IV

The little girl rose startled, but her breeding was too fine for

betrayal, and she went to him with hand outstretched. The boy took it as

he had taken her father's, limply and without rising. The father frowned

and smiled--how could the lad have learned manners? And then he, too, saw

the hole in the moccasin through which the bleeding had started again.

"You are hurt--you have walked a long way?"

The lad shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

"Three days--I had to shoot horse."

"Take him into the kitchen, Barbara, and tell Hannah to wash his foot

and bandage it."

The boy looked uncomfortable and shook his head, but the little girl was

smiling and she told him to come with such sweet imperiousness that he

rose helplessly. Old Hannah's eyes made a bewildered start!

"You go on back an' wait for yo' company, little Miss; I'll 'tend to

_him_!"

And when the boy still protested, she flared up:

"Looky here, son, little Miss tell me to wash yo' foot, an' I'se gwinter

do it, ef I got to tie you fust; now you keep still. Whar you come

from?"

His answer was a somewhat haughty grunt that at once touched the quick

instincts of the old negress and checked further question. Swiftly and

silently she bound his foot, and with great respect she led him to a

little room in one ell of the great house in which was a tub of warm

water.

"Ole marster say you been travellin' an' mebbe you like to refresh

yo'self wid a hot bath. Dar's some o' little marster's clothes on de bed

dar, an' a pair o' his shoes, an' I know dey'll jus' fit you snug.

You'll find all de folks on de front po'ch when you git through."

She closed the door. Once, winter and summer, the boy had daily plunged

into the river with his Indian companions, but he had never had a bath

in his life, and he did not know what the word meant; yet he had learned

so much at the fort that he had no trouble making out what the tub of

water was for. For the same reason he felt no surprise when he picked up

the clothes; he was only puzzled how to get into them. He tried, and

struggling with the breeches he threw one hand out to the wall to keep

from falling and caught a red cord with a bushy red tassel; whereat

there was a ringing that made him spring away from it. A moment later

there was a knock at his door.

"Did you ring, suh?" asked a voice. What that meant he did not know, and

he made no answer. The door was opened slightly and a woolly head

appeared.

"Do you want anything, suh?"

"No."

"Den I reckon hit was anudder bell--Yassuh."

The boy began putting on his own clothes.

Outside Colonel Dale and Barbara had strolled down the big path to the

sun-dial, the colonel telling the story of the little Kentucky

kinsman--the little girl listening and wide-eyed.

"Is he going to live here with us, papa?"

"Perhaps. You must be very nice to him. He has lived a rude, rough life,

but I can see he is very sensitive."

At the bend of the river there was the flash of dripping oars, and the

song of the black oarsmen came across the yellow flood.

"There they come!" cried Barbara. And from his window the little

Kentuckian saw the company coming up the path, brave with gay clothes

and smiles and gallantries. The colonel walked with a grand lady at the

head, behind were the belles and beaux, and bringing up the rear was

Barbara, escorted by a youth of his own age, who carried his hat under

his arm and bore himself as haughtily as his elders. No sooner did he

see them mounting to the porch than there was the sound of a horn in the

rear, and looking out of the other window the lad saw a coach and four

dash through the gate and swing around the road that encircled the great

trees, and up to the rear portico, where there was a joyous clamor of

greetings. Where did all those people come from? Were they going to stay

there and would he have to be among them? All the men were dressed alike

and not one was dressed like him. Panic assailed him, and once more he

looked at the clothes on the bed, and then without hesitation walked

through the hallway, and stopped on the threshold of the front door. A

quaint figure he made there, and for the moment the gay talk and

laughter quite ceased. The story of him already had been told, and

already was sweeping from cabin to cabin to the farthest edge of the

great plantation. Mrs. General Willoughby lifted her lorgnettes to study

him curiously, the young ladies turned a battery of searching but

friendly rays upon him, the young men regarded him with tolerance and

repressed amusement, and Barbara, already his champion, turned her eyes

from one to the other of them, but always seeing him. No son of Powhatan

could have stood there with more dignity, and young Harry Dale's face

broke into a smile of welcome. His father being indoors he went forward

with hand outstretched.

"I am your cousin Harry," he said, and taking him by the arm he led him

on the round of presentation.

"Mrs. Willoughby, may I present my cousin from Kentucky?"

"This is your cousin, Miss Katherine Dale; another cousin, Miss Mary;

and this is your cousin Hugh."

And the young ladies greeted him with frank, eager interest, and the

young gentlemen suddenly repressed patronizing smiles and gave him grave

greeting, for if ever a rapier flashed from a human head, it flashed

from the piercing black eye of that little Kentucky backwoodsman when

his cousin Hugh, with a rather whimsical smile, bowed with a politeness

that was a trifle too elaborate. Mrs. Willoughby still kept her

lorgnettes on him as he stood leaning against a pillar. She noted the

smallness of his hands and feet, the lithe, perfect body, the clean cut

of his face, and she breathed:

"He is a Dale--and blood _does_ tell."

Nobody, not even she, guessed how the lad's heart was thumping with the

effort to conceal his embarrassment, but when a tinge of color spread on

each side of his set mouth and his eyes began to waver uncertainly, Mrs.

Willoughby's intuition was quick and kind.

"Barbara," she asked, "have you shown your cousin your ponies?"

The little girl saw her motive and laughed merrily:

"Why, I haven't had time to show him anything. Come on, cousin."

The boy followed her down the steps in his noiseless moccasins, along a

grass path between hedges of ancient box, around an ell, and past the

kitchen and toward the stables. In and behind the kitchen negroes of all

ages and both sexes were hurrying or lazing around, and each turned to

stare wonderingly after the strange woodland figure of the little

hunter. Negroes were coming in from the fields with horses and mules,

negroes were chopping and carrying wood, there were negroes everywhere,

and the lad had never seen one before, but he showed no surprise. At a

gate the little girl called imperiously:

"Ephraim, bring out my ponies!"

And in a moment out came a sturdy little slave whose head was all black

skin, black wool, and white teeth, leading two creamy-white little

horses that shook the lad's composure at last, for he knew ponies as far

back as he could remember, but he had never seen the like of them. His

hand almost trembled when he ran it over their sleek coats, and

unconsciously he dropped into his Indian speech and did not know it

until the girl asked laughingly:

"Why, what are you saying to my ponies?"

And he blushed, for the little girl's artless prattling and friendliness

were already beginning to make him quite human.

"That's Injun talk."

"Can you talk Indian--but, of course, you can."

"Better than English," he smiled.

Hugh had followed them.

"Barbara, your mother wants you," he said, and the little girl turned

toward the house. The stranger was ill at ease with Hugh and the latter

knew it.

"It must be very exciting where you live."

"How?"

"Oh, fighting Indians and shooting deer and turkeys and buffalo. It must

be great fun."

"Nobody does it for fun--it's mighty hard work."

"My uncle--your father--used to tell us about his wonderful adventures out

there."

"He had no chance to tell me."

"But yours must have been more wonderful than his."

The boy gave the little grunt that was a survival of his Indian life and

turned to go back to the house.

"But all this, I suppose, is as strange to you."

"More."

Hugh was polite and apparently sincere in interest, but the lad was

vaguely disturbed and he quickened his step. The porch was empty when

they turned the corner of the house, but young Harry Dale came running

down the steps, his honest face alight, and caught the little Kentuckian

by the arm.

"Get ready for supper, Hugh--come on, cousin," he said, and led the

stranger to his room and pointed to the clothes on the bed.

"Don't they fit?" he asked smiling.

"I don't know--I don't know how to git into 'em."

Young Harry laughed joyously.

"Of course not. I wouldn't know how to put yours on either. You just

wait," he cried, and disappeared to return quickly with an armful of

clothes.

"Take off your war-dress," he said, "and I'll show you."

With heart warming to such kindness, and helpless against it, the lad

obeyed like a child and was dressed like a child.

"Now, I've got to hurry," said Harry. "I'll come back for you. Just look

at yourself," he called at the door.

And the stranger did look at the wonderful vision that a great mirror as

tall as himself gave back. His eyes began to sting, and he rubbed them

with the back of his hand and looked at the hand curiously. It was

moist. He had seen tears in a woman's eyes, but he did not know that

they could come to a man, and he felt ashamed.

V

The boy stood at a window looking out into the gathering dusk. His eye

could catch the last red glow on the yellow river. Above that a purplish

light rested on the green expanse stretching westward--stretching on and

on through savage wilds to his own wilds beyond the lonely Cumberlands.

Outside the window the multitude of flowers was drinking in the dew and

drooping restfully to sleep. A multitude of strange birds called and

twittered from the trees. The neighing of horses, the lowing of cattle,

the piping of roosting turkeys and motherly clutter of roosting hens,

the weird songs of negroes, the sounds of busy preparation through the

house and from the kitchen--all were sounds of peace and plenty, security

and service. And over in his own wilds at that hour they were driving

cows and horses into the stockade. They were cooking their rude supper

in the open. A man had gone to each of the watch-towers. From the

blackening woods came the curdling cry of a panther and the hooting of

owls. Away on over the still westward wilds were the wigwams of squaws,

pappooses, braves, the red men--red in skin, in blood, in heart, and red

with hate against the whites.

Perhaps they were circling a fire at that moment in a frenzied

war-dance--perhaps the hooting at that moment, from the woods around the

fort was not the hooting of owls at all. There all was hardship--danger;

here all was comfort and peace. If they could see him now! See his room,

his fire, his bed, his clothes! They had told him to come, and yet he

felt now the shame of desertion. He had come, but he would not stay long

away. The door opened, he turned, and Harry Dale came eagerly in.

"Mother wants to see you."

The two boys paused in the hall and Harry pointed to a pair of crossed

rapiers over the mantelpiece.

"Those were your father's," he said; "he was a wonderful fencer."

The lad shook his head in ignorance, and Harry smiled.

"I'll show you to-morrow."

At a door in the other ell Harry knocked gently, and a voice that was

low and sweet but vibrant with imperiousness called:

"Come in!"

"Here he is, mother."

The lad stepped into warmth, subtle fragrance, and many candle lights.

The great lady was just rising from a chair in front of her mirror,

brocaded, powdered, and starred with jewels. So brilliant a vision

almost stunned the little stranger and it took an effort for him to lift

his eyes to hers.

"Why, _this_ is not the lad you told me of," she said. "Come here! Both

of you." They came and the lady scrutinized them comparingly.

"Actually you look alike--and, Harry, you have no advantage, even if you

are my own son. I am glad you are here," she said with sudden soberness,

and smiling tenderly she put both hands on his shoulders, drew him to

her and kissed him, and again he felt in his eyes that curious sting.

"Come, Harry!" With a gallant bow Harry offered his left arm, and

gathering the little Kentuckian with her left, the regal lady swept out.

In the reception-room she kept the boy by her side. Every man who

approached bowed, and soon the lad was bowing, too. The ladies

courtesied, the room was soon filled, and amid the flash of smiles,

laughter, and gay banter the lad was much bewildered, but his face

showed it not at all. Barbara almost cried out her astonishment and

pleasure when she saw what a handsome figure he made in his new

clothing, and all her little friends were soon darting surreptitious

glances at him, and many whispered questions and pleasing comments were

passed around. From under Hugh's feet the ground for the moment was

quite taken away, so much to the eye, at least, do clothes make the man.

Just then General Willoughby bowed with noble dignity before Mrs. Dale,

and the two led the way to the dining-room.

"Harry," she said, "you and Barbara take care of your cousin."

And almost without knowing it the young Kentuckian bowed to Barbara, who

courtesied and took his arm. But for his own dignity and hers, she would

have liked to squeal her delight. The table flashed with silver and

crystal on snowy-white damask and was brilliant with colored candles.

The little woodsman saw the men draw back chairs for the ladies, and he

drew back Barbara's before Hugh, on the other side of her, could

forestall him. On his left was Harry, and Harry he watched keenly--but no

more keenly than Hugh watched him. Every now and then he would catch a

pair of interested eyes looking furtively at him, and he knew his story

was going the round of the table among those who were not guests in the

house. The boy had never seen so many and so mysterious-looking things

to eat and drink. One glass of wine he took, and the quick dizziness

that assailed him frightened him, and he did not touch it again. Beyond

Barbara, Hugh leaned forward and lifted his glass to him. He shook his

head and Hugh flushed.

"Our Kentucky cousin is not very polite--he is something of a

barbarian--naturally."

"He doesn't understand," said Barbara quickly, who had noted the

incident, and she turned to her cousin.

"Papa says you _are_ going to live with us and you are going to study

with Harry under Mr. Brockton."

"Our tutor," explained Harry; "there he is across there. He is an

Englishman."

"Tutor?" questioned the boy.

"School-teacher," laughed Harry.

"Oh!"

"Haven't you any school-teachers at home?"

"No, I learned to read and write a little from Dave and Lyddy."

And then he had to tell who they were, and he went on to tell them about

Mother Sanders and Honor and Bud and Jack and Polly Conrad and Lydia and

Dave, and all the frontier folk, and the life they led, and the Indian

fights which thrilled Barbara and Harry, and forced even Hugh to

listen--though once he laughed incredulously, and in a way that of a

sudden shut the boy's lips tight and made Barbara color and Harry look

grave. Hugh then turned to his wine and began soon to look more flushed

and sulky. Shortly after the ladies left, Hugh followed them, and Harry

and the Kentuckian moved toward the head of the table where the men had

gathered around Colonel Dale.

"Yes," said General Willoughby, "it looks as though it might come."

"With due deference to Mr. Brockton," said Colonel Dale, "it looks as

though his country would soon force us to some action."

They were talking about impending war. Far away as his wilds were, the

boy had heard some talk of war in them, and he listened greedily to the

quick fire of question and argument directed to the Englishman, who held

his own with such sturdiness that Colonel Dale, fearing the heat might

become too great, laughed and skilfully shifted the theme. Through hall

and doorways came now merry sounds of fiddle and banjo.

"Come on, cousin," said Harry; "can you dance?"

"If your dances are as different as everything else, I reckon not, but I

can try."

Near a doorway between parlor and hall sat the fiddlers three. Gallant

bows and dainty courtesyings and nimble feet were tripping measures

quite new to the backwoodsman. Barbara nodded, smiled, and after the

dance ran up to ask him to take part, but he shook his head. Hugh had

looked at him as from a superior height, and the boy noticed him

frowning while Barbara was challenging him to dance. The next dance was

even more of a mystery, for the dancers glided by in couples, Mr.

Byron's diatribe not having prevented the importation of the waltz to

the new world, but the next cleared his face and set his feet to keeping

time, for the square dance had, of course, reached the wilds.

"I know that," he said to Harry, who told Barbara, and the little girl

went up to him again, and this time, flushing, he took place with her on

the floor. Hugh came up.

"Cousin Barbara, this is our dance, I believe," he said a little

thickly.

The girl took him aside and Hugh went surlily away. Harry saw the

incident and he looked after Hugh, frowning. The backwoodsman conducted

himself very well. He was lithe and graceful and at first very

dignified, but as he grew in confidence he began to execute steps that

were new to that polite land and rather boisterous, but Barbara looked

pleased and all onlookers seemed greatly amused--all except Hugh. And

when the old fiddler sang out sonorously:

"Genelmen to right--cheat an' swing!" the boy cheated outrageously,

cheated all but his little partner, to whom each time he turned with

open loyalty, and Hugh was openly sneering now and genuinely angry.

"You shall have the last dance," whispered Barbara, "the Virginia reel."

"I know that dance," said the boy.

And when that dance came and the dancers were drawn in two lines, the

boy who was third from the end heard Harry's low voice behind him:

"He is my cousin and my guest and you will answer to me."

The lad wheeled, saw Harry with Hugh, left his place, and went to them.

He spoke to Harry, but he looked at Hugh with a sword-flash in each

black eye:

"I don't want nobody to take up for me."

Again he wheeled and was in his place, but Barbara saw and looked

troubled, and so did Colonel Dale. He went over to the two boys and put

his arm around Hugh's shoulder.

[Illustration: "I don't want nobody to take up for me"]

"Tut, tut, my boys," he said, with pleasant firmness, and led Hugh away,

and when General Willoughby would have followed, the colonel nodded him

back with a smile, and Hugh was seen no more that night. The guests left

with gayety, smiles, and laughter, and every one gave the stranger a

kindly good-by. Again Harry went with him to his room and the lad

stopped again under the crossed swords.

"You fight with 'em?"

"Yes, and with pistols."

"I've never had a pistol. I want to learn how to use _them_."

Harry looked at him searchingly, but the boy's face gave hint of no more

purpose than when he first asked the same question.

"All right," said Harry.

The lad blew out his candle, but he went to his window instead of his

bed. The moonlight was brilliant--among the trees and on the sleeping

flowers and the slow run of the broad river, and it was very still out

there and very lovely, but he had no wish to be out there. With wind and

storm and sun, moon and stars, he had lived face to face all his life,

but here they were not the same. Trees, flowers, house, people had

reared some wall between him and them, and they seemed now to be very

far away. Everybody had been kind to him--all but Hugh. Veiled hostility

he had never known before and he could not understand. Everybody had

surely been kind, and yet--he turned to his bed, and all night his brain

was flashing to and fro between the reel of vivid pictures etched on it

in a day and the grim background that had hitherto been his life beyond

the hills.