Part 21 (1/2)

A new idea occurred to me. ”Jessie,” I said, ”there's nothing to hinder your going down to town as early as you please to-night, now that Joe has come, and Mr. Wilson will be left free to go with you.”

Jessie sprang to her feet, as if she would go on the instant.

”That is so!” she exclaimed. ”Oh, Joe, how glad I am that you came just as you did!”

The matter was then explained to Joe, who volunteered to go over at once to Mr. Wilson's and arrange to take his place in the morning, thus leaving him free to go with Jessie.

It was past ten o'clock and the moon was just coming up over the tree-tops when Joe started on his two-mile tramp to Mr. Wilson's.

”You'd better take one of the horses,” Jessie had told him.

”W'at fur I want ob a hoss? Rudder hab my own two footses to trabbel on--if dey is kine o' onsartain some times--dan airy four-legged hoss dat eber libed,” Joe returned, disrespectfully.

Sure that our good neighbor would return with him, Jessie proceeded to make ready for the trip. We were not disappointed. After a wait of about an hour we heard the rattle of approaching wheels, and presently Mr. Wilson, with Joe in the cart beside him, stopped the fast colt before the gate.

”All ready, Miss Jessie?” he sang out in response to our eager greeting.

”Yes,” said Jessie, ”I'm quite ready.”

”Climb right in, then, and we'll get well started before midnight.

Whatever Horton does, he can't beat that, for we'll have our forces--part of 'em, any way--drawn up in battle array before the Land Office doors when they open at seven o'clock. We won't need to hurry to do it, either. We'll have time to brush up and eat our breakfasts like a couple of Christians after we get there.”

”Had I better take the money with me?” Jessie asked.

”Certainly, all you can rake and sc.r.a.pe.”

Jessie laughed gleefully; it was evident that Joe had not told Mr.

Wilson of his recent financial transaction. When Jessie told him, he got up--the colt had been tied at the gate and we were all within doors again, in spite of Mr. Wilson's first entreaty to Jessie to ”get right in”--crossed the room and held out his hand to the old negro.

”Shake, friend!” As Joe, rather reluctantly, I thought, for he was a shy old man, laid his black hand in Mr. Wilson's clasp, the latter continued: ”I reckon I know a man when I see one, be he white or black, and I tell you I'm proud to have the chance of shaking hands with you!”

Joe, furtively rubbing the hand that he had released--for, in his earnestness, Mr. Wilson had evidently given it a telling pressure--hung his head, and responded, sheepishly: ”I reckons I'se be a whole Noah's A'k full of animals ef dish yer sort ob t'ing gwine keep on. Miss Leslie, she done call me a angel, and now yo' done says I'se a man. Kine o' ha'd on a ole feller like me, hit is!”

Mr. Wilson laughed good-humoredly.

”You're all right, Joe; we won't talk about it. And now, how is Miss Jessie to get the money?”

”I'se gwine draw a check on de bank in Fa'hplay to cobber de whole 'posit,” returned Joe, with dignity; ”I done axed the cas.h.i.+er 'bout hit, an' he tole me w'at ter do. He gin me some papers w'at he called blanket checks, an' tole me how to fill 'em out. I'se done been keepin' ob 'em safe.” In proof of which statement Joe drew an old-fas.h.i.+oned leather wallet from an inner pocket of his ragged coat, undid the strap with which it was bound, and, opening it, carefully extracted therefrom two or three bits of paper, that a glance sufficed to show were blank checks on the First National Bank of Fairplay.

While he was getting the checks out another paper, loosely folded and yellow with age, slipped from the wallet, falling to the hearth. As it fell there slid from its loose folds a soft curl of long, bright hair, of the exact hue of little Ralph's. Stooping, Jessie picked up the s.h.i.+ning tendril, pausing to twine it gently around her finger before tendering it to Joe.

”Ralph's hair is a little darker, I believe, than it was when you cut this, Joe,” she remarked, going to the light for a nearer view.

”Dat ar' cu'l didn' grow on dis Ralph's head, honey; I cut dat offen de head ob dat odder Ralph w'at's a lyin' in de grabeya'd, w'en he was littler dan dis one; an' I'se 'done carried dat cu'l close to my heart fo' upwa'ds ob fo'ty yeah,” responded Joe simply, as he took the bit of hair from Jessie's finger, and carefully replaced it. ”W'en I dies,” he continued, ”I ain' carin' w'at sort ob a berryin' I gets, ner w'at sort ob clo'se my ole body is wrapped up in, but I'd like fur to be suah dat dish yer bit o' hair goes inter de groun' wid me.”

He looked up at us, his beloved young master's children, solemnly and questioningly, as though exacting a promise, which was given, though no words were spoken on either side. Eyes have a language of their own.

”Now ef yo'll done fotch me de ink bottle, Miss Leslie, honey, I'se boun' ter fill out dish yer blanket check, same like de cas.h.i.+er done tole me,” Joe went on with a business-like change of tone.