HIRAM STILL GETS A LEGAL OPINION AND CAPTAIN ALLEN CLIMBS FOR CHERRIES
As Major Welch was anxious to be independent, he declined Still’s
invitation to stay with him, and within a week he and Ruth were
“camping out” at the Stamper place, which he had rented, preparing it
for the arrival of Mrs. Welch and their furniture.
As it happened, no one had called on the Welches while they remained
at Still’s; but they were no sooner in their own house than all the
neighbors round began to come to see them.
Ruth found herself treated as if she were an old friend, and feeling as
if she had known these visitors all her life. One came in an old wagon
and brought two or three chairs, which were left until Ruth’s should
come; another sent over a mahogany table; a third came with a quarter
of lamb; all accompanied by some message of apology or friendliness
which made the kindness appear rather done to the senders than by them.
In the contribution which the Carys brought, Ruth found the two old
cups she had admired. She packed them up and returned them to Blair
with the sweetest note she knew how to write.
As soon as he was settled, Major Welch went to the Court-house
to examine the records. He had intended to go alone and had made
arrangements, the afternoon before, with a negro near by to furnish
him a horse next day; that evening, however, Still, who appeared to
know everything that was going on, rode over and asked if he could not
take him down in his buggy. He had to go there on some business, he
explained, and Colonel Leech would be there and had told him he wanted
to see the Major and talk over some matters, and wanted him to be there
too.
The Major would have preferred to go first without Still. However,
there was nothing else to do but to accept the offer he made of his
company; and the next morning Still drove over, and they set out
together, Ruth saying that she had plenty to occupy her until her
father’s return.
They had not been gone very long and Ruth was busying herself, out in
the yard, trimming the old rose-bushes into some sort of shape, when
she heard a step, and looking up saw coming across the grass, the small
man they had met in the road, who had told them the way to Dr. Cary’s.
He wasn’t “so very busy just then,” he said, and had come to see if
they “mightn’t like to have a little hauling done when their furniture
came.”
Ruth thought that her father had arranged with Mr. Still to have it
done.
“I ain’t particularly busy jest now, and I’d take feed along—I jest
thought I’d like to be neighborly,” repeated the man. “Hiram, I s’pect,
he’s chargin’ you some’n?”
Ruth supposed so.
“Well, if he ain’t directly, he will some way. The best way to pay
Hiram is to pay him right down.”
He asked Ruth if she would mind his going in and looking at the house,
and, when she assented, he walked around silently, looking at the two
rooms which she showed him: their sitting-room and her father’s room;
then asked if he could not look into the other room also. This was
Ruth’s chamber, and for a second she hesitated to gratify curiosity
carried so far; but reflecting that he was a plain countryman, and
might possibly misunderstand her refusal and be wounded, she nodded her
assent, and stepped forward to open the door. He opened it himself,
however, and walked in, stepping on tip-toe. He stopped in the middle
of the room and looked about him, his gaze resting presently on a nail
driven into a strip in the Avail just beside the bed.
“I was born in this here room,” he said, as much to himself as to her;
then, after a pause: “right in that thar cornder—and my father was
born in it before me and his father befo’ him, and to think that Hiram
owns it! Hiram Still! Well—well—things do turn out strange—don’t
they? Thar’s the very nail my father used to hang his big silver watch
on. I b’lieve I’d give Hiram a hoss for that nail, ef I knowed where I
could get another one to plough my crop.” He walked up and put his hand
on the nail, feeling it softly. Then walked out.
“Thankee, miss. Will you tell yo’ pa, Sergeant Stamper’d be glad to do
what he could for him, and ef he wants him jist to let him know?” He
had gone but a few steps, when he turned back: “And will you tell him I
say he’s got to watch out for Hiram?”
The next moment he was gone, leaving Ruth with a sinking feeling about
her heart. What could he mean?
She had not long to think of it, however, for just then she heard the
sound of wheels grinding along outside, and she looked out of the door
just as a rickety little wagon drew up to the door. She recognized the
driver as Miss Cary and walked out to meet her. Beside Blair in the
wagon sat, wrapped up in shawls, though the day was warm, an elderly
lady with a faded face, but with very pleasant eyes, looking down at
Ruth from under a brown veil. Ruth at first supposed that she was
Blair’s mother, but Blair introduced her as “Cousin Thomasia.” As they
helped the lady out of the vehicle, Ruth was amused at the preparation
she made. Every step she took she gave some explanation or exclamation,
talking to herself, it appeared, rather than to either of the girls.
“My dear Blair, for heaven’s sake don’t let his head go. Take care, my
dear, don’t let this drop.” (This to Ruth, about a package wrapped in
paper.)
When at length she was down on the ground, she asked Blair if her
bonnet was on straight: “Because, my dear”—and Ruth could not for her
life tell to whom she was speaking—“nothing characterizes a woman more
than her bonnet.”
Then having been assured that this mark of character was all right, she
turned to Ruth, and said, with the greatest graciousness:
“How do you do, my dear? You must allow me to kiss you. I am Cousin
Thomasia.”
Ruth’s surprised look as she greeted her, perhaps, made her add, “I am
everybody’s Cousin Thomasia.”
It was indeed as she said, she was everybody’s Cousin Thomasia, and
before she had been in the house ten minutes, Ruth felt as if she
were, at least, hers. She accepted the arm-chair offered her, with the
graciousness of a queen, and spread out her faded skirts with an air
which Ruth noted and forthwith determined to copy. Then she produced
her knitting, and began to knit so quietly that it was almost as if
the yarn and needles had appeared at her bidding. The next instant she
began a search for something—began it casually, so casually that she
knit between-times, but the search quickened and the knitting ceased.
“Blair?——!”
“You brought them with you, Cousin Thomasia.”
“No, my dear, I left them, I’m sure I left them——” (searching all the
time) “right on—Where can they be?”
“I saw you have them in the wagon.”
“Then I’ve dropped them—Oh, dear! dear! What shall I do?”
“What is it?” asked Ruth.
“My eyes, my dear—and I cannot read a word without them. Blair, we
must go right back and hunt for them.”
But Blair was up and searching, not on the floor or in the road; but
in the folds of Miss Thomasia’s dress; in the wrappings of the little
parcel which she still held in her lap.
“Here they are, Cousin Thomasia,” she exclaimed, triumphantly drawing
them out of the paper. “Right where you put them.”
Miss Thomasia gave a laugh as fresh as a girl’s.
“Why, so I did! How stupid of me!” She seated herself again, adjusted
her glasses and began to unwrap her parcel.
“Here, my dear, is a little cutting I have fetched you from a rose
which my dear mother brought from Kenilworth Castle, when she
accompanied my dear father to England. I was afraid you might not have
any flowers now, and nothing is such a panacea for loneliness as the
care of a rose-bush. I can speak from experience. The old one used
to grow just over my window at my old home and I took a cutting with
me when we went away—General Legaie obtained the privilege of doing
so—and you have no idea how much company it has been to me. I will
show you how to set it out.”
The glasses were on now, and she was examining the sprig of green in
the little pot with profound interest, while her needles flew.
“Where was your old home?” Ruth asked, softly.
“Here, my dear—not this place, but all around you. This was Mrs.
Stamper’s—one of our poor neighbors. But we lived at Red Rock.”
“Oh!” said Ruth, shocked at having asked the question.
“No matter, my dear,” the old lady went on. “Since we moved we have
lived at a little place right on the road. You must come over and let
me show you my roses there. But I don’t think they will ever be equal
to the old ones—or what the old ones were, for I hear they are nearly
all gone now—I have never been back since I left. I do not think I
could stand seeing that—person in possession of my father’s and my
brother’s estate.” She sighed for the first time, and for the first
time the needles, as she leant back, stopped.
“I wrapped up my glasses to keep from seeing it as we drove up the
hill. I wish they might let me lie there when I die, but I know they
will not.” Her gaze was out of the open door. In the silence which
followed her words the sound of a horse’s hoofs was heard.
“There is someone outside, my dear,” she said, placidly. Both Ruth and
Blair looked out.
“Why, it is the General,” said Blair, and Ruth wondered who the General
was, and wondered yet more to detect something very much like a flutter
in Miss Thomasia’s manner. Her hand went to her bonnet; to her throat;
she smoothed her already smooth skirts, and glanced around—ending in
a little appealing look to Blair. It was almost as if a white dove,
represented in some sacred mystery, had suddenly lost tranquillity.
When, however, the new visitor reached the door, Miss Thomasia was
quietude itself.
He stepped up to the door and gave a tap with the butt of his
riding-switch before he was aware of the presence of the three ladies;
then he took off his hat.
“Ladies,” he said, with quite a grand bow. At the same moment, both of
the ladies who knew him, spoke, but Ruth heard only Miss Thomasia’s
words:
“My dear, this is General Legaie, of whom you have often heard, our
old and valued friend.” Ruth had never heard of him, but she was
struck by him. He was not over five feet three inches high: not as
tall by several inches as Ruth herself; but his head, with curling
white hair, was so set on his shoulders, his form was so straight and
vigorous, and his countenance, with its blue eyes and fine mouth, so
handsome and self-contained, that Ruth thought she had never seen a
more martial figure. She thought instinctively of a portrait she had
once seen of a French Marshal; and when the General made his sweeping
bow and addressed her with his placid voice in old-fashioned phrase as,
“Madam,” the illusion was complete. Why, he was absolutely stately.
Then he addressed Miss Thomasia and Blair, making each of them a bow
and a compliment with such an old-fashioned courtesy that Ruth felt as
if she were reading a novel.
He had hoped to call and pay his respects before, he told Ruth, when
he had finished his greetings; but had been unavoidably delayed, and
it was a cause of sincere regret that he should be so unfortunate as
to miss her father. He had learned of his absence several miles below,
but he would not delay longer paying his devoirs to her; so had come
on. “And you see the triple reward I receive,” he said, with a glance
which included all three ladies, and a little laugh of pleasantry over
himself.
“See what an adept he is,” said Blair: “he compliments us all in one
breath.”
The General looked at Miss Thomasia as if he were going to speak
directly to her, but she was picking up a stitch, so he shifted his
glance to Blair, and, catching her eye, laughed heartily.
“Well? Why didn’t you say it?”
Miss Thomasia knitted placidly.
He shrugged his shoulders, laughed again, and changed his bantering
tone.
“Have you seen Jacquelin?” asked Miss Thomasia, who had calmly ignored
the preceding conversation.
“Yes, he’s all right—he came back yesterday and has gone in with Steve
Allen. They’ll get along. He’s just the sort of man Steve needed; he’ll
be his heavy artillery. He is looking into the matter of the bonds.”
Miss Thomasia sighed.
“Two young gentlemen of the County who are great friends of ours, Miss
Welch,” explained the General.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, Major Welch and Mr. Still had reached the county seat.
During their ride, Still had given Major Welch an account of affairs
in the County, and of most of those with whom he would come in
contact. Steve Allen he described as a terrible character. It had been
a dreadful struggle that he himself and other Union men had had to
wage, he said. Leech was the leading Northern man in the County, and
was going to be Governor. But he was disposed to caution Major Welch
somewhat against even him. Leech did not exactly understand things; he
did not rely enough on his white friends. He would have turned out all
the white officials and filled their places with negroes. But Still had
insisted on keeping, at least, Mr. Dockett, the Clerk, in; because he
had charge of all the records. But Mr. Dockett had not acted exactly
right, he said, and he was afraid at the next election “they’d have to
let him go.” He had been “getting mighty unreasonable.” Some people
wanted his son, Wash, the Doctor, to run, but he “didn’t know about
it?” he said, with an interrogation in his voice.
Major Welch had supposed that the Doctor would find his profession
more profitable, or at least that it would take up all his time if he
proposed to follow it; but Still explained that there was not a great
deal of practice, and that the clerk’s place was a “paying office.”
When they arrived at Leech’s house Major Welch found it a big, modern
affair with a mansard roof, set in the middle of a treeless lot. To
Major Welch’s surprise, Leech was not at home. Still appeared much
disconcerted.
As they crossed the yard, the Major observed a sign over a door: “ALLEN
AND GRAY. LAW OFFICE.”
“If necessary we could secure their services,” he said, indicating the
sign.
Still drew up to his side, and lowered his voice, looking around: They
were the lawyers he had told him of, he said. That was “that fellow
Allen, the leader in all the trouble that went on.”
“Who’s Gray?” The Major was still scanning the sign.
Still gave a curious little laugh.
“He’s the one as used to own my place—Mr. Gray’s son. He’s a bad one,
too. He’s just come back and set up as a lawyer. Fact is, I believe
he’s set up as one, more to devil me than anything else.”
Major Welch said, dryly, that he did not see why his setting up as a
lawyer should bedevil him. Still hesitated.
“Well, if he thinks he could scare me——”
“I don’t see how he could scare you. I would not let him scare me,”
said Major Welch, dryly.
“You don’t know ’em, Colonel,” said Still. “You don’t know what we
Union men have had to go through. They won’t let us buy land, and they
won’t let us sell it. They hate you because you come from the North,
and they hate me because I don’ hate you. I tell you all the truth,
Colonel, and you don’t believe it—but you don’t know what we go
through down here. We’ve got to stand together. You’ll see.” The man’s
voice was so earnest, and his face so sincere that Major Welch could
not help being impressed.
“Well, I’ll show him and everyone else pretty quickly that that is not
the way to come at me,” said Major Welch, gravely. “When I get ready to
buy, I’ll buy where I please, and irrespective of anyone else’s views
except the seller’s.” And he walked up to the door, without seeing the
look on Still’s face.
The only occupants of the clerk’s office were two men; one was an old
man, evidently the clerk, with a bushy beard and keen eyes gleaming
through a pair of silver spectacles. The other was a young man and a
very handsome one, with a broad brow, a strongly chiselled chin, and
a very grave and somewhat melancholy face. He was seated in a chair
directly facing the door, examining a bundle of old chancery papers
which were spread out on his knee and on a chair beside him, and as the
visitors entered the door he glanced up. Major Welch was struck by his
fine eyes, and the changed look that suddenly came into them. Still
gave his arm a convulsive clutch, and Major Welch knew by instinct that
this was the man of whom Still had just spoken.
If Jacquelin Gray was really the sort of man Still had described him to
be, and held the opinions Still had attributed to him, he played the
hypocrite very well, for he not only bowed to Major Welch very civilly,
if distantly, but to do so even rose from his seat at some little
inconvenience to himself, as he had to gather up the papers spread on
his knee. It is true that he took not the least notice of Still, who
included him as well as the clerk in his greeting, the only evidence
he gave of being aware of the presence of his former manager, being
contained in a certain quiver of the nostrils, as Still passed him.
Major Welch was introduced by Still to the clerk, and stated his
errand, wondering at the change in his companion’s voice.
“He’s afraid of that young man,” he thought to himself, and he
stiffened a little as the idea occurred to him; and at the first
opportunity he glanced again at Jacquelin, who was once more busy with
his bundle of papers, in which be appeared completely absorbed. Still
was following the clerk, who, with his spectacles on the tip of his
long nose, was looking into the files of his deed-books; but Major
Welch saw that Still was not attending to him; his eyes were turned
and were fastened on the young lawyer, quite on the other side of the
room. As the Major looked he was astonished to see Still start and put
out his hand as though to support himself. Following Still’s gaze he
glanced across at Jacquelin. He had taken several long, narrow slips
of paper out of the bundle, and was at the instant examining them
curiously, oblivious of everything else. Major Welch looked back at
Still, and he was as white as a ghost. Before he could take it in,
Still muttered something and turned to the door. As he walked out he
tottered so that Major Welch, thinking he was ill, followed him.
Outside, the air revived Still somewhat, and a drink of whiskey which
he got at the tavern bar, and told the bar-keeper to make “stiff,” set
him up a good deal. He had been feeling badly for some time, he said;
thought he was a little bilious.
Just as they came out of the bar, they saw young Gray cross the
court-green and go over to his office.
They returned to the clerk’s office, and Major Welch was soon running
through the deeds, while Still, after looking over his shoulder for a
moment or two, took a seat near Mr. Dockett and began to talk to him.
He appeared much interested in the old fellow, his family, and all that
belonged to him, and Major Welch was a little amused at the old man’s
short replies.
His attention was attracted by Still’s saying casually that he’d like
to see the papers in that old suit of his against the Gray estate, if
he could lay his hands on them, and the clerk’s dry answer that he
could lay his hands on any paper in the office, and that the papers in
question were in the “ended-causes” case. “Mr. Jacquelin Gray was just
looking over them as you came in,” he said, as he rose to get them.
“Well, let him look,” Still growled, with a sudden change of tone. “He
can look all he wants, and he won’t git around them bonds.”
“Oh, no! I don’t say as he will,” the old officer answered.
“I’d like to take ’em home with me—” Still began; but the clerk cut
him short.
“I can’t let you do that. You’ll have to look at ’em here in the
office.”
“Why, they’re nothin’ but—I want Colonel Welch here to look at
’em—they’ll show him how the lands come to me—I’ll bring ’em back——”
“I can’t let you take ’em out of the office.” His tone was as dry as
ever.
“Well, I’d like to know why not? They don’t concern nobody but me, and
they’re all ended.”
“That’s the very reason you can’t take ’em out; they’re part of the
records of this office——”
“Well, I can take the bonds out, anyway,” Still persisted; “they is
mine, anyhow.”
“No, you can’t take them, either.”
Still did not often lose his temper, or show it, if he did; but this
time he lost it.
“Well, I’ll show you if I can’t, before the year is out, Mr. Dockett.
I’ll show you who I am!” He rose with much feeling.
“I know who you are.” The old fellow turned and shot a piercing glance
at him over his spectacles, and Major Welch watched complacently to see
how it would end.
“Well, if you don’t, I mean to make you know it. I’ll show you you
don’t own this County. I’ll show you who is the bigger man, you or the
people of this County. You think because you been left in this office
that you own it; but I’ll——”
“No, I don’t,” the old man said, firmly; “I know you’ve got negroes
enough to turn me out if you choose; but I want to tell you that until
you do I’m in charge here, and I run the office according to what I
think is my duty, and the only way to change it is to turn me out. Do
you want to see the papers or not? You can look at ’em here just as
everybody else does.”
“That’s right,” said Major Welch, meaning to explain that it was the
law. Still took it in a different sense, however, and quieted down. He
would look at them, he said, sulkily, and, taking the bundle, he picked
out the same slips which young Gray had been examining.
“You’re so particular about your old papers,” he said, as he held up
one of the slips, “I wonder you don’t keep ’em a little better. You got
a whole lot o’ red ink smeared on this bond.”
“I didn’t get it on it.” The clerk got up and walked across the room to
look at the paper indicated, adjusting his spectacles as he did so. One
glance sufficed for him.
“That ain’t ink, and if ’tis, it didn’t get on it in this office. That
stain was on that bond when Leech filed it. I remember it particularly.”
“I don’t know anything about that—I know it wa’n’t on it when I give
it to him, and I don’t remember of ever having seen it before,” Still
persisted.
“Well, I remember it well—I remember speaking of it to him, because
we thought ’twas finger-marks, and he said ’twas on it when you gave it
to him.”
“Well, I know ’twant,” Still repeated, hotly. “If ’twas on thar when he
brought it here he got ’t on it himself, and I’ll take my oath to it.
Well, that don’t make any difference in the bond, I s’pose? It’s just
as good with that on it as if ’twant?”
“Oh, yes; that’s so,” said Mr. Dockett. “If it’s all right every other
way, that won’t hurt it.”
Still looked at him sharply.
As they drove home, Still, after a long period of silence, suddenly
asked Major Welch, within what time after a case was ended a man could
bring a suit to upset it.
“Well, I don’t know what the statutes of this State are, but he can
generally bring it without limit, on the ground of fraud,” said the
Major, “unless he is estopped by laches.”
“What’s that?” asked Still, somewhat huskily, and the Major started to
explain; but Still was taken with another of his ill turns.
That same afternoon, a little before Major Welch’s return, Ruth was
walking about the yard, looking, every now and then, across the hill,
in the direction of Red Rock, from which her father should soon be
coming, when, as she passed near a cherry-tree, she observed that some
of the fruit was already ripe. One or two branches were not very high.
She had been feeling a little lonely, and it occurred to her that it
would be great fun to climb the tree. She had once been a good climber,
and she remembered the scoldings she had received for it from her
mother, who regarded it as “essentially frivolous,” and had once, as
a punishment, set her to learn all the names of all the branches of a
tree which hung on the nursery wall, and represented, allegorically,
all the virtues and vices, together with a perfect network of
subsidiary qualities. She could remember many of them now— “Faith,
Hope, Temperance,” and so on.
“Dear mamma,”she thought, with a pang of homesickness, “I wish she were
here now.” This reflection only made her more lonely, and to overcome
the feeling she turned to the more material and attractive tree.
“I could climb that tree easily enough,” she said,”and there’s no
one to know anything about it. Even mamma would not mind that much.
Besides, I could see papa from a greater distance and I’ll get him some
cherries for his tea.”
These last two considerations were sufficient to counterbalance the
idea of maternal disapproval. So Ruth turned up the skirt of her dress,
pinned it so that it would not be stained, and five minutes later was
scrambling up the tree. Higher and higher she went up, feeling the
old exhilaration of childhood as she climbed. What a fine view there
was from her perch! the rolling hills, the green low-grounds, the
winding river, the blue mountains behind and, away to the eastward,
the level of the tide-water country almost as blue at the horizon as
the mountains to the westward. How still it was too! Every sound was
distinct: the lowing of a cow far away toward Red Rock, the notes of a
thrush in a thicket, and the chirp of a sparrow in an old tree. Ruth
wished she could have described it as she saw it, or, rather, as she
felt it, for it was more feeling than seeing, she thought. But the
best cherries were out toward the ends of the limbs, so she secured a
safe position and set to work, gathering them. She was so engrossed in
this occupation that she forgot everything else until she heard the
trampling of a horse’s feet somewhere. It was quite in a different
direction from that in which she expected her father, but supposing
that it was he, Ruth gave a little yodel, with which she often greeted
him when at a distance, and climbed out on a limb that she might look
down and see him. How astonished and amused he would be, she thought.
Yes, there he was, coming around the slope just below her, but how
was he going to get across the ditch? If only that bough were not in
the way! Ah! now she had the bough and could pull it aside. Heavens!
it was a stranger, and he was near enough for her to see that he was
a young man. What should she do? Suppose he should have heard her! At
the moment she looked he was putting his horse at the ditch—a splendid
jump it was. She let the bough go and edged in toward the body of the
tree, listening and half seeing the rider below through the leaves as
he galloped up into the yard. Perhaps he had not seen her? She crouched
down. It was a vain hope, for the next instant he turned his horse’s
head toward the tree and drew him in almost under her.
“I say—Is anyone at home?” he asked. The voice was a very deep and
pleasant one. Although Ruth was sure he was speaking to her, she did
not answer.
“I say, little girl, are Colonel Welch and his daughter at home?”
This time he looked up. So Ruth answered. No, they were not at home.
Her voice sounded curiously quavering.
“Ah! I’m very sorry. When will they be at home? Can you tell me?”
“Ah! ur—not exactly,” quavered Ruth, crouching still closer to the
tree-trunk and gathering in her skirts.
“You have some fine cherries up there!”
Oh, heavens! why didn’t he go away!
To this she made no answer, hoping he would go. He caught hold of a
bough, she thought, to pull some cherries; wrapped his reins around it,
and the next moment stood up in his saddle, seized a limb above him and
swung himself up. In her astonishment Ruth almost stopped breathing.
“I believe I’ll try a few—for old times’ sake,” he said to himself, or
to her, she could not tell which, and swung himself higher. “I don’t
suppose Colonel Welch would object.”
The next swing brought him up to the limb immediately below Ruth, and
he turned and looked up at her where she sat in the fork of the limb.
Her face had been burning ever since she had been discovered, and was
burning now; but she could not help being amused at the expression
which came into the stranger’s eyes as he looked at her. Astonishment,
chagrin, and amusement were all stamped there, mingled together.
“What on earth!—I beg your pardon—” he began, his eyes wide open with
surprise, gazing straight into hers. The next instant he burst out
laughing, a peal so full of real mirth that Ruth joined in and laughed
with all her might too.
“I’m Captain Allen, Steve Allen—and you are——?”
“Miss Welch—when I’m at home.”
He pulled himself up to the limb on which Ruth sat and coolly seated
himself near her.
“I hope you will be at home—Miss Welch; for I am. I used to be very
much at home in this tree in old times, which is my excuse for being
here now, though I confess I never found quite such fruit on it as it
seems to bear to-day.”
The twinkle in his gray eyes and a something in his lazy voice reminded
Ruth of Reely Thurston. The last part of his speech to her sounded
partly as if he meant it, but partly as if lie were half poking fun at
her and wished to see how she would take it. She tried to meet him on
his own ground.
“If you had not made yourself somewhat at home you would not have found
it now.” She was very demure.
Steve lifted his eyes to her quickly, and she was rather nettled to see
that he looked much amused at her speech.
“Exactly. You would not have had me act otherwise, I hope? We always
wish our guests to make themselves at home. You Yankees don’t want to
be behind us.”
She saw his eyes twinkle, and felt that he had said it to draw her
fire, but she could not forbear firing back.
“No, but sometimes it does not seem necessary, as you _Rebels_ appear
inclined to make yourselves at home—sometimes even without an
invitation.” Her chin went up a point.
Steve burst out laughing.
“A good square shot. I surrender, Miss Welch.”
“What! so easily? I thought you Rebels were better fighters? I have
heard so.”
Steve only laughed.
“‘He that fights and runs away,’ you know. I can’t run, so I surrender.
May I get you some cherries? The best are out on the end of the limbs,
and I am afraid you might fall.” His voice had lost the tone of
badinage and was full of deference and protection.
Ruth said she believed that she had all the cherries she wanted. She
had, perhaps, a dozen—. She was wondering how she should get down, and
was in a panic lest her father should appear and find her up in the
tree with this strange young man.
In reply to her refusal, however, Steve looked at her quizzically.
“You want to get down.” This in assertion rather than in question.
“Yes.” Defiantly.
“And you can’t get down unless I let you?”
“N—n— “ She caught herself quickly, “I thought you had surrendered?”
“Can’t a prisoner capture his captor?”
“Not if he has given his parole and is a gentleman.” Steve whistled
softly. His eyes never left her face.
“Will you invite me in?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because——”
“I see.” Steve nodded.
“Because my father is not at home.”
“Oh! All the more reason for your having a protector.”
“No. And I will make no terms with a prisoner.”
With a laugh Steve let himself down to the limb below. Then he stopped
and turning looked up at her.
“May I help you down?” The tone was almost humble.
“No, I thank you, I can get down.” Very firmly.
“I must order your father to remain at home,” he smiled.
“My father is not one to take orders; he gives them,” she said, proudly.
Captain Allen looked up at her, the expression of admiration in his
eyes deepened. “I think it likely,” he said with a nod. “Well, I
don’t always take them so meekly myself. Good-by. Do you require your
prisoner to report at all?” He held out his hand.
“Good-by—I—don’t know: No.”
He smiled up at her. “You don’t know all your privileges. Good-by. I
always heard you Yankees were cruel to prisoners.”
It was said in such a way that Ruth did not mind it, and did not even
wish to fire back. The next minute Steve was on his horse, cantering
away without looking back, and curiously, Ruth, still seated on her
leafy perch, was conscious of a feeling of blankness.
“I hate that man,” she said to herself, “he has been doing nothing but
make fun of me. But he is amusing—and awfully handsome. And what a
splendid rider! I wonder if he will have the audacity to come back?”
As she reached the ground she saw her father far across the field,
coming up the same road along which her visitor was going away. When
the two men met they stopped and had a little talk, during which Ruth
watched with curiosity to see if Captain Allen would return. He did
not, however. It was only a moment and then he cantered on, leaving
Ruth with a half disappointed feeling, and wondering if he had told her
father of their meeting.
When Major Welch arrived, Ruth waited with some impatience to discover
if he had been told. He mentioned that he had met Mr. Allen and
thought him a striking-looking and rather nice fellow; had invited him
to return, but he said he could not, that he had seen her, and would
call again.
“He is a gentlemanly fellow, but is said to be one of the most
uncontrolled men about here, the leader in all the lawlessness that
goes on.”
Ruth thought of what the old mammy at Dr. Cary’s had told her. She
wished to change the subject.
“Did he say where we met?” she asked, laughing and blushing.
“No, only said he had met you.”
“He caught me up in a cherry-tree.”
“What! Well, he’s a nice fellow,” said her father, and Ruth had begun
to think so too.