Elsie gave him a startled, inquiring look. "You have other proof?"

"Yes; Leland and I met in going our rounds this morning, and he told me

he had found a threatening note, signed 'K.K.K,' tacked to his gate, and

had torn it down immediately, hoping to conceal the matter from his

wife, who, he says is growing nervously fearful for his safety."

"Oh, what a dreadful state of things! Do these madmen realize that they

are ruining their country?"

"Little they care for that, if they can but gain their ends,--the

subversion of the Government, and the return of the negro to his former

state of bondage."

She was standing by his side, her hand on his arm. "My husband," she

said in trembling tones, looking up into his face with brimming eyes,

"what may they not do next? I begin to fear for you and my father and

brother."

"I think you need not, little wife," he said, drawing her head to a

resting place on his shoulder, and passing his hand caressingly over her

hair, "I think they will hardly meddle with us, natives of the place,

and men of wealth and influence. And," he added low and reverently, "are

we not all in the keeping of Him without whom not one hair of our heads

can fall to the ground?"

"Yes, yes, I will trust and not be afraid," she answered, smiling

sweetly through her tears. Then catching sight, through the open window,

of a couple of horsemen coming up the avenue, "Ah, there are papa and

Horace now!" she cried, running joyfully out to meet them.

"Have you heard of last night's doings of the Ku Klux?" were the first

words of Horace Jr. when the greetings had been exchanged.

"Run away, dears, run away to your play," Elsie said to her children,

and at once they obeyed.

"Uncle Joe came in this morning with a story that Jones, the stage

driver had been shot by them last night in this vicinity," Mr. Travilla

answered, "but I stopped him in the midst of it, as the children were

present. Is it a fact?"

"Only too true," replied Mr. Dinsmore.

"Yes," said Horace, "I rode into the town, before breakfast, found it

full of excitement; the story on everybody's tongue, and quite a large

crowd about the door of the house where the body of the murdered man

lay."

"And is the murderer still at large," asked Elsie.

"Yes; and the worst of it is that no one seems to have the least idea

who he is."

"The disguise preventing recognition, of course," said Mr. Travilla.

Then the grandfather and uncle were surprised with an account of little

Vi's escapade.

"If Violet were my child," said Mr. Dinsmore, "I should consult Dr.

Burton about her at once. There must be undue excitement of the brain

that might be remedied by proper treatment."

Elsie cast an anxious look at her husband.

"I shall send for the doctor immediately," he said, and summoning a

servant dispatched him at once upon the errand.

"Don't be alarmed, daughter," Mr. Dinsmore said; "doubtless a little

care will soon set matters right with the child."

"Yes; I do not apprehend any thing serious, if the thing is attended to

in time," Mr. Travilla added cheerfully; then went on to tell of the

notice affixed to Fairview gate.

They were all of the opinion that these evil doers, should, if possible,

be brought to justice; but the nature and extent of the organization

rendered it no easy matter for the civil courts to deal with them. The

order being secret, the members were known as such only among

themselves, when strangers, recognizing each other by secret signs. They

were sworn to aid and defend a brother member under all circumstances;

were one justly accused of crime, others would come forward and prove an

alibi by false swearing; were they on the jury, they would acquit him

though perfectly cognizant of his guilt. In some places the sheriff and

his deputies were members, perhaps the judge also[F]. Thus it happened

that though one or two persons who had been heard to talk threateningly

about Jones, as "a carpet-agger and Republican, who should be gotten rid

of, by fair means or foul," were arrested on suspicion, they were soon

set at liberty again, and his death remained unavenged.

[Footnote F: See Reports of Congressional Committee of Investigation.]

Chapter Ninth.

"I feel my sinews slackened with the fright,

And a cold sweat thrills down o'er all my limbs

As if I were dissolving into water."

--DRYDEN.

Early one evening, a few days subsequent to the tragical death of Jones,

the Ion family carriage, well freighted, was bowling along the road

leading toward the Oaks.

A heavy shower had laid the dust and cooled the air, and the ride past

blooming hedgerows, and fertile fields was very delightful. The parents

were in cheerful mood, the children gay and full of life and fun.

"Oh, yonder is grandpa's carriage coming this way!" cried Eddie as they

neared the cross-road which must be taken to reach Roselands in the one

direction, and Ashlands in the other.

"Yes, turn out here, Solon, and wait for them to come up," said Mr.

Travilla.

"On your way to the Oaks?" Mr. Dinsmore queried as his carriage halted

along side of the other. "Well, we will turn about and go with you."

"No, we were going to Roselands but will put off the call to another

day, if you were coming to Ion," Mr. Travilla answered.

"No, the Dinsmores had not set out for Ion, but to visit Sophie at

Ashlands; Daisy, her youngest child, was very ill."

"I wish you would go with us, Elsie," Rose said to Mrs. Travilla. "I

know it would be a comfort to Sophie to see you."

"Yes, we have plenty of room here," added Mr. Dinsmore, "and your

husband and children can certainly spare you for an hour or so."

Elsie looked inquiringly at her husband.

"Yes, go, wife, if you feel inclined," he said pleasantly. "The children

shall not lose their ride. I will go on to Roselands with them, make a

short call, as I have a little business with your grandfather, then take

them home."

"And we will have their mother there probably shortly after," said Mr.

Dinsmore.

So the exchange was made and the carriages drove on, taking opposite

directions when they came to the cross-road.

Arrived at Roselands, Mr. Travilla found only the younger members of the

family at home, the old gentleman having driven out with his daughters.

Calhoun thought however that they would return shortly, and was

hospitably urgent that the visitors should all come in and rest and

refresh themselves.

The younger cousins joined in the entreaty, and his own children

seeming desirous to accept the invitation, Mr. Travilla permitted them

to do so.

They, with Aunt Chloe and Dinah, were presently carried off to the

nursery by Molly Percival and the Conly girls, while their father walked

into the grounds with Calhoun and Arthur.

"Wal," whispered Dick to his cousin, drawing him aside unnoticed by the

rest, who were wholly taken up with each other, "now's our time for some

fun with those Ku Klux things. They must be about done, and I reckon

will be packed off out o' the house before long."

Walter nodded assent; they stole unobserved from the room, flew up to

their own for the key, hurried to the sewing-room of their mothers, and

finding there two disguises nearly completed, sufficiently so for their

purpose, arrayed themselves in them, slipped unseen down a back

staircase, and dashing open the nursery door, bounded with a loud whoop,

into the midst of its occupants.

Children and nurses joined in one wild shriek of terror, and made a

simultaneous rush for the doors, tumbling over each other in their haste

and affright.

But fortunately for them, Mr. Travilla and Calhoun had come in from the

grounds, were on their way to the nursery, and entered it from the hall

but a moment later than the boys did by the opposite door.

Mr. Travilla instantly seized Dick, (Calhoun doing the same by Walter),

tore off his disguise, and picking up a riding-whip, lying conveniently

at hand, administered a castigation that made the offender yell and roar

for mercy.

"You scoundrel!" replied the gentleman, still laying on his blows,

"I have scant mercy for a great strong boy who amuses himself by

frightening women and helpless little children."

"But you're not my father, and have no right, oh, oh, oh!" blubbered

Dick, trying to dodge the blows and wrench himself free, "I'll--I'll sue

you for assault and battery."

"Very well, I'll give you plenty while I'm about it, and if you don't

want a second dose, you will refrain from frightening my children in

future."

It was an exciting scene, Walter getting almost as severe handling from

Calhoun, nurses and children huddling together in the farthest corner of

the room, Baby Herbert screaming at the top of his voice, and the others

crying and sobbing while shrinking in nervous terror from the hideous

disguises lying in a heap upon the floor.

"O, take them away! take them away, the horrid things!" screamed

Virginia Conly, shuddering and hiding her face. "Wal and Dick, you

wicked wretches, I don't care if they half kill you."

"Papa, papa, please stop. O, Cal, don't whip him any more. I'm sure

they'll never do it again," pleaded little Elsie amid her sobs and

tears, holding Vi fast and trying to soothe and comfort her.

"There, go," said Calhoun, pushing Walter from the room, "and if ever

I catch you at such a trick again, I'll give you twice as much."

Dick, released by his captor with a like threat, hastened after his

fellow delinquent, blubbering and muttering angrily as he went.

Calhoun gathered up the disguises, threw them into a closet, locked the

door and put the key into his pocket.

"There!" said he, "they're out of sight and couldn't come after us if

they were alive; and there's no life in them; and little else but linen

and cotton."

Baby Herbert ceased his cries and cuddled down on Aunt Chloe's shoulder;

the other four ran to their father.

He encircled them all in his arms, soothing them with caresses and words

of fatherly endearment. "There, there, my darlings, dry your tears; papa

will take care of you; nothing shall hurt you."

"Papa, they's like that horrid thing that shooted the man," sobbed Vi,

clinging to him in almost frantic terror. "Oh don't let's ever come

here any more!"

"I so frightened, papa, I so frightened; p'ease tate Harold home,"

sobbed the little fellow, the others joining in the entreaty.

"Yes, we will go at once," said Mr. Travilla, rising, Vi in one arm

Harold in the other; and motioning to the servants to follow, he was

about to leave the room, when Calhoun spoke.

"Do not go yet, Mr. Travilla: I think grandpa and the ladies will be

here directly."

"Thanks, but I will see Mr. Dinsmore at another time. Now my first duty

is to these terrified little ones."

"I am exceedingly sorry for what has occurred; more mortified than I can

express--"

"No need for apology, Conly; but you must see the necessity for our

abrupt departure. Good evening to you all."

Calhoun followed to the carriage door, helped to put the children in,

then addressing Mr. Travilla, "I see you doubt me, sir," he said, "and

not without reason, I own; yet I assure you I have no property in those

disguises, never have worn, and never will wear such a thing: much less

take part in the violence they are meant to protect from punishment."

"I am glad to hear you say so, Cal. Good evening." And the carriage

whirled away down the avenue.

The rapid motion and the feeling that the objects of their affright

were being left far behind, seemed to soothe and reassure the children,

yet each sought to be as near as possible to their loved protector.

Harold and the babe soon fell asleep, and on reaching home were carried

directly to bed; but the older ones begged so hard to be allowed to

"stay with papa till mamma came home" that he could not find it in his

heart to refuse them.

The Dinsmore party found Sophie devoting herself to her sick child; the

attack had been sudden and severe, and all the previous night the mother

had watched by the couch of the little sufferer with an aching heart,

fearing she was to be taken from her; but now the danger seemed nearly

over, a favorable change having taken place during the day.

Daisy had fallen into a quiet slumber, and leaving the nurse to watch at

the bedside, the mother received and conversed with her friends in an

adjoining room.

Though evidently very glad to see them, she seemed, after the first few

moments, so depressed and anxious, that at length her sister remarked

it, and asked if there were any other cause than Daisy's illness.

"Yes, Rose," she said, "I must own that I am growing very timid in

regard to these Ku Klux outrages. Since they have taken to beating and

shooting whites as well as blacks, women as well as men, who shall say

that we are safe? I a Northern woman too and without a protector."

"I do not think they will molest a lady of your standing," said Mr.

Dinsmore, "the widow too of a Confederate officer. But where is Boyd,

that you say you are without a protector?"

A slight shudder ran over Sophie's frame. "Boyd?" she said, drawing her

chair nearer and speaking in an undertone, "he is my great dread, and

for fear of wounding mother's feelings I have had to keep my terrors to

myself. I know that he is often out, away from the plantation, all

night. I have for weeks past suspected that he was a Ku Klux, and last

night, or rather early this morning, my suspicions were so fully

confirmed that they now amount almost to certainty. I had been up all

night with Daisy, and a little before sunrise happening to be at the

window, I saw him stealing into the house with a bundle under his

arm,--something white rolled up in the careless sort of way a man would

do it."

"I am not surprised," said Mr. Dinsmore, "he is just the sort of man one

would expect to be at such work,--headstrong, violent tempered, and

utterly selfish and unscrupulous. Yet I think you may dismiss your fears

of him, and feel it rather a safeguard than otherwise to have a member

of the Klan in your family."

"It may be so," she said, musingly, the cloud of care partially lifting

from her brow.

"And at all events you are not without a protector, dear sister,"

whispered Rose, as she bade adieu. "'A father of the fatherless, and a

judge of the widows is God in his holy habitation.'"

Elsie too had a word of sympathy and hope for her childhood's friend,

and with warm invitations to both the Oaks and Ion as soon as Daisy

could be moved with safety, they left her, greatly cheered and refreshed

by their visit.

"My heart aches for her," Elsie said as they drove away, "what a sad,

sad thing to be a widow!"

"Yes;" responded Rose, "and to have lost your husband so,--fighting

against the land of your birth and love."

There was a long pause broken by a sudden, half frightened exclamation

from Rosie. "Papa! what if we should meet the Ku Klux!"

"Not much danger, I think: they are not apt to be abroad so early. And

we are nearing Ion."

"I presume Edward has reached home before us," remarked Elsie, "I wonder

how my little ones enjoyed their first visit to Roselands without their

mother."

She soon learned; for she had scarcely set foot in the veranda ere they

were clinging about her and pouring out the story of their terrible

fright.

She pitied, soothed and comforted them, trying to dispel their fears and

lead them to forgive those who had so ill-used them, though it cost no

small effort to do so herself.

Chapter Tenth.

"Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven."

--Luke vi, 87.

Calhoun Conly was much perturbed by the occurrences of the evening. He

was fond of his cousin Elsie and her children, and very sorry, for both

her sake and theirs, that they had suffered this fright; he greatly

respected and liked Mr. Travilla too, and would fain have stood well

in his esteem; he had hoped that he did; and also with his Uncle

Horace,--he had been so kindly treated, especially of late, at both Ion

and the Oaks; but now this unfortunate episode had placed him in a false

position, and he could hardly expect to be again trusted or believed in.

Such were his cogitations as he sat alone in the veranda, after the Ion

carriage had driven away. "What shall I do?" he asked himself, "what

shall I do to recover their good opinion?"

Just then Walter appeared before him, looking crestfallen and angry.

"I say, Cal, it's bad enough for you to have thrashed me as you did,

without bringing mother and Aunt Enna, and maybe grandfather too, down

on me about those wretched masks and things; so give 'em up and let Dick

and me put 'em back before they get home."

"Of course put them back as fast as you can; pity you hadn't let them

alone," said Calhoun, rising and with a quick step leading the way

toward the nursery, "and," he added, "we must see what we can do to keep

the young ones from blabbing; else putting them back will help your case

very little."

"Oh we'll never be able to do that!" exclaimed Walter, despairingly,

"one or another of 'em is sure to let it out directly. And there come

the folks now," as the rolling of wheels was heard in the avenue. "It's

of no use; they'll know all about it in five minutes."

"Yes, sir, you and Dick have got yourselves into a fine box, beside all

the trouble you've made for other people," said Calhoun angrily. Then

laying his hand on Walter's arm as he perceived that he was meditating

flight, "No, sir, stay and face the music like a man; don't add

cowardice to all the rest of it."

They heard the clatter of little feet running through the house and out

upon the veranda, the carriage draw up before the door, then the voices

of the children pouring out the story of their fright, and the

punishment of its authors, and the answering tones of their grandfather

and the ladies; Mr. Dinsmore's expressing surprise and indignation,

Enna's full of passion, and Mrs. Conly's of cold displeasure.

"Let go o' me! they're coming this way," cried Walter, trying to wrench

himself free.

But the inexorable Calhoun only tightened his grasp and dragged him on

to the nursery.

Dick was there trying to pick the lock of the closet door with his

pocket knife.

"What are you about, sir? No more mischief to-day, if you please,"

exclaimed Calhoun, seizing him with the free hand, the other having

enough to do to hold Walter.

"Give me that key then," cried Dick, vainly struggling to shake off his

cousin's strong grip.

The words were hardly on the boy's tongue, when the door was thrown

open, and Mr. Dinsmore and his daughters entered hastily, followed by

the whole crowd of younger children.

"Give you the key indeed! I'd like to know how you got hold of mine, and

how you dared to make use of it as you have, you young villain! There,

take that, and that and that! Hold him fast, Cal, till I give him a

little of what he deserves," cried Mrs. Johnson, rushing upon her son,

in a towering passion, and cuffing him right and left with all her

strength.

"Let me alone!" he roared; "'taint fair; old Travilla's half killed me

already."

"I'm glad of it! You ought to be half killed, and you won't get any

sympathy from me, I can tell you."

"And you had a share in it too, Walter?" Mrs. Conly was saying in

freezing tones. "If you think he deserves any more than you gave him,

Cal, you have my full permission to repeat the dose."

"Where is the cause of all this unseemly disturbance?" demanded Mr.

Dinsmore severely. "Calhoun, if you have the key of that closet and

those wretched disguises are there, produce them at once."

The young man obeyed, while Enna, holding Dick fast, turned a half

frightened look upon her sister; to which the latter, standing with her

arms folded and her back braced against the wall, replied with one of

cold, haughty indifference.

Calhoun drew out the obnoxious articles and held them up to view, a

flush of mortification upon his face.

The children screamed and ran.

"Be quiet! they can't hurt you," said the grandfather, stamping his

foot; then turning to Calhoun, "Ku Klux--your property and Arthur's, I

presume, you are members doubtless?" and he glanced from one to the

other of his older grandsons in mingled anger and scorn; Arthur having

just entered the room to ascertain the cause of the unusual commotion.

He flushed hotly at his grandsire's words and look. "I, sir! I a Ku

Klux?" he exclaimed in a hurt, indignant tone, "I a midnight assassin

stealing upon my helpless victims under cover of darkness and a hideous

disguise? No, sir. How could you think so ill of me? What have I done to

deserve it?"

"Nothing, my boy; I take it all back," said the old gentleman, with a

grim smile, "it is not like you--a quiet bookish lad, with nothing of

the coward or the bully about you. But you, Calhoun?"

"I have no property in these, sir; and I should scorn to wear one, or to

take part in the deeds you have spoken of."

"Right. I am no Republican, and was as strong for secession as any man

in the South, but I am for open, fair fight with my own enemies or those

of my country; no underhand dealings for me; no cowardly attacks in

overwhelming numbers upon the weak and defenceless. But if these

disguises are not yours, whose are they? and how came they here?"

"I must beg leave to decline answering that question, sir," replied

Calhoun respectfully.

His mother and aunt exchanged glances.

"Ah!" exclaimed their father, turning to Enna, as with a sudden

recollection, "I think I heard you claiming some property in these

scarecrows speak out; are they yours?"

"No, sir; but I'm not ashamed to own that I helped to make them, and

that if I were a man, I would wear one."

"You? you helped make them? and who, pray, helped you? Louise--"

"Yes, sir, Louise it was," replied Mrs. Conly drawing herself up to her

full height, "and she is no more ashamed to own it, than is her sister.

And if Calhoun was a dutiful son he would be more than willing to wear

one."

"If you were a dutiful daughter, you would never have engaged in such

business in my house without my knowledge and consent," retorted her

father, "and I'll have no more of it, let me tell you, Madams Conly and

Johnson; no aiding or abetting of these midnight raiders."

Then turning to a servant he ordered her to "take the hideous things

into the yard and make a bonfire of them."

"No, no!" cried Enna. "Papa, do you understand that you are ordering the

destruction of other men's property?"

"It makes no difference," he answered coolly, "they are forfeit by

having been brought surreptitiously into my house. Carry them out,

Fanny, do you hear? carry them out and burn them."

"And pray, sir, what am I to say to the owners when they claim their

property?" asked Enna with flashing eyes.

"Refer them to me," replied her father leaving the room to see that his

orders were duly executed.

Calhoun and Arthur had already slipped away. Dick was about to follow,

but his mother again seized him by the arm, this time shaking him

violently; she must have some one on whom to vent the rage that was

consuming her.

"You--you bad, troublesome, wicked boy! I could shake the very life out

of you!" she hissed through her shut teeth, suiting the action to the

word. "A pretty mess you've made of it, you and Walter. Your birthday

coming next week too; there'll be no presents from Ion for you, you may

rest assured. I hoped Mr. Travilla would send you each a handsome suit,

as he did last year; but of course you'll get nothing now."

"Well, I don't care," muttered Dick, "it's your fault for making the

ugly things." And freeing himself by a sudden jerk, he darted from the

room.

Children and servants had trooped after Mr. Dinsmore to witness the

conflagration, and Dick's sudden exit left the ladies sole occupants of

the apartment.

"I declare it's too bad! too provoking for endurance!" exclaimed Enna,

bursting into a flood of angry tears.

"What's the use of taking it so hard?" returned her sister.

"You're a perfect iceberg," retorted Enna.

"That accounts for my not crying over our misfortune, I presume; my

tears being all frozen up," returned Mrs. Conly with an exasperating

smile. "Well there is comfort in all things: we may now congratulate

ourselves that Foster and Boyd did not wait for these but supplied

themselves elsewhere."

There was a difference of two years in the ages of Dick Percival and

Walter Conly, but they were born on the same day of the same month, and

their birthday would occur in less than a week.

"I say, Wal, what precious fools we've been," remarked Dick as the two

were preparing to retire that night; "why didn't we remember how near it

was to our birthday? Of course, as mother says, there'll be no presents

from Ion this time."

"No, and I wish I'd never seen the hateful things," grumbled Walter,

"but there's no use crying over spilt milk."

"No; and we'll pretend we don't care a cent. Mother sha'n't have the

satisfaction of knowing that I do anyhow;" and Dick whistled a lively

tune as he pulled off his boots and tossed them into a corner.

At about the same time Elsie and her husband, seated alone together in

their veranda, were conversing on the same subject. Mr. Travilla

introduced it. They had been regretting the effect of the fright of the

evening upon their children--Vi especially as the one predisposed to

undue excitement of the brain--yet hoping it might not prove lasting.

Elsie had just returned from seeing them to bed. "I left them much

calmed and comforted," she said, "by our little talk together of God's

constant watch over us, His all-power and His protecting care and love;

and by our prayer that He would have them in his keeping."

He pressed her hand in silence; then presently remarked, "The birthday

of those boys is near at hand. They certainly deserve no remembrance

from us; but how do you feel about it?"

"Just as my noble, generous husband does," she said, looking up into his

face with a proud, fond smile.

"Ah! and how is that?"

"Like giving them a costlier and more acceptable present than ever

before; thus 'heaping coals of fire upon their heads.'"

"And what shall it be?"

"Whatever you think they would prefer, and would not that be a pony

a-piece?"

"No doubt of it; and I will try to procure two worth having, before the

day comes round."

Talking with her little ones the next morning, Elsie told them of the

near approach of the birthday of Dick and Walter, spoke of the duty of

forgiveness and the return of good for evil, and asked who of them

would like to make their cousins some nice present.

"I should, mamma," said little Elsie.

Eddie looked up into his mother's face, dropped his head, and blushing

deeply muttered, "I'd rather flog them like papa and Cal did."

"So would I; they're naughty boys!" cried Vi, the tears starting to her

eyes at the remembrance of the panic of fear their conduct had cost

herself, brothers and sister.

Their mother explained that it was papa's duty to protect his children

from injury, and that that was why he had flogged naughty Dick; but now

he had forgiven him and was going to return good for evil, as the Bible

bids us. "And you must forgive them too, dears, if you want God to

forgive you," she concluded; "for Jesus says, 'If you forgive not men

their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.'"

"I can't, mamma: I don't love them," said Eddie, stoutly.

"Ask God to help you, then, my son."

"But mamma, I can't ask him with my heart, 'cause I don't want to love

them or forgive them."

"Can my boy do without God's forgiveness? without Jesus' love?" she

asked, drawing him to her side. "You feel very unhappy when papa or

mamma is offended with you, and can you bear your heavenly Father's

frown?"

"Don't look so sorry, dear mamma: I love you ever so much," he said,

putting his arms about her neck and kissing her again and again.

"I cannot be happy while my dear little son indulges such sinful

feelings," she said, softly smoothing his hair, while a tear rolled down

her cheek.

"Mamma, how can I help it?"

"Try to think kind thoughts of your cousins, do them all the kindness

you can, and ask God to bless them, and to help you to love them. I want

my little Vi to do so too," she added, turning to her.

"Mamma, I will; I don't 'tend to say cross things 'bout 'em any more,"

Violet answered impulsively; "and I'll give 'em the nicest present I can

get with all my pocket-money."

"Mamma, must I give them presents?" asked Eddie.

"No, son, I do not say must; you shall decide for yourself whether you

ought, and whether you will."

"Mamma, they made me hurt my dear father."

"No, Eddie, no one can _make_ us do wrong; we choose for ourselves

whether we will resist temptation or yield to it."

"Mamma, what shall we give," asked the little girls.

"Talk it over between yourselves, daughters, decide how much you are

willing to spend on them, and what your cousins would probably like

best. I want my children to think and choose for themselves, where it

is proper that they should."

"But mamma, you will 'vise us."

"Yes, Vi, you may consult me, and shall have the benefit of my opinion."

The little girls held several private consultations during the day, and

in the evening came with a report to their mother. Elsie was willing to

appropriate five dollars to the purpose, Vi three, and the gifts were to

be books, if mamma approved, and would help them select suitable ones.

"I think you have decided wisely," she said, "and as it is too warm for

us to drive to the city, we will ask papa to order a variety sent out

here, and he and I will help you in making a choice."

Eddie was standing by. Nothing had been said to him on the subject,

since his morning talk with his mother, but all day he had been

unusually quiet and thoughtful.

"Mamma," he now said, coming close to her side, "I've been trying to

forgive them, and I'm going to buy two riding whips, one for Dick, and

one for Wal; if you and papa like me to."

Her smile was very sweet and tender as she commended his choice, and

told him his resolve had made her very happy.

The birthday found Dick and Walter in sullen, discontented mood, spite

of their resolve not to care for the loss of all prospect of gifts in

honor of the anniversary.

"What's the use of getting up?" growled Dick, "it's an awful bore, the

way we've been sent to Coventry ever since we got into that scrape with

the young ones. I've a great mind to lie a-bed and pretend sick; just to

scare mother and pay her off for her crossness."

"Maybe you might get sick in earnest," suggested Walter. "I'm going to

get up anyhow," and he tumbled out upon the floor, "for it's too hot to

lie in bed. Hark! there's Pomp coming up the stairs to call us now. Why,

what's all that, Pomp?" as the servant rapped, then pushing open the

door, handed in a number of brown paper parcels.

"Dunno, Mars Wal," replied the man grinning from ear to ear; "somethin'

from Ion, an de rest's down stairs; one for each ob you."

"One what?" queried Dick, starting up and with one bound placing himself

at Walter's side.

"Birthday present, sahs. Wish you many happy returns, Mars Wal and Mars

Dick, an' hope you'll neber wear no mo' Ku Klux doins."

But the lads were too busily engaged in opening the parcels and

examining their contents, to hear or heed his words.

"Two riding whips--splendid ones--and four books!" exclaimed Walter;

"and here's a note."

"Here let me read it," said Dick. "I declare, Wal, I'm positively

ashamed to have them send me anything after the way I've behaved."

"I too. But what do they say?"

"It's from Travilla and Cousin Elsie," said Dick turning to the

signature. "I'll read it out."

He did so. It was very kind and pleasant, made no allusion to their

wrong doing, but congratulated them on the return of the day, begged

their acceptance of the accompanying gifts, stating from whom each came,

the largest a joint present from themselves; and closed with an

invitation to spend the day at Ion.

"I'm more ashamed than ever, aren't you, Wal?" Dick said, his face

flushing hotly as he laid the note down.

"Yes, never felt so mean in my life. To think of that little Ed sending

us these splendid whips, and the little girls these pretty books. I

'most wish they hadn't."

"But where's 'the larger gift' they say is 'a joint present from

themselves'?"

"Oh that must be what Pomp called the rest left down stairs. Come, let's

hurry and get down there to see what it is."

Toilet duties were attended to in hot haste and in a wonderfully short

time the two were on the front veranda in eager quest of the mysterious

present.

Each boyish heart gave a wild bound of delight as their eyes fell upon a

group in the avenue, just before the entrance;--two beautiful ponies,

ready saddled and bridled, in charge of an Ion servant; old Mr.

Dinsmore, Calhoun and Arthur standing near examining and commenting upon

them with evident admiration.

"O, what beauties!" cried Dick, bounding into the midst of the group.

"Whose are they, Uncle Joe?"

"Well, sah," answered the old negro, pulling off his hat and bowing

first to one, then to the other, "dey's sent heyah, by Massa Travilla

and Miss Elsie, for two boys 'bout de size o' you, dat don' neber mean

to frighten young chillen no mo'."

The lads hung their heads in silence, the blush of shame on their

cheeks.

"Do you answer the description?" asked Calhoun, a touch of scorn in his

tones.

"Yes; for we'll never do it again," said Walter. "But it's too much:

they're too kind!" and he fairly broke down, and turned away his head to

hide the tears that would come into his eyes.

"That's a fact!" assented Dick, nearly as much moved.

"You don't deserve it," said their grandfather, severely, "and I'm much

inclined to send them back, with a request that if they're offered you

again it shall not be till a year of good conduct on your part has

atoned for the past."

"O, grandpa, you couldn't be so hard, so very hard!" cried Dick

imploringly, stroking and patting the pony nearest to him, "they're

such beauties."

"I should think you'd be ashamed to accept such gifts after the way

you've behaved," said Arthur.

"So we are; but wouldn't it be worse to send 'em back? Awful rude, I

should say." And Dick turned a half saucy, half beseeching look upon his

grandfather.

The old gentleman smiled in spite of himself, and consented, in

consideration of the boys' penitence for the past, and fair promises

for the future, to allow them to accept the generous gifts.

Uncle Joe explained which was for Dick, and which for Walter, and

springing into their saddles, they were off like a shot, their

grandfather calling after them to be back in ten minutes if they wanted

any breakfast.

Chapter Eleventh.

"If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst give him drink;

for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. Be not

overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good."

--ROMANS XII. 20, 21.

"Splendid!" cried Dick, wheeling about toward home, now half a mile

away, "but we must hurry back or grandpa will be mad. I say Wal, what

_do_ you s'pose makes Travilla and Cousin Elsie so different from us?

I mean all of us at Roselands."

"I don't know," returned Walter reflectively; "maybe because they're

Christians. You know it says in the Bible we're to return good for

evil."

"Yes, and so heap coals of fire on our enemies' heads. And, Wal, I feel

'em burn now. I'd give anything not to have coaxed and teased Ed into

shooting that time, and not to have scared him and the others with those

frightful disguises."

"So would I: and we'll never do the like again, Dick, never; will we?"

"I reckon not: and we must ride over to Ion after breakfast, and tell

'em so, and thank 'em for these beauties and the other things."

"Yes; didn't the note invite us to spend the day there?"

"Why so it did! But I'd forgot; the sight of the ponies knocked it all

out of my head."

So great was the delight of the lads in their new acquisitions, that not

even the repeated assertions of their mothers and other members of the

family--seconded by the reproaches of their own consciences--that they

did not deserve it, could materially damp their joy.

An ungracious permission to accept the invitation to Ion, was granted

them with the remark that Calhoun and Arthur, who were included in it,

would be there to keep them in order, and also to report upon their

conduct.

Calhoun, troubled and mortified by the suspicions which he imagined must

have been entertained against him at both the Oaks and Ion since the

escapade of Dick and Walter, had kept himself closely at home during the

past week, and studiously avoided meeting either his uncle or Travilla:

but this invitation, as the holding out of the olive branch of peace,

was joyfully accepted.

The four rode over to Ion together, directly after breakfast, and found

themselves greeted with the greatest kindness and cordiality by Mr.

Travilla, Elsie and the children, all gathered in the veranda awaiting

their coming.

The two culprits, shame-faced in view of their ill-deserts, yet

overflowing with delight in their ponies, poured out mingled thanks and

apologies, and promises for the future.

"Never mind, my lads, we'll say nothing more about it," Mr. Travilla

said in his kind, cheery way, Elsie adding, "You are very welcome, and

we are sure you do not intend ever again to try to alarm our darlings,

or tempt them to do wrong."

She led the way to her beautiful summer parlor, a large, lofty

apartment, with frescoed walls and ceiling; the floor a mosaic of

various colored marbles; a bubbling fountain in the centre, gold and

silver fish swimming in its basin, windows draped with vines, and at the

farther end a lovely grotto, where a second fountain threw showers of

spray over moss-grown rocks and pieces of exquisite statuary.

Here they were presently joined by their Cousin Horace. Ices and fruits

were served, and the morning passed in a most agreeable manner,

enlivened by music, conversation, and a variety of quiet games; Mr. and

Mrs. Travilla laying themselves out for the entertainment of their

guests.

Their children had been excused from lessons in honor of the day, and

with their sweet prattle, and merry pretty ways, contributed not a

little to the enjoyment of their elders.

Mr. Dinsmore came to dinner. Calhoun fancied his manner rather cool

toward him, while Dick and Walter were left in no doubt of his stern

disapproval of them, until their Cousin Elsie said a few words to him in

a quiet aside, after which there was a decided change for the better.

Calhoun watched his cousin furtively, as he had of late formed a habit

of doing: and as he studied her character, his respect, admiration, and

affection grew apace; he found her so utterly unselfish and sincere, so

patient and forbearing, yet firm for the right, so unaffectedly gay and

happy.

Something of this he remarked to her when for a few moments they chanced

to be alone together.

"Ah," she said smiling and blushing, "it is not lover love alone that is

blind; you have been looking at me through rose colored spectacles, as

so many of my relatives and friends do."

"But are you not really happy, cousin?"

"Happy? Ah yes, indeed! Have I not everything to make me so? the best of

husbands and fathers, five darling children; comparative youth, health,

wealth that enables me to prove in my own sweet experience the truth of

those words of the Lord Jesus, 'It is more blessed to give than to

receive'; and the best of all" she added low and reverently, the soft

eyes shining through glad tears, "His love and tender care surrounding

me. His strong arm to lean upon; His blood to wash away my sins. His

perfect righteousness put upon me. These, cousin, are more than all the

rest, and you and every one may have them if you will; for His own words

are, 'Ask, and ye shall receive; seek and ye shall find.' 'Him that

cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.'"

"You give me a new view of religion," he said after a moment's

surprised, thoughtful silence. "I have been accustomed to look upon it

as something suitable, perhaps desirable, for old age, and certainly

very necessary for a death bed; but too great a restraint upon youthful

pleasures."

"Sinful pleasures must indeed be given up by those who would follow

Christ; but they are like apples of Sodom,--beautiful in appearance, but

bitter and nauseous to the taste; while the joys that he gives are pure,

sweet, abundant and satisfying. 'Godliness is profitable unto all

things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to

come.' 'They shall be abundantly satisfied with the fatness of thy

house; and thou shalt make them drink of the river of thy pleasures.'

Ah, Cal, if one might safely die without the Christian's faith and hope,

I should still want them to sweeten life's journey."

Another thoughtful pause; then the young man said, frankly, "Cousin

Elsie, I'm afraid I'm very stupid, but it's a fact that I never have

been quite able to understand exactly what it is to be a Christian, or

how to become one."

She considered a moment, her heart going up in silent prayer for help to

make the matter plain to him, and for a blessing on her words; for well

she knew that without the influence of the Holy Spirit they would avail

nothing.

"To be a Christian," she said, "is to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ,

receiving and resting upon him alone for salvation. 'He hath made him to

be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness

of God in him.' 'God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten

Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have

everlasting life.' Do not these texts answer both your queries? We have

broken God's holy law, but Jesus, the God man, has borne the penalty in

our stead; 'all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags'; we dare not

appear before the King clothed in them; but Jesus offers to each of us

the pure and spotless robe of his righteousness, and we have only to

accept it as a free gift; we can have it on no other terms. It is

believe and be saved; look and live."

"But there is something beside for us to do surely? we must live

right."

"Yes, true faith will bring forth the fruits of holy living; but good

works are the proofs and effects of our faith, not the ground of the

true Christian's hope; having nothing whatever to do with our

justification."

The entrance of Arthur and young Horace put an end to the conversation.

Horace was not less devoted to his elder sister now than in childhood's

days; Arthur, distant and reserved with most people, had of late learned

to be very frank and open with her, sure of an attentive hearing, of

sympathy, and that his confidence would never be betrayed.

She never sneered, never laughed in contempt, nor ever seemed to think

herself better or wiser, than others. Her advice, when asked, was given

with sweet simplicity and humility, as of one not qualified, in her own

estimation, to teach, or desirous to usurp authority over others: yet

she had a clear intellect and sound judgment, she opened her mouth with

wisdom and in her tongue was the law of kindness. There seemed a sort of

magnetism about her, the attraction of a loving, sympathetic nature,

that always drew to her the young of both sexes, and the large majority

of older people also.

The three young men gathered round her, hanging upon her sweet looks,

her words, her smiles, as ardent lovers do upon those of their

mistress.

Somehow the conversation presently turned upon love and marriage, and

she lectured them, half-playfully, half seriously, upon the duties of

husbands.

She bade them be careful in their choice, remembering that it was for

life, and looking for worth rather than beauty or wealth; then after

marriage not to be afraid of spoiling the wife with too much care and

thoughtfulness for her comfort, and happiness, or the keeping up of the

little attentions so pleasant to give and receive, and so lavishly

bestowed in the days of courtship.

"Ah, Elsie, you are thinking of your own husband, and holding him up as

a model to us," said Horace laughingly.

"Yes," she answered, with a blush and smile, a tender light shining in

the soft brown eyes, "that is true. Ah, the world would be full of happy

wives if all the husbands would copy his example! He is as much a lover

now as the day he asked me to be his wife; more indeed, for we grow

dearer and dearer to each other as the years roll on. Never a day passes

that he does not tell me of his love by word and deed, and the story is

as sweet to me now, as when first I heard it."

"Ah, good wives make good husbands," said Mr. Travilla, who had entered

unobserved, just in time to hear the eulogy upon him. "Boys, let each

of you get a wife like mine, and you can not fail to be good husbands."

"Good husbands make good wives," she retorted, looking up into his face

with a fond smile as he came to her side.

"The trouble is to find such," remarked Horace, regarding his sister

with tender admiration.

"True enough," said Travilla, "I know not of her like in all the length

and breadth of the land."

Catching sight of Mr. Dinsmore pacing the veranda alone, Calhoun slipped

quietly away from the rest and joined him.

"Uncle," he said, coloring and dropping his eyes, "I think you doubt

me."

"Have I not reason, Calhoun?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, looking searchingly

into the lad's face.

"Yes, sir, I own that appearances are strongly against me, and I can not

disprove the tale they tell; but--oh, if you could trust me still,

uncle!"

He lifted his head, and gazed fearlessly into the keen dark eyes still

bent searchingly upon him.

Mr. Dinsmore held out his hand, and cordially grasped the one Calhoun

placed in it.

"Well, my boy, I will try: it is far pleasanter than to doubt you. But

there is some one at Roselands who is disposed to aid and abet the Ku

Klux in their lawless proceedings."

"I can not deny that," said the nephew, "yet it would ill become me to

say who it is; and I think, sir, since grandpa has set down his foot so

decidedly in opposition, there will be no more of it. Travilla and

Cousin Elsie have given me their confidence again, and I assure you,

sir, I am deeply grateful to you all."

Chapter Twelfth.

"If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly

What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps,

Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar,

That beasts shall tremble at thy din."

--SHAKESPEARE'S TEMPEST.

The Ion family were spending the day at the Oaks. It was now early in

the fall of 1868 and political excitement ran high over the coming

presidential election. There had been as yet no effectual check given to

the lawless proceedings of the Ku Klux, and their frequent raids and

numerous deeds of violence had inaugurated a reign of terror that was a

shame and reproach to our boasted civilization and free institutions.

Many of the poorer class, both blacks and whites, dared not pass the

night in their houses, but when darkness fell, fled for safety to the

shelter of the nearest woods, carrying their beds with them, and

sleeping in the open air.

That the Ku Klux Klan was a political organization working in the

interests of the Democratic party, their words to their victims left no

doubt. The latter were told that they were punished for belonging to

the Union League or for favoring the Republican party or using their

influence in its behalf, and threatened with severer treatment if they

dared vote its ticket or persuade others to do so.

The outrages were highly disapproved by all Republicans and by most of

the better class in the opposite party; but many were afraid to express

their opinions of the doings of the Klan, lest they should be visited

with its terrors; while for the same reason, many of its victims

preferred to suffer in silence rather than institute proceedings, or

testify against their foes.

It was a state of things greatly deplored by our friends of the Oaks and

Ion, and Messrs. Dinsmore and Travilla, who were not of the timid sort,

had been making efforts to bring some of the guilty ones to justice;

though thus far with very little success.

Such an errand had taken them to the town on this particular day.

They were returning late in the afternoon and were still several miles

from home, when, passing through a bit of woods, a sudden turn of the

road brought them face to face with a band of mounted men, some thirty

or forty in number, not disguised but rough and ruffianly in appearance

and armed with clubs, pistols and bowie knives.

The encounter was evidently a surprise to both parties, and reining in

their steeds, they regarded each other for a moment in grim silence.

Then the leader of the band, a profane, drunken wretch, who had been a

surgeon in the Confederate army, scowling fiercely upon our friends and

laying his hand on a pistol in his belt, growled out, "A couple of

scalawags! mean dirty rascals, what mischief have you been at now, eh?"

Disdaining a reply to his insolence, the gentlemen drew their revolvers,

cocked them ready for instant use, and whirling their horses half way

round and backing them out of the road so that they faced it, while

leaving room for the others to pass, politely requested them to do so.

"Not so fast!" returned the leader, pouring out a torrent of oaths and

curses; "we've a little account to settle with you two, and no time's

like the present."

"Yes, shoot 'em down!" cried a voice from the crowd.

"Hang 'em!" yelled another, "the ---- ---- rascals!"

"Yes," roared a third, "pull 'em from their horses and string 'em up to

the limb o' that big oak yonder."

Our friends faced them with dauntless air.

"You will do neither," said Mr. Dinsmore, in a firm, quiet tone; "we are

well armed and shall defend ourselves to the last extremity."

Travilla threw his riding whip into the road a foot or two in front of

his horse's head, saying, as he looked steadily into the leader's eyes,

"The first one who passes that to come nearer to us is that instant a

dead man."

The two were well known in the community as men of undoubted courage and

determination; also as excellent marksmen.

A whisper ran along the lines of their opponents.

"He's a dead shot; and so's Dinsmore; and they're not afraid o' the

devil himself. Better let 'em go for this time."

The leader gave the word, "Forward!" and with hisses, groans and a

variety of hideous noises, they swept along the road and passed out of

sight, leaving our friends masters of the field.

"Cruelty and cowardice go hand in hand," observed Mr. Travilla, as they

resumed their homeward way.

"Yes, those brave fellows prefer waging war upon sleeping unarmed men,

and helpless women and children, to risking life and limb in fair and

open fight with such as you and I," returned his companion.

"They are Ku Klux, you think?"

"I am morally certain of it, though I could not bring proof to convict

even that rascally Dr. Savage."

They agreed not to mention the occurrence in presence of their wives:

also that it would be best for Travilla to take his family home early,

Mr. Dinsmore and Horace Jr. accompanying them as an escort.

This they could readily do without arousing the fears of the ladies, as

both were constantly coming and going between the two places.

The sun was nearing the horizon when they reached the Oaks.

Rose and Elsie were in the veranda awaiting their coming in some

anxiety.

"Oh," they cried, "we are so rejoiced to see you! so thankful that you

are safe. We feared you had met some of those dreadful Ku Klux."

"Yes, little wife, we are safe, thanks to the protecting care which is

over us all in every place," Mr. Travilla said, embracing her as though

they had been long parted.

"Ah yes," she sighed, "how I have been forgetting to-day the lessons of

faith and trust I have tried to impress upon Mrs. Leland. It is far

easier to preach than to practice."

Little feet came running in from the grounds, little voices

shouted, "Papa has come! Papa and grandpa too," and a merry scene

ensued--hugging, kissing, romping--presently interrupted by the call

to tea.

There was nothing unusual in the manner of either gentleman and the

wives had no suspicion that they had been in peril of their lives.

"I think it would be well to return home early to-night," Mr. Travilla

remarked to Elsie.

"Yes," she said, "on account of the children."

So the carriage was ordered at once, and shortly after leaving the table

they were on their way--Elsie, children and nurses in the carriage, with

Mr. Travilla, Mr. Dinsmore and son, all well armed, as their mounted

escort.

Horace had been taken aside by his father and told of the afternoon's

adventure, and in his indignation was almost eager for "a brush with the

insolent ruffians."

None appeared, however; Ion was reached in safety, they tarried there an

hour or more, then returned without perceiving any traces of the foe.

The hush of midnight has fallen upon the Oaks, Ion, Fairview and all the

surrounding region; the blinking stars and young moon, hanging a golden

crescent just above the horizon, look down upon a sleeping world; yet

not all asleep, for far down the road skirting yonder wood, a strange

procession approaches;--goblin-like figures, hideous with enormous

horns, glaring eye-balls and lolling red tongues, and mounted upon

weird-looking steeds, are moving silently onward.

They reach a small house hard by the road-side, pause before it, and

with a heavy riding whip the leader thunders at the door.

The frightened inmates, startled from their sleep, cry out in alarm,

and a man's voice asks, "Who's there?"

"Open the door," commands the leader in a strange sepulchral voice.

"I must know first who is there and what's wanted," returns the other,

hurrying on his clothes.

A shot is fired, and penetrating the door, strikes the opposite wall.

"Open instantly, or we'll break in, and it'll be the worse for you,"

thunders the leader; and with trembling hands, amid the cries of wife

and children, the man removes the bars, draws back the bolts, and looks

out, repeating his question, "What's wanted?"

"Nothing, this time, Jim White, but to warn you that if you vote the

Republican ticket, we'll call again, take you to the woods, and flog you

within an inch of your life--Beware! Forward, men!" and the troop sweeps

onward, while White closes and bars the door again, and creeps back to

bed.

"Ku Klux!" says the wife shuddering. "Jim, we'll have to hide o' nights

now, like the rest. Hush, hush, children, they're gone now; so go to

sleep; nothing'll hurt ye. Jim, ye'll mind?"

"Yes, yes, Betsy, though it galls me to be ordered round like a nigger;

me with as white a skin as any o' them."

Onward, still onward sweeps the goblin train, and again and again the

same scene is enacted, the victim now a poor white, and now a freedman.

At length they have reached Fairview; they pause before the gate, two

dismount, make off into the woods, and presently reappear bearing on

their shoulders a long dark object; a little square of white visible on

the top.

They pass through the gate, up the avenue, and silently deposit their

burden at the door, return to their companions, and with them repair to

the negro quarter.

Dismounting, they tie their horses to the fence, and leaving them in

charge of one of their number, betake themselves to the nearest cabin,

surround it, break open the door, drag out the man, carry him to a

little distance, and with clubs and leathern straps, give him a terrible

beating.

Leaving him half dead with pain and fright, they return to his cabin,

threaten his wife and children, rob him of his gun, and pass on to

repeat their lawless deeds; menacing some, beating and shooting others;

not always sparing women or children; the latter perhaps, being hurt

accidentally in the melee.

From the quarter at Fairview, they passed on to that of Ion, continuing

there the same threats and acts of violence; winding up by setting fire

to the school-house, and burning it to the ground.

The bright light shining in at the open windows of her room, awoke the

little Elsie. She sprang from her bed, and ran to the window. She could

see the flames bursting from every aperture in the walls of the small

building, and here and there through the roof, curling about the

rafters, sending up volumes of smoke, and showers of sparks; and in

their light the demon-like forms of the mischief-doers, some seated upon

their horses and looking quietly on, others flitting to and fro in the

lurid glare; while the roar and crackling of the flames, and the sound

of falling timbers came distinctly to her ear.

At the sight a panic terror seized the child. She flew into the room

where her parents lay sleeping, but with habitual thoughtfulness for

others, refrained from screaming out in her fright, lest she should

rouse the little ones.

She went to her father's side, put her lips to his ear, and said in low

tremulous tones, "Papa, papa, please wake up, I'm so frightened; there's

a fire and the Ku Klux are there. O papa, I'm afraid they'll come here

and kill you!" and she ended with a burst of almost hysterical weeping,

rousing both father and mother.

"What is it, darling?" asked Mr. Travilla, starting up to a sitting

posture, and throwing an arm about the child, "what has alarmed my

pet?" while the mother, exclaiming "Vi! is she gone again?" sprang out

upon the floor, and hastily threw on a dressing-gown.

"No, no, no, mamma; Vi's safe in bed, but look at that red light on the

wall yonder! it's fire, and the Ku Klux!"

In another moment all three were at the window overlooking the scene.

"The school-house!" exclaimed Mr. Travilla. "I am not surprised; for the

Klan is greatly opposed to the education of the negro, and has burned

down buildings used for that purpose in other places. Do you see them,

wife? those frightful looking horned animals."

"Yes," she said with a shudder, followed by a deep sigh, "and O Edward

what may they not be doing to our poor people? can we do anything to

save them?"

He shook his head sadly.

"No: they are out in considerable force, and I could do nothing,

single-handed, against twenty or thirty armed men."

"O papa, mamma, I am so frightened!" cried little Elsie, clinging to

them both. "Will they come here and hurt us?"

"I think not, daughter," her father said soothingly; "their raids have

hitherto been almost entirely confined to the blacks, and poor whites,

with now and then one of those from the North whom they style

carpet-baggers."

"Be calm, dearest, and put your trust in the Lord," the mother said,

folding the trembling, sobbing child to her breast. "'The beloved of the

Lord shall dwell in safety by him, and the Lord shall cover him all the

day long.' 'Not an hair of your head shall fall to the ground without

your Father.'"

"Yes, sweet words," said Mr. Travilla; "and remember what the Lord Jesus

said to Pilate, 'Thou couldst have no power at all against me, except it

were given thee from above.'"

A short pause, in which all three gazed intently at the scene of

conflagration, then, "Do you see how the walls are tottering?" said Mr.

Travilla, and even as he spoke they tumbled together into one burning

mass, the flames shot up higher than before, burning with a fierce heat

and roar, while by their lurid light the Ku Klux could be seen taking up

their line of march again.

The two Elsies watched in almost breathless suspense till they saw them

turn in a direction to take them farther from Ion.

"Thank God they are not coming here!" ejaculated Mrs. Travilla, in low,

reverent, grateful tones.

"Hark, mamma, papa, I hear cries and screams!" exclaimed little Elsie.

"Oh it must be some of the poor women and children coming up from the

quarter!"

As the child spoke there came a quick sharp tap, that seemed to tell of

fright and excitement, at the outer door of the suite of apartments, and

an old servant, hardly waiting for the permission to enter, thrust in

his head, saying in tremulous tones, "Mars Ed'ard, de people's all

comin' up from de quarter, an' knockin' an' cryin' to get in. Dere's

been awful times down dere; de Ku Klu--"

"Yes, yes, Jack, I know; but be quiet or you'll wake the children. Open

the hall door and let the poor things in, of course," said Mr. Travilla,

"and I'll be down in a moment."

"Plenty room on de back veranda, Mars Ed'ard, an' 'tween dat an' de

kitchen."

"Very well, they'll be safe there, but if they don't feel so let them

into the hall."

"Yes, sah."

The head was withdrawn, the door closed, and Jack's shuffling feet could

be heard descending the stairs.

Mr. and Mrs. Travilla, having each completed a hasty toilet, were about

to go down; but little Elsie clung to her mother.

"Mamma, mamma, don't go and leave me! please let me go too."

"My darling, you would be quite safe here; and it is much earlier than

your usual hour for rising."

"But day is breaking, mamma, and I could not sleep any more: besides

maybe I could help to comfort them."

"I think she could," said her father, and mamma gave consent at once.

They found the back veranda, the kitchen, and the space between, filled

with an excited crowd of blacks, old and young, talking, gesticulating,

crying, moaning and groaning.

"De Ku Klux, de Ku Klux!" was on every tongue.

"Tell ye what, darkies," one was saying, "dey's debbils! why two ob dem

stop befo' my doah an' say 'You black rascal, give us some watah! quick

now fo' we shoot you tru the head': den I hand up a gourd full--'bout a

quart min' yo',--an de fust snatch it an' pour it right down his troat,

an' hand de gourd back quick's a flash; den he turn roun' an' ride off,

while I fill de gourd for de udder, an' he do jes de same. Tell ye what

dey's debbils! didn't you see de horns, an' de big red tongues waggin'?"

There was a murmur of assent, and a shudder ran through the throng. But

Mr. Travilla's voice was heard in cheerful reassuring tones.

"No, boys, they are men, though they do the work of devils. I have seen

their disguise, and under that long red tongue, which is made of

flannel, and moved by the wearer's real tongue, there is a leather bag,

inside of the disguise--and into it they pour the water; not down their

throats."

"Dat so, Mars Ed'ard?" cried several, drawing a long breath of relief.

"Yes, that is so, boys. And they've been threatening and abusing you

to-night?"

"Yes, sah, dat dey hab!" cried a score of voices, and one after another

showed his wounds, and told a piteous tale.

Elsie and her namesake daughter wept over their losses and sufferings:

the medicine closet was unlocked and its stores liberally drawn upon for

materials to dress their wounds, both master and mistress attending to

them with their own hands; and at the same time speaking soothing,

comforting words, and promising help to repair the damage to their

property, and make good their losses: also to bring their enemies to

justice if that might be possible.

It was broad daylight ere the work was finished.

The veranda was nearly empty now, the people slowly returning to their

homes--Mr. Travilla having assured them the danger was past for the

present--when Elsie caught sight of a woman whom she had not observed

till that moment.

The poor creature had dropped down upon a bench at the kitchen door. Her

right arm hung useless at her side; with the left she held the bloody

corpse of a puny infant to her breast, and the eyes she lifted to the

face of her mistress were full of a mute, tearless agony.

Elsie's overflowed at the piteous sight. "O my poor Minerva," she said,

"what is this they have done to you and poor little Ben?"

"Oh, oh, oh, Miss Elsie! de Ku Kluxes dey shot tru de doah, an' de balls

flyin' all roun', an'--an'--one hit me on de arm, an' killed my baby!"

she sobbed, "oh! oh! oh! de doctah mend de arm, but de baby,

he--he--done gone foreber;" and the sobs burst forth with renewed

violence, while she hugged the still form closer, and rocked herself to

and fro in her grief.

"Gone to heaven, my poor Minerva, to be forever safe and happy with the

dear Lord Jesus," her mistress said in quivering tones, the tears

rolling fast down her own cheeks.

"An' he neber hab no mo' miseries, honey," said Aunt Dicey, drawing

near; "no Ku Klux come into de garden ob de Lord to scare him or hurt

him; bress his little heart!"

"Wish we all dere, safe an' happy like he! Let me wash off de blood an'

dress him clean for de grave," said Aunt Sally, the nurse of the

quarter, gently taking the child, while Mr. Travilla and Elsie bound up

the wounded arm, speaking soothingly to the sufferer, and promising the

doctor's aid as soon as it could be procured.

Aunt Sally sat near attending to the last offices for the tiny corpse,

little Elsie looking on, with big tears coursing down her cheeks.

Presently going to her mother's side, she whispered a few words in her

ear.

"Yes, dear, you may go to the bureau drawer and choose it yourself," was

the prompt reply, and the child ran into the house, returning directly

with a baby's slip of fine white muslin, delicately embroidered.

"Put this on him, Aunt Sally," she said; "mamma gave me leave to get

it."

Then going to the bereaved mother, and clasping the dusky, toil-worn

hand with her soft, white fingers, "Don't cry, Minerva," she said, "you

know poor little Ben was always sick, and now he is well and happy. And

if you love Jesus, you will go to be with him again some day."

Evidently much gratified by the honor done her dead babe, Minerva sobbed

out her thanks for that, and the dressing of her wounded arm, and

dropping a courtesy, followed Aunt Sally as she bore the corpse into

Aunt Dicey's cabin close by.

The scanty furniture of Minerva's own had been completely demolished by

the desperadoes, and her husband terribly beaten.

He and one or two others had not come up with the crowd, presumably from

inability to do so, and Mr. Travilla now mounted his horse and went in

search of them.

They had been left by their assailants in the woods, where one--"Uncle

Mose"--dreadfully crippled by rheumatism, still lay on the ground half

dead with bruises, cuts, and pistol shot wounds.

Another had crawled to his cabin and fainted upon its threshold; while a

third lay weltering in his gore some yards distant from his.

Mr. Travilla had them all carried into their houses, and made as

comfortable as circumstances would permit, and a messenger was

dispatched in all haste for Dr. Barton.

The family at Fairview had slept through the night undisturbed by the

vicinity, or acts of the raiders. Mr. Leland's first intimation of their

visit was received as he opened the front door at his usual early hour

for beginning his morning round of the plantation.

He almost started back at the sight of a rude pine coffin directly

before him; but recovering himself instantly, stooped to read a label

affixed to the lid.

"Beware, odious carpet-bagger! this is your third and last warning.

Leave the country within ten days, or your carcass fills this."

He read it deliberately through, carefully weighing each word, not a

muscle of his face moving, not a tremor agitating his nerves.

Turning to his overseer, who at that moment appeared before him, "Bring

me a hatchet," he said in stern, calm tones, "and be quick, Park; I

would not have your mistress see this on any account."

Stepping upon the lid as he spoke, he broke it in with a crash,

finishing his work when the hatchet came, by quickly chopping and

splitting the coffin up into kindling-wood.

"There!" he said, bidding the man gather up the fragments and carry them

to the kitchen, "they'll not put me into that, at all events. What

mischief have they been at in the quarter, I wonder?" he added,

springing into the saddle.

"Dreffle bad work, sah; mos' killed two ob de boys; scared de rest to

deff," said Park, hastily obeying the order to gather up the bits of

wood, "jes' gwine tell ye, sah, when you tole me go for de hatchet."

"Indeed! hellish work! Follow me, Park, as quickly as you can. And mind,

not a word of this," pointing to the demolished coffin, "to any one,"

and putting spurs to his horse, he galloped off in the direction of the

quarter.

But presently catching sight of the still smoking embers of the Ion

school-house, he drew rein for an instant with a sudden exclamation of

surprise and regret. "The wretches, what will they do next? burn our

houses about our ears?" and sighing, he pursued his way.

Indignant anger, and tender pity and compassion filled his breast by

turns, on reaching the quarter and discovering the state of things

there; worse even than Park's report had made it.

He rode from cabin to cabin inquiring into the condition of the inmates

and speaking words of pity and of hope.

Finding several badly bruised and cut, and others suffering from gunshot

wounds, he sent to the house for lint, salve and bandages, and directed

a lad to run to the stables, saddle a horse; and go immediately for Dr.

Barton.

"De doctah ober to Ion now, sah," returned the boy, "debbils dore las'

night, too, sah."

"Run over to Ion, then, and ask the doctor to come here when he is

through there," said Mr. Leland.

Mr. Travilla came with the doctor and the two planters compared notes,

in regard to damages, Mr. Leland also telling the story of the coffin

laid at his door.

"What do you intend doing?" asked Mr. Travilla.

"Inclination says, 'Stay and brave it out;' but I have not yet fully

decided. I have invested all my means in this enterprise, and have a

wife and family of helpless little ones to support."

"That makes it hard indeed; yet I fear your life is in great danger. But

come what may, Leland, I stand your friend. If you should be attacked,

fly to Ion; you will find an open door, a hearty welcome, and such

protection as I am able to give. I think we could conceal you so that

it would be a matter of difficulty for your foes to find you."

"A thousand thanks! God bless you for your kindness, sir!" exclaimed

Leland, with emotion, warmly grasping the hand held out to him; and the

two parted, each wending his homeward way.

Chapter Thirteenth.

"Humble love,

And not proud reason, keeps the door of heaven;

Love finds admission, where proud science fails."

--Young

Elsie was on the veranda looking for her husband's return to breakfast;

for it was already past the usual hour.

"All alone, little wife?" he asked as he dismounted and came up the

steps.

"Not now," she answered, putting her arms about his neck and looking up

at him with her own fond, beautiful smile. "But your face is sad, my

husband! What news?"

"Sad enough, my little friend; poor old Uncle Mose has been so

barbarously handled that he cannot live through the day, Dr. Barton

says: and two of the others are suffering very much."

Elsie's eyes were full. "Does Uncle Mose know it?" she asked.

"Yes, I told him, as tenderly as I could, and asked if he was ready to

go. 'Yes, Mars Edard,' he said, with a triumphant smile, 'for I'se

got fast hold ob Jesus.'"

Elsie's head was laid on her husband's shoulder, the bright drops were

coming fast down her cheeks.

"I have sent word to Mr. Wood," he went on, "the poor old fellow is

anxious to see him; and you also."

"Yes, yes, I will go down directly after prayers," she said.

Then he told her of the coffin laid at the door of Fairview, and the

threatening words on its lid.

She heard it with a shudder and a sigh. "Oh poor Mr. Leland! Edward,

don't you think it would be wise in him to leave for the present?"

"Perhaps so. I fear they will really attempt his life if he stays; but

all his means being invested in Fairview makes it very hard. Where are

our children?"

"They went to deck the corpse of Baby Ben with flowers. Ah, here they

come, the darlings!" as little feet came pattering through the hall.

They hastened to their father for their usual morning kiss, and hung

about him with tender loving caresses; but their manner was subdued, and

Vi and Harold told with a sort of wondering awe of the poor little dead

baby so still and cold.

"Are you going out, mamma?" asked little Elsie an hour later, as Mrs.

Travilla appeared, dressed in walking costume, in the midst of the

group of children and nurses gathered under a tree on the shady side of

the house.

"Yes, daughter, I am going down to the quarter to see poor old Uncle

Mose who is very ill; and I want you to be mother to the little ones

while I am away."

"O mamma, mayn't we go with you?" cried Eddie and Vi in a breath, Harold

chiming in, "And me too, mamma, me too!"

"No, dears, not to-day, but some other time you shall," the mother

answered, giving each a good-bye kiss.

"Mamma, stay wis us; I'se 'f'aid de Kluxes get 'oo!" said Harold

coaxingly, clinging about her neck with his chubby arms, while the big

tears gathered in his great dark eyes.

"No, dear, they don't come in the day-time. And God will take care of me.

Papa is down at the quarter, too; and Uncle Joe and mammy will go with

me;" and with another tender caress, she gently released herself from

his hold and turned away.

The children gazed wistfully after her graceful figure as it disappeared

among the trees, Uncle Joe holding a great umbrella over her to shield

her from the sun, while mammy and Aunt Sally followed, each with a

basket on her arm.

Uncle Mose was rapidly nearing that bourne whence no traveler returns.

As his mistress laid her soft white hand on his, she felt that the

chill of death was there.

"You are almost home, Uncle Mose," she said, bending over him, her sweet

face full of tender sympathy.

"Yes, my dear young Missus, I'se in de valley," he answered, speaking

slowly and with difficulty, "but bress de Lord, it's not dark!"

"Jesus is with you?"

"Yes, Missus, he is my strength and my song: de riber's deep, but he'll

neber let me sink. De pain in dis ole body's dreffle, but I'll neber hab

no mo', bress de Lord!"

"Do your good works give you this comfortable assurance that you are

going to heaven, Uncle Mose?"

"Bress yo' heart, honey, I ain't neber done none; but de bressed Lord

Jesus covers me all ober wid his goodness, and God de Fader 'cepts me

for his sake."

"Yes, that is it, 'He hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin;

that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.' 'There is none

other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved;' and

'he that believeth on him shall not be confounded.'"

"Yes, honey, dose de words ob de good book. Now will you please sing de

twenty-third Psalm, an' den ask de Lord Jesus keep fas' hold dis ole

niggah, till Jordan am past, an' de gate into de city."

The request was granted; the sweet voice that had thrilled the hearts

of many of the rich and noble of earth, freely poured forth its richest

strains to soothe the dying throes of agony of a poor old negro.

Then kneeling by the humble couch, in a few simple, touching words she

commended the departing spirit to the almighty love and care of Him who

had shed His blood to redeem it, earnestly pleading that the dying one

might be enabled to cast himself wholly on Jesus, and in doing so be

granted a speedy and abundant entrance into His kingdom and glory.

The fervent "Amen!" of Uncle Mose joined in with hers; then low and

feebly he added, "De good--Lord--bress you--my dear--young--Missus."

A shadow had fallen on Elsie, and as she rose from her knees, she turned

her head to find her father standing at her side.

He drew her to him and pressed his lips tenderly to her forehead. "You

must go now; the heat of the sun is already too great for you to be out

with safety."

The low quiet tone was one of authority as of old.

He only waited for her good-bye to Uncle Mose, and to speak a few kindly

words of farewell himself, then led her out and placed her in his

carriage, which stood at the door.

Mr. Travilla rode up at that instant. "That's right," he said. "Little

wife, I am loth to have you exposed to the heat of this sultry day."

"And you, Edward? can you not come home now?" she asked.

"Not yet, wife; there are several matters I must attend to first, and

I want to speak to Mr. Wood, who, I see, is just coming."

He kissed his hand to her with the gallantry of the days of their

courtship, and cantered off, while the carriage rolled on its way toward

the mansion.

"Daughter, if you must visit the quarter during this sultry weather, can

you not choose an earlier hour?" asked Mr. Dinsmore.

"I think I can after this, papa;" and she went on to explain how her

time had been taken up before breakfast that morning. "Do you know about

Mr. Leland?" she asked in conclusion.

"Yes; their next outrage will, I fear, be an attack upon him."

"Then upon you and Edward!" she said, her cheek growing very pale, and

her eyes filling. "Papa I am becoming very anxious."

"'I would have you without carefulness,'" he answered taking her hand in

his. "They can have no power at all against us except it be given them

from above. My child, God reigns, and if God be for us, who can be

against us?"

"Yes, dear papa, and with David let us say, 'In the shadow of thy wings

will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast.'"

Mr. Dinsmore was still with his daughter when Mr. Travilla returned with

the news that Uncle Mose's sufferings were over, and it had been

arranged that he and Baby Ben should be buried that evening at dusk.

The children begged to be permitted to attend the double funeral; but

their parents judged it best to deny them, fearing an onslaught by the

Ku Klux; of which there was certainly a possibility.

"I have been talking with Leland," Mr. Travilla remarked aside to his

friend, "and he proposes that we accompany the procession as a mounted

guard."

"Good!" said Mr. Dinsmore, "Horace and I will join you: and let us all

go armed to the teeth."

"Certainly, and I accept your offer with thanks. Some of the boys

themselves are pretty fair marksmen but they were all robbed of their

arms last night."

"Let us supply them again, Edward," exclaimed Elsie, with energy "and

have them practice shooting at a mark."

Her husband assented with a smile. "You are growing warlike in your

feelings," he said.

"Yes, I believe in the privilege and duty of self-defence."

Toward evening Mr. Dinsmore rode back to the Oaks, returning to Ion with

his son, shortly before the appointed hour for the obsequies.

Elsie saw them and her husband ride away in the direction of the

quarter, not without some fluttering of the heart, and with a silent

prayer for their safety, retired with her children, to the observatory

at the top of the house, from whence a full view might be obtained of

the whole route from the cabin of Uncle Mose to the somewhat distant

place of sepulture; the spot chosen for that purpose in accommodation to

the superstitious feelings of the blacks, which led them to prefer to

lay their dead at a distance from their own habitations.

The children watched with deep interest as the procession formed, each

man carrying a blazing pine-knot, passed down the one street of the

quarter, and wound its slow way along the road that skirted two sides of

the plantation, then half way up a little hill, where it gathered in a

circle about the open grave.

Twilight was past, thick clouds hid the moon and the torches shone out

like stars in the darkness.

"Mamma, what dey doin' now?" asked Harold.

"Listen! perhaps you may hear something," she answered, and as they

almost held their breath to hear, a wild, sweet negro melody came

floating upon the still night air.

"They're singing," whispered Vi, "singing Canaan, 'cause Uncle Mose, and

little Baby Ben have got safe there."

No one spoke again till the strains had ceased with the ending of the

hymn.

"Now Mr. Wood is talking, I suppose," remarked Eddie, in a subdued tone,

"telling them we must all die, and which is the way to get to heaven."

"Else praying," said Vi.

"Mamma, what is die?" asked Harold leaning on her lap.

"If we love Jesus, darling, it is going home to be with him, and oh, so

happy."

"But Baby Ben die, and me saw him in Aunt Dicey's house."

"That was only his body, son; the soul--the part that thinks and feels

and loves--has gone away to heaven, and after a while God will take the

body there too."

For obvious reasons the services at the grave were made very short, and

in another moment they could see the line of torches drawing rapidly

nearer, till it reached the quarter and broke into fragments.

"We will go down now," Elsie said, rising and taking Harold's hand,

"papa, grandpa and Uncle Horace will be here in a moment."

"Mamma," whispered her namesake daughter, "how good God was to keep them

safe from the Ku Klux!"

"Yes, dearest, let us thank him with all our hearts."

Chapter Fourteenth.

"The more the bold, the bustling, and the bad,

Press to usurp the reins of power, the more

Behooves it virtue, with indignant zeal,

To check their combination."

--THOMSON

The spirit of resistance was now fully aroused within the breasts of

our friends of Ion and the Oaks. Mr. Travilla's was a type of the

American character; he would bear long with his injuries, vexations,

encroachments upon his rights, but when once the end of his forbearance

was reached, woe to the aggressor; for he would find himself opposed by

a man of great resources, unconquerable determination and undaunted

courage.

His measures were taken quietly, but with promptness and energy. He had

been seeking proofs of the identity of the raiders, and found them in

the case of one of the party; whose gait had been recognized by several,

his voice by one or two, while the mark of his bloody hand laid upon the

clothing of one of the women as he roughly pushed her out of his way,

seemed to furnish the strongest circumstantial evidence against him.

George Boyd's right hand had been maimed in a peculiar manner during the

war, and this bloody mark upon the woman's night-dress was its exact

imprint.

Already Mr. Travilla had procured his arrest, and had him imprisoned for

trial, in the county jail.

Yet this was but a small part of the day's work: lumber had been

ordered, and men engaged for the rebuilding of the school-house;

merchandise also to replace the furniture and clothing destroyed; and

arms for every man at the quarter capable of using them.

All this Elsie knew and approved, as did her father and brother. For

Mrs. Carrington's sake they deeply regretted that Boyd was implicated in

the outrage; but all agreed that justice must have its course.

The question had been mooted in both families whether any or all of them

should leave the South until the restoration of law and order should

render it a safe abiding place for honest, peaceable folk, but

unanimously decided in the negative.

The gentlemen scorned to fly from the desperadoes and resign to their

despotic rule their poor dependents and the land of their love; nay they

would stay and defend both to the utmost of their power; and the wives

upheld their husbands in their determination and refused to leave them

to meet the peril alone.

Returning from the burial of Uncle Mose, Mr. Dinsmore and Horace spent

an hour at Ion before riding back to the Oaks.

The three gentlemen were in the library earnestly discussing the state

of affairs, when Elsie, coming down from seeing her little ones settled

for the night, heard the sound of wheels in the avenue, and stepping to

the door saw the Ashlands carriage just drawing up in front of it.

The vehicle had scarcely come to a standstill ere its door was thrown

hastily open and the elder Mrs. Carrington alighted.

Elsie sprang to meet her with outstretched arms, and the exclamation,

"My dear old friend!" though her heart beat quickly, her cheek

crimsoned, and tears filled her eyes.

The old lady, speechless with grief, fell upon her neck and wept there

silently for a moment; then low and gaspingly, in a voice broken with

sobs, "I--have--come to--ask about--George," she said, "can it, oh can

it be that he has done this dreadful thing?" and shuddering she hid her

face on Elsie's shoulder her slight frame shaken with the sobs she

vainly strove to suppress.

"Dear Mrs. Carrington, I am so sorry, so _very_ sorry to think it,"

Elsie said, in a voice full of tears, "my heart aches for you who love

him so; you who have been so sorely afflicted: may the Lord give you

strength to bear up under this new trial."

"He will! he does! My sister's son! oh tis sad, 'tis heart-breaking! But

the proofs: what are they?"

Elsie named them; first drawing her friend to a seat where she supported

her with her arm.

"Yes, yes, his voice, his gait are both peculiar, and--his hand. Let me

see that--that garment."

Leading her into a private room, and seating her comfortably there Elsie

had it brought and laid before her.

Mrs. Carrington gave it one glance, and motioning it away with a look

and gesture of horror, dropped her face into her hands and groaned

aloud.

Elsie kneeling by her side, clasped her arms about her and wept with

her.

"A slayer of the weak and helpless--a murderer--a midnight assassin!"

groaned the half distracted aunt.

"May there not possibly be some mistake. Let us give him the benefit of

the doubt," whispered Elsie.

"Alas there seems scarcely room for doubt!" sighed Mrs. Carrington,

then, with a determined effort to recover her composure, "But don't

think, dear Elsie, that I blame you or your husband. Can I see him? and

your father if he is here?"