VI

"I must get some things for the boss, then we'll start home," announced

Mr. Grundy, after we were seated side by side in the rockaway. I noticed

with gratification that his voice had sunk a few notes. He had looked

askance at my yellow pup when I lifted him to a place at our feet, but

had only queried, "Is that part of your baggage?" and had not demurred.

His next speech was rather mystifying, for I had understood from Reuben

that this man was certainly lord of his manor, and presided in a lordly

way.

"The boss?" I asked, with a puzzled look, whereat he burst into a laugh

that hurt my ears.

"Bless me! I forgot that you were a bachelor," he replied, when his

risibles had subsided sufficiently for him to talk. "If you ever marry,

you'll find out who's boss. The niggers call me boss and Marse, but

_Sallie's_ boss of our plantation!"

We drove about town for perhaps half an hour, purchasing a supply of

groceries, then our horse's head was turned towards the open country.

"Antony'll take us home in less than an hour," said Mr. Grundy, eyeing

with pride the easy, far-reaching strides of the big bay. "That's the

best horse in my stables, Stone; there can't anything in the county

catch him. I've taken premiums with him at every fair in the circuit

ever since he was a yearling. It's a day's work for a nigger to drive

him to town and back, for he pulls on the lines every inch of the way,

and it takes good muscles to hold him in."

My companion did most of the talking on the road home. I addressed a few

polite questions, then fell to viewing the country through which we were

being whirled. The world was waking after its annual nap. The odor and

charm of spring pervaded the air. Tree-buds were bursting, and tender

leaves were spreading their tiny hands to the gentle sky. Immense

expanses of green wheat waved by the roadside, and each small blade

bowed its head to me in welcome. A pair of bluebirds flitted from stake

to stake of a rail fence at our right. Yonder two gentle undulations

prepared for corn swelled and fell away. Wherever I looked was freshness

and verdure, and the starting into life of green things beneath the

magic wand of spring. She holds the key to earth's resurrection, and she

alone can unlock the myriad gateways of the sod. And what a host comes

forth when her luring breath falls upon the barren ground!--cereals,

flowers, mosses, vines, and the thousand little things which have no

name. Forth they come exulting,--the nightshade and the lily, the

thistle and the rose. And on the broad bosom of their mother there is

room for each, and from her breast each draws its life.

A gray turret surrounded by evergreens drew my eyes to the left. I

pointed to it with the question, "Can you tell me what that is?"

"St. Rose,--a convent founded by the Dominicans in the early part of the

century. We'll drive over some day and take a look at it. That's the

church you see,--a fine piece of masonry."

Then I grew silent again, becoming absorbed in the changing landscape.

The road now led along the margin of a creek, bounded on the farther

side by densely wooded hills. We had been gradually descending for

several miles, and had now reached a great basin, wherein lay the

fertile lands of my host. A sudden turn to the right, and a beautiful

valley stretched before us. Part of it had yielded to the plough, and

the brown, friable soil bespoke richness and boundless possibilities for

corn. Farther on were meadows, reaching like green carpets close up to

the whitewashed fences. And in the distance--behold my future home! It

sat upon the crest of a gentle eminence back of those verdant lowlands,

and was almost hidden by elms and oaks. These trees filled the big yard,

too, and some were burdened with tangled grape-vines. Leaving the

highway, a curving road led us up to the yard gate. As we drove slowly

up the avenue to the large two-story brick house, a sense of unexpected

happiness and quiet stole over me. Here was the Mecca of my vague

desires. Here, in the midst of pastoral beauty, a kind Providence had

sent me, and here, with the blue-grass all around, and peace in my

heart, I would be happy.

"Mother!"

The powerful voice at my elbow made me jump. By the time we reached the

ground, the double front doors were open, and standing there was one of

the sweetest-looking old women I had ever seen. She was clad in

dignified black, with a white kerchief at her throat, and her gray hair

drawn smoothly back from a kind, broad brow. Hat in hand, I mounted the

huge stone steps which led to the porch, while that big voice came from

below.

"This is Stone, mother! Show him his room and make him comfortable! I'm

off to see 'bout the young lambs that came last night!"

It was a hospitable, friendly greeting which I received from the

mistress of the house. Her voice was low and pleasant to the ear, and

there was culture in every tone. The room into which she ushered me was

delightfully cool and shadowy. The ceiling was high, the windows broad

and deep, with green slat-curtains. The rocking-chair and the sofa near

one of the windows were covered with haircloth. The centre-table was a

beautiful piece of mahogany; sitting in the middle of it was a vase of

jonquils. In one corner was a bookcase, empty--ready for my treasures.

Everything was as it should be. I at once expressed my thanks and my

satisfaction, and the good lady retired, saying that I was doubtless

weary, and needed to rest a little.

Left alone, I stood still a moment, and looked about me. The paper upon

the walls represented red-top clover in bloom, and I was glad of this.

Hanging about the room were some old-time portraits in gilt frames, and

some pictures representing historical events. Some dried-up cat-tails

lifted their brown heads from another vase on one end of the tall

mantel. A screen covered with wall-paper stood before the fireplace.

Hastily I lifted it aside, and there--yes, there was the blackened

chimney, the andirons, and the stone-laid hearth. If I have a weak

point, it is an old-fashioned fireplace.

Dinner came just as I finished my toilet, and I followed Mrs. Grundy out

into the broad hall, onto a latticed porch, and into the dining-room.

The good things that were piled upon that table would have fed a

regiment, but all who sat down were my host and hostess, and myself. Mr.

Grundy asked a blessing, and his voice was just as loud as though he

were hallooing to one of his negroes across a field. Surely the Lord

heard that petition. In two minutes my plate was heaped high, and I had

to put back other dishes till a later moment. When he had fairly settled

himself to the business of eating, my host began to talk.

"Walker tells me that you're not used to mixing with people much, Stone,

but I'm afraid it'll be lonely for you 'way out here. We don't have much

company, and of course the niggers don't count. You can ride about the

farm with me if you want to, and mother can hold her own at talking.

When S'lome gets back, things'll be different. She's a whole houseful

herself."

I almost dropped the piece of ham I was conveying to my mouth. Had

Reuben betrayed me! What did this talk of "mother" and "Salome" mean?

When he first spoke the word "mother," I had paid no particular

attention to it; but when coupled with that other name, it took a deeper

meaning.

"I--I--I understood you had no children," I said, trying to conceal my

dismay by bending over my plate.

"Quite true, quite true, Stone. We've never had a child born to us. I

got in the habit of calling the boss mother, from S'lome."

"Who is Salome?" I asked, but my voice was so weak that it scarcely

conveyed the question.

"Bless me! didn't Walker tell you? I'll wring the rascal's neck for

forgettin' S'lome. Why, man, she's the pride of this farm, and the queen

of every heart on it! S'lome? Who's S'lome? Ask any nigger or dog in the

county, and they'll tell you. She's our 'dopted daughter, man, off to

Bellwood for her second year, and'll be home the fifth of June, God

bless her!"