Part 7 (2/2)

de Lawd, Ma.r.s.e Tom, freedom it are er moughty good thing.”

Then the general flew into the house in a rage and Uncle Ishmael left, followed by two small negroes, bearing on their heads the donations made by Miss Chris to his welfare.

On the day that Eugenia encountered Nicholas at school the general was sitting, as usual, in his rocking chair upon the front porch, when he saw the flutter of a blue skirt, and Eugenia emerged from the avenue and came up the walk between the stiff rows of box. It was two o'clock, and the general was peacefully awaiting the sound of the dinner bell, but at the sight of Eugenia his peacefulness departed, and he called angrily:

”Eugie, where's Bernard?”

”Comin'.”

”Coming!” returned the general indignantly. ”Haven't I told you a dozen times not to walk along that road by yourself? Why didn't you wait for the carriage? Are you never going to mind what I say to you?”

Eugenia came up the steps and threw her books on one of the long green benches. Then she seated herself in a rocking chair and untied her sunbonnet.

”I wa'n't by myself,” she said. ”A boy was with me.”

”A boy? Where is he?”

”He ran away.”

The general's great head went back, and he shook with laughter. ”Bless my soul! What did he mean by that? What boy was it, daughter?”

Eugenia sat upright in the high rocker, fanning her heated face with her sunbonnet.

”The Burr boy,” she answered.

The general gasped for breath, and turned towards the hall.

”Come out here, Chris!” he called. ”Here's Eugie been walking home with the Burr boy!”

In a moment Miss Chris's large figure appeared in the doorway, and she handed a br.i.m.m.i.n.g mint julep to the general.

”I don't know what Eugie can be made of,” she remarked. ”Amos Burr was overseer for the Carringtons before he got that place of his own, and I remember just as well as if it were yesterday old Mr. Phil Carrington telling me once, when I was on a visit there, that the more his man Burr worked the less he accomplished. But, as for Eugenia, that isn't the worst about her. Just the other morning, when I was looking out of the storeroom window, I saw her with her arm round the neck of Aunt Verbeny's little Suke. I declare I was so upset I let the quart pot fall into the potato bin!”

”But there isn't anybody else, Aunt Chris,” protested Eugenia, looking up from her father's julep, which she was tasting. ”And I'm 'bliged to have a bosom friend.”

The general shook until his face was purple and the ice jingled in the gla.s.s.

”Bosom friend, you puss!” he roared. ”Why can't you choose a bosom friend of your own colour? What do you want with a bosom friend as black as the ace of spades?”

”O papa, she ain't black; she's jes' yellow-brown.”

”You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Eugie,” said Miss Chris severely.

”Now go upstairs and wash your face and hands before dinner. It is almost ready. I wonder where Bernard is!”

”Can't I wait twell the bell rings?” Eugenia asked; but Miss Chris shook her head decisively.

”Eugenia, will you never stop talking like a darkey?” she demanded. ”How often must I tell you that there's no such word as 'twell'? Now, go right straight upstairs.”

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