DIAMOND ISLAND.
Diamond Island, on which Mary Noel had given her picnic, belonged to an
estate which young Fletcher had inherited from his grandfather. Upon it
was a comfortable old house, built of stone and hewn logs, one wing of
which was inhabited by a family of colored servants—Uncle Sam and his
wife Celia—to whom the care of the house, the cultivation of the land,
and the consumption of its products had been left ever since the elder
Fletcher’s death.
An inlet of the river cut this island in two, leaving the house, some
cultivated fields, and a little swamp, full of magnolias, in one end,
and on the other a grove of grand old forest trees, a clearing of rich
turf, and the spring which Mary Noel had converted into a wine-cooler on
the occasion of her picnic.
A rustic bridge of logs connected these two green fragments, under which
the water ran in a swift current, boiling over some hidden stones, and
feeding the roots of innumerable wild grape-vines and shaggy trumpet
flowers that tangled themselves along the banks and around the logs of
the bridge.
Sam had a grand killing-time of one pig and a lean turkey each year.
Beyond all this, the old man sometimes went out fishing, and usually got
to sleep in his boat, while the fish ran away with his hook, sometimes
dragging the pole with it.
As for Celia, she took good heed of the building, aired the furniture
once a fortnight, year in and year out, scolding all the time at things
in general; baked excellent hoe-cakes by the fire, and made her husband
stand around on washing-days, when a pair of tow-trowsers and two or
three clumsily-shaped garments of cotton-cloth fluttered ostentatiously
from a clothes line at the back of the house.
Once or twice in the year the old couple went over to the home
plantation, and got a little news about their young master, which was
about all the service they rendered him, and that was always repaid, at
Christmas time, by a present of gay calico, gorgeous kerchiefs, and some
strong twilled fabric, which Sam claimed for his own particular benefit.
So the time rolled on with the old couple, until one day, just at
nightfall, an elegantly dressed lady came gliding across the log bridge,
and, looking toward the house, smiled on seeing Sam with one hand over
his eyes, watching her approach, and Celia peering over his shoulder
with her thick lips ajar, and her eyes widening as they filled with
slow, half-doubtful recognition.
“Git out ob de way, you blind ole cuss! Doesn’t yer see who it am? Fore
de Lord Miss Alle! didn’t know who it wer, chile! Come in, honey—not
dar, dem is only de quarters. Thar, now, young missus, just give old
Celia a goad look at yer face. Goramighty, how hansome you is! Wat yer
doin’ peakin’ in der door, ole man? Come in, it’s der young missus.”
Sam came into the neat parlor, which Celia had flung open for Mrs.
Forbes, and stood, hat in hand, regarding her with mingled joy and
trouble in his sly old face.
“Young missus, I hope yer hasn’t come to tell ole Sam and Celia dat dey
must leave dis place an go free?”
Before Mrs. Forbes could answer, Celia pushed the old man aside, and
fell square upon her knees in front of the lady.
“Oh, honey, yer own brudder doesn’t mean ter send us off de island,
toting de old bed on our backs?” said she, with pathetic earnestness.
“No, Celia—get up. He hasn’t the least idea of sending you away, poor
souls! That would be cruel; but for a little time you will not be here
quite alone.”
“Is you comin’? Is it you, chile?” cried Celia, lifting herself from the
floor.
“No; but a lady will come and live a while in the old house, whom you
must care for as if it were myself—a lady and her maid.”
“Ough!” groaned Celia. “Miss Alle, when am dey comin’?”
“This evening, I think, Celia.”
“Goramighty! Ole man, g’lang ter de woods, cotch a chicken, an’ pull up
some ob dem young tators in de corn lot. Folks am mighty hungry when dey
come ober here.”
“That is right, Celia. My friend has been on the railroad all day. She
will need your care.”
“Yes, honey.”
“Besides, there is something else. She is not well. Her mother is just
dead.”
“Pore chile!” muttered Celia.
“She comes here for perfect solitude.”
“What am dat, Miss Alle?”
“She wishes to be left alone.”
“Oh!”
“You must tell no one that she is here—not a living soul. Caution Sam
about that. I shall never forgive him if he speaks of her to any one.”
“I’de jus like ter cotch him at it,” answered Celia, clenching a
formidable hand.
“Beyond this, do just as the lady directs; but, if you can help it, let
no one, except myself, come on this side of the bridge so long as my
friend remains here.”
“I’d like ter see ’em try it—dat am all.”
“I will send things over from the plantation. You will know how to
receive them without exciting suspicion.”
“Trus’ dis ole woman ’bout dat.”
“I shall be here often myself. Is the house in perfect order?”
“Ebbery corner ob it.”
“That is right. I must go now. Has Uncle Sam got anything like a boat?”
Celia looked a little confused, but answered that she believed he had.
“Then tell him to look out every day for a handkerchief that I will hang
on that great elm tree which droops over the bank, directly opposite the
island, when I want him. It will save me the annoyance of trusting too
many of our people over yonder.”
Celia nodded.
“Good-night, Celia. I am glad to see you once more. Have everything in
readiness. By-the-way, where is Sam?”
The loud cry of a chicken, which Sam was carrying in from the woods by
its two legs, revealed his whereabouts, and Mrs. Forbes walked forward
to meet him.
“Sam, if you have a boat that will hold two, get into it about sunset,
and row over to the big elm tree. You remember how it leans over the
water. Wait there till some one inquires for you.”
“Yes, Miss Alle. Hyur, ole woman, dar’s yer chicken; tote it to de
house.”
Celia snatched the chicken a little roughly, and wrung its neck then and
there, while Sam walked down to the water with his young mistress.
That night, while Sam sat in his boat waiting for the promised summons,
a voice from under the elm tree called out, timidly:
“Is a man called Sam waiting?”
“Yes, missus—here I is,” answered the darkey, coming out of the shadows.
“Hop in—hop in.”
The next minute, Bertha Canfield and Lydia were on their way to Diamond
Island.