A HURRIED FLIGHT.
There was no need for Arthur to ask any questions, when he was roused in
the middle of the second night after Uncle Phin’s departure. He realized
at once what was required of him, and the heaviness of sleep instantly
vanished, leaving him keenly wide awake. Stepping softly from his bed,
he quickly dressed, while the old negro gathered together everything
belonging to his “lil Marse,” and placed the things in a corn-sack that
he had brought for that purpose.
“Is dat yo book, Honey?” he whispered, noticing the volume of fairy
tales lying on the bed.
“Yes, that is my own precious book that the beautiful lady gave me; but
don’t put it in the bag, Uncle Phin, I want to carry it myself.”
Then the thoughtful little fellow, since he could not bid Cynthia
good-bye, and feared she might feel hurt if he went away without a word,
begged his companion to wait, just a minute, while he wrote her a note.
He wrote it by the bright moonlight, on a bit of brown paper, with the
stump of a lead-pencil, so that it was not a very elegant production,
but it answered its purpose, and was tenderly cherished for many a day
by the little girl who received it the next morning. In it, in a big,
scrawling hand, was written:
“DEAR CYNTHIA: I have been so much trouble here, specially to Aunt
Nancy and Dick, that I am going away with uncle Fin, to find another
home. I love you dearly, and sometime I hope I shall come back and
see you. Good-bye, from
“Your loving cousin,
“ARTHUR.”
Although the old negro was in a hurry to be off, he waited patiently
while Arthur slowly wrote this note. To him writing was one of the most
mysterious and difficult of arts; and, gazing admiringly at the young
penman, he murmured to himself:
“What a fine lilly gen’l’man him be to be shuah. Him only twelve year
ole; but settin dar an er writin like he was a hundred.”
When the note was finished it was pinned to the pillow of the cot bed,
and, with a lingering look at the place that had sheltered him for a
year, the child stepped out and softly closed the door. Then clasping
his precious book tightly under his arm, and trustingly following the
old negro, Arthur started on the wonderful journey that was to change
the whole course of his life, though he was still ignorant of their
destination.
When they were safely behind the barn, out of sight and hearing of the
house; Uncle Phin stopped and said:
“Dere’s only one ting trubblin dis yeah ole woolly head. Kin you tell,
Honey, fer shuah, what way de ribber ober yander is a runnin’?”
“Which, the Alleghany? Why, south, of course,” answered Arthur,
wondering at the question.
“Dat’s what I lowed it done!” exclaimed the old man. “I knowed it didn’
run yeast, kase dat ar way de sun rise, and I knowed it didn’ run wes,
kase dat ar way him a settin; but I wasn’ rightly shuah him didn’ run to
de norf. I was figgerin all de time dough on him running to de souf, an
now we’m git back to ole Ferginny easy an sartin.”
“To Virginia!” cried Arthur, in dismay. “Are we going to try and go way
to Virginia, Uncle Phin?”
“Ob cose we is, Honey. We’se er gwine to Ferginny, an Dalecourt, an yo
granpaw, an de lil ole cabin by the magnole tree. We is gwine to yo own
shuah ’nough home, Honey.”
“But how are we ever going to travel so far?”
“You’ll see, Honey! you’ll see dreckly,” chuckled the other. “I’se got a
great ’sprise in sto fer you. Hyar’s de kerridge a waitin on us now, and
Misto Barlow is gwine dribe us to the steamboat.”
They were now on the road, at some distance from the house, and as Uncle
Phin spoke, Arthur saw, drawn up to one side in the shadow of a clump of
trees, Brace Barlow’s team, and, leaning against the light wagon, the
young man himself.
“Oh, Brace!” he cried, springing forward the moment he saw who it was,
“I’m so glad! I didn’t want to go away without seeing you again. Are you
really going with us?”
“I wish I could go with you all the way, my boy, and see you safe to
your journey’s end, but you know I can’t leave my old mother. So I am
only going to give you a lift for a little way and see that you get a
good start. Jump in quick now for we’ve got a long drive ahead of us and
I must be back by daylight.”
As the spirited horses dashed away over the moonlit road with Arthur
nestled between Brace and Uncle Phin on the single seat of the wagon,
the boy learned how it happened that his friend had been induced to aid
them in their flight. Uncle Phin had gone directly to him two nights
before, and roused his indignation by describing the unhappy life his
young charge was leading, and how much he suffered at the hands of Mrs.
Dustin and her children. Then he told Brace of Dalecourt, and gave him
to understand that Colonel Dale was ready to receive his grandson with
open arms, whenever he should go to him.
The kind-hearted young fellow, entertaining a sincere regard for the
little chap who had recently rendered him so great a service, readily
agreed to a plan that promised so much of good to the boy, and willingly
consented to assist him and Uncle Phin to make a start on their journey.
He devoted two whole days to the task of preparing for it, and did so
much more than Uncle Phin had dared ask or hope for, as to win the old
man’s everlasting gratitude and render the first stage of their journey
comparatively easy.
[Illustration: A HURRIED FLIGHT BY MOONLIGHT. (_Page 70._)]
For some time Arthur enjoyed the exciting night ride over the steep
mountain roads, across deep valleys, and through forests, all bathed in
the glorious, unclouded moonlight. He did not ask whither he was being
taken. Nestled warmly between his two best friends he felt perfectly
safe and happy. He knew that they would do what was best for him, and
the very mystery and uncertainty attending this part of their journey
lent it a fascination. At length his weary head nodded, the heavy
eyelids closed, and, sound asleep, he was unconscious of his
surroundings until the horses stopped, and he awoke to find himself
being lifted from the wagon.
There was a gleam of moonlit water in his eyes, and as he dimly realized
that he was on the bank of a river, strong arms bore him into the cabin
of a queer-looking craft that lay moored to the forest trees. Here the
boy was gently laid down, and was vaguely conscious that Brace Barlow
was bidding him good-bye, when the sleepy eyelids again closed and the
child passed into dream-land.
The young man stood looking at the sleeping boy for a full minute. As he
did so he said softly: “Dear little chap! I hate to have you go away,
and to think I may never see you again. But I suppose it’s the best
thing to be done, or I wouldn’t have lifted a hand to help it along. I
only hope it will come out all right, and that you’ll have a happier
life in the place you’re going to than you ever could have had here. God
bless you.”
It was a benediction, as well as the farewell of one brave soul to
another. As he uttered it the young man slipped a bank bill between two
pages of the book the boy had clasped so closely, but which had now
fallen from his hands.
“It’s little enough,” he said to himself as he turned away, “but it’s
all I’ve got, and may be it will help him out of a fix some time.” Then
he went out to assist Uncle Phin, who was casting off the fastenings of
the boat, and preparing to push it from the shore.
In another minute the clumsy old craft had swung clear of the bank, and
was moving slowly down stream in the shadow of the great trees that grew
to the water’s edge. Brace Barlow watched it until it became a part of
the shadows, and he could no longer distinguish the white-headed figure
bending over the long sweep that was made to do duty as a steering oar
or rudder. Then he again mounted the seat of his light wagon, and
started on his long homeward drive, feeling more lonely than he had ever
felt in all his life.