Part 19 (1/2)

This was too much even for the staid bachelor, and he joined heartily in the laugh that followed this bit of wit.

”I reckon they do not give you many whippings,” suggested Ellen.

”Right smart, sometimes, Missus.”

”Where are you taking us, madcap? Here, this is the way to the gin house.”

”Yes, Ma.s.sa,” and turning in the direction designated he proceeded with the same swinging trot as before. ”Uncle Bob drefful bad ober dar,” he added a moment after, pointing to a small cabin a little apart from the rest. ”Reckon he's goin t' die,” and he renewed with vigor the peculiar movement of his strange gait, yet this time the drumming of his chubby hands kept up a running accompaniment to the song he had left unfinished when disturbed in the attempt to imitate poor Aunt Millie.

Anna did not join in the amus.e.m.e.nt of the moment, for her thoughts were with the old man who ”was mighty bad ober dar,” and she longed to visit him in his humble home. She walked through the extensive warehouse, listened to the explanations regarding the work of the world-famed cotton gin, looked at the huge piles of bales not yet s.h.i.+pped, yet felt no interest in what she heard or saw, so great had become her desire to go to the little cabin where the poor negro was dying; and when they again emerged into the open air, she said, calmly:

”Why not make a visit to the sick now? I have heard so much in the north about the piety and resignation of the negro people in the dying hour that I long to witness it for myself.”

The young man looked into the face of the speaker with a shadow of perplexity covering his own. Ellen, however, quietly remarked:

”All of these things have been greatly exaggerated, without doubt, and yet I shall never forget how triumphantly old Peter went home. I was quite small, but my heart learned a great lesson from that death. If you desire, Anna, I will go with you.”

”I think, ladies, you had better commission me to carry the wine and oil, for having had one peep into the sensitive nature of our northern friend, I must consider you very thoughtless, my sister, in forwarding her desires.”

This was said with apparent carelessness, yet Anna did not fail to perceive that he did not want them to go. Still she was not willing to give it up, and, laying her hand on his arm, she said, playfully:

”Miss Rose will require a little of your Samaritan kindness, if she is still weeping over the tortures of the 'Missing Bride,' and if you will pardon us we will go to the cabin while you administer balm in another direction. To-morrow, remember, we are to finish our rambles through the orange groves.”

”Of course he will excuse us,” interposed Ellen, ”we will not remain a great while.” And with a ”Just as you please, ladies,” their chaperon, with a most obsequious bow, walked away.

”He hasn't gone to the house at all,” remarked the sister looking after him, but Toddy unperceived by either had appeared on the scene and with one of his knowing glances remarked quaintly: ”Miss Lily ober dar wid de turkeys; I seed her goin' down de walk. Dis be ole Bob's,” and rolling up to the door he opened it, then stepped back for the ladies to enter.

”A little gentleman after all,” remarked Anna _sotto voce_; but they were in the room where in the farther part lay the old man with closed eyes apparently asleep. ”Do not disturb him,” whispered Ellen approaching the bedside; but the large eyes opened as she drew near and a smile spread itself over the thin features.

”De young ladies from de house has come to see you,” said the girl in attendance. ”Bress ye'se honey. I'se most home, got most t'ro' wid de work and de cryin'! Old Bob's done heaps of dem both--bress de Lord!”

And the heavy lids drooped again over the large eyes where such a joyous light seemed burning. Anna could not resist the impulse to take the bony hand of the dying man in her own, and as it lay in her warm clasp he looked again upon her. ”Does ye pray, honey? De good Lord help ye! It's but a little way down to de ribber whar old Bob's a-goin'! Poo' ma.s.sa!

I'se told de Lord all 'bout him. It's de liquor what keeps de good away--but den I'se most t'ro'--goin' home--bress de Lord!” A spoon was placed to his lips and as he swallowed the few drops he murmured: ”_Poo_' ma.s.sa! It's de liquor,” and his voice died away in a prayer Anna was sure for his lips moved almost imperceptibly. There was a moment's silence, then Anna as she raised the hand she had been holding from the feebly heaving breast asked softly: ”What are all the sorrows of life to you now? With heaven so near can you feel sad for a moment over what has past? Are you very happy poor, dying saint?” O that look! ”It must have been a ray that had darted through the opening gate that so lighted up the wan features,” said Anna after, ”for it was like nothing I ever saw before.” The poor girl by his side was weeping quietly, but she caught the glance of the heavenly eyes, and laying her hand on the white head said soothingly: ”Dar's a crown for poor old Bob where dis head won't ache no mo'”; and the fervent ”bress de Lord!” fell again from the thin lips.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DEATH OF UNCLE BOB.]

”Are you not afraid to stay here alone?” whispered Ellen.

”O, no; de Lord and de holy angels are close by, and f.a.n.n.y will be here when de days work is t'ro'. But Bob an I isn't 'fraid. We'll both be dar by and by.” Fearing to intrude longer upon the last moments of a departing soul the two stole noiselessly from the humble room which was so soon to prove the gate of heaven to the liberated spirit, and they stepped out into the cool, bracing air, yet not a word was spoken.

”There come the carriages from the depot,” remarked Ellen as they turned towards the house. Yes, Charles Belmont had arrived; as also Mr. St.

Clair, in company with the host, from where they had been taking a drive over a neighboring plantation; and shortly after a merry party, to all appearance, sat down to a bountiful dinner. How little we know of the grief, bitterness, disappointment, anger and rage that can be crowded into one dark chamber of the soul over which the spirit of evil keeps its faithful watch, holding in its right hand the keys of its secret domain!

”Old Bob gone dead, sure,” piped a voice through a narrow aperture of the door close to the master's chair.

”_Get out_ you scoundrel!” exclaimed the host, at the same time throwing a chicken bone at the intruder's curly head which failed in its aim, while the gleeful ”he-he-he!” mingled itself with the sound of Toddy's rapid scrambling up the broad staircase outside.

”Did you know Bob was so bad?” inquired the wife, stopping for a moment in her duties as hostess.

”Bad? Bob wasn't bad about anything! But I knew he was going this morning, the old boy! Well, he did have one fault; he loved his good-for-nothing old master and I reckon things won't go quite as brisk now that he has gone.”