THE four-mile run to the Denham Plantation was fun for Blue Dave. He
was wet and cold, and the exercise acted as a lively invigorant. Once,
as he sped along, he was challenged by the patrol; but he disappeared
like a shadow, and came into the road again a mile away, singing to
himself--
Run, nigger, run! patter-roller ketch you;
Run, nigger, run! hit's almos' day!
He was well acquainted with the surroundings at the Denham Plantation,
having been fed many a time by the well-cared-for negroes; and he had
no hesitation in approaching the premises. The clouds had whirled
themselves away, and the stars told him it was ten o'clock. There was a
light in the sitting-room, and Blue Dave judged it best to go to the
back door. He rapped gently, and then a little louder. Ordinarily the
door would have been opened by the trim black housemaid; but to-night
it was opened by George Denham's mother, a prim old lady of whom
everybody stood greatly in awe without precisely knowing why. She
looked out, and saw the gigantic negro looming up on the doorsteps.
"Do you bring news of my son?" she asked. The voice was low, but
penetrating; and the calm, even tones told the story of a will too
strong to tolerate opposition, or even contradiction.
Blue Dave hesitated out of sheer embarrassment at finding such cool
serenity where he had probably expected to find grief or some such
excitement.
"Did you hear me speak?" the prim old lady asked, before the negro had
time to gather his wits. "Do you bring me news of my son?"
"Yessum," said Blue Dave, scratching his head; "dat w'at I come fer.
Mars. George gwine ter stay at de Kendrick Place ter-night. I speck he
in bed by dis time," he added, reassuringly.
"His horse has come home without buggy or harness. Is my son hurt?
Don't be afraid to tell me the truth. What has happened to him?"
How could the poor negro--how could anybody--know what a whirlwind of
yearning affection, dread, and anxiety was raging behind these cool,
level tones?
"Mistiss, I tell you de trufe: Mars. George is sorter hurted, but he
ain't hurted much. I met 'im in de road, en I tuck 'n' tole 'im dey wuz
a freshet in Murder Creek; but he des laugh at me, en he driv' in des
like dey wa'n't no water dar; en den w'en he make his disappearance, I
tuck 'n' splunge in atter 'im, en none too soon, n'er, kaze he got
strucken on de head wid a log, an w'en I fotch 'im out, he 'uz all
dazzle up like. Yit he ain't hurted much, Mistiss."
"What is your name?" the prim old lady asked.
"Blue Dave, ma'am."
"The runaway?"
The negro hesitated, looked around, and then hung down his head. He
knew the calm, fearless eyes of this gentlewoman were upon him; he felt
the influence of her firm tones. She repeated her question--
"Are you Blue Dave, the runaway?"
"Yessum."
The answer seemed to satisfy the lady. She turned and called Eliza, the
housemaid.
"Eliza, your master's supper is in the dining-room by the fire. Here
are the keys. Take it into the kitchen." Then she turned to Blue Dave.
"David," she said, "go into the kitchen and eat your supper."
Then Eliza was sent after Ellick, the negro foreman; and Ellick was not
long in finding Blue Dave a suit of linsey-woolsey clothes, a little
warmer and a little drier than those the runaway was in the habit of
wearing. Then the big greys were put to the Denham carriage, shawls and
blankets were thrown in, and Blue Dave was called.
"Have you had your supper, David?" said Mrs. Denham, looking grimmer
than ever as she stood on her veranda arrayed in bonnet and wraps.
"Thanky, Mistiss! thanky, ma'am. I ain't had no meal's vittles like
dat, not gence I lef Ferginny."
"Can you drive a carriage, David?" the old lady asked.
"Dat I kin, Mistiss." Whereupon he seized the reins and let down the
carriage steps. Mrs. Denham and her maid got in; but when everything
was ready, Blue Dave hesitated.
"Mistiss," he said, rather sheepishly, "w'en I come 'long des now, de
patter-rollers holler'd atter me."
"No matter, David," the grim old lady replied; "your own master
wouldn't order you off of my carriage."
"Keep yo' eye on dat off boss!" exclaimed Ellick, as the carriage moved
off.
"Hush, honey," Blue Dave cried, as exultantly as a child; "'fo' dey
gits ter de big gate, I'll know deze yer bosses better dan ef dey wuz
my br'er."
After that, nothing more was said. The road had been made firm and
smooth by the heavy beating rain, and the carriage swung along easily
and rapidly. The negro housemaid fell back against the cushions, and
was soon sound asleep; but Mrs. Denham sat bolt upright. Hers was an
uncompromising nature, it had been said, and certainly it seemed so;
but as the carriage rolled along, there grew before her mind's eye the
vague, dim outlines of a vision,--a vision of a human creature hiding
in the dark swamps, fleeing through the deep woods, and creeping
swiftly through the pine thickets. It was a pathetic figure, this
fleeing human creature, whether chased by dogs and men or pursued only
by the terrors that hide themselves behind the vast shadows of the
night; and the figure grew more pathetic when, as it seemed, it sprang
out of the very elements themselves to snatch her son from the floods.
The old lady sighed and pressed her thin lips together. She had made up
her mind.
Presently the carriage drew up at the Kendrick Place; and in a little
while, after effusive greetings all around, Mrs. Denham was sitting at
Mrs. Kendrick's hearth listening to the story of her son's rescue. She
wanted to go in and see George at once, but Mrs. Kendrick would consent
only on condition that he was not to be aroused.
"It is foolish to say it," said the old lady, smiling at Kitty as she
came out of the room in which her son was sleeping; "but my son seems
to look to-night just as he did when a baby."
Kitty smiled such a responsive smile, and looked so young and
beautiful, that the proud old lady stooped and kissed her.
"I think I shall love you, my dear."
"I reckon I'll have to get even with you," said Mrs. Kendrick, who had
a knack of hiding her own emotion, "by telling George that I've fallen
in love with him."
This gave a light and half-humorous turn to affairs, and in a moment
Mrs. Denham was as prim and as uncompromising in appearance as ever.
"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Kendrick, after she and Kitty had retired for
the night, "the day's worth living if only to find out that Rebecca
Denham has got a heart in her insides. I believe actually she'd 'a'
cried for a little."
"She did cry, mother," said Kitty, solemnly. "There were tears in her
eyes when she leaned over me."
"Well, well, well!" said Mrs. Kendrick, "she always put me in mind of a
ghost that can't be laid on account of its pride. But we're what the
Lord made us, I reckon, and people deceive their looks. My old turkey
gobbler is harmless as a hound puppy; but I reckon he'd bust if he
didn't up and strut when strangers are in the front porch."
With that Mrs. Kendrick addressed herself to her prayers and to
slumber; but Kitty lay awake a long time, thinking and thinking, until
finally her thoughts became the substance of youth's sweetest dreams.