The Crossing [195]
along the gallery until I came to the rear part of the house which faced towards the out- buildings, I spied three figures prone on the grass under a pecan tree that shaded the kitchen roof. One of these figures was Benjy, and he was taking his siesta. I descended quietly from the gallery, and making my way to him, touched him on the shoulder. He awoke and stared at me with white eyes.
``Marse Dave!'' he cried.
``Hush,'' I answered, ``and follow me.''
He came after me, wondering, a little way into the grove, where I stopped.
``Benjy,'' I said, ``do you know any of the servants here?''
``Lawsy, Marse Dave, I reckon I knows 'em,--some of 'em,'' he answered with a grin.
``You talk to them?''
``Shucks, no, Marse Dave,'' he replied with a fine scorn, ``I ain't no hand at dat ar nigger French. But I knows some on 'em, and right well too.''
``How?'' I demanded curiously.
Benjy looked down sheepishly at his feet. He was standing pigeon-toed.
``I done c'ressed some on 'em, Marse Dave,'' he said at length, and there was a note of triumph in his voice.
``You did what?'' I asked.
``I done kissed one of dem yaller gals, Marse Dave. Yass'r, I done kissed M'lisse.''
``Do you think Melisse would do something for you if you asked her?'' I inquired.
Benjy seemed hurt.
``Marse Dave--'' he began reproachfully.
``Very well, then,'' I interrupted, taking the letter from my pocket, ``there is a lady who is ill here, Mrs. Clive--''
I paused, for a new look had come into Benjy's eyes. He began that peculiar, sympathetic laugh of the negro, which catches and doubles on itself, and I imagined that a new admiration for me dawned on his face.
``Yass'r, yass, Marse Dave, I reckon M'lisse 'll git it to her 'thout any one tekin' notice.''
I bit my lips.
``If Mrs. Clive receives this within an hour, Melisse shall have one piastre, and you another. There is an answer.''
Benjy took the note, and departed nimbly to find Melisse, while I paced up and down in my uneasiness as to the outcome of the experiment. A quarter of an hour passed, half an hour, and then I saw Benjy coming through the trees. He stood before me, chuckling, and drew from his pocket a folded piece of paper. I gave him the two piastres, warned him if his master or any one inquired for me that I was taking a walk, and bade him begone. Then I opened the note.
``I will meet you at the bayou, at seven this evening. Take the path that leads through the garden.''
I read it with a catch of the breath, with a certainty that the happiness of many people depended upon what I should say at that meeting. And to think of this and to compose myself a little, I made my way to the garden in search of the path, that I might know it when the time came. Entering a gap in the hedge, I caught sight of the shaded seat under the tree which had been the scene of our first meeting with Antoinette, and I hurried past it as I crossed the garden. There were two openings in the opposite hedge, the one through which Nick and I had come, and another. I took the second, and with little difficulty found the path of which the note had spoken. It led through a dense, semi-tropical forest in the direction of the swamp beyond, the way being well beaten, but here and there jealously crowded by an undergrowth of brambles and the prickly Spanish bayonet. I know not how far I had walked, my head bent in thought, before I felt the ground teetering under my feet, and there was the bayou. It was a narrow lane of murky, impenetrable water, shaded now by the forest wall. Imaged on its amber surface were the twisted boughs of the cypresses of the swamp beyond,--boughs funereally draped, as though to proclaim a warning of unknown perils in the dark places. On that side where I stood ancient oaks thrust their gnarled roots into the water, and these knees were bridged by treacherous platforms of moss. As I sought for a safe resting-place a dull splash startled me, the pink-and-white water lilies danced on the ripples, and a long, black snout pushed
``Marse Dave!'' he cried.
``Hush,'' I answered, ``and follow me.''
He came after me, wondering, a little way into the grove, where I stopped.
``Benjy,'' I said, ``do you know any of the servants here?''
``Lawsy, Marse Dave, I reckon I knows 'em,--some of 'em,'' he answered with a grin.
``You talk to them?''
``Shucks, no, Marse Dave,'' he replied with a fine scorn, ``I ain't no hand at dat ar nigger French. But I knows some on 'em, and right well too.''
``How?'' I demanded curiously.
Benjy looked down sheepishly at his feet. He was standing pigeon-toed.
``I done c'ressed some on 'em, Marse Dave,'' he said at length, and there was a note of triumph in his voice.
``You did what?'' I asked.
``I done kissed one of dem yaller gals, Marse Dave. Yass'r, I done kissed M'lisse.''
``Do you think Melisse would do something for you if you asked her?'' I inquired.
Benjy seemed hurt.
``Marse Dave--'' he began reproachfully.
``Very well, then,'' I interrupted, taking the letter from my pocket, ``there is a lady who is ill here, Mrs. Clive--''
I paused, for a new look had come into Benjy's eyes. He began that peculiar, sympathetic laugh of the negro, which catches and doubles on itself, and I imagined that a new admiration for me dawned on his face.
``Yass'r, yass, Marse Dave, I reckon M'lisse 'll git it to her 'thout any one tekin' notice.''
I bit my lips.
``If Mrs. Clive receives this within an hour, Melisse shall have one piastre, and you another. There is an answer.''
Benjy took the note, and departed nimbly to find Melisse, while I paced up and down in my uneasiness as to the outcome of the experiment. A quarter of an hour passed, half an hour, and then I saw Benjy coming through the trees. He stood before me, chuckling, and drew from his pocket a folded piece of paper. I gave him the two piastres, warned him if his master or any one inquired for me that I was taking a walk, and bade him begone. Then I opened the note.
``I will meet you at the bayou, at seven this evening. Take the path that leads through the garden.''
I read it with a catch of the breath, with a certainty that the happiness of many people depended upon what I should say at that meeting. And to think of this and to compose myself a little, I made my way to the garden in search of the path, that I might know it when the time came. Entering a gap in the hedge, I caught sight of the shaded seat under the tree which had been the scene of our first meeting with Antoinette, and I hurried past it as I crossed the garden. There were two openings in the opposite hedge, the one through which Nick and I had come, and another. I took the second, and with little difficulty found the path of which the note had spoken. It led through a dense, semi-tropical forest in the direction of the swamp beyond, the way being well beaten, but here and there jealously crowded by an undergrowth of brambles and the prickly Spanish bayonet. I know not how far I had walked, my head bent in thought, before I felt the ground teetering under my feet, and there was the bayou. It was a narrow lane of murky, impenetrable water, shaded now by the forest wall. Imaged on its amber surface were the twisted boughs of the cypresses of the swamp beyond,--boughs funereally draped, as though to proclaim a warning of unknown perils in the dark places. On that side where I stood ancient oaks thrust their gnarled roots into the water, and these knees were bridged by treacherous platforms of moss. As I sought for a safe resting-place a dull splash startled me, the pink-and-white water lilies danced on the ripples, and a long, black snout pushed