The Courier Of The Ozarks Part 29

But now she was to go beyond the barrier; she was to see the world, and she could hardly wait for the time to start.

At last the day came and the journey was begun, first on horseback and then by a lumbering stage coach.

In due time they reached the city, and what she saw filled her with wonder and surprise. But when she woke in the morning and heard no singing of birds, but instead the din and roar of the street; and when she looked out and saw no lovely valley, no stately hills, no La Belle, its waters sparkling in the sun, but instead row upon row of great buildings, she sighed--she hardly knew why.

The next day when her father showed her around the city she said, "It's all very wonderful, papa, but it isn't like home. The houses are not as beautiful as the hills, and even the great river does not sing as sweetly, and its waters are not clear and sparkling like La Belle."

One day Mr. Chittenden told Grace there was to be an auction of slaves, and he would go and try to get one for a housekeeper. The little girl was eager to go with him, but he would not allow it. She wondered why and rebelled, but her father was obdurate and left her crying.

Grace's slightest wish was generally law to her father, and to be refused and left alone was to her a surprise. She did not realize that her father did not wish her to see the distressing scenes which often took place at an auction of slaves.

In due time Mr. Chittenden returned, accompanied by a comely mulatto woman about forty years of age. The woman's eyes were red with weeping, and now and then her bosom would heave with a great sob which she would in vain try to hold back.

"This is Tilly, Grace," said her father. "She is said to be a good housekeeper and a famous cook."

"Why do you cry?" asked Grace. "Papa is a good man; he will use you well."

"It's not that," sobbed the woman: "it's mah honey chile, mah little Effie. I'll neber see her moah." And she broke down and sobbed piteously.

Grace turned with a distressed countenance. "Did Tilly have a little girl?" she asked.

"Y-e-s," answered Mr. Chittenden, rather reluctantly.

"Why didn't you buy her too?" she asked indignantly. "What if someone should take me from you?"

Mr. Chittenden winced. "That is different, child," he answered. "As for Tilly's child, a trader from New Orleans bought her, paying an enormous price. She was nearly white, and gave promise of becoming quite a beauty. Rich people give large prices for such for maids. I could not afford to buy her. As it was, I had to pay a big price for Tilly."

Grace said no more, but from that time new thoughts entered her mind, and when alone with Tilly she tried to comfort her.

Tilly proved as good a housekeeper and cook as Mr. Chittenden could have desired, and in time seemed to have forgotten her child. But Grace knew better, for when alone with her Tilly never tired of telling her about her "honey chile," and Grace was learning what it meant to be a slave, and all unconsciously to herself she was drinking in a love of freedom.

As for Tilly, she came to wors.h.i.+p the very ground that Grace walked on.

Willingly she would have shed every drop of blood in her veins for her.

Years went by and other settlers came into the Ozarks, but they were a rough, uneducated cla.s.s, and Mr. Chittenden had little in common with them. In time a Mr. Thomas...o...b..rne settled about four miles from him. He was a northern man, well educated, and had come to the Ozarks for his health, being threatened with consumption. He had a daughter, Helen, about the age of Grace, and the two became inseparable friends.

When Grace was about fifteen years of age it was evident that she would be a very beautiful woman. She was by no means an ignorant girl, for her father had employed a private teacher for her, and she was far better acquainted with the elementary branches and with books than most girls who attend fas.h.i.+onable boarding schools.

But she was still a child of nature, the birds her best companions. The wind whispering through the forest told her wonderful stories. She could ride and shoot equal to any boy who roamed the Ozarks, and was the companion of her father as he looked after his flocks and herds.

The father saw she was fast budding into womanhood, and sighed, for he felt she should know something beyond the rough life of the mountains, and, although parting from her was like tearing out his own heart, he resolved to send her to a boarding school in St. Louis. His daughter must be a lady; he had not forgotten his early life.

Grace heard his decision. She had not forgotten her visit to that wonderful city five years before, and, now that she was older, thought she would like to see and know more of it.

"But how can I leave you, papa?" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing kiss after kiss upon his brow.

Mr. Chittenden clasped her to his breast. "It will not be for long, child," he said huskily, "and I would have my little girl a lady."

"Am I not a lady, now?" she asked, pouting.

"Yes, yes, Grace; but I would have you know something of the ways of society. I do not want you to be always a mountain girl. You are worthy to adorn the grandest palace in the city."

"I don't want to adorn a palace. I love the valley of La Belle," she replied. "I want to live and die here."

"You may think differently some day, child. It is only for your good I would have you go, for, Grace, you do not know how hard it is for me to part from you."

Again the girl threw her arms around him. "Don't make me go, papa," she sobbed. "I thought I wanted to go, but I don't now. I don't want to be a fine lady. I want to stay with you."

"No, Grace; it is for the best." And so it was fully decided.

The time came for her to go. The parting with Helen Osborne was a tearful one, but Tilly was inconsolable. "All de suns.h.i.+ne will be gone frum de house," she moaned. "When Missy Grace goes, Tilly want to die."

"Oh, no, Tilly; you want to be here to welcome me when I come back,"

said Grace.

Grace was taken to St. Louis and placed in one of the most fas.h.i.+onable schools in the city. Lola Laselle and Dorothy Hamilton were members of the same school, but as they were day pupils, Grace did not become very well acquainted with them.

Grace's gentle, unaffected ways soon made her a favorite, but there were a few of the pupils who looked down on the mountain girl as beneath them. But gentle as Grace was, there was the blood of a fiery and proud race in her veins, and she soon taught those girls she could not be snubbed with impunity. She was an apt pupil and soon became the most popular girl in the school, and the haughty ones were proud to be cla.s.sed as her friends.

The rules and restrictions of the school were irksome to her, and she became the leader of a bevy of girls who delighted in having a good time, and many were the little luncheons they enjoyed together after the teachers thought all good girls were in bed.

One day Grace heard the girls discussing a book which at that time was creating a sensation.

"It's dreadful," said one of the girls. "Every copy printed ought to be destroyed, and the woman who wrote it burned at the stake."

"Have you read it?" asked one of the girls.

The first girl raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Read it!" she exclaimed. "I would as soon touch a viper as that book."

"How do you know it is bad, then?" persisted the second girl.

"Because I have heard papa say so. It's all about slavery, and makes out that the people that own slaves are the wickedest people in the world.

Papa says the book will cause a war yet."

"My papa says," spoke up another, "that the South is going to secede, and when it does he says there may be war."

"Pshaw! the Yankees will not fight," exclaimed a girl from Mississippi.

"Brother Ned says they are a cowardly lot, and that one Southern gentleman can whip ten of them."

The conversation now took a general turn over what would happen if war came, and it was the opinion of most of the girls that it would be just grand.

Grace listened eagerly to the conversation, but took no part. So far she had given little attention to the strife which was agitating the country. Even the conflict which had raged along the borders of Missouri and Kansas had only come as a faint echo among the Ozarks. But now she asked, "What is the name of the book you girls are talking about?"

"Uncle Tom's Cabin. It's a horrid book," replied one of the girls.

Grace said no more, but she determined to have that book; she wanted to see what made it so terrible. The first time she had leave to go downtown she made an excuse to go into a book store and purchase a copy.

She concealed it in her clothes and then made a few other purchases.