Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction

by Joel Chandler Harris

Boring, or Bridalbin—no one ever discovered why he changed his name, for he changed neither his nature nor his associations—followed along after Gabriel, and was in time to see him enter the door and close it behind him. The Lumsden Place was somewhat in the open, but the trees, where Bridalbin took up his position of watcher, made such dense and heavy shadows that it was almost impossible to distinguish objects more than a few feet away. In these heavy shadows Bridalbin stood while Gabriel was supposed to be eating his supper.

A dog trotting along the walk shied and growled when he saw the motionless figure, but after that, there was a long period of silence, which was finally broken by voices on a veranda not far away. The owners of the voices had evidently come out for a breath of fresh air, and were carrying on a conversation which had begun inside. Bridalbin could see neither the house nor the occupants of the veranda, but he could hear every word that was said. One of the voices was soft and clear, while the other was hard, almost harsh, yet it was the voice of a woman. If Bridalbin had been at all familiar with Shady Dale, he would have known that one of the speakers was Madame Awtry and the other Miss Puella Gillum.

"It was only a few weeks ago that they told the poor child about her father," said Miss Puella. "Neighbour Tomlin couldn't muster up the courage to do it, and so it became Fanny's duty. I know it nearly broke her heart."

"Why did they tell her at all? Why did they think it was necessary?" inquired Madame Awtry. Her voice had in it the quality that attracts attention and compels obedience.

"Well, you know Margaret is of age now, and Neighbour Tomlin, who is made up of heart and conscience, felt that it would be wrong to keep her in ignorance, but he couldn't make up his mind to be the bearer of bad news; so it fell to Fanny's lot. But it seems that Margaret already knew, and on that occasion Fanny had to do all the crying that was done. Margaret had known it all along, and had only feigned ignorance in order not to worry her mother. 'I have known it from the first,' she said. 'Please don't tell Nan.' But Nan had known it all along, and Fanny told Margaret so. It is a pity about her father. If he was what he should be, he'd be very proud of Margaret."

"His name was Bridlebin, or something of that kind, was it not?" Madame Awtry asked.

"Something like that," replied Miss Puella. "The world is full of trouble," she said after awhile, and her voice was as gentle as the cooing of a dove—"so very full of trouble. I sometimes think that we should have as much pity for those who are the cause of it as for those who are the victims." Alas! Miss Puella was thinking of Waldron Awtry, whose stormy spirit had passed away.

"That is the Christian spirit, certainly," said Waldron's mother, in her firm, clear tones. "Let those live up to it who can!"

"The girl is in good hands," remarked Miss Puella, after a pause, "and she should be happy. Neighbour Tomlin and Fanny fairly worship her."

"Yes, she's in good hands," responded Madame Awtry, "yet when she comes here, which she is kind enough to do sometimes, it seems to me that I can see trouble in her eyes. It is hard to describe, but it's such an expression as you or I would have if we were dependent, and something was wrong or going wrong with those on whom we depended. But it may be merely my imagination."