"One of these days," she said very kindly, as she accompanied him to the door, "I'll send for you. At the proper time I'll give you some interesting news."

"Well, I hope it will be good news; if so, it will be the first I have heard in many a long day. Good-night."

The lady closed the door, and returned to the parlour and sat down.

"Why, I thought he was a cold-blooded, heartless creature," she said to herself. Then, after some reflection she uttered an exclamation and clasped her hands together. Suppose he were to make way with himself!

The bare thought was enough to keep the smiles away from the face of this merry-hearted lady for many long minutes. Finally, she caught a glimpse of herself in the swinging mirror. She snapped her fingers at her reflection, saying, "Pooh! I wouldn't give that for your firmness of purpose!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

_Rhody Has Something to Say_

Now, all this time, while the mother was engaged with Silas, Eugenia, the daughter, was having an experience of her own. When Rhody, Silas Tomlin's cook and housekeeper, discovered that Paul had left the house in a fit of anger, she knew at once that something unusual had occurred, and her indignation against Silas Tomlin rose high. She was familiar with every peculiarity of Paul's character, and she was well aware of the fact that behind his calm and cool bearing, which nothing ever seemed to ruffle, was a heart as sensitive and as tender as that of a woman, and a temper hot, obstinate and unreasonable when aroused.

So, without taking time to serve Silas's supper, she went in search of Paul. She went to the store where he was the chief clerk, but the doors were closed; she went to the tavern, but he was not to be seen; and she walked along the princ.i.p.al streets, where sometimes the young men strolled after tea. There she met a negro woman, who suggested that he might be at the Gaither Place. "Humph!" snorted Rhody, "how come dat ain't cross my mind? But ef he's dar dis night, ef he run ter dat gal when he in trouble, I better be layin' off ter cook some weddin'

doin's."

There wasn't a backyard in the town that Rhody didn't know as well as she knew her own, and she stood on no ceremony in entering any of them.

She went to the Gaither Place, swung back the gate, shutting it after her with a bang, and stalked into the kitchen as though it belonged to her. At the moment there was no one in sight but Mandy, the house-girl, a bright and good-looking mulatto.

"Why, howdy, Miss Rhody!" she exclaimed, in a voice that sounded like a flute. "What wind blowed you in here?"

"Put down dem dishes an' wipe yo' han's," said Rhody, by way of reply.

The girl silently complied, expressing no surprise and betraying no curiosity. "Now, den, go in de house, an' ax ef Paul Tomlin is in dar,"

commanded Rhody. "Ef he is des tell 'im dat Mammy Rhody want ter see 'im."

"I hope dey ain't n.o.body dead," suggested Mandy with a musical laugh.

"I'm lookin' out for all sorts er trouble, because I've had mighty funny dreams for three nights han'-runnin'. Look like I can see blood. I wake up, I do, cryin' an' feelin' tired out like de witches been ridin' me.

Then I drop off to sleep, an' there's the blood, plain as my han'."

She went on in the house and Rhody followed close at her heels. She was determined to see Paul if she could. She was very willing for Silas Tomlin to be drawn through a hackle; she was willing to see murder done if the whites were to be the victims; but Paul--well, according to her view, Paul was one of a thousand. She had given him suck; she had fretted and worried about him for twenty years; and she couldn't break off her old habits all at once. She had listened to and indorsed the incendiary doctrines of the radical emissary who pretended to be representing the government; she had wept and shouted over the strenuous pleadings of the Rev. Jeremiah; but all these things were wholly apart from Paul. And if she had had the remotest idea that they affected his interests or his future, she would have risen in the church and denounced the carpet-bagger and his scalawag a.s.sociates, and likewise the Rev. Jeremiah.

When Mandy, closely followed by Rhody, went into the house, she heard voices in the parlour, but Eugenia was in the sitting-room reading by the light of a lamp.

"Miss Genia," said the girl, "is Mr. Paul here?"

"Why do you ask?" inquired Eugenia.

"They-all cook wanter speak with him." At this moment, Eugenia saw the somewhat grim face of Rhody peering over the girl's shoulder.

"Paul isn't here," said the young lady, rising with a vague feeling of alarm. "What is the matter?" And then, feeling that if there was any trouble, Rhody would feel freer to speak when they were alone together, Eugenia dismissed Mandy, and followed to see that the girl went out.

"Now, what _is_ the trouble, Rhody? Mr. Silas Tomlin is in the parlour talking to mother."

Rhody opened her eyes wide at this. "_He_ in dar? What de name er goodness he doin' here?" Eugenia didn't know, of course, and said so.

"Well, he ain't atter no good," Rhody went on; "you kin put dat down in black an' white. Dat man is sho' ter leave a s.m.u.tty track wharsomever he walk at. You better watch 'im; you better keep yo' eye on 'im. Is he yever loant yo' ma any money?"

"Why, no," replied Eugenia, laughing at the absurdity of the question.

"What put that idea in your head?"

"Bekaze dat's his business--loanin' out a little dab er money here an' a little dab dar, an' gittin' back double de dab he loant," said Rhody.

"Deyer folks in dis county, which he loant um money, an' now he got all de prop'ty dey yever had; an' deyer folks right here in dis town, which he loant um dat ar Conferick money when it want wuff much mo dan shavin's, an' now dey got ter pay 'im back sho nuff money. I hear 'im sesso. Oh, dat's him! dat's Silas Tomlin up an' down. You kin take a thrip an' squeeze it in yo' han' tell it leave a print, an' hol' it up whar folks kin see it, an' dar you got his pictur'; all it'll need will be a frame. He done druv Paul 'way fum home."

She spoke with some heat, and really went further than she intended, but she was swept away by her indignation. She was certain, knowing Paul as well as she did, that he had left the house in a fit of anger at something his father had said or done and she was equally as certain that he would have to be coaxed back.

"Surely you are mistaken," said Eugenia. "It is too ridiculous. Why, Paul--Mr. Paul is----" She paused and stood there blushing.

"Go on, chile: say it out; don't be shame er me. n.o.body can't say nothin' good 'bout dat boy but what I kin put a lots mo' on what dey er tellin'. Silas Tomlin done tol' me out'n his own mouf dat Paul went fum de house vowin' he'd never come back."

Eugenia was so sure that Rhody (after her kind and colour) was exaggerating, that she refused to be disturbed by the statement. "Why did you come here hunting for Paul?" the young lady asked.

"Oh, go away, Miss Genia!" exclaimed Rhody, laughing. "'Tain't no needs er my answerin' dat, kaze you know lots better'n I does."

"Are you very fond of him?" Eugenia inquired.

"Who--_me_? Why, honey, I raised 'im. Sick er well, I nussed 'im fer long years. I helt 'im in deze arms nights an' nights, when all he had ter do fer ter leave dis vale wuz ter fetch one gasp an' go. Ef his daddy had done all dat, he wouldn't 'a' druv de boy fum home."

Alas! how could Rhody, in her ignorance and blindness, probe the recesses of a soul as reticent as that of Silas Tomlin?

"Oh, don't say he was driven from home!" cried Eugenia, rising and placing a hand on Rhody's arm. "If you talk that way, other people will take it up, and it won't be pleasant for Paul."

"Dat sho is a mighty purty han'," exclaimed Rhody enthusiastically, ignoring the grave advice of the young woman. "I'm gwine ter show somebody de place whar you laid it, an' I bet you he'll wanter cut de cloff out an' put it in his alvum."

Eugenia made a pretence of pushing Rhody out of the room, but she was blushing and smiling. "Well'm, he ain't here, sho, an' here's whar he oughter be; but I'll fin' 'im dis night an' ef he ain't gwine back home, I ain't gwine back--you kin put dat down." With that, she bade the young lady good-night, and went out.

As Rhody pa.s.sed through the back gate, she chanced to glance toward Pulaski Tomlin's house, and saw a light shining from the library window.

"Ah-yi!" she exclaimed, "he's dar, an' dey ain't no better place fer 'im. Dey's mo' home fer 'im right dar den dey yever wus er yever will be whar he live at."

So saying, she turned her steps in the direction of Neighbour Tomlin's.

In the kitchen, she asked if Paul was in the house. The cook didn't know, but when the house-girl came out, she said that Mr. Paul was there, and had been for some time. "Deyer holdin' a reg'lar expeunce meetin' in dar," she said. "Miss f.a.n.n.y sho is a plum sight!"

The house-girl went in again to say that Rhody would like to speak with him, and Rhody, as was her custom, followed at her heels.

"Come in, Rhody," said Miss f.a.n.n.y. "I know you are there. You always send a message, and then go along with it to see if it is delivered correctly. 'Twould save a great deal of trouble if the rest of us were to adopt your plan."

"I hope you all is well," remarked Rhody, as she made her appearance.

"I declar', Miss f.a.n.n.y, you look good enough to eat."

"Well, I do eat," responded Miss f.a.n.n.y, teasingly.

"I mean you look good enough ter be etted," said Rhody, correcting herself.

"Now, that is what I call a nice compliment," Miss f.a.n.n.y observed complacently. "Brother Pulaski, if I am ever 'etted' you won't have to raise a monument to my memory."

"No wonder you look young," laughed Rhody. "Anybody what kin git fun out'n a graveyard is bleeze ter look young."