ALICE AND MUGGINS
Had an angel appeared suddenly to the blacks at Spring Bank they would
not have been more surprised or delighted than they were with Alice when
she came down to breakfast, looking so beautiful in her muslin wrapper,
with a simple white blossom and geranium leaf twined among her flowing
curls, and an expression of content upon her childish face, which said
that she had resolved to make the best of the place to which Providence
had so clearly led her for some wise purpose of his own. She had arisen
early and explored the premises in quest of the spots of sunshine which
she knew were there as well as elsewhere, and she had found them, too,
in the grand old elms and maples which shaded the wooden building, in
the clean, grassy lawn and the running brook, in the well-kept garden of
flowers, and in the few choice volumes arranged in the old bookcase at
one end of the hall. Who reads those books, her favorites, every one of
them? Not 'Lina, most assuredly, for Alice's reminiscences of her were
not of the literary kind; nor yet Mrs. Worthington, kind, gentle
creature as she seemed to be. Who then but Hugh could have pored over
those pages? And Alice felt a thrill of joy as she felt there was at
least one bond of sympathy between them. There was no Bible upon the
shelves, no religious book of any kind, if we except a work of infidel
Tom Paine, at sight of which Alice recoiled as from a viper. Could Hugh
believe in Tom Paine? She hoped not, and with a sigh she was turning
from the corner, when the patter of little naked feet was heard upon the
stairs, and a bright mulatto child, apparently seven or eight years old,
appeared, her face expressive of the admiration with which she regarded
Alice, who asked her name.
Curtseying very low, the child replied:
"I dunno, missus; I 'spec's I done lost 'em, 'case heap of a while ago,
'fore you're born, I reckon, they call me Leshie, but Mas'r Hugh done
nickname me Muggins, and every folks do that now. You know Mas'r Hugh?
He done rared when he read you's comin'; do this way with his boot, 'By
George, Ad will sell the old hut yet without 'sultin' me,'" and the
little darky's fist came down upon the window sill in apt imitation of
her master.
A crimson flush overspread Alice's face as she wondered if it were
possible that the arrangements concerning her coming there had been made
without reference to Hugh's wishes.
"It may be, he was away," she sighed; then feeling an intense desire to
know more, and being only a woman and mortal, she said to Muggins
walking around her in circles, with her fat arms folded upon her bosom.
"Your master did not know I was coming till he returned from New Orleans
and found his mother's letter?"
"Who tole you dat ar?" and Muggins' face was perfectly comical in its
bewilderment at what she deemed Alice's foreknowledge. "But dat's so,
dat is. I hear Aunt Chloe say so, and how't was right mean in Miss
'Lina. I hate Miss 'Lina! Phew-ew!" and Muggins' face screwed itself
into a look of such perfect disgust that Alice could not forbear
laughing outright.
"You should not hate any one, my child," she said, while Muggins
rejoined:
"I can't help it--none of us can; she's so--mean--and so--so--you
mustn't never tell, 'case Aunt Chloe get my rags if you do--but she's so
low-flung, Claib say. She hain't any bizzens orderin' us around nuther,
and I will hate her!"
"But, Muggins, the Bible teaches us to love those who treat us badly,
who are mean, as you say."
"Who's he?" and Muggins looked up quickly. "I never hearn tell of him
afore, or, yes I has. Thar's an old wared-out book in Mas'r Hugh's
chest, what he reads in every night, and oncet when I axes him what was
it, he say, 'It's a Bible, Mug.' Dat's what he calls me for short; Mug!"
"Well," Alice said, "be a good girl, Muggins. God will love you if you
do. Do you ever pray?"
"More times I do, and more times when I'se sleepy I don't," was Muggins'
reply.
Here was a spot where Alice might do good; this half-heathen, but
sprightly, African child needed her, and she began already to get an
inkling of her mission to Kentucky. She was pleased with Muggins, and
suffered the little dusky hands to caress her curls as long as they
pleased, while she questioned her of the bookcase and its contents,
whose was it, 'Lina's or Hugh's?
"Mas'r Hugh's, in course. Miss 'Lina can't read!" was Muggins' reply,
which Alice fully understood.
'Lina was no reader, while Hugh was, it might be, and she continued to
speak of him. Did he read much, ever evenings to his mother, or did
'Lina play often to them?"
"More'n we wants, a heap!" and Muggins spoke scornfully. "We can't bar
them rang-tang-em-er-digs she thumps out. Now, we likes Mas'r Hugh's the
best--got good voice, sing Dixie, oh, splendid! Mas'r Hugh loves
flowers, too. Tend all them in the garden."
"Did he?" and Alice spoke with great animation, for she had supposed
that 'Lina's, or at least Mrs. Worthington's hands had been there.
But it was Hugh, all Hugh, and in spite of what Muggins had said
concerning his aversion to her coming there, she felt a great desire to
see him. She could understand in part why he should be angry at not
having been consulted, but he was over that, she was sure from what Aunt
Eunice said, and if he were not, it behooved her to try her best to
remove any wrong impression he might have formed of her. "He shall like
me," she thought; "not as he must like that golden-haired maiden whose
existence this sprite of a negro has discovered, but as a friend, or
sister," and a softer light shone in Alice's blue eyes, as she foresaw
in fancy Hugh gradually coming to like her, to be glad that she was
there, and to miss her when she was gone.