“G’MORNIN’, Marse Hardin.”
“Howdy, Sandy. Where did you come from? I thought you’d gone clear out
of the country, for good.”
“Nor sir, nor sir. You jes’ let a nigger git a taste of dis here spring
water, and he’s charmed, conjured, he kyant stay away if he do go. But
I come back, dis time, to see my young marster--Marse Davy Pool.”
“How is he to-day?”
“He daid. Dat’s what I was sent to tell you. Dey guinter bury him up at
de old place.”
“I am sorry to hear of his death, Sandy. He was the best one of the
boys.”
“Dat’s so, sir; ’tain’t nobody guine to miss him like his mammy do.
She’s told me to ax you for your hoss and buggy. She’s afeared of the
boys’ hosses, dey keep such wild uns. Marse Davy sold his’n, dat was
the onliest one she would ride behind. She said she wanted Marse Hardin
Campbell’s. It was so trusty and gentlelike.”
“I was going to use it after dinner.” Mr. Campbell hesitated.
“Send it on, grandpa. Send it on.” Esther saw the inquiring look her
grandfather turned upon her. “Something will turn up.”
“Suppose it shouldn’t; would you be disappointed?” he asked.
“I never count on being disappointed,” she responded, quickly.
“Ain’t she some kin to Miss Mary Campbell?” The negro’s face lighted as
he asked the question.
“That’s her daughter, Miss Esther Powel.”
“It ’peared to me like I seed de favor in her face. Ev’ybody loved your
mammy, honey. ’Twarn’ nobody that didn’t,” he said, turning to look
again at Esther.
“The horse is in the pasture.” Mr. Campbell turned to the child. “Can’t
you run and show him where the bridle is?” Bareheaded, she bounded
down the steps, and motioned to the old negro to follow. She took the
bridle and swung it over his arm. “Mind the foot log. Uncle Sandy, the
hand rail has been washed away. The pasture is over the creek. There is
Selam now, under the sweet gum tree.” She pointed. “You will find the
harness in the carriage house here.”
She watched him go over the slope to the creek, then stood gazing
about her in childish contemplation. It was nearly noon. The shadow
straightening in the doorway indicated it.
Mr. Campbell looked and saw her. His heart warmed toward her
comeliness; moreover she was sweet of nature and had a ready smile even
for those who had not been kind to her. Suddenly she disappeared in
the direction of the carriage house. She feared that her pony could
not pull the heavy vehicle that alone was left to take her to the
University. It taxed her strength to draw the heavy bar from across
the carriage house door. She sprang backward, as she dropped it upon
the ground; then went in to examine the carriage that had not been
used since she was a baby, almost fifteen years before. The clumsy
conveyance had small iron steps that let down--steps that her mother’s
child feet had pressed in climbing to the seat. The wheels were so
heavy and cumbersome that she shook her head doubtfully. The green
satin lining was in shreds; the worn leather seats covered with tufts
of hair, while here and there a dead leaf or twig was tangled in its
coarse mesh. It had required a pair to draw it in those old days. She
had forgotten that. The tongue was held up in its position above by a
girder in the loft. Esther gave it a strong, hard pull; the tongue fell
forward, and as she skipped out of its path the lumbering old carriage
went rolling down the incline, and clouds of dust, as though indignant
at being disturbed, sullenly rose and fell about her.
Old and dilapidated harness that hung down from the walls swayed slowly
in the general commotion. Esther wiped the dust from her eyes and drew
a long breath, looking defiantly at the result. She looked down. There,
at her feet, lay a bird, fluttering beside its fallen nest. Her face
lost its look of defiance.
“You poor, little thing,” bending down and cuddling it to the softness
of her cheek. “Don’t die, please, don’t die!” she said, in dismay. “It
will break my heart if I have killed you.” With tears streaming down
her face she ran swiftly to the house.
“Grandpa, do something for it,” laying it in his hand. “Can you save
it? It’s a mocking bird, too. I shook it out of the carriage.”
“They have nested there for years,” he said as he drew the wings gently
through his fingers. “They are not broken,” he assured her.
“Are you sure it will live?” She was looking at him with frightened
eyes.
“Live? Yes; and have a nest and young ones of its own next year. It is
only stunned. Leave it in the parlor where it will be safe from the
cats and it will be all right soon.”
A faint rumbling noise broke in upon their voices. They looked up to
listen. It was like the sound of a wagon rolling. “Put it away, quick,
and run to the creek to show them how to cross the ford.” They had kept
close watch over the passers since the winter hauling had cut deep
holes in the bed of the stream. It was a treacherous crossing. Closing
the door upon her charge, Esther ran through the garden, the nearest
way. She sped with the lithe agility of a young fawn, and before the
newcomer was fairly into the stream she was there giving directions.
The mountain stream ran fleet between its low banks, winding in haste
through the valley. Tall sycamores, sentinels in silver armor, stood
beside it on either hand.