Read Ebook: The bride's fate The sequel to The changed brides by Southworth Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte

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Ebook has 4622 lines and 147001 words, and 93 pages

"No. All people are alike at heart. Clean thinking makes even the black man white within, dear."

Beth had not seen another colored person from that time until this. Therefore, she was a little doubtful about making up with the porter. But he proved so very genial that before night arrived, he and "little missy," as he called Beth, were so very friendly that he considered her his special charge.

That night both children slept as peacefully as if they had been in their own home.

In the morning, Beth was wakened by Marian pulling up the shade. A stream of sunshine flooded their berth, blinding Beth for a second or two. Snow and clouds had been left far behind.

"It's almost like summer," cried Beth, hastening to dress.

After breakfast, the porter, whose name Beth learned was "Bob," took her out on the back platform while the engine was taking on water. To the left of the train were five colored children clustered around a stump.

"Bob, how many children have you?" asked Beth, and her eyes opened wide in astonishment.

"Law, honey," and Bob's grin widened, "I ain't got any chillun. I'se a bachelor."

Beth stamped her foot. She could not bear deceit. "Bob, it's very wrong to tell stories. These children must be yours; they're just like you."

He laughed so heartily at the idea, that Beth feared his mouth never would get into shape again. "Ha, ha, ha. Dem my chillun! Ha, ha, ha. Law, honey, dem ain't mine. Thank de Lord, I don't have to feed all dem hungry, sassy, little niggahs."

"Well, Bob, if they're not yours, whose are they?"

"Dem's jes' culled chillun."

A whistle sounded, and the train was soon under way again. Beth ran to her mother.

"Mamma, there were a lot of little Bobs outside, but he says they are not his children--that they're just colored children."

Mrs. Davenport had a hard time making her understand that Bob had told the truth. Beth sat very still for a while by a window. Suddenly, she cried out:

"What are those little specks of white? They look like little balls of snow, only they can't be. It's too warm, and then I never saw snow grow on bushes."

"That is cotton."

Although the bushes were not in their full glory--only having on them a little of last year's fruitage that was not picked--Beth thought a cotton field a very pretty sight.

The pine trees of Georgia prove monotonous to most people, except that their perpetual green is restful to the eye in the midst of white sand and dazzling sunshine. Beth, however, liked even the pines, being a lover of all trees. They seemed almost human to her. She believed that trees could speak if they would. She often talked to them, and fondled their rough old bark. Children can have worse companions than trees. They were a great comfort to Beth all through life.

On the way through Georgia, the train was delayed by a hot box. While it was being fixed, Bob took Beth for a walk, and she saw a moss-laden oak for the first time.

"Oh, Bob," she cried, "I never before saw a tree with hair."

His hearty laugh broke out anew. "Ha, ha, ha. I'll jes' pull some of dat hair for you, missy," and he raised his great, black hand to grab the curling, greenish, gray moss.

"Don't, Bob," and when he gave her no heed, she added, "I'm afraid it'll hurt the tree. I know it hurts me greatly when any one pulls my hair."

He laughed more than ever at her, until Beth grew ashamed, and meekly accepted the moss that he piled up in her little arms.

The hot box so delayed the train that Jacksonville was not reached until the middle of the night.

Bob took a sleeping child in his arms, and carried her out to the bus.

"Good-bye, little missy," he murmured, before handing her to her father.

Her arms tightened around his neck while her eyes opened for a second.

"Don't leave me, Bob. I love you."

Then she did not remember anything more until she wakened in a strange room the next morning.

At first, she could not think where she was. Then it came to her that she was in a hotel in Jacksonville. She sprang out of bed, and ran to a window. The room faced a park, and afforded Beth her first glimpse of tropical beauty. Strange trees glistened in the glorious sunshine. From pictures she had seen, Beth recognized the palms, and the orange trees. Below, on the piazza, the band was playing "Dixie." Delighted as Beth was, she did not linger long by the window, but dressed as fast as she could.

Mr. Davenport entered the room.

"Do you know what time it is? It's fully eleven, and I was up at six this morning."

"At six, papa? What have you been doing?"

"I went down town, and then I drove far out into the country."

"Oh, why didn't you waken me and let me go?"

"I had business on hand. Come along down to the dining-room. Your mother had some breakfast saved for you. I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise, papa? What is it?"

"It wouldn't be as great a surprise if I told you." This was all the satisfaction she received until after she had breakfasted.

"We're going for a drive," said Mr. Davenport as she came out of the dining-room.

"Is the drive the surprise, papa?"

"You'll know all in good time, Beth. You must have patience," he answered as he led the way out to the piazza.

"Get your hats, and bring Beth's with you," he said to Mrs. Davenport and Marian who were listening to the music.

"What do you think of that man and the rig?" asked Mr. Davenport of Beth, indicating a middle-aged negro who stood holding a bay mare hitched to a surrey.

Beth noted that the man looked good-natured. There were funny little curves on his face suggestive of laughter even when in repose. Jolly wrinkles lurked around his eyes. Beth saw two rows of pearly teeth though his mouth was partly hidden by a mustache and beard. His nose was large and flat. It looked like a dirty piece of putty thrown at haphazard on a black background. Beth, however, did not mind his homeliness.

"He's nice, and the horse is beautiful," she said.

"Then let's go down and talk to the man."

As Mr. Davenport and Beth walked to the side of the darky, he lifted his stovepipe hat that had been brushed until the silk was wearing away. He revealed thereby a shock of iron-gray wool. He made a sweeping bow.

"Massa, am dis de little missy dat yo' wuz tellin' 'bout? I'se powerful glad to meet yo', missy."

He was so very polite that even irrepressible Beth was a little awed. She hid halfway behind her father.

"This is January, Beth."

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