Among the Pines Part 36

THE SMALL PLANTER.

In the first moments of grief the sympathy of friends, and the words of consolation bring no relief. How much more harshly do such words grate on the ear when the soul is bowed down by remorse and unavailing regret!

Then the wounded spirit finds peace nowhere but with G.o.d.

I saw that the Colonel would be alone, and turning to him, as he prepared to follow the strange vehicle, which, with its load of death, was already jolting its way over the rough forest road, I said,

"Will you pardon me, if I remain with your friend here for awhile? I will be at the mansion before dark."

"Oh, certainly, my friend, come when you feel disposed," he replied, and mounting his horse he was soon out of sight among the trees.

"Now, Barnes," I said, shaking off the gloomy feelings that had oppressed me: "come, I must see that wife of yours, and get a glimpse of how you live?"

"Sartin, stranger; come in; I'll give ye th' tallest dinner my 'oman can scare up, an' she's sum pumkins in th' cookin' line;" and he led the way to the farm-house.

As I turned to follow, I slipped a half-dollar into the hand of the darky who was holding my horse, and asked him to put her again into the stable.

"I'll do dat, sar, but I karn't take dis; masaa doant 'low it nohow;" he replied, tendering me back the money.

"Barnes, your negroes have strange ways; I never met one before who'd refuse money."

"Wal, stranger, 'taint hosspetality to take money on yer friends, and Bill gets all he wants from me."

I took the silver and gave it to the first darky I met, who happened to be an old centenarian belonging to the Colonel. As I tossed it to him, he grinned out: "Ah, ma.s.sa, I'll git sum 'backer wid dis; 'pears like I hadn't nary a chaw in forty yar." With more than one leg in the grave the old negro had not lost his appet.i.te for the weed--in fact, that and whiskey are the only "luxuries" ever known to the plantation black.

As we went nearer, I took a closer survey of the farm-house. It was, as I have said, a low, unpainted wooden building, located in the middle of a ten acre lot. It was approached by a straight walk, paved with a mixture of sand and tar, similar to that which the reader may have seen in the Champs Elysees. I do not know whether my back-woods friend, or the Parisian pavior, was the first inventor of this composition, but I am satisfied the corn-cracker had not stolen it from the stone-cracker.

The walk was lined with fruit-bearing shrubs, and directly in front of the house, were two small flower-beds.

The dwelling itself, though of a dingy brown wood-color, was neat and inviting. It may have been forty feet square on the ground, and was only a story and a half high, but a projecting roof, and a front dormer-window, relieved it from the appearance of disproportion. Its gable ends were surmounted by two enormous brick chimneys, carried up on the outside, in the fashion of the South, and its high, broad windows were ornamented with Venetian blinds. Its front door opened directly into the "living-room," and at the threshold we met its mistress.

As the image of that lady has still a warm place in a pleasant corner of my memory, I will describe her. She was about thirty years of age, and had a fresh, cheerful face. To say that she was handsome, would not be strictly true; though she had that pleasant, gentle, kindly expression that sometimes makes even a homely person seem beautiful. But she was not homely. Her features were regular, her hair, glossy and brown, and her eyes, black and brilliant, and, for their color, the mildest and softest I had ever seen. Her figure was tall, and in its outline somewhat sharp and angular, but she had an ease and grace about her that made one forget she was not moulded as softly and roundly as others. She seemed just the woman on whose bosom a tired, worn, over-burdened man might lay his weary head, and find rest and forgetfulness.

She wore a neat calico dress, fitting closely to the neck, and an ap.r.o.n of spotless white muslin. A little lace cap perched cosily on the back of her head, hiding a portion of her wavy, dark hair, and on her feet--a miracle, reader, in one of her cla.s.s--were stockings and shoes! Giving me her hand--which, at the risk of making her husband jealous, I held for a moment--she said, making a gentle courtesy:

"Ye ar welcome, stranger."

"I sincerely thank you, madam; I _am_ a stranger in these parts."

She tendered me a chair, while her husband opened a sideboard, and brought forth a box of Havanas, and a decanter of Scuppernong. As I took the proffered seat, he offered me the refreshments. I drank the lady's health in the wine, but declined the cigars. Seeing this, she remarked:

"Yer from th' North, sir; arn't ye?"

"Yes, madam, I live in New York, but I was born in New-England."

"I reckoned so; I knew ye didn't belong in Car'lina."

"How did you know that, madam?" I asked, laughing.

"I seed ye doan't smoke 'fore wimmin. But ye musn't mind me; I sort o'

likes it; its a great comfut to John, and may be it ar to ye."

"Well, I do relish a good cigar, but I never smoke before any lady except my wife, and though she's only 'a little lower than the angels,'

she _does_, once in awhile, say it's a shame to make the _house_ smell like a tobacco factory."

Barnes handed me the box again, and I took one. As I was lighting it, he said:

"Ye've got a good 'oman, hev ye?"

"There's none better; at least, I think so."

"Wal, I'm 'zactly uv thet 'pinion 'bout mine: I wouldn't trade her fur all this worle, an' th' best half uv 'tother."

"Don't ye talk so, John," said the lady; then addressing me, she added: "It's a good husband thet makes a good wife, sir."

"Sometimes, madam, but not always. I've known some of the best of wives who had miserable husbands."

"An' I'm d----d ef I made my wife th' 'oman she ar'," said the corn-cracker.

"Hush, John; ye musn't sw'ar so; ye knows how often ye've said ye wouldn't."

"Wal, I du, an' I wont agin, by ----. But Sukey, whar's th' young 'uns?"

"Out in the lot, I reckon; but ye musn't holler'm in--they'r all dirt."

"No matter for that, madam," I said; "dirt is healthy for little ones; rolling in the mud makes them grow."

"Then our'n orter grow right smart, fur they'r in it allers."

"How many have you, madam?"

"Two; a little boy, four, and a little gal, six."

"They're of interesting ages."

"Yas, the' is int'restin'; ev'ry 'uns own chil'ren is smart; but the'

does know a heap. John was off ter Charl'ston no great while back, an'

the little boy used ter pray ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' fur his fader ter c.u.m hum. I larned 'em thet jest so soon as the' talked, 'cause thar's no tellin' how quick the' moight be tooken 'way. Wal, the little feller prayed ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' fur his fader ter c.u.m back; an' John didn't c.u.m; so finarly he got sort o' provoked with th' Lord; an' he said G.o.d war aither deaf, an' couldn't har, or he war naughty, an'

wouldn't tell fader thet little Johnny wanted to seed 'im 'werry mooch'"--and here the good lady laughed pleasantly, and I joined in most heartily.

Blessed are the children that have such a mother.

Soon the husband returned with the little girl and boy, and four young ebonies, all bare-headed, and dressed alike, in thick trousers, and a loose linsey shirt. Among them was my new acquaintance, "Dandy Jim, of ole Car'lina."

The little girl came to me, and soon I had two white children on one knee, and two black on the other, and Dandy Jim between my legs, playing with my watch-chain. The family made no distinction between the colors, and as the children were all equally clean I did not see why _I_ should do so.

The lady renewed the conversation by remarking; "P'raps ye reckon it's quar, sir, that we 'low our'n to 'sociate 'long with th' black chil'ren; but we karn't help it. On big plantations it works sorry bad, fur th'

white young 'ons larn all manner of evil from the black 'uns; but I've laboored ter teach our'n so one wont do no harm ter 'tother."