"That Old-Time Child, Roberta" Part 5

"Good morning to ye," the Irishman responded without raising his eyes from his rock pile.

"Have you heard the news?" was next asked.

"Faith, an' so much of it flies here and there, if a mon lets all of it roost, 'twill stale his pace of mind like the thaving crows stale his corn."

"What I mean is, the fight yesterday at Green River bridge. Ar'n't you glad of the drubbing our boys gave the rebels? There's many a mother's son of them lying in those green bottom lands there, that the morning's reveille will never awaken more."

The face of the youngest soldier was turned away. His eyelashes were wet, and his teeth gnawed his under lip. Once he drew his coat sleeve across his eyes, and once he looked as if the conversation had become unbearable, almost.

"Weel, an' when it comes to that, I am the last man to be glad at the death of a sinner, an' I take it, many a sinner handed in his checks there yistiddy."

After a few general remarks the soldiers rode on. When they had gone about three hundred yards they stopped, held a brief consultation, and finally returned. The oldest man, who seemed to be the speaker, said:

"We have been struck with your answers to our questions, and have come back to confide to you our situation and ask your aid. We are not," he continued, "what we seem to be."

"If ye are not what ye seem to be, what are ye?"

"We are escaped rebel prisoners trying to make our way south. At least I am, and that young fellow there was in this fight yesterday and got cut off from his command. We believe you are a friend to our cause, and we must have your advice and aid, for we are here without knowledge of people or country."

"Well," said the Irishman, "if ye are decaving me the sin is all yer own.

If ye be honest an' true men, follow my advice and all will be well. I live just two miles up the road, the first white frame house on the left hand side of the road, with a barn in front of it. The country is full of spies, an' you must be careful. Just ye ride up where I live, get off your horses and go in. Make my wife take the horses to the stable and feed 'em.

Then order your dinner, an' when you've eaten it, drive the wimmen and children out of the house and raise the divil ginerilly."

The soldiers went on, and the Irishman resumed his work. In less than an hour a neighbor rode up in hot haste, told him the Yankees had taken possession of his house and driven wife and children into the road.

"Ye say they have?" responded he, laying down his hammer and serenely lighting his pipe.

"Yes, yes! come on and do something for your family."

"Holy saints and angels, defend us! What kin I do? It's not me all by meself, neighbor, that kin whip out the whole Yankee army. Gineril Lee an' Stonewall Jackson have been thrying it for some time, an' faith, if they can't, how kin I?"

The dismayed messenger returned to report to the excited wife and children that the husband and father would do nothing for them. Again and again was a messenger sent, but to no purpose. The Irishman sat and plied his hammer to his rocks in serene quiet.

About four in the afternoon a rockaway drove up, stopped a few yards away, and a lady got out, accompanied by a little girl, and approached the man at the rock-pile. They were Mrs. Marsden and Roberta.

"May I ask," said the lady hesitatingly, "if two soldiers dressed in Federal uniform have pa.s.sed here this morning; and how long since? The reason I ask is this, a flying rumor has reached me that two soldiers wearing the Federal uniform were arrested not far from here and carried to headquarters as Confederate spies."

"Faith, an' the shoe is on the other foot intirely, madam. It's meself that's been arristed, or it amounts to about the same thing. Them same soldiers you ax about have taken possession of my house, driv my wife an'

childers out of doors, and raised the divil ginerilly."

"O! I am so sorry to hear it," answered Mrs. Marsden. Then noticing a sly twinkle in the man's eyes, utterly out of keeping with his words, the quick-witted woman instantly caught on to the "cue."

"O! Mr. McGarvy!" she cried, "for you are Mr. McGarvy, ar'n't you? I might have known you would have helped them to carry out the blind, if they came anywhere near you; but I thought they were going a different way."

She added, admiration kindling her features as she looked at him, "I don't believe there is another man in Kentucky, sharp enough to conceive of such a blind, or self-sacrificing enough to carry it out, and may G.o.d bless you."

She turned away, her beautiful eyes filled with tears.

At sundown Mr. McGarvy hitched his horse to his cart, lit his pipe, and jolted slowly homeward. His wife and children were still in the road, and the soldiers still had possession of the house.

"I would not have believed it, Jim McGarvy," cried his wife, her bosom panting with rage, "not if the Holy Mither of G.o.d had tould me."

"Have they hurt you, Rosy, darlint?"

"Not them, Jim McGarvy. They have been civil spoke enough. It's you that's hurt me--you that have gone back on the wife of your bosom an' your own flesh an' blood."

"Whisht, Rosy, darlint, whisht." He got as close to her as circ.u.mstances would allow. "Them soldiers are our own boys, who are trying to make their way south, I've jis' had them do all that for a blind, jis' for a blind, the poor fellers. Sure, an' you know, Rosy, darlint, that Jim McGarvy is a spotted man, an' the very first one in these parts that the inimy would go for."

Wondrous the transformation.

"Is that thrue?" she cried, with beaming face, forgetting already the day's worry, "are they raly our own boys? Sure, an' it's a dolt I am, not to know what the tallest one meant when he whispered to me:

"When the South is free, I am for Jim McGarvy for any office he wants."

"Whisht, Rosy, darlint, birds of the air carry tidings; but come along now and get us a hot supper, and a good one too to stay our stomachs, for I've got to carry the boys further on their way to-night, the holy Mither of G.o.d bless 'em!"

Now I am going to tell you how Roberta kept her promise about taking care of the soldier boy's gun. Not many weeks after that memorable Fourth, Squire came home in great excitement, saying the soldiers were searching every house for contraband articles, and soon would be at theirs.

"I should be very sorry," said Mrs. Marsden, "to have to give up the suit of gray jeans I've made for Charlie and the dear boy's boots."

"You won't have to give them up, mamma," responded Roberta, who had lain awake night after night, planning what she should do in the event the soldiers came after them. Now what do you suppose she did? Pushed boots and clothes to the very bottom of the flour-barrel under the flour. Not even our own Yankee Bligh could have detected their whereabouts. Then she dressed the gun up in baby clothes, with long white robe and cloak and pretty baby cap; tied a veil over the cap. When she was through, it really looked very much like a baby. She gave the gun to Polly, and told her to walk up and down the porch with it and sing a lullaby. Polly didn't like counterfeit babies any more than she liked real babies.

"Lawdy! Lawdy! Lawdy!" said Polly, "iz you rite sho', Lil Missus, thar ain' nuffin' in it that's gwiner blow my head orf?"

"Right sure, Polly. Uncle Squire cleaned it out yesterday."

"O, Lawdy, Lawdy, Lawdy! I dunno howter ketch on ter de creeter, nohow.

I'd redder nuss real live babies, I wud."

"Be a good girl, Polly. Take hold this way. Now sing:

"Dear little baby, shut your eyes, Stars are shining in the skies; Soon an angel will at you peep, Whisper to you while you sleep.

Dear little baby, what do you hear?

Mamma's voice, sweet and clear.

Why, mamma's the angel, baby dear."

"I dunno it; I never heered it."

"Be a good girl, Polly, and I will give you my new China tea-set."

"I don' like cheeny dishes, caze I have ter wash 'em when dey gets dirty.

I'd redder eat orf chips en frow 'em erway."

"Well, then, I'll give you the pretty colored paper dolls I cut out of G.o.dey's Lady's Book; any thing, just so you make believe it's a real live baby. Sing this, then:

"Folks, won't you go? Folks, won't you go?

Folks, won't you go to see the monkey show?"