide gallery, a darling old lady sat knitting, for as
-_darling_ means “dearly beloved,” no other word could so truly describe
-her. Everybody worshipped her and regarded her--as well they might--with
-unspeakable devotion; for darling old ladies, as you very well know, do
-not grow on every bush--quite to the contrary--a great many old ladies
-(bless their tired old hearts!) grow fretful and nervous and fussy, and
-are hard to please, not to say cranky. But who would blame them for
-this for a minute? Just as likely as not you and I will be cranky enough
-ourselves, when we have borne the burden of fourscore years, and are
-pretty well worn out in mind and spirit and body. But here was an old
-lady who was not worn out. Her hair was white with “the incomparable
-whiteness of aged hair,” and there were the indelible marks of age on
-the sweet, earnest face, but this dear old lady was “sunny.” She had had
-her own full share of sorrows and worries, and she had taken them all
-very much to heart--as people must whose hearts are big enough to
-take things to at all--and as tender as hearts really ought to be. But
-somehow or other, she had learned the {003}secret of not being overcome
-by the worries and the sorrows, and so, sitting there knitting that
-peerless June morning, she and the sunshine together seemed to glorify
-everything about them.
-
-[Illustration: 0015]
-
-Presently a little specimen appeared in the doorway; a handsome little
-fellow too, though he did not have any curls, as most children do who
-find their way into story books, but his hair was golden, and, though
-cut quite short, as he insisted upon having it, had a little trick of
-straying down on his forehead in quite irresistible fashion.
-
-“Well, what are we going to do to-day?” said his grandmother, gazing
-at him as fondly as only fond grandmothers can. In response the little
-fellow merely pointed to two straps of gold braid upon his shoulders,
-and looked as though, really “grand_na_na” should have known better than
-to ask.
-
-“Oh! beg pardon, Brevet, I was so intent upon my knitting I had not
-noticed,” and she succeeded in foiling a smile that would at least
-have proved annoying; for, as every one about the place knew, the gold
-shoulder-straps, worn in imitation of a captain’s uniform in the army,
-meant but one thing, and that was that Captain Joe was coming down to
-carry Brevet-Captain up to Arlington for the day. Indeed at {004}that
-moment a cheery “How’dy, Brevet!” rang out on the still morning air,
-and at the same moment a donkey and a two-wheeled cart driven by an old
-negro came to a stand at the gate.
-
-“How’dy, Captain, I’m ready for you. Been expecting you ev’ry minute
-since breakfast. Good-bye, Gran_na_na, take good care of yourself,” and
-a pair of chubby arms gave grandmamma just about as much of a hug as the
-old lady could bear up under.
-
-“Good-mornin’, Miss Lindy,” said Captain Joe, stepping up to the gate
-and touching his cap deferentially. “I ’spose the little un tol’ you
-I’d like him up to Arlington fur de day if you could spare him.”
-
-“No, Joe,” answered Mrs. Ellis, smiling, “Brevet does not think that
-necessary now-a-days. He simply dons the blue reefer with the
-shoulder-straps, and that means he has his orders for the day from his
-captain, and grandmammas are not expected to ask questions.” Brevet
-stood by, his hands upon his hips in most independent fashion, as much
-as to say, “That describes the case exactly.”
-
-“Well, I reckon he don’ mean no harm, Miss Lindy,” said Joe, a little
-anxiously. “He’s dat much in earnest ’bout everythin’, dat he’s a
-Brevet-Cap’n sure ’nuff when he gets his straps on.” {005}"Oh, that’s
-all right, Joe,”’ answered Mrs. Ellis, “but we’ll just send for you, if
-the day comes when we need to court-martial him for insubordination.”
-
-Brevet did not at all understand this last remark, and so, touching his
-little blue cap in true soldier-fashion, turned on his heel and marched
-down to the donkey-cart as though in command of an army.
-
-“Brevet,” said Joe seriously, as they jogged away from the gate, “You
-mus’ be ver’ careful ’bout bein’ spectful like to yo’ Grand_na_na,
-case if you don’ dere’s no tellin’ but any day yo’ Cap’n ’ll take away
-yo’ straps an’ den you’d jus’ be plain Marse Howard again I reckon.”
-
-“Joe,” said Brevet solemnly, his voice trembling a little, “I could not
-bear it if you took away my straps,” and he laid a little brown hand
-protectingly upon one shoulder.
-
-“Well, den you have a care, Honey, ‘bout Miss Lindy, an’ de nex’
-time Joe invites you down to Arlington fur de day, you des ask yo’
-Grand_na_na’s permission. Yo’re my Brevet-Cap’n sure ’nuff, but you’re
-yo’ Grand_na_na’s little pickaninny eb’ry day in de week, and don’ you
-forget it.”
-
-“I’ll remember, Captain,” with most soldierlike submission, and then for
-awhile they drove along in silence. {006}Happy thoughts of anticipation,
-however, soon chased the troubled look from Brevet’s little face, for
-there was nothing at all could compare with these occasional days spent
-with Joe at Arlington. It was owing to them that he had gained
-his dearly-loved title of Brevet and the blue soldier-cap and the
-shoulder-straps. Joe had been a member of a coloured regiment and had
-fought all through the war, and when at last he had come back and had
-settled down in his old cabin at Arlington, he was dubbed Captain, in
-recognition of his gallant services, by all the coloured folk of the
-neighbourhood. And Joe was by no means unworthy of the honour, for save
-for the fact that his regiment had been officered by white men, he might
-easily have risen to the command of a company. Time and time again in
-the face of the greatest danger he had been notoriously fearless, and
-had never in a single instance shown the white feather, which is more
-than can be said for many of his black comrades. And so from that time
-on it had been Captain Joe, and when some thirty years later little
-Howard Ellis came to make his home with his grandmother, and soon
-afterward came to know Joe, and to spend many a long summer day in his
-delightful company, what more natural than that the little fellow, with
-his {007}great passion for everything military, should first aspire
-to some of the outward insignia, and then, having attained cap and
-shoulder-straps by favour of his grandmother, should later be dowered
-with the title of “Brevet-Captain,” by favour of Captain Joe himself?
-
-[Illustration: 0021]
-
-“You see it’s des de name fur you, Honey,” Joe had explained, “case
-it’ll save any con-fus’n’ of us togedder, an’ at de same time it’s a
-very complimentin’ title. It means es how you have it des as a sort of
-honour, widout havin’ any of de ’sponsibilities of an out-an’-outer
-cap’n like me.”
-
-From that day forward it was “Brevet-Captain,” very tenaciously insisted
-upon by Howard himself, but gradually allowed to be abbreviated to
-“Brevet” within the home circle. And so Captain Joe and Brevet, having
-long ago arrived at the most satisfactory mutual understanding, sat side
-by side in the donkey-cart, without feeling the slightest obligation to
-say a word.
-
-The road from the Ellis homestead up to Arlington lies through the
-woods, and has all the charm of a road that has been left to follow its
-own way--and a sweet, wild way at that. There were no fences, either new
-or old, for none were needed. On each side a forest of oak, interspersed
-with an occasional maple or {008}chestnut, stretched miles away, with
-seldom a glimpse of a clearing, while immediately bordering the road
-grew the veriest tangle of a natural hedge-row, abloom with some sort of
-sweet wild-flower from May to October. The original cut through the wood
-had been happily a wide one, and so sunshine and shower even, after all
-these years, still had abundant chance to slant this way and that across
-the road and coax every growing thing to perfection. Wood-violets, white
-and yellow and purple, peered out from under the taller growths of fern
-in the early springtime. June brought the sweet wild rose, unfolding
-bud after bud well into the summer, and the white berry-blossoms of the
-briars. With August came the berries themselves, ripening ungathered in
-riotous profusion, and following close upon them advance heralds of the
-goldenrod and the asters. It was in very truth a beautiful, dear old
-road, and it formed a beautiful setting for the little donkey-drawn cart
-slowly making its way along it. A pretty contrast, too, that of the old
-negro, still alert and sturdy notwithstanding his threescore years and
-ten, with the little golden-haired boy beside him. Together they seemed
-the embodiment of happy, confiding childhood and trustful, serene old
-age. {009}On came the little cart, each of its occupants apparently
-intent upon his own thoughts, until at last Brevet commenced humming
-a sweet little refrain; very softly and slowly at first, as though not
-quite sure of his ground, then more distinctly as he felt himself master
-of the situation. Finally the refrain took to itself words; words that
-have since grown commonplace, but which had all the charm of novelty for
-Joe, and he listened with absorbed delight as Brevet sang cutely,--
-
-               “I’se a little Alabama Coon
-
-                   And I hasn’t been born very long,
-
-               I ‘member seein’ a great big roun’ moon
-
-                   I ’member hearin’ one sweet song;
-
-               When dey tote me down to de cotton-field,
-
-                   Dar I roll and I tumble in de sun,
-
-               While my daddy pick de cotton mammy watch
-
-                        me grow,
-
-                   And dis am de song she sung:”
-
-Brevet paused for the briefest part of a second to see how Joe was
-taking it.
-
-“Go on, Honey, go on,” urged Joe.
-
-“An’ dis am de song she sung:” repeated Brevet.
-
-               “Go to sleep my little pickaninny,
-
-                   Br’er Fox’ll catch if yo’ don t;
-
-               Slumber on de bosom of yo’ ole Mammy Jinny
-
-                   Mammy’s gwine to swatch yo’ if yo’ won’t.
-
-               Sh--Lu-la, lu-la lu-la lu-la lu!
-
-                   Underneaf de silver Southern moon,
-
-               Rock-a-by, hush-a-by, Mammy’s little baby,
-
-                   Mammy’s little Alabama Coon.”
-
-{010}"Again, Honey, again,” in a voice of actual command, so reluctant
-was Joe to have his keen enjoyment for one moment interrupted, and
-Brevet obeyed, keeping the air perfectly and singing with all his heart,
-too, as though himself a veritable little pickaninny, dwelling upon the
-many happy memories of babyhood in a cotton-field.
-
-“I clar to yo’, Honey,” said Joe, his voice trembling with delight, “I
-can just see dat little baby. Seems ter me I neber done hear anythin’ so
-pretty, anythin’ dat fit each other like dat song an’ words. Whar eber
-did yo’ Tarn it, Honey?”
-
-“Uncle Harry taught it to me, Joe.”
-
-“Are der any more verses, Honey?”
-
-“There’s one more, Joe, but Uncle Harry says it’s so ordinary it doesn’t
-belong with the first verse at all.”
-
-[Illustration: 0027]
-
-“Well now, dat’s a pity,” said Joe, very regretfully, “but yo’ Uncle
-Harry he do beat all for gettin’ hol’ of sweet, catchin’ music an’ I kin
-des tell yo’, Honey, you done mus’ sing dat song to yo’ ole Cap’n eb’ry
-time we fin’ ourselves togedder fur half a shake of a lamb’s {011}tail.
-Gib us yo’ han’ on it, Honey, dat you will.”
-
-Brevet put his brown hand in Joe’s black one, his own face beaming with
-the pleasure he had given, and so the two boon companions jogged on,
-until, high on a hill before them, the pillars of a fine old house came
-into view, and a few moments later the donkey-cart drew up at a little
-cabin, just in the rear of the fine old house, a cabin that had been
-Joe’s home ever since he was as little a fellow as Brevet there beside
-him.
-
-“I’ll look around while you put Jennie up,” explained Brevet, as soon as
-Joe had lifted him from the cart, and putting his hands in his pockets
-he walked up to the big house, straight through the hall, whose doors
-stood wide open, and out on to the porch in front. Brevet simply loved
-“to look around,” from that porch, and I do not think he ever stood
-there without his resolve to be a soldier some day surging up in a
-strong, new tide within him. Some of the rest of us, who are quite too
-old ever to think of being soldiers, and whose petticoats must at any
-age have stood in the way, know exactly how Brevet felt. You know, too,
-if you have ever been to Arlington, and, having been born and bred
-in these United States of ours, are the true little {012}American you
-really ought to be. But in case you never _have_ been to Arlington, and
-do not at all know why it should make you feel that you would like to
-be a soldier, then let me tell you before you have read another single
-line, that Arlington is the great National Cemetery, lying a few miles
-out from Washington, and where more than fifteen thousand soldiers lie
-buried. From the moment you enter the beautiful grounds, you see the low
-mounds stretching away on every side of you, and when you drive up in
-front of Arlington House itself, there is brave General Sheridan’s tomb
-right in front of you, so you cannot forget for a moment what a host of
-noble heroes they were, who fought in our great civil war thirty years
-ago, and how grand a thing it is lo be willing to lay down one’s life
-if need be, for the honour of one’s country. But perhaps you wonder that
-there should be a fine old house in a cemetery, and that Brevet should
-so love to go there, thinking a cemetery for your part rather sad and
-depressing, and wonder too why Joe should have chosen such a place for
-his home; all of which wonders it would take too much time to explain in
-this chapter, a chapter that was only meant to introduce you to Brevet
-and the Captain, so good-bye for just now to Arlington.
-
-
-{013}
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II.--COURAGE TAKES HEART.
-
-This time, as before, there is a story to tell because of something
-braved and dared for Miss Julia’s sake; something that needed less
-nerve, perhaps, than the leap Courage took that night on the drawbridge,
-but something that called not only for a world of a different sort of
-courage, but for infinite patience as well, and that claimed the
-whole summer for its doing. The reason for it all lay in four little
-words--Miss Julia was dead. Beautiful, strong, radiant Miss Julia! why,
-no one had thought of death for her, save as years and years away in the
-serene twilight of a calm old age; and yet it had come, suddenly, after
-a week’s brief illness, and Courage was simply broken-hearted. She felt
-she had no right to her name now, and never should have again. Miss
-Julia had been teacher, mother, friend to her, one or the other almost
-since her babyhood, and to care for Miss Julia in return, now that she
-herself was grown up, to let every thing else “come second,” had been
-her only {014}thought. And now to find her hands suddenly empty, and
-all the sunshine gone out of her life--was it strange that she felt
-despairing and desolate and that nothing whatever was left?
-
-“But we are left,” pleaded a chorus of little voices, and Courage seemed
-to see four brighteyed little children; bright-eyed because God had made
-them so, but with faces almost as sad as her own. “Yes, we are left,”
- they continued pleading. “Miss Julia was going to do so much for us this
-summer; could not you do it in her place for her sake?”
-
-Courage shook her head gravely as in answer to her own thoughts.
-
-“No, I cannot,” she said, firmly. “Everything that I leaned on is gone;
-nothing is left to me--nothing.”
-
-“But could you not try just for her sake?” chorused the little voices
-over and over in her heart, day after day, in all the sad hours of
-waking, and sometimes even in sleeping, until at last she bravely
-brushed the tears away and made answer, “Yes, for her sake I will!”
-
-She remembered the day of her six-year-old christening, when her
-remarkable name had been given her and she had asked: “Is courage
-something that people have, Papa? Have I got it?” and he had told her,
-“Courage is {015}something that people have, dear, something fine, and I
-hope you will have it.”
-
-Yes, she would try, even in this dark hour, to live up to her father’s
-hope for her, and so her resolve was taken.
-
-But the four bright-eyed little children knew nothing of any resolve;
-they would not have understood what it meant if they had, and as for
-their singing a pathetic little chorus in any one’s heart, they were
-altogether unconscious of that as well. But one thing they did know, and
-that was they should never see Miss Julia again in this world, and they
-thought they also knew that a beautiful plan she had made for them could
-never be carried out. The wisest thing, therefore, for these four little
-people was to put, so far as possible, all thought of the plan from
-their minds, and Mary, the eldest of the four, said as much to the
-others.
-
-“Oh, don’t let us think about it any more,” she urged, earnestly. “If
-we only could have Miss Julia back what would we care for anything else?
-Besides, when you think what has happened, it seems selfish, and as
-though we did not have any hearts, to grieve over our own little plans
-for a moment.”
-
-“But it wasn’t just over our own little plan,” insisted her younger
-brother Teddy, “it was {016}Miss Julia’s plan for us, and I don’t think
-it strange a bit that we should grieve over it.”
-
-“Neither do I,” urged Allan, who came next to Teddy in age. “Of course
-us boys, not going to the sewing-school, did not know Miss Julia as well
-as you, but I just guess there wasn’t a boy who thought more of her than
-I did. What’s more I loved her; not making a fuss over her, to be sure,
-like you girls, still I did really love her,” (emphasising the word by a
-shake of his head, and firm pursing of his lips). “All the same, I think
-it’s natural we should feel awfully disappointed.” Gertrude who was
-seven, and the youngest of the four, nodded in approval of the stand
-Allan had taken, and continued nodding, as he added, “We haven’t
-travelled so much, seems to me, or had so much change in our lives as to
-settle back to the idea of a hot summer here in town, instead of going
-to the country, without feeling it a bit; that is, I don’t think we
-have.”
-
-[Illustration: 0035]
-
-Mary sighed and said nothing, as though ready to admit, after all,
-that perhaps it was natural that they should take their disappointment
-somewhat to heart, but the tears that had sprung suddenly into her eyes
-were from real longing for Miss Julia and not from the disappointment.
-
-This quiet talk in which the little Bennetts {017}were indulging, was
-being carried on from the backs of two horses--the two girls mounted
-upon one and the two boys astride the other--but they happened to be the
-quietest horses in the world; horses that never budged in fact, tailless
-and headless, and that belonged to the carpenter who lived on the first
-floor. The Bennetts lived on the top floor; but whenever there was
-anything to be talked over, down they trooped to the yard and climbed
-and helped each other to the backs of these high seats, and when all
-were able to declare themselves perfectly comfortable the conclave would
-commence. The little Bennetts were great talkers. They simply loved to
-discuss things, and this shows, when you stop to consider it, that they
-must be, on the whole, an amiable little family, for some little people
-that we hear of are quite too impatient and self-assertive to be willing
-to discuss things at all. But whatever may have been the faults of the
-little Bennetts they did have respect for each other’s opinions, and
-were generally ready to admit that two heads were better than one, and
-“Four heads,” to quote little Gertrude, “four times as better.” This
-habit of discussion, for it really amounted to that, was partly no doubt
-the outcome of a little strategy on the part of their mother. Mary and
-Teddy and Allan and Gertrude were {018}just a “pair of steps,” as the
-saying goes, and sometimes the little living-room on the fourth floor
-seemed all too small for the noisy company, and then Mrs. Bennett would
-exclaim, and as though the most novel sort of an idea had occurred to
-her:
-
-“Children, why don’t you run down to the yard and have a _good talk?_”
-
-There was no resisting this appeal, such untold delights were implied
-in Mrs. Bennett’s tone and manner, and the children seldom failed to
-act upon the advice, and what was more, seldom failed to light upon some
-interesting thing to talk about; and then, always as a last resort, some
-one could tell a story. The some one was generally Teddy, for he had the
-wildest imagination, and could upon any and every occasion invent most
-thrilling romances, which were quite as much of a surprise to himself as
-to his hearers. And so the children had come to love their perch in the
-corner of the city yard, with the uncertain shade of an old alanthus
-flickering over them in summer, and the bright sun streaming full upon
-them in its leafless winter days. And this was how it chanced that the
-Bennett children found themselves in their old haunt that breezy May
-morning, and were easing their heavy little hearts by frankly admitting
-to one {019}another how very great indeed was their disappointment.
-
-Better so, I think. Wrinkles come earlier and plow deeper, and thoughts
-are apt to grow bitter and morbid, when one broods and broods, and will
-not take hearts near and dear into one’s confidence. The day never dawns
-when truly brave hearts cry out for pity, but sympathy is a sweet and
-blessed thing the world over, and God meant not only that we should have
-it, but that, if need be, we should reach our hands and grasp it.
-
-There was one little Bennett, however, who did not share in the general
-depression. Too short a time in the world to know aught of its joys or
-sorrows, Baby Bennett lay comfortably in his mother’s lap, having just
-dropped off to sleep after a good half hour of rocking, Mrs. Bennett,
-who had herself grown drowsy with her low crooning over the baby,
-glanced first at the bustling little clock on the mantel shelf, and
-then, leaning her head against the back of the chair, closed her eyes;
-but instead of falling asleep she fell to thinking, and then her face
-grew very sad and tears made their way from beneath her closed eyelids.
-So, you see, the mother-heart was heavy as well as the-child-hearts in
-the Bennett family, and for the same reason. It was not because they
-were {020}not learning to face and accept the thought that Miss Julia,
-whom they so dearly loved, could not return to them; they were trying to
-be as brave as Miss Julia herself would have had them. But this was the
-day, the very day that they were all to have started, and they could not
-seem to forget it for a moment; neither could somebody else, and soon
-there came a gentle knock at Mrs. Bennett’s door.
-
-“Come in,” she answered, forgetting the tears in her eyes; and, laying
-the baby in its little clothes-basket of a bed, she turned to greet the
-newcomer. Courage had mounted the four flights of stairs very bravely,
-but the sight of the tears in Mrs. Bennett’s eyes disarmed her, and,
-sinking into the nearest chair, she found she would best not try to
-speak for a moment.
-
-“Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Courage, that you should have seen me,” said
-Mrs. Bennett, with a world of regret in her voice; “it is so much harder
-for you than for anybody, but this was the day, you know, almost the
-very hour.”
-
-“Yes, I know,” Courage faltered; “that was why I came.”
-
-“It’s like you, Miss Courage; you’ve Miss Julia’s own thoughtfulness,
-but I’m thinking it will be easier for us all when this day’s over.
-I got rid of the trunk last week; it seemed to {021}make us all so
-disheartened to have it standing round.”
-
-“You didn’t sell it, did you?”
-
-“No, indeed I did not, for it may be the children will have a chance yet
-some day, for a bit of an outing.”
-
-“I have decided they are all to have it yet, Mrs. Bennett, this very
-summer, and just as Miss Julia planned, too. That’s what I came to tell
-you, if you will trust them to me.”
-
-“Trust you! Oh, my dear! but it would be too much care for those young
-shoulders; too much by far.”
-
-“Mrs. Bennett,” said Courage, so earnestly as to carry conviction, “I
-thought so at first, too, but the plan has grown to be just as dear to
-me as it was to Miss Julia, and now, if you do not let me carry it out,
-I do not see how I can ever live through this first summer.”
-
-“Then indeed I will let you,” and then she added slowly, and with an
-accent on every word, “and you are just Miss Julia’s own child!” and
-Courage thought them the very sweetest words she had ever heard, or ever
-could hear again.
-
-“May I tell the children?” she asked, eagerly. “Where are they?”
-
-Mrs. Bennett did not answer. I believe she could not, but she opened the
-window and {022}Courage knew that meant the children were below in their
-favourite corner.
-
-“Oh, let me call them, please,” resting one hand on Mrs. Bennett’s arm
-and leaning far out over the sill.
-
-“Children! come up stairs for a moment, I have something to tell you.
-Come up quickly.” Courage hardly knew her own voice, it rang out so
-cheerily.
-
-“Oh, Miss Courage!” chorused four little voices, only this time the
-sound was in her ears as well as in her heart, and as she watched the
-children tumble helter-skelter from the horses in the yard way down
-below her, a smile that was almost merry drove the shadows from her
-face.
-
-[Illustration: 0042]
-
-
-{023}
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III.--A DELIGHTFUL DISCOVERY.
-
-
-Why, whatever’s going on here?” exclaimed Brevet.
-
-“Oh, yes,” said Joe, turning slowly round, for he knew what had
-attracted Brevet’s attention. “I done notice it on de way up ter
-Ellismere fo’ you dis mornin’, an’ den I was so took up with dat
-fascinatin’ song of yo’s as we drove back, dat I didn’t want to
-interrupt you long ’nuff to call yo’ attention to it. Looks as dough
-dere mus’ be some one come ter live in de pretty little house, doesn’t
-it?”
-
-“Why, yes, it does,” said Brevet, very much interested; “and you don’t
-know who it is, Joe?”
-
-“No, I hasn’t knowed nuffin’ ’bout it, till I seed de whole place
-lookin’ so pert like dis mornin’,” and Joe brought old Jennie to a
-standstill that they might more fully take in the situation.
-
-“Don’t you think I ought to find out, Joe?”
-
-“Why, yes, Honey, seems ter me it would {024}be sort of frien’ly,” and
-suiting the action to the word he took Brevet by the arms and dropped
-him down over the cart-wheel.
-
-The change that had come over this point in the road was indeed
-remarkable. A little house that had remained untenanted for years, in
-the midst of an overgrown enclosure, stood this bright June morning with
-every door and window open to the air and sunshine. The vines which had
-half hidden it from view had already been cut away, and on every hand
-were signs that the place was being brought into liveable shape with all
-possible expedition. No one was in sight, so Brevet noiselessly pushed
-open the gate, and, making his way to the little front porch, reached
-upward and lifted the brass knocker of the open door. The unexpected
-sound instantly brought a neatly-dressed, elderly-looking woman from
-some room in the rear.
-
-[Illustration: 0045]
-
-“How’dy,” said Brevet, instantly put at his ease by the kindness of the
-woman’s face.
-
-“What did you say, dear?” she asked, with a puzzled frown.
-
-“I said how’dy,” explained Brevet, wondering that the woman’s face still
-wore the puzzled look. “We just stopped to ask who was coming. We go
-by here very often, Joe and I,” pointing to the cart, “and we were
-{025}wondering what was up seeing this place open that’s been closed so
-long.”
-
-“It can’t be that Miss Julia’s self is a comin’ can it?” called Joe, for
-the little house was not set so far back from the road but that he could
-hear every word spoken between the woman and Brevet.
-
-“Why, did you know Miss Julia?” she asked, stepping at once to the gate,
-with Brevet following close behind her.
-
-“No, Miss; dat is not personally, but I knowed dat Miss Julia owned dis
-little plantation, an’ I often wonder dat she never done come to live on
-it. I can ‘member when her Uncle Dave was livin’, an’ it was den des de
-_homiest_ little homestead in de country.”
-
-“You have not heard then of Miss Julia’s death?”
-
-“No,” exclaimed Joe, with as much feeling in his voice as though Miss
-Julia had indeed been an old friend; “you don’ tell me! I’se often heard
-what a reg’lar lady she was, and often wished I done have a chance to
-lay eyes on her.”
-
-“She was a very good friend to me,” said the woman, sorrowfully, “and
-she had expected to come down here this summer and open the house, and
-bring a little family of city children with her who had never spent a
-day in the real country in their lives.” {026}"You don’t say so!” said
-Joe, shaking his head sadly. “It’s strange what times de Lord chooses to
-call de good folks out of dis worl’.” And then he added, after a moment
-of respectful silence, “But de place here, am it sold to some new
-party?”
-
-“No; Miss Julia left it in her will to a young lady who was just the
-same as a daughter to her, and she has decided to come down in Miss
-Julia’s place this summer.”
-
-“And bring the little children?” asked Brevet, eagerly.
-
-“And bring the little children,” answered the woman, her face
-brightening. “I have come down to make everything ready for them, and
-they are coming on Friday.”
-
-“Oh, do you think I could know them?”
-
-“Of course you can know them. You must come and see them so soon as ever
-they come. But you must tell me your name so that I can tell them about
-you.”
-
-“My name is Howard Ellis, but that name isn’t any use now. Everybody
-calls me Brevet since I and the Captain here have grown to be such
-friends. It means kind of an officer in the army, and when I grow up
-I’m going to West Point and learn how to be a real officer, and not just
-kind of a one at all. But till then everybody’s going to call me Brevet.
-And {027}now what is your name please, and the children’s, because I
-want to tell my grand_na_na all about you?”
-
-“Well, my name is Mary Duff, dear, and the children are named
-Bennett--Mary and Teddy and Allan and Gertrude Bennett.”
-
-“Oh, are two of them boys?” and Brevet’s face was radiant. “I haven’t
-had a boy to play with ever hardly, but I s’pose they’re older boys than
-me,” he added, a little crestfallen; “almost all boys are.”
-
-“Well, Teddy is not very much older, just a little, and Allan is
-just about your age I should say. Never you fear, Brevet, you’ll have
-beautiful times with them all, I know.”
-
-[Illustration: 0049]
-
-“When shall I come then?” wishing to have matters very definitely
-arranged. “Do you think they would like to have me here to help them
-feel at home right off at the very first?”
-
-“Well, I should not wonder but they would like that very much indeed.”
-
-“Then I will come on Friday.”
-
-“You mean you will ask your gran’_na_na, Brevet,” said Joe,
-significantly.
-
-“Oh, yes; I mean I will ask if I may come.” This last very quickly and
-eagerly, remembering his little lecture of the morning.
-
-“Well, it’s des a comfort to see de ole place in shape once more, an’
-I trus’ you an’ de {028}young lady an’ de chilluns will have des a
-beautiful summer. P’r’aps some day,” and Joe’s eyes twinkled with the
-thought, “dey’ll all come up and spen’ de day with me at Arlington.
-Brevet here alway des loves to come. You know Arlington’s where all de
-soldiers am buried. I used to be a slave on de place ‘fo’ de wah, an’
-dere ain’t much happened dere fur de las’ fifty years dat I hasn’t some
-knowledge of, and dey done tell me” (indulging in a little complacent
-chuckle) “dat it’s mighty interestin’ ter spen’ de day with Joe at
-Arlington.”
-
-“Well, indeed I should think it would be,” said Mary, very much
-interested, “and I wish you would stop and see Miss Courage about it the
-first time you drive by.”
-
-“Thank you very much, Miss; and now. Brevet, your gran’_na_na will be
-watchin’ fur us an’ we had bes’ be joggin’ on I’m thinkin’.”
-
-“All right, Captain,” clambering into the cart, and then Joe and Brevet
-courteously touched their caps, in true military fashion, and old Jenny
-jogged on.
-
-“Miss _Courage_ did she say?” asked Brevet, the moment they were out of
-hearing, just as Joe knew he would.
-
-“Yes; it soun’ like dat, Honey, but some day we must make inquiries.
-Dere mus’ be some ‘splanation of a name like dat.”
-
-
-{029}
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV.--EVERYBODY HAPPY.
-
-It is strange and beautiful,” thought Courage as she moved busily about
-her room, putting one thing and another into a trunk that stood open
-before the fireplace; “strange and beautiful how difficulties take to
-themselves wings, when you once make up your mind what is right to do
-and then go straight ahead and do it.”
-
-“Miss Courage,” said a young coloured girl, who was leaning over the bed
-trying to fold a black dress in a fashion that should leave no creases
-to show for its packing, “I felt all along there was nothing else for
-you to do.”
-
-“Then, Sylvia, why did you not say so?” Courage asked, a little sharply.
-“You knew how hard it was for me to come to any decision. It was not
-because you were afraid to say so, was it?”
-
-“Afraid?” and a merry look shone for a moment in Sylvia’s eyes. “No, I
-don’t believe I ever could grow afraid of the little curly-headed girl
-I used to work for when we {030}were both children together. No, indeed;
-it was only because I thought you ought to see it so yourself. It seemed
-as though it was just as plain a duty as the hand before your face, and
-I felt sure you would come to it, as you have, if we only gave you time
-enough.” It was a comfort to Courage to feel that Sylvia so thoroughly
-understood her. Indeed, they were far more to each other than mistress
-and maid; they were true friends these two, whose only home for a while
-had been Larry Starr’s brave lighter, and for both of whom he had cared
-in the same kind, fatherly way. Of course you do not understand about
-Larry or Larry’s lighter, unless you have read “Courage,” but then on
-the other hand there is no reason why you need to understand. Nor
-was Sylvia the only one who approved of what Courage had done. The
-Elversons, Miss Julia’s brother and his wife, and with whom Courage
-and Miss Julia had lived, were as glad as glad could be to have Courage
-carry out Miss Julia’s plan; and so in fact was everybody who saw how
-sad and lonely Courage was, and what a blessing anything that would
-occupy her thoughts must be to her. And so, in the light of all this,
-you can see how sad it would have been if Courage had yielded to her
-fears, and persistently turned away {031}from a duty, in very truth as
-plain as the hand before your face, as Sylvia had put it. But Courage
-had not turned away, nor for one instant wavered from the moment her
-resolve was taken.
-
-And now at last the day for the start had dawned. The little Bennetts
-had been awake at sunrise. Fancy having three months of Christmas ahead
-of you--for it seemed just as fine as that to them. It was a wonder they
-had slept at all. They had read about brooks and hills and valleys, and
-woods where all manner of beautiful wild things were growing; of herds
-of cow’s grazing in grassy pastures; of loads of hay with children
-riding atop of them, and of the untold delights of a hay-loft. And
-now they were going to know and enjoy every one of these delights
-for themselves. Why, they could not even feel sad about leaving their
-mother, and indeed she was as radiant as they at the thought of their
-going.
-
-“You see,” she explained to them, “I shall have the baby for company,
-and such a beautiful time to rest; and your father and I will take a
-sail now and then down the bay, or go to the park for the day in the
-very warm weather; and then it is going to be such a comfort to have
-your father home for two whole months, and that couldn’t have happened
-{032}either, you know, if you had not been going away for the summer.”
- The children’s father, Captain Bennett, was one of the pilots who earn
-their living by bringing the great ocean steamers into the harbour, and
-often he would be aboard the pilot-boat, at sea for weeks at a time,
-waiting his turn to take the helm of one of the incoming steamers, and
-then, as like as not, he would have to put straight to sea again,
-for there were many to keep, and there was need for every hard-earned
-dollar. But the Captain’s chance for a vacation had come with the
-children’s. He could afford to take it, since four of his little family
-were to be provided for, for the entire summer, and so every one was
-happy and every one believed that somehow Miss Julia must know and be so
-glad for them all.
-
-But this was the day for the start, as I told you, and the children had
-started. They were in the waiting-room at the foot of Cortlandt Street,
-where Courage was to meet them.
-
-“And here she is,” exclaimed Mary, with a great sigh of relief, being
-the first to espy Courage coming through the gate of the ferry-house,
-“and doesn’t she look lovely!” Mary was right; Courage did look
-lovely as, with Sylvia close behind her, she walked the length of the
-waiting-room to where the little group {033}were standing. Other people
-thought so too, as she passed, and watched her with keenest interest.
-Her stylish black dress and black sailor hat were wonderfully becoming,
-and the face that had been so pale and sad was flushed with pleasure
-now, and with the rather uncomfortable consciousness that she and her
-little party could scarcely fail to be the observed of all observers.
-Mrs. Bennett was there, of course, to see them off, and the baby and
-the Captain, and it must be confessed that the eyes of both father
-and mother grew a little misty as they said “Good-bye” to their little
-flock. The girl contingent was a trifle misty, too, but the baby was
-the only one who really cried outright. However, I half believe that was
-because he wanted a banana that hung in a fruit stand near by, and not
-at all because the children were going to leave him; some babies seem to
-have so very little feeling. But now it was time to go aboard the boat,
-and the Captain and Mrs. Bennett saw the last of the little party
-as they disappeared within the ferry-boat cabin, and then in fifteen
-minutes more the same little party was ranged along one side of a parlor
-car on the “Washington Limited”; then the wheels slowly and noiselessly
-commenced to turn and they were really off; all of the little party’s
-hearts thrilling {034}with the thought, and all sitting up as prim
-as you please, in their drawing-room chairs, quite overawed with the
-magnificence of their surroundings and the unparalleled importance of
-the occasion.
-
-Courage, very much amused, watched them for a few moments and then
-suggested that they should settle themselves for the journey. Bags
-were stowed away in the racks overhead, coats and hats banished to coat
-hooks, and one thing and another properly adjusted, until at last four
-little pair of hands having placed four little footstools at exactly the
-desired angle, four pair of brand-new russet shoes found a resting-place
-rather conspicuously atop of them, and the four children leaned
-comfortably back in the large, upholstered chairs as though now at last
-permanently established for the entire length of the journey. But of
-course no amount of adjusting and arranging really meant anything of
-that sort, or that they could be able to sit still for more than five
-minutes at a time, and Courage and Sylvia soon had to put their wits
-to work to think up ways of keeping the restless little company in some
-sort of order. But fortunately none of the fellow-passengers appeared
-disturbed thereby. On the contrary, they seemed very much interested,
-and finally a handsome {035}old gentleman came down the aisle, and
-leaning over the chair in which Courage was sitting, said courteously:
-
-“My dear young lady, if you will pardon an old man’s curiosity, and do
-not for any reason mind telling me, I should very much like to know what
-you are doing, and where you are going with this little family?”
-
-“And I am very glad to tell you,” answered Courage cordially, for since
-that summer spent with Larry there had always been such a very warm
-corner in her heart for all old people; and Teddy, who was sitting next
-to Courage, had the grace to offer the old gentleman a chair. Then for
-some time he listened intently, his kind old face glowing with pleasure
-as Courage told him all about the children, and finally of the cosy
-little cottage awaiting their coming down in Virginia.
-
-“But in doing all this,” Courage concluded, “I am simply carrying out
-the plans of my dearest friend, Miss Julia Everett.”
-
-“Oh, you don’t mean it!” the old gentleman exclaimed, his voice
-trembling. “I knew Miss Everett well. She always stopped with me when
-she came to Washington.”
-
-“Can it be that you are old Colonel Anderson?”
-
-“Yes, I am Colonel Anderson, and I suppose {036}I am old,” he added,
-smiling; “and can it be you are young Miss Courage, of whom I have heard
-so often?”
-
-“Yes, I am Courage, but you will excuse me, won’t you, for speaking as I
-did? I only had happened to hear Miss Julia----”
-
-Courage hesitated.
-
-“Oh, yes, dear child, I understand perfectly. You used to hear Miss
-Julia speak of me as old Colonel Anderson, and so I am, and I am not
-ashamed of it either, although I could not resist the temptation to
-tease you a little, which was very rude of me. But now, can it be that
-it is to Miss Julia’s estate near Arlington that you are going--to the
-home that her Uncle Everett left her when she was just a little slip of
-a girl, years before the war?”
-
-“Yes, that is exactly where, but I have never seen it.”
-
-“Well, you will love it when you do. It is the dearest little spot in
-the world. I will drive out some day and take luncheon with you and the
-children, if I should happen to have an invitation. I could tell you
-some interesting things about the old place.”
-
-“Oh, will you come?” exclaimed Mary and Gertrude in one breath, for with
-a curiosity as pardonable, I think, as that of old Mr. Anderson, all of
-the children had grouped themselves {037}about Courage, and had listened
-with keenest interest to every word spoken. And so one more happy
-anticipation was added to the many with which their happy hearts were
-overflowing.
-
-At last the train steamed into Washington, although at times it had
-seemed to the children as though it never would, and then a carriage was
-soon secured, and, three on a seat, the little party crowded into it,
-and they were off for their eight mile drive to Arlington.
-
-
-{038}
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V.--HOWDY
-
-And meantime what excitement in the little cottage down in Virginia!
-Everything was in readiness and everybody was on the tiptoe of
-expectation. Everybody meant Mary Duff, (it was she, you know, who had
-cared for little Courage through all her babyhood, and who had been sent
-down to get everything in order), and besides Mary Duff, Mary Ann the
-cook, old Joe and Brevet.
-
-It must be confessed, Brevet had had a little difficulty in winning his
-grandmother’s consent to this visit, but he had been able to meet every
-objection with such convincing arguments, that he had come off victor in
-the encounter.
-
-“You see, Grand_na_na,” he had confidentially explained, with his pretty
-little half-southern, half-darkey accent, “I is a perfec’ stranger to
-them now I know, but then everything is strange to them down here, so
-don’t you s’pose it would be nice for me to be right there waiting at
-the gate, where I can call out {039}'How’dy’ just so soon as ever they
-come in sight, and so for me not to be a stranger to them more’n the
-first minute, and have them find there are folks here who are very glad
-to know them right from the start? Besides, the lady--Mary Duff was her
-name--told me she just knew those little Bennetts would love to see me,
-and that she would surely expect me down to-day for certain.”
-
-And so “Grand_na_na” succumbed, not having the heart to nip such noble
-hospitality in the bud, and at two o’clock precisely, the best carriage
-wheeled up to the door and Mammy and Brevet were quickly stowed away
-within it, to say nothing of a basketful of good things covered with a
-huge napkin of fine old damask. But who is Mammy? you ask, and indeed
-you should have been told pages ago, for no one for many years had been
-half so important as Mammy in the Ellis household. She is an old negro
-woman, almost as old as Joe himself, and when on the first of January,
-1863, President Lincoln issued the proclamation that made all the slaves
-free, she was among the first to turn her back upon the plantation where
-she was raised, and make her way to Washington. It was there that Mrs.
-Ellis had found her, when in search of a nurse for her two little boys,
-and from that day to this she has been the faithful worshipper of the
-whole Ellis family. Now in her old age her one and only duty has been to
-care for Brevet, a care constantly lessening as that little fellow daily
-proves his ability to look out more and more for himself.
-
-Brevet was not to be allowed, however, on the occasion of this first
-visit to their new neighbours, to make the trip alone. “Grand_na_na” had
-been very firm about that, somewhat to his chagrin, and so, if the truth
-be told, Mammy’s presence in the comfortable, old-fashioned carriage was
-at first simply tolerated. But that state of affairs did not last long.
-Try as he would, Brevet was too happy at heart to cherish any grievance,
-imaginary or otherwise, for many minutes together; and soon he and
-Mammy were chatting away in the merriest fashion, and the old nurse was
-looking forward to the unusual excitement of the day, with quite as
-much expectation as her little charge of seven. Had she not devoted the
-leisure of two long mornings of preparation to the shelling of almonds
-and the stoning of raisins, and then when the day came, with eager
-trembling hands, packed all the good things away in the great, roomy
-hamper that seemed now to look at her so {041}complacently from the
-opposite seat of the phaeton? Yes, indeed, it was every whit as glad a
-day for Mammy as Brevet, and she peered out from the carriage just as
-anxiously as they drove up to the gate and Mary Duff came out to greet
-them. But Mammy had something to say before making any motion to leave
-the carriage.
-
-“Are you quite sure, Miss, dat dis yere little pickaninny of ours
-ain’t gwine to be in any one’s way or nuffin?” she asked, bowing a
-how-do-you-do to Mary, and keeping a restraining hand upon Brevet.
-
-“Oh, perfectly sure.”
-
-“He done told us you wanted him very much,” but in a half-questioning
-tone, as though what Brevet “done told them” was sometimes “suspicioned”
- of being slightly coloured by what he himself would like to do,
-notwithstanding his general high standard of truthfulness.
-
-“Brevet is perfectly right--we do want him very much,” Mary answered,
-heartily.
-
-“Even if you have to take his old Mammy ‘long wid him, kase Miss Lindy
-wasn’t quite willin to ‘low him ter come by hisself?”
-
-“And we’re very glad to see you, Mammy,” Mary answered cordially, and
-so the last of Mammy’s scruples, which were not as real as {042}Mammy
-herself tried to think them, were put to rest, and Brevet was permitted
-to scramble out of the carriage, while Mary Duff lent a hand to Mammy’s
-more difficult alighting.
-
-“Is dere ere a man ‘bout could lift dis yere basket ter de house for
-us?” she asked, looking helplessly up to the hamper, “kase Daniel dere
-has instructions from de Missus neber to leave de hosses less’n dere
-ain’t no way to help it.”
-
-“Well, I guess dere is,” chuckled a familiar voice behind her back, and
-Mammy turned to discover Joe close beside her.
-
-“Well, I klar, you heah!” she exclaimed. “Why, it seems like de whole
-county turn out to welcome dese yere little Bennetts. Seems, too, like
-some of us goin’ to be in de way sure ‘nuff.”
-
-“Howsomever, some on us don’ take up so much room as oders,” grunted
-Joe, surmising, and quite correctly, too, that Mammy considered his
-presence on the scene something wholly unnecessary and undesirable.
-“I’se heah to help wid de trunks, Mammy,” he then added; “what you heah
-to help wid?”
-
-Mammy, scorning the insinuation, turned to Mary Duff as they walked up
-the path.
-
-“You know, Honey, de Lord ain’t lef’ no choice ter most on us as ter
-what size we’ll be, {043}but pears like you’d better be a fat ole Mammy
-like me, than such a ole bag o’ bones as Joe yonder.”
-
-[Illustration: 0067]
-
-But Joe by that time was depositing his basket in the hall-way of the
-cottage, and was fortunately quite beyond the fire of this personal
-attack. Mary Duff was naturally much amused at the real but harmless
-jealousy of these old coloured folk, and realised for perhaps the five
-hundredth time what children we all are, be race and nationality what
-they may.
-
-Meantime Brevet had taken his position on the top rail of the gate, with
-one arm around a slim little cedar that stood guard beside it.
-
-“May I stand right out here, Miss Duff,” he called back to Mary, “so as
-to see them a long way off?”
-
-“Bless your heart, yes!” Mary answered, quite certain in her mind that
-since Courage herself was a little girl she never had seen such a dear
-child. Brevet’s watch was a brief one.
-
-“They are coming! Hear the wheels! They are coming,” he cried
-exultingly, with almost the next breath. In just two minutes more they
-really _had come_, and Brevet was calling out “How’dy, how’dy, how’dy”
- at the top of his strong little lungs, to the wide-eyed {044}amazement
-of the Bennetts, who had never heard this Southern abbreviation of the
-Northern “How-do-you-do.” Then jumping down from his perch, he ran up to
-the carriage, repeating over again his cordial welcoming “How’dy.”
-
-“How’dy, dear little stranger!” replied Courage, waving a greeting to
-Mary; “and who are you I would like to know?”
-
-“I’m Howard Stanhope Ellis, but that’s not what you’re to call me, I
-have another name. It’s the name they give--” but he did not finish
-his sentence, for charming little fellow though he was, he could not be
-allowed to monopolise things in this fashion, and Mary gently pushed him
-aside to get him out of her way.
-
-“And so here you are at last,” she said joyously; “welcome home, Miss
-Courage. How are you, Sylvia?” while she bent down with a cordial kiss
-for each friendly little Bennett. Meantime Courage was making friends
-with Brevet, and a moment later the children were crowding close about
-him.
-
-“My, but I’m glad to see you all,” he exclaimed, with an emphasising
-shake of his head, “and I think I know who’s who too. I believe this is
-Gertrude,” laying one little brown hand on Gertrude’s sleeve, “and you
-are Mary, because Mary’s the oldest, and you {045}Teddy, because Teddy
-comes next, and you--you are Allan.” Brevet had learned his lesson from
-Mary Duff quite literally by heart, and altogether vanquished by his’
-joyous, friendly greeting, the children vied with each other in giving
-him the loudest kiss and the very hardest hug, but from that first
-moment of meeting it was an accepted fact that Allan held first place.
-There was no gainsaying the special joyousness of his “And you--you are
-Allan.” The boy play-fellow for whom he had hitherto longed in vain had
-come, and to little Brevet it seemed as though the millennium had come
-with him.
-
-All this while Joe and Mammy, barely tolerating each other’s presence,
-waited respectfully in the background, so that Mary had a chance to
-explain who they were, as Courage stood in the path, delightedly looking
-up at the dear little house that was to be her home. But Sylvia had
-already made their acquaintance. After paying the driver and making sure
-that nothing had been left in the carriage, she went straight toward
-them. “I thought I should find some of my own people down here in
-Virginia,” she said, cordially extending a hand to each as she spoke,
-“but I did not expect they would be right on the spot, the very first
-moment, to welcome me,” {046}"Miss Duff done tol’ us ‘bout Miss Sylvy
-bein’ of de party,” said Joe with great elegance of manner, while Mammy
-looked daggers at him, for replying to a remark which she considered
-addressed chiefly to herself. It was queer enough, the attitude of these
-two oldtime slaves toward each other, and yet to be accounted for, I
-think, in their eagerness to be of use to those whom they claimed the
-privilege of serving; and each was conscious, by a subtle intuition, of
-a determination to outwit the other if possible in this regard--which
-was all very well, if they only could have competed in the right sort of
-spirit.
-
-But there is no more time in this chapter for Mammy or Joe, nor anything
-else for that matter. Indeed, it would take quite a chapter of itself if
-I should try to tell you of the unpacking of Grandma Ellis’s basket, and
-then of the children’s merry supper; but it seems to me there are more
-important things for me to write about, and for you to read about, than
-things to eat and of how the children ate them. By nine o’clock quiet
-reigned in the little cottage, and “the children were nestled as snug in
-their beds” as the little folk in “The Night before Christmas.” Joe and
-Mammy and Brevet had long ago gone home, and Courage and Mary Duff were
-sitting together in the {047}little living-room, while Sylvia, in the
-hall just outside, was busy arranging the books they had brought with
-them, on some hanging shelves.
-
-[Illustration: 0073]
-
-“I think this has been the happiest day in all my life,” said Courage.
-“I have simply forgotten everything in the pleasure of those children.”
- And then, sitting down at the little cottage piano and running her hands
-for a few moments over the keys, she sang softly,--
-
-               “For all the Saints, who from their labour rest,
-
-               Thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest.”
-
-The sweet, familiar hymn brought Sylvia to the door.
-
-“Miss Courage,” she said, standing with her arms folded behind her back,
-as she had always a way of standing when deeply interested, “you have
-forgotten yourself and your sorrow to-day, but not for one moment have
-you really forgotten Miss Julia,” and Courage knew that this was true,
-and closed the little piano with tears in her eyes and a wondrous joy
-and peace in her heart.
-
-
-{048}
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI.--ARLINGTON BEFORE THE WAR.
-
-No sooner were our little New Yorkers settled in their pretty summer
-home than they naturally desired that it should have a name, and after
-much discussion, according to the Bennett custom, they all agreed that
-“Little Homespun,” one of the names that Courage had suggested, seemed
-to fit the cosy, unpretentious little home better than anything else
-that had been thought of. No sooner were they settled either before they
-became friends firm and fast of the household up at Ellismere. It needed
-but very little time to bring that about, because everything was--to use
-a big word because no smaller one will do--propitious. You can imagine
-what it meant to Courage--taking up her home in a new land, and with
-cares wholly new to her--to have a dear old lady like Grandma Ellis call
-upon her, as she did the very first morning after her arrival. Of
-course Courage had to explain how it was she had come way down there to
-Virginia with the little Bennett children in {049}charge. Indeed, almost
-before she knew it, and in answer to Grandma Ellis’s gentle inquiries,
-she had told her all there was to tell--about Miss Julia, about herself
-and Mary Duff and Sylvia, and finally, as always with any new friend,
-the why and wherefore of her own unusual name. The tears stood in
-Grandma Ellis’s eyes many times during the narration, and her face was
-aglow with love and sympathy and admiration as Courage brought her story
-to a close.
-
-[Illustration: 0079]
-
-“And now, my dear,” she had said, “I want you should know what little
-there is to tell about _us_. We live just three miles from here, and in
-the same old Virginia homestead where my husband was born. We, means my
-son Harry, and Brevet and myself. Brevet, as you already know, perhaps,
-has neither father nor mother. His mother died when he was six months
-old, and his father, my oldest son, was drowned when the _Utopia_ went
-down, off the coast of Spain five years ago. We are doing our best,
-Harry and I, to make up to Brevet for his great loss; but it is sad that
-the little fellow should only know the love of an old grandmama like me,
-and never of his own young mother. But I do not want to burden you with
-my sorrows, dear child; I only want you to know we must all be the best
-of friends {050}the whole summer through. It seems to me we just need
-each other, and in order to commence right, you must all come and spend
-the day with us to-morrow.”
-
-And on the morrow they all did go up to Ellismere, Mary Duff and Sylvia
-with the others; the children went again the day after that, and then
-all hands from Ellismere came down to Homespun for the day, and so what
-with constant coming and going from one house to the other, in just two
-weeks’ time it was as though they had known each other always. And
-then it was that Joe arranged with Courage for the day to be spent at
-Arlington.
-
-“The Ellis’s will all come,” Joe explained, “Mammy wid de res’ of ‘em,
-I suppose,” (but very much as though he preferred she should not) “and
-I done wish de Colonel could be persuaded to drive out from Washington,
-case ‘tween us we knows mos’ dere is of interest happened at Arlington.
-He use’ to visit at de big house when General Lee lived in it ’fo’ de
-wah, an’ I was a slave on de place.”
-
-“You don’t mean Colonel Anderson, do you, Joe?”
-
-“De berry same, Miss.”
-
-“Well, then, of course he’ll come. He is an old, old friend of Miss
-Julia’s. I met him on {051}the train when we came down and he asked me
-to invite him out some time,” and so Courage wrote a note of invitation
-that very day which Joe, with his own hands, carried into Washington. It
-was written on pretty blue paper, which had “Homespun” engraved at the
-top of the sheet and Tiffany’s mark on the envelope as well. It must be
-confessed that Courage had a little extravagant streak in her; that is,
-she loved to have everything just about as nearly right as she could.
-Sister Julia had encouraged the little streak, knowing the peculiar
-pleasure that the reasonable indulgence of a refined taste brings into
-life, “but, dear,” she had often said to Courage, “there is one thing to
-look out for, and that is that the more you gratify your own taste
-the more you must give to the people who have no taste at all, or very
-little of anything that makes life enjoyable,” all of which good advice
-Courage had taken to heart and remembered. But extravagant streak or no,
-the stylish little blue note accomplished its purpose, for at precisely
-nine o’clock the next morning Colonel Anderson wheeled up at Joe’s
-cabin, in his high, old-fashioned carriage, and at almost the same
-moment arrived the Homespun buckboard with its load of eight (for Sylvia
-and Mary Duff were to be in {052}as many good times as possible) and a
-moment later Grandma Ellis, Harry, Brevet and old Mammy drove upon the
-scene.
-
-“Now, how would we best manage things, Joe?” asked Colonel Anderson,
-after everybody had had a. little chat with everybody else, and luncheon
-baskets and wraps had been safely stowed away in Joe’s cabin.
-
-“Well, seems ter me we’d better take a look over de house first, den
-take a stroll through de groun’s an’ come back to de shade of dat ol’
-ches’nut yonder for de story. You can’t make a story bery interestin’
-when you hab a walkin’ aujence, an’ de aujence what’s walkin’ can’t
-catch on ter de story bery well either.”
-
-It was easy to see that this suggestion was a wise one, so with
-the exception of Grandma Ellis and Mammy, for whom comfortable
-rocking-chairs were at once placed under the chestnut tree, the little
-party made its way into the old colonial house.
-
-“Arlington House is rather a cheerless looking place now, I admit,”
- sighed Colonel Anderson, as they walked through the large empty rooms,
-“but wait till we have the story and we’ll fill it full enough.”
-
-“Yes, but don’t let us wait any longer than we have to,” answered
-Courage, and as this was the sentiment of the entire party, they
-{053}hurried from the house for the walk that was to follow. The four
-little Bennetts kept close to each other all the way, Mary, the
-eldest, leading little Gertrude by the hand. They were very quiet, too,
-wondering and overawed by the unbroken lines of graves on every side.
-
-“I wonder if Teddy and I will have to go to a war when we grow up,” said
-Allan at last, half under his breath, with a perceptible little shiver
-and as though barely mustering courage to speak.
-
-“We’ll go if there is a war, I can tell you that,” Teddy replied, rather
-scornfully.
-
-“Then we’ll be buried here, I suppose,” and Allan shook his head
-hopelessly, as though standing that moment at the foot of their two
-soldier-graves.
-
-“And so will I,” affirmed Brevet, who had kept his place close beside
-his favourite Allan from the start. “I’ll speak to be buried right by
-both of you, too, just as though I was one of your family,” and Brevet
-stood as he spoke with his arms folded and his brows knit, in solemn and
-soldier-like fashion.
-
-Now and then the little party would group itself around Colonel Anderson
-as he read the inscription from some monument or headstone, telling of
-the valour of the man whose grave it marked and often of the brave deed
-{054}dared that cost the hero his life. And so some idea was gained of
-the beauty and significance of the great soldier cemetery, and then all
-hurried back to Grandma Ellis, and Colonel Anderson began his story.
-
-An odd assortment of rush-bottomed chairs had been brought from Joe’s
-cabin for the grown-ups, and the children were scattered about on shawls
-and carriage rugs on the ground.
-
-“Now, it isn’t easy,” said Colonel Anderson thoughtfully, “to know just
-where to commence.”
-
-“Den I’ll tell you,” said Joe, who was seated at the Colonel’s elbow.
-“Dere ain’t no such proper place ter begin as at de beginnin’. Tell ‘em
-as how der was a time when Arlington was a great unbroken forest, an’
-how way back early in de eighteen hundreds, George Washington Parke
-Custis came by de lan’ through his father and built Arlington House.”
-
-“If you are going as far back as that, Joe, you ought to go farther,
-and tell how there was an old house here even before this one, which was
-built way back early in the seventeen hundreds. It was a little house,
-with only four rooms, and it stood down yonder near the bank of the
-river, and was bought {055}with the land by John Custis from the
-Alexanders. John Custis, you know, children, was Martha Washington’s
-son, for she was a widow with two children when she married General
-Washington; and George Washington Parke Custis, who lived for awhile
-in the little house before he built this beautiful big one, was her
-grandson. He was a fortunate young fellow, as the world counts being
-fortunate, for he had more money than he knew what to do with. As soon
-as this fine house was completed, George Custis was married and brought
-his bride to his new home, where for the next fifty years they lived the
-most happy and contented life imaginable. They had one daughter, a very
-beautiful young lady, as I myself clearly remember, for my birthday and
-her wedding-day fell together, and that was why I was allowed to
-attend the wedding. My mother and Miss Mollie’s mother were the warmest
-friends, but I was only a boy of ten, and would have been left at home,
-I think, but for the coincidence of the birthday. I remember my mother
-told me Miss Custis said she would like me always to think of her
-wedding-day, when my birthday came round, and I can tell you, children,
-I always do, even though I am an old man and have started in the
-seventies.” {056}"An’ so do I,” chimed in Joe; “I neber done think of
-one without de oder, so closely are dey ’sociated in my min’.”
-
-“Why, were you there too, Joe?” asked Brevet, with a merry little
-twinkle in his eyes, for if there was one story more often told than any
-other for Brevet’s edification, it was the story of Miss Mary Custis’s
-wedding.
-
-“Sho’ as yo’ born, Honey,” quite overlooking Brevet’s insinuation in his
-absorbing interest in the subject. “It was a bery busy day for me, de
-day Miss Mollie was married.”
-
-“How ole was you, Joe, ‘bout dat time?” asked Mammy, her old eyes
-a-twinkle with mischief as well as Brevet’s, for Joe’s age, as every
-one knew, was a mere matter of guesswork, so careful was he that no one
-should ever come to a knowledge of the same.
-
-“Seems ter me dat question ain’t no wise relavent,” replied Joe,
-bristling up a little, “but de Colonel and I warn’t so bery far apart
-when we was chilluns.”
-
-“Why, were you friends then?” asked Allan Bennett.
-
-“Well, that day made us friends,” answered Colonel Anderson, “and this
-was the way it happened. Everything was ready for the wedding. As many
-of the guests as it would hold were assembled in the drawing-room, the
-{057}room on the left of the front door there as you go in, but the
-clergyman had not arrived. Then it was that Mr. Custis, beginning to
-grow nervous, called to Joe there, who stood on the porch, as fine as
-silk in his best clothes and white cotton gloves, ready to open the
-carriage doors for the guests as they arrived.
-
-“‘Joe,’ called Mr. Custis, ‘run down the road, and see if you see a sign
-of a carriage anywhere in sight,’ and, children, what do you suppose
-Joe did? Well, he just stood stock still, looking down at his bright
-polished boots, and he never budged an inch.”
-
-“It’s de truf,” said Joe, shaking his head regretfully, for the children
-were looking to him for confirmation of the story.
-
-“You see the boots were very shiny,” continued the Colonel, in a tone
-of apology for Joe, “and the roads were very very muddy, so that he just
-couldn’t bring himself to do it. Fortunately for Joe, I imagine, Mr.
-Custis had not waited to see him start, taking for granted, of course,
-that he would obey at once, and then what did I do but spring down the
-steps and run on Joe’s errand for him, only too thankful if I could do
-anything to prove my gratitude for being allowed to be present at that,
-to me, greatest of occasions. I had to wait less than five minutes
-before I discovered the open {058}chaise, which had been sent into
-Washington to bring the dominie, tearing up the road.
-
-“‘They’re coming, they’ll be here in a minute,’ I called, hurrying back
-to Joe, and then he rushed away in his new shiny boots and delivered
-my message to Mr. Custis, pretending, as the rogue confessed to me
-afterward, to be quite out of breath from the haste with which he
-had come. And then in the next moment Mr. Meade, for that was the
-clergyman’s name, was really there, but he came in at the back door and
-slipped upstairs as quickly as he could, followed by Joe and myself. You
-see he had driven right into the heart of a heavy thunder shower, just
-outside of Washington, and was drenched to the skin. There was nothing
-for it but that he must make a change of clothing as quickly as he
-could, so Joe, who knew where Mr. Custis kept his clothes, ran hither
-and thither, bringing one article after another, and I helped the
-minister into them--but my, how he did look! Mr. Custis was short and
-stout, and Mr. Meade was tall and thin, and I didn’t see how any one
-could keep their faces straight with such a guy of a minister. They
-couldn’t have done it either, if they had seen how he looked, could
-they, Joe?”
-
-“No, Colonel, not for a minute,” chuckled Joe. {059}"But why didn’t they
-see?” questioned eager little Allan.
-
-“Why, because, of course, he had brought his gown with him, and it
-covered him all up,” for Brevet, able to anticipate much of the familiar
-story, was glad to have a hand in its telling.
-
-“I wish you could know how the house looked in those days,” said the
-Colonel with a sigh of regret, echoed by a much louder and deeper sigh
-on the part of Joe. “It was full of the most beautiful things. There was
-a magnificent array of old family portraits; among them two or three of
-George and Martha Washington. Then there was a marvelous old sideboard
-that held many beautiful things that had belonged to Washington. I
-remember in particular some great silver candlesticks with snuffers
-and extinguishers, and silver wine-coolers, and some exquisite painted
-china, part of a set that had been given to Washington by the Society of
-the Cincinnati.”
-
-“I do not think you have told the children,” interrupted Grandma Ellis,
-“who it was that Miss Custis married.”
-
-“Can that be possible?” provoked that he should have left out anything
-so important. “Why, it was General Robert E. Lee!” {060}"I’m afraid we
-don’t know who General Lee was,” said Mary Bennett, blushing a little,
-and then she added quickly, “you see we live so far away from where
-the war was fought,” for Brevet’s undisguised look of astonishment was
-really quite paralysing.
-
-“We only know what we have learnt at school,” Teddy further explained,
-“and we don’t remember so very much of that.”
-
-“Why, General Lee,” said Brevet earnestly, feeling that he must come
-personally to the rescue of such dense ignorance, “was the greatest
-general they had down South. He would have whipped us Yankees if any one
-could.”
-
-“He was a fine man though, a fine man,” said Joe, solemnly. “He and Miss
-Mary lived right on here at Arlington after dey was married and dere
-wasn’t a slave of us on de place who wouldn’t hab let Lieutenant Lee
-walk right ober us if he’d wanted to. So den when Mr. Custis died in
-1857, and Lieutenant Lee done come to be de haid of de house, it was
-changin’ one good master for anoder.”
-
-“Was Joe a slave?” asked Allan, drawing himself up to Mammy’s knees,
-near whom he happened to be sitting, and speaking in an awe-struck
-whisper.
-
-“Why, yes, Honey, Joe was born in a cabin {061}nex’ where he lives
-to-day, an’ we was all slaves down here ‘fo’ de wah, but de coloured
-folks here at Arlington was always treated ver’ han’some. I wasn’t so
-fortunate, Honey--I belonged down to a plantation in Georgia, where de
-Missus was kind, but where our Master treated us des like cattle, an’ I
-had my only chile sold away from me, when she wasn’t no mo’ den fo’teen
-or fifteen, an’ I don’ know ter this day whether she be livin’ or daid.”
-
-“Oh, Mammy!” was all Allan could say in reply, but his little face
-looked worlds of sympathy.
-
-Meanwhile Joe and Colonel Anderson between them went on with the story
-of Arlington, now one and now the other taking up its thread. Joe told
-of the many cosy cabins at that time dotted about the place in which
-the slaves lived, and of their happy life on a plantation where they all
-felt as though they were part of the household, and took as great pride
-and pleasure as the Master himself in everything belonging to it.
-He described, too, to the great delight of the children, the wild
-excitement of the Autumn hunting parties, when Mr. Custis and a whole
-houseful of guests would start off at sunrise, coming home at night
-with their game-bags full to a banquet in the house and an evening of
-unbounded fun and merri{062}ment. The Colonel told about the house
-itself, for from the time he became a young man until the day when,
-about to take command of a Washington regiment, he came to say goodbye
-to Lieutenant Lee, he had been a constant visitor there. He told of the
-luxury and comfort of the delightful home, now so bare and desolate; of
-the pretty sewing-rooms in the right wing, set apart for Mrs. Custis
-and Miss Mary; of the cosy library in the left wing, and then of the
-pictures painted on the walls by Mr. Custis. The pictures represented
-five of the battles of the Revolution, and Washington was the central
-figure in them all. There is just a trace of some of his work left now
-on the rear entrance of the wide hall, but Colonel Anderson admitted
-they could never have been considered very fine, rather detracting than
-adding to the other beautiful finishings of the house.
-
-“But what became of all the beautiful things and how did the place
-ever happen to become a national cemetery?” asked Courage in one of
-the pauses, when both Joe and the Colonel seemed to be casting about
-in their minds for what would best be told next. She had listened as
-intently as any of the children to the whole narrative, and was every
-whit as much interested. {063}"Well, it seems to me that is almost a
-story in itself,” Colonel Anderson answered, “and that we would better
-have out the luncheon baskets and take a bit of rest.”
-
-Even the children agreed but half-heartedly at first to this
-interruption, but the avidity with which they afterward settled down to
-sandwiches and sponge cake showed that they really had minds not above
-the physical demands of life.
-
-[Illustration: 0093]
-
-
-{064}
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VII.--ARLINGTON AFTERWARD.
-
-
-Miss Sylvy,” asked Joe, rather solemnly, “would you be so kin’ as ter
-tell me whar you hail from?”
-
-“Do you mean where I was born?” Joe nodded. “Well, I’m very sorry, but I
-can’t tell you,” and the colour surged perceptibly under her dark skin.
-
-“H’m,” said Joe, pressing his lower lip over the upper one, as he had a
-habit of doing when he considered any matter required careful thought.
-Then after a pause, “Well, your las’ name, Miss Sylvy, will you tell me
-dat? I don’ rightly remember eber to have heard it.”
-
-“Sylvester, Joe, but it’s a name I chose for myself. I do not know what
-name I was born to.”
-
-“Why, however, Miss Sylvy, did dat happen?” and Joe showed such deep and
-tender interest that Sylvia, who cared to talk on the subject with very
-few, gladly entered into a full explanation. She told him, as she had
-{065}told Courage that summer night so many years before on Larry’s
-lighter, how she had found herself landed in the orphan asylum, with
-no name as far as any one knew, excepting just Sylvia, and how she had
-named herself Sylvester after one of the ladies who came to the asylum
-to teach. And then she continued, giving a brief outline of her life
-since that time, all of which proved most absorbing to Joe, because with
-the telling of Sylvia’s story he learnt so much of interest about Miss
-Courage as well.
-
-“But, Honey,” he asked at the end of the story, with a sigh as of one
-who has listened with an intentness bordering upon fatigue, “who put you
-in dat ’sylum?”
-
-“Some one just left me at the asylum at night, with a card pinned on
-to my dress with ‘Sylvia’ written on it, and saying that I had neither
-father nor mother, and then ran away in the darkness, but I don’t
-believe any one related to me would have treated me like that. I would
-rather you would not say anything about all this, Joe. It is only
-because you are one of my own people and seem so kind and interested
-that I have told you.”
-
-“Thank you bery much for de confidence, Miss Sylvy, for my ole heart
-went right out to you from de day you done come walkin’ up de {066}path
-at Little Homespun, but I’ll keep it safe, Miss Sylvy, never you fear.”
-
-Joe and Sylvia had been busy washing dishes and clearing up after the
-luncheon, and it was when their work was finished and they were waiting
-under the chestnut tree for the others to come back, that they had had
-their little talk. It reached its natural conclusion just as Colonel
-Anderson came strolling up from the river, blowing a shrill whistle
-between two fingers, the signal previously agreed upon to call the
-children together.
-
-“Now, do you know,” he said, when the little company had bestowed itself
-in much the same fashion as in the morning, “I have an idea that you
-will have to let Joe and me do all the talking now. We have only a short
-afternoon before us, and there is a great deal to tell.”
-
-No one looked as though that would be the least hardship, and Joe
-explained that he himself would rather listen than talk, “less’n de.
-Colonel disremembered somethin’ very important.”
-
-“Likely as not I shall, Joe, but it seems the point at which to commence
-this afternoon is with General Lee. At the time that he married Miss
-Mollie Custis he was a lieutenant in the United States Army, but he had
-gradu{067}ated at the head of his class at West Point only two
-years before. After he was married, as you know, he made his home at
-Arlington, but he had to be away from it much of the time because of his
-duties in the army. He was a fine fellow, I can tell you, and held one
-responsible position after another. He was right in the thick of our war
-with Mexico, and won rapid promotion for his courage and daring. After
-a brilliant charge at Chapultepec, when he was severely wounded, he was
-made a brevet-colonel by General Scott. It seemed after that as though
-he was everywhere where a brave, fearless man was needed. He was in
-command in Texas when the Indians were attacking the settlers there; and
-was in many a bloody engagement. Later on, he was the commanding officer
-when the house was charged at Harper’s Ferry, where John Brown had taken
-refuge. I wish there was time, children, to stop and tell you about John
-Brown. You know the old song about ‘John Brown’s body lies a mouldering
-in the grave, but his soul goes marching on.’ Get Joe here to sing it
-for you some day, if you don’t. Well, you see by all this that General
-Lee had done a great deal for his country; but there came a day when he
-felt it his duty to turn against it, that is, to take up arms against
-the {068}United States. You all know how the great civil war finally
-came about; how the Northern States thought the Southern States should
-not hold slaves, and how the Southern States thought they had the right
-to decide whether they should or not without any interference from the
-North, and so banded themselves together and said they would secede from
-the United States and form a confederacy of their own. This Virginia,
-whose air we are breathing this minute, was one of those states, and
-was General Lee’s native state as well; and when the time came to
-choose between his state and his country, he decided to side with the
-Confederacy. Then, of course, there was nothing for him to do but to
-resign from the United States Army. He sent his letter of resignation to
-General Scott on the twenty-second of April, 1861, and then at once
-left Arlington with his wife and children, for it was quite too near
-to Washington for him to stay now that he had taken a stand against the
-Government, and the very next day he was made commander-in-chief of the
-army in Virginia. A few days before this, that is, on the fifteenth
-of April, President Lincoln had called for seventy-five thousand
-volunteers, and three days after the Lees had left, the great army of
-the North came pouring into Washington and all the {069}country round
-about. Camp-fires crackled among the oaks at Arlington, and the house
-itself was taken possession of by the officers, When the troops first
-arrived at Arlington they tramped through the deserted rooms, remaining
-just as the Lees had left them, and concluding that ‘all’s fair in love
-and war,’ they simply helped themselves to the forsaken treasures.
-
-“Oh, but dose were drefful days!” said Joe, as though he must give
-vent to the thoughts Colonel Anderson’s words had stirred: “I neber can
-forgive dose Union soldiers, neber. Seems as dough dey might done have
-respect for a gentleman’s place, but not a bit of it. Seemed as dough
-dey could not be spiteful ‘nuff ’gainst de General. Des fancy seein’
-things dat had belonged to Washington himself carried out of de house,
-and sol’ in de streets up dere in de city of Washington, and some of de
-negroes--shame on ’em!--ran away with things an’ sol’ ’em for more
-money dan dey themselves would have sol’ for ’fo’ de wah. Oh, it was
-pitiful to see the flower beds and lawns tramped over, as dough dey had
-been so much rubbish, and it wa’n’t long befo’ de smooth green terraces
-were just ragged mud-banks. You’d have thought I’d have gone away,
-wouldn’t you? But I couldn’t bring my{070}self to leave de ole place,
-until I ’listed an’ went down to Alabama wid a coloured regiment.
-Dere, Colonel, I done interrupt you, didn’t I? But really, I was des
-thinkin’ aloud more dan talkin’, for I des can’t keep my thoughts to
-myself, when I grows ’stracted over de troublousness of dose times.”
-
-“I don’t blame you, Joe, I don’t blame you,” said Colonel Anderson;
-“but, as for me, I was feeling pretty hot against General Lee those
-days. I didn’t see how he could make up his mind to regularly take up
-arms against his country, and I have an idea that I felt for awhile that
-he was treated no worse than he deserved; but that’s all bygones now,
-as well as the dear old Arlington home, that will never be a home again.
-You see, almost at the commencement of the war, children, Washington,
-with all the country immediately about, became the hospital centre, and
-soon a surgeon’s staff was quartered in the house yonder, in addition
-to the officers already there; and at the same time long canvas shelters
-were constructed in those woods, to which the poor sick and wounded
-soldiers were brought from camp and battlefield--and sadly enough many
-of them died here. At first all who died were taken to the Soldiers’
-Home Cemetery on the other side of Washington to be {071}buried, but the
-day came, as you know, when this very place was turned into a cemetery,
-and this was how it came about. One afternoon as President Lincoln was
-starting for his usual drive, which seemed to be the only way by which
-he could gain any relief from the burdens of that anxious time, he met
-General Meigs (who was Quarter-master General then of the United States
-Army) walking in the White House grounds. Noticing how tired and worn
-out the General looked, the President invited him to drive with him, and
-General Meigs accepted. It was the President’s purpose to drive out to
-Arlington, and when they reached there, the President started off for a
-quiet stroll; but General Meigs, whose thoughts were very busy just then
-as to what should be done with the poor soldiers, dying in such numbers
-in and about Washington, was soon deep in conference with the surgeons
-in charge. You see there would soon have been no more room in other
-cemeteries, and it was for the Quarter-master General to decide what was
-to be done in the matter. Now they say that General Meigs indulged in
-very bitter feelings toward his old friend General Lee, and that when he
-rejoined the President he said, ‘Lee shall never return to Arlington, no
-matter what the issue of the war may be,’ {072}feeling evidently that he
-should be fully punished in any case for the stand he had taken. Just at
-that moment a sad little procession came that way. The bodies of several
-poor fellows, who had died in the hospital tents, were being carried
-on canvas stretchers to a spot from whence they could be taken to the
-Soldiers’ Home Cemetery.
-
-“‘How many men are awaiting burial?’ asked General Meigs of the Sergeant
-in charge of the squad.
-
-“‘Altogether a dozen, sir,’ the Sergeant answered.
-
-“‘Bury them there,’ ordered the General, pointing to a low terrace
-bordering the garden.”
-
-“But did General Meigs have any right to turn General Lee’s place into a
-cemetery?” asked Courage, a little warmly, feeling that an interruption
-was excusable under the circumstances. To be fair always, if possible,
-to everybody, was a working principle with Courage, and this proceeding
-of General Meigs’s did not seem to her quite fair.
-
-“Yes, I think he had a perfect right, Miss Courage. In time of war the
-Government certainly has a right to take possession, if necessary, of
-property belonging to any one in open rebellion against it; and besides,
-five {073}months before Arlington was converted into a cemetery, the
-place had been put up at public sale and bought by the Government. It
-was not, I believe, until 1873, however, that the Lees received any
-money for the estate, and that I admit does not seem fair at all. And
-there is another right of which I am certain, and that is that the
-brave fellows whose bodies rest in these graves had a right to the most
-beautiful spot anywhere in these United States of ours for their last
-resting-place. No, I think it was fitting that Arlington should become
-one of our national cemeteries, and I believe even Joe yonder, thinks so
-too.”
-
-“Yes I do, Colonel Anderson,” Joe answered, solemnly. “Much as I love
-General Lee, I can’t forget what de war cos’ de country in de loss of
-human life, and General Lee done took a great ’sponsibility ’pon
-him, when he help de war on by takin’ command of de Southern troops.
-Yes, I’m glad dat de fine ole place has been pressed into de service of
-de country, in des de way it has been.”
-
-Colonel Anderson’s question put to Joe and Joe’s reply seemed to loosen
-the tongues of the little company. Almost every one from Brevet up had
-some question or other to ask of the Colonel, and he was quite willing
-that they should, for they had all listened so atten{074}tively that
-the story had been told more quickly than either Joe or the Colonel had
-thought possible.
-
-“And now, children,” said Brevet, with the air of a little grandfather,
-“do you wonder that I love to come and spend the day with Joe? Why,
-there isn’t a minute when I’m here, that he isn’t telling me something
-‘bout before the war, or since the war, and when we go back to the cabin
-and Joe makes the hoe-cake and broils a chicken for luncheon, and I
-get the china down from the cupboard and set the table, with both of us
-talking most interesting all the time, and the smell of the cooking just
-filling all the cabin,--well, there isn’t ever such a happy time, is
-there, Joe?” Brevet had made his way to Joe’s side as he spoke, and
-reaching up, put one chubby little arm around his neck.
-
-“No, bless yo’ little white heart, dere never is quite such a happy
-time!” and Joe drew the little fellow into his lap and held him close,
-as though he would love to keep him there forever.
-
-“Is being in the cabin and having Joe cook the hoe-cake and the chicken
-nicer than having luncheon out here in the grass like this?” asked Allan
-Bennett, a whole world of envy in his tone.
-
-{075}"A heap nicer,” was Brevet’s not uncertain reply.
-
-“Do you really t’ink so, Honey?” asked Joe, smiling from ear to ear.
-“Well, den, all you little Bennetts is invited on de spot, to take Fo’th
-of July dinner wid me in my cabin, an’ if Miss Courage will honour me
-wid her presence, an’ de Colonel will come out from Washington, an’ Miss
-Sylvy will lend me a hand wid de preparations, strikes me we might hab a
-good time sure nuff.”
-
-Everybody accepted Joe’s invitation with alacrity, and there could
-not have been a happier ending to a perfect day than to have just such
-another perfect day planned for at its close. It simply took all the
-bitterness out of the parting that followed soon after.
-
-“Miss Lindy,” whispered Joe importantly, as he helped Grandma Ellis
-into the carriage, “I ’spects you and Mars Harry for de Fo’th of July
-dinner, but as dere won’t be no room for Mammy I didn’t make no public
-mention of your two names. Seemed as dough it might make her feel a bit
-uncomfortable if she was de only one not mentioned; but you understan’,
-Miss Lindy, de cabin am small an’ Mammy large, an’” (putting his hand
-to his mouth and speaking in a still lower whisper) “seems like Mammy
-gettin’ {076}too old to be of much use to anybody. You un’erstan’, Miss
-Lindy?”
-
-“Oh, yes, I understand perfectly,” Grandma Ellis answered, very much
-amused, “and I’ll make it all right with Mammy.” But from Grandma
-Ellis’s point of view Mammy did not seem to be growing old one whit more
-rapidly than old Joe himself.
-
-
-{077}
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII.--TO SAVE BREVET.
-
-Between one happy time and another the summer passed on at Little
-Homespun. Not that there was not occasionally an unhappy time--if
-everything had moved perfectly smoothly for three whole months together,
-in a house where there were four irrepressible children, with many of
-the faults common to the average child the world over, it simply would
-have been a miracle outright. No, indeed; there were times now and then
-when Courage quite lost her patience and would have liked to box and
-ship those four little Bennetts straight back to their mother, and there
-were days when even good-natured Mary Duff lost her patience completely,
-and declared she would chastise the first one of them that dared to
-cross the threshold of the kitchen; but then, to be quite fair, I have
-more than a glimmering notion that Courage and Mary Duff had their
-naughty moods too, as well as the children. You can’t feel perfectly
-right, you know, and always behave just as {078}you should every minute
-simply because you happen to be grown up. It would be very fine if you
-could, and there is no doubt that with both grown-ups and children,
-trying hard to get the best of the naughty moods will in time accomplish
-wonders.
-
-But taken as a whole the unhappy times at Homespun were nothing more
-than motes in the Homespun sunshine. Most of the time merry, happy
-voices rang through and about the house from dawn till sunset. Peals
-of happy laughter, that made any one laugh who heard them, echoed
-everywhere. Bits of childish song floated down stairs and up stairs or
-came in at the open windows--“I’se a little Alabama Coon” always the
-burden of the refrain when Brevet was down for the day. Then, toward
-twilight, or more often a little later, when it had really grown quite
-dark, the same dear childish voices blended in a sweet evening hymn
-would float out at the open windows, and the little people whose whole
-minds had been given to play the long summer day through, would quiet
-down and then go contentedly off to bed, their childish hearts full of
-a sweet peace that they hardly understood, and which was not strange
-at all, for it was simply the peace that “passeth all understanding.”
- {079}But not all the days by any manner of means were spent in or about
-Little Homespun. Joe’s Fourth of July dinner had been a great success,
-and there had followed several all-day excursions carefully planned in
-all their details by Uncle Harry, and every one of them voted a great
-success. The fall that had broken Uncle Harry’s arm had proved a
-veritable “windfall” for the children, if a windfall means something
-very pleasant that comes in your way quite by accident, like apples
-strewn by the wind unexpectedly at your feet. It had not been altogether
-an unpleasant experience for Uncle Harry either, notwithstanding, though
-it was now late in August, the arm was still in a sling. Twice it had
-had to be reset, and that had of course been very trying; and yet but
-for that arm he would have been delving away the whole summer through
-in a hot office up at Washington, and the children, without knowing
-of course what they were missing, would in fact have foregone half the
-delight of the summer. In Uncle Harry’s profession, no right arm to use
-meant nothing to do whatever, and so he was thankful enough that Courage
-and the Bennetts had found their way down to old Virginia, and that
-he had been able to plan and carry out so many delightful excursions
-{080}for their enjoyment. But the summer’s crown of pleasure, as far as
-the Bennetts were concerned, had been the days spent at Ellismere with
-Brevet on his island.
-
-I half believe I have not mentioned this island before, for which
-omission I am perfectly confident Brevet would never forgive me. The
-idea of trying to write anything whatever about him and not tell about
-that island the very first thing! It was altogether a wonderful place,
-I assure you. It lay about a hundred feet out from the shore, just in
-front of the Ellismere homestead; and as there was not another island
-within sight of it, Brevet always gratefully cherished the belief that
-it had been placed there just for him. It was about seventy feet long,
-and almost as wide, and it boasted a steep little ledge of rock on the
-side near the shore and two very respectable little pine trees. But it
-was what the hand of man had achieved upon this little island that made
-it the wonderful place it was, and that hand none other than old black
-Joe’s. It was he who had said one sunshiny May morning: “Brevet, I’ll
-build a camp for you over on that island,” and true to his word Joe had
-driven up to Ellismere every day that summer that he could spare from
-his not very arduous duties at Arlington, and he had worked {081}away as
-zealously as though he had assumed the work under contract.
-
-As a result it had been finished the October previous, and Brevet had
-had several weeks to enjoy it before the cold weather obliged him to
-break camp for the winter. Grandma Ellis’s contribution to the scheme
-had been a cedar row-boat and a pair of spoon oars, by which to have
-communication with the island, but for everything else Joe was to be
-thanked. He had cut and sewed the tent, to say nothing of a canvas
-cot. He had manufactured tables and chairs, and best of all a soldier’s
-chest, with
-
-                   HOWARD STANHOPE ELLIS
-
-                        BREVET-CAPTAIN
-
-burned in clear-cut letters upon the lid. There was even a little desk
-of rude contrivance upon which Brevet, after the successful conclusion
-of most exciting battles, would write cheering letters home to his
-grandmother. Outside of the tent hung a good-sized kettle over a bed of
-ashes, that bore witness to many a good meal cooked within it, while on
-the rocky ledge above, a toy brass cannon commanded the harbour, making
-the island quite invulnerable from any assault that might be attempted
-from the side near the shore. {082}Was it strange then that to the
-Bennetts, and especially to the boys Teddy and Allan, this unique little
-spot, with its perfect equipment, offered more possibilities of
-good times than anything they themselves could in any way concoct or
-invent?--and they had lived up to their possibilities, though that had
-involved living at Ellismere most of the time. However, Grandma Ellis
-assured Courage they were not a bit of trouble, and Courage took her at
-her word, for the sake of what it meant to the children.
-
-But, of all the wildly-exciting and happy days, none had seemed quite so
-exciting and happy as the day to which we have now come in this story.
-Perhaps the fact that there could not by any chance be many more of
-these times, lent its own specially brightening charm to the blessings
-that must soon take their flight; for it was the 27th of August by
-the calendar, and by the middle of September Little Homespun would be
-closed, and Courage and the Bennetts have taken their departure. Joe
-had been with the children all day, and he was the one to be thanked
-for most of its wildly exciting features. Single-handed, but supposed to
-represent a whole regiment, he had tried in a score of ways to effect
-a landing on the island; but by dint of unceasing vigi{083}lance the
-children had succeeded in keeping him at bay, until at last, despairing
-and exhausted, he had beaten a retreat to the main land. Indeed, so hard
-and unremitting had been the labours of the children, that about the
-middle of the afternoon Courage, who had been having an all-day
-chat with Grandma Ellis and was afraid the children would quite wear
-themselves out, succeeded in coaxing them to the shore, under promise
-of a story, and it was not to be any ordinary, made-up story either.
-Naturally in her daily contact with the children, Courage had alluded
-now and then to her own childhood, and with the result that they had
-extracted from her the pledge that she would tell them all about it some
-day. But as yet Courage’s “some day” never had dawned, although they had
-repeatedly begged for the story--now they concluded the time had come to
-take a stand.
-
-“Will you tell us the story about yourself if we come over?” Teddy
-called from the island. “We are all agreed we cannot think of laying
-down our arms unless you will.”
-
-“Agreed,” Courage called back, glad to commit them to an hour of quiet
-at any cost; and so the children embarked and rowed over, and Grandma
-entreated so hard that she might be allowed to listen too, that Courage
-{084}yielded, and the little group gathered itself about her big
-rocking-chair on the gallery. Joe was also permitted to form one of the
-party; but there was another listener, who would not have been tolerated
-for a moment if his whereabouts had been known. He was stretched
-full length on the hair-cloth sofa just between the windows in the
-living-room, and, knowing it would be quite impossible for him to gain
-permission to be a hearer, he was just sufficiently unprincipled to
-listen without so much as saying “by your leave.”
-
-You know the story that Courage told--if not you may read it if you have
-a mind, in the little book to which this is a sequel. At the outset,
-of course, she told how she had come by her unusual name, which was the
-greatest relief to Joe and Brevet. They had wanted so much to have that
-explained the whole summer through and yet had not quite liked to
-ask. The remainder of the story was new to all save Grandma Ellis, and
-Courage, now that she had really started, tried to be faithful to
-every detail that could possibly have any interest, from the day of her
-christening to the night when the draw was open and she took her wild
-leap in the darkness. When she had finished every one sat perfectly
-still for a minute. Courage told her own story much better {085}than
-any one else has told or could tell it, and her great absorbing love
-for Miss Julia shone out like a golden thread all through the telling.
-Grandma Ellis was the first to draw a long breath and break the silence.
-
-“Oh, but I wish I might have known your Miss Julia,” she said.
-
-“You know somebody who is just exactly like her,” said Mary Bennett,
-putting her arm about Courage; “_just exactly!_” and this she said very
-slowly and firmly, as though she thought Courage might be inclined to
-differ with her, but Courage only said, “Dear child,” in a low whisper,
-so grateful was she for the most blessed praise that could possibly come
-to her.
-
-“Let us see Miss Julia’s picture now, please,” urged the children, and
-Courage drew from her dress an exquisite miniature, set in pearls, and
-attached to a violet ribbon worn about her neck. They had all seen it
-many a time before, but it seemed to take on a new beauty in the light
-of all they had been hearing. It was when the picture had been passed
-slowly from hand to hand, and the natural thing seemed to be for the
-little party to break up, that Allan was the first to discover that one
-of the party had disappeared.
-
-“Why, where is Brevet?” he exclaimed, as {086}though part of his
-personal belongings had given him the slip.
-
-“Why, sure ‘nuff, where is dat chile?” queried Joe, getting up from his
-chair a little stiffly and peering up to the gallery roof and to the
-branches of the trees, as though the most unlikely spot imaginable was
-precisely the spot in which to expect to find his little Captain. “Seems
-to me it looks a little ugly over there toward Fort Meyer,” he added,
-stepping to the end of the porch and shading his eyes with his hand.
-
-At these words Harry, who had been thinking over all he had heard, rose
-noiselessly from the lounge and slipped away to the rear of the house.
-There he saw at a glance that it did indeed look more than “a little
-ugly” over toward Fort Meyer. A large, funnel-shaped cloud of a dark
-brown color loomed high on the horizon and Harry’s heart sank within
-him. He had seen and known during a summer’s surveying in the West, the
-wreck and ruin that may follow in the train of such a cloud, and he
-knew that everything should be gotten into shape as quickly as possible.
-Hurrying quickly to the front porch he said, with as much composure as
-he could muster:
-
-“You would better go directly into the house, Grandma, we may be going
-to have {087}quite a storm. Send the children through all the rooms and
-have every shutter drawn to, and every window closed and fastened.”
-
-“But Brevet,” said Grandma, trying her best to keep her voice steady,
-“no one knows where Brevet is. No one saw him go, or has any idea where
-he went.”
-
-“Oh, he can’t be far away,” Harry answered, cheerily. “Joe and I will
-find him in a jiffy. Now you do as I say, Grandma,” gently pushing her
-toward the door, “and, children, whisk these chairs into the house, and
-then make for the doors and windows and close them tightly. Don’t stop
-to look, or lose a single minute.”
-
-Harry succeeded in speaking calmly, but his manner showed how urgent
-he deemed the need of haste, and try as she would Grandma found herself
-unequal to the occasion. Her limbs refused to support her, and once
-inside the house she sank into the nearest chair, and, burying her face
-in her hands, broke into an agony of sobs and tears. To have little
-Brevet missing at such an anxious moment was more than her over-strained
-nerves could bear. Courage saw instantly it was for her to take command
-of the situation, and sending the children hither and thither through
-the house as Harry had directed, she herself hurried {088}away for the
-stimulant of which Grandma Ellis so sorely stood in need.
-
-Meanwhile poor old Joe, who in his alarm for Brevet’s safety had lost
-his head completely, had been wasting precious moments in looking in the
-most impossible places.
-
-“Oh, Mars Harry, whar can dat blessed child be?” he said, coming up to
-Harry with the tears streaming down his face.
-
-“Have you looked over on the island, Joe?”
-
-“Oh, I never thought of dat, Mars Harry,” but the misery that was
-in Joe’s voice showed that he took in instantly all the dreadful
-possibilities, if the storm should break with Brevet alone on the
-island. They hurried as fast as they could to the shore, and there, sure
-enough! was Brevet, hard at work, getting his little camp into shape for
-the coming storm he had evidently been the first to discover. At that
-precise moment he was busy hauling down the little camp flag, but that
-he was not in the least disconcerted was perfectly evident. In the awful
-ominous hush preceding the storm, they could even catch the familiar
-strain of “I’se a little Alabama Coon.”
-
-“We must not frighten him, Joe,” Harry said, his breath coming short and
-fast, “we must just call to him to come right back. {089}But where is
-the boat, Joe? _Where_ is the boat?”
-
-“Oh, Mars Harry! Mars Harry! look dere,” and now the fear in Joe’s voice
-had turned to veriest anguish; and Harry looking, saw the precious boat
-in mid-river, the oars still resting in the oar-locks, but as hopelessly
-beyond reach as though in mid-ocean.
-
-“Oh, Joe!” cried Harry, looking down at the helpless arm bound firmly
-in the splints. Then, crying, “I will get a man from the stables;
-stay right where you are, Joe,” he was gone in a flash. A man from the
-stables! Joe knew how long that must take. No, there was just one thing
-to be done, and stripping off boots and jacket, in the next second he
-was breast deep in the water, and in the next striking out bravely
-for the island. It was a hard tug for the old man, for the current was
-strong; but Brevet, still unmindful of his danger, sang away with a
-will, and the words came distinctly over the water,--
-
-                   “I’se a little Alabama Coon,
-
-                   I hasn’t been born very long.”
-
-“Bless your heart, no you hasn’t,” muttered Joe, keeping his head well
-above water. “You hasn’t been born long ‘nuff ter go out dis worl’
-yet awhile, I’m thinkin’,” and nerved by {090}the little fellow’s
-unconscious calmness, Joe put all his strength in four or five more good
-strokes, and reached the camp, but he had no breath left with which to
-speak when he reached it. It was dreadful to waste the precious moments,
-but his breath was still too laboured from the strenuous effort he had
-been making for him to voice a single Word. Just at that moment Brevet
-turned to hurry down from the camp, and then stood riveted to the spot,
-his face white with terror. He did not see Joe in the dismay of his
-discovery.
-
-“Oh, my boat is gone!” he cried, lifting his two little clenched hands
-in helpless consternation.
-
-[Illustration: 0121]
-
-“But here’s your Cap’ll,” rang out a dear familiar voice, and Joe
-thanked God that he was able to instantly dispel the little fellow’s
-fears. One bound, and Brevet was at Joe’s side.
-
-“Did you swim over for me, Captain?” his two arms locked about Joe’s
-neck in his joy.
-
-“Yes, I done swim ober for you Honey, an’ now we done goin’ ter swim
-back again. Des get on my ole back, dis a-way, Honey, only have a care
-not ter choke me an’ don’ be a-feared for a moment.”
-
-It was hardly necessary for Joe to have added that, for on Joe’s back
-Brevet felt as {091}safe as any of the rest of us on the deck of an
-ocean steamer. Besides, it was such fun to be carried ashore in that
-fashion. Only once it seemed to cross his little mind that it might
-perhaps be rather hard work for Joe.
-
-“If I’m too heavy, I think I could swim all right. Shall I leave go?”
-
-“No,” gasped Joe, fearing the dauntless little fellow might put his
-suggestion immediately into practice, “for Heben’s sake, no, Brevet!”
- and then Brevet tightened his hold as though realising there might be
-some danger. How great the danger only Joe himself knew, and he feared
-more than once that he would have to give up--that he could not save
-Brevet after all.
-
-Harry’s search for help had been futile, and, rushing back to the shore,
-what was his joy to discover that Joe had dared to disobey orders and
-had safely crossed to the island! But what a terrible risk the old man
-was running, and, oh, the chagrin, young man that he was, of not being
-able himself to attempt the rescue! With bated breath he watched Joe’s
-start for the mainland, and then saw instantly how even the first return
-strokes taxed his strength to the full. At the point for which he was
-making the far-spreading limbs of two old live-oaks extended out over
-the river, and Harry, plung{092}ing into the water and clinging by his
-good arm to the heavier of two parallel branches, was able to make his
-way to its extreme end, quite a distance from the shore.
-
-“Steer right for me, Joe,” he called, in a voice of earnest entreaty.
-“See where I am, Joe, I can help you from here.” But a sudden blackness
-had come before Joe’s eyes, and he could see nothing.
-
-[Illustration: 0129]
-
-Meantime Courage had hurried from the house the first moment she could
-be spared; had reached the river’s edge and instantly took in the
-situation. It would be little enough Harry could do even if poor Joe
-succeeded in reaching him--it was for her to gain some point as near him
-as possible, and be ready to lend a hand as well. Throwing aside a cloak
-she had caught up for protection, she strode into the water, and by aid
-of the same strong limb to which Harry was clinging, was able to take
-her place close behind him. Meantime not for one instant did Harry
-intermit his calls of encouragement, until at last the overhanging
-branch was almost reached.
-
-“Joe,” he then called, in a voice of commanding entreaty, “one stroke
-more! Now lay hold of me and you’re safe.” Joe had hardly consciousness
-enough left to obey, but he made one stroke more, and then his arms
-{093}grasped something, he hardly knew what, with an iron grip, and
-barely keeping his head above water, his body dragged helplessly down
-the river with the current.
-
-“And what shall I do?” gasped Brevet quickly, for he had at last fully
-realised the struggle of the crossing and knew that Joe’s strength was
-all but gone.
-
-“You lay hold of my arm, Brevet,” cried Courage; “now let go of Joe;
-now cling to me and pull yourself up here on this limb. Quick, quick,
-Brevet, don’t lose a moment--there--now lie flat down and keep perfectly
-still with your arms firm around the branch under you. Now what?” in a
-voice of bewildered appeal to Harry.
-
-“Can you shift yourself to that other limb and bend it within Joe’s
-reach? I am helpless.” Harry spoke through teeth clenched with the
-effort of supporting Joe and his own dead weight by that one arm’s hold
-on the branch beside him.
-
-It was not an easy thing that Harry asked, but retreating toward the
-shore a little way, to a point where the branches came more closely
-together, she safely swung to the other limb, but in making her way out
-into the water again, she felt the ground fall gradually away beneath
-her feet, {094}"Careful, careful,” called Harry; “don’t get beyond your
-depth.”
-
-“I am all right,” Courage answered calmly, though she knew for a
-certainty that she was already beyond her depth--but what did that
-matter in the imperative need of the moment? All this while Joe, with
-closed eyes, still realised that the one thing for him to do was to hold
-on. Notwithstanding the deeper water Courage succeeded in working out
-along the branch until near enough to Joe to bend it by her weight
-within his reach. Then she cried peremptorily, with what little breath
-was left her:
-
-“Joe, open your eyes.” Joe mechanically obeyed. “Now see this branch,
-Joe; reach for it and get upon your feet. The water is not deep.”
-
-Harry felt Joe’s grasp relaxing from his body, but at the same time
-it was apparent that he was too weak and dazed to fully take in the
-situation, and was not about to make the effort necessary to seize the
-overhanging limb.
-
-“Brevet,” cried Harry, under his breath, “speak to Joe. He is not going
-to try to save himself----”
-
-“Joe! Joe!” called Brevet, an agony of appeal in his voice. Joe’s eyes
-opened again. {095}"Reach for that branch, Joe, and try to get ashore. I
-want you, Joe, I want you------”
-
-Brevet’s dearly loved voice, with its deep sob of entreaty, seemed to
-reach some inner consciousness of Joe’s. If Brevet needed him, he must
-make one last effort; and, letting go his relaxed hold of Harry, he
-reached for the branch; struggled to his feet, stumbling heavily against
-Courage; took the necessary steps to reach the shore, and then fell
-utterly unconscious.
-
-Meantime the storm had broken in all its fury. A great yellow whirl of
-dust and sand came sweeping down upon them, carrying broken twigs
-and larger branches, in a twinkling, past them; then came the rain in
-torrents, and vivid flashes of lightning. Brevet clung terrified to the
-limb, but, manly little fellow that he was, made no outcry. Harry, with
-but one arm at his service, hung where he was; the water serving to buoy
-his body up, and to sustain his weight, but he was powerless to alter
-his position. Courage, by the aid of the limb, made her way to the
-shore. Then calling back to Harry, “I will bring help at once,” she
-dropped on to her hands and knees, for it was impossible to stand
-against the wind and rain, and began creeping up the embankment. But
-fortunately for them all, help was {096}at hand. Teddy Bennett, fairly
-blown along by the wind, appeared on the ledge above her. Courage,
-leaning heavily upon one hand, pointed down the river, and Teddy in
-another minute was in the water and close at Harry’s side. It was the
-work of but a moment, strong young swimmer that he proved himself, to
-help Harry ashore, and then throwing themselves flat upon the ground and
-calling out every minute to Brevet to “Hold on and keep a brave heart!”
- they waited for the terrible storm to pass over.
-
-
-{097}
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IX.--JOE HAS AN’ IDEA.
-
-It was two weeks now since that dreadful afternoon up at Ellismere, and
-it has been a quiet two weeks for all of our little party. No one has
-had the heart for very much fun, for Grandma Ellis has been very ill
-up at Ellismere, and dear old Joe is lying helpless in bed in his own
-little cabin. After the storm had spent its force they had carried Joe
-up to the house, and there he had lain unmindful of everything about
-him for three whole days together. Then, when at last consciousness came
-back, power to move either right arm or leg did not come with it, and
-then they learned that poor old Joe was paralysed. As soon as possible
-after that they moved Joe up to Arlington, for he longed for his own bed
-and his own familiar cabin. And who do you suppose went up to care for
-Joe, but Mammy! “If you can spare me. Miss Lindy,” Mammy had said to
-Grandma Ellis, “I would like to look out for Joe de res’ of his days. I
-ain’t allers been ober kin’ to dat ole gem’an, an’ I ain’t had no idea
-what splendid stuff he had in {098}him,” and it seemed a very little
-thing to Grandma Ellis to spare Mammy for the sake of the one who
-had saved Brevet’s life. That Joe had saved it there was but little
-question, for the storm had seemed to be at its very height when it
-reached the island, levelling and demolishing everything upon it. The
-tent had been carried off bodily, no one knew where, and the little
-pine trees uprooted lay wedged in the rocks as though pounded in with an
-anvil, so that it seemed impossible that Brevet could have escaped
-being hurled into the river, or dashed against the rocks with the same
-terrible force as the pine trees.
-
-Harry had been unable to bring any one from the stables, for both the
-men, as it happened, were three miles away at the blacksmith’s, and but
-for Joe’s instant action, any help would have come too late.
-
-I doubt if Teddy will ever quite forgive Grandma Ellis, or his sister
-Mary, for forbidding him to join the party in search of Brevet, or ever
-cease to be thankful that at last, rushing out of the house in spite of
-all their protests, he was able to render such timely aid.
-
-As for Joe, he accepted his utter helplessness with a beautiful
-resignation, but there was something on Joe’s mind, and one day he said
-to Mammy: {099}"Would you min’, Mammy, just sendin’ fo’ Miss Courage to
-come heah for awhile dis ebenin’. I’se somethin’ important ter say ter
-lier, ‘Tain’t dat I couldn’t trus’ you wid it, Mammy, only you knows dey
-am times when a ‘spectable cullud pusson seem ter need der advice of a
-pusson what is born ter a different colour and station.’
-
-“Miss Courage shall be sent for dis bery ebenin’, Joe,” for Mammy had
-made up her mind that Joe was to be humoured in every particular. And so
-Courage came, and with Brevet, who had happened to be spending the day
-at Homespun, for her companion. They stopped to leave the buckboard at
-the stable, where a young mulatto boy was now doing Joe’s work, and then
-Brevet asked permission to run on ahead. He had something on his mind,
-as well as Joe, and he was longing to ask him a question that had just
-occurred to him the day before, and which had made his little heart very
-heavy.
-
-“Joe,” he said in an awed whisper, stepping into the cabin and looking
-quickly about to see if Mammy happened to be out of hearing, “are you
-asleep, Joe?”
-
-“No, bless your little heart,” and Joe’s old face lighted up with
-the joy of Brevet’s coming, “I was des habin a bit o’ a day-dream.”
- {100}"Joe,” whispered Brevet, tip-toeing close to his side, “I want you
-to tell me something. You’re paralysed, you know, Joe.”
-
-“Yes, Honey, I knows.”
-
-“Well, it wasn’t because you went in the river for me, was it, Joe? It
-just happened to come then, didn’t it, Joe?” in anxious inquiry, and as
-though to find out that he was responsible for Joe’s illness would be
-more than he could bear.
-
-“Des happen? o’ course, chile, des happen. Why, des look at me, Honey!
-I’se pow’ful ole; reckon nobody knows how ole I be,” (which was the
-truth, for Joe, if he knew himself, had never told any one), “whereas
-mos’ white-haired cullud pussons is par’Iysed long afore my time o’
-life, par’Iysed all over too, not des a sort o’ half par’Iysed like me.
-No, neber you b’lieve it anythin’ but des happened, no matter what folks
-say, case you ‘member Joe tol’ you so, an’ I ought ter know, I reckon,
-better’n anybody.”
-
-It was as though a great shadow had been lifted from Brevet. Courage,
-wondering how to account for the little fellow’s apparent spiritlessness
-all day, wondered now, as she entered, at the little illumined face.
-
-“See here, Brevet,” said Joe, smiling a welcome to Courage, “will you
-look ober de {101}place while I’se talkin’ ter Miss Courage. Go up to
-de house and down ‘roun’ General Sheridan’s grave, an’ my Oder special
-fav’rites, an’ see if eberythin’ is bein’ kept up ter de handle, case no
-one knows as well as you, Brevet, how Joe allers like ter hab ‘em kep’.”
-
-Brevet joyously obeyed, proud to be sent on such an important errand;
-and after Courage and Joe had exchanged a few words of greeting, Joe at
-once settled to the particular business in hand.
-
-“Miss Courage,” he said, very solemnly, “I don’ b’lieve dey’s such anoder
-mean contemptible good for nothin’ darkey in all dis county as I is.
-Look at dis cabin! des as orderly as can be, an’ den ‘member how I’se
-allers treated Mammy. She ain’t nowhere roun’, is she?” raising himself
-on one arm and looking cautiously about the room.
-
-“No; Mammy is way up the hill yonder, knitting under the chestnut tree.
-I met her as I came, and she told me that you had something important to
-say to me, and that she wouldn’t come back until I called her.”
-
-“Beats me,” answered Joe, “ter see Mammy so considerate an’ behavin’
-hersel’ in dis fashion. Why, dere ain’t nothin’ Mammy can think of to
-make me mo’ comfortable dat she doesn’t up an’ do in a jiffy. Why, when
-yo’ {102}Sylvy comes down ebry day or so, ter see if she can len’ a hand
-as you are so good as ter sen’ her, dey ain’t, as a rule, nuffin lef for
-her ter do, ‘ceptin’ Mammy set her ter make some little relish for me
-to pay her fo’ de trouble of cornin’. Now can you ‘magine, Miss Courage,
-how all dis mak’ me feel, case I’se allers been down on Mammy? You
-‘member I neber so much as invite her ter my Fo’th July dinner. I allers
-‘spect Grandma Ellis staid away so as to let Mammy think she was nowise
-invited either.”
-
-“But you mustn’t blame yourself too much, Joe,” Courage interrupted,
-“for if I’m not mistaken, Mammy has been always rather down upon you. No
-wonder that she wants to make amends. You’re a perfect hero in all our
-eyes now, Joe. Just think of the terrible risk you ran and of all it has
-cost you, Joe--”
-
-“‘Tain’t cost me nuffin, Miss Courage,” Joe said, almost angrily. “Oh, I
-des hope for Brevet’s sake dey won’t be sayin’ any such foolish t’ing as
-dat. I happen ter know dat Brevet would neber get over it if he thought
-he was ‘sponsible for me lyin’ here in bed. No, Miss Courage, dat
-paralysis des happened ter come. I want it ter be so understood. I’d had
-the queerest numb sort o’ feelin’s creepin’ over me a whole week ‘fo’ I
-took dat plunge {103}in de riber--but---but, what I sent for you for am
-dis: I’se had a heap o’ time, lyin’ heah, an’ I’se been usin’ my eyes,
-an’ sure huff I hab an idea. You know your Sylvy? Well, she tol’ me dat
-day when ole Colonel Anderson an’ all of you were at Arlington, an’ we
-was clearin’ up de dinner dishes, dat she been ris up in an institution
-in Brooklyn, an’ so far as she knew she didn’t hab a relashun in de
-worl’. Now, do you happen ter know, Miss Courage, who took Sylvy to dat
-‘sylum?”
-
-“No, Joe; and I’m quite sure Sylvia once told me that nobody knew; but
-if you wish, I can write and make some inquiry. But why do you want to
-know, Joe?”
-
-“Why, case I b’lieve it isn’t de mos’ impossible t’ing in de worl’ dat
-Mammy and Sylvy is related,” and Joe lowered his voice to an almost
-imperceptible whisper.
-
-“But whatever do you found that upon?” Courage asked, eagerly.
-
-“Observation, Miss Courage, an’ what you might call human probability,”
- (Joe was perfectly delighted to find two such fine long words at his
-command) “an’ as I tol’ you, I’se been usin’ my eyes lyin’ heah, an’ dey
-has little ways an’ gestures, Mammy and Sylvy, common to bof of ‘em. Den
-you know Mammy had a daughter sol’ way from her des befo’ de {104}wah,
-an’ as Sylvy ain’t no idea what name she was born to, ‘tain’t impossible
-is it, dat she should be Mammy’s gran’chile?”
-
-“No, it isn’t impossible, Joe, but I must honestly say I do not think it
-probable. Just think how very little you really have to build upon.”
-
-“Mighty little, I grant you, Miss Courage, ‘cepting dose little ways an’
-gestures; but you’ll write, won’t you, case there ain’t the least harm
-in writing is there?”
-
-“Yes, indeed I will, Joe, this very night, but you mustn’t hang too many
-hopes upon it, so as not to be too much disappointed.”
-
-“Dey’s hung dere already. Miss Courage,” said incorrigible Joe, “an’
-I’se not goin’ter take ‘em down till I has ter.”
-
-“All right,” laughed Courage. “May I call Mammy back now? for I should
-like to see her for awhile before I go home.”
-
-“Yes, you call her, an’ des you notice, now your ‘tention’s called ter
-it, if dere isn’t some ways dat ‘mind you of Sylvy.”
-
-And Courage did notice, and was really so surprised at some points
-of resemblance, that she wrote her letter that night with a deeper
-conviction that they might be on the verge of a discovery than she had
-that morning thought possible.
-
-
-{105}
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER X.--BREVET SCORES A POINT.
-
-“Is anybody going to die in this chapter?” asked a little girl who is
-very dear to me, as we were reading aloud last evening. The chapter had
-certainly a rather ominous title, and if any one was going to die she
-preferred to go to bed. Now if we had happened to have been reading this
-story together, I am pretty sure I should have met the same question;
-for, what with Joe ill in bed, and Grandma Ellis ill at Ellismere, and
-both of them pretty old people, it does look, I admit, as though there
-might be something sad to write about it. But, happily, for that happy
-summer there was to be no sorrowful ending. Grandma Ellis was soon quite
-herself again, and Joe improved so much that it seemed as though he
-would probably be able to move about his cabin again some day. And so
-everything would have been bright and hopeful enough save for this--the
-time had come for Courage and the Bennetts and Mary Duff and Sylvia to
-go home, and all hearts as a result were as heavy as lead. The Bennetts
-were eager to {106}see their father and mother and the baby, but they
-did not want to go back to the great, crowded city. And Courage--well,
-she wondered what she possibly could find to do at home that would so
-absorb her whole thought and time as this Little Homespun household,
-and keep her half as happy and contented. She feared that when she went
-back, the old loneliness would surely come surging down upon her, and
-that life without Miss Julia would seem again intolerable. She was
-thinking just such sad thoughts as these as she sat alone in the little
-living-room, stitching away at a dress of Mary Bennett’s that needed
-mending for the journey on the morrow. Every one but herself and Mary
-Duff had gone up to Arlington for a good-bye call upon Joe. Courage was
-not planning to go until late in the day, calculating that the afternoon
-mail would surely bring her some word from the asylum; and so, as she
-sat alone with her own sad thoughts, she was suddenly surprised by a
-little figure in the doorway and a larger figure looming above it.
-
-“Where’s everybody?” asked Brevet. “May we come in?”
-
-“Yes, indeed, come in!” Courage answered, cordially. “Indeed, I am glad
-to see you, for I’m as blue as can be.” {107}"So are we,” said Brevet,
-sitting disconsolately down in a huge armchair that made him look more
-disconsolate than ever “Uncle Harry’s hardly spoken to me all the way.”
- Harry made no denial and dropped into the nearest chair.
-
-“And you’ll be bluer still, Brevet, to find that no one’s at home,”
- Courage added. “They have all gone up to Arlington.”
-
-“Well, that doesn’t matter,” Brevet replied, philosophically, “we shall
-see them all tomorrow when we come down to see you off; but what we all
-care the most about is your going, Miss Courage. Grand_na_na a cries
-every time she thinks of it, and Uncle Harry says it will be just like a
-funeral all the time for him until he is able to go back to the office,
-and I’m just as miserable as I can be.”
-
-“Well, it’s very kind of you all,” sighed Courage. “It seems to me there
-never were two such dear places as Homespun and Ellis-mere, and you
-cannot imagine how I hate to leave them.”
-
-“What will you all do anyway when you get back to New York?” Brevet
-asked, a little sullenly, as though he felt in his heart that really
-they were to blame for going.
-
-“Well, we are not going because we want to, Brevet,” Courage answered
-almost sharply, {108}for she was herself just down-spirited enough to
-be a trifle touchy and childish. “There is no reason why Mary Duff and
-Sylvia and I should stay since the Bennetts will not be here to be cared
-for.”
-
-“But what is the _reason_ for your going home, Miss Courage?” asked
-Brevet, determined to have the whole situation explained.
-
-“Well, Mary Duff is needed at the hospital, where she has charge, you
-know, of a whole ward full of little babies; and, as for Sylvia and me,
-our home is there you know--we belong there--and I shall try very hard
-to find something to fill up all my time, for that is the only way for
-me to manage now that I no longer have Miss Julia.”
-
-“But do people always belong to just one place?”
-
-“No, not always,” Courage was forced to admit.
-
-“Well, you and Brevet seem to be having things all your own way,” said
-Harry, really speaking for the first time since he had entered.
-
-“Yes; I was thinking it would be more polite if you should join in the
-conversation,” Courage answered, colouring a little, for she had felt
-annoyed at Harry’s apparently moody silence.
-
-“Well,” he added, slowly, “I do not know {109}on the whole that there is
-anything for me to say.”
-
-“Then why did you come?”
-
-“Simply to see you once more.”
-
-“And what was the use of that?” Courage asked, she hardly knew why.
-
-“No use, simply to enjoy the pathetic sort of pleasure of all last
-times; but I do not myself understand why you could not have stayed on
-and made us a visit? You would have made my grandmother very happy.”
-
-“Oh, Harry, come off!” said Brevet, who had unavoidably acquired a boy’s
-measure of slang, and who was old enough to appreciate when Harry was
-not his frank, honest self. “That’s all stuff about Grand_na_na--you
-want Miss Courage to stay for yourself just as much as Grand_na_na wants
-her for herself and I want her for myself.”
-
-“‘Children and fools speak the truth,’” said Harry, looking straight at
-Courage.
-
-“Yes, that’s the blessed beauty of them,” looking straight back at him.
-
-“Other people don’t dare,” said Harry.
-
-“Other people lack courage.”
-
-“I quite agree with you. I know a fellow who feels that with Courage he
-could defy the whole world.”
-
-“Brevet,” said Courage, folding away the {110}mended dress, “there is a
-pile of pictures yonder that I have been collecting from the magazines
-and papers for your scrap-book. Bring them here and let us look them
-over.”
-
-Brevet was not to be diverted. It was always one thing at a time with
-him. The pictures could wait--he couldn’t. He had one or two questions
-yet to ask, and he came and stood beside Courage as though to compel her
-undivided attention.
-
-“But why couldn’t you visit us? Didn’t you want to?”
-
-“Yes, I should have been glad to come, Brevet; I cannot explain to you
-why I couldn’t.”
-
-“I suppose it was because there wasn’t anything particular for you to
-do; you always want to be doing something. Now, Miss Courage, I have
-heard Grand_na_na say that if Uncle Harry would bring a wife home to
-Ellismere some day she would give her all the housekeeping. Now, don’t
-you think you could come that way, because then you would have a great
-deal to do?”
-
-“Can you not stop this child?” said Courage, turning with a look of
-indignant appeal to Harry.
-
-“He is doing very well,” Harry answered, without looking up.
-{111}Brevet, intent upon his own line of thought, paid not the least
-attention to either of the last remarks.
-
-“Now, Miss Courage,” resting one arm on her chair and speaking
-thoughtfully and slowly, “couldn’t you--don’t you think you
-could--perhaps--be Uncle Harry’s wife and so belong up to our house and
-have lots of things to do?”
-
-“Yes, couldn’t you--perhaps?” said Harry, very earnestly.
-
-Courage gave one glance toward Harry, and then sat gazing straight at
-Brevet with a look on her face as though endeavouring to frame some
-sort of answer; while Brevet, with appeal in his eyes more eloquent than
-words, waited in solemn silence for her answer.
-
-“But, Brevet,” she said, at last, “are you sure, perfectly sure that
-your Uncle Harry would not mind?”
-
-“Perfectly sure!” but not so much as looking toward Harry, so completely
-did he regard the matter as resting wholly between Courage and himself.
-
-“Well, then, Brevet, I believe I could.”
-
-Then for the first time Brevet showed an inclination to include Harry
-in the conversation, but for that matter he had to, for Harry was close
-beside Courage now. “There,” he {112}said, with a great sigh of relief,
-“what did I tell you? Perhaps she doesn’t care enough to do it for you,
-but she cares enough to do it for us all three together.”
-
-“Run, Brevet!” said Courage. “See, there is Mary coming with the mail.
-Run, and bring it quickly.”
-
-Brevet scampered off in high feather, and Courage instantly straightened
-herself up and looked accusingly at Harry.
-
-“Do you mean to say that you actually talked all this over with Brevet?”
-
-[Illustration: 0147]
-
-“No,” he answered, never looking so handsome or so happy in his life.
-“He talked it all over with me. He seemed to think it the one way out of
-the difficulty.”
-
-“And you knew he was--he was going to say all this to me?”
-
-“No, I never so much as dreamt it for a minute, I assure you, or that he
-was going to take matters into his own hands. On the contrary, I wanted
-to come alone this afternoon, but come he would. He had evidently
-thought out his own course of action, and I shall bless him for it all
-my life.”
-
-
-{113}
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XI.--A RED-LETTER AFTERNOON.
-
-They were a happy trio that set out for Arlington a half hour later.
-Harry and Courage walked closely, side by side, for there was much to be
-said that could not by any chance have any interest for Brevet; besides,
-you could not have kept Brevet still enough for five seconds together to
-listen to anything. He was quite as wild with joy as any little
-terrier, liberated from his kennel for the first run over the hills in
-a fortnight. But the joy that made him run hither and thither, and come
-bounding back to press a flower into Courage’s hands, or simply to look
-up to her face, or brush affectionately against her in true terrier
-fashion, was something more than animal spirits. Courage was coming up
-to Ellismere to live! Courage was coming! No little May-time songster
-was ever more joyous over the coming of Spring, and Brevet would have
-trilled as glad a carol if he could. But of the three Courage was, if
-possible, the very happiest, for she had such a happy secret in her
-{114}keeping--that is, in her pocket--for the mail had brought the
-expected letter. The secret, however, must stay a secret until she
-should reach Arlington and could have a little private talk with Joe;
-and so she hurried Harry along much faster than was at all to his
-liking, for Harry would have been glad to have that walk last for “a
-year and a day,” and so perhaps would Courage, save for the letter.
-
-It was not that it contained any wonderful revelation--it simply said
-that unfortunately the asylum authorities knew nothing more of Sylvia’s
-antecedents than she herself knew; that she had simply been thrust in at
-the asylum door by some old woman who succeeded in beating a mysterious
-retreat into the darkness before any one had seen her. A scrap of paper
-pinned to her dress bore the name of Sylvia, and the statement that
-the child had neither father nor mother. In addition to this the only
-possible clew lay in two or three articles found at the time in Sylvia’s
-keeping. They had been given to her when she left the institution, the
-matron impressing upon her the need and importance of guarding them
-carefully, as they would possibly prove of great value some day. They
-regretted very keenly that they were unable to furnish any further
-information. But, nevertheless, the letter stirred the first {115}real
-hope for Courage that Joe was right in his conjecture, for it reminded
-her of the little belongings Sylvia had once shown her--a coral
-necklace, a gay little silver belt set with imitation turquoise and
-rubies in great variety, and a much-used devotional book. She remembered
-there was no writing in the book save the name of what appeared to be
-some gentleman’s country-place and some date way back in the fifties.
-She could not recall the name, but she thought she would know it if she
-heard it, and felt quite sure, now that she came to think of it, that
-she had heard a name on Mammy’s lips that sounded like it. No wonder
-that something seemed far more important just then than even her own
-great happiness, and that she was impatient to reach Joe’s cabin.
-
-“I will hurry on,” she said, when they came in sight of the cabin. “You
-capture Brevet, Harry, and make him understand that he will be reduced
-to the ranks if he says one word down here of what has happened up at
-Homespun--your mother must be the first to know.”
-
-“You have set me a rather difficult task,” laughed Harry; but he saw the
-wisdom of it, and bearing down upon Brevet he detained him an unwilling
-little prisoner until he had {116}extracted--but slowly and painfully it
-must be confessed--the required promise. Courage found the little cabin
-full; that is, Mary Duff, Sylvia and the children all were there as she
-expected, but a word to Mammy, to whom Courage’s slightest wish was
-law, and the little cabin was cleared in a twinkling, all hands finding
-themselves peremptorily shooed like a pack of geese to the pond below,
-under some foolish pretext or other.
-
-“Has the letter come?” Joe asked, breathlessly. “Any news in it?”
-
-“Yes, I have a letter,” and Courage drew a rocking-chair close to the
-bed; “but there is nothing new in it, only it suggests something to me.
-It speaks of some treasures of Sylvia’s that might throw a little light
-on the subject. I remember now that Sylvia once showed them to me, and
-I do not see why I have been so stupid as not to think of them before.
-They were a string of coral beads, a gay belt of some sort, and a little
-devotional book.”
-
-“Anythin’ written in de book?” interrupted Joe, his clasped hands
-trembling with excitement.
-
-“Nothing much, Joe. We mustn’t grow too hopeful quite yet, but I am
-quite sure it was some name such as would belong to a gentleman’s
-country-place, and I think I should {117}recall it if I heard it. Now,
-doesn’t Mammy sometimes speak of the plantation where she used to live,
-by some name or other?”
-
-“Sunnyside,” panted Joe, “Sunnyside; it’s on her lips eb’ry day or two.
-Do you t’ink--do you t’ink dat’s it?”
-
-“Oh, I don’t dare to think, Joe, it would be so easy for me to be
-mistaken----”
-
-“Call Mammy then, call Sylvy,” Joe cried, excitedly, “call dem quick!”
-
-“Yes, I will call them right away, but, Joe, we must all try to be calm”
- (for she feared the effect of so much excitement). “You must be calm for
-your own sake, Joe, and for theirs, and if we should chance to be on
-the verge of a happy discovery, we must not spring it too suddenly
-upon them. Let me talk to them a little before you ask Sylvia about the
-name.”
-
-But Courage in her own mind was quite joyously sure that Sunnyside was
-the name in the little book. Mammy and Sylvia came in answer to the
-call from Courage--Mary Duff and the Bennetts, wondering what was up,
-remained perforce just as obediently behind.
-
-“Sylvia,” said Courage, signalling Joe to be quiet for a moment, “do you
-remember once showing me a little devotional book of yours? I was trying
-just now to remember its name.” {118}"'Words of Jesus,’ Miss Courage.”
-
-“‘Words of Jesus,’” said Mammy solemnly. “Oh, but I loved dat little
-book. My Missus gave it to me years ago, an’ I gave it to my little girl
-when she was sol’ away from me way down in Alabama.”
-
-“And, Sylvia, there were some other little things, were there not?”
-
-“Yes, Miss Courage, a little string of coral beads, and a tinsel belt,
-you remember.”
-
-Joe and Courage were looking straight at Mammy, who, ashy white under
-her dark skin, leaned against the foot of the bed; but Sylvia, all
-intent upon Joe, did not notice.
-
-“Come nearer, chile,” said Joe, for his turn had come now, although his
-voice all but failed him as he took Sylvia’s hand in his. “Was somethin’
-written in de little book?”
-
-“Yes,” said Sylvia, her own voice unsteady now, for she knew there must
-be some object in all this questioning.
-
-“Have a care now, Mammy,” cried Joe, exultingly. “Something may be going
-to happen, Mammy. Was it Sunnyside, chile?”
-
-“Yes, it was Sunnyside,” she answered, eagerly. “What do you know about
-it, Joe?”
-
-But before Joe could explain, Mammy’s arms were about her in one wild
-ecstasy of delight, {119}and then dropping into a chair she drew Sylvia
-to her lap.
-
-[Illustration: 0155]
-
-“O’ course it was Sunnyside, chile! what else could it be after yo’
-sayin’ you owned de corals an’ de tinsel belt? I gave dem all three to
-my little daughter thirty years an’ more ago. Yo’ b’longs ter me!”
-
-“But, Mammy dear, who do you suppose I am?” her arms close about Mammy’s
-neck.
-
-“Yo’ my little gran’chile, Honey, my little gran’chile come back ter me
-after all dese years-----”
-
-“But how can you be sure, Mammy? My having the things doesn’t surely
-make me your grandchild,” and Sylvia looked as though not to be able to
-be perfectly certain at last would quite break her heart.
-
-“Sure by eb’ryt’ing ‘bout you, Honey; by yo’ face, by yo’ hands, by de
-way you walk, by yo’ ebery motion, by de way you drink a cup o’ tea.
-Maria was jus’ about yo’ age when she was sol’ away from me, an’
-sometimes you’ve so much ‘minded me of her I could scarce bear to look
-at you, neber dreamin’ you could possibly b’long ter me. But, Sylvy,”
- and Mammy’s voice at once grew troubled with the thought that occurred
-to her, “why hab you neber done try to fin’ yo’ own people, chile?”
- {120}"Why, Mammy! I knew nothing about myself at all. I was just pushed
-into the door of a coloured orphan asylum in Brooklyn, when I was a
-little bit of a girl, by a very old woman I remember, and I never saw
-or heard of her again. There was a little piece of paper pinned on to
-my dress which merely said, ‘This little girl hasn’t got any father or
-mother,’ and that my name was Sylvia.”
-
-“Then yo’ mamma’s daid, is she?” said Mammy in a low voice, as though
-speaking to herself. “I wonder who she married an’ how she drifted ‘way
-up North, an’ why she never wrote to her old Mammy--but we’ll never know
-in dis work, will we, Honey?--but no matter, no matter, we’s got each
-oder now, Sylvy,” and Mammy stroked Sylvia’s hair with one trembling
-hand, as the happy realisation chased all the sadness from her face.
-“Maria coaxed that little belt from me,” she continued, never one moment
-taking her eyes from Sylvia’s face, “one day long ’fo’ she was sol’
-from me. My Missus had given it to me when I was jus’ a slip of a girl.
-She gave me the dear book too, but I put that into Maria’s pocket an’
-begged her to read it now an’ again, cause Maria allers seemed too
-lighthearted to give much ’tention to religion. Seems as d’ough _I_
-could hardly wait, Sylvy, {121}to lay my eyes on d’ose little keepsakes
-once more. An’, Sylvy chile, do you ‘member what you said first words
-you spoke ter me an’ Joe? You said, ‘I thought I should find some of my
-own people down here in Virginia.’ ‘Lor, chile, you didn’t dream what
-gospel trufes you were speakin’.”
-
-Meantime Harry and Brevet had appeared upon the scene, and astonished
-beyond measure at what they saw and heard, sat down on a bench beside
-the door and listened in mute wonder.
-
-“But who,” said Mammy at last, when she could bring her confused
-thoughts into some sort of order, and with Sylvia still seated upon her
-lap, “who was de one to find all dis out for me?” turning toward Courage
-for an explanation. But Courage simply looked toward Joe for answer.
-
-“Yes, Mammy,” replied Joe, leaning comfortably back against his pillows,
-the embodiment of dusky radiance, “I has dat honour, Mammy. Lyin’ here
-so helpless when I was first brought back ter de cabin, an’ watchin’ you
-an’ Sylvy move roun’ de room togeder, it came home ter me how you took
-after each oder in a hundred little ways, an’ den ’memberin’ how Sylvy
-had tol’ me one day how she knew nothin’ ’bout who b’longed ter her,
-it {122}des ’spicioned me dat she might b’long to you, an’ so Miss
-Courage here, she wrote up to de ’sylum an’ de answer des come dis
-bery afternoon. But o’ co’se, as you know from Sylvy, dey couldn’t tell
-us nuffin, but ter ’mind Miss Courage of de little treasures Sylvy
-had in her possession, an’ den Miss Courage ’minded how Sylvy had once
-showed dem to her an’ how dere was somethin’ written in de little book,
-but o’ co’se we could not des be sure it was de same name as de ole
-plantation whar you lived till we sent for Sylvy an’ asked her. An’ oh!
-but it’s a happy day for Joe; de happiest day in all my life, an’ it’s
-all come of me being par’lysed an’ havin’ a chance ter notice,” and Joe
-spoke as though the paralysis was unquestionably something for which he
-had need to be devoutly thankful.
-
-“Joe,” said Mammy, who had left her chair and was standing close at his
-bedside, “I’se been hard on you an’ unfair to you mos’ o’ my life, Joe,”
- and she stood looking down as shamefacedly as any little school culprit.
-
-“Don’t you say nuffin, Mammy. Hasn’t I allers been hard on you an’
-unfair to you?”
-
-“Don’t either of you say anything,” interrupted Courage. “If ever two
-people in this world have made up for bygones, I think you two people
-have,” and Joe and Mammy shook {123}their old heads in assent, for
-happily for them both they knew that Courage had spoken but the truth.
-
-Meantime Brevet had slipped away and had enjoyed the exquisite pleasure
-of telling Mary Duff and the Bennetts the wonderful news, whereupon
-they had of course hurried pell-mell up to the cabin and joined in the
-general jubilation. It was well-nigh sunset before the good-byes were
-said--those last good-byes they had come for the purpose of saying--and
-before they were all started on their walk home.
-
-Then Courage turned to Harry.
-
-“I think I will run back and _just tell_ Joe and Mammy----”
-
-“Tell all the world,” said Harry, proudly, “the sooner the better.”
-
-A few minutes later Courage appeared in the cabin doorway.
-
-“Come here,” she said, motioning to Mammy and hurrying to Joe’s side.
-“There’s another secret in the wind this afternoon, and I want to tell
-it to both of you myself. I think I shall come down here to live for
-good and all before _very_ long----”
-
-“De Lord be praised!” ejaculated Joe and Mammy in one breath.
-
-“And I’m coming because I am going to marry Harry Ellis----” {124}"'Tis
-de Lord’s own doin’s,” cried Joe, fervently, “for we all need you.”
-
-“And never you fear but Sylvia will live here too,” said Courage,
-turning radiantly to Mammy. Then in a flash she was gone to hurry after
-the little party over the road. With Harry and Brevet, Courage went
-straight up to Ellismere that night to see Grandma Ellis, and then
-another dear old heart was gladdened beyond all words by the good
-news she had to tell. The next day Courage went back to town with the
-Bennetts, leaving Sylvia to stay with Mammy until she should return, and
-Courage was to return before very long. A good deal had been talked
-over and arranged for in the evening spent at Ellismere, and among
-other things that there should be a wedding at Little Homespun late
-in October. By that time, probably, Joe would be able to drive up from
-Arlington, and Colonel Anderson would come down from Washington, and
-Courage knew that the Everetts and a few other dear friends would come
-down just as gladly from New York, and another matter that had been
-as fully agreed upon was, that although Courage’s home was to be
-at Ellismere for the winter, she and Harry should move up to Little
-Homespun the coming summer, and Mary Duff should bring {125}down some
-other party of little city-children to run wild and enjoy all the
-delights of the unknown country just as the little Bennetts had done.
-
-And so it came about that there was no real sadness in the good-byes
-which were said on the morrow--even the Bennetts found they were glad
-to go, now it came to the point, for when all is said, home is home the
-world over. Harry and Brevet drove up to Washington to see the little
-party off and then drove back to Ellismere, not saying much to each
-other by the way, but both very contented and happy. Brevet was humming
-his own favourite air, as in all serene and quiet moods, until at last
-as though to give vent to the joy within him he broke into the old
-words,--
-
-                   “I’se a little Alabama Coon
-
-                   I hasn’t been born very long-”
-
-“Right you are,” laughed Harry, interrupting, “and a dear little coon
-into the bargain, and who has been born quite long enough to make the
-time tell.”
-
-“What do you mean?” asked Brevet, with puzzled frown.
-
-“Oh, I mean you’ve been born long enough to accomplish quite a great
-deal, on the whole, {126}and the finest work you ever put in was up at
-Little Homespun yesterday.”
-
-“You mean about asking Miss Courage to come back?”
-
-“Exactly. I think your name will always stick to you now--I’m sure I
-shall never call you by any other----”
-
-“You mean my name. Brevet?”
-
-“Yes.”
-
-“But why? I do not quite understand,” for Brevet’s ideas had really
-grown a little hazy as to the full meaning of his name.
-
-“Why, Joe gave you the name, you remember, because that is a title given
-in the army simply as a reward of merit. You have the honour, that is,
-of being a captain without the responsibility. Now it seems to me the
-title belongs to you more than ever since yesterday afternoon. You
-sailed right in and have won all the glory of persuading Miss Courage to
-come back to Virginia, but I do not see that you have assumed a grain
-of responsibility. It is a serious thing to have induced her to exchange
-her home for ours. Now who’s going to see when she comes that she’s
-always perfectly happy and contented, I’d like to know?”
-
-“You are the one to see to that, Uncle Harry. Isn’t that what husbands
-have to do? Besides, I don’t think it’s fair to blame me {127}when you
-yourself wanted her so much to come.”
-
-“_Blame!_ bless your dear little heart! who thought of blame for a
-minute? Irresponsible little rascal though you be, you have earned your
-proud title and _Brevet_ you shall be to the end of the chapter.”
-
-Brevet did not quite understand this either, but that did not matter. He
-knew that he had succeeded in making everybody very happy, Uncle Harry
-in particular, and for the present that was quite enough to know and to
-understand.
-
-THE END.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
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