II.

WHILE the commotion in the settlement and on the Kendrick Place was at

its height, an incident occurred that had a tendency to relieve Kitty

Kendrick's mind. Shortly after the funeral the spring rains had set in,

and for several days great floods came down from the skies. One evening

shortly after dark, Kitty Kendrick stepped out upon the veranda, in an

aimless sort of way, to look at the clouds. The rain had ceased, but

the warm earth was reeking with moisture. The trees and the ground were

smoking with fog, and great banks of vapour were whirling across the

sky from the south-west. Kitty sighed. After a while George Denham

would go rattling by in his buggy from his law office in Rockyille to

his plantation, and it was too dark to catch a glimpse of him. At any

rate, she would do the best she could. She would put the curtains of

the sitting-room back, so the light could shine out, and perhaps George

would stop to warm his hands and say a word to her mother. Kitty turned

to go in when she heard her name called--

"Miss Kitty!"

"Well, what is it?" Kitty was startled a little in spite of herself.

"Please, ma'am, don't be skeer'd."

"Why should I be frightened? What do you want?"

"Miss Kitty, I des come by fer ter tell you dat Murder Creek done come

way out er its banks, en ef Mars. George Denham come by w'en he gwine

on home, I wish you please, ma'am, be so good ez ter tell 'im dat dey

ain't no fordin'-place fer ter be foun' dar dis night."

The voice was that of a negro, and there was something in the tone of

it that arrested Kitty Kendrick's attention.

"Who sent you?" she asked.

"Nobody ain't sont me; I des come by myse'f. I laid off fer ter tell

Mars. George, but I year talk he mighty headstrong, en I speck he des

laugh at me."

"Are you one of our hands?"

"No, 'm; I don't b'long on de Kendrick Place."

"Come out of the shadow there where I can see you."

"I mos' fear'd, Miss Kitty."

"What is your name?"

"Dey calls me Blue Dave, ma'am."

The tone of the voice was something more than humble. There was an

appeal in it for mercy. Kitty Kendrick recognised this; but in spite of

it she could scarcely resist an impulse to rush into the house, lock

the door, and take steps to rouse the whole plantation. By a great

effort she did resist it, and the negro went on:--

"Please, ma'am, don't be skeer'd er me, Miss Kitty. De Lord years me

w'en I say it, dey ain't a ha'r er yo' head dat I'd hurt, dat dey

ain't. I ain't bad like dey make out I is, Miss Kitty. Dey tells some

mighty big tales, but dey makes um up dey se'f. Manys en manys de time

is I seed you w'en you gwine atter sweet-gum en w'en you huntin'

flowers, en I allers say ter myse'f, I did, 'Nobody better not pester

Miss Kitty w'iles Blue Dave anywhars 'roun'.' Miss Kitty, I 'clar' 'fo'

de Lord I ain't no bad nigger," Blue Dave continued in a tone of the

most emphatic entreaty. "You des ax yo' little br'er. Little Mars.

Felix, he knows I ain't no bad nigger."

"Why don't you go home, instead of hiding out in the woods?" said

Kitty, striving to speak in a properly indignant tone.

"Bless yo' soul, Miss Kitty, hit ain't no home fer me," said Blue Dave,

sadly. "Hit mought be a home fer some niggers, but hit ain't no home

fer me. I year somebody comin'. Good-bye, Miss Kitty; don't fergit

'bout Mars. George."

As noiselessly as the wind that faintly stirs the grass, Blue Dave

glided away in the darkness, leaving Kitty Kendrick standing upon the

veranda half frightened and wholly puzzled. Her little brother Felix

came out to see where she had gone. Felix was eight years old, and had

views of his own.

"Sister Kit, what are you doing? Watching for Mr. George to go by?"

"Don't speak to me, you naughty boy!" exclaimed Kitty. "You've

disgraced us all. You knew Blue Dave was hiding on top of the house all

the while. What would be done with us if people found out we had been

harbouring a runaway negro?" Kitty pretended to be terribly shocked.

Felix gave a long whistle, indicative of astonishment.

"You are awful smart," he said. "How did you find that out? Yes, I did

know it," he went on, desperately, "and I don't care if I did. If you

tell anybody, I'll never run up the road to see if Mr. George is coming

as long as I live; I won't never do anything for you."

Kitty's inference was based on what Blue Dave had said; but it filled

her with dismay to find it true. She caught the child by the shoulder

and gave him a little shake. "Brother Felix, how dare you do such a

thing? If mother knew of it, it would break her heart."

"Well, go and tell her and break her heart," said the boy, sullenly.

"It wasn't my fault that Blue Dave was up there. I didn't tote him up,

I reckon."

"Oh, how could you do such a thing?" reiterated Kitty, putting her

handkerchief to her eyes, as if by this means to expiate her brother's

folly.

"Well," said the child, still speaking sullenly, "I heard something

moving on top of the house one day when I was in the garret, and I kept

on hearing it until I opened the window and went out on the roof. Then,

when I got out there, I saw a great big nigger man."

"Weren't you frightened?" exclaimed Kitty, catching her breath. "What

did you say?"

"I said 'Hello!' and then he jumped like he was shot. I asked him his

name, and he said he was named Blue Dave, and he begged me so hard I

promised not to tell he was up there. And then, after that, he used to

come in the garret and tell me no end of tales, and I've got a trunk

full of chestnuts that he brought me. He 'a the best nigger man I ever

saw, less'n it's old Uncle Manuel, and he'll be as good as Uncle Manuel

when he gets that old, 'cause Uncle Manuel said so. And I know it ain't

my fault; and if you want to tell mother you can come and tell her

right now, and then you won't never be my sister any more, never,

never!"

"I think you have acted shamefully," said Kitty. "Suppose he had come

in the garret, and made his way down-stairs, and murdered us all while

we were asleep."

"Well," said Felix, "he could have come any time. I wouldn't be afraid

to go out in the woods and stay with Blue Dave this very night, and if

I had my way he wouldn't be running from old Bill Brand and his dogs.

When I get a man I'm going to save up money and buy Blue Dave: I

thought at first I wanted a pony, but I wouldn't have a pony now."

While they were talking, Kitty heard the rattle of buggy wheels. The

sound came nearer and nearer. Whoever was driving was singing, to pass

the time away, and the quick ear of Kitty recognised the voice of

George Denham. He went dashing by; but he must have seen the girl

standing on the veranda, for he cried out, "Good night, Miss Kitty!"

and then caught up the burden of his song again as he went whirling

down the road. Kitty wrung her hands. She went in to her mother with

tears in her eyes.

"O mother! George has gone by without stopping. What shall we do?"

Mrs. Kendrick was a very practical woman. Knowing nothing of the

freshet in Murder Creek, she was amazed as well as amused at Kitty's

tragic attitude.

"Well, it's most too soon for George to begin to take his meals here, I

reckon," she said dryly. "You'd better make you a cup of ginger-tea and

go to bed."

"But, mother, there's a freshet in Murder Creek. Oh, why didn't he

stop?"

Mrs. Kendrick was kneeling on the floor cutting out clothes for the

plough-hands,--"slaving for her niggers," as she called it. She paused

in her work and looked at Kitty, as if to see whether she had heard her

aright.

"Well, upon my word!" she exclaimed, after critically surveying her

daughter, "I don't see how girls can be so weak-minded. Many a man as

good as George Denham has crossed Murder Creek in a freshet. I don't

see but what he's big enough and ugly enough to take care of himself."

"Oh," exclaimed Kitty, going from window to window, and vainly

endeavouring to peer out into the darkness, "why didn't he stop?"

"Well," said Mrs. Kendrick, resuming the use of her shears, "if you'll

try to worry along and stand it this time, I'll send out and have a

fence built across the big road, and get the niggers to light a

bonfire; and we'll stop him the next time he comes along. I'll have to

do my duty by my own children, I reckon. But don't be alarmed," she

continued, perceiving that Kitty's distress was genuine. "You may have

to fly around here and get George some supper, after all. I've been

waiting on niggers all day; and even if I hadn't, I'm too old and

fagged out to be rushing in amongst the pots and kettles to please

George Denham."

George Denham rattled down the road, singing of "Barbara Allen," but

thinking of Kitty Kendrick. Suddenly his horse shied, and then he heard

somebody call him.

"Mars. George! Is dat you, Mars. George?"

"Unless you want to make a ghost of me by frightening my horse,"

exclaimed the young man, checking the animal with some difficulty.

"What do you want?"

"Mars. George, is you see Miss Kitty w'en you come by des now?"

"No, I didn't stop. Is anything the matter?"

"No, sir, nothin' in 'tickler ain't de matter, 'ceppin' dat Miss Kitty

had sump'n' ter tell you."

"Are you one of the Kendrick negroes?"

"No, sir; I don't b'long dar."

"Who are you?"

"I 'clar' ter goodness, I skeer'd ter tell you, Mars. George; kaze you

mought fly up en git mad."

The young man laughed with such genuine heartiness that it did the

negro good to hear it.

"Well, I know who you are," he said; "you are Blue Dave, and you've

come to tell me that you want me to carry you to jail, where Bill Brand

can get his hands on you."

The negro was thunderstruck. "To' de Lord, Mars. George! how you know

who I is?"

"Why, I know by your looks. You've got horns and a club foot. That's

the way the Old Boy fixes himself."

"Now, Mars. George," said the negro in a grieved tone, "ef you could

see me good you wouldn't set dar en say I'm a bad-lookin' nigger."

"Are you really Blue Dave?" the young man asked, dropping his bantering

tone and speaking seriously.

"Yasser, Mars. George; I'm dat ve'y nigger."

"What do you want with me?"

"I des wanter tell you, Mars. George, dat dey's a freshet come fum

'bove, en Murder Creek is 'way out'n hits banks. You can't cross dar

wid no hoss en buggy dis night."

The young man reflected a moment. He was more interested in the

attitude of the negro than he was in the extent of the freshet or the

danger of an attempt to cross the creek.

"I've a knack of crossing Murder Creek in a freshet," he said. "But why

should you want to keep me out of it?"

"Well, sir, fer one thing," said Blue Dave, shifting about on his feet

uneasily, "you look so much like my young marster w'at died in

Perginny. En den dat day w'en de speckerlater put me up on de block,

you 'uz settin' dar straddle er yo' pony, en you 'lowed dat he oughter

be 'shame er hisse'f fer ter chain me up dat a-way."

"Oh, I remember. I made quite a fool of myself that day."

"Yasser; en den w'en de man say sump'n' sassy back, little ez you wuz,

you spurred de pony at 'im en tole 'im you'd slap 'im in de jaw. He 'uz

de skeer'dest w'ite man I ever see. I say ter myse'f den dat I hope de

day'd come w'en dat little boy'd grow up en buy me; en dat make I say

w'at I does. I want you to keep out 'n dat creek dis night, en den I

want you ter buy me. Please, sir, buy me, Mars. George; I make you de

bes' nigger you ever had."

"Why, great Jerusalem! you wouldn't be on my place a week before you'd

get your feelings hurt and rush off to the woods, and I'd never see you

any more."

"Des try me, Mars. George! des try me. I'll work my arms off ter de

elbows, en den I'll work wid de stumps. Des try me, Mars. George!"

"I expect you would be a right good hand if you hadn't been free so

long. Go home and let me see how you can work for your master, and then

maybe I'll think about buying you."

"Eh-eh, Mars. George! I better go jump in a burnin' bresh-pile. Ain't

you gwine ter tu'n back, Mars. George?"

"Not to-night. Go home and behave yourself."

With that George Denham clucked to his restive horse, and went

clattering down the road in the direction of Murder Creek, which

crossed the highway a mile further on. Blue Dave stood still a moment,

scratching his head and looking after the buggy.

"Is anybody ever see de beat er dat?" he exclaimed. "Ef Mars. George

gits in dat creek, dey's got ter be a merakel come 'bout ef he gits

out." He stood in the road a moment longer, still scratching his head

as if puzzled. Then he addressed himself indignantly. "Looky yer,

nigger, w'at you stan'in' yer fer? Whar yo' manners, whar yo'

perliteness?"

Thus, half--humorously, half--seriously, talking to himself, Blue Dave

went trotting along in the direction taken by George Denham. He moved

without apparent exertion, but with amazing swiftness. But the young

man in the buggy had also moved swiftly; and, go as fast as he might,

Blue Dave could not hope to overtake him before he reached the creek.

For George Denham was impatient to get home,--as impatient as his

horse, which did not need even the lightest touch of the whip to urge

it forward. He paid no attention to the familiar road. He was thinking

of pretty Kitty Kendrick, and of the day, not very far in the future,

he hoped, when, in going home, he should be driving towards her instead

of away from her. He paid no attention to the fact that, as he neared

the creek, his horse subsided from a swinging trot to a mincing gait

that betrayed indecision; nor did it strike him as anything unusual

that the horse should begin to splash water with his feet long before

he had reached the banks of the creek; no doubt it was a pool left

standing in the road after the heavy rains. But the pool steadily grew

deeper; and while George Denham was picturing Kitty Kendrick sitting on

one side of his fireplace and his old mother on the other,--his old

mother, with her proud face and her stately ways,--his horse stopped

and looked around. Young Denham slapped the animal with the reins,

without taking note of his surroundings. Thus reassured, the horse went

on; but the water grew deeper and deeper, and presently the creature

stopped again. This time it smelt of the water and emitted the low,

deeply-drawn snort by which horses betray their uneasiness; and when

George Denham would have urged it forward, it struck the water

impatiently with its forefoot. Aroused by this, the young man looked

around; but there was nothing to warn him of his danger. The fence that

would otherwise have been a landmark was gone. There was no loud and

angry roaring of the floods. Behind him the shifting clouds, the

shining stars, and the blue patches of sky mirrored themselves duskily

and vaguely in the slow creeping waters; before him the shadows of the

trees that clustered somewhere near the banks of the creek were so deep

and heavy that they seemed to merge the dark waters of the flood into

the gloom of the night. When the horse was quiet, peering ahead, with

its sharp little ears pointed forward, there was no sound save the

vague sighing of the wind through the tops of the scrub pines and the

gentle ripple of the waters.

As George Denham urged his horse forward, confident of his familiarity

with the surroundings, Blue Dave ran up on the little ridge to the left

through which the road had been cut or worn.

"Mars. George!" he shouted, "don't you see wharbouts you is? Wait,

Mars. George! Pull dat hoss up!"

But Blue Dave was too late. As he spoke, the horse and buggy plunged

into the flood, and for a moment they were lost to view. Then the

struggling animal seemed to strike rising ground; but the buggy was

caught in the resistless current, and, with George Denham clinging to

it, it dragged the horse down, and the swirling waters seemed to sweep

over and beyond them. Blue Dave lost not a moment. Flinging himself

into the flood from the vantage-ground on which he stood, a few strokes

of his sinewy arms carried him to where he saw George Denham disappear.

That young man was an expert swimmer; and though the sudden immersion

had taken him at a disadvantage, he would have made his way out with

little difficulty but for the fact that a heavy piece of driftwood had

been hurled against his head. Stunned, but still conscious, he was

making an ineffectual attempt to reach the shore, when he was caught by

Blue Dave and borne safely back to land. The horse, in its struggles,

had succeeded in tearing itself loose from the buggy, and they heard it

crawl up the bank on the other side and shake itself. Blue Dave carried

George Denham out of the water as one would carry a child. When he had

set the young man down in a comparatively dry place, he exclaimed with

a grin--

"Dar now, Mars. George! w'at I tell you? Little mo' en de tarrypins

would 'a' bin a-nibblin' atter you."

George Denham was dazed as well as weak. He put his hand to his head

and tried to laugh.

"You were just in time, old fellow," he said.

Then he got on his feet, and tried to walk, but he would have sunk down

again but for Blue Dave's arm.

"Why, I'm as weak as a stray cat," he exclaimed, feebly. "Let me lie

down here a moment."

"Dat I won't, Mars. George! dat I won't! I tuck 'n' brung you out, en

now I'm a-gwineter take 'n' ca'er you back dar whar Miss Kitty

waitin'."

"Well, you'll have to wait until I can walk."

"No, sir; I'll des squat down, en you kin crawl up on my back des like

you useter play hoss."

"Why, you can't carry me, old fellow; I'm too heavy for that."

"Shoo! don't you b'leeve de half er dat, Mars. George. I toted bigger

turns dan w'at you is long 'fo' I had de strenk w'at I got now. Grab me

'roun' de neck, Mars. George; git up little higher. Now, den, don't you

be fear'd er fallin'."

Blue Dave rose from his stooping posture, steadied himself a moment,

and then moved on with his living burden. He moved slowly and

cautiously at first, but gradually increased his pace to a swinging

walk that carried him forward with surprising swiftness.

To George Denham it all seemed like a dream. He suffered no pain, and

it was with a sort of queer elation of mind that he felt the huge

muscles of the negro swell and subside under him with the regularity of

machinery, and knew that every movement carried him toward Kitty

Kendrick and rest. He was strangely tired, but not otherwise

uncomfortable. He felt abundantly grateful to this poor runaway negro,

and thought that if he could overcome his mother's prejudices (she had

a horror of runaway negroes) he would buy Blue Dave and make him

comfortable. Thus they swung along until the negro's swift stride

brought them to Mrs. Kendrick's gate. There Blue Dave deposited George

Denham, and exclaimed with a laugh as he leaned against the fence--

"You'er right smart chunk er meat, Mars. George, ez sho ez de worl'!"

George Denham also leaned against the fence, but he didn't laugh. He

was thinking of what seemed to him a very serious matter.

"Mother will be frightened to death when that horse gets home," he

said.

"You go in dar en get worn, Mars. George," said Blue Dave. "I'm gwine

'roun' by de High Bridge en tell um whar you is."

"Why, you'll break yourself down," said George Deuham.

"Ah, Lord, Mars. George!" said the negro, laughing, "time you bin in de

woods long ez I is de four mile 'twix' yer en yo' house'll look mighty

short. Go in dar, Mars. George, 'fo' you git col'!"

Shortly after this, George Denham was in bed and fast asleep. He had

been met at the door by Kitty Kendrick, in whose telltale face the

blushes of that heartiest of all welcomes had chased away the pallor of

dread and anxiety. Mrs. Kendrick was less sympathetic in word than in

deed. She had known George Denham since he was a little boy in short

clothes; and while she approved of him, and had a sort of motherly

affection for him, she was disposed to be critical, as are most women

who have the knack of management.

"And so you've come back dripping, have you? Well, you ain't the first

head-strong, high-strung chap that's found out water is wet when the

creek blots out the big road, I reckon. I'm no duck myself. When I see

water, I'm like the old cat in the corner; I always feel like shaking

my foot. Kitty, call Bob and tell him to make a fire in the big room.

He's asleep, I reckon, and you'll have to holler. Set a nigger down and

he's snoring directly. You look pale," Mrs. Kendrick continued, turning

to George. "You must have gone in over your ears. I should think a

drenching like that would take all the conceit out of a man."

"Well, it has taken it all out of me, ma'am," said George, laughing.

Then the young man told Mrs. Kendrick of his misadventure, and of the

part Blue Dave had borne in it.

"He's the nigger that roosted on top of my house," said Mrs. Felix,

bustling around and putting a kettle of water on the fire. "Well, it's

a roundabout way to pay for his lodging, but it's the best he could do,

I reckon. Now, don't you worry yourself, George; in ten minutes you'll

be snug in bed, and then you'll drink a cup of composition tea, and

to-morrow morning you'll have forgotten all about trying to make a spring

branch out of Murder Creek."

As the successful mistress of a household, Mrs. Kendrick knew precisely

what was necessary to be done. There was no hitch in her system, no

delay in her methods, and no disputing her remedies. George Denham was

ordered to bed as if he had been a child; and though the "composition"

tea was hot in the month and bitter to the palate, it was useless to

protest against it. As a consequence of all this, the young man was

soon in the land of dreams.

When everything was quiet, Kitty prepared a very substantial lunch.

Then, calling her little brother Felix, she went across the yard to the

quarters, and stopped at Uncle Manuel's cabin. The door was ajar, and

Kitty could see the venerable old negro nodding before the flickering

embers. She went in and called his name--

"Uncle Manuel!"

"Eh! Who dat?" Then, looking around and perceiving Kitty, the old

negro's weather-beaten face shone with a broad smile of surprise and

welcome. "Why, honey! Why, little Mistiss! How come dis? You makes de

ole nigger feel proud; dat you does. I fear'd ter ax you ter set down,

honey, de cheer so rickety."

"Uncle Manuel," said Kitty, "do you know Blue Dave?"

Uncle Manuel was old, and wise, and cunning. He hesitated a moment

before replying, and even then his caution would not allow him to

commit himself.

"Blue Dave, he's dat ar runaway nigger, ain't he, honey? I done year

talk un 'im lots er times."

"Well," said Kitty, placing her basket upon Uncle Manuel's tool-chest,

"here is something for Blue Dave to eat. If you don't see him yourself,

perhaps you can send it to him by some one."

Uncle Manuel picked up the basket, weighed it in his hand, and then

placed it on the chest again. Then he looked curiously at Kitty, and

said--

"Honey, how come you gwine do dis? Ain't you year tell hit's ag'in de

law fer ter feed a runaway nigger?"

Kitty blushed as she thought of George Denham. "I send Blue Dave the

victuals because I choose to, Uncle Manuel," she said. "The law has

nothing to do with that little basket."

She started to go, but Uncle Manuel raised both hands heavenwards.

"Wait, little Mistiss," he cried, the tears running down his furrowed

face; "des wait, little Mistiss. 'Twou't hurt you, honey. De ole nigger

wuz des gwine ter git down ter his pra'rs 'fo' you come in. Dey ain't

no riper time dan dis."

Uncle Manuel's voice was husky with suppressed emotion. With his hands

still stretched toward the skies, and the tears still running down his

face, he fell upon his knees and exclaimed--

"Saviour en Marster er de worl'! draw nigh dis night en look down into

dis ole nigger's heart; lissen ter de humblest er de humble. Blessed

Marster! some run wild eh some go stray, some go hether en some go

yan'; but all un um mus' go befo' dy mercy-seat in de een'. Some'll

fetch big works, en some'll fetch great deeds, but po' ole Manuel won't

fetch nothiu' but one weak, sinful heart. Dear, blessed Marster! look

in dat heart en see w'at in dar. De sin dat's dar, Lord, blot it out

wid dy wounded han'. Dear Marster, bless my little Mistiss. Her comin's

en her gwines is des like one er dy angels er mercy; she scatters bread

en meat 'mongs' dem w'at's lonesome in der ways, en dem w'at runs up en

down in de middle er big tribalation. Saviour! Marster! look down 'pon

my little Mistiss; gedder her 'nead dy hev'mly wings. Ef trouble mus'

come, let it come 'pon me. I'm ole, but I'm tough; I'm ole, but I got

de strenk. Lord! let de troubles en de trials come 'pon de ole nigger

w'at kin stan' um, en save my little Mistiss fum sheddin' one tear. En

den, at de las' fetch us all home ter hev'm, whar dey's res' fer de

w'ary. Amen."

Never in her life before had Kitty felt so thrilling a sense of

nearness to her Creator as when Uncle Manuel was offering up his simple

prayer; and she went out of the humble cabin weeping gently.