Part 18 (1/2)

s.h.i.+rley, overexcited as she still was, felt the sobs returning. These, however, did not last long and in a moment she found herself smiling again. Though she had hurt him, she had saved him, too! When she whispered this over to herself it still thrilled and startled her. She folded the paper and hastened on under the cherry-trees.

Emmaline, the negro maid was waiting anxiously on the porch. She was thin to spareness, with a face as brown as a tobacco leaf, restless black eyes and wool neatly pinned and set off by an amber comb.

”Honey,” called Emmaline, ”I'se been feahin' fo' yo' wid all that lightnin' r'arin' eroun'. Do yo' remembah when yo' useter run up en jump plumb down in th' middle of yore feddah-baid en covah up dat little gol'

haid, en I useter tell yo' th' noise was th' Good Man rollin' eroun' his rain-barr'l?” She laughed noiselessly, holding both hands to her thin sides. ”Yo' grow'd up now so yo' ain' skeered o' nothin' this side th'

Bad Place! Yo' got th' jess'mine? Give 'em to Em'line. She'll fix 'em all nice, jes' how Mis' Judith like.”

”All right, Emmaline,” replied s.h.i.+rley. ”And I'll go and dress. Has mother missed me?”

”No'm. She ain' lef' huh room this whole blessed day. Now yo' barth's all ready--all 'cep'n th' hot watah, en I sen' Ranston with that th'

fus' thing. Yo' hurry en peel them wet close off yo'se'f, or yo' have one o' them digested chills.”

Her young mistress flown and the hot water despatched, the negro woman spread a cloth on the floor and began to cut and dress the long stalks of the flowers. This done she fetched bowls and vases, and set the pearly-white clumps here and there--on the dining-room sideboard, the hall mantel and the desk of the living-room--till the delicate fragrance filled the house, quite vanquis.h.i.+ng the rose-scent from the arbors.

When all was done, she stood in the doorway with arms akimbo, turning about to survey her handiwork. ”Mis' Judith be pleas' with that,” she said, nodding her woolly head with vigor. ”Wondah why she want them sprangly things! All th' res' o' th' time roses, but 'bout onct a yeah seems like she jes' got to have them jess'mine en nothin' else.”

She swept up the scattered twigs and leaves, and going into the dining-room, began to lay the table for dinner. This room was square and low, with a carved console and straight-backed chairs thinly cus.h.i.+oned in faded blue to match the china. The olive-gray walls were brightened with the soft dull gold of an old mirror and picture frames from which dim faces looked placidly down. The crumbling splendor of the storm-racked sunset fell through old-fas.h.i.+oned leaded window-panes, tinging the white Capodimonte figures on the mantelpiece.

As the trim colored woman moved lightly about in the growing dusk, with the low click of gla.s.s and m.u.f.fled clash of silver, the light _tat-tat_ of a cane sounded, and she ran to the hall, where Mrs. Dandridge was descending the stairway, one slim white hand holding the banister, under the edge of a white silk shawl which drooped its heavy fringes to her daintily-shod feet. On the lower step she halted, looking smilingly about at the blossoming bowls.

”_Don'_ they smell up th' whole house?” said Emmaline. ”I knowed yo' be pleas', Mis' Judith. Now put yo' han' on mah shouldah en I'll take yo'

to yo' big cha'h.”

They crossed the hall, the dusky form bending to the fragile pressure of the fingers. ”Now heah's yo' cha'h. Ranston he made up a little fiah jes' to take th' damp out, en th' big lamp's lit, en Miss s.h.i.+rley'll be down right quick.”

A moment later, in fact, s.h.i.+rley descended the stair, in a filmy gown of India-muslin, with a narrow belting of gold, against whose flowing sleeves her bare arms showed with a flushed pinkness the hue of the pale coral beads about her neck. The damp newspaper was in her hand.

At her step her mother turned her head: she was listening intently to voices that came from the garden--a child's shrill treble opposing Ranston's stentorian grumble.

”Listen, s.h.i.+rley. What's that Rickey is telling Ranston?”

”Don' yo' come heah wid yo' no-count play-actin'. Cyan' fool Ranston wid no sich snek-story, neidah. Ain' no moc'sin at Dam'ry Co'ot, en nebbah _was_!”

”There was, too!” insisted Rickey. ”One bit him and Miss s.h.i.+rley found him and sent Uncle Jefferson for Doctor Southall and it saved his life!

So there! Doctor Southall told Mrs. Mason. And he isn't a man who's just come to fix it up, either; he's the really truly man that owns it!”

”Who on earth is that child talking about?”

s.h.i.+rley put her arm around her mother and kissed her. Her heart was beating quickly. ”The owner has come to Damory Court. He--”

The small book Mrs. Dandridge held fell to the floor. ”The owner! What owner?”

”Mr. Valiant--Mr. John Valiant. The son of the man who abandoned it so long ago.” As she picked up the fallen volume and put it into her mother's hands, s.h.i.+rley was startled by the whiteness of her face.

”Dearest!” she cried. ”You are ill. You shouldn't have come down.”

”No. It's nothing. I've been shut up all day. Go and open the other window.”