The big, old negress suddenly towered over my master, and laid a hand on his head.
“No, Ellen,” he said quite simply, “God knows I’m not happy.”
The old woman stared up at the ceiling, and her eyes became quite glassy. “Oh! Lord,” she said with a frightful fervour—“drive away de clouds from poor Mister’s heart. Bring him light—It’s comin’. Oh! Lord—I see it—comin’ like de wings of an eagle. I see it a-swoopin’ right down on Mister, dear, good man,” and suddenly turning her back on him, she began to clap her hands.
Master drank his coffee, and never said a word. I had been with him long enough to know, that he was a very unemotional man, and yet he was all alive with tenderness inside.
He had a little superstition too, for he was watching Ellen from the corner of his eye, and was pleased by her interest in him.
Finally he got up, and went over to poor young Beans who lay in the chair, taking no stock in all this sentiment.
“Good-bye, my dog,” he said. “You’re young—you’ll get over this.”
Beans, of course, tried to follow us from the room. Our last sight of him, was at the head of the staircase, struggling in old Ellen’s arms.
“Dog, dog,” she said rebukingly, “old Ellen knows. There’s a cloud going to burst over you all. Mister an’ dog—an’ it’s full o’ blessings.”
My master smiled at intervals all the way home. He always made for Riverside Drive, and never stayed any longer than he could help in the blocks and blocks of streets between it and East River. This night there were heavy masses of clouds over the river, but just before we got home, the moon broke through, and showed a superb, smiling face.