I was up and abroad upon the plantation early the next morning, Old
Master having sent me to look for a colt that had been missing for
several days. In a wild bit of thicket-land I found the colt in a sink
hole and was rejoiced to discover that it was not hurt. But it was weak
and when I had helped it out, it trotted off with its knees knocking
together. I followed along to drive it to the stable and was putting up
the bars after seeing the hungry creature stumble into the lot, when
someone accosted me. I looked up, pausing with a bar in my hand, and
there stood the doctor muffled to the ears. "I want you to drive me to
town," he said.
I finished my work of putting up the bars before I answered him, and
this apparent sullenness smote upon his sense of resentment, for when
I turned toward him he was gazing hard at me. "Did my Master say
that I was to drive you?" I asked. I was looking down and I saw the
frozen ground grinding under his heel; I glanced at his face and his
countenance was aflame with wrath. With both hands he tore the muffler
from about his neck; he looked about and appeared to stand harder on
the ground--all this before he spoke again, and when he did speak his
voice had a hissing sound. "You yellow dog, I ought to cut your liver
out."
"But I am sure that my master did not tell you to do that," I was bold
enough to reply. He leaped toward me. I was strong enough and skillful
enough to have given him an unmerciful beating, and my blood burned to
knock his teeth down his throat, but judgment had not deserted me, and
putting one hand upon the top bar, I leaped lightly over, leaving him
swearing on the other side. Had he made a motion to pursue me I would
have run away, but I saw Old Master coming, so I stood my ground. The
doctor saw him, too, and turned away, muffling his throat as he went.
Breakfast was over and I hastened straightway to my Master's room. He
was writing as I entered, but he looked up pleasantly and asked if I
had eaten, and when I told him no, bade me go at once to the servants'
hall.
"I had better not go now," I replied. "I met the doctor out in the lot
and he ordered me to drive him to town, and--"
"That's enough," he broke in, and putting down his pen, went to the
front window and looked out. "I wonder if he is gone yet," he said,
speaking more to himself than to me. "I repented of my action of last
night, but now I wish I had kicked him down stairs. I wonder how long
God wants me to put up with that fellow."
"If I am allowed an opinion, sir," I replied, "I don't think that God
takes him into account."
He looked at me with a smile. "You are allowed that opinion and I will
help you entertain it," he said, and a moment later he added: "Come
down with me and get something to eat."
The front hall door stood open and as we turned the bend in the stairs
we saw the doctor driving off from the gate. Old Master came up the
steps from the hall. "I see he's gone," said the young man.
"Yes, thank God," Old Master replied. "There's only one way that Bates
has given me pleasure and that is to see him driving away. But I don't
think he's as bad as he used to be. He used to worry the life out of me
with trying to buy Dan when he might have known that it was against my
principles to sell a slave."
"It's not against my principles to sell anything that annoys me," said
Old Miss, coming out with her keys jangling. "As for you, General, you
are always willing enough to get rid of white men but you stick close
enough to your negroes. Dan," she added, "I want you to take up the
sitting-room carpet and beat it."
"Mother," Young Master interposed, "he has had no breakfast. And
besides, that is not his work."
"Any work that I tell him to do is his," Old Miss replied, drawing her
thin lips together. I gave her a bow of most humble obedience, not that
I felt any reverence for her, but that I would protect Young Master
against all spiteful upbraiding. "Dan," she said, "tell Tilly to give
you something to eat, and then I want you to beat that carpet."
I looked at Bob and he nodded assent, gracefully enough, but I could
see that he was not at all pleased. I was turning away when his voice
arrested me, though his words were addressed to his mother. "At times I
have an odd fancy," said he. "When I am making a speech in my mind and
a coldness chills my words, I imagine that the chill is an inheritance
from you, mother."
Old Master laughed, and pressed his bony fingers till his knuckles
cracked. But Old Miss did not make a laughing matter of it; perhaps
she felt the sting of its truth. "It's a singular thing," she replied,
"that so cold a mother should bring up so warm a son. General, I wish
you wouldn't grin at me that way!"
"Which way shall I grin?" he asked. "If you know of any better way,
just show me, and I'll adopt it. But come, madam, don't be put out. You
must remember that an old man's humor dries with his advancing years."
"Humor!" she said. "You haven't a vestige of it, and even if you had,
you--" Her lips trembled and the corners of her mouth went down. "I
have seen trouble enough--"
"There, now," said the old man, his voice soft with tenderness.
"Robert, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for speaking that way.
Your mother is not cold, sir," he almost stormed, "and if ever I hear
you intimate it again, I'll thrash you, I don't care how old you are.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir."
"I am," said Bob, and swiftly crossing the floor he kissed his mother.
She put her arm about his neck and said that she knew he did not mean
it; and then Old Master turned upon me. "Go on, sir," he cried, "and
don't stand there gaping like a fool. Confound it, you think you ought
to hear every word that's spoken on the place."
I hastened away, wondering what she meant by saying that she had seen
trouble enough. Surely she would permit no conversation to be wholly
agreeable, certain it was that her manner invited no affection.
The news of Miss May's engagement had spread among the negroes, and
many a nappy head was thrust forth seeking a look at the man as he
walked about the grounds. I learned from Bob that the wedding was soon
to take place. The journey was long, and the man had said that he
would not return home without his bride. I had passed him many times
in the hall, in the woods, in the road leading to town, but not until
one evening when I was summoned to mend the parlor fire did I get an
estimating look at him. I had put on a log and had turned about to go
when he asked my name. I told him, and he asked laughingly if I were
a descendant of the Daniel who was cast into the lion's den? I told
him that I was a Daniel who had come to many a judgment and been found
wanting.
"Dan belongs to brother," said Miss May, "and they read the same books.
Brother thinks a great deal of him."
"Evidently," Mr. Marston replied. He was a trim looking man of medium
size and with black whiskers. His teeth were very white and his brow
was broad and smooth. He was easy in manner and was quick to perceive,
for noticing my almost instantaneous measurement of him, he looked
at me sharply and said: "Well, I suppose you have no objection to my
marrying your young mistress?"
"No one could object to her choice," I replied, pleased with myself,
and Miss May, smiling sweetly, said: "Thank you, Dan. Shut the door as
you go out."
I took this as a dismissal, whether she meant it or not, and it cut me.
But my mind was soon made to feel at rest for as I was going up the
stairs she came out and called me softly: "Dan," she said, "I didn't
want you to talk very much to Mr. Marston. He is from the far South and
thinks that a negro that can read is a great danger to the community,
and after I had indiscreetly told him that you and brother read the
same books, I thought that it was time for you to go--I didn't want him
to say anything to hurt your feelings. I want you to like him."
This simple act of kindness brought the tears to my eyes. Ah, through
the misty years I can see her now, standing in the hall with upturned
face, sweet and beautiful.
Preparations for the wedding were hastened forward, and one day the
negroes peeped through the parlor door, as we had peeped, long ago, at
an array of flowers, Miss Lou lying among them. But now there was no
black man to lift his faltering voice in grief--he was gone long years
ago and lay sleeping under a dead apple tree; there were soft words of
love; and at night there was feasting, the sounds of quick feet, and
the spirit of the fiddle was borne upon the air.