CHAPTER XVII.
NOT TO TELL HER A LIE.
The girl ran to the rocking-chair, sat down and covering her face with her hands, uttered what to her must have been a sad lament: "Oh, she has made a coward out of me." A moment later Tom came, walking briskly.
"Miss Lou," he said, slowly approaching, "what made you run away from me? I wanted to tell you—"
She sprang to her feet and with snapping eyes exclaimed: "What do you want to tell me? Somethin' that ain't true. Do you want to look a lie at me?"
"No, I want to tell you something that is true. Do you know why I let that scoundrel Peters insult me?"
And looking down she replied: "You told me not to ask and I haven't?"
"Was it because you didn't want to know?"
"Mebby I was almost dyin' to know, but you told me not to ask."
"I didn't kill him because—"
"Not because you were afraid to try," she broke in.
"No. It was because they told me that—that you loved him."
"What!" she cried, blazing at him, "I love that—that skeer crow! Oh, how could they tell you such a thing; and if you believed it I am mad at you."
This greatly distressed him and he was quick to reply, "Oh, I didn't believe it much, you know."
"But you believed it strong enough not to—"
"Oh," he pleaded, "don't play me like a fish. Take the hook out of my mouth and don't make me flop. How did I know you didn't love him? Why, the prettiest girl I ever saw loved a—a scarecrow. And I wouldn't harm a scarecrow that you loved. I may be a scarecrow myself—I feel like one, and I know I must act like one, but I love you and I want you to be my wife."
And now she was all of a flutter. "Oh, you love me? Do you—do you?" She clasped her hands and he took them and drew her toward him.
"Do I? Why, I love you till I haven't got any sense. Didn't you see me out there in the rain yesterday?" She shook her head, looking down, hiding her eyes from him. "Didn't you see me there? I didn't have sense enough to come in."
She snatched away her hands and stood looking at him. "Would you live a lie, like the man that married your aunt? Would you?"
"Oh, he was a sport."
"A 'sport!'" she gasped. "What's that?"
"A fool that thinks he's got a sure thing when he hasn't. A man who might risk his home on the turn of a card. I'm not that sort of a fellow. I never loved any girl but you, and I never can love any other."
"Oh, can it be true?" she cried, gazing at him; and neither of them saw Old Jasper, who at this moment came through the gap. He halted and stood perfectly still looking at them.
"You know it is true," said Tom. He put his hands upon his breast. "Why, when I first saw you it seemed—seemed that they were lighting candles all around in here. And Lou, you must be my wife. Don't you know it is true?"
"Yes, I know," she replied, with her hand upon her heart, as if to calm it; "yes, I know, but there is somethin' a flutterin' here and I'm afraid it will fly away. But—but I love you so!"
In his arms he seized her and slowly Old Jasper came to them as they stood, lost to all earth, and about them he put his brown arms. They sprang apart and he took his daughter to his breast; and the boy stood there waiting, striving to say something.
"Mr. Starbuck, I—"
"Looks like everythin' has been said," Jasper broke in; and then upon the young fellow he cast a kindly look. "She couldn't hide that she loved you, sir."
"I am thankful for that. But everything has not been said, Mr. Starbuck—two more words are necessary, one from you and one from her mother."
"I didn't know how to try to hide that I loved him," said Lou. "I didn't want to try." She went over to Tom and he put his arm about her.
"Do you think her mother will object, sir?"
Jasper looked away to hide the laughter that had jumped into his countenance. "Oh," said he, "I reckon she can be persuaded, and here she is."
Margaret and Mrs. Mayfield came out of the house. "Margaret," said the old man, "I reckon these young folks air goin' to git married."
Margaret held out her arms and Lou ran to her, and with her head on her mother's bosom, she declared that she never could have thought it so sweet to be ashamed.
"Suthin' called me back from the mill, and it was to see this," said the old man.
Lou turned to Tom. "You won't love me any the less because I couldn't hide that I loved you, will you?"
"Oh, there couldn't be any less, and in the whole world there isn't room for more," Tom replied; his aunt standing near, looking with misty eyes upon him.
"WELL," MARGARET EXCLAIMED, "I NEVER WAS SO SURPRISED."
"Well," Margaret exclaimed, "I never was so surprised."
Jasper ducked his head and with his hands behind him walked off. But soon he came back and replied: "No, but I reckon if it hadn't happened you'd a been a leetle mo' surprised."
She flouted at him and said to Tom: "Goin' to git married?"
"Yes, madam, not next year, month, week—but now."
"Now!" exclaimed Jasper, with a clap of hands.
"My dear," Mrs. Mayfield said to Lou, "you need not be afraid to trust him. He won't live a lie."
Tom took the girl by the hand. "Come with me now, please. Let us go where the spirit boy used to play with you."
"Yes. And now I know that all the time it was you—you lived under the rock. Come on. We will go up among the hills an' make like we are lost."
And as they were walking away, Jasper said to his wife: "Margaret, that reminds me of a Sunday, a long time ago."
"Yes, Jasper;" and then she said to Mrs. Mayfield: "But law me, it don't take 'em long to fall in love an' git married these days."
"No," Jasper replied, "not with the help of a right peart woman."
"Now, Jasper," she said, "you air shorely enough to provoke a saint, bein' a man. But, Miz Mayfield, this has all come about so sudden that—"
Jasper snorted and she scowled at him. "Don't pay no attention to him, Miz Mayfield. Yes, so sudden that I don't hardly know what to say. But Lou is a good child an' thar ain't but one pity about her, an' that is she hain't got much l'arnin', though she did go to school fur two year over at Dry Fork."
"She will learn, Mrs. Starbuck, and he will be proud of her."
"I'm so glad to hear you say that, Miz Mayfield. An' you ain't disapp'inted at yo' nephew's choice?"
"It was for him and her to choose, Mrs. Starbuck, and all the rest of the world should be silent."
"But," Margaret persisted, "his father, the Jedge. What about him?"
"When he knows that all her people have been brave soldiers, he will call her his daughter."
"So glad," said Margaret, and then Jasper broke in.
"But what's the use of canvassin' now that all the returns air in. We all seed how the thing was a driftin' an' thar wan't no way to stop it even if we wanted to. That young feller is a man. I am proud of him, an' as Miz Mayfield says, he'll be proud of her."
Still Margaret was loth to leave off. "I'm so glad to know that you ain't disapp'inted."
"No one could be disappointed in her, Mrs. Starbuck. She has a strong character."
"So glad to have sich a estimate from one that knows the world."
"It is knowing something of the world that causes me to place so high a value upon her."
"Thar," said Jasper, "thank her ag'in an' then we'll begin at suthin' else."
Margaret begged of Mrs. Mayfield that she would pay no attention to Jasper, who was always so full of his pranks, and then to the old man she whispered: "Old Miz Barker was a passin' this mornin' an' she 'lows that the app'intment has come. Have you fixed everythin' at the mill?"
"No. Laz is there a waitin' for me now."
"Well, I'll go over with you."
They went away, looking back and begging to be "excused," and Mrs. Mayfield stood looking down the road. After a time she went over by the fence, sat down on a stump and began to pluck flowers from the vines that ran along the rails. Into the yard Kintchin came, singing; but when he discovered Mrs. Mayfield he left off his half-dancing walk, began to limp, and approaching her he said: "Ol' steer dun kicked me on de hip."
"I am sorry, Kintchin."
"Yas'm. But you ain't ha'f ez sorry ez I is. Never wuz kicked by er steer, wuz you?"
"No, that's an experience that hasn't fallen to me."
"Wall, w'en it do fall you ain't gwine furgit it. Jest thought I'd drap in an' rest er while," he continued, going over and seating himself on the wood pile. "Dat dear ole mammy lef' me twenty dollars."
"Kind old soul, wasn't she?"
"Yas'm. An' dar ain't many folks dat lef' me twenty dollars w'en da died. I's had er good many wives fust an' last, but I ain't neber married no sich er 'oman ez dat."
"Then you have been married several times, have you, Kintchin?"
"Yas'm. Dar wuz my fust wife an' my fust step-wife, an'—"
"Your first step-wife?"
"Yas'm—stepped inter de place o' my fust wife. My fust wife wuz Sue, an' she wuz er good 'oman, I tell you. But she liked music too well. Dar come up yere one dem yaller barbers, an' he pick er thing at her dat looked sorter like er banjo, an' she cl'ared out wid him."
"That was sad."
"Yas'm. An' den dar wuz Tildy. She wuz monst'us fine. Jest about de color o' er new saddle. I lubbed dat lady."
"What became of her?"
"Who, Tildy? Wall, er white lady come up yere an' she had er silk shawl an' da fooled roun' till da 'cuzed Tildy o' stealin' it an' da sont her ter de pennytenchy."
"Wall, da keep er pesterin' roun' till da proved it on her. Yas'm." He got up and slowly limped over toward her. "An' ain't you got fifty cents you could give me fur all dis inflamation? I needs it might'ly."
"Why, didn't you just tell me that mammy left you twenty dollars?"
"Ur—yes'm—in her will. But I got ter go an' sign de will an' dat'll cost me fifty cents."
"That's a peculiar sort of law."
"Yas'm. I didn't like dat law myse'f an' I told 'em ter 'peal it, but da wouldn't."
"Well," she said, arising and starting toward the house, "as you are so honest and industrious, I'll get it for you."
He looked after her and mused. "No matter whar er 'oman is when you ax her fur money, she got ter go some whar else ter git it. Huh, but deze innercent ladies is de sort dat suits me. I doan like deze ladies dat doan blebe nuthin' you say."
Mrs. Mayfield came out of the house. "Here it is," she said, giving him a piece of silver.
"Thankee, ma'm. I's gwine pray fur you de fust chance I gits, an' it won't be long now dat my rush is sorter ober fo' I does git er chance. But ef you'll jest gib me er quarter mo' I'll leave off ever'thin' an' pray fur you right now."
"No, that's enough."
"Doan blebe much in pra'r, does you? Wall, I hatter make dis do."
Mrs. Mayfield stood at the gap, gazing down the road, and the old negro remarked to himself: "Dat's de way er lady looks w'en she's expectin' er man. Things is er gwine on roun' dis place. Dar ain't been all dis light steppin' fur nuthin'. Wush I could go somewhar an' pick me up er chunk o' er wife. It's er gittin' erbout time fur me ter marry ag'in."
Mrs. Mayfield walked down the road, and Kintchin with an improvised tune took up the axe which Jasper had stuck into the log. But just as he was about to begin the work of grinding it, Mose Blake, shoving a wheelbarrow, came into the yard.
"Whar's S—S—S—S—Star—"
"Talkin' ter me?"
"Den why don't you?"
"I a—a—a—am."
"You ain't said so."
"Shut yo' b—b—b—black mouth."
"Huh, I could do dat an' den talk better den you does."
"I can b—b—b—beat you t—t—t—talkin'."
"Yas, you kin beat any pusson I eber seed."
"Don't y—y—y—you furgit you a—a—a—ain't nuthin' but a n—n—n—n—nigger."
"GO ON ERWAY AN' LET ME TALK TER MYSE'F. YOU KAIN'T TALK."
"Huh, da kin tell dat by lookin' at me; but atter lookin' at you da kain't tell whut you is. Why, you ain't nuthin'. Go on erway an' let me talk ter myse'f. You kain't talk."
"Talk better t—t—t—t—than you k—k—kin. I could p—p—preach."
"Yes, ter deef folks. Say, you puts me in mind o' er chicken with de gapes."
"You air a f—f—f—f—"
"You needn't try ter tell me. I knows it."
"That's a—a—a—about all you d—d—d—d—do know. Mother sent me atter the wash k—k—k—kittle."
"She don't need it much den. Go on erway."
"I'm goin' t—t—t—to git a g—g—gun an' come atter you."
"If you kain't shoot it off no better'n you does yo' mouf you kain't hurt me much."
From a corner of the fence Mose took up a wash-kettle and put it upon the wheelbarrow. "You'll b—b—b—be dead b—b—before night. Be easier t—t—to take what I come atter than to try t—t—to tell 'em w—w—what I want." As he turned his wheelbarrow about he saw Lije Peters standing in the gap. "L—l—l—look out, I'll r—r—run over you," and he lunged forward with his load, just missing Peters, who jumping to one side cried out:
"Yes, you stuttering pig, if you can't wheel no strai'ter than you can talk."
When Mose was gone Peters inquired of Kintchin: "Whar's Starbuck?"
"He wuz out yander jest now an' he'll come ez soon as he know you yere. Whut I tell you?" he added as Jasper made his sudden appearance.
"Here, nigger," said Peters, "go on away; I want to talk to Starbuck."
Jasper told the negro to go and then he stood looking at Peters.
"I didn't expect to see you here ag'in after what passed the other day. Didn't I tell you—"
Peters held up his hand. "Ricolleck I ain't in yo' house. You told me not to darken yo' door ag'in, and I hain't. Don't overlook that fact. And I wouldn't be here, but my app'intment has come."
"Wall."
"An' I go on duty day atter to-morrer. Do you know what that means?"
"I told you not long ago what it mout mean."
"But it mout not turn out that way."
"Shot fo' an' stobbed three," muttered the old man, his mind reverting to the story paper.
"Starbuck, is that young feller Elliott any kin to Jedge Elliott in Nashville?"
"That's for you to fin' out."
"Wall, I didn't know, an' I come mighty nigh havin' trouble with him not long ago."
"Yes, an' I reckon he come mighty nigh a robbin' me of a pleasure—when the time comes."
"Miss Lou, you viper."
"Oh, that's all right. Starbuck, you ricolleck I told you I had that old-fashioned, single-barrel cap-an'-ball pistol. Here it is." He drew forth an old pistol.
"Peters, I'd advise you to come after me with a mo' improved weepin."
"Oh, I'll do that an' with help from off yander, when the time comes. I ain't atter you yit. I jest wanted to give you one mo' chance. An' when I come shore enough, I'll fetch improved weepins. I ain't quite in my official capacity now."
"Yo' app'intment has teached you big words."
"Yes," said Peters, tapping the barrel of the pistol, "as big as the slug this thing is loaded with. My daddy told me that this here slug went through his brother's heart an' was buried in a tree. It was dug out an' now it's here—in this pistol ag'in. Jest fetched it along to remind you of the past."
"Oh, my ricolliction is good, Peters. But I don't ricolleck how you come by that old pistol. None of yo' folks ever tuck it away from any of mine. I reckon some of yo' folks stold it outen the cou't house."
"That's all right, Starbuck. No matter how it come, it is here. But I don't want no trouble with you, an' won't have none if you do the right an' easy thing. Raise that thousand dollars fur me. You've got it hid somewhar."
"If I had a million I wouldn't give you a cent."
"Mout change yo' tune befo' this thing is over with."
"Yes," said Jasper, "I mout whistle a dead march."
"Not over me," Peters replied.
"Yes, over you."
"You're a liar."
Starbuck slapped him in the face, and springing back, Lije cocked the pistol and raised it to shoot.
"Hold on a minute—just one minute," said Starbuck, and with the pistol leveled, Peters stood looking at him.
"Yes, I'll give you one minute, Starbuck, an' that is all. If you move I'll kill you."
"If I do move, you scoundrel, it will be to kill you. Why, you po' fool—"
"Starbuck, any fool can be game—I thought I know'd all about you, but I never know'd befo' that you was so cool."
"Cool," Jasper repeated, "I ain't half as cool as you air keerless. I could kill you with that axe an' you couldn't help yo'se'f. That pistol won't shoot. Look! When you cocked it the cap fell off."