Part 19 (1/2)
to learn, an' gettin' terribly fl.u.s.tered wid de big words. I can see her now, bendin' over it airly an' late; sometimes wid de chile in her lap till she done tuckered out, an' laid it away with a sithe as if glad to be shet of it. She couldn't larn, an' de Lord took her whar dey don't ask what you knows,--only dis: does you lub de Lord? an' she did, de lamb.'
”Jake was still crying, and I was not far from it as I saw in fancy that poor young girl trying to learn, trying to master the big words and their meaning, in the vain hope of fitting herself for companions.h.i.+p with a man who had deserted her, and who probably never had for her more than a pa.s.sing fancy, of which he was ashamed and would gladly ignore.
”'I showed him de book,' Jake said, 'an' tole him how she tried to larn, an' I tried to help her all I could, an' then he did have some feelin'
an' his eyes got red, but he didn't drap a tear; no, sar, not a drap! He ast me could he have de book, an' I said, ”No, sar, not for nothin'.
It's mine,” an' he said, proud-like, ”As you please.” He was mighty good to me an' Mandy Ann 'bout money, an' when I writ him she was married, he sent her two hundred dollars, which she 'vested in a house, or Ted would of spent it for fine close an' cigarettes. He must be gettin' ole, as I be, an' they call de town Crompton, after him, 'stid of Troutburg.'
”Remembering your parish, I told him I had a son settled in Crompton, Ma.s.sachusetts. I hardly thought there were two towns of the same name in one State, and I'd inquire if Col. Crompton lived there. His face brightened at once, and when I left him, he grasped my hand and said, 'Bress de Lawd for de grain of comfort you done give me. If she is thar I'd walk all de road from Floridy to see her, if I couldn't git thar no other way. Thankee, Mas'r Mason, for comin' to see me. I'se pretty reg'lar at church, an' sets by de do', an' allus gives a nickel for myself an' one for Miss Dory dead an' for Miss Dory livin', an' I makes Mandy Ann 'tend all I can, though she'd rather go whar she says it's livelier. She is mighty good to me,--comes ebery week an' clars up an'
scoles me for gittin' so dirty. She's great on a scrub, Mandy Ann is.
Muss you go? Well, I'm glad you comed, an' I s'pec's I've tole you some things twiste, 'case of my memory. Good-by.'
”He accompanied me to the door, and shook hands with all the grace of a born gentleman. Then I left him, but have been haunted ever since by a picture of that old negro in his lonely cabin, jogging that empty cradle nights when he cannot sleep, and contrasting him with Col. Crompton, whoever and wherever he may be. Perhaps you can throw some light on the subject. The world is not so very wide that our sins are not pretty sure to find us out, and that some Col. Crompton has been guilty of a great wrong seems certain. Possibly he is one of your paris.h.i.+oners, and you may know something of the second Dory. I shall await your answer with some anxiety.
”Your father,
”CHARLES MASON.”
This was the letter which had sent the Rev. Arthur to call on Mrs.
Biggs, with no thought of Eloise in his mind. She was not yet an active factor in the drama which was to be played out so rapidly. Returning to his boarding place, the rector read his father's letter a second time, and then answered it. A part of what he wrote we give:
”I have just come from an interview with a woman who is credited with knowing the history of the place forty years back, and I have no doubt that Shaky's Col. Crompton is living here in Crompton Place, the richest man in town and largest contributor to the church. There is a lady living with him who people believe is his daughter, although he has never acknowledged her as such. Mrs. Biggs, the woman I interviewed, gave me a most graphic account of the manner of her arrival at Crompton Place, when she was a little girl like the one you describe. She has a lovely face, but is a little twisted in her brain. She did run away with her music teacher, and her name is Amy Eudora. There was no mention made of Harris. They call her Miss Amy. There can't be much doubt of her ident.i.ty with Jaky's lil chile. Send him on, and Mandy Ann, too,--and the four twins, Alex and Aaron, Judy and Dory. I'll pay half their fare!
There's enough of the old Adam in me to make me want to see them confront the proud Colonel, who ignores me for reasons I could not fathom, until I received your letter. Then I suspected that because I am your son he feared that some pages of his life, which he hoped were blotted out by time and the ravages of war, might be revealed. He is an old man, of course, but distinguished-looking still, though much broken with rheumatic gout, which keeps him mostly at home. My respects to Shaky, whom I hope before long to hear ringing the bell at Crompton Place. Is that wicked? I suppose so, but I cannot help it.
”ARTHUR.”
CHAPTER XI
SUNDAY CALLS
The day following the rector's call on Mrs. Biggs was Sunday, and the morning was wet and misty, with a thick, white fog which crept up from the sea and hid from view objects at any distance away.
”This is nearly as bad as London,” Howard said to Jack when, after breakfast, they stood looking out upon the sodden gra.s.s and drooping flowers in the park. ”Have you a mind to go to church?”
Jack shrugged his shoulders, and replied, ”Not I; it's too damp. Are you going?”
Howard had not thought of doing so until that moment, when an idea came suddenly into his mind, and he answered, ”I think so,--yes. Some one ought to represent the Crompton pew. It is out of the question for my uncle to go, and he would not if he could. He has taken a violent prejudice against the new rector, for no reason I can think of. He is a good fellow,--the rector, I mean,--and not too straight-laced to smoke a cigar, and he knows a fine horse when he sees one, and preaches splendid sermons. I think I shall go and encourage him.”
He did not urge Jack to accompany him, nor would Jack have done so if he had. There was an idea in his mind, as well as in Howard's, which he intended to carry out, and half an hour after Howard started for church, he, too, left the house and walked slowly through the park in the direction of Mrs. Biggs's.
”I don't know as it is just the thing to call on Sunday,” he thought, hesitating a little as he came in sight of the house, ”but it seems an age since I saw her. I'll just step to the door and inquire how she is.”
His knock was not answered at first, but when he repeated it he heard from the parlor what sounded like--”The key is under the mat,” in a voice he knew did not belong to Mrs. Biggs. That good woman was in church. Tim had gone to the choir in St. John's, and Eloise was alone.
Ruby Ann had been to see her the night before with her ma.s.sage and rubber band, both of which had proved so successful that Eloise was feeling greatly encouraged, and the outlook was not quite so forlorn as when she first landed at Mrs. Biggs's, helpless and homesick and half crazed with pain. Her ankle was improving fast, although she could not walk; but she had hopes of taking her place in school within a week or ten days. Mrs. Biggs had wondered why the young men from Crompton Place did not call on Sat.u.r.day, and Eloise had felt a little disappointed when the day had pa.s.sed and she did not see them.
”'Tain't noways likely they'll come to-day. Folks know my principles, and that I don't b'lieve in Sunday visiting,” she said as she tidied up the room before starting for church. ”n.o.body'll come, unless it is Ruby Ann with her ma.s.sage, that's no more good than a cat's foot; so I'll just give the parlor a lick and a promise till to-morrow, and 'fise you I'd be comfortable in that wrapper.”
But Eloise insisted upon the white dressing jacket with pink ribbons, in which Mrs. Biggs said she looked ”like a picter,” regretting that the young men could not see her.