Doctor Hissong sat by the fireplace in his office. Brad was blacking a
pair of shoes. "Shawn," said the old doctor, "I'm going up to Old
Meadows this afternoon to hunt quail, and I want you to go along. Go
down and get ready while Brad hitches up the buggy."
The first snow of the season was gently sifting from the November skies
as Doctor Hissong and Shawn drove along the river road. Scattered flocks
of wild-geese and ducks were flying above the cottonwoods and sycamores.
The _honk_, _honk_ of the geese as they circled above the stream, their
white wings flashing in the veiled sunlight, lent a delicious touch to
the winter scene. Shawn was watching the curling smoke from a tall
chimney at the bend of the river. As they drew nearer, he saw the old
house nestling behind the tall pine trees, the white columns of the
broad porch standing out in stately grandeur. Doctor Hissong drove
through the orchard, coming up to the lower entrance to the house. Major
LeCroix came down the yard, his long, silvery hair waving beneath his
broad-brimmed hat, his ruddy countenance beaming a cordial welcome. Just
behind him, his hat in his hand, was Horton, a colored gentleman of the
old school, brought up in the LeCroix service, and staunch in his
devotion to the family. Major LeCroix led the way to the house. The
guineas began calling a chorus of _pot-racs_ and ran fluttering through
the drifting snow. "They are giving us a song of welcome," said Doctor
Hissong. Horton showed his gleaming teeth and said, "No, sah, it's a
song uv sorrow, for my ole woman, Mary, hez got two uv 'em in de yuven,
bakin' fo' yo' suppah."
As Shawn passed the old stone kitchen, he caught the fragrance of the
good things in Aunt Mary's oven, and Aunt Mary, in her white cap and
apron, was bending over the stove.
Major LeCroix and Doctor Hissong were standing on the porch. Shawn
paused for a moment to gaze fondly to where the stream wended its way
among the tall hills. The Major opened the low colonial door, and stood
aside as his guests entered the beautiful old family room. A back-log
blazed cheerfully in the open fireplace.
Over the fireplace was the mantel, with its rich hand-carving of the
French coat of arms. On the walls of the room were family portraits,
some of them brought from the provinces of old France. Doctor Hissong
stood before one portrait, a face sweet in its Madonna-like innocence
and purity. A tear-drop stole down the Major's cheek.
Leading Doctor Hissong over to the window, he pointed to the family
burying-ground, and said, "The dear wife sleeps under that tallest
pine." The snow had covered the mound, but again the Major could see
April days out there, and the heavy bloom of the orchard--the redbird
and the catbird were pouring out symphonies of melody; the silver-winged
pigeons were bending through the golden skies, and again he could hear a
mother's voice calling in happiest tones to her children.
"Horton, call Lallite," said Major LeCroix.
Shawn turned suddenly to see a young girl come into the room. She came
up coyly, greeting Doctor Hissong, and when she came over toward Shawn,
he felt a hot flush coming to his cheek. He had seen this young girl
before, with her father in town, but now as she came before him, with
her merry, flashing eyes and radiant color, he stood with downcast eyes,
and the old desire to run off to the woods came over him again. She gave
him her soft hand as her musical voice said, "I am so glad you came with
the doctor." He stood as one entranced before this girl of such sweet
and simple beauty, and unconsciously, he was led into an easy attitude
and relieved from his painful embarrassment.
Horton came into the room, bearing a tray and glasses. He turned to the
Major and asked, "De white er de red, Major?"
"Both, Horton."
Horton took the keys which hung at the end of the mantel. Returning, he
placed two bottles of grape wine on the tray. He filled the glasses, but
the Major observed that Shawn did not take his glass.
"Do you want the wine, boy?"
"No, sir, I thank you," said Shawn, hesitatingly.
"It's all right, Major," said Doctor Hissong, "Mrs. Alden is looking
after him, you know."
Raising his glass, Major LeCroix said, "Welcome to Old Meadows, and a
health to pleasant memories. You find things sadly changed--my dear
companion gone; my boy a soldier in a distant land, Louise long married
and never returning until she comes with the children to spend the
summer--but I have Lallite with her dear, happy heart, and I have Mary
and Horton."
The winter day was fast drawing to its close. Horton again appearing,
quietly said: "Supper is sarved."
The old dining-room with its mahogany side-board and dining-table, the
heavy brass candle-sticks, the tall clock in the corner, were all
familiar objects, and the presence of Aunt Mary and Horton, standing
behind the chairs, was a picture of a happier time, with the background
of many glad faces to be filled only with memory.
Shawn sat beside Lallite at the table, and deep down in his heart, he
felt that it was good to be there, and that life was opening to
something dearer than the general happenings of his narrow sphere had
ever given hope for.
With bowed head the Major asked the table blessing. Aunt Mary brought in
the delicious baked apples and poured over them the rich cream. The
Major was carving the guineas. "Lallite, help Shawn to one of those
corn-pones; I'll venture that you'll never get them any better in town.
The last time I was in the city, they brought me something they said was
cornbread, but it was mixed up with molasses, baking-powder and other
things. There are different kinds of cornbread, as you know. There is a
bread called egg-bread, made with meal, buttermilk, lard, soda and eggs,
and there is a mush-bread, made by scalding the meal--some call it
spoon-bread; but the only corn-bread is the pone, and the only way to
make them is to get white flint corn, have it ground at a watermill, if
you can, where they do not bolt the life out of it, scald your meal with
hot water, adding salt, then drain off the water thoroughly and mix your
meal with good, rich, sweet milk, then shove 'em in a hot oven, and
you'll have cornbread that is cornbread. Take one and butter it while it
is hot--don't cut it, break it. There you are. Let me help you to this
guinea breast. Did you ever know anyone who could get the crisp turn
that Mary gets on them?"
"Never, sir," said Doctor Hissong, "I never knew but one woman who could
come anyways near Mary's cooking, and that was Joel Hobson's wife, Lucy.
They used to say that her cooking was her only redeeming feature, for
she had a temper like a wildcat, and vented it upon poor Joel and made
life so miserable for him that he finally took to drink. One night, so
the boys tell it, Joel got too much and was lying out under the big elm
tree, afraid to go home. One of the boys rigged himself out in a white
sheet and came up to Joel, tapping him on the shoulder. 'Who are you?'
said Joel. 'I am the devil,' answered the deep voice. 'Come right over
and give me your hand; we're kinfolks. I married your sister.'
"I suppose you remember Lucy's mother, Major? Her name was Sahra Turner;
she was a good woman but powerful curious. She had married off all of
her girls but Mary Ellen, and Tip Jennings was paying court to her. It
seems that Sahra had kept close track of the courtship and the headway
of all her girls, and one night when Tip was in the parlor with Mary
Ellen, Sahra had a small kitchen table set by the parlor door and was
standing on it, looking over the transom to see how Tip was coming on.
Tip had gotten down on his knees and was making his declaration to Mary
Ellen. They were somewhat out of Sahra's range of vision. The crucial
moment had come, and Sahra leaned over to see the climax, but she leaned
too far, and one of the table-legs broke. Well, they got her up with two
ribs broke and laid up in bed for a long spell. Tip never came back, and
Mary Ellen married some fellow, who took her out to Kansas."
They sat long at the table, the Major rising again into the spirit of
old days, Shawn laughing at the quaint jokes and stories. Lallite's
sweet laughter rang out, bringing the glow into the Major's eyes. She
had heard the stories so often, but they never grew dull with the years,
and they seemed to mellow as beautifully as did the sunset of the
Major's life.
Shawn listened again as he sat by the blazing fire to tales of the
war--of charges, victories and defeats. Above the piano hung the Major's
sword, presented to him by his soldiers after the battle of Stone River.
"Major," said Doctor Hissong, "I want to hear some music before we
retire."
"What do you say, Lally?" said the Major.
Lallite went to the piano and gently touched the yellow keys. Major
LeCroix drew forth his beloved clarionet. As he took the instrument from
its case, he said, "I'm getting rusty nowadays, but Lally keeps me from
getting entirely out of tune. We'll try 'Sounds From Home'."
Lallite played the introduction and the Major joined in, the clarionet
breathing forth a deep rich melody. The Major seemed to throw his very
soul into the music, and Lallite followed him with a tender
accompaniment. The blaze from the fireplace flickered and threw changing
shadows over the old room. The Major and his daughter played on. They
were living again in the past, and the strains were bringing memories
sacred and sweet. Shawn sat as one transported to a heavenly sphere, his
eyes fixed on the delicately graceful figure swaying to and fro under
the changing cadences of the melody. It was the sweetest music that had
ever floated into the portals of Shawn's heart, awakening a thrill of
tenderness and love.
The tall clock in the dining-hall pealed forth the hour of ten. Horton
came with a lighted candle, and Shawn followed him to the south room
overlooking the river. A cozy fire burned in the grate, the moon
swinging above the stream touched the hills and valley to silvery
softness. He stood near the window and gazed long upon the water, the
stream running through every association of his life. On the table was a
daguerrotype; it was Lallite's face, and the eyes seemed smiling just
for him.
Doctor Hissong and Major LeCroix sat long into the night. "Major," said
the old doctor, "I'm going to make the race for the Legislature again.
John Freeman wants it, but I want to represent the county just once
more. Can you hold this end of the county for me?"
"I think I can," said the Major.
"Then I'll announce. Freeman is a bitter man to go against, but I'm not
afraid to try him out. I'm getting worn out in the practice of medicine,
and will probably retire whether elected or not. I have my affairs in
good shape; a bachelor doesn't require much. I want to put Shawn into
the practice some day, God bless him." A tear-drop glistened on the old
doctor's cheek, and Major LeCroix knew the secret of this emotion.