AMENDE HONORABLE
"Well, what do you want, boy?" Blount gruffly asked of Eddring on
the morning after his arrival. "Are you on a still hunt for that
Congressional nomination?"
"No, it's of a heap more importance than that," said Eddring.
"Humph! Maybe. Bill, oh, _Bill_! Here, you go and get the big
glass mug, and a bunch of mint. Come out here, Eddring. Sit down on
the board-pile in the shade--I've been going to build a roof on my
doghouse with these boards as long as I can remember."
They had just seated themselves upon the board-pile, and were waiting
for Bill with the mint when Eddring looked up and smiled. "Who's that
coming?" he asked, pointing down the lane.
"That? Why, I reckon that's Jim Bowles and his wife, Sar' Ann. They
come up once in a while to get a little milk, when they ain't too
durn tired. Their cow--why, say, it was a good many years ago your
blamed railroad killed that cow. They never did get another one
since. And that reminds me, Mr. John Eddring--that reminds _me_--"
He fumbled in the wallet which he drew from his pocket, and produced
an old and well-creased bit of paper. "Look here," said he, "you owe
me for that filly of mine yet. That old railroad never did settle at
all. Here it is. Fifty dollars."
"I thought it was fifteen," said Eddring, with twinkling eyes.
"That's what I said," replied Blount, solemnly, as he tore the paper
in bits and dropped them at his feet. "I said fifteen! Anyway I'm in
no humor to be a-quarreling about a little thing like that. Why, man,
I'm just beginning to enjoy life. We're going to make a big crop of
cotton this year, I've got the best pack of b'ah-dogs I ever did have
yet, and there's more b'ah out in the woods than you ever did see."
"I suppose your ladies leave you once in a while, to go down to New
Orleans?" inquired Eddring.
"No, _sir!_ New Orleans no more," said Blount. "Why, you know,
just as a business precaution, I bought that house down there that
Madame Delchasse used to own. It's sort of in the family now. Shut
off that running down to New Orleans."
"Well, how does Madame Delchasse like that?" asked Eddring.
[Illustration: "MAY I DEPEND? TELL ME, GIRL. I CANNOT WAIT."]
"Man," said Blount, earnestly, "there's some things that seem to be
sort of settled by fate--couldn't come out no other way. Do you
suppose for one minute that I'm going to allow to get away from me
the only woman I ever did see that could cook b'ah meat fit to eat?
Well, I reckon not! Besides, what she can do to most anything is
simply enough to scare you. She can take common crawfish, like the
niggers catch all around here--and a shell off of a mussel, and out
of them two things she makes what she calls a 'kokeeyon of
eckriveese,' and--_say, man_! You bet your bottom dollar Madame
Delchasse ain't going to get away from here. Don't matter a damn if
she _ain't_ got over putting hair-oil in her cocktails, like they do
at New Orleans--we won't fall out about that, either. I don't have to
drink 'em. Only thing, she calls a cussed old catfish a 'poisson.'
That's when we begin to tangle some. But taking it all in all--up one
side and down the other--I never did know before what _good_ cooking
meant. Why she's _got_ to cook--she'd die if she didn't cook. Her go
back to New Orleans?--well, I reckon not!
"Why, say," continued Blount, "don't it sometimes seem that luck
sort of runs in streaks in this world? All cloudy, then out comes the
sun--lovely world! Now, for one while it looked like things were pretty
cloudy down here. But the sun's done come out again. Everything's all
right, here at the Big House, now, sure's you're born. We'll go out and
get a b'ah to-morrow. Come on, let's go see the dogs."
"Well, you know, I must be getting back to business before long,"
began Eddring.
"Business, what business?" protested Colonel Blount. "Say, have you
asked that girl yet?" He was fumbling at the gate latch as he spoke,
or he might have seen Eddring's face suddenly flush red.
"Whom do you mean?" he managed to stammer.
Blount whirled and looked him full in the eye. "You know mighty well
who I mean."
Eddring turned away. "I told you, Cal,"--he began.
"Oh, you _told_ me! Well I could have told _you_ a long time ago that
Miss Lady had this whole thing straightened out in her head. Do you
reckon she's a fool? I don't reckon she thinks you're a thief any
more. I reckon like enough she thinks you're just a supreme damned
_fool._ I know _I_ do."
"Turn 'em loose, Cal!" cried Eddring, suddenly. "Open the gates! Let
'em out! I want to hear 'em holler!" The pack poured out, motley,
vociferous, eager for the chase, filling the air with their wild
music, with a riot of primeval, savage life. "Get me a horse saddled,
Cal, quick," cried Eddring. "I want to feel leather under me again. I
want to feel the air in my ears. I've got to ride, to move! Man, I'm
going to _live_!"
"Now," said Blount, rubbing his chin, "you're beginning to _talk_. The
man that don't like a good b'ah chase once in a while is no earthly
use to me."
But Eddring did not ride to the far forest that day. A good horseman,
and now well mounted, he made a handsome figure as he galloped off
across the field. As he rode, his eye searched here and there, till
it caught sight of the flash of a scarlet jacket beyond a distant
screen of high green brier. He put his horse over the rail fence and
pulled up at her side.
"You ride well," said Miss Lady, critically. "I didn't know that. Why
didn't you tell me?"
"There have been a good many things about me that you didn't know,"
said Eddring, "and there's a heap of things I haven't told you."
Knowing in the instant now that a time of accounting had come, she
looked at him miserably, her eyes downcast, her hands fiddling with
the reins.
"But then, Miss Lady, you didn't know; it wasn't your fault," he
added quickly.
"Oh," said the girl, impulsively taming toward him, her face very
red, "I am so sorry, I am so _sorry_! To think of all you have done
for us, for me. Why, every bit of safety and happiness in my life has
come through you. I have felt that, and wanted _so_ long to tell you
and to thank you. You--you didn't come!"
"Never mind, never mind," said Eddring, wishing now nothing in the
world so much as that he might have spared her this confession. "I've
come now--oh, my girl, I've come now."
"All this time," said she, evading as long as she might, "you were
trying, you were working, all alone. Mr. Eddring, it was not merely
kind of you, it was noble!" And now poor Miss Lady flushed even more
hotly than ever, though her heart was lighter for the truth thus
told.
Eddring looked straight on down the road ahead of them, the road
which broke the rim of the forest toward which they had now
unconsciously faced. At length he turned toward her.
"Miss Lady," said he, simply, "I have loved you so much, so very
much. I've always loved you. I didn't dare admit it to myself for a
long time; but it's run away with me now, absolutely and for ever. I
can't look at life--I can't turn any way--I can't think of _anything_
in which I don't see you. It's been this way a long time, but now I'm
gone. I can't pull up. Miss Lady, I _couldn't_ go back now and begin
life over again alone. I couldn't do that now. I wouldn't want to make
you unhappy, ever. Do you think, oh, _don't_ you think that you could
depend on me? Don't you think you could love me?"
Miss Lady's eyes were cast down, and her hands were busy at the reins
which she shifted between her fingers. Cherry walked slowly and still
more slowly, until at length Eddring laid his hand upon the bridle,
and Cherry turned about an inquiring eye. He reached out his hand and
took in it the small, gray-gloved one which had half-loosed its grasp
upon the rein.
"Miss Lady," he whispered. And then slowly the girl lifted her eyes
and looked full at him--her eyes now grown soft and gentle.
"Yes," said she, "I can depend," Her voice was very low. Yet the
woman-whisper reached to the edge of all the universe--a universe
robbed of its last secret by the woman-soul. "I can see you clearly,"
said Miss Lady, softly. "I see your heart. Yes. I am sure. I
understand--I know now who I am. And I know--I know it all. All!"
"But do you love me!" he demanded; and now Cherry's nose was drawn
quite over the neck of Jerry. Miss Lady would not answer that, but
turned away her face, which was now very pink. "Tell me," he
demanded, frowning in his own earnestness, and catching the bridle
hand in a stern clasp, "may I depend? Tell me, girl. I can not wait."
There was a gentle breeze among the tree-tops. A mocker near by
trilled and gurgled. Eddring leaned forward. It seemed to him he
heard a whisper which told him that he might be sure.
THE END