Read Ebook: As the hart panteth by Rives Hallie Erminie

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Ebook has 999 lines and 36893 words, and 20 pages

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THE CHILD 7 THE GIRL 104 THE WOMAN 185

AS THE HART PANTETH.

THE CHILD.

HE sat just outside the lofty doorway, that opened between the bare hall and front verandah. The great white columns held a wild clematis vine, the leaves of which almost concealed the bricks where the plaster had fallen off. Presently a child came out with a violin in her hand. She went up to him, and laying her full cheek against his shrunken one, caressed him. Her blue eyes that went black in an instant, from the pupils' swift dilation, had the direct gaze of one knowing nothing of the world and never fearing to be misunderstood. She was slim yet strong; her waving hair that fell softly about her face was the color of sunburnt cornsilk, her skin ovalling from it, smooth and white, like a bursting magnolia bud.

"Grandpa, I can play 'The Mocking Bird' for you now."

"Play it, God's child; play it," he said.

As she leaned against the column and began playing, his face, old and worn with many griefs, seemed, for a moment, rejuvenated by the spirit of his lost youth. His heart stirred strangely within him, and he was minded of another slim, little girl, who came down to the gate to meet him when the day was done in the long ago. She had the same glorious hair, and tender, fearless eyes and love for him. But that was more than forty years gone by and she was dead.

As the strains became fuller and sweeter, a bird began twittering, trilling among the leaves, imitating the sounds it heard.

"Listen. Do you hear that, Esther?" whispering, as he searched for a sight of the singer. "There it is. It's a mocking bird," he said, pointing to the young thing, as the fluting feathers on its throat stood out like the pipes of an organ. Its song, accompanying the tune, never ceased until the violin was tossed upon the bench and the child was in the old man's arms.

"That was beautiful, beautiful!" His eyes were filled with tears of enthusiasm that fell upon her hair.

"Your mother used to play that, when she was young." He spoke with the weight of profound emotion, that glowed in his eyes, and quivered on his lips.

"And did the bird sing with her?" a softer look coming upon the childish face.

"I don't remember that it did, though she was always a friend to the birds that built their nests about us. She kept the boys from breaking them up or trapping them. Every spring they sang here in the trees. They seemed to know that she was looking after them. That must have been what she was born for. She was always watching over something or somebody." He swallowed hard. "I can see her now, bending over her work, late at night, stitching away, with her fingers on those gray clothes for the boys in the army--your Uncle Billy and your father."

"Was she little, then?" Esther inquired, while with one hand she clasped his wrist, and with the other stroked his brow.

"No. When the war broke out, she was just about to be married to your father, who had been appointed Captain under General Lee. She made a coat for him and quilted money in the collar. She had a way of doing things that nobody would have thought of. You remind me of her." He folded his hands across his stick and was silent for a moment. "There is much about her life that I want you to know, and bear in mind, now that you are getting old enough to understand. She had great hopes for you, for your music. I've been thinking how proud she would be if she could know that you had got along well enough to be invited to play at the University--on commencement night at that. I ask nothing higher for you than that you make such a woman as your mother."

They did not see the old negro, ragged to the skin, coming around the corner of the house, carrying his discolored straw hat in one hand and mopping his face on a faded cotton handkerchief.

"G'MORNIN', Marse Hardin."

"Howdy, Sandy. Where did you come from? I thought you'd gone clear out of the country, for good."

"Nor sir, nor sir. You jes' let a nigger git a taste of dis here spring water, and he's charmed, conjured, he kyant stay away if he do go. But I come back, dis time, to see my young marster--Marse Davy Pool."

"How is he to-day?"

"He daid. Dat's what I was sent to tell you. Dey guinter bury him up at de old place."

"I am sorry to hear of his death, Sandy. He was the best one of the boys."

"Dat's so, sir; 'tain't nobody guine to miss him like his mammy do. She's told me to ax you for your hoss and buggy. She's afeared of the boys' hosses, dey keep such wild uns. Marse Davy sold his'n, dat was the onliest one she would ride behind. She said she wanted Marse Hardin Campbell's. It was so trusty and gentlelike."

"I was going to use it after dinner." Mr. Campbell hesitated.

"Send it on, grandpa. Send it on." Esther saw the inquiring look her grandfather turned upon her. "Something will turn up."

"Suppose it shouldn't; would you be disappointed?" he asked.

"I never count on being disappointed," she responded, quickly.

"Ain't she some kin to Miss Mary Campbell?" The negro's face lighted as he asked the question.

"That's her daughter, Miss Esther Powel."

"It 'peared to me like I seed de favor in her face. Ev'ybody loved your mammy, honey. 'Twarn' nobody that didn't," he said, turning to look again at Esther.

"The horse is in the pasture." Mr. Campbell turned to the child. "Can't you run and show him where the bridle is?" Bareheaded, she bounded down the steps, and motioned to the old negro to follow. She took the bridle and swung it over his arm. "Mind the foot log. Uncle Sandy, the hand rail has been washed away. The pasture is over the creek. There is Selam now, under the sweet gum tree." She pointed. "You will find the harness in the carriage house here."

She watched him go over the slope to the creek, then stood gazing about her in childish contemplation. It was nearly noon. The shadow straightening in the doorway indicated it.

Mr. Campbell looked and saw her. His heart warmed toward her comeliness; moreover she was sweet of nature and had a ready smile even for those who had not been kind to her. Suddenly she disappeared in the direction of the carriage house. She feared that her pony could not pull the heavy vehicle that alone was left to take her to the University. It taxed her strength to draw the heavy bar from across the carriage house door. She sprang backward, as she dropped it upon the ground; then went in to examine the carriage that had not been used since she was a baby, almost fifteen years before. The clumsy conveyance had small iron steps that let down--steps that her mother's child feet had pressed in climbing to the seat. The wheels were so heavy and cumbersome that she shook her head doubtfully. The green satin lining was in shreds; the worn leather seats covered with tufts of hair, while here and there a dead leaf or twig was tangled in its coarse mesh. It had required a pair to draw it in those old days. She had forgotten that. The tongue was held up in its position above by a girder in the loft. Esther gave it a strong, hard pull; the tongue fell forward, and as she skipped out of its path the lumbering old carriage went rolling down the incline, and clouds of dust, as though indignant at being disturbed, sullenly rose and fell about her.

Old and dilapidated harness that hung down from the walls swayed slowly in the general commotion. Esther wiped the dust from her eyes and drew a long breath, looking defiantly at the result. She looked down. There, at her feet, lay a bird, fluttering beside its fallen nest. Her face lost its look of defiance.

"You poor, little thing," bending down and cuddling it to the softness of her cheek. "Don't die, please, don't die!" she said, in dismay. "It will break my heart if I have killed you." With tears streaming down her face she ran swiftly to the house.

"Grandpa, do something for it," laying it in his hand. "Can you save it? It's a mocking bird, too. I shook it out of the carriage."

"They have nested there for years," he said as he drew the wings gently through his fingers. "They are not broken," he assured her.

"Are you sure it will live?" She was looking at him with frightened eyes.

"Live? Yes; and have a nest and young ones of its own next year. It is only stunned. Leave it in the parlor where it will be safe from the cats and it will be all right soon."

A faint rumbling noise broke in upon their voices. They looked up to listen. It was like the sound of a wagon rolling. "Put it away, quick, and run to the creek to show them how to cross the ford." They had kept close watch over the passers since the winter hauling had cut deep holes in the bed of the stream. It was a treacherous crossing. Closing the door upon her charge, Esther ran through the garden, the nearest way. She sped with the lithe agility of a young fawn, and before the newcomer was fairly into the stream she was there giving directions. The mountain stream ran fleet between its low banks, winding in haste through the valley. Tall sycamores, sentinels in silver armor, stood beside it on either hand.

MR. CAMPBELL stood watching. Very soon the front gate opened and a boy came in, driving two white mules, with red tassels on their bridle bits. Amazement filled his eyes when he saw that it was a wagon load of coffins, and on the topmost one Esther sat smiling. As they drove up near the door, he went out to help her down.

"Didn't I tell you something would turn up, grandpa; this wagon is going right by the University this evening." She threw her arms about his neck; her laugh rang out in pure triumph. "Hitch your team, young man; a boy will come to take it out and feed it." When they saw Esther again she was ready for her jaunt. Her violin was in its case; her fresh white organdie folded with as much care as she gave to anything--duty and care were unknown to her. Her visit to the University by such a conveyance would be the extreme limit of indulgence, yet she had no thought of being denied.

"I am ready," she announced at table. Mr. Campbell burst into a laugh, half of annoyance, yet touched with the ring of true amusement.

"I really believe you would go."

"I'd go on foot if necessary to keep my promise," she answered quickly.

"How could the college folks know that Mr. David Pool had to be buried to-day when they printed my name on the programme?"

Watching her eyes, he caught their softness, their innocence, and knew that her eagerness was sincere.

"Let her go, Mr. Campbell, I'll take good care of her." The boy was a Rudd. Although he held a lowly position, he was not counted of the common people. Mr. Campbell had the old Virginia pride of race in him.

"I know you would."

Esther looked steadily into his gray eyes and saw a relenting twinkle.

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