"Tell me about it," I asked.
It was a short story. The Colonel had gone to war in '61 and his
servant had gone with him. In '62 the negro had brought his Master
back blind. Years later he had died, and was buried on the knoll, and
a cypress was planted at the head of the grave. Now he was forgotten
by all except the whitened slave. The land had been sold and a school
house built on it. Today was the first day of school. The old man,
afraid that the grave would be desecrated by the cheap white trash, had
dug four holes, put in four posts, wired them and was now sitting guard
till school was out and the children gone.
"The Colonel shure wouldn't like it. Gwine to bother him riding."
"Does he ride?" I asked.
"Bound to. That air man was almost borned in saddle. He rid to the war
and he rid back, blind tho he war, and he rides ever since. He done
told me, 'Sam, I am bound to ride till Miss Belle Flowers marries me.'
Corse, he done gone to Heaven years ago, but every night he rides on
his white mare, and I done kiver me head with the blanket when Ise hear
her hoofs go pounding up and down the road."
"He was going to marry Miss Belle Flowers?" I asked.
It appeared so. They were engaged when he rode away and when he came
back blind, she was married to another. Every night he had the white
mare saddled and would gallop up and down the road in front of her
house. He and the mare died the same day, and according to his will,
the Colonel and the Colonel's horse were buried in the same grave.
School was dismissed. The children piled into the old Ford, into the
old buggies, on top of the saddle-horses, one, two and even three to
the horse. The school teachers, young and old, seven of them, left the
building. It was time for my examination of Miss Belle Flowers.