"That Old-Time Child, Roberta" Part 4

Roberta was feeding him with the daintiest of food, the nectar of the G.o.ds to all of us, old and young, high and low.

Although it was July, there was a bed of glowing embers on the stone hearth, where Uncle Squire was cooking his supper. He liked the independence of it. A pot of steaming coffee stood close beside the fire, slices of middling meat were broiling on the coals, and an ash cake slowly browning. He nodded his head toward them, on hospitable thoughts intent.

"Iz you hongry, Lil Missus?"

"Well, I believe I am, rather, Uncle Squire, and your supper looks nice, but I think I will save myself for Aunt Judy's waffles. I took her a basketful of fresh eggs, and she promised me some waffles and scrambled eggs. You know I adore waffles and scrambled eggs, Uncle Squire."

Suddenly the child burst into a ringing peal of laughter. Something very funny was evidently suggested by the eggs.

"O, Uncle Squire," she cried, "did I tell you how I got the best of Jemimy at last?"

"Iz dat de hen dat's been so bobstreperous, you bin tellen' me erbout, Lil Missus?"

"The very same, Uncle Squire. O 'twas nice, the way I managed her yesterday. I let all of the good hens out, and I said, 'Jemimy, you've got to stay in. You haven't been doing your duty lately at all. I am just ashamed of you. You will ruin your reputation. People will stop coming here to get your eggs to set with." Aunt Betsy says, "Jemimy, A bird that can sing, and wont sing, ought to be made to sing, and I am going to do my duty by you. I am just going to keep you in here until you get in the habit, the habit, you hear, Jemimy, of laying one egg a day.' You know, Uncle Squire, habit is every thing. Jemimy cackled, just like she was going right at it. But I said, 'No, Jemimy, you've fooled me before.' Then she ruffled up her feathers and flew around, determined to get out. I was firm with her, Uncle Squire, and wouldn't let her out. This evening I went there and found two beautiful eggs, fresh laid, in her nest."

"You iz er sharp one, Lil Missus; I allers sed it. Who'd s'poze now you cud make dat hen underston' lak er human creeter, dat she gotter turn over er new leaf en do better. Pear-lak, sum chillen's born'd en de wurl'

now-er-days wid ez much sense ez grow'd-up fo'ks."

As they sat there a rumble of thunder was heard. Roberta listened intently: "'Tater wagens, Uncle Squire, _big_ 'tater wagens, rumbling over the bridge."

"Yes, Lil Missus, it's comen'. En de stormier 'tis, en de darker 'tis, de better fur him en me."

That night about nine o'clock Mrs. Marsden heard a low but distinct rap on the shutters of the sitting-room window opening on the porch. She happened to be there alone. It startled her for an instant, but she soon recovered composure and asked:

"Who is it?"

"A friend," was the reply.

"What do you want"

"Shelter for a few hours, a bite to eat, and--I will tell you more anon."

"These are dreadful times, and I am not in the habit of taking strangers in at this hour of the night."

"All right," said he on the outside; then added with the glibness of a Fourth of July stump speaker, "that is, if you can reconcile it with your conscience to turn the cold shoulder on a fellow being in the desperate strait I am in."

"Where did you come from?" was next asked.

"From those who are wandering up and down the earth, seeking how they may devour me."

"Where are you going to?"

"Destination unknown. Depends somewhat on yourself."

Without another word, Mrs. Marsden turned the lamp down low, and hurried towards the front hall door.

"Take a light with you, Julia," called Aunt Betsy, from the bed-room adjoining.

"Not for the world, Auntie."

Her acute ear had caught the tramp of horses' hoofs coming through the avenue. When she opened the door, a tall man dressed in the Federal uniform stood outside, his hair disheveled by wind, and face shining with dashes of rain. She locked and bolted the door after him, and led the way to the dining-room, where Roberta sat playing "checkers" with a boyish-looking soldier, also dressed in Federal uniform.

"Give this gentleman some cake and wine, dear," she said to Roberta, "and entertain him until I return; and you," to the other soldier, "go outside for a little; Squire will show you where to go."

Her surmises were correct. Heavy spurred boot-heels crossed the porch floor; there was a thundering knock with the b.u.t.t-end of a riding-whip on the outside of the door.

Inwardly quaking, and strengthening herself with silent prayer, she opened the door. A squad of Federal soldiers stood before her. One of them lifted his hat, and said courteously:

"We have come with authority from headquarters to search your house, Madam; we understand you are harboring rebels."

"You are at liberty to search my house," she answered in a clear, penetrating voice. "You will find some women and children, and one of your cloth, here."

They searched sitting-room, bed-room, and pa.s.sed into the dining-room; saw a brother Federal there partaking of light refreshments; were pleasantly accosted by him, and told he belonged to Company G, of Colonel M.'s Michigan volunteers; had been sick and was out on furlough at the house of a friend. One of them, a social kind of fellow, lingered on the threshold, amused at the badinage pa.s.sing between the soldier and the beautiful child.

"Oh, no, you are not a rebel," the soldier was saying, "you can't make me believe that; you've got too honest a face to be a rebel. Now, just confess you are glad of the drubbing our boys gave 'em this morning."

"No, I'm not glad;" said Roberta, her eyes were filling with tears and her lips quivering, "I'm just as sorry as I can be."

"Well, then, I'll tell you what I expect the trouble is. You've got a sweetheart among them; and if I was you, I'd trade him off for a Union sweetheart right away."

"I don't want any sweetheart at all; but if I wanted one I wouldn't have a Yankee." Her eyes flashed and her cheeks crimsoned.

"Why not?" continued her tormentor. "They are lots nicer than the rebels; have more to eat, and wear better clothes. Besides, didn't the rebels steal your mamma's best horses, the last time they pa.s.sed this way, and leave her nothing but two starved, broken-down nags in their place? Didn't they, now?"

"Yes," the child was reluctantly forced to admit. Suddenly her face brightened; she almost trembled with eagerness. "Who stole my mamma's negroes, I wonder; every one of them but Mam' Sarah, and Aunt Judy, and Uncle Squire, and Polly and Dilsy--every one; who did that?"

That sally provoked such a peal of laughter and put everybody in such a good humor, possibly the search was not prosecuted as vigorously as it might have been otherwise.

The next morning about sunrise two Federal soldiers sat on their horses before Mrs. Marsden's front door. The family were a.s.sembled on the porch.

They were always early risers, and their being up a little earlier than usual would have caused no comment. Possibly the leave-taking might have seemed a little queer to prying eyes.

"Take care of my gun," the youngest-looking of the soldiers whispered to Roberta, "and if I live, I'll come back before long and get it."

"Will you?" said the child, delightedly. "Then I'll take care of it, sure." An instant afterwards added, with the serio-comic imitation of the fire of older tongues, so common at that time, "They will have to walk over my dead body before they take it from me."

As the soldiers rode through the avenue the murkiness overhead cleared, and shafts of clear gold fell earthward; each blade of gra.s.s sparkled like a diamond, and tiny globules hung from the leaves of the trees, reflecting countless dazzling prisms of light. A lark started up from the high gra.s.s of the meadow, and soared aloft, dropping soft trills and quavers and clear, fresh warbles from his happy little throat. Just outside of the avenue gate they met a line of milch-cows en route for the "cuppen." They moved swiftly as though there was purpose in their movements, and glanced about with eager eyes. Slender streams of milk flowed from their swollen teats, and marked their pa.s.sage along the road-side. In barnyards near calves were waiting, frantic to get at those same swollen teats. The black boy who had them in charge opened the avenue gate for them, then stood and looked after the soldiers, the very embodiment of shrewd, impish humor.

Hands burrowing in his pockets; his body, from the waist up, thrown back; his mouth stretched in a broad grin, and indeed every feature replete with fun. When they pa.s.sed out of ear-shot, he put his thumb on the end of his nose, and bawled out: "It's all in my eye, Betty Martin," and wound up by turning somersaults on the gra.s.s by the roadside.

Later on the sun glared like a great ball of bra.s.s. Anon a light breeze sprung up with a breath of moisture in it.

"That's good," said the oldest soldier, taking off his cap and baring his forehead to it; "that's good. 'Twill make more bearable the rays of yonder heater."

Their bodies were refreshed and spirits hopeful in proportion. They did not converse much; seemed to be taken up with noting the country, as though comparing it with some memoranda retained in recollection only.

They were evidently strangers to that locality, for they relied for direction upon milestones and the sign-posts that appeared at intersecting roads. At last, when they had pa.s.sed over about ten miles, they came to an Irishman beating rock by the roadside.

The oldest of the travelers was accustomed to read the countenance, for he was bred a lawyer, and gave up a large practice in criminal courts to join the army. He observed a shrewdness in the Irishman's countenance that he thought might possibly be of service; but it was a delicate matter to get at in those times, when one might well be afraid often of the members of one's own household.

"Good morning," he finally said.