I saw Young Master admitted to the bar. The court-house was crowded,
for an exciting trial was on, but a kind-hearted bailiff let me take
a seat wherein I could hear every question asked by the committee
of examiners. I knew that he could answer them, and I felt not the
slightest fear, but my heart stood still as he tripped over a point
almost absurdly simple. I noticed that he had just cast his eyes toward
the gallery, and looking that way at the instant of his petty stumble,
I beheld a tall and graceful girl, standing with her head leaning
against a post, looking at him, and I knew that his divinity had
confused him. But he recovered himself, and I saw Old Master swell with
pride and Old Miss wipe her eyes. I was in hopes that they would give
him an opportunity to make a speech after the examination, but there
was no occasion for his oratory, so I walked out to wait for him at the
door. Old Master and Old Miss came out to wait also, not caring to push
themselves behind the bar among the lawyers, and indeed too proud to
let the neighbors presume that there had been any anxiety concerning
the result. Presently Young Master came out with the girl whom I had
seen standing in the gallery. The old people shook hands with her when
they had shaken hands with him, and upon me the young woman turned her
beautiful eyes. "Oh, this is your faithful boy," she said, speaking to
Bob, but looking at me. "I am glad to see him out and looking so well."
She had ridden a horse, but Young Master requested the favor of taking
her home in his buggy. She said that such an arrangement would please
her greatly, and her eyes danced with the delight of the thought. I
brought the buggy and was told to sit on the shelf seat behind to
lead her horse. She bade the old people an affectionate good-bye, and
out the turn-pike we drove, along the stretches of red clover and
underneath majestic trees. In the distance to her home, three miles or
more, there lay a charm, and they did not suffer the spirited horse to
trot. The day was warm, the leather curtain raised, and I could hear
distinctly the words that passed between them. I could see that he had
not more than hinted at his love for her. Her beauty dazzled him and
made him afraid. He would have talked of books, but she leaped lightly
from that subject, and from this I inferred that her mind was not well
stored with the knowledge gathered by the busy men of the past. But she
was bright and her talk like herself was spirited and pretty, and her
observation was minute. She had seen everything about the court-room,
an old lawyer with a spot of ink on the sleeve of his linen coat, a
tattered book on the floor, a handful of trash swept into a corner.
"The stars shine on all that lies beneath them," said Master, a fine
tribute to her eyes, I thought; and she must have thought so, too,
for she gave him a laugh that rippled like our creek of a morning
when the wind is low. But she protested against his gallantry with a
sternness that could not have belonged to her light nature, a plea to
him to repeat it, which he did. To his ardent nature, frivolity was
a foreign commodity upon which a heavy import tax was laid. He could
be argumentative, oratorical, gay, serious and bright for hours at a
time, but the silly though pretty chatter which our social life is
supposed to dash as spray between the masculine and the feminine mind
was far beyond him. In nearly all affairs he was too intense for the
perfectly balanced mind. And on this day he strove repeatedly to fasten
the young woman down to seriousness, that he might estimate her mental
strength, I perceived; but she flitted about like a humming bird, no
sooner attracted by one flower than allured away by another. Still the
perfect femininity of her wit, or that which might pass for it, was
captivating. A strained and tiresome novelette, now almost forgotten,
was then an imported rage, and she had not escaped the infection. She
spoke of characters that Bob knew nothing of and was surprised at his
frank acknowledgment of ignorance.
"A young man of your standing can't afford not to know that character,"
she said. "Society demands it of you, and I believe I would pretend to
know," she added, laughing.
"We always meet society's demands when we pretend," he replied. "People
don't ask us to know a thing but to assume that we know it and not get
caught. I haven't had time to sip negus," he went on after a pause; "I
have been too busy with drinking a stronger draught. I sit in the glow
of the great books, but pass by the little twinkling lights, for I know
that soon they must go out."
"Or, in other words," she spoke up, "you tread upon a snow-drop while
gazing at a sun-flower."
This remark, and I acknowledge its aptness, was so pleasing to her
that she laughed the music of self-compliment; and the lambs in the
grass-land lifted their noses out of the sweet tangle of clover to look
at her. I was so close that when she leaned back once a wayward wisp
of her hair swept across my face, more like a breath than a tangible
touch, it was so silken and soft. I studied the almost imperceptible
grain of her pink, plush skin, I was so near her, and yet to me she
was so strangely unreal. To look upon her surely was a delight, but
turning away and shutting my eyes to recall her features, she seemed a
memory far off and shadowy. I could have given her a sort of worship,
the romantic adoration compelled by a naiad reposing on a moss-bank
at the source of a tinkling stream, but I could not have felt for her
the surging passion of a human love. There was nothing supernatural
in her grace; in her movement there was the soft and unconscious
suppression of a cat's agility; and her bosom bespoke a strong instinct
of motherhood, and yet to me she was vaguely unnatural. She was wanting
in heart.
A powerful love looks upon itself as hopeless; upon it must be thrown
that sort of a light, to complete its deliciousness; and I saw that my
master's love was powerful, but I could not see that it was hopeless.
She might never give him a woman's complete devotion, I argued, for I
did not believe that her nature could comprehend his finer forces, but
I felt that she would give him her hand and what she supposed to be her
heart.
"Do you mean to surrender your life wholly to law books?" she asked,
giving him a glance in which I could see a charming fear.
"Oh, no. To my mind a law book without poetry behind it is a heap of
helpless dust. At first I must agree to take almost any case that may
chance to come along, but after a while I will scorn all but the causes
that admit of an orator's effort."
"Oh, that will be lovely!" she cried. "And to think that you entertain
yourself and then get pay for it. However, if I were a man, I think I
would be a preacher. Preachers are nearly always so nice and clean and
they say such pretty things to women."
"It was my mother's ambition that I should be a preacher, and I'm sorry
now that I did not gratify it," he said.
"Oh, charming of you to say so, Mr. Gradley. You see I don't let such
a compliment get away from me. I might have pretended not to see it,
and--and I believe I would if I had thought a moment. Then I could have
made you repeat it. But really it is better for you to be a lawyer
than a preacher. You have so much fire. Everybody says you are going to
make your mark, and when you got into that trouble lately some one said
it would ruin you, but father said it wouldn't. He killed a man once.
Why, people have to kill men who try to kill them, don't they? But we
won't talk about that. Are you going to the pic-nic over at Fletcher's
Grove?"
"I hadn't thought about it. Are you going?"
"I don't know, but I'd like to, ever so much."
"Then go with me."
"Oh, that would be delightful, and I will be ready when you call for
me. Do you dance?"
"I think," said he, "that I might have courage enough to rob a
stage-coach or to fight a duel in a dark room, but I'm afraid that I
couldn't summon the nerve to get out before a number of people and try
to dance."
"Oh, you wouldn't mind it at all. Just as soon as the music strikes up
you forget all about yourself. But isn't it dull about here? Nothing to
do but to sit about and wait. Last year I visited an aunt who lives in
Connecticut, and I had such a nice time. Everyone there is so active.
But, after all, I was kept angry a good deal over the negro question. I
never did get so tired of hearing a subject dinged upon. They hate us
and can't help showing it; and they actually believe that one of these
days they'll come down here, and, as they express it, turn the negroes
loose. They believe we keep them chained together all the time; and
that hateful book, 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' is their bible. Have you ever
seen it?"
"My uncle brought a copy with him and I read it," Bob answered.
"I don't care for its principles, whether they are true or
false--literature being its own principle--but to me it bears the
mark of a political pamphlet that has happened to make a hit, strong
with prejudice but hasty and slip-shod in expression. To me there
is no art in it, no imagination but all sermon. The characters are
unreal, standing in the light of a red fire; they are talking-machines,
grinding out music-box melodies, set homilies; but the subject is
powerful and the book needs no art to give it force. And many a year
will pass before we hear the last of it."
"Why, Mr. Gradley, you can take an interest in light books after all.
I was afraid that you were determined to keep yourself chained to the
venerable masters of--of--what shall I say?--venerable masters of
profound thought. That will do, won't it?"
"Very appropriate, I assure you, but 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' can scarcely
be classed as a light book. It comes in a light garb but its nature is
most serious."
The horse shied at a piece of paper fluttering in the road, and with
a little scream she seized the lines. He asked her if she would give
them back when she should find that no longer was there any danger, and
laughing rhythmically and with blushes she returned the lines to him.
"No, apology and no embarrassment," said he. "It came of woman's
instinctive sense of protection, of her responsibility at a time of
peril."
"Now you are making fun of me, Mr. Gradley. Oh, boy (turning to look
at me). What's his name? Dan? Oh, yes. How's my horse coming on, Dan?
Well, for pity's sake, if he hasn't turned him loose."
The horse was grazing some distance down the road, and without waiting
to beg pardon for my stupid neglect of the charge intrusted to me, I
jumped down to run after him. Master and the young woman did not wait
for me, but drove to Miss Potter's home, now but a short distance away.
As I came up leading the horse toward the gate, where master and Miss
Potter were standing, old man Potter came walking out. He was effusive
in his welcome, swearing upon his life that never was he gladder to
see a man. "Ah," he said, looking at me, "and this here is the boy that
we all have heard such a good report about. A likely young feller, Mr.
Gradley, and I don't reckon you'd care to sell him."
"No, sir," said Bob, assuming to be gentle but looking his contempt
for the coarse old fellow. But Mr. Potter could interpret no looks of
contempt; he was too busy surveying me from head to foot.
"Yes, reckon you do think a good deal of him, and I wouldn't wonder but
it would take a right putty piece of money to buy him."
"I could not be induced to part with him, sir," master replied.
"Yes, sir, got a right to think a good deal of him. Goin' to learn him
any sort of trade? Strong enough to make a good blacksmith. Owned one
about like him once. Swapped him for a woman and a child."
"Why, father," the daughter spoke up, "Dan is Mr. Gradley's body
servant."
"Yes, I know," said the old fellow, his cold and speculative eye still
bent upon me, "but it wouldn't be out of the way to learn him how to do
something. Comes in mighty handy sometimes and we never can tell what
mout happen."
The girl winced at the word "mout," unmistakable symbol of the white
trash, and smiling to cut a blush in two, she said: "You observe, Mr.
Gradley, that father doesn't care how he talks. He fell into the habit
of imitating a queer old fellow who lived near us and now he does it
unintentionally. Let us go into the house?"
"Yes, come on," old Potter joined in. "Jest as cheap inside as out, and
it ain't as tiresome settin' as standin'. Boy, (giving his eye to me
again) go round to the kitchen and tell them to give you something to
eat."
"We haven't time to stop," Bob interposed. "We expect several friends
at dinner, and--"
"Jest as well eat a snack with us," the old fellow broke in. "Jest
as cheap and it won't take nigh so long. I reckon I've got as fine a
piece of mutton as you ever set your teeth on--sheep that I didn't want
to part with but an infernal dog came along this morning and grabbed
him and cut his throat as slick as a whistle--and we know how to cook
mutton at our house. Come on."
He continued to urge his hospitality, and to praise the sheep that had
been killed by a dog, and the girl pleaded with her eyes; and I thought
that Bob would waver, he smiled so and bowed so many times, but in the
end he was firm, and bade me turn the buggy around. Even then, with
his foot on the step, he lingered to speak another word, though never
seeming to utter what came into his mind. At last we drove away, and
the moment my back was turned, the girl was only a shadow lying across
my memory; and it worried me. I could look at as delicate a thing as a
flower and in my mind could reproduce its form and its hue, but that
woman was a blur to her own image.