“Napoleon Pompey, did you ever hear of their hunting down men on the prairie here?”
“Yo’ bet, Mis’ Ollie, I seed darkie what went to de hangin’ ole man Howard. He done seed him hoisted over de tree slap up. He told me——”
“Hush!” said Olive sternly.
The young savage was abashed, he had meant no harm, but thought some pleasing details “o’ de hangin’,” which he himself had relished mightily, would prove equally acceptable to Olive’s taste. She was disgusted to think that with all her teaching of the forms and symbols of politeness and gentle manners, which the young scamp had received with such docility, she had not really touched his heart at all: he was just a black savage, still rejoicing in vivid details of horrors and cruelty.
“Don’t tell me,” she said sternly, “that it is possible you could like to see a human being, a fellow creature, made in God’s image, no matter how guilty he might be, put to death. It may be necessary, Napoleon Pompey, sometimes to hang men who have done wicked things, so as to prevent others from doing the same, but it is an awful thing, a sad and terrible sight. You would never wish to see it, Napoleon Pompey,” said Olive solemnly.
“It ’ud be bully ter see ’um kickin’ in de air wid rope roun’ his neck,” said Napoleon Pompey simply.
Olive turned white with disgust and left the kitchen, retiring with Diana to her own little private room. Napoleon Pompey, conscious of no shortcomings, cleared away the supper things very handily, washed the few dishes, set the candles upon the white deal table, and whistling in the innocence of his youthful heart went out to “walk roun’” and see that all was right, and the hen-house fastened up securely against possible visits from pole-cats, before he retired to his loft upstairs shortly after sun-down. Like the chickens, Napoleon Pompey went early to roost.
Conscious from the all-pervading stillness that the lad was gone to bed, Ollie returned to the kitchen, and her heart smote her as she saw two tallow candles in their tin candle-sticks placed on the table in convenient position for her to read, if such should be her wish. Poor Napoleon Pompey! Olive thought compassionately of what an affectionate boy he was, and of how it was not his fault if he still had savage tastes. Indeed, it was rather the fault of everybody else. His not very remote ancestors were unreclaimed African savages, and the career of those more immediate forefathers, whose lot had been cast in slavery down South, had not had an elevating tendency. It was wonderful, not that he still had savage tastes, but that he had got rid of so many of them. She was sorry that she had not been better able to control her feelings, and determined forthwith to institute a careful system of training with a view to leading him to the higher life by the shortest possible road. Having settled in her own mind a few of the more important lines upon which this training was to be conducted, Olive turned at last to her reading. But she could not keep her mind on her book, it kept wandering off in all sorts of directions, and at last took that of being frightened at the loneliness and stillness of the house. When so firmly combating the notion of being afraid to stay in the house during Ezra’s absence, Olive had not realized how appalling the stillness would be. In the daytime there were multitudes of unregarded sounds, which went to make up the sum total of the idea of life and fellowship, but at night these had completely ceased, and she seemed to hear the stillness with awful intensity.
Then, too there were no shutters to the windows, which were, of course, open to let in the cool night air, and the thought suddenly came into Olive’s mind of how exposed she really was, sitting there in the light of her candles, plainly to be seen, but unable to see out. A thought such as this needs but little time to grow into a veritable feeling of panic. She glanced at the black gaping windows and stared out into the measureless blackness beyond. At one moment she raised her hand to extinguish the candles and so to hide herself in the dark along with her fears, but she knew that would only make matters worse. She would see in her terrified imagination a hundred glaring eyes peering in through the window. She got up and walked about the room, trying by a little movement to throw off the oppressive sense of terror. Diana suddenly seemed to be interested in something, and raised her head and sniffed inquiringly, and her mistress, nervously awake to every sight or sound, looked anxiously around her and stopped in her uneasy walk. Diana arose and went to the door, and being a puppy wagged her tail effusively, then suddenly remembering that she ought to be a dog, barked with vehemence. Olive was ready to scream with nervous terror as she heard a step upon the slanting board which led up to the door and a second later a knock against the resounding wood. She stood spell-bound, unable to speak or move. Diana ceased barking, and looked with eager delight for the opening of the door.
“It is I, friends, let me come in,” said a deep voice which thrilled Olive to the heart.