STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE.
I have forgotten one circumstance which happened that morning. Just as
the funeral was turning from the highway toward the graveyard, a colored
man and a young boy, both of foreign appearance, came up the hill from
the bridge, where one of the river sleighs had set them down. After
standing for a moment watching the procession with curiosity, they
walked reverently after it, looking very sad, as if trouble were
familiar to them. The negro led the boy by the hand, and both stood
apart from the crowd while the funeral service was read. It was remarked
that the negro seemed greatly disturbed as he looked upon the grave, and
that his eyes filled with tears when he turned them on the serious face
of the boy. Poor fellow! he was thinking of another funeral, where
orange blossoms perfumed the air, and hosts of wild flowers brightened
the turf which was laid above the dead.
When the ceremony was over, and the people began to disperse, Jube
approached a little group of men who lingered by the gate, and inquired,
in very imperfect English, if some one would show him the way to a place
called Bungy, and if a widow lady by the name of Allen did not live
there.
This was a new source of excitement. The foreign look and broken
language peculiar to the strangers, were something to be wondered at and
talked over, even at this solemn hour. The men drew away from the
neighborhood of the burying-ground before they indulged in the curiosity
which was consuming them, and for once answered a question directly,
without asking another in the same breath, an instance of forbearance
deserving of honorable record in these pages. But the moment they
reached the road the awe of the place left them, and the direct
examination of poor Jube commenced.
Mrs. Allen--of course everybody knew the widow Allen, and no wonder,
after that funeral; but what did the stranger want of her--wanted to
hire out, perhaps. Jube did not know what hiring out meant, and answered
vaguely that perhaps he did, but wasn't quite certain.
This rather excited curiosity. What if this black fellow should prove to
know something about the murder, or, at any rate, of the person who had
led poor Katharine Allen into all this trouble. This idea whetted the
questions that were let loose on the travellers, till both the negro and
boy were thoroughly bewildered.
"Mebbe you're acquainted with Mrs. Allen--knew her afore she moved here,
I dare say!" suggested a farmer from over the hill.
Jube shook his head, more to express his incapacity to understand than
as a negative to the question.
"No; that's sort o' strange; but then, perhaps, you're related to some
of the colored people hereabouts?"
"No, agin; stranger and stranger yet--not know Mrs. Allen, nor any of
the colored population of this neighborhood. Then jist excuse me if I
ask who on arth you are acquainted with?"
"We know Mr. Rice, the widow lady's son," answered Paul, in his sweet,
broken language, and lifting a face to the stranger that softened every
feature of his rough visage.
"You know David Rice, my little shaver! Wall, we reckon not, for he was
drowned three months or more ago. Wrecked at sea. Captain Thrasher
e'nmost saw him go down."
"It was on that ship we with him! Jube he help him bring her into port!"
cried the boy, his great, velvety eyes filling with light as he lifted
them exultingly to the negro.
The story of two persons--a negro and a boy--having insisted on sharing
the fate of David Rice, on the disabled vessel, had gone the rounds of
the village, and a general burst of surprise followed the boy's speech.
"Now, you don't say so! You the little shaver that sot right down by
Dave Rice on that deck, and wouldn't get up on no consideration!" cried
one. "Wall, now, how things du turn out. I couldn't a believed it, and
sich a slender little critter, too; I swan to man, it beats all!"
Paul understood that the man was praising him for something, and in his
modest innocence strove to set him right.
"No, no, no; not me; I am very little boy, very weak, and so small. I
only eat great deal, and drink water, when Jube wanted it very much to
keep him strong. It was Jube, my Jube, that helped save the ship. I wish
you could see how him swing the pump handle--all the time, daylight and
dark, no matter, Jube work, work, work, I no!"
The farmer who had been the most ardent spokesman, stepped forth now,
reaching out his hands.
"I say, cuffy, give us yer hand. If you're the feller that stood by Rice
when he hadn't a chance left, I'm proud to know ye. If you raly did
bring him safe ashore--well, by golly, if I aint e'enamost a crying!
Now, you don't say that Dave Rice is alive?"
"Left him much well in New York two days ago; me and Jube," answered the
boy, smiling at the farmer's enthusiasm.
"Yes, little masser."
"Master! Now, you don't mean tu say that this little black-eyed shaver
is your master, in earnest, cuffy?"
"Yes," said Jube, showing every white tooth in his head. "Reckon little
masser won't say no!"
"And you're his slave--a rale, downright sarvant, ha?"
"Yes; that's it!" answered Jube, with another happy laugh. "Little
masser hasn't none but me now."
"You don't say so!"
"But we both owned to Captain Rice, now. Jube, you not forgot that,"
said Paul, earnestly.
"What's that you're a saying! Dave Rice a bringing home slaves into old
Connecticut, and one uv 'em e'enamost white! I say, neighbors, what will
the selectmen say to that?"
Instantly there was a season of whispered and eager consultation. With
all their joy over the deliverance of Rice from a watery grave, the
neighbors were not prepared to accept the slaves he seemed to be sending
home from foreign parts.
"What do you think," said the chief speaker, "they'll perhaps become an
expense to the town, and have to be bid off for their board with the
other paupers--supposing we send them back."
"Wait till we've examined 'em according to law," interposed another, who
was a selectman of the township. "Perhaps I'd better do it. Now jest
stand by and listen."
"What do you do for a living, if I may ask," he commenced, planting
himself in the road in front of Jube, "before we admit strangers,
especially colored, it's as well to be sure that they wont be a town
charge--what do you foller?"
Jube shook his head--the whole speech was a mystery to him.
"What do you foller?" persisted the selectman, getting impatient.
"What do I folly!" repeated Jube, with a puzzled look, then brightening
up all at once, he added with a smile:
"Me folly little masser."
"But how do you get your living?"
"He's my father now, and me support him," said Paul, with dignity, for
he began to comprehend a little of the conversation.
"And who supports you, my little shaver?"
"Me have money," answered Paul; "Jube, show monsieur much money there in
the purse."
Jube took a heavy shot bag from his pocket, and opening it exhibited
more gold than the selectman had ever seen in his life. The whole group
of countrymen gathered around him, full of eager curiosity.
"I should think that satisfactory," said one of the speakers, addressing
the selectman.
"No doubt on that point," was the answer; "but where on arth du they
come from, I should raly like to know."
"Will you please tell us some way," said Paul, modestly. "It is much
cold here, and Jube likes a fire too much."
"You want to know the road to Mrs. Allen's?"
"Yes, monsieur, that is the name!"
"Well, she lives over the hill."
"Which way we go, monsieur?"
"No, it isn't monsur, but Bungy that you're after."
"And that way, if you please?"
"Turn round that great willer tree on the corner, keep to the left of
the white house back of it, and then go straight along. It's a brown
house with a narrow door yard, and a shag bark walnut tree standing at
one end--you can't miss it, no how."
"Thank you," said the boy, lifting his cap with the grace of a little
prince, "monsieur are much kind."
Jube also lifted his cap, and stood close by his master, a good deal
puzzled and disturbed by the conversation that had been forced upon
them.
The men who were left behind drew together in a group.
"It's a bad time for strangers to be asking the way to that house," said
the selectman, looking after the travellers, "but one couldn't make them
understand. With officers in charge, and that miserable girl lying at
the point of death, as I may say, it will come hard on Mrs. Allen. I
almost wish some of us had taken them home."
"Let them go," said the man addressed. "They bring good news from the
son that was lost--poor woman, she will find that God does not
altogether forsake her, though it is an awful trial she is going
through."
With a parting salutation, so respectful from Jube, and so elegant from
the boy, that the men stood quite confounded, the old negro and his
charge passed on up the hill.
"It's the first brown house," one of the little group called out, as
soon as he recovered his power of speech, which, like those of any true
New Englander, were not to be checked long by any condition whatever;
"the first brown house, and ask for widder Allen."
The two strangers looked back, comprehending the gesture which
accompanied these words, and, with another courteous salute, disappeared
along a bend in the road.
"We've almost reached our journey's end, Jube," the boy said, in their
native tongue, after they had walked some distance.
"Yes, little master," said Jube, in the same tongue, "that's the house I
see now up yonder."
"I wonder if she is a kind woman?" the boy continued, his thoughts
reverting to all the trouble and cruelty of the past months.
"I hope so, little master; it's a woman's nature, most times; and if she
have a spark of goodness in her heart, it must come out when she see
that blessed young face."
"Dave's mother ought to be kind and good, I am sure."
"Very nice man, that Master Rice; Jube will never forget him, never!"
With such broken conversation, they pursued their way, and soon reached
the summit of the hill. Just before them was the old farm house which
once looked so cheerful and pleasant, but now a quiet so profound
pervaded the whole place that it seemed like a shadow deepening under
the trouble which oppressed its inmates.
With his refined instincts and sympathies, the boy felt a peculiar
restlessness creep over his mind as he approached the dwelling.
"How still it is, Jube," he said, unconsciously sinking his voice to a
whisper, as they lingered for an instant by the gate; "it seems as if
they were all sick or dead."
"Not that, little master," replied Jube, occupied with the reflection
that his beloved charge had at last reached a place of tranquillity, and
incapable of the vague emotions which agitated the sensitive nerves of
the child.
He opened the gate, and held it ajar for the boy to pass through. Never
once, in all their sorrow and confusion, had he forgotten the respect
which was due to his old master's son.
"Go in, Master Paul; don't be afeard, Jube is with you yet."
"I am not afraid; I only feel sorry for these strange people; but why, I
cannot tell."
Jube made no answer to the fancies which he could not comprehend; and,
after that momentary hesitation, the boy passed up the little garden
path to the house, and waited, while the negro gave a quick, eager rap
upon the door.
Mrs. Allen was occupied in the bedroom, and did not hear the summons,
but it aroused the officer who sat over the kitchen fire, struggling
with sleep and the dreary reflections to which the place and his duty
gave rise.
"Come in!" he called, in a low voice; then, fearful of disturbing the
sick girl, whom he had already begun to pity, in spite of the sin and
guilt which he believed to be upon her, he rose from his chair, and
walked to the door, starting in astonishment when he opened it, and saw
the two strangers standing there.
Paul looked at Jube for assistance, and Jube looked back at him so
helpless and confused, in his efforts to recall his very imperfect
English, that the boy was obliged to depend upon his own courage and
knowledge of the harsh tongue.
"Madame Allen live here?" he asked, while the officer, between
astonishment at his grace and foreign accent, only stared the harder,
instead of answering.
"Moder to Masser Rice," added Jube, coming to his young master's
assistance, and after successfully pronouncing so much in his best
English, he rushed into a flood of French, which completed the man's
bewilderment.
"Land's sake!" he exclaimed. "What on arth does the critter mean--never
heerd such a lingo in all my life!"
"_Chut!_" whispered Paul to his companion; "he doesn't understand you."
The recollection quite took Jube by surprise. He ceased at once, his
mouth gaping wide, and the whites of his eyes displayed in bewildering
astonishment.
"We wish Madame Allen," pursued the boy.
"De moder of her son," put in Jube, coming to his senses, and
determining to assist his master by every means in his power.
"The widder Allen lives here," replied the man, "if you want her--the
Lord knows she near enough crazy, anyhow," he continued, in a lower
tone. "But walk in, walk in."