Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction

by Joel Chandler Harris

"It certainly must be," Miss Puella declared, "for there is nothing wrong or going wrong with Neighbour Tomlin and Fanny."

At this point the conversation ceased, and the two women sat silent, each occupied with her own thoughts. Miss Puella wondered that Madame Awtry could even imagine trouble at the Tomlin Place, while the Madame was smiling grimly to herself, and pitying Miss Puella because she could not perceive what the trouble really was. "What a world it is! what a world!" Madame Awtry said to herself with a sigh.

And Bridalbin stood wondering at the freak of chance or circumstance that had enabled him to hear two persons unknown to him discussing the dependence of his daughter. "Dependent" was the word that grated on his ear. He never thought of Providence—how few of us do!—he never dreamed that his presence at that particular place at that particular moment was to be the means of providing a sure remedy for the most serious trouble, short of bereavement, that his daughter would ever be called on to face.

Bridalbin walked slowly in the direction of the Lumsden Place, which having fewer trees around it could be dimly seen in the starlight. Before he emerged from the denser shadows he heard the door open and close, and then Gabriel came down the steps whistling, and was soon in the thoroughfare. But, instead of going toward town, he turned and went toward the fields. Following the road for a hundred yards or more he soon came to the bars, which formed a sort of gateway to the rich pastures of Bermuda, and, vaulting lightly over these, he was soon lost to view, though the stars were shining as brightly as they could. He was making his way toward his favourite Bermuda hill.

Now, Bridalbin knew enough about the topography of Shady Dale to know that the path or roadway, leading from the bars across the Bermuda fields, was a short cut to one of the highways that led from town past the door of Mahlon Butts. He paused a moment, and then, more sedate than Gabriel, climbed the bars and followed the path across the field. He walked rapidly, for he was anxious to discover what course Gabriel had taken. He crossed the fields and saw no one; he reached the highway, and followed it for a quarter of a mile or more, but he could see no sign of Gabriel.

And for a very good reason. That young man had followed the field-path only a short distance. He had turned sharply, to the right, making for the Bermuda hill, where, with no fear of the dewy dampness to disturb him, he flung himself at full length on the velvety grass, and gulped down great draughts of the cool, sweet air. He heard the sound of Bridalbin's footsteps, as that worthy went rapidly along the path, and he had a boy's mischievous impulse to hail the passer-by. But he was so fond of the hill, and so jealous of his possession of the silence, the night, and the remote stars, that he suppressed the impulse, and Bridalbin went on his way, firm in the belief that Gabriel had crossed the field to the public highway, and was now going in the direction of Mahlon Butts's home. He believed it, and continued to believe it to his dying day, though the only evidence he had was the hint conveyed in the surmises of Hotchkiss.

Bridalbin finally abandoned his wild-goose chase, and returned to the neighbourhood of Gabriel's home, where he waited and watched until his engagement with Hotchkiss compelled him to abandon his post. The business of the Union League was not very pressing that night, or it had been dispatched with unusual celerity, for when Bridalbin reached the old school-house, the Rev. Jeremiah, who had taken upon himself the duties of janitor, was in the act of closing the doors.

"I been waitin' fer you, Mr. Borin'," said the Rev. Jeremiah, after he had responded to Bridalbin's salutation. "De Honerbul Mr. Hotchkiss tol' me ter tell you, in case I seed you, dat he gwine on home; an' he say p'intedly dat dey's no need fer ter worry 'bout him, kaze eve'ything's all right. Ez he gun it ter me, so I gin it ter you. You oughter been here ter-night. Me an' Mr. Hotchkiss took an' put all de business thoo 'fo' you kin bat yo' eye; yes, suh, we did fer a fack."

"I'm very sorry he didn't wait for me," said Bridalbin.

As for Gabriel, he lay out on the Bermuda hill, contemplating himself and the rest of the world. The stars rode overhead, all moving together like some vast fleet of far-off ships. In the northwest, while Gabriel was watching, a huge star seemed to break away from its companions and rush hurtling toward the west, leaving a trail of white vapour behind it. The illumination was but momentary. The Night was quick to snuff out all lights but its own. Whatever might be taking place on the other side of the world, Night had possession here, and proposed to maintain it as long as possible. A bird might scream when Brother Fox seized it; a mouse might squeak when Cousin Screech-Owl swooped down on noiseless wing and seized it; Uncle Wind might rustle the green grass in search of Brother Dust: nevertheless, the order of the hour was silence, and Night was prompt to enforce it.