Gabriel Tolliver Part 14

"You'll remember it longer on that account," said Mr. Sanders. "Gabriel is lazy-minded, but he'll brighten up arter awhile. Speakin' of fust an'

last, an' things of that kind," he went on, "I reckon this is the fust time I ever come betwixt you children. I hope no harm's done."

"Well, sir," said Nan, addressing Gabriel with a pretty formality, "since you are kind enough to pay me a compliment, I'll be bold enough to ask you to take tea with me this evening; and I'll have no refusal."

Gabriel found himself in an awkward predicament. He felt bound to discover what part the Union League was playing. He had read of its sinister influence in other parts of the South, and he judged that the hour of its organisation at Shady Dale was the aptest time for such a discovery. He couldn't tell Nan what his plans were--he had no idea that she had already guessed them--and he hardly knew what to say. He was thoroughly uncomfortable. He was silent so long that Mr. Sanders had an opportunity to ask Nan if she hadn't made a remark to Gabriel.

"Yes; I asked him to tea," she replied in a low voice; "he has forgotten it by this time." But Nan well knew why Gabriel was silent; she was neither vexed nor surprised at his hesitation. Nevertheless, she must play her part.

"Give him time, Nan; give him time," said Mr. Sanders, consolingly.

"Gabriel comes of a stuttering family. They say it took his grandma e'en about seven year to tell d.i.c.k Lumsden she'd have him. I lay Gabriel is composin' in his mind a flowery piece sorter like, 'Here's my heart, an'

here's my hand; ef you ax me to tea, I'm your'n to command.'"

"I'm sorry I can't come, Nan, but I can't; and it's just my luck that you should invite me to-day," said Gabriel, finally.

"You have another engagement?" asked Nan.

"No, not an engagement," he replied.

"Well, you are going to do something very unnecessary and improper,"

said Nan, with the air and tone of a mature woman. "You are sure to get into trouble. Why don't you ask your Mr. Bethune to take your place, or at least go with you?"

"Why, you talk as if you knew what I am going to do," remarked Gabriel; "but you couldn't guess in a week."

At this point Mr. Sanders tried to stop in order to deliver an address.

"I bet you--I bet you a seven-pence ag'in a speckled hen that Nan knows precisely what you're up to."

But Nan and Gabriel pulled him along in spite of his frequently expressed desire to "lay down in the road an' take a nap." "It's a shame," he said, "for a great big gal an' a great big boy to be harryin'

a man as old as me. Why don't you ketch hands an' run to play? No, nothin' will do, but you must worry William H. Sanders, late of said county." He received no reply to this, and continued: "I'm glad I took too much, Gabriel, ef only for one thing. You know what I told you about Nan's temper--well, you've seed it for yourself. She's frailed Frank, she'd 'a' frailed me jest now ef you hadn't 'a' been on hand, an' she'll frail you out before long. She's jest turrible."

Mr. Sanders kept up his good-humour all the way home, and when he had been placed in charge of Uncle Plato, who knew how to deal with him, he said: "Now, fellers, I had a mighty good reason for restin' my mind. You cried bekase old Billy Sanders was drunk, didn't you, Nan? Well, I'm mighty glad you did. I never know'd before that a sob or two would make a Son of Temperance of a man; but that's what they'll do for me. n.o.body in this world will ever see me drunk ag'in. So long!"

It may be said here that Mr. Sanders kept his promise. The events which followed required clear heads and steady hands for their shaping, but each crisis, as it arose, found Mr. Sanders, and a few others who acted with him, fully prepared to meet it, though there were times and occasions when he, as well as the rest, was overtaken by a profound sense of his helplessness. Some fell into melancholy, and some were overtaken by dejection, but Mr. Sanders never for a moment forgot to be cheerful.

"I don't suppose there is another girl in the country who would make such a spectacle of herself as I made to-day," said Nan, as she and Gabriel walked slowly in the direction of town.

"What do you mean?" inquired Gabriel.

"You know well enough," replied Nan. "Why, think of a young woman rus.h.i.+ng across the public square in the face of a crowd, and doing as I did! I'll be the talk of the town. What is your opinion?"

"Well, considering who the man was, and everything, I think it was very becoming in you," replied Gabriel.

"Oh, thank you!" said Nan. "Under the circ.u.mstances, you could say no less. You have changed greatly, Gabriel, since Eugenia Claiborne began to make eyes at you. You seem to think it is a mark of politeness to pay compliments right and left, and to agree with everybody. No doubt, if an invitation to tea had come from further up the street, you would have found some excuse for accepting."

Nan's logic was quite feminine, but Gabriel took no advantage of that fact. "I'm sorry I can't come, Nan, and I hope you'll not be angry."

"Angry! why should I be angry?" Nan exclaimed. "An invitation to tea is not so important."

"But this one is important to me," said Gabriel. "It is the first time you have asked me, and I hope it won't be the last."

Nan said nothing more until she bade Gabriel good-bye at her father's gate. He thought she was angry, while she was wondering if he considered her bold.

CHAPTER TWELVE

_Caught in a Corner_

It was no difficult matter for Nan Dorrington to infer what course of action Gabriel intended to pursue. The Union Leagues established in the South under the auspices of the political department of the Freedman's Bureau had already excited the suspicion of the whites. The reputation they instantly achieved was extremely sinister, and they had become the source of much uneasiness. There was an air of mystery about them which, however pleasing it might be to the negroes, was not at all relished by those who had been made the victims of radical legislation. There were wild rumours to the effect that the object of these leagues was to organise the negroes and prepare them for an armed attack on the whites.

These rumours were to be seen spread out in the newspapers, and were to be heard wherever people gathered together. Nan was familiar with them, and, while both she and Gabriel were possibly too young to harbour all the anxieties entertained by their elders, they nevertheless took a very keen interest in the situation; and it was not less keen because it had curiosity for its basis.

Gabriel had no sooner digested the purport of the conversation to which he had listened than he made up his mind to unravel, if he could, the mystery of the Union League, and to discover what part the new-comer, the companion of the Rev. Jeremiah Tomlin, proposed to play. It was characteristic of the lad that he should act promptly. When he left Nan so unceremoniously, he ran to the Clopton Place to report what he had heard to Mr. Sanders, but he found that worthy citizen in no condition to give him aid, or even advice. Meriwether Clopton chanced to be in consultation with some gentleman from Atlanta, and could not be seen, while Francis Bethune was said to be in town somewhere.

It was then that Gabriel made up his mind that he would act alone. He knew the old school-house in which the league was to be organised, as well as he knew his own home. It had formerly been called the Shady Dale Male Academy, and its reputation, before the war, had gone far and wide.

Gabriel had spent many a happy hour there, and some that were memorably unpleasant, especially during the term that a school-master by the name of McMa.n.u.s wielded the rod. Among the things that Gabriel remembered was the fact that the s.p.a.ce under the stairway--the building had two stories--was boarded up so as to form a large closet, where the pupils deposited their extra coats and wraps, as well as their lunches. The closet had also been used as a reformatory for refractory pupils, and this was one reason why Gabriel remembered it so well; he had spent numerous uncomfortable hours there at a time when darkness and isolation had real terrors for him.

The building had been abandoned by the whites during the war, and was for a time used as a hospital. At the close of the war it was turned over to the negroes, who established there a flouris.h.i.+ng school, which was presided over by a native Southerner, an old gentleman whom the war had stripped of this world's goods.

Gabriel thought it best to begin operations before the sun went down. He made a detour wide enough to place the school-house between him and Shady Dale, so that if by any chance his movements should attract attention he would have the appearance of approaching the building quite by accident. Under the circ.u.mstances, it was perhaps fortunate that he took this precaution, for when he drew near the school-house, the Rev.

Jeremiah Tomlin was standing in the back door flouris.h.i.+ng a broom.

"h.e.l.lo, Jeremiah!" said Gabriel by way of salutation. "What's up now?"

"Good-evenin', Mister Gabe," responded the Rev. Jeremiah. "Dey been havin' some plasterin' done in my chu'ch, suh, an' we 'lowd we'd hol'

pra'r-meetin' here ter-night. An' I'll tell you why, suh: You know mighty well how we coloured folks does--we ain't got nothin' fer ter hide, an' we couldn't hide it ef we did had sump'n. Well, suh, dem mongst us what got any erligion is bleeze ter show it; when de sperret move um, dey bleeze ter let one an'er know it; an' in dat way, suh, dey do a heap er movin' 'bout. Dey rastles wid Satan, ez you may say, when dey gits in a weavin' way; an' I wuz fear'd, suh, dat dey mought shake de damp plasterin' down."

"But you have no pulpit here," suggested Gabriel, who a.s.sociated a pulpit with all religious gatherings.

"So much de better, suh," replied the Rev. Jeremiah. "Ef you wuz ter come ter my chu'ch, you'd allers see me come down when I gits warmed up.

Dey ain't no pulpit big nuff for me long about dat time. No, suh; I'm bleeze ter have elbow-room, an' I'm mighty glad dey ain't no pulpit in here. But whar you been, Mr. Gabe?" inquired the Rev. Jeremiah, craftily changing the subject.

"Just walking about in the woods and fields," answered Gabriel.

"'Twant no use fer ter ax you, suh; you been doin' dat sence you wuz big nuff ter clime a fence. Ef you wan't wid Miss Nan, you wuz by yo'se'f. I uv seed you many a day, suh, when you didn't see me. You wuz wid Miss Nan dis ve'y day." The Rev. Jeremiah dropped his head to one side, and smiled a knowing smile. "Oh, you needn't be shame un it, suh," the negro went on as the colour slowly mounted to Gabriel's face. "I uv said it befo' an' I'll say it ag'in, an' I don't keer who hears me--Miss Nan is boun' ter make de finest 'oman in de lan'. An' dat ain't all, suh: when I hear folks hintin' dat she's gwine ter make a match wid Mr. Frank Bethune, sez I, 'Des keep yo' eye on Mr. Gabe'; dat zackly what I sez."

"Oh, the d.i.c.kens and Tom Walker!" exclaimed Gabriel impatiently; "who's been talking of the affairs of Miss Dorrington in that way?"

"Why, purty nigh eve'ybody, suh," remarked the Rev. Jeremiah, smacking his lips. "What white folks say in de parlour, you kin allers hear in de kitchen."

After firing this homely truth at Gabriel, the Rev. Jeremiah went to work with his broom and made a great pretence of sweeping and moving the benches about. The lad followed him in, and looked about him with interest. It was the first time he had revisited the old school-house since he was a boy of ten, and he was pleased to find that there had been few changes. The desk at which he had sat was intact. His initials, rudely carved, stared him in the face, and there, too, was the hole he had cut in the seat. He remembered that this was a dungeon in which he had imprisoned many a fly. These mute evidences of his idleness seemed to be as solid as the hills. Between those times and the present, the wild and furious perspective of war lay spread out, and Gabriel could imagine that the idler who had hacked the desk belonged to another generation altogether.

He went to the blackboard, found a piece of chalk, and wrote in a large, bold hand: "Rev. Jeremiah Tomlin will lecture here to-night, beginning at early candle-light."

The Rev. Jeremiah, witnessing the performance, had his curiosity aroused: "What is de word you uv writ, suh?" he inquired, and when Gabriel had read it off, the negro exclaimed, "Well, suh! You put all dat down, an' it didn't take you no time; no, suh, not no time. But I might uv speckted it, bekase I hear lots er talk about how smart you is on all sides--dey all sesso."

"Does Tasma Tid belong to your church?" Gabriel inquired with a most innocent air.