The Gold Brick Part 30

"Yes."

Before it left the woman's lips, Katharine had advanced to the cradle, and drawn away the coverlet. She saw what is concealed--the little coffin and her child lying coldly within it. Without a word or even a quick breath, she sank down like an image of snow which the sun has touched.

Another morning, and the stillness of death fell upon that house. While the young mother lay bereft of all strength, and scarcely alive, but with a guard of strong men at her door, the infant was carried out and reverently buried. No mourners followed it. The old woman watched by the living mother, not with the leaden despair of former days, but with calm resignation, which deepened into pathetic tenderness, whenever she approached the sufferer.

Katharine had whispered a request to see her babe before it was carried forth. It was brought to her bedside, for those who condemned her as guilty had some compa.s.sion on her youth. It was like a shadow pa.s.sing near her, a pale, wan shadow, which would forever float before her vision, but was devoid of positive reality then. She had no idea of the way of its death, and suffered like any other bereaved parent, who sees the first child of love carried away after it has been folded close to the yearning heart that gave it life.

So the funeral went forth, the saddest of many years, and wound its solemn way through the snow-trodden streets down to the graveyard, which gave its white stones to the sunlight on Falls Hill. The shadow of the church steeple lay softly upon the snow as the funeral pa.s.sed in, and when the tiny grave was closed, and all was white and pure as the clouds of heaven above, the broad Naugatuc sweeping toward its falls below the hill, seemed chiming a solemn requiem. Then the crowd dispersed in groups, whispering with awe over the terrible crime which no one seemed to doubt, and all regretted. A few thoughtless girls there might have been, who spoke recklessly of the sin and disgrace which had fallen upon their lovely schoolmate, but a feeling of compa.s.sion predominated, and even those who came to that little grave condemning the mother, went away subdued and doubting. Gossip there certainly was--what country village ever existed without that?--but Katharine's fault was far too serious for light comment. Even strong men held their breadth when the penalty of death was mentioned in connection with that helpless girl.

CHAPTER XXIX.

STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE.

I have forgotten one circ.u.mstance which happened that morning. Just as the funeral was turning from the highway toward the graveyard, a colored man and a young boy, both of foreign appearance, came up the hill from the bridge, where one of the river sleighs had set them down. After standing for a moment watching the procession with curiosity, they walked reverently after it, looking very sad, as if trouble were familiar to them. The negro led the boy by the hand, and both stood apart from the crowd while the funeral service was read. It was remarked that the negro seemed greatly disturbed as he looked upon the grave, and that his eyes filled with tears when he turned them on the serious face of the boy. Poor fellow! he was thinking of another funeral, where orange blossoms perfumed the air, and hosts of wild flowers brightened the turf which was laid above the dead.

When the ceremony was over, and the people began to disperse, Jube approached a little group of men who lingered by the gate, and inquired, in very imperfect English, if some one would show him the way to a place called Bungy, and if a widow lady by the name of Allen did not live there.

This was a new source of excitement. The foreign look and broken language peculiar to the strangers, were something to be wondered at and talked over, even at this solemn hour. The men drew away from the neighborhood of the burying-ground before they indulged in the curiosity which was consuming them, and for once answered a question directly, without asking another in the same breath, an instance of forbearance deserving of honorable record in these pages. But the moment they reached the road the awe of the place left them, and the direct examination of poor Jube commenced.

Mrs. Allen--of course everybody knew the widow Allen, and no wonder, after that funeral; but what did the stranger want of her--wanted to hire out, perhaps. Jube did not know what hiring out meant, and answered vaguely that perhaps he did, but wasn't quite certain.

This rather excited curiosity. What if this black fellow should prove to know something about the murder, or, at any rate, of the person who had led poor Katharine Allen into all this trouble. This idea whetted the questions that were let loose on the travellers, till both the negro and boy were thoroughly bewildered.

"Mebbe you're acquainted with Mrs. Allen--knew her afore she moved here, I dare say!" suggested a farmer from over the hill.

Jube shook his head, more to express his incapacity to understand than as a negative to the question.

"No; that's sort o' strange; but then, perhaps, you're related to some of the colored people hereabouts?"

"No, agin; stranger and stranger yet--not know Mrs. Allen, nor any of the colored population of this neighborhood. Then jist excuse me if I ask who on arth you are acquainted with?"

"We know Mr. Rice, the widow lady's son," answered Paul, in his sweet, broken language, and lifting a face to the stranger that softened every feature of his rough visage.

"You know David Rice, my little shaver! Wall, we reckon not, for he was drowned three months or more ago. Wrecked at sea. Captain Thrasher e'nmost saw him go down."

"It was on that s.h.i.+p we with him! Jube he help him bring her into port!"

cried the boy, his great, velvety eyes filling with light as he lifted them exultingly to the negro.

The story of two persons--a negro and a boy--having insisted on sharing the fate of David Rice, on the disabled vessel, had gone the rounds of the village, and a general burst of surprise followed the boy's speech.

"Now, you don't say so! You the little shaver that sot right down by Dave Rice on that deck, and wouldn't get up on no consideration!" cried one. "Wall, now, how things du turn out. I couldn't a believed it, and sich a slender little critter, too; I swan to man, it beats all!"

Paul understood that the man was praising him for something, and in his modest innocence strove to set him right.

"No, no, no; not me; I am very little boy, very weak, and so small. I only eat great deal, and drink water, when Jube wanted it very much to keep him strong. It was Jube, my Jube, that helped save the s.h.i.+p. I wish you could see how him swing the pump handle--all the time, daylight and dark, no matter, Jube work, work, work, I no!"

The farmer who had been the most ardent spokesman, stepped forth now, reaching out his hands.

"I say, cuffy, give us yer hand. If you're the feller that stood by Rice when he hadn't a chance left, I'm proud to know ye. If you raly did bring him safe ash.o.r.e--well, by golly, if I aint e'enamost a crying!

Now, you don't say that Dave Rice is alive?"

"Left him much well in New York two days ago; me and Jube," answered the boy, smiling at the farmer's enthusiasm.

"Yes, little ma.s.ser."

"Master! Now, you don't mean tu say that this little black-eyed shaver is your master, in earnest, cuffy?"

"Yes," said Jube, showing every white tooth in his head. "Reckon little ma.s.ser won't say no!"

"And you're his slave--a rale, downright sarvant, ha?"

"Yes; that's it!" answered Jube, with another happy laugh. "Little ma.s.ser hasn't none but me now."

"You don't say so!"

"But we both owned to Captain Rice, now. Jube, you not forgot that,"

said Paul, earnestly.

"What's that you're a saying! Dave Rice a bringing home slaves into old Connecticut, and one uv 'em e'enamost white! I say, neighbors, what will the selectmen say to that?"

Instantly there was a season of whispered and eager consultation. With all their joy over the deliverance of Rice from a watery grave, the neighbors were not prepared to accept the slaves he seemed to be sending home from foreign parts.

"What do you think," said the chief speaker, "they'll perhaps become an expense to the town, and have to be bid off for their board with the other paupers--supposing we send them back."

"Wait till we've examined 'em according to law," interposed another, who was a selectman of the towns.h.i.+p. "Perhaps I'd better do it. Now jest stand by and listen."

"What do you do for a living, if I may ask," he commenced, planting himself in the road in front of Jube, "before we admit strangers, especially colored, it's as well to be sure that they wont be a town charge--what do you foller?"

Jube shook his head--the whole speech was a mystery to him.

"What do you foller?" persisted the selectman, getting impatient.

"What do I folly!" repeated Jube, with a puzzled look, then brightening up all at once, he added with a smile:

"Me folly little ma.s.ser."

"But how do you get your living?"

"He's my father now, and me support him," said Paul, with dignity, for he began to comprehend a little of the conversation.

"And who supports you, my little shaver?"

"Me have money," answered Paul; "Jube, show monsieur much money there in the purse."