“Yes, mother,” answered her son. “Never will I forsake you or do aught to give you pain;” and so far he had kept his word.
At this time or period in his career, time was changing with him; there was a little being stepping between him and his mother, or in other words his love was being divided between them. He dearly loved the mother who had nursed him up to manhood and freely resolved ever to do only what was just and right by her. He went to the barn to see his beautiful team of horses, a finer span of blacks there was not for miles around. They were the envy of all the boys in the country. Whenever he drove out to parties they always attracted attention and comment, and their owner was highly esteemed for his true manliness. All the girls said he was too fastidious, as none of them could please him so well as to keep him from fishing. At last all the girls of his acquaintance said he could never be suited. At last his fastidious taste was pleased. The lovely, dreamy girl he met by the lake had won his honest heart. As he cared for his horses he was deeply thinking of her whom he saw at the lake, and he mused: “I will saddle Nellie and go to town this evening by the way of Hilton’s, and perhaps I will see or hear of this city cousin, as I am very anxious to see this little lady.”
Hastily throwing the saddle on his horse he brought him out of the barn, and handed the reins to his faithful old servant, who was standing near by, and went and told his mother of his intentions, omitting of course his going by the way of Hilton’s. As he came out of the house and took the horse by the bridle, Pompey said, “Where now, massa Paul, at dis time ob day.”
“To see my girl and tell her what a good old boy you are,” said Paul, laughing as he went away.
“Bless his young heart; just like his fadder when a boy. How I lobe him. If he only knowed what I does, how sad he would be. I can neber tell him, but will watch all the same;” thus mused Pompey as he went out to see if everything was all right, before retiring.
Paul rode quickly down the road and soon Hilton’s fine farm was in sight. As he passed slowly by the house he heard someone singing. He stopped and listened, and these words came floating out on the evening breeze:
But drops of grief can e’er repay
The debt of love I owe.
Here, Lord, I give myself away—
’Tis all that I can do.