The Crossing [8]
not dead.''
``John,'' said my father, ``can we talk here?''
``Good God!'' said the gentleman, ``you're just the same. To think of it--to think of it! Breed, a light in the drawing-room.''
There was no word spoken while the negro was gone, and the time seemed very long. But at length he returned, a silver candlestick in each hand.
``Careful,'' cried the gentleman, petulantly, ``you'll drop them.''
He led the way into the house, and through the hall to a massive door of mahogany with a silver door-knob. The grandeur of the place awed me, and well it might. Boy- like, I was absorbed in this. Our little mountain cabin would almost have gone into this one room. The candles threw their flickering rays upward until they danced on the high ceiling. Marvel of marvels, in the oval left clear by the heavy, rounded cornice was a picture.
The negro set down the candles on the marble top of a table. But the air of the room was heavy and close, and the gentleman went to a window and flung it open. It came down instantly with a crash, so that the panes rattled again.
``Curse these Rebels,'' he shouted, ``they've taken our window weights to make bullets.''
Calling to the negro to pry open the window with a walking-stick, he threw himself into a big, upholstered chair. 'Twas then I remarked the splendor of his clothes, which were silk. And he wore a waistcoat all sewed with flowers. With a boy's intuition, I began to dislike him intensely.
``Damn the Rebels!'' he began. ``They've driven his Lordship away. I hope his Majesty will hang every mother's son of 'em. All pleasure of life is gone, and they've folly enough to think they can resist the fleet. And the worst of it is,'' cried he, ``the worst of it is, I'm forced to smirk to them, and give good gold to their government.'' Seeing that my father did not answer, he asked: ``Have you joined the Highlanders? You were always for fighting.''
``I'm to be at Cherokee Ford on the twentieth,'' said my father. ``We're to scalp the redskins and Cameron, though 'tis not known.''
``Cameron!'' shrieked the gentleman. ``But that's the other side, man! Against his Majesty?''
``One side or t'other,'' said my father, `` 'tis all one against Alec Cameron.''
The gentleman looked at my father with something like terror in his eyes.
``You'll never forgive Cameron,'' he said.
``I'll no forgive anybody who does me a wrong,'' said my father.
``And where have you been all these years, Alec?'' he asked presently. ``Since you went off with--''
``I've been in the mountains, leading a pure life,'' said my father. ``And we'll speak of nothing, if you please, that's gone by.''
``And what will you have me do?'' said the gentleman, helplessly.
``Little enough,'' said my father. ``Keep the lad till I come again. He's quiet. He'll no trouble you greatly. Davy, this is Mr. Temple. You're to stay with him till I come again.''
``Come here, lad,'' said the gentleman, and he peered into my face. ``You'll not resemble your mother.''
``He'll resemble no one,'' said my father, shortly.
``Good-by, Davy. Keep this till I come again.'' And he gave me the parcel made of my mother's gown. Then he lifted me in his strong arms and kissed me, and strode out of the house. We listened in silence as he went down the steps, and until his footsteps died away on the path. Then the gentleman rose and pulled a cord hastily. The negro came in.
``Put the lad to bed, Breed,'' said he.
``Whah, suh?''
``Oh, anywhere,'' said the master. He turned to me.
``I'll be better able to talk to you in the morning, David,'' said he.
I followed the old servant up the great stairs, gulping down a sob that would rise, and clutching my mother's gown tight under my arm. Had my father left me alone in our cabin for a fortnight, I should not have minded. But here, in this strange house, amid such strange surroundings, I was heartbroken. The old negro was very kind. He led me into a little bedroom, and placing the candle on a polished dresser, he
``John,'' said my father, ``can we talk here?''
``Good God!'' said the gentleman, ``you're just the same. To think of it--to think of it! Breed, a light in the drawing-room.''
There was no word spoken while the negro was gone, and the time seemed very long. But at length he returned, a silver candlestick in each hand.
``Careful,'' cried the gentleman, petulantly, ``you'll drop them.''
He led the way into the house, and through the hall to a massive door of mahogany with a silver door-knob. The grandeur of the place awed me, and well it might. Boy- like, I was absorbed in this. Our little mountain cabin would almost have gone into this one room. The candles threw their flickering rays upward until they danced on the high ceiling. Marvel of marvels, in the oval left clear by the heavy, rounded cornice was a picture.
The negro set down the candles on the marble top of a table. But the air of the room was heavy and close, and the gentleman went to a window and flung it open. It came down instantly with a crash, so that the panes rattled again.
``Curse these Rebels,'' he shouted, ``they've taken our window weights to make bullets.''
Calling to the negro to pry open the window with a walking-stick, he threw himself into a big, upholstered chair. 'Twas then I remarked the splendor of his clothes, which were silk. And he wore a waistcoat all sewed with flowers. With a boy's intuition, I began to dislike him intensely.
``Damn the Rebels!'' he began. ``They've driven his Lordship away. I hope his Majesty will hang every mother's son of 'em. All pleasure of life is gone, and they've folly enough to think they can resist the fleet. And the worst of it is,'' cried he, ``the worst of it is, I'm forced to smirk to them, and give good gold to their government.'' Seeing that my father did not answer, he asked: ``Have you joined the Highlanders? You were always for fighting.''
``I'm to be at Cherokee Ford on the twentieth,'' said my father. ``We're to scalp the redskins and Cameron, though 'tis not known.''
``Cameron!'' shrieked the gentleman. ``But that's the other side, man! Against his Majesty?''
``One side or t'other,'' said my father, `` 'tis all one against Alec Cameron.''
The gentleman looked at my father with something like terror in his eyes.
``You'll never forgive Cameron,'' he said.
``I'll no forgive anybody who does me a wrong,'' said my father.
``And where have you been all these years, Alec?'' he asked presently. ``Since you went off with--''
``I've been in the mountains, leading a pure life,'' said my father. ``And we'll speak of nothing, if you please, that's gone by.''
``And what will you have me do?'' said the gentleman, helplessly.
``Little enough,'' said my father. ``Keep the lad till I come again. He's quiet. He'll no trouble you greatly. Davy, this is Mr. Temple. You're to stay with him till I come again.''
``Come here, lad,'' said the gentleman, and he peered into my face. ``You'll not resemble your mother.''
``He'll resemble no one,'' said my father, shortly.
``Good-by, Davy. Keep this till I come again.'' And he gave me the parcel made of my mother's gown. Then he lifted me in his strong arms and kissed me, and strode out of the house. We listened in silence as he went down the steps, and until his footsteps died away on the path. Then the gentleman rose and pulled a cord hastily. The negro came in.
``Put the lad to bed, Breed,'' said he.
``Whah, suh?''
``Oh, anywhere,'' said the master. He turned to me.
``I'll be better able to talk to you in the morning, David,'' said he.
I followed the old servant up the great stairs, gulping down a sob that would rise, and clutching my mother's gown tight under my arm. Had my father left me alone in our cabin for a fortnight, I should not have minded. But here, in this strange house, amid such strange surroundings, I was heartbroken. The old negro was very kind. He led me into a little bedroom, and placing the candle on a polished dresser, he