THE SEXTON.
The Methodist Society of Laurel Hill had built themselves a new
church upon the corner of the common, and as a mark of respect had
made black John their sexton. Perfectly delighted with the office,
he discharged his duties faithfully, particularly the ringing of the
bell, in which accomplishment he greatly excelled his Episcopal
rival, who tried to imitate his peculiar style in vain. No one could
make such music as the negro, or ring so many changes. In short, it
was conceded that on great occasions he actually made the old bell
talk; and one day toward the last of September, and five months
after the events of the preceding chapter, an opportunity was
presented for a display of his skill.
The afternoon was warm and sultry, and overcome by the heat the
village loungers had disposed of themselves, some on the long piazza
of the hotel, and others in front of the principal store, where,
with elevated heels and busy jackknives, they whittled out shapeless
things, or made remarks concerning any luckless female who chanced
to pass. While thus engaged they were startled by a loud, sharp ring
from the belfry of the Methodist church succeeded by a merry peal,
which seemed to proclaim some joyful event. It was a musical,
rollicking ring, consisting of three rapid strokes, the last
prolonged a little, as if to give it emphasis.
"What's up now?" the loungers said to each other, as the three
strokes were repeated in rapid succession. "What's got into John?"
and those who were fortunate enough to own houses in the village,
went into the street to assure themselves there was no fire.
"It can't be a toll," they said. "It's too much like a dancing tune
for that," and as the sound continued they walked rapidly to the
church, where they found the African bending himself with might and
main to his task, the perspiration dripping from his sable face,
which was all aglow with happiness.
It was no common occasion which had thus affected John, and to the
eager questioning of his audience he replied, "Can't you hear the
ding--dong--de-el. Don't you know what it says? Listen now," and the
bell again rang forth the three short sounds. But the crowd still
professed their ignorance, and, pausing a moment, John said, with a
deprecating manner: "I'll tell the first word, and you'll surely
guess the rest: it's 'Maude.' Now try 'em," and wiping the sweat
from his brow, he turned again to his labor of love, nodding his
head with every stroke. "No ear at all for music," he muttered, as
he saw they were as mystified as ever, and in a loud, clear voice,
he sang, "Maude can see-e! Maude can see-e!"
It was enough. Most of that group had known and respected the blind
girl, and joining at once in the negro's enthusiasm they sent up a
deafening shout for "Maude De Vere, restored to sight."
John's face at that moment was a curiosity, so divided was it
between smiles and tears, the latter of which won the mastery, as
with the last hurrah the bell gave one tremendous crash, and he sank
exhausted upon the floor, saying to those who gathered round, "Will
'em hear that, think, in France?"
"How do you know it is true?" asked one, and John replied, "She writ
her own self to tell it, and sent her love to me; think of dat--sent
her love to an old nigger!" and John glanced at the bell, as if he
intended a repetition of the rejoicings.
Surely Maude De Vere, across the sea, never received a greater
tribute of respect than was paid to her that day by the warm-hearted
John, who, the moment he heard the glad news, sped away, to proclaim
it from the church-tower. The letter had come that afternoon, and,
as John said, was written by Maude herself. The experiment had been
performed weeks before, but she would wait until assurance was
doubly sure ere she sent home the joyful tidings. It was a wonderful
cure, for the chance of success was small, but the efforts used in
her behalf had succeeded, and she could see again.
"But what of Louis?" asked Dr. Kennedy, who was listening while his
wife read to him the letter. "What of Louis? Have they done anything
for him?"
"They had tried, but his deformity could not be helped," and with a
pang of disappointment the father was turning away when something
caught his ear which caused him to listen again.
"You don't know," Maude wrote, "how great a lion Louis is getting to
be. He painted a picture of me just as I looked that dreadful
morning when I stood in the sunshine and felt that I was blind. It
is a strange, wild thing, but its wildness is relieved by the
angel-faced boy who looks up at me so pityingly. Louis is perfect, but
Maude--oh! I can scarce believe that she ever wore that expression
of fierce despair. Strange as it may seem, this picture took the
fancy of the excitable French, and ere Louis was aware of it he
found himself famous. They come to our rooms daily to see le petit
artist, and many ask for pictures or sketches, for which they pay an
exorbitant price. One wealthy American gentleman brought him a
daguerreotype of his dead child, with the request that he would
paint from it a life-sized portrait, and if he succeeds in getting a
natural face he is to receive five hundred dollars. Think of little
Louis Kennedy earning five hundred dollars, for he will succeed. The
daguerreotype is much like Nellie, which will make it easier for
Louis."
This was very gratifying to Dr. Kennedy, who that day more than once
repeated to himself, "Five hundred dollars: it's a great deal of
money, for him to earn; maybe he'll soon be able to help me, and
mercy knows I shall soon need it if that woman continues her
unheard-of extravagances. More city company to-morrow, and I heard
her this morning tell that Jezebel in the kitchen to put the whites
of sixteen eggs into one loaf of cake. What am I coming to?" and
Dr. Kennedy, groaned in spirit as he walked through the handsome
apartments, seeking in vain for a place where he could sit and have
it seem as it used to do, when the rocking-chair which Matty had
brought stood invitingly in the middle of the room where now a
center-table was standing, covered with books and ornaments of the
most expensive kind.
Since last we looked in upon her Maude Glendower had ruled with a
high hand. She could not live without excitement, and rallying from
her grief at parting with her child, she plunged at once into
repairs, tearing down and building up, while her husband looked on
in dismay. When they were about it, she said, they might as well
have all the modern improvements, and water, both hot and cold, was
accordingly carried to all the sleeping apartments, the fountain-head
being a large spring distant from the house nearly half a mile.
Gas she could not have, though the doctor would hardly have been
surprised had she ordered the laying of pipes from Rochester to
Laurel Hill, so utterly reckless did she seem. She was fond of
company, and as she had visited everybody, so everybody in return
must visit her, she said, and toward the last of summer she filled
the house with city people, who vastly enjoyed the good cheer with
which her table was always spread.
John's desire to see the fun was more than satisfied, as was also
Hannah's, and after the receipt of Maude's letter the latter
determined to write herself, "and let Miss De Vere know just how
things was managed." In order to do this, it was necessary to employ
an amanuensis, and she enlisted the services of the gardener, who
wrote her exact language, a mixture of negro, Southern, and Yankee.
A portion of this letter we give to the reader.
After expressing her pleasure that Maude could see, and saying that
she believed the new Miss to be a good woman, but a mighty queer
one, she continued:
"The doin's here is wonderful, and you'd hardly know the old place.
Thar's a big dining room run out to the south, with an expansion
table mighty nigh a rod long, and what's more, it't allus full too,
of city stuck-ups--and the way they do eat! I haint churned nary
pound of butter since you went away. Why, bless yer soul, we has to
buy. Do you mind that patch of land what the doctor used to plant
with corn? Well, the garden sass grows there now, and t'other garden
raises nothin' but flowers and strabries, and thar's a man hired on
purpose to tend 'em. He's writin' this for me. Thar's a tower run up
in the northeast eend, and when it's complete, she's goin' to have a
what you call 'em--somethin' that blows up the water--oh, a
fountain. Thar's one in the yard, and, if you'll believe it, she's
got one of Cary's rotary pumpin' things, that folks are runnin'
crazy about, and every hot day she keeps John a-turnin' the injin'
to squirt the water all over the yard, and make it seem like a
thunder shower! Thar's a bathroom, and when them city folks is here
some on 'em is a-washin' in thar all the time. I don't do nothin'
now but wash and iron, and if I have fifty towels I have one! But
what pesters me most is the wide skirts I has to do up; Miss Canady
wears a hoop bigger than an amberell. They say Miss Empress, who
makes these things, lives in Paris, and I wish you'd put yourself
out a little to see her, and ask her, for me, to quit sendin' over
them fetched hoops. Thar aint no sense in it! We've got jiggers in
every chamber where the water spirts out. Besides turnin' the injin
John drives the horses in the new carriage. Dr. Canady looks poorly,
and yet madam purrs round him like a kitten, but I knows the claws
is thar. She's about broke him of usin' them maxims of his, and your
poor marm would enjoy it a spell seein' him paid off, but she'd pity
him after a while. I do, and if things continners to grow wus, I
shall just ask pra'rs for him in my meetin'. Elder Blossom is
powerful at that. My health is considerable good, but I find I grow
old. Yours, with respect and regrets," Hannah.
"P.S.--I don't believe that t'other beau of yourn is none the
happiest. They live with Miss Kelsey yet, but thar's a story round
that she's a-gwine to marry again, and the man don't like De Vere,
and won't have him thar, so if the doctor should run out, as I'm
afraid he will, what'll them lazy critters do? Nellie's got to be
kinder sozzlin' in her dress, and he has took to chawin' tobacker by
the pound. They was here a spell ago, and deaf as I be, I hearn 'em
have one right smart quarrel. He said she was slatterly, or
somethin' like that, and she called him a fool, and said she 'most
knew he wished he'd took you, blind as you was, and he said, kinder
sorry-like, 'Maude would never of called me a fool, nor wore such
holes in the heels of her stockin's.' I couldn't hear no more, but I
knew by her voice that she was cryin', and when I went below and
seen the doctor out behind the woodshed a-figgerin' up, says I to
myself, `If I was a Univarselar, I should b'lieve they was all on
'em a-gittin' thar pay,' but bein' I'm a Methodis', I don't believe
nothin'."
This letter, which conveyed to Maude a tolerably correct idea of
matters at home, will also show to the reader the state of feeling
existing between J.C. and Nellie. They were not suited to each
other, and though married but seven months, there had been many a
quarrel besides the one which Hannah overheard. Nellie demanded of
her husband more love than he had to bestow, and the consequence
was, a feeling of bitter jealousy on her part and an increasing
coldness on his. They were an ill-assorted couple, utterly incapable
of taking care of themselves, and when they heard from Mrs. Kelsey
that she really contemplated a second marriage, they looked forward
to the future with a kind of hopeless apathy, wholly at variance
with the feelings of the beautiful, dark-eyed Maude and the noble
James De Vere.
Their love for each other had increased each day, and their
happiness seemed almost greater than they could bear on that
memorable morn when the husband bent fondly over his young
girl-wife, who laid a hand on each side of his face, and while the great
tears rolled down her cheeks, whispered joyfully, "I can see you,
darling; I can see!"