Part 4 (1/2)

”I 'clar to gracious, de boss is a-workin' Miss Patsy's garden!” said she to the housemaid.

”He's workin' nuthin'. He's jes' a-cuttin' an' choppin' up everything,”

said the more observant girl.

”Ef dat ole vilyun is spilen' dat chile's gyardin',” said the cook, ”when she fines it out, little Patsy'll tar up de whole plantation. You listen out when she gits up en comes down-stairs. He ain't done no payin' job dis time, I let you know he ain't dat. Great Gawd,” said she, ”Patsy'll be mad!--eh--eh!”

Jeff Davis, Patsy's little brother, who was out at the front gate, spied Walter Jones riding past, and called out at the top of his voice, ”Come in, old fellow, and take breakfast. Sissy's asleep yet, but we have killed a chicken, and churned, and opened a keg of nails, and there are three fine cantaloupes in the ice-box.”

Walter could not resist this invitation. He dismounted and joined Mr.

Benton on the porch, where that gentleman was sipping a cup of black morning coffee after his labor in the garden.

The dense fog was clearing away, and the sun began to show in the eastern horizon. Patsy came down, and was working up the golden b.u.t.ter, printing it with her prettiest molds. She knew Walter was there. She set on the breakfast table a vase filled with water, and ran out into the garden to get the lilies for a center-piece of beauty and color--for they had actually opened at last.

In a moment everybody was electrified by a terrific scream. The whole family rushed out to see what was the matter. Patsy was wringing her hands and crying. She pointed to the ruined flower-beds, sobbing: ”Some wretch has cut up and destroyed all my beautiful flowers!”

”Well,” said Jeff Davis, ”it won't do any good to bellow over it like that, Sis. Breakfast is ready, I tell you. Come to breakfast.”

But Patsy continued weeping and bewailing her loss, regardless of entreaties. She called down some anathemas on the perpetrator of the outrage, which were not pleasant to Mr. Benton's ears.

”Dry up this minute!” said he. ”_I_ cut out those confounded things, and don't let me hear any more about it. Dry up,” said he, sternly, ”and eat your breakfast.”

Neither Patsy nor her mother ate anything, however. They looked through their tears at each other, and were silent, while rebellious indignation filled their hearts. Mr. Benton was angry.

”It is beyond all reason,” said he, ”for you to act so because I did as I pleased with my own. Anyhow, I would not give one boy,” looking at Jeff, ”for a whole cow-pen full of girls like you,” glancing at Patsy.

Walter was an indignant spectator of this scene, and he wished he could take his sweetheart and fly away with her forever. He took a hasty leave, and Mr. Benton went earlier than usual on his daily round of plantation business.

Her mother soothed Patsy's feelings as well as she could and counseled patience.

”I hate him, if he _is_ my father,” said the girl.

The mother reminded her of the filial respect due the author of her being.

”I wish I had no father,” she answered perversely.

Mr. Benton rode back of the fields to the woods where the ”hands” were cutting timber to complete a fence around the peach orchard. Tom had started in the spring wagon to go three miles down the river for some young trees. Jeff sat on the seat beside Tom. When Mr. Benton returned to go with them to select the trees at the nursery, the horses were apparently restive and rather unmanageable.

”Get down, Jeff,” said Mr. Benton, ”and ride my horse, while I show Tom how to drive these horses.”

A moment after, Jeff and his father had exchanged places, and before Mr.

Benton had fully grasped the reins, the ponies took fright and ran out of the road. Coming suddenly to a tree which had fallen, they bounded over it, and the vehicle was upset, and Tom and Mr. Benton were violently thrown out. Tom escaped with a few bruises, but Mr. Benton was seriously injured, his arm being dislocated and his leg broken. Jeff went off for the doctor, and Mr. Benton was carried home insensible.

When Patsy saw the men bringing him into the house in this condition, she thought he had been killed, and was filled with heart-breaking grief and remorse. ”Poor father!” she cried, ”this is my punishment for wis.h.i.+ng I had no father this morning. O Lord, forgive me!”

Mr. Benton, however, was not dead. After his injured limbs were set to rights by the surgeon, he was soon in a fair way to recovery. In the meanwhile, Patsy and her mother devoted themselves wholly to ministering to his wants and ameliorating the tedium of his confinement to the house.

”Pat,” said he one day, ”you have been a great trouble and expense to me, but when a man is suffering with a lame arm and a broken leg, women are certainly useful to have in the house. You and your mother have waited on me and taken good care of me for many weeks.” He glanced at his spliced leg and his swollen arm, and continued: ”I could not do much cutting up things in the garden at this time, Pat, could I? I wish I had let your flower-beds alone. Great Caesar! didn't you make a fuss over those lilies, and your mother, too! You both actually cried over that morning's work.”