Part 20 (2/2)

”This,” said Hallie gently, ”is _my_ hour.” She was standing on the broad veranda with Helen. For reply, the latter placed her arm around the Southern girl; and they stood thus for a long time, their thoughts riming to the plaintive air of a negro melody that found its way across the fields and through the woods.

Christmas at Waverly, notwithstanding the fact that the negroes were free, was not greatly different from Christmas on the Southern plantations before the war. Few of the negroes who had been slaves had left the place, and those that remained knew how a Christmas ought to be celebrated. They sang the old-time songs, danced the old-time dances, and played the old-time plays.

All this was deeply interesting to the gentlewomen from Boston; but there was one incident that left a lasting impression on both, and probably had its effect in changing the future of one of them. It occurred one evening when they were all grouped around the fire in the drawing-room. The weather had grown somewhat colder than usual, and big hickory logs were piled in the wide fireplace. At the suggestion of Hallie the lights had been put out, and they sat in the ruddy glow of the firelight. The effect was picturesque indeed. The furniture and the polished wainscoting glinted and shone, and the shadows of the big bra.s.s andirons were thrown upon the ceiling, where they performed a witch's dance, the intricacy of which was amazing to behold.

It was an interesting group, representing the types of much that is best in the civilization of the two regions. Their talk covered a great variety of subjects, but finally drifted into reminiscences of the war--reminiscences of its incidents rather than its pa.s.sions.

”I have been told,” said Miss Eustis, ”that a dead Union soldier was brought here during the war, and buried. Was his name ever known?”

There was a long pause. General Garwood gazed steadily into the fire.

His mother sighed gently. Hallie, who had been resting her head against Helen's shoulder, rose from her chair, and glided from the room as swiftly as a ghost.

”Perhaps I have made a mistake,” said Helen in dismay. ”The incident was so strange--”

”No, Miss Eustis, you have made no mistake,” said General Garwood, smiling a little sadly. ”One moment--” He paused as if listening for something. Presently the faint sound of music was heard. It stole softly from the dark parlor into the warm firelight as if it came from far away.

”One moment,” said General Garwood. ”It is Hallie at the piano.”

The music, without increasing in volume, suddenly gathered coherency, and there fell on the ears of the listening group the notes of an air so plaintive that it seemed like the breaking of a heart. It was as soft as an echo, and as tender as the memories of love and youth.

”We have to be very particular with Hallie,” said the general, by way of explanation. ”The Union soldier in our burying-ground is intimately connected with her bereavement and ours. Hers is the one poor heart that keeps the fires of grief always burning. I think she is willing the story should be told.”

”Yes,” said his mother, ”else she would never go to the piano.”

”I feel like a criminal,” said Helen. ”How can I apologize?”

”It is we who ought to apologize and explain,” replied General Garwood.

”You shall hear the story, and then neither explanation nor apology will be necessary.”

VI

A SUMMONS was sent for Uncle Prince, and the old man soon made his appearance. He stood in a seriously expectant att.i.tude.

”Prince,” said General Garwood, ”these ladies are from the North. They have asked me about the dead Union soldier you brought home during the war. I want you to tell the whole story.”

”Tell 'bout de what, Ma.r.s.e Peyton?” Both astonishment and distress were depicted on the old negro's face as he asked the question. He seemed to be sure that he had not heard aright.

”About the Union soldier you brought home with your young master from Virginia.”

”Whar Miss Hallie, Ma.r.s.e Peyton? Dat her in dar wid de peanner?”

”Yes, she's in there.”

”I 'lowed she uz some'r's, kaze I know 'tain't gwine never do fer ter git dat chile riled up 'bout dem ole times; en it'll be a mighty wonder ef she don't ketch col' in dar whar she is.”

”No,” said General Garwood; ”the room is warm. There has been a fire in there all day.”

”Ya.s.ser, I know I builted one in dar dis mornin', but I take notice dat de drafts dese times look like dey come bofe ways.”

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