Aunt Phillis's Cabin Part 19

Miss Janet gently touched the wrist of the invalid.

"Do not wake him, my dear; Phillis is right in saying she is no worse; it was a fainting, which is pa.s.sing away. See! she looks as usual. Give her the medicine, it is time; and leave her quiet, the doctor may be disturbed to-night."

The night had pa.s.sed, and the morning was just visible, as symptoms of the same nature affected the patient. Dr. Lawton had seen her very late at night, and had requested them to awaken him should there be any change in her appearance or condition. Oh, how these anxious hearts feared and hoped through this night. What might it bring forth; joy or endless weeping?

This dread crisis past, and what would be the result?

"Doctor," said Phillis, gently awaking him, "I'm sorry to disturb you. Miss Alice has had another little turn, and you'd better see her."

"How is her pulse?" said the doctor, quickly. "Is it failing?"

"'Pears to me not, sir; but you can see."

They went to the room, and the doctor took Alice's small wrist, and lightly felt her pulse. Then did the mother watch his face, to see its writing.

What was there?

Nothing but deep attention. The wrist was gently laid down, and the doctor's hand pa.s.sed lightly over the white arm. Softly it touched the forehead, and lay beneath the straying curl. There is no expression yet; but he takes the wrist again, and, laying one hand beneath it, he touches the pulse. Softly, like the first glance of moonlight on the dark waters, a smile is seen on that kind face. There is something else besides the smile.

Large tears dropped from the physician's eyes; tears that he did not think to wipe away. He stooped towards the fragile sufferer, and gently as the morning air breathes upon the drooping violet, he kissed her brow. "Alice, sweet one," he said, "G.o.d has given you to us again."

Where is that mother? Has she heard those cheering words? She hears them, and is gone; gone even from the side of her only one. The soul, when there is too much joy, longs for G.o.d. She must lay her rich burden at the mercy-seat. Now, that mother kneels, but utters no word. The incense of her heart knows no language and needs none; for G.o.d requires it not. The sacrifice of praise from a rejoicing heart, is a grateful offering that he accepts.

"Miss Anna," said Phillis, with trembling voice, but beaming eye, "go to bed now; days and nights you have been up. How can you stand it? The doctor says she is a great deal better, but she may be ill for a good while yet, and you will give out. I will stay with her if you will take a sleep."

"Sleep;" said Mrs. Weston. "No, no, faithful Phillis not yet; joy is too new to me. G.o.d for ever bless you for your kindness to me and my child. You shall go home and sleep, and to-night, if she continue to do well, I will trust her with you, and take some rest myself."

Mr. Weston awoke to hear glad tidings. Again and again, through the long day, he repeated to himself his favorite Psalm, "Praise the Lord, oh my soul."

Miss Janet's joy, deep but silent, was visible in her happy countenance.

Nor were these feelings confined to the family; every servant on the estate made his master's joy his own. They sorrowed with him when he sorrowed, but now that his drooping head was lifted up, many an honest face regarded him with humble congratulation, as kindly received as if it had come from the highest in the land.

CHAPTER XVII.

Alice steadily, though slowly, improved; and Phillis again employed herself with her children and her work. Things had gone on very well, with one of her daughter's constant superintendence; but Bacchus had taken advantage of being less watched than usual, and had indulged a good deal, declaring to himself that without something to keep up his spirits he should die, thinking about Miss Alice. Phillis, lynx-eyed as she always was, saw that such had been the case.

It was about a week after Alice commenced to improve, that Phillis went to her house in the evening, after having taken charge of her for several hours, while Mrs. Weston slept. Alice was very restless at night, and Mrs.

Weston generally prepared herself for it, by taking some repose previously; this prevented the necessity of any one else losing rest, which, now that Alice was entirely out of danger, she positively refused to permit. As Phillis went in the door, Lydia was on her knees, just finishing the little nightly prayer that Miss Janet had taught her. She got up, and as she was about to go to bed, saw her mother, and bade her good night.

"Good night, and go to bed like a good child. Miss Alice says you may come to see her again to-morrow," Phillis replied.

Lydia was happy as a queen with this promise. Aunt Phillis took her pipe, and her old station outside the door, to smoke. Bacchus had his old, crazy, broken-backed chair out there already, and he was evidently resolving something in his mind of great importance, for he propped the chair far back on its one leg, and appeared to be taking the alt.i.tude of the mountains in the moon, an unfailing sign of a convulsion of some kind in the inner man.

"Phillis," said he, after a long silence, "do you know, it is my opinion that that old creature," pointing with his thumb to Aunt Peggy's house, "is so long used to grumblin' and fussin', that she can't, to save her life, lie still in her grave."

"What makes you think so?" said Phillis.

"Bekase, I believes in my soul she's back thar this minute."

"People that drink, Bacchus, can't expect nothin' else than to be troubled with notions. I was in hopes Aunt Peggy's death would have made you afeered to go on sinning. 'Stead of that, when we was all in such grief, and didn't know what was comin' upon us, you must go drinking. You'd better a been praying, I tell you. But be sure your 'sin will find you out' some day or other. The Lord above knows I pray for you many a time, when I'm hard at work. My heart is nigh breaking when I think where the drunkards will be, when the Lord makes up his jewels. They can't enter the kingdom of Heaven; there is no place for them there. Why can't you repent? 'Spose you die in a drunken fit, how will I have the heart to work when I remember where you've got to; 'where the worm never dieth, and the fire is not quenched.'"

Bacchus was rather taken aback by this sudden appeal, and he moved uneasily in his chair; but after a little reflection, and a good long look at the moon, he recovered his confidence.

"Phillis," said he, "do you b'lieve in sperrits?"

"No, I don't," said Phillis, drily, "of no kind."

Bacchus was at a loss again; but he pretended not to understand her, and giving a hitch to his uncertain chair, he got up some courage, and said, doggedly,

"Well, I do."

"I don't," said Phillis, positively, "of no kind."

Bacchus was quite discomposed again, but he said in an appealing voice to his wife, "Phillis, I couldn't stand it; when Miss Alice was so low, you was busy, and could be a doin somethin for her; but what could I do? Here I sot all night a cryin, a thinkin about her and young master. I 'spected for true she was gwine to die; and my blessed grief! what would have come of us all. Master Arthur, he'd a come home, but what would be the use, and she dead and gone. Every which way I looked, I think I see Miss Alice going up to Heaven, a waving her hand good-by to us, and we all by ourselves, weepin and wailin. 'Deed, Phillis, I couldn't stand it; if I hadn't had a little whiskey I should a been dead and cold afore now."

"You'll be dead and cold afore long with it," said Phillis.

"I couldn't do nothing but cry, Phillis," said Bacchus, snuffing and blowing his nose; "and I thought I might be wanted for somethin, so I jest took a small drop to keep up my strength."

Phillis said nothing. She was rather a hard-hearted woman where whiskey was concerned; so she gave Bacchus no encouragement to go on excusing himself.

"I tell you why I believes in ghosts," said Bacchus, after a pause. "I've see'd one."

"When?" said Phillis.

"I was telling you that while Miss Alice was so ill," said Bacchus, "I used to set up most of de night. I don't know how I kep up, for you know n.i.g.g.e.rs takes a sight of sleep, 'specially when they aint very young, like me.

Well, I thought one time about Miss Alice, but more about old Aunt Peggy.

You know she used to set outside de door thar, very late o' nights. It 'peared like I was 'spectin to see her lean on her stick, and come out every minute. Well, one night I was sure I hear somethin thar. I listened, and then somethin gin a kind o' screech, sounded like de little n.i.g.g.e.rs when Aunt Peggy used to gin 'em a lick wid her switch. Arter a while I see de curtain lifted up. I couldn't see what it was, but it lifted it up. I hearn some more noise, and I felt so strange like, that I shut de door to, and went to bed. Well, I seed dat, and heard it for two or three nights. I was gettin scared I tell you; for, Phillis, there's somethin awful in thinkin of people walking out of their graves, and can't get rest even thar. I couldn't help comin, every night, out here, 'bout twelve o'clock, for that's time sperrits, I mean ghosts, is so uneasy. One night, de very night Miss Alice got better, I hearn de screech an de fuss, and I seed de curtain go up, and pretty soon what do you think I saw. I'm tellin' you no lie, Phillis. I seed two great, red eyes, a glarin out de winder; a glarin right at me. If you believe me, I fell down out of dis very cheer, and when I got up, I gin one look at de winder, and thar was de red eyes glarin agin, so I fell head-foremost over de door step, tryin to get in quick, and then when I did get in, I locked de door. My soul, wasn't I skeered. I never looked no more. I seen nuff dat time."

"Your head was mighty foolish," said Phillis, "and you just thought you saw it."

"No such thing. I saw de red eyes--Aunt Peggy's red eyes."

"High!" said Phillis, "Aunt Peggy hadn't red eyes."

"Not when she was 'live?" said Bacchus. "But thar's no knowin what kind of eyes sperrits gets, 'specially when they gets where it aint very comfortable."

"Well," said Phillis, "these things are above us. We've got our work to do, and the Lord he does his. I don't bother myself about ghosts. I'm trying to get to heaven, and I know I'll never get there if I don't get ready while I'm here. Aunt Peggy aint got no power to come back, unless G.o.d sends her; and if He sends her, its for some good reason. You better come in now, and kneel down, and ask G.o.d to give you strength to do what is right. We've got no strength but what He gives us."

"I wish you'd pray loud to-night," said Bacchus; "for I aint felt easy of late, and somehow I can't pray."

"Well, I can't do much, but I can ask G.o.d to give us grace to repent of our sins, and to serve him faithfully," said Phillis.

And they both kneeled down, and prayer went forth from an earnest heart; and who shall say that a more welcome offering ascended to His ear in that time of prayer, than the humble but believing pet.i.tion of the slave!

Phillis was of a most matter-of-fact disposition, and possessed, as an accompaniment, an investigating turn of mind; so, before any one was stirring in her cottage, she dressed herself, and took from a nail a large-sized key, that was over the mantel-piece. She hung it to her little finger, and made straight for Aunt Peggy's deserted cabin. She granted herself a search-warrant, and determined to find some clue to Bacchus's marvellous story. Her heart did not fail her, even when she put the key in the lock, for she was resolved as a grenadier, and she would not have turned back if the veritable red eyes themselves had raised the cotton curtain, and looked defiance. The lock was somewhat out of repair, requiring a little coaxing before she could get the key in, and then it was some time before she succeeded in turning it; at last it yielded, and with one push the door flew open.