Part 14 (1/2)

”You will see new scenes and new people,” said Dr. Buxton, laughing.

”You will get new ideas; above all, you will breathe the fresh air of heaven spiced with the odor of pines. It will be the making of you, my dear child.”

Helen made various protests, some of them serious and some droll, but the matter was practically settled when it became evident that Dr.

Buxton was not only earnestly but enthusiastically in favor of the journey; and Helen's aunt at once began to make preparations. To some of their friends it seemed a serious undertaking indeed. The newspapers of that day were full of accounts of Ku-Klux outrages, and of equally terrible reports of the social disorganization of the South. It seemed at that time as though the politicians and the editors, both great and small, and of every shade of belief, had determined to fight the war over again--inst.i.tuting a conflict which, though bloodless enough so far as the disputants were concerned, was not without its unhappy results.

Moreover, Helen's father had been noted among those who had early engaged in the crusade against slavery; and it was freely predicted by her friends that the lawlessness which was supposed to exist in every part of the collapsed Confederacy would be prompt to select the representatives of Charles...o...b..rne Eustis as its victims.

Miss Tewksbury affected to smile at the apprehensions of her friends, but her preparations were not undertaken without a secret dread of the responsibilities she was a.s.suming. Helen, however, was disposed to treat the matter humorously. ”Dr. Buxton is a lifelong Democrat,” she said; ”consequently he must know all about it. Father used to tell him he liked his medicine better than his politics, bitter as some of it was; but in a case of this kind, Dr. Buxton's politics have a distinct value.

He will give us the grips, the signs, and the pa.s.s-words, dear aunt, and I dare say we shall get along comfortably.”

II

THEY did get along comfortably. Peace seemed to spread her meshes before them. They journeyed by easy stages, stopping a while in Philadelphia, in Baltimore, and in Was.h.i.+ngton. They stayed a week in Richmond. From Richmond they were to go to Atlanta, and from Atlanta to Azalia, the little piny woods village which Dr. Buxton had recommended as a sanitarium. At a point south of Richmond, where they stopped for breakfast, Miss Eustis and her aunt witnessed a little scene that seemed to them to be very interesting. A gentleman wrapped in a long linen traveling-coat was pacing restlessly up and down the platform of the little station. He was tall, and his bearing was distinctly military. The neighborhood people who were lounging around the station watched him with interest. After a while a negro boy came running up with a valise which he had evidently brought some distance. He placed it in front of the tall gentleman, crying out in a loud voice: ”Here she is, Ma.r.s.e Peyton,” then stepped to one side, and began to fan himself vigorously with the fragment of a wool hat. He grinned broadly in response to something the tall gentleman said; but, before he could make a suitable reply, a negro woman, fat and motherly-looking, made her appearance, puffing and blowing and talking.

”I declar' ter gracious, Ma.r.s.e Peyton! seem like I wa'n't never gwine ter git yer. I helt up my head, I did, fer ter keep my eye on de kyars, en it look like I run inter all de gullies en on top er all de stumps 'twix' dis en Ma.r.s.e Tip's. I des tuk'n drapt eve'ything, I did, en tole um dey'd batter keep one eye on de dinner-pot, kaze I 'blige ter run en see Ma.r.s.e Peyton off.”

The gentleman laughed as the motherly-looking old negro wiped her face with her ap.r.o.n. Her sleeves were rolled up, and her fat arms glistened in the sun.

”I boun' you some er deze yer folks'll go off en say I'm 'stracted,” she cried, ”but I can't he'p dat; I bleeze ter run down yer ter tell Ma.r.s.e Peyton good-by. Tell um all howdy fer me, Ma.r.s.e Peyton,” she cried, ”all un um. No diffunce ef I ain't know um all--'tain't gwine ter do no harm fer ter tell um dat ole Jincy say howdy. Hit make me feel right foolish in de head w'en it comes 'cross me dat I use ter tote Miss Hallie 'roun'

w'en she wuz a little bit er baby, en now she way down dar out'n de worl' mos'. I wish ter de Lord I uz gwine 'long wid you, Ma.r.s.e Peyton!

Yit I 'speck, time I got dar, I'd whirl in en wish myse'f back home.”

The negro boy carried the gentleman's valise into the sleeping-coach, and placed it opposite the seats occupied by Helen and her aunt. Across the end was stenciled in white the name ”Peyton Garwood.” When the train was ready to start, the gentleman shook hands with the negro woman and with the boy. The woman seemed to be very much affected.

”G.o.d A'mighty bless you, Ma.r.s.e Peyton, honey!” she exclaimed as the train moved off; and as long as Helen could see her, she was waving her hands in farewell. Both Helen and her aunt had watched this scene with considerable interest, and now, when the gentleman had been escorted to his seat by the obsequious porter, they regarded him with some curiosity. He appeared to be about thirty-five years old. His face would have been called exceedingly handsome but for a scar on his right cheek; and yet, on closer inspection, the scar seemed somehow to fit the firm outlines of his features. His brown beard emphasized the strength of his chin. His nose was slightly aquiline, his eyebrows were a trifle rugged, and his hair was brushed straight back from a high forehead. His face was that of a man who had seen rough service and enjoyed it keenly--a face full of fire and resolution with some subtle suggestion of tenderness.

”She called him 'Master,' Helen,” said Miss Tewksbury after a while, referring to the scene at the station; ”did you hear her?” Miss Tewksbury's tone implied wrathfulness that was too sure of its own justification to a.s.sert itself noisily.

”I heard her,” Helen replied. ”She called him Master, and he called her Mammy. It was a very pleasing exchange of compliments.”

Such further comment as the ladies may have felt called on to make--for it was a matter in which both were very much interested--was postponed for the time being. A pa.s.senger occupying a seat in the farther end of the coach had recognized the gentleman whose valise was labeled ”Peyton Garwood,” and now pressed forward to greet him. This pa.s.senger was a very aggressive-looking person. He was short and stout, but there was no suggestion of jollity or even of good-humor in his rotundity. No one would have made the mistake of alluding to him as a fat man. He would have been characterized as the pudgy man; and even his pudginess was aggressive. He had evidently determined to be dignified at any cost, but his seriousness seemed to be perfectly gratuitous.

”Gener'l Garwood?” he said in an impressive tone, as he leaned over the tall gentleman's seat.

”Ah! Goolsby!” exclaimed the other, extending his hand. ”Why, how do you do? Sit down.”

Goolsby's pudginess became more apparent and apparently more aggressive than ever when he seated himself near General Garwood.

”Well, sir, I can't say my health's any too good. You look mighty well yourse'f, gener'l. How are things?” said Goolsby, pus.h.i.+ng his traveling-cap over his eyes, and frowning as if in pain.

”Oh, affairs seem to be improving,” General Garwood replied.

”Well, now, I ain't so up and down certain about that, gener'l,” said Goolsby, settling himself back, and frowning until his little eyes disappeared. ”Looks like to me that things git wuss and wuss. I ain't no big man, and I'm ruther disj'inted when it comes right down to politics; but blame me if it don't look to me mighty like the whole of creation is driftin' 'round loose.”

”Ah, well,” said the general soothingly, ”a great many things are uncomfortable; there is a good deal of unnecessary irritation growing out of new and unexpected conditions. But we are getting along better than we are willing to admit. We are all fond of grumbling.”

”That's so,” said Goolsby, with the air of a man who is willing to make any sacrifice for the sake of a discussion; ”that's so. But I tell you we're havin' mighty tough times, gener'l--mighty tough times. Yonder's the Yankees on one side, and here's the blamed n.i.g.g.e.rs on t'other, and betwixt and betweenst 'em a white man's got mighty little chance. And then, right on top of the whole caboodle, here comes the panic in the banks, and the epizooty 'mongst the cattle. I tell you, gener'l, it's tough times, and it's in-about as much as an honest man can do to pay hotel bills and have a ticket ready to show up when the conductor comes along.”

General Garwood smiled sympathetically, and Goolsby went on: ”Here I've been runnin' up and down the country tryin' to sell a book, and I ain't sold a hunderd copies sence I started--no, sir, not a hunderd copies.