The Man in Gray: A Romance of North and South Part 9

"And what do you want me to do with it, Uncle Ben?" Custis asked seriously.

"Nuttin right now, sah. But I ain't got long ter live--"

"Oh, you'll be well in a few days, Uncle Ben."

"I mought an' den agin I moughtent. I been lyin' awake at night worryin'

'bout dat year o' mine. Ye see hit wouldn't do tall fur me ter go walkin' dem golden streets up dar in Heben wid one o' my years lopped off lake a shoat er a calf dat's been branded. Some o' dem n.i.g.g.e.rs standin' on dat gol' sidewalk would laugh at me. An' dat would hurt my feelin's. Some smart Aleck would be sho ter holler, 'Dar come ole Ben.

But he ain't got but one year!' Dat wouldn't do, tall, sah."

Phil bit his lips to keep from laughing. He saw the thing was no joke for the old man. It was a grim tragedy.

"What I wants ter axe, Ma.r.s.e Custis, is dat you promise me faithful, ez my young master, dat when I die you come to me, get dis year o' mine outen dis salt box an' stick hit back right whar it b'long 'fore dey nail me up in de coffin. I des can't 'ford ter walk down dem golden streets, 'fore all dat company, wid a piece er my year missin'. Will ye promise me, sah?"

Custis grasped the outstretched hand and clasped it.

"I promise you, Uncle Ben, faithfully."

"Den hit's all right, sah. When a Lee make a promise, hit's des ez good ez done. I know dat case I know who I'se er talkin' to."

He placed the piece of gristle back into the tin can, covered it with salt, tied the linen cover over it carefully, put it back on the shelf, locked the heavy oak door and handed Custis the key.

"I got annudder key. You keep dat one, please, sah."

Custis and Phil left the old man more cheerful than he had been for days.

CHAPTER VII

As the sun was sinking across the gray waters of the river, reflecting in its silver surface a riot of purple and scarlet, the master of Arlington sat in thoughtful silence holding the fateful Book of the Slave in his hand. He had promised his friend, Edmund Ruffin, to give him an answer early next week as to a public statement.

He was puzzled as to his duty. To his ready protest that he was not a politician his friend had instantly replied that his word would have ten times the weight for that reason. So deep was his brooding he did not notice the two boys in a heated argument at the corner of the house.

Robbie Lee had drawn his barefoot friend, John, thus far. He had balked and refused to go farther.

"Come on, John," Robbie pleaded.

"I'm skeered."

"Scared of what?"

"Colonel Lee."

"Didn't you come to see him?"

"I thought I did."

"Well, didn't ye?"

"Yes."

"Come on, then!"

"No--"

"What you scared of him for?"

"He's a great man."

"But he's my Papa."

"He don't want to be bothered with little boys."

"Yes, he does, too. He hears everything I've got to say to him."

"Ain't you skeered of him?"

"No!"

Robbie seized John's hand again and before he could draw back dragged him to his father's side.

Lee turned the friendliest smile on John's flushed face and won his confidence before a word was spoken.

"Well, Robbie, what's your handsome little friend's name?"

"John Doyle, Papa."

"Your father lives on the farm just outside our gate, doesn't he?"

"Yessir," the boy answered eagerly.

His embarra.s.sment had gone. But it was hard to begin his story. It had seemed easy at first, the need was so great. Now it seemed that he had no right to make the request he had in his heart.

He hung his head and dug his big toe in the gravel.

Robbie hastened to his rescue.

"John wants to tell you something, Papa," he began tenderly.

"All right," Lee cheerfully answered as he drew one boy within each arm and hugged them both. "What can I do for you, Johnnie?"

"I dunno, sir. I hope you can do somethin'."

"I will, if I can. I like to do things for boys. I was a little boy once myself and I know exactly how it feels. What is it?"

Again the child hesitated.