Despite his natural irritability, to which no one appeared to pay much attention, Mr. Loring grew almost cordial under the geniality and hopefulness emanating from Judge Clarkson, whom he was really very glad to see, and of whom he had numberless queries to ask regarding the hostilities of the past few months.

The enforced absence abroad had kept him in a highly nervous condition, doing much to counteract the utmost care given him by the most learned specialists of Europe. Half his fortune had been lost by those opening guns at Sumter. His warehouses, piled with great cotton bales for shipment to England, had been fired––burned to the ground. The capture of Beaufort, near which was another plantation of his, had made further wreck for him, financially, and whatever the foreign doctors might to with his body, his mind was back in Carolina, eager, questioning, combative. He was burning himself up with a fever of anxiety.

“It is all of no use, Mademoiselle,” said the most distinguished specialist whom she had consulted, “Monsieur, your uncle will live for many years if but the mind is composed––no shocks, no heavy loads to carry. But the mind, you perceive––it is impossible for him to allow himself to be composed away from his country. We have done all that can be done here. To return to his own land under the care of a competent physician, of course, would be now the best arrangement I could suggest. He may live there for many years; here, he will most certainly die.”

At Loring’s request Dr. Delaven was the physician who had been approached with the proposal to accompany him to Carolina. Why, it would be hard to guess, for they were totally unlike in every way––had not, apparently, a single taste in common. But the physician in charge of the hospital approved his judgment.

“It is a most wise one, Monsieur Loring. Dr. Delaven has shown as his specialty cases similar to your own, and has proven most successful. Withal, he is adventurous. He will enjoy the new country, and he is of your own language. All I could do for you he can do, perhaps more; for I am old, while he is young and alive with enthusiasms with which to supplement his technical knowledge.”

Gertrude only delayed their departure long enough to write Col. McVeigh, who was in London. He secured for them transportation to Nassau under the guardianship of an official who would take most extreme care that the party be conveyed from there by some blockade runner to be depended upon. And that the Federal blockade often failed of its purpose was evidenced by the fact that they were quietly landed one night in a little inlet south of Charleston, which they reached by carriage, and rested there a few days before attempting the journey overland.

The doctors were correct as to the beneficial results of the home coming of Loring. It acted like a tonic and the thought of outwitting the Yankees of that blockade pleased him immensely. He never gave a thought to the girl who watched with pale face and sleepless eyes through that dash for the shore. Delaven mentally called him a selfish brute.

The visit of Judge Clarkson was partially an affair of business, but after a private interview with Delaven he decided to dismiss all idea of business settlements until later. Nothing of an annoying or irritating nature must be broached to the convalescent just yet.

The Judge confessed that it was an affair over which Mr. Loring had been deeply chagrined––a clear loss of a large sum of money, and perhaps it would be safer, under the circumstances, to await Col. McVeigh’s return. Col. McVeigh was equally interested, and neither he nor the Judge would consent to risk an attack similar to that experienced by Mr. Loring during the bombardment of Port Royal entrance. He was at that time on his Beaufort plantation, where the blue coats overran his place after they landed, and it was known to have been nothing else than a fit of rage at their victory, and rage at the planters who fled on all sides of him, which finally ended in the prostration for which the local physicians could find no remedy. Then it was that Gertrude took him abroad, with the result described. It was understood the prostration had taught him one useful lesson––he no longer cultivated the rages for which he had been locally famous. As he was unable to stamp and roar, he compromised on sneers and caustic retorts, from which he appeared to derive an amount of satisfaction tonical in its effects.

The Judge was giving Delaven the details of the Beaufort affair when Ben wheeled his master into the room. There 137 was an awkward pause, a slight embarrassment, but he had caught the words “Port Royal entrance,” and comprehended.

“Huh! Talking over that disaster, Judge?” he remarked. “I tell you what it is, you can’t convey to a foreigner anything of the feeling of the South over those misfortunes; to have Sherman’s tramps go rough-shod over your lawns and rest themselves with braggadocio at your tables––the most infernal riff-raff––”

“One moment,” interposed the Judge, blandly, with a view to check the unpleasant reminiscences. “Did I not hear you actually praise one of those Yankees?––in fact, assert that he was a very fine fellow?”

“Yes, yes; I had forgotten him. A Yankee captain; ordered the blue-coats to the right-about when he found there was only a sick man and a girl there; and more than that, so long as those scavengers were ashore and parading around Beaufort he kept men stationed at my gates for safeguard duty. A fine fellow, for a Yankee. I can only account for it by the fact that he was a West Point graduate, and was thus thrown, to a certain extent, into the society and under the influences of our own men. Kenneth, Col. McVeigh, had known Monroe there––his name was Monroe––Captain John Monroe––at Beaufort his own men called him Captain Jack.”

“Just as she was stepping on ship board: ‘Your name I’d like to know?’ And with a smile she answered him, ‘My name is Jack Monroe!’”

sang a fresh voice outside the window, and then the curtain was pushed aside and Evilena’s brown head appeared.

“I really could not help that, Mr. Loring,” she said, laughingly. “The temptation was too great. Did you never whistle ‘Jack Monroe’ when you were a boy?”

“No, I can’t say I ever did,” he replied, testily.

“It’s intensely interesting,” she continued, seating herself on the window sill and regarding him with smiling interest, made bold by the presence of her champion, the Judge. “Aunt Sajane taught it to me, an old, old sailor song. It’s all about her sweetheart, Jack, not Aunt Sajane’s sweetheart, but the girl’s. Her wealthy relatives separate them by banishing him to the wars somewhere, and she dressed up in boy’s clothes to follow him.

“‘She went unto a tailor And dressed in men’s array, And thence unto a sailor And paid her fare away.’”

recited Evilena, with uplifted finger punctuating the sentences. “Wasn’t she brave? Well, she found him, and they were married. There are seven verses of it.”

“I––I should think that quite enough,” he remarked, dropping his head forward and looking at her from under the overhanging brows. “Do you mean to sing them all to me?”

“Perhaps, some day,” she promised, showing all her teeth and dropping the curtain.

“So now this couple’s married, Despite their bitter foe, And she’s back again in England With her darling, Jack Monroe.”

The two visitors laughed outright as this information was wafted to them from the veranda, the old song growing 139 more faint as the singer circled the house in search of Gertrude.

“A true daughter of the South, Dr. Delaven,” said the Judge, with a tender cadence betraying how close to his heart was his pride in all Southern excellence––“child and woman in one, sir––a charming combination.”

“Right you are, Judge, in that; may their numbers never be less.”

Evilena had found Gertrude and at once confessed her daring.

“Don’t know how I ever did have courage to pop my head in there. Aunt Sajane––but he talked of Jack Monroe just as I passed the window, and I pretended I thought he meant the old song (I do wonder if he ever––ever sang or whistled?) Then I told him what it was all about, and promised to sing it to him some day, and I know by the sort of smile he had that he wanted to order me out of the room as he used to when I was little.”

“Lena, Lena!” and Gertrude shook her head admonishingly at the girl, though she smiled at the recital.

“Oh, you are an angel, Gertrude; so you never have temptations to do things for pure mischief. But I wish you’d tell me who this Jack Monroe is.”

“A Federal officer who was of service to us when Beaufort was taken.”

“A Yankee!”––and her horror was absolute. “Well, I should not think you’d accept service from such a person.”

“Honey!” said Aunt Sajane, in mild chiding.

“We had no choice,” said Gertrude, quietly; “afterwards we learned he and Kenneth had been friends at West Point; so he was really a gentleman.”

“And in the Yankee Army?” queried the irrepressible. “Good-bye, Jack Monroe, I shan’t sing you again.”

“You might be faithful to one verse for Gertrude’s sake,” ventured Aunt Sajane.

“Gertrude’s sake?”

“Why, yes; he protected them from the intrusion of the Yankees.”

“Oh––h! Aunt Sajane, I really thought you were going to ferret out a romance––a Romeo and Juliet affair––their families at war, and themselves––”

“Evilena!”

“When Gertrude says ‘Evilena’ in that tone I know it is time to stop,” said the girl, letting go the kitten she was patting, and putting her arm around Gertrude. “You dear, sensible Gertrude, don’t mind one word I say; of course I did not mean it. Just as if we did not have enough Romeos in our own army to go around.”

The significant glance accompanying her words made Gertrude look slightly conscious.

“You are a wildly romantic child,” she said, smoothing the chestnut tinted waves of the girl’s hair, “and pray, tell us how many of our military Romeos are singing ‘Sweet Evilena,’ and wearing your colors?”

Dr. Delaven passed along the hall in time to hear this bantering query, and came opposite the door when this true daughter of the South was counting all the fingers of one pretty hand.

“Just make it a half dozen,” he suggested, “for I’m wearing yet the sunflower you gave me,” and he pointed to the large daisy in his buttonhole.

“No, I’m always honest with Gertrude, and she must have the true number. We are talking of military men, and all others are barred out.”

“So you informed me the first day of our acquaintance,” he assented, arranging the daisy more to his liking.

“And I’ve never forgiven you for that first day,” she retorted, nodding her head in a way suggestive of some dire punishment waiting for him in the future. “It was dreadful, the way he led me on to say things, Aunt Sajane, for how was I to guess he was the doctor? I was expecting a man like––well, like Dr. Allison, only more so; very learned, very severe, with eye glasses through which he would examine us as though we were new specimens discovered in the wilds of America. I certainly did not expect to find a frivolous person who wore daisies, and––oh!” as she caught a glimpse of some one coming up the path from the landing––“there comes Nelse. Gertrude, can’t I have him in here?”

“May I ask if Nelse is one of the five distinguished by your colors?” asked Delaven.

“Nelse is distinguished by his own colors, which is a fine mahogany, and he is the most interesting old reprobate in Carolina––a wizard, if you please––a sure enough voodoo doctor, and the black historian of the Salkahatchie. May I call him?”

“I really do not think uncle likes to have him around,” said Gertrude, dubiously; “still––oh, yes, call him if you like. Don’t let him tire you with his stories; and keep him out of uncle’s way. He would be sure to tell him about those late runaways.”

“I promise to stand guard in that case myself, Miss Loring; for I have a prejudice against allowing witch-doctors access to my patients.”

Mrs. Nesbitt arose as if to follow Gertrude from the room, hesitated, and resumed her chair.

“When I was a girl we young folks were all half afraid of Nelse––not that he ever harmed any one,” she confessed. “The colored folks said he was a wizard, but I never did give credit to that.”

“Aunt Chloe, she says he is!”

“Oh, yes; and Aunt Chloe sees ghosts, and talks with goblins, to hear her tell the story; but that old humbug is just as much afraid of a mouse as––as I am.”

“Nelse is a free nigger,” explained Evilena, turning from the window after having motioned him to enter. “He was made free by his old master, Marmaduke Loring, and the old rascal––I mean Nelse, bought himself a wife, paid for her out of his jockey earnings, and when she proved a disappointment what do you think he did?”

Delaven could not get beyond a guess, as the subject of her discourse had just then appeared in the door.

He was a small, black man, quite old, but with a curious attempt at jauntiness, as he made his three bows with his one hand on his breast, the other holding his cane and a jockey cap of ancient fashion. It contrasted oddly with the swallow-tailed coat he wore, which had evidently been made for a much larger man; the sleeves came to his finger tips, and the tails touched his heels. The cloth of which it was made was very fine dark blue, with buttons of brass. His waistcoat of maroon brocade came half way to his knees. Warm as the day was he wore a broad tie of plaid silk arranged in a bow, above which a white muslin collar rose to his ears. He was evidently an ancient beau of the plantations in court dress.

“Yo’ servant, Miss Sajane, Miss Lena; yo’ servant, Mahstah,” he said with a bow to each. “I done come pay my respects to the family what got back. I’m powerful glad to heah they got safe ovah that ocean.”

“Oh, yes; you’re very thankful when you wait two whole weeks before you come around to say ‘howdy.’ Have you moved so far into the swamp you can’t even hear when the 143 family comes home? Sit down, you’re tired likely. Tell us all the news from your alligator pasture.”

“My king! Miss Lena, you jest the same tant’lizin’ little lady. Yo’ growen’ up don’t make you outgrow nothen’ but yo’ clothes. My ’gatah pasture? I show yo’ my little patch some o’ these days––show yo’ what kind ’gatahs pasture theah; why, why, I got ’nigh as many hogs as Mahs Matt has niggahs these days.”

“Yes, and he hasn’t so many as he did have,” remarked Mrs. Nesbitt, significantly. “You know anything about where Scip and Aleck are gone?”

“Who––me? Miss Sajane? You think I keep time on all the runaway boys these days? They too many for me. It sutenly do beat all how they scatter. Yo’ all hear tell how one o’ Cynthy’s boys done run away, too? Suah as I tell you––that second boy, Steve! Ole Mahs Masterson got him dogs out fo’ him––tain’t no use; nevah touched the track once. He’ll nevah stop runnen’ till he reach the Nawth an’ freeze to death. I alles tole Cynthy that Steve boy a bawn fool.”

“Do you mean your son Steve, or your grandson?” queried Mrs. Nesbitt.

“No’m, ’taint little Steve; his mammy got too much sense to let him go; but that gal, Cynthy––humph!” and his disdain of her perceptive powers was very apparent.

“But, Uncle Nelse, just remember Aunt Cynthy must be upwards of seventy. Steve is fifty if he is a day. How do you suppose she could control him, even if she knew of his intention, which is doubtful.”

“She nevah would trounce that rascal, even in his youngest days,” asserted Nelse, earnestly; “and as the ’bush is bent the tree’s declined.’ I use to kote that scripper to her many’s the day, but how much good it do to plant cotton seed on 144 stony groun’ or sow rice on the high lan’? Jes’ that much good scripper words done Cynthy, an’ no more.”

His tone betrayed a sorrowful but impersonal regret over the refractory Cynthia, and their joint offspring. Evilena laughed.

“Where did you get so well acquainted with the scripture, Nelse?” she asked. “I know you never did learn it from your beloved old Mahs Duke Loring. I want you to tell this gentleman all about the old racing days. This is Dr. Delaven (Nelse made a profound bow). He has seen great races abroad and hunted foxes in Ireland. I want you to tell him of the bear hunts, and the horses you used to ride, and how you rode for freedom. The race was so important, Dr. Delaven, that Marmaduke Loring promised Nelse his freedom if he won it, and he had been offered three thousand, five hundred dollars for Nelse, more than once.”

“Nevah was worth as much to myself as I was to Mahs Duke,” said Nelse, shaking his head. “I tell yo’ true, freedom was a sure enough hoodoo, far as I was concerned; nevah seemed to get so much out o’ the horses after I was my own man; nevah seemed to see so much money as I owned befo’, an’ every plum thing I ’vested in was a failure from the start; there was that gal o’ Mahs Masterson’s––that there Cynthy––”

The old man’s garrulity was checked by the noiseless entrance of Margeret. He gave a distinct start as he saw her.

“I––I s’lute yo’, Miss Retta,” he said, sweeping his cap along the floor and bowing from where he sat. She glanced at him, bent her head slightly in acknowledgment, but did not address him.

“Miss Loring asks to see you in the dining room, Mistress Nesbitt,” she said softly; then drawing a blind where 145 the sun was too glaring, and opening another that the breeze might be more apparent, she passed silently out.

The old man never spoke until she disappeared.

“My king!––she get mo’ ghost-like every yeah, that Retta,” he said, while Evilena gathered up the ball of stocking yard and wound it for Mrs. Nesbitt; “only the eyes o’ that woman would tell a body who she is, these days; seems like the very shape o’ her face been changed sence she––”

“Nelse,” said Mrs. Nesbitt, a trifle sharply, “whatever you do you are not to let Mr. Loring know about those runaways; maybe you better keep out of his sight altogether this visit, for he’s sure to ask questions about everything, and the doctor’s orders are that he is not to see folks or have any business talks––you understand? and nothing ever does excite him so much as a runaway.”

“Oh, yes, Miss Sajane, I un’stan’; I’ll keep out. Hearen’ how things was I jes’ come down to see if Miss Gertrude needs any mo’ help looken’ after them field niggahs. They nevah run away from me.”

“Well”––and she halted doubtfully at the door––“I’ll tell her. And if you want Dr. Delaven to hear about the old racing days, honey, hadn’t you better take him into the library where the portraits are? I’m a trifle uneasy lest Mr. Loring should take a notion to come in here. Since he’s commenced to walk a little he is likely to appear anywhere but in the library. He never does seem to like the library corner.”

Delaven glanced at the library walls as the three advanced thereto––walls paneled in natural cedar, and hung with large gilt frames here and there between the cases of books. “I should think any man would like a room like this,” he remarked, “especially when it holds one’s own family portraits. 146 There is a picture most attractive––a fine make of a man.”

“That Mahs Tom Loring, Miss Gertrude’s father,” explained Nelse. “Jest as fine as he looks theah, Mahs Tom was, and ride!––king in heaven! but he could ride. ’Taint but a little while back since he was killed, twenty yeahs maybe––no, eighteen yeahs come Christmas. He was followen’ the houn’s, close on, when his horse went down an’ Mahs Tom picked up dead, his naik broke. His wife, Miss Leo Masterson, she was, she died some yeahs befo’, when Miss Gertrude jest a little missy. So they carried him home from Larue plantation––that wheah he get killed––an’ bury him back yonder beside her,” and he pointed to a group of pines across the field to the north; “so, after that––”

“Oh, Nelse, tell about live things––not dead ones,” suggested Evilena, “tell about the races and your Mahs Duke, how he used to go horseback all the way to Virginia, to the races, and even to Philadelphia, and how all the planters gathered for hundreds of miles, some of the old ones wearing small clothes and buckled shoes, and how––”

“Seems like you done mind them things so well ’taint no use tryen’ to rake up the buried reck’lections o’ the pas’ times,” said the old man, rebukingly, and with a certain pomposity. “I reckon now you ’member all the high quality gentlemen. The New Market Jockey Club, an’ how they use to meet reg’lar as clock-work the second Tuesday in May and October; an’ how my Mahs Duke, with all the fine ruffles down his shirt front, an’ his proud walk, an’ his voice soft as music, an’ his grip hard as steel, was the kingpin o’ all the sports––the grandest gentleman out o’ Calliny, an’ carried his head high as a king ovah all Jerusalem––I reckon you done mind all that theah, Miss Lena.”

“I will, next time,” laughed the girl, “go on, Nelse, we would rather hear what you remember.”

“I don’t reckon the names o’ the ole time sportin’ gentlemen, an’ old time jockeys, an’ old time stock, would count much with a gentleman from foreign lan’s,” said the old man, with a deprecating bow to Delaven. “But my Mahs Duke Loring nevah had less than six horses in trainen’ at once. I was stable-boy, an’ jes’ trained up with the colts till Mahs Duke saw I could ride. I sartainly had luck with racin’ stock, seein’ which he gave me clean charge o’ the whole racin’ stable; ’sides which, keepen’ my weight down to eighty pounds let me in for the jockey work––them was days. I was sent ovah into Kaintucky, an’ up Nawth far as Long Island, to ride races fo’ otha gentlemen––friends o’ Mahs Duke’s, an’ every big race I run put nigh onto a hundred dollar plump into my own pocket. Money?––my king! I couldn’t see cleah how I evah could spend all the money I got them days, cause I didn’t have to spend a cent fo’ clothes or feed, an’ I had mo’ presents give to me by the quality folks what I trained horses fer than I could count or reck’lect.

“The ride Miss Lena done tole yo’ of––that happen the yeah Mahs Duke imported Lawd Chester, half brother to Bonnie Bell, that won the sweepstakes at Petersburg, an’ sire o’ Glenalven out o’ Lady Clare, who was owned by Mahs Hampton ovah in Kaintucky. Well, sah, the yeah he imported Chester was the yeah he an’ Mr. Enos Jackson had the set-to ’bout their two-yeah-olds––leastwise the colts seemed to be the cause; but I don’t mind tellen’, now, that I nevah did take stock in that notion, my own self. Women folks get mixed up even in race fights an’ I mind one o’ the han’some high steppers o’ Philadelphia way down theah that time, an’ Mistah Jackson he got a notion his chances 148 mighty good, till long come Mahs Duke an’ glance out corner of his eye, make some fine speeches, an’––farwell, Mistah Jackson! Mistah Jackson wa’nt jes’ what you’d call the highest quality, though he did own powerful stretches o’ lan’––three plantations in Nawth Calliny, ’sides lots o’ other property. He had a colt called Darker he ’lowed nothen’ could keep in sight of, an’ he was good stuff––that colt. Mistah Jackson would a had easy riden’ fo’ the stakes if me an’ Mahs Duke hadn’t fetch Betty Pride up to show ’em what we could do. Well, the upshot of it was that part on account o’ that Nawthen flirtatious young pusson what liked Mahs Duke the best, an’ part on account o’ Betty Pride, Mistah Jackson act mighty mischievous-like, an’ twenty minutes afo’ time was called I ’scovered that boy, Jim Peters, what was to ride Betty Pride, had been drugged––jest a trifle, not enough to leave him stupid––but too much to leave him ride, bright as he need be that day. He said Mistah Jackson’s stable boss had give him a swallow o’ apple jack, an’ king heaven!––but Mahs Duke turn white mad when I tole him. He say to Jim’s brother Mose––Mose was his body servant––‘Moses, fetch me my pistols,’ jest quiet like that; ‘Moses, fetch me my pistols.’ Whew!––but I was scared, an’ I says, ‘No, sah,’ I says, ‘Mahs Duke, fo’ heaven’s sake, don’t stop the race, an’ I’ll win it fo’ you yet. Mistah Jackson betten nigh bout all he own on Darker; get yo’ frien’s to take all bets fo’ you, an’ egg him on. Betty Pride ain’t been tampered with!––take my word fo’ it, she’ll win even with my extra weight––now, Mahs Duke, fo’ God’s sake,’ says I, ‘go out theah an’ fool them rascals; don’t let on you know ’bout their trick; take all theah bets, an’ trust me. I trained that colt, an’ we’ll win, Mahs Duke––if we don’t––well, sah, you can jest use them pistols on me.’ I mos’ got down on my 149 knees a’ beggen’ him, an’ his blue eyes, like steel, measuren’ me an’ weighen’ my words, then he said: ‘I’ll risk it, Nelse, but––heaven help yo’ if yo’ fail me!’

“I knew good enough I’d need some powerful help if I come in second, fo’ he had a monstrous temper, but kindest man you evah met when things went his way. Well, jest as I was jumpen’ into my clothes, an’ Mahs Duke had started to the ring, I called out, half joken: ‘Oh, Mahs Duke, I’m a dead niggah if I come in second, but what yo’ gwine to give me if I come in first?’

“He turned at that an’ said, sharp an’ quick an’ decided––‘Yo’ freedom, Nelse.’ My king!––that made me shaky, I could scarce get into my clothes. I knew he been offered big money fo’ me, many’s the time, an’ now I was gwine to get it all my own self.

“Mahs Duke done jes’ like I begged him––kep’ steady an’ cool an’ take up all Mistah Jackson’s bets, and he was jest betten wild till he saw who was on Betty Pride, an’ I heah tell he come a nigh fainten’ when he got sight o’ me; but Mahs Duke’s look at ’im must a jes’ propped him up an’ sort o’ fo’ced him to brave it out till we come aroun’. It was a sweepstakes an’ repeat, an’ Betty Pride come in eighteen inches ahead, an’ that Nawthen lady what conjure Mistah Jackson so, she fastened roses in Betty Pride’s bridle, an’ gave me a whole bouquet––with one eye on Mahs Duke all the time, of course, but Lordy!––he wan’t thinken’ much about ladies jes’ that minute. He won ovah thousand dollars in money, ’sides two plantations off Mistah Jackson, who nevah dared enter the jockey club aftah that day. An’ Mahs Duke was good as his word ’bout the freedom––he give it to me right theah; that’s my Mahs Duke.”

“And a fine sort of a man he was, then,” commented Delaven, looking more closely at the strong, fine pictured face, 150 and the bushy, leonine shock of tawny hair and the eyes that smiled down with a twinkle of humor in their blue depths. There was a slight likeness to Matthew Loring in the heavy brows and square chin, but the smile of the father was genial––that of the son, sardonic.

“Yes, sah,” agreed Nelse, when comment was made upon the likeness, “Mahs Matt favor him a mite, but none to speak of. Mahs Tom more like him in natur’. Mahs Matt he done take mo’ likeness to his gran’ma’s folks, who was French, from L’weesiana. A mighty sharp eye she got, an’ all my Mahs Duke’s niggahs walk straight, I tell yo’, when she come a visiten’ to we all. I heard tell how her mother was some sort o’ great lady from French court, packed off to L’weesiana ’cause o’ some politics like they have ovah theah; an’ in her own country she was a princess or some high mightiness, an’ most o’ her family was killed in some rebeloution––woman, too! All saved her was getten to Orleans, an’ her daughter, she married ole Matthew Loring, the daddy o’ them all, so far back as I know.”

The old man had warmed to his task, as floods of reminiscences came sweeping through his memory. He grew more important, and let fall the borrowed cloak of servility; his head was perched a little higher and a trifle askew as he surveyed them. The reflected grandeur of past days was on him, and in comparison modernity seemed common-place. All these brilliant, dashing, elegant men and women of his youth were gone. He was the only human echo left of their greatness, and his diminutive person grew more erect as he realized his importance as a landmark of the past.

“There!” said Evilena, triumphantly, “isn’t that as interesting as your Irish romances? Where would you find a landlord of England or Ireland who would make a free gift of three thousand dollars to a servant? They simply could 151 not conceive of such generosity unless it were the gift of a king or a prince, and then it would be put down in their histories for all men to remember.”

“True for you,” assented Delaven, with the brogue he was fond of using at times when with those elected to comradeship; “true for you, my lady, but you folks who are kings and queens in your own right should be a bit easy on the unfortunates who can be only subjects.”

“They don’t need to be subjects,” she insisted; “they could assert their independence just as we did.”

“Oh, sometimes it isn’t so bad––this being a subject. I’ve found life rather pleasant down here in the South, where you are all in training for the monarchy you mean to establish. I don’t mind being a subject at all, at all, if it’s to the right queen.”

“But we didn’t come in here to talk politics,” she said, hastily. “Uncle Nelse, do tell Dr. Delaven about your freedom days, and all. He is a stranger here and wants to learn all about the country and customs. You’ve traveled, Nelse, so you can tell him a lot.”

“Yes, reckon I could. Yes, sah, I done travelled considerable; the onliest advantage I could conjure up in freedom was goen’ wherever the fit took me to go––jes’ runnen’ roun’ loose. My king! I got good an’ tiahed runnen, I tell yo’. Went cleah out to the Mississippi river, I did––spent all my money, an’ started back barefoot, deed I did, an’ me worth three thousan’ five hundred dollars! Nevah did know how little sense I got till I was free to get myself in trouble if I liked, an’ didn’t have no Mahs Duke to get me out again. More’n that, seem like I done lost my luck some way––lost races I had no right to lose, till seem like owners they got scary ’bout me, an’ when I git far away from my own stamping groun’, seem like I wasn’t no sort o’ 152 use at all. Bye and bye I fell in with Judge Warner, who was a great friend o’ Mahs Dukes, and I jes’ up an’ tells him I done been conjured along o’ that freedom Mahs Duke done give me. My king!––how he did laugh. He offered me a good berth down on his place, but I say, ‘no, sah; all I want is Mahs Duke an’ old Calliny’; so he helps me to some races an’ seems like the very notion o’ goen’ home done fetch me good luck right off, ’cause I made good winnen’ on his bay filly, Creole, an’ soon as I got some money I bid far’well to wanderen’ an’ made fo’ home.

“I alles spishuned Mahs Duke know mo’ ’bout my travels than he let on, fo’ he jes’ laughed when he see me an’ say: ‘All right, Nelse, I been looken’ fo’ you some time. Now if yo’ done got yo’ fill o’ seen’ the world, ’spose yo’ go down an’ look at the new colt I got, an’ take yo’ ole place in the stable. Yo’ jes’ got back in time to spruce up the carriage team fo’ my wedden’.

“Well, sah, yo’ could a’ knocked me down with a feathah. Mahs Duke was thirty-five, an’ ovah, an’ had kep’ his own bachelor place fo’ ten yeah, loose an’ free. Then all at once a new family come down heah from Marylan’. They was the Mastersons, an’ a Miss Bar’bra Vaughn come to visit them, an’ it was all ovah with Mahs Duke. She jest won in a walk––that little lady.

“An’ he done took her all the way to Orleans fo’ wedden’ trip. I didn’t go ’long. I was done tired out with travel an’ ’sides that, I’d been riden’ ovah an’ back to the Masterson plantation fo’ Mahs Duke till I took up with a likely brown gal they fetched with them from up Nawth, an’ of all niggahs, Nawthen niggahs is the off-scourins o’ the yeath––copy aftah theh masters, I reckon, fo’ all the real, double-distilled quality folks I met up with in all my travels were gentlemen o’ the South, sah. Yes, sah, they may 153 breed good quality somewheahs up theah, but all o’ them sent down heah as samples ain’t nowhars with the home-bred article, sah.

“But I didn’t know all that them days, an’ that Cynthy o’ Mistah Masterson’s look mighty peart an’ talk mighty knowen’, an’ seem like as we both hed travelled considerable we both hed a heap of talk ’bout; an’ the upshot of it was I felt boun’ an’ sot to buy that gal, if so be they’d give me a fair chance an’ plenty o’ time. Well, sah, I talk it ovah with Mahs Duke, an’ he fix it so I can have Cynthy fo’ three hundred dollars.

“Seem like it’s a mighty small price to ask fo’ a likely young gal like her, but I so conjured with the notion o’ buyen’ her I nevah stopped to study into the reasons why o’ things, special as I had part o’ the money right by me to pay; a pocket full o’ money gets a man into mo’ trouble mostly than an empty one.

“Well, sah, I hadn’t owned her no time, till I was mo’ sot in my mind than evah as how freedom was a hoodoo. If I hadn’t been free I’d nevah took the notion to have a free wife o’ my own, an’ I’d a been saved a lot o’ torment, I tell yo’.

“She jest no good no how––that Cynthy. How they got work out o’ her ovah on the Masterson plantation I don’t know, fo’ I couldn’t. Think she’d even cook vittels fo’ her own self if she could help it? No, sah! She too plum lazy. She jes’ had a notion that bein’ free meant doen’ nothen’ ’tall fo’ no body. It needed a whole meeten’ house full o’ religion to get along with that gal, ’thout cussen’ at her, an’ as I’d done trained in the race course an’ not in a pulpit, seem like I noways fit for the ’casion. But I devilled along with her for three yeahs, and she had two boys by that time––didn’t make no sort o’ difference. 154 She got worse ’stead o’ better o’ her worthlessness, but I tried to put up with it till she jest put the cap sheaf on the hull business by getten’ religion up thah in the gum tree settlement, an’ I drew the line at that, I tell yo.’ Thah she was, howlen’ happy every night in the week ’long-side o’ Brother Peter Mosely. Brother Mosely’s wife didn’t seem to favah their religion no more’n I did; so, seen’ as I couldn’t follow roun’ aftah her with a hickory switch, an’ couldn’t keep her home or at work no othah way, I just got myself a divorce, an’ settled down alone on a patch o’ lan’ I bought o’ Mahs Duke, an’ I kep’ on looken’ aftah his stables long as he kept any. He died just afore young Mahs Tom married Miss Leo Masterson.”

“But what of the divorce? Did it improve her religion or cure her laziness?” asked Delaven, who found more of novelty in the black man’s affairs than the master’s.

“Who––Cinthy? I just sold her right back to Mistah John Masterson fo’ twenty-five dollar less than I paid, an’ the youngsters they went into the bargain; fo’ I tell yo’, sah, them Nawthen niggahs is bad stock to manage––if they’s big or little; see what happened that Steve o’ hern; done run off, he has, an’ him ole enough to know bettah. Oh, yes, sah, I up an’ I sold the whole batch; that how come I get my money back fo’ her, an’ stock my little patch o’ groun’. Yes, sah, she got scared an’ settle down when I done sold her back again. Mahs Masterson he got mo’ work out o’ her than I could; he knew mo’ ’bout managen’ them Nawthen niggahs.”

“Wouldn’t he be a find for those abolitionists?” asked Evilena, laughing. “Nelse, you’ve been very entertaining, and if your Miss Gertrude needs you to stay about the place we’ll steal hours to hear about old times.”

“Thanky, Miss Lena; yo’ servant, sah; it sartainly does do me good to get in heah an’ see all these heah faces again––mighty fine they are. I mind when some o’ them was painted. Mahs Duke’s was done in Orleans; so was Miss Bar’bra, it’s in the parlah. But Mahs Tom––he had an artis’ painter come down from Wash’nton to do Miss Gertrude’s, once when she just got ovah sick spell––he scared lest she die an’ nevah have no likeness; her ma, she died sudden that-a-way. We all use to think it bad luck to get likenesses; I nevah had none; Mahs Matt nevah had none; an’ we’re a liven’ yet. All the rest had ’em took an’ wheah are they?”

“Now, Uncle Nelse, you don’t mean to say it shortens people’s lives to have their picture taken?”

“Don’t like to say, Miss Lena, but curious things do happen in this world. That artist man, his name, Mistah Madden, he made Mahs Tom’s likeness, an’ Mahs Tom got killed! An’ all time Mahs Tom’s likeness was bein’ done, an’ all time Miss Gertrude’s was a doin’, that Mistah Madden he just go ’stracted to paint one o’ Retta to take ’way with him. All the niggahs jest begged her not to let him, but she only laughed––she laughed most o’ the time them days; an’ Mahs Tom he sided with Mistah Madden, so she give consent, an’ he painted two––one monstrous big one to take ’way with him, an’ then a teeny one fo’ a breastpin; he give it to Retta ’cause she set still an’ let him make the big one. An’ now what happened? Within a yeah Mahs Tom, he was killed, an’ Retta Caris, she about died o’ some crazy brain fever, an’ it was yeahs afore she knew her own name again; yes, went ’wildered like––she did; an’ that’s what two likenesses done to my sutain knowledge.”

“Then I’ve hoodooed Dr. Delaven, for I made a pencil picture of him only this morning.”

“And if I should fall down stairs, or into the Salkahatchie, you will know the primal reason for it.”

Old Nelse shook his head at such frivolity.

“Jes’ ’cause you all ain’t afraid don’t take yo’ no further off danger,” he said, soberly. Then he followed Evilena to the kitchen, where his entrance was greeted with considerable respect. When Nelse appeared at Loringwood in his finest it was a sort of state affair in the cook house. He was an honored guest with the grown folks, because the grandeurs he had witnessed and could tell of, and he was a cause of dread to the pickaninnies who were often threatened with banishment to the Unc. Nelse glade, and they firmly believed he immediately sold all the little darkies who put foot in his domain.

“Isn’t he delightfully quaint?” asked the girl, rejoining Delaven. “Gertrude never does seem to find him interesting; but I do. She has been used to him always, of course, and I haven’t, and she thinks it was awful for him to sell Cynthia, just because she got religion and would not behave. Now, I think it’s funny; don’t you?”

“Your historian has given me so many side-lights on slavery that I’m dazzled with the brilliancy of them; whether serious or amusing, it is astonishing.”

“Only to strangers,” said the girl; “to us they are never puzzling; they are only grown-up children––even the wisest––and need to be managed like children. Those crazy abolitionists should hear Nelse on the ‘hoodoo’ of freedom; I fancy he would astonish them.”

“Not the slightest doubt of it,” agreed Delaven, who usually did agree with Evilena––except when argument would prolong a tete-a-tete.

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