This bright June morning she stood in the door with a basket of fresh eggs in her hand, looking anxiously across the fields to the gables of Rosehaven, and grumbling to herself.

"Heah I done promise Miss Hallie these fresh aigs for her bufday cake, an' no way to get 'em to her. I'll nevah get all these clothes done up by night if I stop my i'onin', an' John Jay's done lit out again! little black rascal!" She lifted up her voice in another wavering call. "John Ja-a-y!" The beech woods opposite threw back the echo of her voice, sweet and clear,--"Ja-a-y!"

"Heah I come, Mammy!" cried a panting voice. "I was jus' turnin' the grine-stone for Uncle Billy."

She looked at him suspiciously an instant, then handed him the basket.

"Take these aigs ovah to Miss Hallie," she ordered, "and mind you be quickah'n you was last time, or they might hatch befo' you get there."

"Law now, Mammy!" said John Jay, with a grin. He s.n.a.t.c.hed at the basket, impatient to be off, for while standing before her he had kept scratching his right shoulder with his left hand; not that there was any need to do so, but it gave him an excuse for holding together the jagged edges of a great tear in his new shirt. He was afraid it might be discovered before he could get away.

It was one of John Jay's peculiarities that in going on an errand he always chose the most roundabout route. Now, instead of following the narrow footpath that made a short cut through the cool beech woods, he went half a mile out of his way, along the sunny turnpike.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mars' Nat]

Mars' Nat stood outside his kitchen window, with his hands in his pockets, giving orders to the colored boy within, who did his bachelor housekeeping. Usually he had a joking word for old Sheba's grandson, but this morning he took no notice of the little fellow loitering by with such an appealing look on his face. John Jay had come past the toll-gate with a hope of seeing the "Rev'und Gawge," as he called him. It had been three weeks since the man had come home, and in that time John Jay's interest in him had grown into a sort of hero-worship. There had been a great deal of talk about him among the ignorant colored people.

Wonderful stories were afloat of his experiences at the North, of his power as a preacher, and of the plans he had made to help his people. He would have been surprised could he have known how he was discussed, or how the stories grew as they travelled.

Those who had any claim whatever to a former acquaintance stopped at the cottage to see him. Their interest and the little offerings of fruit or flowers, which they often made their excuse for coming, touched him greatly. To all who came he spoke freely of his hopes. Realizing that he might have but the one opportunity, he talked as only a man can talk who feels the responsibilities of a lifetime crowded into one short hour.

One by one they came and listened, and went away with a new expression on their faces, and a new ambition in their hearts.

To all these people he was "Brothah Chadwick;" to the three old slaves bound to him by ties almost as strong as those of kinship, he could never be other than Jintsey's boy; but to two persons he was known as the "Rev'und Gawge." Mars' Nat took to calling him that in a joking way, but John Jay gave him the t.i.tle almost with awe. It seemed to set him apart in the child's reverent affection as one who had come up out of great tribulation to highest honor. Old Sheba had not cuffed her grandson to church every week in vain. He had heard a great deal about white robes and palms of victory and "him that overcometh." By some twist of his simple little brain the term Reverend had come to mean all that to him, and much more. It meant not only some one set apart in a priestly way, but some one who was just slipping down into the mysterious valley of the shadow, with the shining of the New Jerusalem upon his face.

As long as the cottage was in sight John Jay kept rolling his eyes backward as he trudged along in the dust; but Mars' Nat was the only one in view. Twice he stumbled and almost spilled the eggs. A little farther along he concluded that he was tired enough to rest a while. So he sat down on a log in a shady fence corner, and took a green apple from his pocket. He rolled it around in his hands and over his face, enjoying its tempting odor before he stuck his little white teeth into it. The first bite was so sour that it drew his face all up into a pucker and made his eyes water. He raised his hand to throw it away, but paused with his arm in the air to listen. Somebody was playing on the organ in the church a few rods up the hill.

It was a quaint little stone church, all overgrown with ivy, that the Chadwicks had built generations ago. The high arched door was never opened of late years, except at long intervals, when some one came out from the city to hold services. But the side door was certainly ajar now, for the saddest music that John Jay had ever heard in all his life came trembling out on the warm summer air.

Forgetting all about his errand, he scrambled through the fence and up the gently rising knoll. His bare feet made no noise as he tiptoed up the steps and stood peering through the open door. It was dim and cool inside, with only the light that could sift through the violet and amber of the stained gla.s.s windows; but in one, the big one at the end, was the figure of a snowy dove, with outstretched wings. Through this silvery pane a long slanting ray of light, dazzling in its white radiance, streamed across the keys of the organ and the man who played them,--the Reverend George.

It threw a strange light on the upturned face,--a face black as ebony, worn with suffering, but showing in every feature the refining touch of a n.o.ble spirit. His mournful eyes seemed looking into another world, while his fingers wandered over the keys with the musical instinct of his race.

John Jay slipped inside and crouched down behind a tall pew. The only music that he had been accustomed to was the kind that Uncle Billy sc.r.a.ped from his fiddle and plunked on his banjo. It was the gay, rollicking kind, that put his feet to jigging and every muscle in his body quivering in time. This made him want to cry; yet it was so sweet and deep and tender as it went rolling softly down the aisles, that he forgot all about the eggs and Miss Hallie. He forgot that he was John Jay. All he thought of was that upturned face with the strange unearthly light in its dark eyes, and the melody that swept over him.

A spell of coughing seized the rapt musician. After it had pa.s.sed, he lay forward on the organ a while, with his head bowed on his arms. Then he straightened himself up wearily, and began pushing the stops back into their places.

The silence brought John Jay to his senses. He crawled along the aisle and out of the door, blinkling like an owl as he came into the blinding sunshine. Many experiences had convinced him that he was born under an unlucky star. When he went leaping down the hill to the log where he had left his basket, it was with the sickening certainty that some evil had befallen the eggs. He was afraid to look for fear of finding a ma.s.s of broken sh.e.l.ls strewn over the ground. It was with a feeling of surprise that he saw the white ends of the top layer of eggs peeping out of their bed of bran, just as he had left them. With a sigh of relief he picked up the basket; then whistling gaily as a mockingbird, he set out once more in the direction of Rosehaven.

CHAPTER IV.

Something unusual was going on at Rosehaven. Awnings were spread over the lawn, gay colored lanterns were strung all about the grounds, and a stage for outdoor tableaux had been built near the house, where a dark clump of cedars served as a background.

John Jay had orders to take the eggs directly to the cook, but his curiosity kept him standing open-mouthed on the lawn, watching the hanging of the lanterns.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A group of pretty Girls sat on the porch]

A group of pretty girls sat on the porch steps, between the white rose-twined pillars. One of them was tying up the cue of an old-fashioned wig with a black ribbon; another was mending the gold lace on a velvet coat, and the others were busy with the various costumes which they were to wear in the tableaux. Now and then a gay trill or a s.n.a.t.c.h from some popular song floated out above their laughing chatter.

Suddenly one of them looked up and saw John Jay standing in the gravelled drive.

"Look, girls!" she exclaimed. "Here's the very thing we want for our old Virginia days! Hallie looks like a picture in that lovely brocaded satin of her grandmother's, and Raleigh Stanford does the cavalier to perfection in that farewell scene. All it lacks is some little Jim Crow to hold his horse, and there is one now. Oh, Hallie! come out here a minute!"

In response to her call, a beautiful dark-haired girl came out on the porch from the hall, carrying a pasteboard shield which she had just finished covering with tinfoil. John Jay's mouth opened still wider as it flashed a dazzling light into his eyes. He thought it was silver.

"Isn't it fine?" she asked, waltzing around with it on her arm for them to admire the effect. Then she dropped down on the step above them. "Was it you who called me, Sally Lou?" she asked.

"Yes," answered the girl, who had finished tying up the cue, and now had the wig pulled coquettishly over her blonde curls. "Look at the little darkey over there. I was just telling the girls that he is all that is needed to complete your cavalier tableau. Call him over here and tell him that he must come to-night." Just then the boy turned and started on a trot to the kitchen. "Why, it's John Jay!" exclaimed Hallie. "Old Lucy has been scolding about those eggs for the last two hours. His grandmother promised to send them over immediately after breakfast. I'll go down and see what kept him so long. He is always getting into trouble."

"Make him come up here," begged Sally Lou, "and get him to talk for us.

I know he'll be lots of fun, for he has such a bright face."

In a few moments the laughing young hostess was back among her guests, with John Jay following her. "Don't you want to see all my birthday presents?" she asked, leading the way into the library and beckoning the girls to follow. "See! I found this mandolin in my chair when I went to the breakfast-table this morning, and this watch was under my napkin.

This tennis-racquet was on the piano when I came up-stairs, and I've been finding books and things all morning." She opened a great box of chocolate bonbons as she spoke, and filled both his hands.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Filled both his hands]

He looked about him with round, astonished eyes, but never said a word in answer to the eager questions of the girls, beyond a bashful "yessa"

or "no'm."

The arrival of Raleigh Stanford and one of his friends, on their wheels, put an end to the girls' interest in John Jay. He was dismissed with a message to Sheba that sent him flying home through the woods like an excited little whirlwind. The lid of the basket flopped up and down, in time to the motion of his scampering feet. At the foot of the hill he began calling "Mammy!" and kept it up until he reached the door. By that time, he was so out of breath that he could only gasp his message. Sheba was expected to be at Rosehaven at seven o'clock, and John Jay was to take part in the performance on the lawn.

It took a great deal of cross-questioning before Mammy fully understood the arrangement. She could readily see that her services might be desired in the kitchen, but it puzzled her to know what anybody could want of John Jay. She shook her head a great many times before she finally promised that he might go.

Bud had pa.s.sed a very dull morning without his adventurous brother. Now he came up with a bit of rope with which to play horse. But John Jay was looking down on such sports at present.

"Aw, go way, boy," he said, with a lofty air. "I ain't no hawse. I'se goin' to a buthday-pa'ty to-night. Miss Hallie done give me an invite--me an' Mammy."

"Whose goin' to stay with me an' Ivy?" asked Bud, anxiously.

"Aunt Susan, I reckon," answered John Jay. "Mammy tole me to go ask her.

Come along with me, an' I'll tell you what all Miss Hallie got for her buthday. I reckon she had mos' a thousand presents, an' a box of candy half as big as Ivy."

Bud opened his eyes in amazement.

"Deed she did," persisted John Jay, enjoying the sensation he was making. "She gave me some, and I saved a piece for you." After much searching through his pockets, John Jay handed out a big chocolate cream that had been mashed flat. Bud ate it gratefully as they walked on, and wiped his lips with his little red tongue, longing for more.

After supper, as Mammy and John Jay went down the narrow meadow path in Indian file, he ventured a question that he had pondered all day.

"Mammy, does we all have buthdays same as white folks?"

"Of co'se," answered the old woman, tramping on ahead with her skirts held high out of the dewy gra.s.s.

"When's yoah's?" he asked, after a pause.

"Well," she began reflectively, not willing to acknowledge that she had never known the exact date, "I'm nevah ve'y p'tick'lah 'bout its obsa'vation. It's on a Monday, long in early garden-makin' time."

They had come to a little brook, bridged by a wide, hewed log. When they had crossed in careful silence, John Jay began again. "Mammy, when's my buthday?"

"I kaint tell 'zactly, honey," she answered, "'twel I adds it up." As she began counting on her fingers, her skirts slipped lower and lower from her grasp, until they brushed the dew of the wayside weeds.