It had taken a few moments to make the attempt, and time was precious.

So the tangled mop was smoothed over, the old dress pressed down, and off ran Sally for her secret, rocky seat by the wall.

Not long had she waited when a merry company came trooping over to the arbor and young voices filled the air. Sally knew the voice of the Fairy Prince, of his sister Lucretia, and his cousin Rosamond. And when the names of "Reginald" and "Irene" reached her, she knew that young Reginald Bromfeld and Mistress Irene Westwood, besides two or three others, had rustled over to the airy summer-house.

Much it pleased her for awhile to hear the bright and witty speeches that were bandied to and fro; then Sam Spruce, a colored boy of about twenty years, in white short sack, black cotton trousers, and white ap.r.o.n, came gliding over the side lawn, tray in hand, and on it were small gla.s.ses, a crystal pitcher, a silver cake dish, delicate plates, and very small, snowy napkins.

"Well, Sam," exclaimed Lionel, in the free and easy speech often used toward the blacks, "what have you brought for our refreshment?"

Sam, who had been born in the colonies and felt pride in his niceness of speech, replied:

"There 'r' jujube paste patties, macaroons, and sangaree, Mars' Li'nel."

"Very good, Sam. Set the tray on yonder bench; we will see to pa.s.sing things ourselves."

There was a cheerful c.h.i.n.king of gla.s.ses, much laughter, and the sound of gay spirits, while, her sharp imagination at work, Maid Sally fancied herself one of the group above her head; "and yet," she said to herself, "should my Fairy Prince indeed sit beside me, and hand me fine delicate food and a sweet drink, I think I might die of delight, I do indeed!"

In a few minutes more, the poor child's pleasure became disturbed, for Corniel, the colored butler, came shuffling over to the arbor and said, in a manner dignified and respectful:

"Mars' Lion, dar have mor' comp'ny come over to de house, and Mars'

Gran'son he send his comperalmunts, and would like fo' to have de young people come up to de drawin'-room and make some music on de peranna and de wiolin."

"Very well, Corniel, we will come directly," answered Lionel, and away trooped the high-born lads and young mistresses, leaving Corniel to gather up the dishes, and leaving poor disappointed little Sally to wander off from the spot that all at once had become quiet and lonely.

As it would be daylight for the s.p.a.ce of two hours more, Sally roamed about, amusing herself at seeing what else was going on round and about the place.

Peeping through the garden fence, she watched a colored man, who, kneeling before the flower-beds, plucked up the weeds, tossing them aside, and trolling a light song as he worked.

"I too, would sing, could I but live at Ingleside," murmured Maid Sally.

But an inner voice replied: "You would not wish to be a servant anywhere."

Then across she went to the bars that formed the far boundary of the wide garden.

Well back of the house in the direction of the stables, old Uncle Gambo was cutting gra.s.s with a winding scythe, that had a handle so long it reached way above the old man's head.

Uncle Gambo declared he was "a hun'erd an' ten yeah ole," and as no one could very well dispute it, no one tried to. But as year after year rolled away, Uncle Gambo would still say, "I'se a hun'erd and ten yeah ole."

"Yes, but the same story you told me two years ago, Uncle Gambo," Lionel once said to him. "You must be a hundred and twelve now."

The old negro shook his white, woolly head. "No, no! I'se a hun'erd and ten yeah ole; I allurs was, I allurs sh.e.l.l be."

That settled it. But as the white people knew that the colored men and women usually became seventy-five or a hundred years old very rapidly with their way of reckoning, no one so much wondered at Uncle Gambo's age.

Sally watched the old man reaping, for it fascinated her to see the rich, ripe gra.s.s lie smooth and evenly shorn wherever the scythe's keen blade swept over it. Then she strolled still farther along, trotting down and down until she stood near the stables.

A groom was trying to comb a splendid black hunter,--a fine saddle horse,--that champed as though a bit were in its mouth, and stepped and curved around, until Bill, the groom, was out of patience and exclaimed:

"Come now, Hotspur, you crazy coot, stan' still, cain't you! Be a genl'man fo' once, Hotspur, and I'll comb you with a bran' fire new brush, Mars' gib me las' night."

At that a queer, wiry brush, partly worn out, was thrown over the bars, falling so near Sally's head, it was well it missed hitting her. But no one saw the little girl beyond the strip fence, and immediately Bill was combing Hotspur's glossy sides with strokes so strong and even that the great horse stood stock still.

Sally looked at the brush Bill had tossed away.

"That looks as if it would make my hair lay slick," she said. "I'll take it home, carry it to the spring and wash it, and try it on my own mane."

She laughed at her own funny words and put the brush in a hanging pocket under her gown, that Mistress Brace had made for her to carry money in safely, when she went on errands.

Then away and away she wandered until she had reached the quarters and could peep at the cabins of the colored people through bushes and shrubs that were far beyond the stone wall, but on the same side.

At a little distance she looked upon Mammy Leezer sitting against the side of her cabin on a chair that had no back, her pipe in mouth, her hands lying idly in her lap, the knitting for once laid aside.

Sally wished she dared go over and talk with the old woman. Yet again that inner voice answered: "No, no! Mammy Leezer, though kind and comforting betimes, could not be a fitting companion for you. Go not after her, even though it be pleasant to meet her and hear her soft voice when she speaks to thee."

"Perhaps it is because she is black," thought Sally.

"Oh no, no!" spoke the little uprising voice again. "It is because you are different in every way from her and her race, and must not forget it."

Then it was that Sally remembered that several times of late there had seemed to be an inner voice that talked to her, and tried to teach her things she had not known, or at least had not thought of before.

She gave a quick jump, clapped her hands, and exclaimed, in a soft but jubilant voice:

"Oh, I know what I will do! I'll make believe there are two of me. One shall be really me, Sally Dukeen, then there shall be another Sally, a fine, new one, that has been taught by the Fairies, and knows all things that are seemly and proper, even as the upper people do.

"Yes, and I will talk with her," Sally went on, the pleasant imagination rapidly growing in her quick mind. "I will ask her what to do and how to act, and listen I will to all she can teach."

The idea pleased her so much that she was in a mood to enjoy anything, and she was feeling light-hearted and full of smiles, as a little toddling pickaninny, or small black child, ran up to Mammy Leezer, crying out:

"Trip! Trip! go trip, go trip!"

"Lordy sakes!" exclaimed Mammy, "if here isn't lil' Jule asting me fo'

to dance her. I ain't got de strength to dance yo' to-night, lil' honey, de rheumatiz have ketched a holt of my back too bad, and got all de grit outen me."

"Trip! trip!" cried the cute little Jule, running up to Sam Spruce, who was on a rough chair made from tree branches.

"I cain't sing the jingle," said Sam.

"No matter," said Mammy, with a wide grin, "you dance de lil' cricket, an' I'll do de singin'."

At that Sam crossed his knees, put little Jule on one foot, and bending over, kept hold of the child's hands while Mammy crooned in a loud singsong, chiefly to one note:

"Trip-a-trop-a-tronjes, De-vorken-in-de-boonjes, De-koejes-in-de-klaver, De-Paarden-in-de-haver, De-eenjes-in-de-waterpla.s.s, So-pop! my-lil'-pick'ninny goes!"

As Mammy began the slow singsong, Sam began gently swinging the foot up and down on which sat the tiny, laughing Jule, and as the jingle went on, the foot swung faster and faster, until, as Mammy brought out the words, "So pop! my lil' pick'ninny goes!" Sam tossed the shrieking child into his lap, where she could only gasp with laughter, until able to catch her breath.

Then it was one crying tease for "Anudder trip! Anudder trip!" until six times had baby Jule been teetered on Sam's strong foot, and tossed into Sam's strong arms, Mammy meantime beating the measure with both feet as she trolled the song with its rapturous "pop!" for little Jule.

The sixth trip was ended as Corniel came leisurely over the gra.s.s.