“Unken Horris was a waterin’ de horses, and when I tole him, he said marster dun tole him, and dat was nough; and just cause I tole him to hurry up, he tuk and cut me mos’ in two with de carridge whip.”
“I expect you were impudent to him; but he ought not to have struck you when I sent you. I will see him about it after breakfast.”
This silenced but did not satisfy Reuben, who, like all negroes, was anxious enough to see swift punishment fall on one who had offended against himself, though he would have been full of sympathy for one who suffered for any offence, however grievous, against a white person.
As we drove into Goldsboro’, an hour afterwards, the whistle sounded, and the morning train came into sight, nodding up the track; the engine steamed by like a great hog rooting its way along; then the baggage car, its door open, and the baggage master leaning out; then the coaches, and, as they all came to a stop, amid the shouts of a dozen white aproned waiters, who were vowing that every passenger had plenty of time to eat the most delicious breakfast ever prepared, Frank and Ned, guns in hand, came down the car steps. I welcomed them warmly, being delighted to see Ned, and determined that I would crush every feeling of repugnance to Frank, and receive him with the hospitality of a Southern home. As we walked up to our wagon, where our grays were prancing and snorting at the train, Reuben came around from the hotel stables, whither I had sent him for my new horse, leading him by the halter. I almost forgot to breathe in my rapt admiration. He was the most perfect specimen of horse flesh I had ever seen. His color was the deepest chestnut or claret, and his hair looked as if it was just wound from the cocoon, and his large prominent eye had a soft intelligent expression that was almost human. His limbs were as delicate as a gazelle’s, yet had that peculiar turn of the rounded muscles that told of desert born ancestors. There was nothing of the charger about him—no thunder-clothed neck, nor trumpet-like nostril; all was dainty symmetry, but the symmetry of a form that could not know fatigue.
I could not tell whether he would drive or not, but I felt that it would almost be a sin to clog such superb motion with harness. I ordered Reuben to put the saddle and bridle on him, and turned to Ned and Frank, and asked their opinion of him.
“I’ll vow he’s a beauty, John,” said Frank, as we put the valises in the wagon; “let me ride him home for you, and find out his bad points, if he has any.”
I could not refuse, and with much chagrin and disappointment saw Frank gallop fleetly on ahead of the wagon, as we rattled on towards home. Ned and I had much to talk about, and almost before we were aware of it, were driving down the avenue.
Frank had waited for us to come up, and now cantered along by the side of the wagon, descanting the praises of my steed in unmeasured terms.
When we entered the house, and Ned and Frank were met by the family, I was really sorry for Lulie, so great was her embarrassment. She could not bear to torture me by greeting Frank with the cordiality their relations demanded, and she could not bear to hurt his feelings by treating him coldly without a cause. Frank noticed her confusion, and asked, in his free and easy way, “Why, Lulie, what is the matter with you. Have you become so rustic already as to be frightened out of your wits by the presence of gentlemen?”