The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come [45]
he was walking swiftly through the fields toward the old brick house that had sheltered him. He was very quiet at supper that night, and after Miss Lucy had gone to bed and he and the Major were seated before the fire, he was so quiet that the Major looked at him anxiously.
"What's the matter Chad? Are you sick?"
"Nothin'--no, sir."
But the Major was uneasy, and when he rose to go to bed, he went over and put his hand on the boy's head.
"Chad," he said, "if you hear of people saying mean things about you, you mustn't pay any attention to them."
"No, sir."
"You're a good boy, and I want you to live here with me. Good-night, Chad," he added, affectionately. Chad nearly broke down, but he steadied himself.
"Good-by, Major," he said, brokenly. "I'm obleeged to you."
"Good-by?" repeated the Major. "Why?"
"Good-night, I mean," stammered Chad.
The Major stood inside his own door, listening to the boy's slow steps up the second flight. "I'm gettin' to love that boy," he said, wonderingly-- "An' I'm damned if people who talk about him don't have me to reckon with"--and the Major shook his head from side to side. Several times he thought he could hear the boy moving around in the room above him, and while he was wondering why the lad did not go to bed, he fell asleep.
Chad was moving around. First, by the light of a candle, he laboriously dug out a short letter to the Major--scalding it with tears. Then he took off his clothes and got his old mountain-suit out of the closet--moccasins and all--and put them on. Very carefully he folded the pretty clothes he had taken off--just as Miss Lucy had taught him--and laid them on the bed. Then he picked up his old rifle in one hand and his old coonskin cap in the other, blew out the candle, slipped noiselessly down the stairs in his moccasined feet, out the unbolted door and into the starlit night. From the pike fence he turned once to look back to the dark, silent house amid the dark trees. Then he sprang down and started through the fields--his face set toward the mountains.
It so happened that mischance led General Dean to go over to see Major Buford about Chad next morning. The Major listened patiently--or tried ineffectively to listen--and when the General was through, he burst out with a vehemence that shocked and amazed his old friend.
"Damn those niggers!" he cried, in a tone that seemed to include the General in his condemnation, "that boy is the best boy I ever knew. I believe he is my own blood, he looks a little like that picture there"--pointing to the old portrait--"and if he is what I believe he is, by --, sir, he gets this farm and all I have. Do you understand that?"
"I believe he told you what he was."
"He did--but I don't believe he knows, and, anyhow, whatever he is, he shall have a home under this roof as long as he lives."
The General rose suddenly--stiffly.
"He must never darken my door again."
"Very well." The Major made a gesture which plainly said, "In that event, you are darkening mine too long," and the General rose, slowly descended the steps of the portico, and turned:
"Do you really mean, that you are going to let a little brat that you picked up in the road only yesterday stand between you and me?"
The Major softened.
"Look here," he said, whisking a sheet of paper from his coat-pocket. While the General read Chad's scrawl, the Major watched his face.
"He's gone, by --. A hint was enough for him. If he isn't the son of a gentleman, then I'm not, nor you."
"Cal," said the General, holding out his hand, "we'll talk this over again."
The bees buzzed around the honeysuckles that clambered over the porch. A crow flew overhead. The sound of a crying child came around the corner of the house from the quarters, and the General's footsteps died on the gravel-walk, but the Major heard them not. Mechanically he watched the General mount his black horse and canter toward the pike gate. The overseer called to him from the stable, but the Major dropped his eyes to the scrawl in his hand, and when Miss
"What's the matter Chad? Are you sick?"
"Nothin'--no, sir."
But the Major was uneasy, and when he rose to go to bed, he went over and put his hand on the boy's head.
"Chad," he said, "if you hear of people saying mean things about you, you mustn't pay any attention to them."
"No, sir."
"You're a good boy, and I want you to live here with me. Good-night, Chad," he added, affectionately. Chad nearly broke down, but he steadied himself.
"Good-by, Major," he said, brokenly. "I'm obleeged to you."
"Good-by?" repeated the Major. "Why?"
"Good-night, I mean," stammered Chad.
The Major stood inside his own door, listening to the boy's slow steps up the second flight. "I'm gettin' to love that boy," he said, wonderingly-- "An' I'm damned if people who talk about him don't have me to reckon with"--and the Major shook his head from side to side. Several times he thought he could hear the boy moving around in the room above him, and while he was wondering why the lad did not go to bed, he fell asleep.
Chad was moving around. First, by the light of a candle, he laboriously dug out a short letter to the Major--scalding it with tears. Then he took off his clothes and got his old mountain-suit out of the closet--moccasins and all--and put them on. Very carefully he folded the pretty clothes he had taken off--just as Miss Lucy had taught him--and laid them on the bed. Then he picked up his old rifle in one hand and his old coonskin cap in the other, blew out the candle, slipped noiselessly down the stairs in his moccasined feet, out the unbolted door and into the starlit night. From the pike fence he turned once to look back to the dark, silent house amid the dark trees. Then he sprang down and started through the fields--his face set toward the mountains.
It so happened that mischance led General Dean to go over to see Major Buford about Chad next morning. The Major listened patiently--or tried ineffectively to listen--and when the General was through, he burst out with a vehemence that shocked and amazed his old friend.
"Damn those niggers!" he cried, in a tone that seemed to include the General in his condemnation, "that boy is the best boy I ever knew. I believe he is my own blood, he looks a little like that picture there"--pointing to the old portrait--"and if he is what I believe he is, by --, sir, he gets this farm and all I have. Do you understand that?"
"I believe he told you what he was."
"He did--but I don't believe he knows, and, anyhow, whatever he is, he shall have a home under this roof as long as he lives."
The General rose suddenly--stiffly.
"He must never darken my door again."
"Very well." The Major made a gesture which plainly said, "In that event, you are darkening mine too long," and the General rose, slowly descended the steps of the portico, and turned:
"Do you really mean, that you are going to let a little brat that you picked up in the road only yesterday stand between you and me?"
The Major softened.
"Look here," he said, whisking a sheet of paper from his coat-pocket. While the General read Chad's scrawl, the Major watched his face.
"He's gone, by --. A hint was enough for him. If he isn't the son of a gentleman, then I'm not, nor you."
"Cal," said the General, holding out his hand, "we'll talk this over again."
The bees buzzed around the honeysuckles that clambered over the porch. A crow flew overhead. The sound of a crying child came around the corner of the house from the quarters, and the General's footsteps died on the gravel-walk, but the Major heard them not. Mechanically he watched the General mount his black horse and canter toward the pike gate. The overseer called to him from the stable, but the Major dropped his eyes to the scrawl in his hand, and when Miss