THE SUMMONS
There was a flutter of excitement at the settlement when the betrothal
of the Colonel's daughter and the King's courier became known. The
young people, especially, were quite excited, and discussed it in the
most animated manner. But it did not end in talk, for they decided to
celebrate the event that very evening. In every home preparations were
soon under way, and the women vied with one another in the culinary
art. Jean was to know nothing about what was taking place, hence a
careful watch was kept upon her movements. Old Mammy was let into the
secret, and her face beamed with pleasure as the news was whispered
into her ear.
"And you must not tell, Mammy," was the warning. "We want you to know
so that you can help us to keep the secret from Jean until the right
minute."
"Why, bress yo' life," the faithful servant replied, "dis ol' colored
woman won't say nuffin'. She nebber knows nuffin', anyway, 'cept to
hol' her tongue at de right time, which is more'n mos' folks kin do.
An' doan yo' worry 'bout Missie Jean takin' any hint of what's goin'
on. She's in lub, an' when a pusson's in lub, she's so near to heaben
dat she doan pay much heed to what's goin' on 'round her. An' dat's de
way wif Missie Jean."
Of all this excitement and innocent deception Jean was totally unaware.
Part of the morning she played with the little Indian child along the
shore, and rambling in the woods a short distance from the house. Much
of the afternoon she spent in the canoe upon the water. She visited
again the place up the creek under the big maple, and recalled the
happy day when she and Dane had been last there, and the words of love
which had been breathed into her ears. Taking the arrow-pin in her
hand, she looked at it for some time. The words "Love's-Charm," kept
running through her mind, and she wondered in what way that little
trinket would be a Love-Charm to her. Suddenly and impulsively she
raised it to her lips. Then she gave a quick, startled glance around,
fearful lest she had been observed. She smiled at what she considered
her foolishness, replaced the pin, and pushed the canoe from the shore.
When she reached home she was surprised that her father and Dane had
not returned. The days were much shorter now, so the shades of night
were stealing over the land as she entered the house. She had noticed
a great heap of drift-wood piled upon the shore, but thought little
about it, as it was a common occurrence on these cool nights for the
young people to have a bonfire. She found Mammy preparing supper, with
the child playing upon the floor nearby. The fire-place was aglow, and
the flames, licking about several sticks of white maple, illuminated
the room. It was a cheery, homelike scene, but Jean's first thoughts
were for the hunters. She expressed her anxiety to Mammy, and asked
what could be keeping them so late.
"Doan yo' worry 'bout dem, chile," the old woman replied. "Dey's well
able to take care of demselves. Yo' might hab reason to be anxious if
yo' daddy was alone. But he's got Mistah Dane wif him, an' dat young
man knows de woods better'n I used to know my cookin'-stove in Ol'
Connec. No, yo' needn't worry one bit. Dey'll turn up all right,
'specially when dey's good an' hungry; dat's jes like men."
But Jean did worry, especially when another hour passed and the men had
not returned. Supper had been ready for some time, and even Mammy was
beginning to show her impatience. She fussed with the baby, glanced
often toward the fire, where the dishes were being kept hot, and at
last lighted the dip-candles which she had placed upon the table.
"De Cun'l likes to hab de room bright," she remarked, "'specially when
he comes home. He kin see yo' pretty face all de better, Missie Jean.
An' Mistah Dane'll need a good light when he comes in, an' he'll be
'sprised when he sees how yo' look. I nebber saw yo' look better'n yo'
do jes now, wif yo' hair fixed up so nice, de lobely col'r in yo'
cheeks, an' wearin' dat beau'ful dress yo' brung from Ol' Connec."
Jean turned and smiled upon the woman. She had been standing at the
open door for some time, watching and listening for the hunters.
"You must not flatter me, Mammy, or you will make me vain," she
replied. "Oh, I wish they would come! I am getting so anxious."
Scarcely had she finished speaking when the absent ones appeared
suddenly before her. Seeing her father leaning heavily on Dane's arm,
she gave a slight cry of fear, and darted to his side.
"Daddy, daddy, what is the matter?" she asked. "Are you hurt?"
"Let me get into the house, dear, and I shall tell you," the Colonel
replied. "I feel very tired."
Seated before the fire, and later at the table, the story of the fight
with the moose was told. The Colonel described the scene most vividly,
and gave the courier great credit. He said nothing, however, about the
quarrel, neither did Dane refer to it. That had passed with the
running water over which they had clasped hands of enduring friendship.
It was well, they were both aware, that none should know of it but
themselves.
Jean was greatly interested in this adventure, and she watched her
father with beaming eyes, forgetting at times her supper. Dane thought
that he had never seen her look so beautiful. He admired the dress she
was wearing, and he was pleased to see the Love-Charm at her throat.
He observed the flickering light dancing upon her soft, wavy hair, and
the varying expressions playing upon her face as she listened to her
father. His heart was full of joy, and he realised more than ever
before how pleasant it was to return from the hills to the light and
warmth of a home where love dwelt.
They had finished their supper, and the Colonel was resting upon a
settle near the fire, when a knock sounded upon the door, and a number
of young people at once entered. They were in the gayest of moods, and
surrounding Jean and Dane, they led them out of the house. Down to the
shore they hurried, where the big bonfire was blazing merrily, and
great forked flames were leaping high into the air.
"What is the meaning of this, Mammy?" the Colonel asked, as soon as the
young people had left. "What is going on to-night?"
"It's a dance 'bout de fire, Cun'l," the old woman explained. "De
young folks hab been plannin' all dis bressed day to s'prize Missie
Jean an' Mistah Dane t'night. Dey's been cookin' an' cookin', an'
whisperin' mysterious like, an' laffin' an' laffin' to split dere
sides."
"What about?"
"Why, doan yo' know, Cun'l?" and Mammy looked her surprise. "Jes as
soon as de young folks heard de news 'bout Missie Jean an' Mistah Dane
dey made plans to cel'brate, so dat's what dey's doin' now. An'
listen, Cun'l, to de music. Simon's settin' on a log, playin' fo' all
he's worf, an' de young folks is a dancin'. Yo' bett'r come an' see
fo' yo' set."
"I can see from where I am, Mammy, if you will move aside," was the
reply. "I can't see very well through you."
With the woman's bulky body out of the way, the Colonel was enabled to
view all that was taking place near the shore. The fire lighted up the
ground for a considerable distance, so he could see the young people
moving to and fro, and hear their chatter and happy laughter. And in
their midst were Jean and Dane, the happiest of all. Occasionally a
young man would throw some wood, or a great root upon the fire. As the
flames leaped up anew, and masses of sparks were hurled in all
directions, shouts of merriment ascended, followed by shrieks of
laughter as the maidens fled from the falling, fiery shower. The
Colonel smiled as he watched the merrymakers. He liked to see them
happy. Their sojourn in the wilderness had not dampened their spirits,
and he knew that such people were the right pioneers for a new land.
Jean and Dane thoroughly enjoyed themselves. They were pleased at the
interest taken on their behalf, and entered heartily into the spirit of
the gathering. As the evening wore on, and the dancing subsided, they
gathered in little groups around the fire, far enough away to escape
the intense heat. And here upon the ground they sat while the good
things which had been cooked that day were passed around. Then it was
that the older members of the settlement came to partake of the repast.
Several jugs containing West India spirits were produced, and all drank
to the health of the young couple they delighted to honour. The use of
this beverage was almost universal, being dispensed as an ordinary act
of hospitality, and no festive occasion was considered complete without
the flowing cup. Snuff-boxes were then brought forth, and their
contents liberally sampled, while those who smoked filled their piles
and lighted them with small burning embers. Snuff, like Jamaica
spirits and New England rum, was in more general use than tobacco.
Various were the shapes and designs of the snuff-boxes, some being of
considerable value. They were carried in the pockets, and two men
meeting would exchange whiffs as a matter of course. True hospitality
was deemed lacking where the friendly box was not passed around. It
was the custom, and custom makes all things proper.
While this genial spirit of contentment and good will prevailed around
the fire, a tall Indian stood within the shadow of the forest, and
watched the scene with much interest and curiosity. At length he
stepped forth into the flame-lit circle, and walked deliberately over
to where Dane was seated. His presence was at once noted, and a sudden
hush fell upon the gathering.
"Hello, Pete!" Dane exclaimed in surprise. "Where have you come from,
and what do you want?"
The native replied in the deep guttural Indian tongue, and what he said
caused Dane to start, while an expression of anxiety overspread his
face. He asked a question in the same language, with which he was
quite familiar, and when it had been answered, he turned to the
intensely interested group around him.
"I am sorry to have to leave you," he announced, "but I must go at
once, as I am needed up river."
"Is it anything serious?" Jean asked in a low voice.
"I am afraid so," Dane replied. "I told you that Pete would suddenly
turn up with important news, and I was right. The rebels are stirring
up trouble."
"But you must see daddy before you go," Jean said. "He will be greatly
disappointed if you don't."
"Certainly I must see him. Let us go at once, as there is no time to
lose."
Together they made their way to the house, leaving the people around
the fire gazing curiously after them. As they entered, they saw the
Indian bending over the sleeping child, and watching it most intently.
Mammy was standing by on the defensive, fearful lest she was about to
lose her little charge.
"Doan let him take her, Mistah Dane," she cried. "I can't spare Babby.
Drive him out ob de house."
Pete at once straightened himself up to his full height, and smiled as
he looked upon the agitated woman.
"Injun no tak' babby," he said. "Injun no cabin. Babby no mamma."
"Bress de Lo'd fo' His goodness!" Mammy fervently exclaimed, lifting on
high her hands, "and let all de earf gib t'anks unto His holy name fo'
ebber an' ebber."
The Colonel was greatly interested over Dane's departure, and asked him
several questions.
"I can tell you very little now," the young man replied. "That the
rebels are up to some mischief is quite certain. Pete has found out
where they are to meet to-morrow night, so we must be on hand to learn
their plans."
"Is it far from here?"
"Quite a distance. We shall take the canoe, and make it in several
hours."
"Why not wait until daylight?"
"That would not do, as we need darkness for such work. The rebels must
not know of our presence."
"Will there be any danger?" Jean enquired.
Dane smiled as he looked upon her sober face, and saw the anxious
expression in her eyes.
"Nothing to worry about," he replied. "To some it might be a dangerous
undertaking, but Pete and I have been at it so long that it has become
almost second nature to us."
Jean said nothing more just then, but while her father and Dane talked,
she whispered something to Mammy. At once the colored woman became
very busy, and when at last Dane bade the Colonel good-bye, a basket
filled with provisions was set before him.
"It's fo' yo' an' de Injun," Mammy explained. "I hope de Good Lo'd'll
be wif yo', an' help yo' skedaddle dem rebels. But yo' can't do
nuffin' wifout grub, Mistah Dane. No matt'r if yo' is in lub, yo' mus'
eat to lib."
Dane smiled as he took the basket, and thanked the big-hearted woman.
"I shall not forget your kindness, Mammy," he told her. "And neither
will Pete. He has a great memory for such things. Why, all the
Indians along the river know already what you have done for his little
child, and they will also hear of this."
The memory of that night never passed from Jean's mind. She
accompanied Dane to the shore, and stood there for a few minutes after
the two couriers had left, She knew that Dane loved her with all the
strength of his manly nature, and she never felt this more than when he
had held her in his arms and kissed her ere stepping into the canoe.
She did not want him to go, and how unfortunate it was that the summons
should come to him in the midst of the merry-making, and when she was
so happy. A spirit of depression suddenly swept upon her, which was
foreign to her nature. She tried to banish it even after she returned
to the house. But neither the cheerfulness of the fire, nor the
conversation with her father and Mammy could dispel the strange feeling
of some impending calamity.