A THUNDERBOLT
Early the next morning, when Owlet was taking her usual run in the
garden before breakfast, she found the little black child in the
gooseberry walk, sitting down by the chicken coop.
“Oh, Ducky Darling, I am so glad to see you again!” Owlet cried.
“Chickies,” replied the child, with a broad smile.
“Oh, yes; they are such dear, sweet things! Everything is sweet, Ducky
Darling, isn’t it?”
“’Es.”
A bell rang.
“There’s the breakfast bell. I must go into the house. Won’t you come in
and have some breakfast?” Owlet inquired.
“B’ekfus’ ’lon’ o’ mammy,” said Dorcas.
“Oh! You mean you have had yours?”
“’Es. B’ed an’ mi’k an’ ’lasses.”
“Oh, what a nice breakfast! Well, I will go now, but I will run out
again before I sit down to my lessons. You stay here and wait for me.”
“’Es. Chickies.”
Owlet ran into the house and joined her benefactress at the breakfast
table, which was set near the open windows, through which the morning
air came, laden with the scent of hyacinths.
“Lady,” began Owlet.
“Why don’t you call me aunty, dear?” inquired Miss Fronde.
Owlet looked at her solemnly, and replied:
“If any one but you had asked me such a question I should say they were
not possessed of common sense.”
“But—why?” Roma questioned.
“’Cause you are not an auntie. The old colored people are aunties, but
you are a young white lady.”
“I stand rebuked. What were you about to say to me, ma’am, when I was so
rude as to interrupt you?” inquired Roma.
“I was going to ask you if you wouldn’t please let Ducky Darling learn
lessons along with me.”
This seemed rather a startling proposal, but a suggestive one. There
were about fifteen adult negroes on the plantation, none of whom could
read or write. There were about twenty growing children, none of whom
knew a letter. Roma had never given a thought to this state of things.
The child’s question aroused her conscience. Here was a field of work
and of duty, indeed.
“Lady, why don’t you answer me? If you won’t let Ducky Darling come in
here and learn along with me, tell me so, and I’ll take my primer and go
out in the garden and learn my lesson along with her, and teach it to
her, too,” said Owlet.
“My dear, you may bring Dorcas in, and we will begin with her. I really
do not know whether I can teach her anything. She does not appear to be
very intelligent.”
Before Roma had quite finished her speech Owlet had darted out of the
room. In a very few minutes she returned with the little black child,
who waddled into the room very much in movement like her namesake, the
duck.
“You are going to learn to read, Ducky Darling! To read about all the
pretty birds and beasts and things in the picture books I showed you,”
said Owlet, as she helped the child to climb up on the chair, so much
too high for her that her little black legs stuck straight out from the
front of it.
“It is an experiment,” said Roma, as she took a card with only three
capital letters on it—A B C—and put it in the hand of Dorcas, and told
her the names of the signs, making her repeat them over and over again.
“Lady, don’t you take so much trouble. I can teach her the three letters
and learn my own lesson, too,” said Owlet, drawing another chair close
by the side of the one occupied by Ducky.
Roma took up her knitting, to which she had lately taken, as men take to
cigars, or some women take to pipes, for the sedative effects, and she
sat down in her easy-chair and knitted while she watched her pupils.
Owlet was very zealous, and Ducky very docile, but the experiment was
not a success—then, at least.
At the end of the two hours, which was the limit of the day’s learning,
it was found that Owlet had paid so much attention to her little
companion that she had not got her own lesson, while Ducky had chewed up
her A B C card, in spite of all her little monitor’s vigilance.
For all the rest of the day Owlet made Ducky Darling her inseparable
companion, with the exception of the hour when Hera came to carry off
her child to her early dinner, only to discover later that Ducky
Darling, immediately after her meal, had waddled back to the “big house”
to join her friend, whom she never left until night, when she was again
recaptured by her mother and carried off to supper and to bed.
The next day was Sunday, the first Sunday after Roma’s return home.
The morning was glorious—a jubilee of heaven and earth; the world
flooded with sunshine; woods, groves and gardens in full leaf and
blossom; the grass starred with daisies; the air full of the fragrance
of flowers and the songs of birds.
“We will go to church to-day,” Roma said to her little protégée, as they
sat together at the breakfast table.
“To church? Oh, that will be good! I never was at church in all my life.
Mamma used to go to early mass, sometimes, but she never took me,” Owlet
exclaimed.
“You shall go now.”
“And may Ducky Darling go, too?” anxiously demanded Owlet. “I haven’t
seen the dear thing to-day. She wasn’t in the garden with the
chickens—she wasn’t anywhere. But may she go to church with us?”
“Dorcas has gone to Wheatlands with her father and mother and all the
children, to spend the day there, with some of their relations,” replied
Roma.
“Ah! That was the reason why I could not find her, the dear thing. Where
is Wheatlands?” suddenly inquired Owlet.
“About three miles from this place.
“What is Wheatlands? Is it a city or a depot?”
“It is a large tobacco plantation owned by relations of mine, who are
now in Europe.”
“Oh!”
“And now, dear, you must get ready for church,” said Roma, and she rang
the hand bell, that soon brought Pompous Pirate to her presence.
“I wish you to put the white cob to the pony chaise, and have it at the
door in half an hour. I shall drive myself and this child to church,”
said Miss Fronde.
“All right, ma’am,” said the negro, with a deep inclination of his head
as he left the room to obey the order.
Roma called Owlet to follow, and went upstairs to put on her bonnet and
mantle. Independent Owlet buttoned on her own black cashmere jacket, but
surmounted it by the inverted funnel hat, and considered herself
dressed.
“You must wear the little black bonnet, my dear.”
“But I hate the black bonnet, and I love my little hat that I have worn
for years and years and years—the dear old thing!” Owlet expostulated.
“But, my love, you are wearing black for your dear mamma.
“Well, I don’t see the sense of it. If poor, dear mamma had gone to the
dark world I would wear black all the time, and never be happy no more.
But darling, pretty mamma has gone to the bright world, and anybody who
wears black for an angel in the bright world can’t be possessed of
common sense.”
That settled the question. Whenever the Owlet promulgated her ultimatum
she got her own way, and so, on this Sunday morning she wore her old
double-funneled brow straw hat, looking more like a little devil in a
pantomimic scene than ever before.
Often Roma felt that she failed in her duty by not rebuking this wayward
imp, but there was such sterling truth and honesty in the child, such an
inherent constancy to her own convictions of right and wrong, and,
withal, such an innocent unconsciousness of giving offense, that Miss
Fronde felt that it would be very difficult to set her right. She
privately resolved to submit the problem to the judgment of Rev. Dr.
Shaw.
When Roma and her protégée appeared at the front door they found the
pony chaise, with the white cob harnessed to it, standing before the
house. Pompous Pirate stood at the horse’s head.
“Better leave me dribe yo’ young mist’ess,” said the man.
“Not this time, Pontius. Take Ceres to the meeting-house she is so fond
of. Now lift Miss Catherine into the chaise,” Roma said.
Pompous obeyed.
Then Roma got in, sat down, took the reins, and started the cob.
Owlet shivered and shook herself with delight as they went rolling along
the avenue, between rows of sweet-scented flowering locust trees, and
out of the broad lawn gate on to a road through the woods.
“Oh! this is dee-licious! I am so glad you didn’t have Uncle Paunchus to
drive!” she exclaimed, with a little shudder of joy.
“Don’t you like Uncle Pontius?” inquired Roma.
“Oh, yes,” Owlet admitted. “I like him well enough, but he is so awfully
big. It sort of crowds one just to look at Uncle Paunchus. Besides, it
is so nice and cozy for you and me to be driving through this heavenly
place all by ourselves.”
Their road wound up and down, over wooded hills and through fertile
vales, with glimpses of farmhouses, fields and orchards here and there,
until at last, on the outskirts of the village, they came to the church,
in the midst of its large, well-shaded, parklike grounds, differing only
from a park in the gleaming white gravestones scattered here and there
among the trees.
Here were gathered many carriages, of every description, from the donkey
cart to the family barouche, and horses which were unharnessed, and
tethered, so that they might nibble the fresh, luxuriant grass while
resting from their labors.
Roma drew up, alighted, lifted the child to the ground, and was about to
take her horse from the shafts and tether him to a tree, when a voice
sounded behind her.
“My dear young lady, I am so glad to see you—so surprised and delighted!
Let me do that.”
She turned and saw her own family physician standing there.
“Oh, Dr. Keech! So happy to meet you!” she exclaimed, giving him her
hand, which he shook heartily, and retained in his grasp longer than
necessary.
But the organ from within the church began to peal forth with the
opening voluntary, and she added, by way of hastening the release of her
hand:
“And thank you very much. You may, if you please, do this.”
Doing “this” meant unharnessing and tethering the cob, which the doctor
quickly effected, while Roma stood by, holding the hand of Owlet.
“And who is this young lady?” inquired the doctor, as the three turned
to walk toward the church.
“She is Catherine Nouvellini, a little ward of mine. You must come to
the Hall and make her acquaintance. She is quite worth cultivating, I
assure you,” Roma replied.
“I have no doubt of it,” the smiling old doctor replied, patting the
shoulder of the child. It was impossible to pat her head with such a
church steeple of a hat as she elected to wear. “I have no doubt of it.
I shall do myself the honor of calling on Miss Nouvellini, or should I
say the Signorita Nouvellini or Mademoiselle Nouvellini?”
But they were entering the church, so the doctor got no reply to his
“chaff,” and fortunately did not hear the muttered criticism of Owlet as
to his probable deficiency of common sense.
The church was not crowded, but on this fine morning it was full—every
pew having its quota of occupants.
Roma led little Owlet up the right-hand aisle to her own pew, which was
in the corner, to the right of the pulpit. She was scarcely seated when
the rector came in from the vestry and took his place at the reading
desk.
The services commenced and proceeded in the usual form of the ritual,
and the sermon which followed was excellent in moral and religious
instruction, “if people would only live up to it,” as the good old lady
remarked concerning the doctrine of total depravity.
As for Owlet, for the first half hour she was as quiet and solemn as her
namesake’s most ancient surviving ancestor; the second half hour she
grew restless and fidgety; during the third half hour she yawned without
the least attempt at disguise, and exclaimed:
“Ah-h-h me!” startling the sexton, who was seated near her, and waking
several old women who were decently dozing.
Roma gently shook her head at the delinquent, and by so doing made
matters worse, for the imp excused herself by saying, in an audible
voice:
“If I hadn’t said ‘Ah me!’ I should ’a’ busted.”
Then she tried to conquer her restlessness and to keep quiet, and,
indeed, she became very quiet, for her good intentions were rewarded by
a sound sleep that lasted until the benediction was pronounced, and the
people began to leave their pews.
After all the congregation had left the church Roma still remained in
her pew, to wait for the opportunity of speaking to her dear old friend
and pastor, Dr. Shaw.
He had gone into the vestry to lay off his surplice.
As soon as he reappeared, in his black suit, Roma came out from her pew,
leading little Owlet, and went into the chancel to speak to him.
He advanced with outstretched hands, took hers affectionately, and,
shaking them gently, said:
“My dear child! I am so happy to see you. I had no idea that you had
come back until I saw you in your pew to-day. When did you arrive?”
“Only on last Tuesday, dear doctor, and as glad to get back to you as
you can be to see me,” cordially replied Roma.
“Right! right! right! my child! But who is this little one?” inquired
the rector, taking the hand of Owlet in his own and looking tenderly
down into her face.
“Catherine Nouvellini is a young ward of mine. I hope you will come to
see us soon, and hear all about her, and teach me how to do my duty by
her.”
“I will come, my child; be sure of that. You are going to remain among
us now?”
“I think so.”
“Not going abroad to join your friends?”
“I think not.”
“I am glad to hear that. ‘Dwell among your own people,’ Roma.”
“You will come to see me soon?”
“To-morrow, my dear.”
“Then I will not detain you any longer, dear friend. You must be
fatigued with this long service. Indeed, you should have an assistant.”
“The parish can’t afford it, my dear.”
“But you are being worked to death!”
“Well, it is better to rub out in labor than rust out in laziness.”
“But you needn’t do either,” put in Owlet. “No, nor you won’t, neither,
if you are possessed of common sense. ‘There’s reason in roasting
eggs.’”
The rector looked astonished. Then, as he turned to look at Roma, and
met her glance, his eyes twinkled and his mouth twitched with suppressed
mirth; it would not be seemly to laugh out loud then and there.
“I am afraid she has a cavity where her bump of veneration ought to be,
Dr. Shaw, but you will help me to train her properly. Come, Catherine,
we must go,” said Roma, anxious to get the child away before she should
have another chance of expressing her opinion. “Good-by, dear Dr. Shaw.
I shall expect you to dinner to-morrow.”
“Thank you, Roma. I will be there. Now, I would not really let you hurry
away if I did not know by instinct that many of our friends are waiting
to speak to you outside. Good-by, my child. Good-by, my small
monitress,” said the rector, warmly shaking hands with Roma and then
with Owlet.
As soon as the two found themselves outside the church door they were
surrounded by a crowd of Roma’s old friends and neighbors, who showered
welcomes upon her, and questions about the Grays, and their life at
Delfcome; and when these were satisfactorily received and answered, came
inquiries concerning her little companion.
To all these last Roma gave the same answer that she had already given
to the physician and to the rector.
At length she was free to return home, and very glad when she went to
her pony chaise, attended by Dr. Keech, who harnessed her horse, lifted
little Owlet into the chaise, assisted Roma to her seat, and gave her
the reins.
Then he stood with old-time courtesy, hat lifted, until the young lady
drove off.
Roma felt a strong disposition to give Owlet a lecture on good behavior,
but refrained, partly from the reluctance of the strong and powerful to
hurt in any way the weak and dependent, and partly from despair of such
a lecture doing the child any good.
So they would have driven home in silence but for the prattle of Owlet,
who, refreshed by her long nap in the church, was wide awake, and keenly
alive to the delights of the drive over the wooded hills and through the
fertile vales that lay between Goeberlin and the Hall, on that fine
spring day.
So at length they reached home in time for their early afternoon dinner.
After this Owlet went out, to wander through the garden, with no
companion but her bull pup, George Thomas, leaving Roma to read alone
until the child was called in to supper and to bed.
The next day the rector came, early in the forenoon.
As he rode up to the house on his easy-going old brown mare he saw Owlet
walking on the lawn, with her shadow, Ducky Darling, waddling by her
side.
They had just got through their morning lessons, which in the duckling’s
case had been quite as unsuccessful as those of the preceding
Saturday—her notions of imbibing knowledge being to chew it up.
The minister dismounted, tied his horse to a post, and came up to the
children.
“Well, Miss Catherine, how do you do?” he inquired, patting Owlet’s
cheek.
“Pretty well, I thank you, sir. How do you do yourself?” inquired Owlet,
on her best behavior.
“Well, thank you.”
“This,” said Owlet, introducing the duckling, “is Ducky Darling. And,
oh! isn’t she just too sweet for anything?”
Dr. Shaw smiled benevolently, and patted the little curly head of the
black child, who responded to the caress with her lovely smile.
Roma had seen the arrival of her pastor, and came out to meet him.
They shook hands cordially and then went into the house.
Roma had intended on that day to tell her old friend the story of the
great fraud that had been passed upon her and the strange position in
which she found herself in regard to her betrothed, Will Harcourt; but
the subject was so painful, and so calculated to give pain, and the old
rector was so happy in the return of the favorite of his flock, that she
forbore to mar his enjoyment. Some other time would do as well, she
thought, and so she put off the revelation to “a more fitting season.”
The rector took an early dinner with her and her little ward, and went
away early in the afternoon.
Roma sat on the vine-clad front porch of her house, knitting, and
watching the play of the two children on the lawn, when, happening to
look down the locust avenue, she saw a man approaching the house, whom,
to her disgust, she recognized as Hanson.