Hilda's Mascot Part 6

Mr. Valentine Courtney was on the eve of returning from London when Mrs.

Lacy's cablegram apprizing him of the accident reached him and as soon as he landed in America he went to her home. From her he learned the details of the calamity; of the will which had made him owner of "My Lady's Manor," and of the illness of Mrs. Warfield; and so far as Mrs.

Lacy knew, no word of these things had reached Dorton.

She was correct in this; no one there knew of the intended visit of Anna Ashburton, and it was left to Mr. Courtney to take the sad news to "Friedenheim."

Only to the Rev. Carl and Mrs. Courtney did he impart the information that "My Lady's Manor" had been restored to Anna Ashburton, and she had bequeathed it to him.

His reticence was not owing to any wish to keep it a secret, but the subject was painful to him; it concerned no one but himself, and even in the home circle was seldom mentioned. Beyond it, no one in the neighborhood knew that Reginald Farnsworth was not the owner of the property.

The place had lost all interest to Valentine Courtney; the sight of it brought sad remembrance, and for that reason he took up his residence in Baltimore, making occasionally short visits to "Friedenheim."

The first time he came out to remain over night he brought with him Ralph and James Rivers, the sons of a deceased college friend for whom he was guardian.

This first visit was one long to be remembered by the boys, everything was so new to them and enchanting; their journey on the train and arrival at Dorton Station, their walk in the glowing sunset across the flowery meadow to "Friedenheim," the warm welcome to that beautiful home, the joyous greeting of Roy and Cecil, the supper of fried chicken, oysters, Maryland biscuits and waffles, and after it, a visit to orchards, woods and brook, accompanied by Mose, the colored waiter, and by the pet dogs of Roy and Cecil; then their return to the piazza, where sat the elders of the family, enjoying the serene beauty of the evening.

All was a delight to the two city boys who had never had so many pleasant things crowded into one evening.

They were on the piazza but a short time when Mose, who had left them at the gate to go to his place in the kitchen, came to the lattice and whispered to Cecil, who happened to be nearest, "Ax your mother if you can't come out in de kitchen. Aunt Kitty will give us roasted apples and cream, and pop-corn, and Aunt Chloe will have mola.s.ses candy for us, and bline Israel is comin' and will sing."

"All right, I know she will let us," was the response, and Mose hurried back to give notice, that preparations for the entertainment of the visitors might be quickly commenced.

"Who is Aunt Kitty and Chloe and Israel?" inquired James.

"Kitty is the cook and is Moses' grandmother. Chloe was our nurse, but is now helper in everything, and Israel is an old man who goes from house to house to saw wood. He lives in the alms-house in winter and works all summer, and is the tallest and blackest person I ever saw. He is blind, does not know darkness from daylight, but sings. You never heard such a grand voice as Israel has. Mamma says it is so mournfully sweet that she feels like weeping when she hears it."

"Who else is out there?"

"No one but Uncle Andy; he is the oldest person in the neighborhood.

Papa and Uncle Val say that he was the best servant on the place when able to work."

"What does he do now?"

"He brings in cobs and sh.e.l.ls peas, and other light work to help Kitty.

He loves to count his coins, and we all give him the new, bright pieces we get. He sings hymns and nothing pleases him better than to admire his coins and praise his singing."

Mrs. Courtney gave consent and when the four boys reached the kitchen there was a general stir among their dusky entertainers until their guests had the best places about the great stone-flagged hearth, and although not more than two hours since they had finished supper, the impromptu cookery was relished.

In the most comfortable corner of the hearth sat Uncle Andy, his white wool glistening in the firelight, and which illumined every corner of the large kitchen. It was the first hickory wood and cob fire the boys had ever seen, and they admired it greatly.

"We have told Ralph and James how well you sing, Uncle Andy," said Roy; "we told them you are fond of music."

"'Deed I is, honey; 'deed I is!" confirmed Andy gleefully, "'kase dar is a promise, honey, dar suttinly is a promise to dem dat likes music."

"Won't you sing something, Uncle Andy? We all want to hear you."

"Suttinly, honey, suttinly!" and leaning his head upon the back of his high chair he sang a favorite hymn, adding stanza after stanza of his own improvising, and keeping time with his foot, Kitty, Chloe and Mose joining in the chorus. The boys expressed such genuine pleasure in the concert that hymn followed hymn, Andy reviving the melodies of his boyhood for their entertainment.

"Yes, honey, yes;" he commented after pausing for breath, "music an'

love is what heaven is made of; it wouldn't be heaven widout music an'

love."

"But there are people who don't like music, Uncle Andy," remarked Roy.

"Den, honey, ol' Andy wouldn't gib much for der chance for heaven, 'deed he wouldn't, honey. What'll dey do because of de music if dey does git to heaven? Mind I says _if_, honey; mind I says _if_."

Before the magnitude of this query could be lessened, a shuffling of feet was heard outside, followed by a knock upon the door.

"It's Israel!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mose jubilantly, "Ma.r.s.e Merryman's Perry said he had done sawed all their wood, an' he was gwine to bring him over here this evenin'."

He hurried to the door, and reaching out a helping hand, brought the blind wood-sawer in triumph to the hearth, followed by Perry, who was expected by Mrs. Merryman to return home immediately, but who remained all evening.

"These here two boys is our boys, Israel," said Mose, as master of ceremonies, "and these two other boys is visitin' us from Baltimore; and, boys, this here man is bline Israel."

"Dat is jist like you, Mose, 'mindin' folks ob der 'flictions. What's de use of sayin' 'bline Isrel'!" rebuked Uncle Andy.

"Israel don't keer, he says so his own self," replied Mose nonchalantly.

"Of course I does, Brudder Andy," said Israel, towering above them and removing his pipe to his left hand to give his right to the old man.

"Don't let him off so easy, Brudder Isrel," said Andy, in high good humor, "or he'll be sayin' yer is deaf an' dumb."

"Words speak louder dan actions, Brudder Andy," replied Israel, benignly.

"Take this chair, Israel," said Roy, leading him to one. "We staid here to see you and hear you talk and sing."

"Mighty kind in you, I'm sh.o.r.e, young marsters."

"'Pears like ol' times to see yer, Brudder Isrel," said Andy, preparing to fill his pipe. "Kitty done say dis mornin', she did, 'whar's Uncle Isrel, dat he ain't been round dis fall?'"

"It's mighty comfotable here, Brudder Andy, that is a fac'," a.s.serted Israel as Roy gently relieved him of his cane and placed it in a corner.

"Put some more cobs on the fire, you Mose, and hand Uncle Isrel a coal to light his pipe; it is done gone out," said Chloe, hospitably.

"Maybe the young marsters don't like the smell of the pipe?" suggested Israel, hesitating between respect for them and his longing for a smoke.

"Oh, don't mind us," said the boys cordially, "we want you to feel at home."

"Dey is all well-mannered boys," remarked Uncle Andy complacently; "I has done a heap towards trainin' our two. I allus says, 'Boys, let us ol' culled folks hab de dirty pipes, 'kase we can't be spiled; but don't yer sile yer nice clean mouves wid no whiskey nor terbaccy.' An' dey has promised; an' ol' Andy kin trust 'em."

"Gabe promised too, but he smoked and chawed all the same," remarked Chloe as she took her pipe and tobacco from her pocket.

"Oh, dat Gabe is a hippercrite, I allus knowd'd dat; not like dese yer boys nohow," replied Andy, between puffs of his pipe.

"I ain't never gwine to smoke," interposed Mose, not willing to be overlooked.

"Better wait 'till yer axed," suggested Kitty.

"Well, how was dey gittin' along in de porehouse when yer lef', Brudder Isrel?" inquired Andy.