LILY’S STORY
Mr. Arnold had been right in thinking that Steve Bragg had removed
to a location that he believed safer than the neighborhood of the
Tennessee River in the late winter of 1862, and it was a long time
before the Arnolds had any news of their former neighbors. But in her
anxiety about Lily, Berry forgot, for the moment, that her playmate
Mollie would not be on hand for their walks and games, and that
henceforth she would be the only little girl on Shiloh Ridge.
Noonday passed, and the winter afternoon drew to a close, and Berry
now became sure that they would never see Lily again. She thought
of the friendless negro girl again wandering about without food or
shelter, and trembling at every noise, and earnestly wished she had
not driven her away.
Just at nightfall the outer door was cautiously pushed open, and Lily,
her arms filled with wood, appeared on the threshold. Without a word,
or a look toward the astonished Mrs. Arnold and the surprised Berry,
she quietly filled the wood-box, and taking the milking-pail from its
accustomed place started toward the door. Before she could reach it
Berry called “Lily!” and started toward her.
“I knows yo’ don’ wan’ me h’ar, Missie, an’ soon’s I do de chores
fer yo’ Ma I’ll get my ole dress an’ go,” the girl said humbly, not
raising her eyes to look at the little girl who had promised to be her
friend, and who had then ordered her never to return to the cabin.
“Berry does not want you to go, Lily. Whatever made you think that?”
questioned Mrs. Arnold. “We have all been troubled and anxious about
you.”
At the sound of Mrs. Arnold’s friendly voice Lily looked up, and her
eyes sought Berry’s questioningly.
“Don’t go away, Lily,” exclaimed the little girl. “I don’t want you to
go.”
A broad smile crept over Lily’s face as she glanced from Berry to Mrs.
Arnold. “Den I ain’ ever gwine away,” she declared, and started off
with the milk pail toward the barn.
“Lily seemed to think you did not want her here. Poor girl. I wonder
what will become of her,” said Mrs. Arnold thoughtfully.
“Oh, Mother! You talk as if you did not mean for her to stay here!”
Berry reproachfully responded. “And I told her to go and never come
back!” she added quickly; and then Berry told the story of Lily
following her to the highway.
“She kept out of sight all the way, Mother. But so near that I could
hear her in the underbrush. And then, after I found the Braggs
were gone, and started for home, and heard someone ready to follow
me again, and found it was Lily,—and she acted so foolish and
frightened, I told her I never wanted to see her again.”
Mrs. Arnold busied herself with some work at the kitchen table, and
for a moment made no response. It was Berry who was the first to speak.
“Of course I did not mean it, Mother. I want her to stay. I was only
angry.”
“I expect Lily is used to people being angry with her; perhaps that is
why she ran away. It may be the reason that she would rather suffer
cold and hunger, and flee in terror from every noise, rather than live
with people who were easily angered,” Mrs. Arnold responded quietly;
“angry people are usually cruel people,” she added, and before Berry
could speak her mother continued: “The only reason that troubles me
in regard to Lily staying with us is that your father and I might be
accused of sheltering a runaway slave, and if she is found in our
house it might involve us in serious trouble. You know, Berry, this is
a slaveholding state.”
“But no one knows she is here. And if anyone comes they will think
Lily belongs to us,” Berry responded eagerly. “And, Mother!” she added
soberly, “I did not mean to be angry. I just couldn’t help it.”
Mrs. Arnold shook her head. “That’s what everyone thinks, my dear. But
even if you were angry it was no excuse. Lily followed you because
she loved you: if any accident had befallen you on the way Lily would
have been close at hand to help or protect you. I am sure that was her
reason for following you. You see, Berry, you were the first one to
help Lily, and she trusted you.”
“Oh, dear!” sniffed Berry, ready to cry as she remembered that Lily
had not tasted food since early morning, and had believed herself
deserted by her new friend.
“And she came back to do your chores,” she whimpered. “I’ll make it up
to her, so she will know I didn’t mean it,” the little girl declared,
and when Lily brought in the milk it was Berry who ran to meet her and
declared:
“Oh, Lily! We couldn’t manage without you,” smiling up at the
wistful-eyed negro girl, who beamed with happiness at the unexpected
kindness.
“I jes’ follered yo’, Missie, ’cos I was feared fer yo’,” she
whispered. “I didn’ mean no harm!”
Berry nodded. She did not want Lily to see her cry, and so she ran off
to the sitting-room to tell her father the good news of Lily’s return.
As the days passed and no one appeared in pursuit of a runaway negro
girl, the little household in the hillside cabin became sure that, at
least for a time, Lily was safe, and Mrs. Arnold came to feel that
Berry might be right in thinking that chance visitors to the cabin
would believe Lily belonged there, and, as a week went by before Mr.
Arnold could venture very far from the cabin, Lily became Berry’s
companion when the little girl journeyed down to the mail-box on the
Corinth road, and in her walks along the mountain paths. And as the
two girls wandered about together Lily told her new friend something
of her pitiful story.
“I reckons I had a mammy sometime, but I don’ ’member her. I was
raised in Alabamy, Missie; an’ ev’buddy wus allers a-givin’ me a hit.
Dey wus, show as yo’ lib! ’Twan’t de Massa and Missus, fer dey nebber
seem ter see me; ’twere de niggers in de house dat batted me ’bout,
an’ I jes’ made up ter run off. I hern de Yankee army wus a-comin’
right soon ter set all de slaves free. Am dat a fac’, Missie?” and
the negro girl fixed her solemn eyes questioningly on the face of her
little mistress.
Berry nodded. “My father says slavery must end,” she declared solemnly.
“I’se glad! I hopes ebery one ob dem high-handed niggers dat batted
me ’bout’ll be set free an’ hab ter look arter theirselves. Dat’s wot
I hopes. Wid no massa or missus ter feed an’ tak’ keer ob ’em!” said
Lily, with a delighted chuckle, as if she felt that her wrongs would
be punished by the freedom of her fellow-servants.
Berry looked at her in astonishment. “Didn’t you run away to be free,
Lily?” she asked.
“Yas, Missie, course I did. Dose niggers ’bused me. I had ter run off
ter get clear ob ’em.”
“Then you didn’t run away from a cruel master and mistress?” continued
Berry, wonderingly.
Lily shook her head. “I don’ know much ’bout ole Massa; he go off
las’ year ter help Massa Jeff’son Davis win de war, and Missus she
jes’ went long wid him. I ain’ nuffin ’gainst _dem_,” Lily declared
soberly. “’Twas dem stuck-up niggers dat batted me all de time, dat
I runs off frum; an’ I jes’ hopes dey is gwine ter be set free,” and
Lily again chuckled, as if comforted by the possibility that her
fellow-servants would soon be obliged to look after themselves.
As soon as they reached home Berry repeated the story of Lily’s escape
from the Alabama plantation. “She hid in swamps, and crept into barns
to sleep, and ate corn, and frozen apples, and eggs. And it wasn’t her
master she ran away from!” said Berry, and then told her mother what
Lily had said.
“Then we can feel safe about her not being followed, or a reward
offered for news of her!” said Mrs. Arnold with evident relief. “Very
likely her master does not even know that she has run away.” And the
little household was no longer troubled by anxious fears lest their
kindness to the wandering slave girl might involve them in trouble,
and Mrs. Arnold felt that Berry was much safer in her wanderings about
the ravine with Lily for her companion.
And Berry soon discovered that the slave girl knew many interesting
things about the little creatures of the forest. It was Lily who
discovered the partridge eggs behind a fallen log not far from the
cabin and cautioned Berry not to go near them or the partridge might
desert the eggs. “Jes’ keep ’way from dar, Missie, an’ fus’ t’ing
dar’ll be a flock of little partridges,” she said. And it was Lily who
heard the first call of the wild geese flying north, one morning in
early February. It was Lily who tamed the two tiny woodland mice that
peered out from under an old stump one sunny morning when Berry and
Lily were resting near by. The negro girl cautioned Berry to be quiet,
and attracted the tiny creatures with little calls until they stopped
and fixed their bright eyes upon her, and even ventured near enough to
eat bits of bread from the girls’ luncheon. For several days Berry and
Lily made daily trips to the old log with food for their new friends,
whom they named “Dot” and “Dash,” and the mice apparently were always
on the watch for them.
When Mr. Arnold was again able to take his usual walks there were
many hints of spring along the slopes of the ravine, and on one of
his visits to the highway a traveler told him that the forts on the
Cumberland and Tennessee Rivers had been captured on February 16
by General Grant, assisted by the fleet of gunboats commanded by
Commodore Foote. Fort Donelson had been taken, and General Buell was
preparing to advance against the Confederate army at Nashville.
This was a great success for Northern forces, and the Arnolds
earnestly hoped might help to bring the war to an end. But Mr. Arnold
realized that it must bring the troops of both the Confederate and the
Union armies further south, and who could tell how near the little
mountain cabin might stand to some future battlefield? But he did
not mention this anxiety to Berry, but cautioned her not to go to the
road leading to Corinth. And Berry was now counting the days when the
sugar-maples could be tapped, and sugar-making begin, when another
adventure befell her that might well have proven a dangerous one had
it not been for Lily’s courage and faithfulness.