THE WELCOME LETTER.
The guard left Paul and his black friend standing on the door step, and
went toward the bedroom, calling, in a half-whisper,
"Here, Mrs. Allen, somebody wants you."
The old woman heard his voice, and came out into the kitchen, closing
the bedroom door, and looking with as much astonishment at the strangers
as her numbed faculties would permit her to feel.
"They want to see you," said the officer, turning toward her; "I can't
make out nothing more--they talk such outlandish lingo."
Paul motioned Jube to follow, and entered the kitchen. He walked up to
the old lady and removed his cap with a low bow, saying:
"It is Madame Allen--the mother of Monsieur Rice?"
"I was his mother," she replied, in a hollow voice, "but he is dead.
What do you want of me, little boy?"
"This letter for you," Paul continued, taking the carefully preserved
epistle from his pocket.
The old woman shrunk away, and put out her hand as if to thrust the
letter aside.
"More trouble," she muttered. "What can come now?"
Paul understood, rather from the expression of her face than a
comprehension of her words, that she was startled.
"Very good news," he said. "The lady much happy now."
"Happy!" she repeated. "Who is that from?"
"From him--from madame's own son!"
She only looked incredulous; she was so stunned by suffering that her
mind could not readily receive any new impression.
"I haven't any son," she said; "my son is dead."
The boy glanced anxiously toward Jube, and the old negro felt bound to
offer his assistance, although sadly at a loss to remember a single
English word by which matters might be explained.
"No dead, lady!" he exclaimed; "bery live, Masser Rice; yes,
certainement; very much so."
The old woman gave him a wild look, snatched the letter from Paul's
hand, and tore it open, while the three stood gazing at her in
astonishment.
"His writing," she muttered. "Oh, I must be going crazy!"
She read the page, retreated backward, and fell into a chair, while the
letter fluttered slowly to the floor. She understood the contents, but
had wept so much during the past days, that no tears were left; even joy
could not revivify the wasted fount.
"What is the matter, Mrs. Allen?" exclaimed the officer, frightened by
her appearance. "Don't look so; don't now; it skeers a fellow!"
She pointed to the letter.
"Read it to me," she whispered; "read it, I say; maybe I shall believe
it then."
The man picked up the sheet, and spelled out the tidings as well as his
astonishment and Rice's crabbed writing would permit.
"My son is alive," muttered the woman. "God has not altogether forsaken
me!"
"Alive!" repeated the officer; "gone another voyage, and sent these two
here."
Paul had crept close to Jube, and slipped his slender fingers into the
broad palm of his trusty companion, startled by the scene.
"You came from my son?" said the woman, looking earnestly at them.
"Yes," interrupted the officer; "seems to be a sort of adoptation on
Dave's part; he's dreadful perticular to have the boy sent to the
district school to once."
Mrs. Allen struggled with herself, managed to rise, and walked toward
the chamber door.
"Stay here," she said; "sit down and wait for me."
They understood her words, and seated themselves as she directed. Her
heavy tread upon the stairs echoed down into the room, and when it died
away in the garret, they sat waiting, while the officer stared at them
as if they had been two strange birds, placed there for his
observation.
When Mrs. Allen reached the cold, silent garret, she sank upon her knees
on the bare boards and tried to pray. Broken and faint were the murmurs
which fell from her lips; but gradually, through that silent prayer, a
ray of holy happiness stole over her haggard features--God had sent one
gleam of light into the terrible blackness which surrounded her.
She rose, at length, strengthened, and able more clearly to reflect upon
the joy that had come so unexpectedly into the midst of her anguish.
Her son was alive--it was better that he should not be there--he could
in no way aid Katharine. As for her own portion of the agony, only God
could help her to endure that. But he was alive, and would come back in
time to comfort her.
Nearly half an hour must have elapsed before she descended the stairs
and again entered the kitchen. The strangers were still seated by the
fire, and the officer had sufficiently recovered from his stupor of
astonishment to overpower them with all sorts of questions, very few of
which they understood; but as they made up for this lack of
comprehension by a courtesy altogether new and puzzling to him, he had
to make the best of matters.
"They come from 'way off, goodness knows where," he said, turning toward
Mrs. Allen. "Dave's the queerest fellow to pick up odd critters!"
The woman paid no attention to his words, but went up to Paul and laid
her hand on his shoulder; the look of childish comprehension and
sympathy which he lifted to her face seemed to go to her heart as no
expressions of kindness from another had been able to do. A faint dew
gathered in her eyes, but no absolute tears.
"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I will get you something to eat."
"Madame must not trouble much," Paul said, respectfully.
"It's the natur' o' children and darkies to eat," remarked the officer,
sapiently; "you'd better hunt 'em up a cold bite. I feel kinder hungry
myself, Mrs. Allen."
The old woman went about her duties in a methodical way, finding a kind
of relief in the occupation. She placed such food as she had prepared
upon the table, and motioned Paul to sit down. Before the little fellow
touched a morsel himself, he heaped a plate with great slices of
gingerbread and mince pie, and carried them to Jube.
"Do look at that," muttered the officer; "wal, I never seed a little
chap have so much manners afore."
"You are much kind," Paul said to Mrs. Allen; "so was good Rice--_le
grand Dieu_ will bless both."
"Granite do," remarked the officer; "I wonder if that's his name?"
"The letter says, Paul," returned the woman.
"Me; that me," said the boy, catching his name, and looking up with a
smile.
The woman once more took up the letter, and sat down to gain a clearer
knowledge of its contents.
"And you're sent here to stay," she said, with a weary sigh, as she
folded the sheet. "Dear me, what a place for anyone to come to!"
"Yes," replied the boy, understanding her first words; "in few
months--tree, four, Monsieur Rice come too."
"His name is Dave," said the officer; "but, la! I calculate they have
all sorts of queer names for folks in them out of the way countries."
When Paul had finished his meal he returned to his old place on the
little stool by Jube's side, and the pair sat looking wistfully at each
other, oppressed by the strangeness and gloom of the place.
Mrs. Allen paid little attention to them. She washed the dishes with her
usual care, and put them away in the corner cupboard, brushed the
hearth, moved restlessly about, finding that relief in constant
occupation which the mind is sure to seek during a great sorrow.
Paul sat watching her with his large, wistful eyes, for she had
strangely excited some inexplicable sympathy in his heart.
After a time a feeble voice called from the bedroom.
"Mother; where are you, mother?"
Katharine had awakened, and was startled to find herself alone; but at
the summons the old woman went into the bedroom, and the murmur of their
voices reached the kitchen faintly.
In a few moments Mrs. Allen came out with a cup in her hand. She went to
the fire, took a tin basin from the hearth, and poured a portion of the
contents into the cup, but her hands shook so tremulously that the hot
liquid spilled over them.
Paul arose, and took the dish from her with his usual gentleness.
"Let me carry it," he said. "Madame very tired."
Poor old madame! His kindness touched her like a new pang. She followed
him to the bedroom and took the cup again.
"Sick lady there?" he whispered.
Mrs. Allen bent her head, she could not speak just then.
"Paul will help," continued the boy. "Paul nursed mamma once--please let
him help the sweet mademoiselle."
The boy had caught a glimpse of Katharine's face, and his own
brightened.
The old woman felt as if an angel had unexpectedly been sent to aid her
in her misery--the pitying light in those beautiful eyes went to her
heart like a blessing.
After that, every time she went in or out, Paul watched her movements
and assisted her in his unobtrusive way, then crept back to Jube, and
waited to see in what manner he could next express his desire to be of
use.
"He goes about as handy as a pet kitten," said the officer at last,
sorely perplexed in his mind. "Got a mother, little chap?"
The negro understood these words, and put up his hands with a warning
gesture.
"Hush!" said Mrs. Allen, sternly; "you know what the letter said."
"I forgot," returned the man, and he began uneasily biting his finger
nails, to hide his confusion; but the nails proved very horny and tough,
and he failed to get rid of much contrition in that way.
Paul made no answer to his question; he only retreated a little closer
to Jube, and laid his head upon the negro's knee. The simple action
wrung Mrs. Allen's heart with a new pang. Hard and severe as her nature
was, it had become so softened under her grief that she was unusually
observant, and touched by trifles which at another time would have
passed by unheeded.
"I expect you're tired," said the officer, pointing his finger, with
its dilapidated nail, at the boy; "you're tired now, aint you?"
"A little," said Paul, without raising his head. "Only very little."
Jube knew by the sorrowful voice that the child was thinking of his
mother, and had been pained by the man's thoughtless question in regard
to her. He attempted no consolation in words, but laid his great hand
protectingly upon the boy's shoulder. The two crept a little closer to
each other, feeling a sort of safety and comfort in that silent
companionship.
"I expect they feel kinder cold," remarked the officer.
Mrs. Allen heard, and remembered that there was a fireplace in the
chamber where she intended them to sleep. She went out into the wood
house for pine knots to kindle a fire, but Paul had followed her with
that solicitude to which she was so unaccustomed, and when he saw her
errand, motioned Jube to follow.
"Jube very strong," he said; "carry me--carry wood--likes to do it too
much."
The old woman attempted no opposition; she allowed the negro to take up
an armful of sticks, and led the way up-stairs in silence, Paul still
accompanying them, from an unwillingness to remain alone with the
strange man.
Jube's intentions were of the most praiseworthy description, but it must
be confessed that his success in making a fire was not equal to his
ambition. When Mrs. Allen saw that he only succeeded in raising a smoke
instead of kindling a flame, she took the matter into her own hands, and
speedily the knots and kindlings were hissing and snapping on the unused
hearth at a famous rate.
"Jube learn," Paul said, smiling at both, and trying to comfort the
negro's evident discomfiture, "learn very quick. _Tout suit!_"
"Yes, little masser," he replied; "Jube know how next time."
Mrs. Allen signified to them that they were to sleep in that room; there
was a trundle bed for Paul, which Katharine had occupied when a child,
and she improvised a very comfortable sort of couch for the attendant.
She spread a bit of rag carpet before Paul's bed, and made every thing
homelike and tidy for the shivering strangers.
"Come down and warm," she said, when her preparations were completed,
noticing that they shivered with cold.
Paul and Jube followed her down-stairs and took their former seats by
the fire, while she, after stealing into the bedroom, to be certain that
Katharine slept, took her station by the hearth likewise, and remained
gazing drearily into the fire.
At last she seemed to remember how late it was, and, getting up, took a
brass warming-pan, with its long wooden handle, which she filled with
hot coals. Thus armed, she went up-stairs, came down again after an
absence of ten minutes, and told her guests to go up to bed before the
sheets got cold.
When the two went up-stairs, Jube found his humble bed warmed
comfortably, like that of his little master.