CHAPTER X. LONY'S PETITION.
BUT, ah! this is a world of disappointment, and it almost always happens that if we attain any real good, we have to toil for it. Tidy's path was not to continue as smooth and pleasant as it had been.
Mr. and Mrs. Lee, by some untoward accident, found out what was going on, and at once expounded the law and the necessities of the case to their children, forbidding them in the most peremptory manner, and on penalty of the severest chastisement, ever to attempt again to give Tidy or any other slave a lesson. What the punishment was with which they were threatened she never knew, for the little girls never dared even to speak upon the subject; but she knew it must be something very dreadful, and though this was a most cruel blow to her expectations, she loved them too well to bring them into the slightest danger on her own account. So she never afterwards alluded to the subject.
Her first impulse was to give up all for lost, and to sit down and weep despairingly over her disappointment; but she was of too hopeful a disposition to do so.
"I knows the letters," said she to herself, "and I specs I can learn myself. I can SCRAMBLE ALONG, some way."
Scrambling indeed! I wonder if any of you, little folks, would be willing to undertake it.
In her trouble she did not forget the strong hold to which she had learned to resort in trouble. She PRAYED about it every day, morning, noon, and night. Indeed the words "Lord, help me learn to read," were seldom out of her heart. Even when she did not dare to utter them with her lips, they were mentally ejaculated. Hers was indeed an unceasing prayer.
"Come chile," said Mammy Grace, one evening in the cool, frosty autumn, as Tidy was hovering over the embers, eating her corn-bread, "put on de ole shawl, and we'll tote ober de hills to Massa Bertram's. De meetin's dare dis yer night, and Si's gwine to go. Come, honey, 'tis chill dis ebening, and de walk'll put the warmf right smart inter ye;" and they started off at a quick pace, over the hills, through the woods, down the lanes, and across little brooks, the pale, cold moonlight streaming across their path, and the warm sunlight of divine peace and favor enlivening their hearts as they went on, making nothing at all of a walk of three miles to sing and pray in company with Christian friends. Would WE take as much pains to attend a prayer-meeting?
It was not the customary place of meeting, and the people for the most part were strangers. One party had come by special invitation, to see a new PIECE OF PROPERTY which had just arrived upon the place,—a piece of property that thought, and felt, and moved, and walked, like a thing of life; that loved and feared the Lord, and sung and prayed like any Christian. What wonderful qualities slaveholders' chattels possess!
The woman, whose name was Apollonia, familiarly called Lony, was a tall, gaunt, square-built negress, with a skin so black and shining, and her limbs so rigid, that she might almost have been mistaken for one of those massive statues we sometimes see carved out of the solid anthracite. A bright yellow turban on her head rose in shape like an Egyptian pyramid, adding to her extraordinary hight, and strangely contrasting with her black, thick, African features. Altogether her appearance would have been formidable and repelling, but for a look in her eye like the clear shining after rain, and a tranquil, peaceful expression which had over-spread her hard visage. Tidy was overawed and fascinated by the gigantic figure, and when, after a few minutes of sacred silence, the new comer, who seemed accepted as the presiding spirit of the occasion, commenced singing, she was more than usually interested and attentive. The words were not familiar to the company, so that none could join, and the deep monotone of the woman, at first low, and by degrees becoming louder and more animated, made every word distinct and impressive.