The Battle Ground Part 22

"O pleasant prophetess!" he threw in.

"I look and see him riding over the rich fields in the early morning, watching from horseback the planting and the growing and the ripening of the corn. He has a dozen servants to fetch the whip he drops, and a dozen others to hold his bridle when he pleases to dismount; the dogs leap round him in the drive, and he brushes away the one that licks his face. I see him grow stout and red-faced as he reads a dull Latin volume beside his bottle of old port--there's your fortune, sir, the silver, if you please."

She finished in a whining voice, and rose to drop a courtesy.

"On my word, you're a witch, Betty," he exclaimed, laughing, "a regular witch on a broomstick."

"Does the likeness flatter you? Shall I touch it up a bit? Just a dash more of red in the face?"

"Well, I reckon it's true as prophecy ever was," he said easily. "It isn't likely that I'll ever be a beggar, despite your kindly wishes for my soul's welfare; and, on the whole, I think I'd rather not. When all's said and done, I'd rather own my servants and my cultivated acres, and come down late to hot cakes than sit in the dust by the roadside and eat sour grapes.

It may not be so good for the soul, but it's vastly more comfortable; and I'm not sure that a fat soul in a lean body is the best of life, Betty."

"At least it doesn't give one gout," retorted Betty, mercilessly, adding as she went to the door: "but the rain is holding up, and I must be going.

I'll borrow your horse, if you please, Dan." She tied on her flattened bonnet, and with her foot on the threshold, stood looking across the wet fields, where each spear of gra.s.s pieced a string of s.h.i.+ning rain drops.

Over the mountains the clouds tossed in broken ma.s.ses, and loose streamers of vapour drifted down into the lower foldings of the hills. The cool smell of the moist road came to her on the wind.

Dan unfastened the reins from the young willow, and led the horse to the stone at the entrance. Then he threw his coat over the dampened saddle and lifted Betty upon it. "Pooh! I'm as tough as a pine knot." He scoffed at her protests. "There, sit steady; I'd better hold you on, I suppose."

Slipping the reins loosely over his arm, he laid his hand upon the blue folds of her skirt. "If you feel yourself going, just catch my shoulder,"

he added; "and now we're off."

They left the little path and went slowly down the turnpike, under the dripping trees. Across the fields a bird was singing after the storm, and the notes were as fresh as the smell of the rain-washed earth. A fuller splendour seemed to have deepened suddenly upon the meadows, and the golden-rod ran in streams of fire across the landscape.

"Everything looks so changed," said Betty, wistfully; "are you sure that we are still in the same world, Dan?"

"Sure?" he looked up at her gayly. "I'm sure of but one thing in this life, Betty, and that is that you should thank your stars you met me."

"I don't doubt that I should have gotten home somehow," responded Betty, ungratefully, "so don't flatter yourself that you have saved even my bonnet." From its blue-lined shadow she smiled brightly down upon him.

"Well, all the same, I dare to be grateful," he rejoined. "Even if you haven't saved my hat,--and I can't honestly convince myself that you have,--I thank my stars I met you, Betty." He threw back his head and sang softly to himself as they went on under the scudding clouds.

VII

IF THIS BE LOVE

An hour later, Cephas, son of Cupid, gathering his basketful of chips at the woodpile, beheld his young master approaching by the branch road, and started shrieking for the house. "Hi! hit's Ma.r.s.e Dan! hit's Ma.r.s.e Dan!" he yelled to his father Cupid in the pantry; "I seed 'im fu'st! Fo' de Lawd, I seed 'im fu'st!" and the Major, hearing the words, appeared instantly at the door of his library.

"It's the boy," he called excitedly. "Bless my soul, Molly, the boy has come!"

The old lady came hurriedly downstairs, pinning on her muslin cap, and by the time Dan had dismounted at the steps the whole household was a.s.sembled to receive him.

"Well, well, my boy," exclaimed the Major, moving nervously about, "this is a surprise, indeed. We didn't look for you until next week. Well, well."

He turned away to wipe his eyes, while Dan caught his grandmother in his arms and kissed her a dozen times. The joy of these simple souls touched him with a new tenderness; he felt unworthy of his grandmother's kisses and the Major's tears. Why had he stayed away when his coming meant so much?

What was there in all the world worth the closer knitting of these strong blood ties?

"By George, but I'm glad to get here," he said heartily. "There's nothing I've seen across the water that comes up to being home again; and the sight of your faces is better than the wonders of the world, I declare. Ah, Cupid, old man, I'm glad to see you. And Aunt Rhody and Congo, how are you all? Why, where's Big Abel? Don't tell me he isn't here to welcome me."

"Hyer I is, young Marster, hyer I is," cried Big Abel, stretching out his hand over Congo's head, and "Hyer I is, too," shouted Cephas from behind him. "I seed you fu'st, fo' de Lawd, I seed you fu'st!"

They gathered eagerly round him, and with a laugh, and a word for one and all, he caught the outstretched hands, scattering his favours like a young Jove. "Yes, I've remembered you--there, don't smother me. Did you think I'd dare to show my face, Aunt Rhody, without the gayest neckerchief in Europe?

Why, I waited over in New York just to see that it was safe. Oh, don't smother me, I say." The dogs came bounding in, and he greeted them with much the same affectionate condescension, caressing them as they sprang upon him, and pus.h.i.+ng away the one that licked his face. When the overseer ran in hastily to shake his hand, there was no visible change in his manner. He greeted black and white with a courtesy which marked the social line, with an affability which had a touch of the august. Had the gulf between them been less impa.s.sable, he would not have dared the hearty handshake, the genial word, the pat upon the head--these were a tribute which he paid to the very humble.

When the servants had streamed chattering out through the back door, he put his arms about the old people and led them into the library. "Why, what's become of Champe?" he inquired, glancing complacently round the book-lined walls.

"Ah, you mustn't expect to see anything of Champe these days," replied the Major, waiting for Mrs. Lightfoot to be seated before he drew up his chair.

"His heart's gone roving, I tell him, and he follows mighty closely after it. If you don't find him at Uplands, you've only to inquire at Powell Hall."

"Uplands!" exclaimed Dan, hearing the one word. "What is he doing at Uplands?"

The Major chuckled as he settled himself in his easy chair and stretched out his slippered feet. "Well, I should say that he was doing a very commendable thing, eh, Molly?" he rejoined jokingly.

"He's losing his head, if that's what you mean," retorted the old lady.

"Not his head, but his heart, my dear," blandly corrected the Major, "and I repeat that it is a very commendable thing to do--why, where would you be to-day, madam, if I hadn't fallen in love with you?"

Mrs. Lightfoot sniffed as she unwound her knitting. "I don't doubt that I should be quite as well off, Mr. Lightfoot," she replied convincingly.

"Ah, maybe so, maybe so," admitted the Major, with a sigh; "but I'm very sure that I shouldn't be, my dear."

The old lady softened visibly, but she only remarked:--

"I'm glad that you have found it out, sir," and clicked her needles.

Dan, who had been wandering aimlessly about the room, threw himself into a chair beside his grandmother and caught at her ball of yarn.

"It's Virginia, I suppose," he suggested.

The Major laughed until his spectacles clouded.

"Virginia!" he gasped, wiping the gla.s.ses upon his white silk handkerchief.

"Listen to the boy, Molly, he believes every last one of us--myself to boot, I reckon--to be in love with Miss Virginia."

"If he does, he believes as many men have done before him," interposed Mrs.

Lightfoot, with a homely philosophy.

"Well, isn't it Virginia?" asked Dan.

"I tell you frankly," pursued the Major, in a confidential voice, "that if you want a rival with Virginia, you'll be apt to find a stout one in Jack Morson. He was back a week ago, and he's a fine fellow--a first-rate fellow. I declare, he came over here one evening and I couldn't begin a single quotation from Horace that he didn't know the end of it. On my word, he's not only a fine fellow, but a cultured gentleman. You may remember, sir, that I have always maintained that the two most refining influences upon the manners were to be found in the society of ladies and a knowledge of the Latin language."

Dan gave the yarn an impatient jerk. "Tell me, grandma," he besought her.

As was her custom, the old lady came quickly to the point and appeared to transfix the question with the end of her knitting-needle. "I really think that it is Betty, my child," she answered calmly.

"What does he mean by falling in love with Betty?" demanded Dan, while he rose to his feet, and the ball of yarn fell upon the floor.