Caddy was in truth quite crushed by the misfortune she had occasioned, and fell into such a state of depression and apathy as to be scarcely heard about the house; indeed, so subdued was she, that Kinch went in and out without wiping his feet, and tracked the mud all over the stair-carpet, and yet she uttered no word of remonstrance.

Poor little Charlie suffered much, and was in a high fever. The knocker was tied up, the windows darkened, and all walked about the house with sad and anxious countenances. Day after day the fever increased, until he grew delirious, and raved in the most distressing manner. The unfortunate haricot was still on his mind, and he was persecuted by men with strange-shaped heads and carrot eyes. Sometimes he imagined himself pursued by Caddy, and would cry in the most piteous manner to have her prevented from beating him. Then his mind strayed off to the marble-ground, where he would play imaginary games, and laugh over his success in such a wild and frightful manner as to draw tears from the eyes of all around him. He was greatly changed; the bright colour had fled from his cheek; his head had been shaved, and he was thin and wan, and at times they were obliged to watch him, and restrain him from tossing about, to the great peril of his broken arm.

At last his situation became so critical that Dr. Burdett began to entertain but slight hopes of his recovery; and one morning, in the presence of Caddy, hinted as much to Mr. Ellis.

"Oh, doctor, doctor," exclaimed the distracted girl, "don't say that! oh, try and save him! How could I live with the thought that I had killed my brother! oh, I can't live a day if he dies! Will G.o.d ever forgive me? Oh, what a wretch I have been! Oh, do think of something that will help him! He _mustn't_ die, you _must_ save him!" and crying pa.s.sionately, she threw herself on the floor in an agony of grief. They did their best to pacify her, but all their efforts were in vain, until Mr. Ellis suggested, that since she could not control her feelings, she must be sent to stay with her aunt, as her lamentations and outcries agitated her suffering brother and made his condition worse. The idea of being excluded from the family circle at such a moment had more effect on Caddy than all previous remonstrances.

She implored to have the sentence suspended for a time at least, that she might try to exert more self-command; and Mr. Ellis, who really pitied her, well knowing that her heart was not in fault, however reprehensible she was in point of temper, consented; and Caddy's behaviour from that moment proved the sincerity of her promises; and though she could not quite restrain occasional outbursts of senseless lamentation, still, when she felt such fits of despair coming on, she wisely retired to some remote corner of the house, and did not re-appear till she had regained her composure.

The crisis was at length over, and Charlie was p.r.o.nounced out of danger. No one was more elated by this announcement than our friend Kinch, who had, in fact, grown quite ashy in his complexion from confinement and grief, and was now thrown by this intelligence into the highest possible spirits.

Charlie, although faint and weak, was able to recognize his friends, and derived great satisfaction from the various devices of Kinch to entertain him. That young gentleman quite distinguished himself by the variety and extent of his resources. He devised b.u.t.ting matches between himself and a large gourd, which he suspended from the ceiling, and almost blinded himself by his attempts to b.u.t.t it sufficiently hard to cause it to rebound to the utmost length of the string, and might have made an idiot of himself for ever by his exertions, but for the timely interference of Mr. Ellis, who put a final stop to this diversion. Then he dressed himself in a short gown and nightcap, and made the pillow into a baby, and played the nurse with it to such perfection, that Charlie felt obliged to applaud by knocking with the knuckles of his best hand upon the head-board of his bedstead. On the whole, he was so overjoyed as to be led to commit all manner of eccentricities, and conducted himself generally in such a ridiculous manner, that Charlie laughed himself into a state of prostration, and Kinch was, in consequence, banished from the sick-room, to be re-admitted only on giving his promise to abstain from being as _funny as he could_ any more. After the lapse of a short time Charlie was permitted to sit up, and held regular _levees_ of his schoolmates and little friends. He declared it was quite a luxury to have a broken arm, as it was a source of so much amus.e.m.e.nt. The old ladies brought him jellies and blanc-mange, and he was petted and caressed to such an unparalleled extent, as to cause his delighted mother to aver that she lived in great fear of his being spoiled beyond remedy. At length he was permitted to come downstairs and sit by the window for a few hours each day. Whilst thus amusing himself one morning, a handsome carriage stopped before their house, and from it descended a fat and benevolent-looking old lady, who knocked at the door and rattled the latch as if she had been in the daily habit of visiting there, and felt quite sure of a hearty welcome. She was let in by Esther, and, on sitting down, asked if Mrs. Ellis was at home.

Whilst Esther was gone to summon her mother, the lady looked round the room, and espying Charlie, said, "Oh, there you are--I'm glad to see you; I hope you are improving."

"Yes, ma'am," politely replied Charlie, wondering all the time who their visitor could be.

"You don't seem to remember me--you ought to do so; children seldom forget any one who makes them a pleasant promise."

As she spoke, a glimmer of recollection shot across Charlie's mind, and he exclaimed, "You are the lady who came to visit the school."

"Yes; and I promised you a book for your aptness, and," continued she, taking from her reticule a splendidly-bound copy of "Robinson Crusoe,"

"here it is."

Mrs. Ellis, as soon as she was informed that a stranger lady was below, left Caddy to superintend alone the whitewashing of Charlie's sick-room, and having hastily donned another gown and a more tasty cap, descended to see who the visitor could be.

"You must excuse my not rising," said Mrs. Bird, for that was the lady's name; "it is rather a difficulty for me to get up and down often--so,"

continued she, with a smile, "you must excuse my seeming rudeness."

Mrs. Ellis answered, that any apology was entirely unnecessary, and begged she would keep her seat. "I've come," said Mrs. Bird, "to pay your little man a visit. I was so much pleased with the manner in which he recited his exercises on the day of examination, that I promised him a book, and on going to the school to present it, I heard of his unfortunate accident. He looks very much changed--he has had a very severe time, I presume?"

"Yes, a very severe one. We had almost given him over, but it pleased G.o.d to restore him," replied Mrs. Ellis, in a thankful tone. "He is very weak yet," she continued, "and it will be a long time before he is entirely recovered."

"Who is your physician?" asked Mrs. Bird.

"Doctor Burdett," was the reply; "he has been our physician for years, and is a very kind friend of our family."

"And of mine, too," rejoined Mrs. Bird; "he visits my house every summer.

What does he think of the arm?" she asked.

"He thinks in time it will be as strong as ever, and recommends sending Charlie into the country for the summer; but," said Mrs. Ellis, "we are quite at a loss where to send him."

"Oh! let me take him," said Mrs. Bird--"I should be delighted to have him.

I've got a beautiful place--he can have a horse to ride, and there are wide fields to scamper over! Only let me have him, and I'll guarantee to restore him to health in a short time."

"You're very kind," replied Mrs. Ellis--"I'm afraid he would only be a burthen to you--be a great deal of trouble, and be able to do but little work."

"Work! Why, dear woman," replied Mrs. Bird, with some astonishment, "I don't want him to work--I've plenty of servants; I only want him to enjoy himself, and gather as much strength as possible. Come, make up your mind to let him go with me, and I'll send him home as stout as I am."

At the bare idea of Charlie's being brought to such a state of obesity, Kinch, who, during the interview, had been in the back part of the room, making all manner of faces, was obliged to leave the apartment, to prevent a serious explosion of laughter, and after their visitor had departed he was found rolling about the floor in a tempest of mirth.

After considerable conversation relative to the project, Mrs. Bird took her leave, promising to call soon again, and advising Mrs. Ellis to accept her offer. Mrs. Ellis consulted Dr. Burdett, who p.r.o.nounced it a most fortunate circ.u.mstance, and said the boy could not be in better hands; and as Charlie appeared nothing loth, it was decided he should go to Warmouth, to the great grief of Kinch, who thought it a most unheard-of proceeding, and he regarded Mrs. Bird thenceforth as his personal enemy, and a wilful disturber of his peace.

CHAPTER IX.

Breaking up.

The time for the departure of the Garies having been fixed, all in the house were soon engaged in the bustle of preparation. Boxes were packed with books, pictures, and linen; plate and china were wrapped and swaddled, to prevent breakage and bruises; carpets were taken up, and packed away; curtains taken down, and looking-gla.s.ses covered. Only a small part of the house was left in a furnished state for the use of the overseer, who was a young bachelor, and did not require much s.p.a.ce.

In superintending all these arrangements Mrs. Garie displayed great activity; her former cheerfulness of manner had entirely returned, and Mr.

Garie often listened with delight to the quick pattering of her feet, as she tripped lightly through the hall, and up and down the long stairs. The birds that sang about the windows were not more cheerful than herself, and when Mr. Garie heard her merry voice singing her lively songs, as in days gone by, he experienced a feeling of satisfaction at the pleasant result of his acquiescence in her wishes. He had consented to it as an act of justice due to her and the children; there was no pleasure to himself growing out of the intended change, beyond that of gratifying Emily, and securing freedom to her and the children. He knew enough of the North to feel convinced that he could not expect to live there openly with Emily, without being exposed to ill-natured comments, and closing upon himself the doors of many friends who had formerly received him with open arms. The virtuous dignity of the Northerner would be shocked, not so much at his having children by a woman of colour, but by his living with her in the midst of them, and acknowledging her as his wife. In the community where he now resided, such things were more common; the only point in which he differed from many other Southern gentlemen in this matter was in his constancy to Emily and the children, and the more than ordinary kindness and affection with which he treated them. Mr. Garie had for many years led a very retired life, receiving an occasional gentleman visitor; but this retirement had been entirely voluntary, therefore by no means disagreeable; but in the new home he had accepted, he felt that he might be shunned, and the reflection was anything but agreeable. Moreover, he was about to leave a place endeared to him by a thousand a.s.sociations. Here he had pa.s.sed the whole of his life, except about four years spent in travelling through Europe and America.

Mr. Garie was seated in a room where there were many things to recall days long since departed. The desk at which he was writing was once his father's, and he well remembered the methodical manner in which every drawer was carefully kept; over it hung a full-length portrait of his mother, and it seemed, as he gazed at it, that it was only yesterday that she had taken his little hand in her own, and walked with him down the long avenue of magnolias that were waving their flower-spangled branches in the morning breeze, and loading it with fragrance. Near him was the table on which her work-basket used to stand. He remembered how important he felt when permitted to hold the skeins of silk for her to wind, and how he would watch her st.i.tch, st.i.tch, hour after hour, at the screen that now stood beside the fire-place; the colours were faded, but the recollection of the pleasant smiles she would cast upon him from time to time, as she looked up from her work, was as fresh in his memory as if it were but yesterday. Mr.

Garie was a.s.sorting and arranging the papers that the desk contained, when he heard the rattle of wheels along the avenue, and looking out of the window, he saw a carriage approaching.

The coachman was guiding his horses with one hand, and with the other he was endeavouring to keep a large, old-fashioned trunk from falling from the top. This was by no means an easy matter, as the horses appeared quite restive, and fully required his undivided attention. The rather unsteady motion of the carriage caused its inmate to put his head out of the window, and Mr. Garie recognized his uncle John, who lived in the north-western part of the state, on the borders of Alabama. He immediately left his desk, and hastened to the door to receive him.

"This is an unexpected visit, but none the less pleasant on that account,"

said Mr. Garie, his face lighting up with surprise and pleasure as uncle John alighted. "I had not the least expectation of being honoured by a visit from you. What has brought you into this part of the country?

Business, of course? I can't conceive it possible that you should have ventured so far from home, at this early season, for the mere purpose of paying me a visit."

"You may take all the honour to yourself this time," smilingly replied uncle John, "for I have come over for your especial benefit; and if I accomplish the object of my journey, I shall consider the time anything but thrown away."

"Let me take your coat; and, Eph, see you to that trunk," said Mr. Garie.

"You see everything is topsy-turvy with us, uncle John. We look like moving, don't we?"

"Like that or an annual house-cleaning," he replied, as he picked his way through rolls of carpet and matting, and between half-packed boxes; in doing which, he had several narrow escapes from the nails that protruded from them on all sides. "It's getting very warm; let me have something to drink," said he, wiping his face as he took his seat; "a julep--plenty of brandy and ice, and but little mint."

Eph, on receiving this order, departed in great haste in search of Mrs.

Garie, as he knew that, whilst concocting one julep, she might be prevailed upon to mix another, and Eph had himself a warm liking for that peculiar Southern mixture, which liking he never lost any opportunity to gratify.

Emily hurried downstairs, on hearing of the arrival of uncle John, for he was regarded by her as a friend. She had always received from him marked kindness and respect, and upon the arrival of Mr. Garie's visitors, there was none she received with as much pleasure. Quickly mixing the drink, she carried it into the room where he and her husband were sitting. She was warmly greeted by the kind-hearted old man, who, in reply to her question if he had come to make them a farewell visit, said he hoped not: he trusted to make them many more in the same place.

"I'm afraid you won't have an opportunity," she replied. "In less than a week we expect to be on our way to New York.--I must go," continued she, "and have a room prepared for you, and hunt up the children. You'll scarcely know them, they have grown so much since you were here. I'll soon send them," and she hurried off to make uncle John's room comfortable.

"I was never more surprised in my life," said the old gentleman, depositing the gla.s.s upon the table, after draining it of its contents--"never more surprised than when I received your letter, in which you stated your intention of going to the North to live. A more ridiculous whim it is impossible to conceive--the idea is perfectly absurd! To leave a fine old place like this, where you have everything around you so nice and comfortable, to go north, and settle amongst a parcel of strange Yankees!

My dear boy, you must give it up. I'm no longer your guardian--the law don't provide one for people of thirty years and upwards--so it is out of my power to say you shall not do it; but I am here to use all my powers of persuasion to induce you to relinquish the project."

"Uncle John, you don't seem to understand the matter. It is not a whim, by any means--it is a determination arising from a strict sense of duty; I feel that it is an act of justice to Emily and the children. I don't pretend to be better than most men; but my conscience will not permit me to be the owner of my own flesh and blood. I'm going north, because I wish to emanc.i.p.ate and educate my children--you know I can't do it here. At first I was as disinclined to favour the project as you are; but I am now convinced it is my duty, and, I must add, that my inclination runs in the same direction."

"Look here, Clarence, my boy," here interrupted uncle John; "you can't expect to live there as you do here; the prejudice against persons of colour is much stronger in some of the Northern cities than it is amongst us Southerners. You can't live with Emily there as you do here; you will be in everybody's mouth. You won't be able to sustain your old connections with your Northern friends--you'll find that they will cut you dead."

"I've looked at it well, uncle John. I've counted the cost, and have made up my mind to meet with many disagreeable things. If my old friends choose to turn their backs on me because my wife happens to belong to an oppressed race, that is not my fault. I don't feel that I have committed any sin by making the choice I have; and so their conduct or opinions won't influence my happiness much."

"Listen to me, Clary, for a moment," rejoined the old gentleman. "As long as you live here in Georgia you can sustain your present connection with impunity, and if you should ever want to break it off, you could do so by sending her and the children away; it would be no more than other men have done, and are doing every day. But go to the North, and it becomes a different thing. Your connection with Emily will inevitably become a matter of notoriety, and then you would find it difficult to shake her off there, as you could here, in case you wanted to marry another woman."

"Oh, uncle, uncle, how can you speak so indifferently about my doing such an ungenerous act; to characterize it in the very mildest terms. I feel that Emily is as much my wife in the eyes of G.o.d, as if a thousand clergymen had united us. It is not my fault that we are not legally married; it is the fault of the laws. My father did not feel that my mother was any more his wife, than I do that Emily is mine."

"Hush, hush; that is all nonsense, boy; and, besides, it is paying a very poor compliment to your mother to rank her with your mulatto mistress. I like Emily very much; she has been kind, affectionate, and faithful to you.