"How did this happen?" he asked quickly, "and why was not my mother informed of an event so important? Something is wrong. How did little Shady die?"
"Don' know, massa. He's done dead. It's night all de time now; dere ain't no more sunshine for poor old auntie. Will ye gib me dat, massa? I couldn't hear de chil'ens makin' a noise on it—'twould be like dey was poundin' dis heart, all broke, Massa Charles. Couldn't bear it—no how."
"You shall have it, Auntie," he said, with much feeling, as he placed the toy drum in the outstretched hands. "I do not wonder it is dark, and if Massa Charles can scatter a few rays of light across your sorrow, be sure he will do it."
"O thank ye; thank ye, Massa Charles. The Lord will bless ye, Vina knows he will," and the poor old slave returned again to her night of dreary loneliness.
It was a little transient ray that had been sent athwart her darkness, and no one understood its fleetingness better than did she.
The next day Charles Belmont went again to the scenes of pleasure he had so unceremoniously left, but he could not forget the bitter potion the cup of others contained. For a long time "Poor Old Auntie's" wail of bereavement would dart into his pleasures and leave a touch of sadness upon their brightness.
On reaching Savannah he found that his mother had gone with the St. Clair's to spend a week on a plantation about thirty miles distant, and accepting the invitation left for him, he prepared to follow. It was a lovely morning when the party set out on their short journey. They had determined upon a carriage-ride for the whole distance, while the others went by rail as far as they could, and were waiting for the carriage to overtake them. George St. Clair, his sister Ellen and Miss Pierson composed the little party, as they wheeled over the hard road as fast as the spirited horses could take them, while the cool, fresh breeze invigorated their young spirits.
"This air may be a little too bracing; shall I not have the curtains unrolled?" asked George St. Clair.
"O no, indeed!" replied Miss Pierson who was addressed; "this reminds me of a spring day in the north when there is snow yet upon the mountains while the valleys are green."
"Perfectly natural that it should, for this wind comes directly from your snow-capped hills;" was the answer, while the young man experienced a very perceptible shiver. "I wish it were not quite so cold!"