The Voice of the People Part 24

Her husband looked slightly abashed.

"So you have observed it?" he asked in an injured tone.

Mrs. Burwell laid her brush aside and crossed the room to where he stood.

"Everybody knows you are a very clever man, Mr. Burwell," she said. "I have never pretended to have as much sense as a man, and I hope n.o.body has ever accused me of anything so unwomanly--but there are some things you can't teach your wife, with all your experience."

Mr. Burwell stroked the plump hand on his arm and smiled in returning self-esteem.

"And you are quite sure he fancies Sally?" he inquired.

"I know it," replied his wife decisively.

"Would it not be wise to prepare her, my dear?"

"Prepare Sally?" gasped Mrs. Burwell, and she went back to her mirror with dancing eyes.

VI

"I have learned all they can teach me here," wrote Eugenia from school on her eighteenth birthday, "so I'll be home to-morrow."

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the general, holding the letter above his cakes and coffee. "The child's mad--clean mad! We must put a stop to it."

"Write her to stay where she is," said Miss Chris decisively.

"I'll write her, the young puss!" returned the general angrily. "Giving herself airs at her age, is she? Why, she's just left her bottle!"

"What else does she say, Tom?" inquired his sister as she pa.s.sed him the maple syrup.

The letter fluttered helplessly in the general's hand. "I can't stay away any longer from my dear, bad-tempered, old dad," he read in a breaking voice; then he added hesitatingly, "I don't reckon she's right about knowing enough, eh, Chris?"

"Certainly not," responded Miss Chris severely. "The child's as headstrong as a colt. Get that letter off in time for the train, and I'll let Sampson carry it to town."

The general finished his breakfast and went to the old secretary in the library to write his letter. When he had given it to Sampson he came back to Miss Chris, who was was.h.i.+ng the teacups in the pantry.

"I s'pose we might as well get her room ready," he suggested. "She may come, anyway, you know."

Miss Chris looked up with a laugh from the delicate saucer she was wiping.

"I know it," she admitted; "and I'll see to her room. But your letter was positive, I hope?"

"Y-e-s," answered the general lamely, and he returned to the Richmond papers with an eager flush in his face.

The next day when Eugenia reached Kingsborough she found the dilapidated carriage awaiting her, with Sampson upon the driver's seat. With an impetuous flutter she threw her arms about the necks of the old horses.

"Why, you dear things!" she cried; then she held out her hand to Sampson. "I'm glad to see you, Sampson," she said. "But why didn't papa come to meet me?"

Her animated eyes glanced joyously from side to side and her lips were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with the delight of homecoming.

Sampson turned the wheel for her as she got into the carriage, and gave her the linen lap-robe.

"You sho is growed, Miss Eugeny," he observed, and then in reply to her question, "Ma.r.s.e Tom hev got pow'ful stiff-jinted recentelly. Hit seems like he'd ruther sot right still den ease hisse'f outer his cheer. Sence Ole Miss Grissel done drop down dead uv er political stroke, he ain'

step 'roun' mo'n he bleeged ter."

The carriage jolted through Kingsborough, and Eugenia bowed smilingly to her acquaintances. Once she stopped to shake hands with the rector and again to kiss Sally Burwell, who flew into her arms.

"Why, Eugie! you--you beauty!" she cried. Eugenia laughed delightedly, her black eyes glowing.

"Am I good-looking?" she asked. "I'm so glad. But I'll never be as pretty as you, you dear, sweet thing. I'm too big."

They laughed and kissed again, and Eugenia stepped from the carriage to greet the judge, who was pa.s.sing.

"This is a sight for sore eyes, my dear," said the judge, his fine old face wreathed in smiles. Then, as his gaze ran over her full, straight figure, "they make fine women these days," he added. "You're as tall as your father--though you're your mother's child. Yes, I can see Amelia Tucker in your eyes."

"Thank you--thank you," said the girl in a throaty voice. There was a glow, a warmth, a fervour in her face which harmonised the chill black and white of her colouring. Her expression was as a lamp to illumine the mask of her features.

"I couldn't stay away," she went on breathlessly. "I love Kingsborough better than the whole world."

"And Kingsborough loves you," returned the judge. "Yes, it is a good old town and well worth dying in, after all."

He a.s.sisted Eugenia into the carriage, shook hands again, and the lumbering old vehicle jogged on its way. In a moment another halt was called, and Mrs. Webb came from her gate to give the girl welcome.

"This is a surprise," she said as she kissed her. "I dined at Battle Hall last week, and they didn't tell me you were coming."

"They didn't know it," laughed Eugenia. "I come like a bolt from the blue."

Mrs. Webb smiled coldly. She was just as the girl had known her in childhood--only the high black pompadour was now white. She still wore her stiff black silk gown, fastened at the throat by a Confederate b.u.t.ton set in a brooch.

"You are like yourself and no one else," said Eugenia simply. "But tell me of Dudley--where is he?"

Mrs. Webb's face softened slightly.

"His practice is in Richmond now," she answered. "You know he studied law and took great honours at college. But his ambitions, I fear, are political. I don't like politics. They aren't for honest men."

Eugenia did not smile. She merely nodded a.s.sent and, saying good-bye pleasantly, jolted out of Kingsborough into the Old Stage Road.

"When did Mrs. Webb dine at home, Sampson?" she asked suddenly after a long silence.

"Hit wa'n' onc't en it wa'n' twice," said Sampson thoughtfully. "Mo'

like hit wuz tree times. She done been dar monst'ous often dis yer winter, an' de mo' she come de mo' 'ristocratical she 'pear ter git. Dar wa'n' no placin' her, nohow. We done sot 'er by Ole Mis' Grissel w'en she wuz 'live, an' we done sot 'er by Miss Chris, an' we done sot 'er by Ma.r.s.e Tom hisse'f, an', fo' de Lawd, I ain' never seen 'er congeal yit."

But Eugenia was seeking other information. "Is Uncle Ish well? And Aunt Verbeny, and the dogs? and did you bury Jim in the graveyard?"

"Dey's all well," replied Sampson, flicking at a horsefly on the sorrel's back, "an' Jim, he's well en buried. Ma.r.s.e Tom sot up er boa'd des' like you tell 'im."

A little later they turned into the cedar avenue, and Eugenia could see the large white pillars of the porch.