“Uncle Milton knows what to do. And I’ve made Uncle Jack a schedule to follow. It will be all right.”
“And you’re going for how long?”
“Forever and a day. Tell Caro so.”
“Very well,” I said, “I’ll tell Caro forever and a day. But what shall I tell this old lady who loves you so?”
“Tell her I’ll come at the drop of a hat or the click of a telegraph, day or night, whenever she wants me—forever and a day. And Mammy Lil—what’s the use of talking? You understand.”
He pushed his head up under my hand as a signal that one of the rare pettings was in order: and presently he picked me up in his strong arms and carried me to his room, where I lay on the bed and watched him pack his trunk in utter defiance of all known principles of the art.
He found some comfort in doing it, too. His face shows care and lack of sleep, but he whistled a bit as he dropped his shooting boots on the bosom of a shirt, and made a soft place for the butt of his gun with a felt hat. He isn’t entirely hopeless about the outcome, no matter how miserable he is: it is poor little Caro who will get the heaviest end of the mischief Cousin Jane’s meddling has produced. And that thick-headed, thick-skinned old Pharisee will go scot free herself. Oh, dear! I’d like to be good! But it is such a strenuous undertaking with Cousin Jane in the family: St. John himself couldn’t manage it; and I never was cut out for a saint.
IX
The Proof of Courage
May 20th. Caro did not come back until yesterday, though she called the Peon up daily to ask how I was and to send her love. She did not allude to David, and the Peon volunteered no information. But yesterday she dashed in at the gate, driving like a young Jehu, flung the reins to Uncle Milton, who was at work among the roses at the other end of the house, and came flying across the lawn to my cot.
“Oh, Mammy Lil, are you all alone? Has David really gone—to stay, I mean?”