A Daughter of the Rich Part 49

By this time Wilkins' face was one broad beam. He slapped his free hand on his knee:

"Yo 's Mister Chi, for sho'--dere ain't no need yo' tellin'. Yo' jes'

come straight in, Mister Chi; Ma.r.s.e John an' little Missy jes' gone fo'

ah drive in de Park. Dey 'll be in any minute. Yo' room 's all ready, an' little Missy put de flow'rs in fresh dis yere mornin'--''Case,' she say, 'Wilkins, dere ain't no tellin' when Chi's comin'.'"

"Sho'," Chi interrupted him, brus.h.i.+ng the back of his hand hastily across his eyes. "I can't come in now, Wilkins, coz I 've got to stay here 'n' watch my horse--I 'll sit here on the steps a spell 'n' cool off till Mr. Clyde gets home, 'n' he 'll help me see to puttin' up Fleet for the night. His legs are a little mite swollen near the hocks, 'n' I 'm goin' to rub him down myself."

"De coachman jes' tend to yo' hoss like 's ef 't wor yo'se'f, Mister Chi. I 'll jes' call up de stable bo', 'n' he 'll rub him down wif sp'r'ts, an' s.h.i.+ne him up till he look jes' lake new mahog'ny. Jes' yo'

come--dere dey come now!"

Chi was at the curbstone to welcome them.

"Chi! O Chi!" Hazel rose up in the trap at sight of the well-known figure, and Chi, laying his hand firmly on Martin's shoulder, put him aside as he sprang to open the door and let down the steps, reached up both arms, and took Hazel out as tenderly as on the night of her first arrival at the farmhouse on the Mountain. And then and there Hazel gave him a kiss, and Mr. Clyde grasped his hands in both his, and the wide hall doors that Wilkins had thrown open to their fullest extent closed upon the reunited friends.

"'E 's a 'ansome 'oss," Martin remarked to the coachman, as he mounted Fleet to take him to the stable; "Hi 'ave n't seen a 'ansomer since Hi 've bean in the States."

A few days after the hall doors were again flung wide, but not to their fullest extent, and Wilkins' face grew strangely tremulous when he heard Hazel and Mr. Clyde, Jack and Chi coming down the broad hall stairs.

Martin was proudly leading Fleet and Little Shaver up and down in front of the house.

"Jack! O Jack! I can't bear to have you go--but I _will_ be brave."

Hazel smiled through the raining tears. She clung to him and kissed him.

He put her aside, ran out to Little Shaver, and flung himself on before Chi had said good-bye.

"Take care of Jack, Chi," she whispered, patting his hand.

"I will, Barbara Frietchie." He pointed to the flag that, in the east wind blowing in from the Sound, was waving over the entrance, gripped Mr. Clyde's hand, then Wilkins', and, apparently, stepped into the saddle.

"Quick, quick, Wilkins! lower the flag, and let me have it." Wilkins sprang to obey. Hazel seized it, and rushed up stairs to the drawing-room, the windows of which overlooked the Avenue. One of them was open; she leaned out; and as Fleet and Little Shaver turned the corner, their riders, looking up, saw the young girl's figure in the opening. She was waving the symbol of their Country's life and their manhood's loyalty.

They halted, baring their heads for a moment--then without once looking back, galloped down the Avenue.

XXV

SAN JUAN

Notwithstanding it was a hot day in the first week of July, Mrs.

Spillkins had decided to have a "quilting-bee." Having made up her mind, after consulting with Miss Melissa and Miss Elvira, she lost no time in summoning Uncle Israel from the barn, and making known her plans. Uncle Israel mildly objected.

"Kinder hot fer er quiltin'-bee, ain't it, Hannah?"

"'Tis pretty hot," Mrs. Spillkins admitted, wiping the perspiration from her face with her ap.r.o.n, "but we 'll have it to-morrow 'long 'bout four.

You get the frames and rollers out, Israel, from the back garret, an'

then I want you to go up to Mis' Blossom's an' ask 'em to come, an' get word to the other folks on the Mountain."

"I 'll go, Hannah, but I dunno 'bout Mis' Blossom 'n' Rose comin' ter er quiltin'-bee jest 'bout this time. They 're feelin' pretty low 'bout Chi off thar in Cuby; news hez come thet ther 's ben fightin'--"

"I know that, Israel; I 've thought of that, too; but, mebbe, it 'll do 'em good, just to change the scene a little. Anyway, you ask 'em."

"Jest ez ye say, Hannah."

The sun was setting when Uncle Israel made his appearance on the porch where the whole family was a.s.sembled with Alan Ford. They had but one topic for conversation.

Uncle Israel gave his invitation, and added: "Hannah thought ye 'd better come 'n' change the scene a leetle--she knowed ye 'd be kinder low-spereted 'bout now."

Mrs. Blossom held out her hand. "Thank you, Uncle Israel. Tell Mrs.

Spillkins we will both come."

"Hannah wants your folks ter come, tew, Alan."

"Much obliged, Uncle Israel. I 'll tell mother and Ruth; I 'm sure they will enjoy it. Ruth said the other day she wished she might have a chance to see a quilting-bee while we are here. Shall I take your message over to Aunt Tryphosa?"

"Much obleeged, Alan. Thank ye, Rose,"--as Rose brought out the large arm-chair and placed it for him; "I 'll set a spell 'n' rest me."

It was a typical northern midsummer night. Across the valley the mountains loomed, softly luminous, against the pale green translucent stretch of open sky in the west. There were no clouds; but high above and around there swept a long trail of motionless mist, flame-colored over the mountain tops, but darkening, with the coming of the night, into gray towards the east. The stars were not yet out. The veeries were choiring antiphonally in the woodlands.

An hour afterwards Alan Ford rose to go, and Uncle Israel soon followed his example.

"I 'll go down the woods'-road a piece with you, Uncle Israel," said Rose.

As she came back up the Mountain a cool breath drew through the pines, and the spruces gave forth their resinous fragrance upon the dewless night. The stars were brilliant in the dark blue deeps.

A midsummer night among the mountains of New England! And far away in the sickening heat and wet, the fever-laden exhalations of the tropics rose into the nostrils of a man, who sat motionless in the rude field-hospital, hastily improvised on the slope of San Juan, watching, with his knees drawn up to his chin and his hands clasping them, for some faint tremor in the still face on the army blanket spread upon the ground.

The lantern cast its light full upon that still face. Suddenly the watcher bent forward; his keen eyes had detected a twitch of an eyelid--a flutter in the muscles of the throat. "Don't move him," the surgeon had said; "the least movement will cause the final hemorrhage."

There was a catch of the breath--the eyes opened, partly filmed.

"Jack!" The watcher spoke, bending lower; his ear over the other's lips.

"Chi--" it was a mere breath, but the man heard--"I'm--done for."

The watcher's hand, muscular, toil-hardened, sought the nerveless one that was lying on the other's breast, and closed upon it with a brooding pressure. There was silence for a few minutes. Then the h.o.r.n.y hand felt a feeble stirring of the fingers beneath the hardened palm--they were fumbling weakly at a b.u.t.ton.

The strong hand undid the b.u.t.ton, gently--very gently, without apparent movement. There was a motion of the nerveless fingers towards the place. Another breath:--

"Give--love--"

A long silence fell.

Mrs. Spillkins heaved a sigh of satisfaction: "We 've done an awful sight of work," she said, surveying the five quilts "run" and "tacked"

and "knotted" in even rows and mathematically true squares; "but it seems as if they did n't eat a mite of supper, an' that strawberry shortcake was enough to melt in your mouth."

"What'd I tell ye, Hannah? They're worretin' 'bout Chi," said Uncle Israel. "They've fit agin; Ben told me while he wuz waitin' with the team fer the womin-folks. He hed the mail, 'n' er telegram thet thet young feller, we see ridin' 'roun' here las' summer, wuz mortal wounded.

He did n't want the womin-folks ter know it till he got 'em hum. They sot er sight by him."