EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.
“’Lena been gone four weeks and father never stirred a peg after her!
That is smart, I must say. Why didn’t you let me know it before!”
exclaimed John Jr., as he one morning unexpectedly made his appearance
at Maple grove.
During his absence Carrie had been his only correspondent, and for some
reason or other she delayed telling him of ’Lena’s flight until quite
recently. Instantly forgetting his resolution of not returning for a
year, he came home with headlong haste, determining to start
immediately after his cousin.
“I reckon if you knew all that has been said about her, you wouldn’t
feel quite so anxious to get her back,” said Carrie. “For my part, I
feel quite relieved at her absence.”
“Shut up your head,” roared John Jr. “’Lena is no more guilty than
_you_. By George, I most cried when I heard how nobly she worked to
save Anna from old Baldhead. And this is her reward! Gracious Peter! I
sometimes wish there wasn’t a woman in the world!”
“If they’d all marry you, there wouldn’t be long!” retorted Carrie.
“You’ve said it now, haven’t you?” answered John Jr., while his father
suggested that they stop quarreling, adding, as an apology for his own
neglect, that Durward had gone after ’Lena, who was probably at Mr.
Everett’s, and that he himself had advertised in all the principal
papers.
“Just like Bellmont! He’s a fine fellow and deserves ’Lena, if anybody
does,” exclaimed John Jr., while Carrie chimed in, “Pshaw! I’ve no idea
he’s gone for her. Why, they’ve hardly spoken for several months, and
besides that, Mrs. Graham will never suffer him to marry one of so low
origin.”
“The deary me!” said John Jr., mimicking his sister’s manner, “how much
lower is her origin than yours?”
Carrie’s reply was prevented by the appearance of her grandmother, who,
hearing that John Jr. was there, had hobbled in to see him. Perfectly
rational on all other subjects, Mrs. Nichols still persisted in saying
of ’Lena, that she had killed her, and now, when her first greeting
with John Jr. was over, she whispered in his ear, “Have they told you
’Lena was dead? She is—I killed her—it says so here,” and she handed
him the almost worn-out note which she constantly carried with her.
Rough as he seemed at times, there was in John Jr.’s nature many a
tender spot, and when he saw the look of childish imbecility on his
grandmother’s face, he pressed his strong arm around her, and a tear
actually dropped upon her gray hair as he told her ’Lena was not
dead—he was going to find her and bring her home. At that moment old
Cæsar, who had been to the post-office, returned, bringing Mr. Graham’s
letter, which had just arrived.
“That’s Mr. Graham’s handwriting,” said Carrie; glancing at the
superscription. “Perhaps _he_ knows something of ’Lena!” and she looked
meaningly at her mother, who, with a peculiar twist of her mouth,
replied, “Very likely.”
“You are right. He _does_ know something of her,” said Mr. Livingstone,
as he finished reading the letter. “She is with him at a little village
called Laurel Hill, somewhere in New York.”
“There! I told you so. Poor Mrs. Graham. It will kill her. I must go
and see her immediately,” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself
back quite composedly in her chair, while Carrie, turning to her
brother, asked “what he thought of ’Lena now.”
“Just what I always did,” he replied. “There’s fraud somewhere. Will
you let me see that, sir?” advancing toward his father, who, placing
the letter in his hand, walked to the window to hide the varied
emotions of his face.
Rapidly John Jr. perused it, comprehending the whole then, when it was
finished, he seized his hat, and throwing it up in the air, shouted,
“Hurrah! Hurrah for _Miss ’Lena Rivers Graham_, daughter of the
Honorable Harry Rivers Graham. I was never so glad in my life. Hurrah!”
and again the hat went up, upsetting in its descent a costly vase, the
fragments of which followed in the direction of the hat, as the young
man capered about the room, perfectly insane with joy.
“Is the boy crazy?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, catching him by the coat as
he passed her, while Carrie attempted to snatch the letter from his
hand.
“Crazy?—yes,” said he. “Who do you think ’Lena’s father is? No less a
person than Mr. Graham himself. Now taunt her again, Cad, with her low
origin, if you like. She isn’t coming here to live any more. She’s
going to Woodlawn. She’ll marry Durward, while you’ll be a cross,
dried-up old maid, eh, Cad?” and he chucked her under the chin, while
she began to cry, bidding him let her alone.
“What do you mean?” interposed Mrs. Livingstone, trembling lest it
might be true.
“I will read the letter and you can judge for yourself,” replied John.
Both Carrie and her mother were too much astonished to utter a
syllable, while, in their hearts, each hoped it would prove untrue.
Bending forward, grandma had listened eagerly, her dim eye lighting up
as she occasionally caught the meaning of what she heard; but she could
not understand it at once, and turning to her son, she said, “What is
it, John? what does it mean?”
As well as they could, Mr. Livingstone and John Jr. explained it to
her, and when at length she comprehended it, in her own peculiar way
she exclaimed, “Thank God that ’Leny is a lady, at last—as good as the
biggest on ’em. Oh, I wish Helleny had lived to know who her husband
was. Poor critter! Mebby he’ll give me money to go back and see the old
place, once more, afore I die.”
“If he don’t I will,” said Mr. Livingstone, upon which his wife, who
had not spoken before, wondered “where he’d get it.”
By this time Carrie had comforted herself with the assurance that as
’Lena was now Durward’s sister, he would not, of course, marry her, and
determining to make the best of it, she replied to her brother, who
rallied her on her crestfallen looks, that he was greatly mistaken, for
“she was as pleased as any one at ’Lena’s good fortune, but it did not
follow that she must make a fool of herself, as some others did.”
The closing part of this remark was lost on John Jr., who had left the
room. In the first excitement, he had thought “how glad Nellie will
be,” and acting, as he generally did, upon impulse, he now ordered his
horse, and dashing off at full speed, as usual, surprised Nellie,
first, with his sudden appearance, second, with his announcement of
’Lena’s parentage, and third, by an offer of himself!
“It’s your destiny,” said he, “and it’s of no use to resist. What did
poor little Meb die for, if it wasn’t to make room for you. So you may
as well say yes first as last. I’m odd, I know, but you can fix me
over. I’ll do exactly what you wish me to. Say yes, Nellie, won’t you
?”
And Nellie did say yes, wondering, the while, if ever before woman had
such wooing. We think not, for never was there another John Jr.
“I have had happiness enough for one day,” said he, kissing her
blushing cheek and hurrying away.
As if every hitherto neglected duty were now suddenly remembered, he
went straight from Mr. Douglass’s to the marble factory, where he
ordered a costly stone for the little grave on the sunny slope, as yet
unmarked save by the tall grass and rank weeds which grew above it.
“What inscription will you have?” asked the engraver. John Jr. thought
for a moment, and then replied; “Simply ‘Mabel.’ Nothing more or less;
that tells the whole story,” and involuntarily murmuring to himself,
“Poor little Meb, I wish she knew how happy I am,” he started for home,
where he was somewhat surprised to find Mrs. Graham.
She had also received a letter from her husband, and deeming secrecy no
longer advisable, had come over to Maple Grove, where, to her great
satisfaction, she found that the news had preceded her. Feeling sure
that Mrs. Graham must feel greatly annoyed, both Carrie and her mother
began, at first, to act the part of consolers, telling her it might not
be true, after all, for perhaps it was a ruse of Mr. Graham’s to cover
some deep-laid, scheme. But for once in her life Mrs. Graham did well,
and to their astonishment, replied, “Oh, I hope not, for you do not
know how I long for the society of a daughter, and as Mr. Graham’s
child I shall gladly welcome ’Lena home, trying, if possible, to
overlook the vulgarity of her family friends!”
Though wincing terribly, neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughter were
to be outgeneraled. If Mrs. Graham could so soon change her tactics, so
could they, and for the next half hour they lauded ’Lena to the skies.
They had always liked her—particularly Mrs. Livingstone—who said, “If
allowed to speak my mind, Mrs. Graham, I must say that I have felt a
good deal pained by those reports which you put in circulation.”
“_I_ put reports in circulation!” retorted Mrs. Graham. “What do you
mean? It was yourself, madam, as I can prove by the whole
neighborhood!”
The war of words was growing sharper and more personal, when John Jr.’s
appearance put an end to it, and the two ladies, thinking they might as
well be friends as enemies, introduced another topic of conversation,
soon after which Mrs. Graham took her leave. Pausing in the doorway,
she said, “Would it afford you any gratification to be at Woodlawn when
’Lena arrives?”
Knowing that, under the circumstances, it would look better, Mrs.
Livingstone said “yes,” while Carrie, thinking Durward would be there,
made a similar reply, saying “she was exceedingly anxious to see her
cousin.”
“Very well. I will let you know when I expect her,” said Mrs. Graham,
curtsying herself from the room.
“Spell _Toady_, Cad,” whispered John Jr., and with more than her usual
quickness, Carrie replied, by doing as he desired.
“That’ll do,” said he, as he walked off to the back yard, where he
found the younger portion of the blacks engaged in a rather novel
employment for them.
The news of ’Lena’s good fortune had reached the kitchen, causing much
excitement, for she was a favorite there.
“’Clar for’t,” said Aunt Milly, “we orto have a bonfire. It won’t hurt
nothin’ on the brick pavement.”
Accordingly, as it was now dark, the children were set at work
gathering blocks, chips, sticks, dried twigs, and leaves, and by the
time John Jr. appeared, they had collected quite a pile. Not knowing
how he would like it, they all took to their heels, except Thomas
Jefferson, who, having some of his mother’s spirit, stood his ground,
replying, when asked what they were about, that they were “gwine to
celebrate Miss ’Lena.” Taking in the whole fun at once, John Jr. called
out, “Good! come back here, you scapegraces.”
Scarcely had he uttered these words, when from behind the lye-leach,
the smoke-house and the trees, emerged the little darkies, their eyes
and ivories shining with the expected frolic. Taught by John Jr., they
hurrahed at the top of their voices when the flames burst up, and one
little fellow, not yet able to talk plain, made his bare, shining legs
fly like drumsticks as he shouted, “Huyah for Miss ’Leny Yivers
Gayum——”
“Bellmont, too, say,” whispered John Jr., as he saw Carrie on the back
piazza.
“_Bellmont, too, say_,” yelled the youngster, leaping so high as to
lose his balance.
Rolling over the green-sward like a ball, he landed at the feet of
Carrie, who, spurning him as she would a toad, went back to the parlor,
where for more than an hour she cried from pure vexation.