'LINA'S PURCHASE AND HUGH'S
There were piles of handsome dress goods upon the counter at Harney's
that afternoon, and Harney was anxious to sell. It was not always that
he favored a customer with his own personal services, and 'Lina felt
proportionably flattered when he came forward and asked what he could
show her. Of course, a dress for the party--he had sold at least a dozen
that day, but fortunately he still had the most elegant pattern of all,
and he knew it would exactly suit her complexion and style.
Deluded 'Lina! Richard Harney, the wealthy bachelor merchant, did not
mean one word he said. He had tried to sell that dress a dozen times,
and been as often refused, no one caring just then to pay fifty dollars
for a dress which could only be worn on great occasions. But 'Lina was
easily flattered, while the silk was beautiful. But ten dollars was all
she had, and turning away from the tempting silk she answered faintly,
that "it was superb, but she could not afford it, besides, she had not
the money to-day."
"Not the slightest consequence," was Harney's quick rejoinder. "Not the
slightest consequence. Your brother's credit is good--none better in the
country, and I'm sure he'll be proud to see you in it. I should, were I
your brother."
'Lina blushed, while the wish to possess the silk grew every moment
stronger.
"If it were only fifty dollars, it would not seem so bad," she thought.
Hugh could manage it some way, and Mr. Harney was so good natured; he
could wait a year, she knew. But the making would cost ten dollars more,
for that was the price Miss Allis charged, to say nothing of the
trimmings. "No, I can't," she said, quite decidedly, at last, asking for
the lace with which she at first intended renovating her old pink silk,
"She must see Miss Allis first to know how much she wanted," and
promising to return, she tripped over to Frankfort's fashionable
dressmaker, whom she found surrounded with dresses for the party.
As some time would elapse ere Miss Allis could attend to her, she went
back to Harney's just for one more look at the lovely fabric. It was, if
possible, more beautiful than before, and Harney was more polite, while
the result of the whole was that, when 'Lina at four o'clock that
afternoon entered her carriage to go home, the despised pink silk, still
unpaid on Haney's books, was thrown down anywhere, while in her hands
she carefully held the bundle Harney brought himself, complimenting her
upon the sensation she was sure to create, and inviting her to dance the
first set with him. Then with a smiling bow he closed the door upon her,
and returning to his books wrote down Hugh Worthington his debtor to
fifty dollars more.
"That makes three hundred and fifty," he said to himself. "I know he
can't raise that amount of ready money, and as he is too infernal proud
to be sued, I'm sure of Rocket or Lulu, it matters but little which,"
and with a look upon his face which made it positively hideous, the
scheming Harney closed his books, and sat down to calculate the best
means of managing the rather unmanageable Hugh!
It was dark when 'Lina reached home, but the silk looked well by
firelight, better even than in the light of day, and 'Lina would have
been quite happy but for her mother's reproaches and an occasional
twinge as she wondered what Hugh would say. He had not yet returned, and
numerous were Mrs. Worthington's surmises as to what was keeping him so
late. A glance backward for an hour or so will let us into the secret.
It was the day when a number of negroes were to be sold in the
courthouse. There was no trouble in disposing of them all, save one, a
white-haired old man, whom they called Uncle Sam.
With tottering steps the old man took his place, while his dim eyes
wandered wistfully over the faces around him congregated, as if seeking
for their owner. But none was found who cared for Uncle Sam.
"Won't nobody bid for Sam? I fetched a thousan' dollars onct," and the
feeble voice trembled as it asked this question.
"What will become of him if he is not sold?" Hugh asked of a bystander,
who replied, "Go back to the old place to be kicked and cuffed by the
minions of the new proprietor, Harney. You know Harney, of Frankfort?"
Yes, Hugh did know Harney as one who was constantly adding to his
already large possessions houses and lands and negroes without limit,
caring little that they came to him laden with the widow's curse and the
orphan's tears. This was Harney, and Hugh always felt exasperated
whenever he thought of him. Advancing a step or two he came nearer to
the negro, who took comfort at once from the expression of his face, and
stretching out his shaking hand he said, beseechingly:
"You, mas'r, you buy old Sam, 'case it 'ill be lonesome and cold in de
cabin at home when they all is gone. Please, mas'r."
"What can you do?" was Hugh's query, to which the truthful negro
answered:
"Nothin' much, 'cept to set in the chimbly corner eatin' corn bread and
bacon--or, yes," and an expression of reverence and awe stole over the
wrinkled face, as in a low tone he added, "I can pray for young mas'r,
and I will, only buy me, please."
Hugh had not much faith in praying negroes, but something in old Sam
struck him as sincere. His prayers might do good, and be needed
somebody's, sadly. But what should he offer, when fifteen dollars was
all he had in the world, and was it his duty to encumber himself with a
piece of useless property? Visions of the Golden Haired and Adah both
arose up before him. They would say it was right. They would tell him to
buy old Sam, and that settled the point with him.
"Five dollars," he called out, and Sam's "God bless you," was sounding
in his ears, when a voice from another part of the building doubled the
bid, and with a moan Uncle Sam turned imploringly toward Hugh.
"A leetle more, mas'r, an' you fotches 'em; a leetle more," he
whispered, coaxingly, and Hugh faltered out "Twelve."
"Thirteen," came again from the corner, and Hugh caught sight of the
bidder, a sour-grained fellow, whose wife had ten young children, and so
could find use for Sam.
"Thirteen and a half," cried Hugh.
"Fourteen," responded his opponent.
"Leetle more, mas'r, berry leetle," whispered Uncle Sam.
"Fourteen and a quarter," said Hugh, the perspiration starting out about
his lips, as he thought how fast his pile was diminishing, and that he
could not go beyond it.
"Fourteen and a half," from the corner.
"Leetle more, mas'r," from Uncle Sam.
"Fourteen, seventy-five," from Hugh.
"Fifteen," from the man in the corner, and Hugh groaned aloud.
"That's every dime I've got."
Quick as thought an acquaintance beside him slipped a bill into his
hand, whispering as he did so:
"It's a V. I'll double it if necessary. I'm sorry for the darky."
It was very exciting now, each bidder raising a quarter each time, while
Sam's "a leetle more, mas'r," and the vociferous cheers of the crowd,
whenever Hugh's voice was heard, showed him to be the popular party.
"Nineteen, seventy-five," from the corner, and Hugh felt his courage
giving way as he faintly called out:
"Twenty."
Only an instant did the auctioneer wait, and then his decision, "Gone!"
made Hugh the owner of Uncle Sam, who, crouching down before him,
blessed him with tears and prayers.
"I knows you're good," he said; "I knows it by yer face; and mebby, when
the rheumatics gits out of my ole legs I kin work for mas'r a heap. Does
you live fur from here?"
"Look here, Sam," and Hugh laughed heartily at the negro's forlorn
appearance, as, regaining his feet, he assumed a most deprecating
attitude, asking pardon for tumbling down, and charging it all to his
shaky knees. "Look here, there's no other way, except for you to ride,
and me to walk. Rocket won't carry double," and ere Sam could
remonstrate, Hugh had dismounted and placed him in the saddle.
Rocket did not fancy the exchange, as was manifest by an indignant
snort, and an attempt to shake Sam off, but a word from Hugh quieted
him, and the latter offered the reins to Sam, who was never a skillful
horseman, and felt a mortal terror of the high-mettled steed beneath
him. With a most frightened expression upon his face, he grasped the
saddle pommel with both hands, and bending nearly double, gasped out:
"Sam ain't much use't to gemman's horses. Kind of bold me on, mas'r,
till I gits de hang of de critter. He hists me around mightily."
So, leading Rocket with one hand, and steadying Sam with the other, Hugh
got on but slowly, and 'Lina had looked for him many times ere she spied
him from the window as he came up the lawn.
"Who is he, and what did you get him for?" Mrs. Worthington asked, as
Hugh led Sam into the dining-room.
Briefly Hugh explained to her why he had bought the negro.
"It was foolish, I suppose, but I'm not sorry yet," he added, glancing
toward the corner where the poor old man was sitting, warming his
shriveled hands by the cheerful fire, and muttering to himself blessings
on "young mas'r."
But for the remembrance of her dress, 'Lina would have stormed, but as
it was, she held her peace, and even asked Sam some trivial question
concerning his former owners. Supper had been delayed for Hugh, and as
he took his seat at the table, he inquired after Adah.
"Pretty well when I left," said his mother, adding that Lulu had been
there since, and reported her as looking pale and worn, while Aunt
Eunice seemed worried with Willie, who was inclined to be fretful.
"They need some one," Hugh said, refusing the coffee his mother passed
him on the plea that he did not feel like drinking it to-night. "They
need one of the servants. Can't you spare Lulu?"
Mrs. Worthington did not know, but 'Lina, to whom Lulu was a kind of
waiting maid, took the matter up alone, and said:
"Indeed they couldn't. There was no one at Spring Bank more useful, and
it was preposterous for Hugh to think of giving their best servant to
Adah Hastings. Let her take care of her baby herself. She guessed it
wouldn't hurt her. Anyway, they couldn't afford to keep a servant for
her."
With a long-drawn sigh, Hugh finished his supper, and was about lighting
his cigar when he felt some one touching him, and turning around he saw
that Sam had grasped his coat. The negro had heard the conversation, and
drawn correct conclusions. His new master was not rich. He could not
afford to buy him, and having bought him could not afford to keep him.
There was a sigh in the old man's heart, as he thought how useless he
was, but when he heard about the baby, his spirits arose at once. In all
the world there was nothing so precious to Sam as a child, a little
white child, with waxen hands to pat his old black face, and his work
was found.
"Mas'r," he whispered, "Sam kin take keer that baby. He knows how, and
the little children in Georgy, whar I comed from, used to be mighty fond
of Sam. I'll tend to the young lady, too. Is she yourn, mas'r?"
'Lina laughed aloud, while Hugh replied:
"She's mine while I take care of her."
Then, turning to his sister, he asked if she procured what she wanted.
With a threatening frown at Lulu, who had seen and gone into ecstasies
over the rose silk, 'Lina answered that she was fortunate enough to get
just what she wanted, adding quickly:
"It's to be a much gayer affair than I supposed. They are invited from
Louisville, and even from Cincinnati, so Mr. Harney says."
"Harney, did you trade there?" Hugh asked.
"Why, yes. It's the largest and best store in town. Why shouldn't I?"
'Lina replied, while Sam, catching at the name, put in:
"Hartley's the man what foreclosed the mortgage. You orto hear ole mas'r
cuss him oncet. Sharp chap, dat Harney; mighty hard on de blacks, folks
say," and glad to have escaped from his clutches, Sam turned again to
his dozing reverie, which was broken at last by Hugh's calling Claib,
and bidding him show Sam where he was to sleep.
How long Hugh did sit up that night, and 'Lina, who wanted so much to
see once more just how her rose silk looked by lamplight, thought he
never would take her broad hints and leave. He dreaded to go--dreaded to
exchange that warm, pleasant room for the cold, cheerless chamber above,
where he knew no fire would greet him, for he had told Claib not to make
one, and that was why he lingered as long below. But the ordeal must be
met, and just as the clock was striking eleven, he bade his mother and
sister good-night, whistling as he bounded up the stairs, by way of
keeping up his spirits. How dreary and dark it looked in his room, as
with a feeling akin to homesickness Hugh set his candle down and glanced
at the empty hearth.
"After all, what does it matter?" he said. "I only have to hurry and get
in bed the sooner," and tossing one boot here and another there, he was
about to finish undressing when suddenly he remembered the little Bible,
and the passage read last night. Would there be one for him to-night? He
meant to look and see, and all cold and shivery as he was, Hugh lifted
the lid of the trunk which held his treasure, and taking it out, opened
to the place where the silken curl was lying. There was a great throb at
his heart when he saw that the last coil of the tress lay just over the
words, "Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a
cup of cold water in the name of a disciple, verily, I say unto you, he
shall in no wise lose his reward."
"It does seem as if this was meant to encourage me," Hugh said, reading
the passage twice. "I don't much believe, though, I bought old Sam in
the name of a disciple, though I do think his telling me he prayed had a
little to do with it. It's rather pleasant to think there's two to pray
for me now, Adah and Sam. I wonder if it makes any difference with God
that one prayer is white and the other black? Golden Hair said it didn't
when we talked about the negroes," and shutting the Bible, Hugh was
about to put it up when something whispered of his resolution to
commence reading it through.
"It's too confounded cold. I'll freeze to death, I tell you," he said,
as if arguing the point with some unseen presence. "Get into bed and
read it then, hey? It's growing late and my candle is most burned out.
The first chapter of Genesis is short, is it? Won't take one over three
minutes? Stick like a chestnut burr, don't you," and as if the matter
were decided, Hugh sprang into bed, shivering as if about to take a cold
plunge bath. How then was he disappointed to find the sheets as nice and
warm as Aunt Chloe's warming pan of red-hot coals could make them.
And so he fell away to sleep, dreaming that Golden Hair had come back,
and that he held her in his arms, just as he held the Bible he had
unconsciously taken from the pillow beneath his head.