THE ELFIN GIRL.
But who is this? What thing of sea or land!
Female of sex it seems.
_—Samson Agonistes._
For a time Miss Joe had grieved immoderately over the untimely and
mysterious fate of her niece, and the loneliness of her own lot, and the
prospect of a poor and solitary old age before her; but soon, in the
native kindness and disinterestedness of her heart, she turned to the
child thus thrown upon her exclusive protection, and only hoped that she
might be spared long enough to raise him, and see him able to take his
own part; for, after all, small and helpless, and abandoned as he was,
he was the last Hutton of the Isles, and the heir of—the little sand
bank in the bay, yclept St. Clara’s Isle or Hutton’s Isle.
Very strange was the lot and life of the lonely recluse of the sea-girt
isle and her little protégé. Their only possessions were the nearly
barren islet, the dilapidated lodge, a cow, a sheep or two, a little
poultry and a dog. No cart or horse had they, nor even any use for
either. The small skiff conveyed them to the mainland whenever, for the
purpose of laying in a few groceries or dry goods, or of attending
divine service, they found it necessary or agreeable to go. Their
faithful old servant, Pontius Pilate, whose duty it was to till the
land, row the boat, fish the weir, rake the oyster bed, and cut and
bring wood from the mainland, was their only companion. The soil
immediately around the house being mixed with clay and marl, still
yielded, with careful cultivation, corn and wheat enough for the small
consumption of the little family. And Pontius Pilate saved money by
grinding this in a hand-mill. The little garden produced vegetables
enough for their table. And the two sheep yielded wool enough for their
winter socks and mits—carded, spun, and woven by the indefatigable
fingers of Miss Joe. And so time passed on, until Miss Joe, not having
trouble enough on her hands already, was induced to assume the
responsibility of rearing another child, a little wild elf-like girl,
whose advent was almost as great a subject of gossiping speculation as
the disappearance of Agnes had been. And the name of this elfin child
was Garnet Seabright.
The history of Garnet Seabright, as it was understood in the
neighborhood, was very briefly this:
When Hugh was about six years of age Miss Joe received a letter from a
distant relation living in Calvert County, beseeching her, for the
Redeemer’s sake, to lose no time in hastening to the sick-bed of the
writer, who was most anxious to see her before she died.
Miss Joe had to rub her organ of eventuality before she could recognize
in the writer a cousin, a wild young girl of exceeding beauty and
willfulness, who had, years before, eloped with a soldier, a certain
George Seabright, a distant relation of Captain Seabright.
Miss Joe never slighted any appeal to her benevolence. She shut up
house, left the island in care of Pontius Pilate, took Hugh to
Huttontown and left him in charge of Mrs. Fig, the grocer’s wife,
borrowed a mule, and set out for Calvert County.
The house of her cousin she heard upon inquiry was a miserably poor
cottage, with scarcely any cleared ground around it, and situated in the
midst of a deep, dark forest. It was approached for miles only by a
narrow bridle path. It was near nightfall when Miss Joe entered this
lonesome path; it was quite dark before she got near the house.
“Oh, good Lord! this is a great deal more lonesomer and more wilder than
my sea-girt island they make such a fuss about; for there, at least, I
could see an enemy a long ways off. But here! Lord, there might be an
Injun, or a bandit, or more likely still, a runaway nigger, behind every
tree. Get up, Jinny! Hark! Lord deliver us! what was that?”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Highe! cheep! th-sh-sh-e-e-e-e!” laughed,
screamed, chirped, chirruped a sharp, shrill voice, high up in the
trees, or somewhere between them and the blinking stars.
“Lord save us, what was that?” ejaculated Miss Joe, looking up at the
branches overhead, in the direction of the eerie voice.
And there she saw, in the dark, bright starlight, in the highest
branches of the trees, among the green and glistening leaves, a little
elfin face, with glittering eyes, and gleaming teeth and streaming hair,
mopping and mowing at her—chattering, gibing, laughing, and screaming at
her.
“St. John and all the Holy Evangelists! St. Mary and all the Holy
Virgins!—what’s that? It’s—it’s—a fairy—it’s—it’s—a brownie!” exclaimed
Miss Joe, bursting out into a profuse perspiration.
Miss Joe was neither cowardly nor superstitious, yet when the little
elf, with its wild eyes and streaming hair, glided down the tree with
the swiftness and celerity of a monkey down a mainmast, and leaped, with
a yell of malice and delight, upon the mule, behind her, Miss Joe opened
her throat with a prolonged shriek, that might have waked the dead.
And at the same time the mule dashed, plunging and kicking, forward.
The elf stuck its little hands into Miss Joe’s fat sides, and, as the
good lady herself afterward said, clung there like a craw-fish or a
crab. The mule plunged madly on.
Miss Joe, delirious with terrors, real and imaginary, lost all power of
controlling the animal, dropped the reins, and must have fallen off, had
not the bit been seized by a strong hand, and the mule forced back upon
her haunches.
“That’s Godfather!” cried the elf, in human words and tones, and Miss
Joe, looking up, recognized in her deliverer General Garnet.
The sprite leaped from the saddle to the bosom of General Garnet, and
clung there in her crab-like fashion, her little head rubbed, rooted,
under his chin, her little arms around his neck, and her little figure
almost veiled by her long hair, screaming with her inarticulate tones of
affection and delight.
Miss Joe dismounted from the now stationary mule, and began in an eager
voice to pour forth her surprise, gratitude, and wonder.
General Garnet, with a look of vexation, tinged with amusement, tried to
shake off his little encumbrance. But it was like trying to get rid of a
chestnut burr; for if he succeeded in pulling her off from one place,
she would stick at another, screaming with wild delight and elfish
perversity, clinging to him, rooting her little head into him.
“Come, Netty! Come, come! this will not do; release me. Goodness, child,
are your hands and feet furnished with claws?” exclaimed General Garnet,
trying to tear off the little human bramble.
“Chip! Chip! Chee-ee-ee! H-sh-sh-sh! Whip!”
It is impossible to convey in words the saucy, defiant, chirping,
inarticulate cry of the sprite, as it rammed its head again into the
bosom of its victim. Presently the elf sprang away of itself, and
perched upon the back of the mule.
“How is your mother, Netty?” then asked General Garnet.
“Waiting for you and the old woman, too. She sent me after you.”
And now Miss Joe and the general looked at each other in astonishment,
as if mutually inquiring, “You, too?”
General Garnet, putting his hand upon the shoulder of the elf, and
giving her a slight shake, put her upon the ground, took her hand, and
walked up to the dark forest path, drawing her after him.
Miss Joe took the bridle, and leading her mule, followed.
A little way up the path was a horse standing perfectly still, saddled
and bridled, and with a portmanteau on the crupper.
General Garnet remounted this horse, and, taking the wood-sprite before
him, rode on up the path.
Miss Joe, not wishing to be left behind, tumbled up into her old saddle,
and urged old Jenny to her best speed. They soon came to a little
clearing in the forest, and paused before the humble door of a log
house. The elf sprang down from her seat, and, darting into the door,
cried:
“They’ve come, Minny! Godfather and the old body, both.”
“Poke up the fire, and let them both come in, Netty!” was the answer;
and presently the sprite pulled open the door with a bang, and stood
there with her glittering eyes and streaming hair and naked legs, to
admit them.
They entered and found the room occupied by two persons; a young woman,
who sat propped up in an armchair by the fire; and an old negress, who
seemed to be her servant or nurse. The young woman bore a singular
resemblance to the elf-like child; but her dark eyes were burning, and
her face was bathed with the fatal fires of consumption. She held out an
emaciated hand to welcome her visitors, while the old negress set rude
stools for their accommodation. The young invalid, pressing the hand of
Miss Joe, thanked her many times for her kindness in taking this
journey, and begged her to sit down quite close to her, for that she
could not raise her voice much. Miss Joe drew the stool to the side of
the invalid and begged to be informed how she could serve her,
expressing at the same time her perfect willingness to do so. Then the
young woman, in a feeble voice, interrupted by frequent fits of
coughing, said that she felt she had but little time to live,—that her
days, nay, her very hours were numbered,—that after her death she wished
Miss Joe to take charge of her orphan child; that General Garnet, who
considered himself under great obligations to her late husband, would be
at the costs of its rearing and education, and would, besides, liberally
repay Miss Joe for the trouble she might be put to in taking care of it.
General Garnet was there to indorse her promises. He approached them;
and taking the feverish hand of the invalid, and turning to Miss Joe,
said:
“The husband of this young woman was a soldier under my command; he
fought under me during the whole course of the war. Once he saved me
from death. Once he saved me from dishonor. He received his
death-wound—for, years after, it caused his death—in the same battle in
which I won my present military rank. I am under eternal obligations to
him; and while I have an acre of ground, or a dollar at my banker’s, I
will never see this child want!”
The invalid died the next morning, immediately after being placed in her
chair, where she had insisted upon sitting.
General Garnet arrived within an hour after, and took the direction of
the humble funeral.
Within four days from this Miss Joe found herself at home with her
grandnephew, little Hugh, her ward, Garnet Seabright, the old negress,
who had fallen to little Garnet’s possession, along with the personal
effects of her mother, and, lastly, with old Pontius Pilate, who had
complained of great loneliness during his mistress’ absence.
Little Hugh Hutton was a proud and happy little man the day of Netty’s
arrival. He tried to multiply himself into a train of attendants to wait
upon the little girl. He first proposed to give up his cot bed, his
chair, and his little chest for her use. He brought her all his
playthings, his bows and arrows, and guns and traps, and hammered all
day at what he fondly supposed to be a boat, that he was making for her
benefit.
When General Garnet had taken leave of Miss Joe at Huttontown, just as
she was about to cross over to her island, he had begged her to apply to
him in any emergency, and to call on him for anything her young charge
might want. The child of the soldier who had served under him throughout
the Revolutionary war, who had once interposed his body to save his
life, should never suffer for the necessaries or comforts of existence
while that life was spared. And this he had said with that earnest and
fervent tone, and with that benign and beautiful smile that never failed
to fascinate the love and trust of all who heard and saw him. And Miss
Joe felt assured and comfortable.
But now, as days slid into weeks, and weeks grew into months, Miss Joe
heard no more of General Garnet and his promises, nor did she like to
take him at his word and apply to him. He ought to prevent that and save
her feelings, she said.
As years passed away, however, Miss Joe occasionally wrote to General
Garnet in behalf of her little protégée. For the most part, her letters
would remain unanswered, but when one did elicit a reply, General
Garnet’s epistle would be full of kindness, blessing, encouragement,
good advice, and—nothing else.
At last, during a bitter winter, their main dependence, their faithful
servant, poor old Pontius Pilate, caught the pleurisy and died. In the
midst of this trouble Miss Joe wrote again to General Garnet, and once
more, and for the last time, invoked his promised assistance. After the
lapse of several days she received a letter from the benignant general,
full of condolence, sympathy, and exhortation to hope and patience,
and—nothing else! The letter concluded with the assurance that she had
nothing to fear—that God never made a mouth for which he had not also
provided food. To this letter the long-suffering old lady was
exasperated to reply—that though it was true God had made both the
mouths and the food, yet the mouths had fallen to her lot, and the food
to his.
The general never replied to this last letter, and here the
correspondence ceased.