Part 6 (1/2)

As Shawn pa.s.sed the old stone kitchen, he caught the fragrance of the good things in Aunt Mary's oven, and Aunt Mary, in her white cap and ap.r.o.n, was bending over the stove.

Major LeCroix and Doctor Hissong were standing on the porch. Shawn paused for a moment to gaze fondly to where the stream wended its way among the tall hills. The Major opened the low colonial door, and stood aside as his guests entered the beautiful old family room. A back-log blazed cheerfully in the open fireplace.

Over the fireplace was the mantel, with its rich hand-carving of the French coat of arms. On the walls of the room were family portraits, some of them brought from the provinces of old France. Doctor Hissong stood before one portrait, a face sweet in its Madonna-like innocence and purity. A tear-drop stole down the Major's cheek.

Leading Doctor Hissong over to the window, he pointed to the family burying-ground, and said, ”The dear wife sleeps under that tallest pine.” The snow had covered the mound, but again the Major could see April days out there, and the heavy bloom of the orchard--the redbird and the catbird were pouring out symphonies of melody; the silver-winged pigeons were bending through the golden skies, and again he could hear a mother's voice calling in happiest tones to her children.

”Horton, call Lallite,” said Major LeCroix.

Shawn turned suddenly to see a young girl come into the room. She came up coyly, greeting Doctor Hissong, and when she came over toward Shawn, he felt a hot flush coming to his cheek. He had seen this young girl before, with her father in town, but now as she came before him, with her merry, flas.h.i.+ng eyes and radiant color, he stood with downcast eyes, and the old desire to run off to the woods came over him again. She gave him her soft hand as her musical voice said, ”I am so glad you came with the doctor.” He stood as one entranced before this girl of such sweet and simple beauty, and unconsciously, he was led into an easy att.i.tude and relieved from his painful embarra.s.sment.

Horton came into the room, bearing a tray and gla.s.ses. He turned to the Major and asked, ”De white er de red, Major?”

”Both, Horton.”

Horton took the keys which hung at the end of the mantel. Returning, he placed two bottles of grape wine on the tray. He filled the gla.s.ses, but the Major observed that Shawn did not take his gla.s.s.

”Do you want the wine, boy?”

”No, sir, I thank you,” said Shawn, hesitatingly.

”It's all right, Major,” said Doctor Hissong, ”Mrs. Alden is looking after him, you know.”

Raising his gla.s.s, Major LeCroix said, ”Welcome to Old Meadows, and a health to pleasant memories. You find things sadly changed--my dear companion gone; my boy a soldier in a distant land, Louise long married and never returning until she comes with the children to spend the summer--but I have Lallite with her dear, happy heart, and I have Mary and Horton.”

The winter day was fast drawing to its close. Horton again appearing, quietly said: ”Supper is sarved.”

The old dining-room with its mahogany side-board and dining-table, the heavy bra.s.s candle-sticks, the tall clock in the corner, were all familiar objects, and the presence of Aunt Mary and Horton, standing behind the chairs, was a picture of a happier time, with the background of many glad faces to be filled only with memory.

Shawn sat beside Lallite at the table, and deep down in his heart, he felt that it was good to be there, and that life was opening to something dearer than the general happenings of his narrow sphere had ever given hope for.

With bowed head the Major asked the table blessing. Aunt Mary brought in the delicious baked apples and poured over them the rich cream. The Major was carving the guineas. ”Lallite, help Shawn to one of those corn-pones; I'll venture that you'll never get them any better in town.

The last time I was in the city, they brought me something they said was cornbread, but it was mixed up with mola.s.ses, baking-powder and other things. There are different kinds of cornbread, as you know. There is a bread called egg-bread, made with meal, b.u.t.termilk, lard, soda and eggs, and there is a mush-bread, made by scalding the meal--some call it spoon-bread; but the only corn-bread is the pone, and the only way to make them is to get white flint corn, have it ground at a watermill, if you can, where they do not bolt the life out of it, scald your meal with hot water, adding salt, then drain off the water thoroughly and mix your meal with good, rich, sweet milk, then shove 'em in a hot oven, and you'll have cornbread that is cornbread. Take one and b.u.t.ter it while it is hot--don't cut it, break it. There you are. Let me help you to this guinea breast. Did you ever know anyone who could get the crisp turn that Mary gets on them?”

”Never, sir,” said Doctor Hissong, ”I never knew but one woman who could come anyways near Mary's cooking, and that was Joel Hobson's wife, Lucy.

They used to say that her cooking was her only redeeming feature, for she had a temper like a wildcat, and vented it upon poor Joel and made life so miserable for him that he finally took to drink. One night, so the boys tell it, Joel got too much and was lying out under the big elm tree, afraid to go home. One of the boys rigged himself out in a white sheet and came up to Joel, tapping him on the shoulder. 'Who are you?'

said Joel. 'I am the devil,' answered the deep voice. 'Come right over and give me your hand; we're kinfolks. I married your sister.'

”I suppose you remember Lucy's mother, Major? Her name was Sahra Turner; she was a good woman but powerful curious. She had married off all of her girls but Mary Ellen, and Tip Jennings was paying court to her. It seems that Sahra had kept close track of the courts.h.i.+p and the headway of all her girls, and one night when Tip was in the parlor with Mary Ellen, Sahra had a small kitchen table set by the parlor door and was standing on it, looking over the transom to see how Tip was coming on.

Tip had gotten down on his knees and was making his declaration to Mary Ellen. They were somewhat out of Sahra's range of vision. The crucial moment had come, and Sahra leaned over to see the climax, but she leaned too far, and one of the table-legs broke. Well, they got her up with two ribs broke and laid up in bed for a long spell. Tip never came back, and Mary Ellen married some fellow, who took her out to Kansas.”

They sat long at the table, the Major rising again into the spirit of old days, Shawn laughing at the quaint jokes and stories. Lallite's sweet laughter rang out, bringing the glow into the Major's eyes. She had heard the stories so often, but they never grew dull with the years, and they seemed to mellow as beautifully as did the sunset of the Major's life.

Shawn listened again as he sat by the blazing fire to tales of the war--of charges, victories and defeats. Above the piano hung the Major's sword, presented to him by his soldiers after the battle of Stone River.