Part 18 (2/2)
CHAPTER XIX.
THE DEATH OF UNCLE BOB.
”There is no such thing as a trifle in the world,” says the Spanish proverb. ”When we remember how inextricably the lives of all mankind are tangled together, it seems as if every word and action moved a lever which set in motion a gigantic machine whose effect is beyond our control.” Such has been the workings of those of whom our little history treats, and yet the labor is not completed.
Charles Belmont would arrive before dinner the next day after the incidents of our last chapter, and Ellen St. Clair was expected, of course, to be nervous and excited; but much to the chagrin of the mother of the young gentleman, at least, she was neither. One might well accuse her of indifference or disinterestedness, so calm and quiet did she appear. It was proposed that they should ride over to the depot to meet him, but she thought it ”tiresome.”
”Then let us go to the village for the letters,” suggested Rose; but even that was ”unnecessary,” and, besides, it was Jim's work, and for one she did not ”like to infringe upon the rights of others,” she declared, with the merriest of laughs.
”Then,” said George, coming to the rescue, ”we will take Anna out and show her the orange groves.”
”That is just the thing; a walk was what was most needed.”
”And Ellen is suited at last,” exclaimed Rose, in a pet.
”But you will go without me. Southern luxury is no rarity to one who has always been used to it”; and the insinuating eyes darted to the calm face of her for whom the pretty speech was intended. ”I will remain within doors, and listen to the chit-chat of the old ladies, or it may be, finish the 'Missing Bride,' which I consider far more agreeable.”
”Do you find entertainment in the works of Mrs. Southworth? There are those who consider them rather effervescent--to speak mildly.”
”Of whom you are included.”
”Certainly so,” replied George St. Clair with a touch of irony in his voice, it must be confessed, for he had seen the glow deepen on the cheek of Anna too many times beneath her scathing words, not to realize the uprising of his knightly indignation, which submerged, for the moment, his native gallantry. But one glance into the mirthful face of his companion, who was already equipped for her walk, brought to his mind her previous a.s.sertion, that she really enjoyed it; and he smothered the glowing fire and stepped into the hall for his hat.
Lily was bathing the aching head of her suffering mother, and could not be prevailed upon to leave her post, and so the three started on without her. On the piazza, however, they encountered ”Toddy,” who was rolling in the suns.h.i.+ne and trying to sing like Aunt Millie.
”Here, you rascal,” called George, ”come and show us where we can find the store-house. I want you to see first how they prepare and store away the cotton,” he continued, turning to Anna.
”Wants to see where dey works 'em?” asked Toddy with a very knowing look.
”Yes, where the gins are.”
”Yes, Ma.s.sa.” And the boy started off in a rollicking trot, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the young people who followed close after him. On he went, slapping his sides at every step, and casting a sly look over his shoulder at the ladies.
”Here, you monkey--don't you ever walk?” again called George, as he was getting far ahead.
”Yes, Ma.s.sa.”
”When, I should like to know?”
”When Miss Rose wants dis child to hurry quick,” he shouted back, at the same time bestowing one of his side-long glances.
There was another merry laugh when Anna inquired:
”What do they call you Toddy for? It seems like a queer name for a little boy.”
”Don' know Missus; 'spects it's 'cause ma.s.sa likes me.”
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