“You, Josh,” said Uncle Phil, “go and tell yer master to come here.”
“Whew-ew,” whistled Ben, “if you’re goin’ to send that stutterin’ critter, I may as well be joggin’, for no human can make out his rigmarole.”
But Ben was mistaken. Josh’s dialect was well understood by Frederic, who came as requested, and, standing in the door, gazed inquisitively at the singular looking object seated upon his steps, and apparently oblivious to everything save the sliver he was trying to extract from his thumb with a large pin, ejaculating occasionally, “gaul darn the pesky thing.”
Nothing, however, escaped the keen grey eyes which from time to time peered out from beneath the stove-pipe hat. Already Ben had seen that Redstone Hall was a most beautiful spot, and he did not blame Frederic for disliking to give it up. He had selected Dinah and Phil from the other blacks, and had said that the baby, who, with a small white dog, was disputing its right to a piece of fat bacon and a chicken bone, was Victoria Eugenia. Josh he identified by his name, and he was wondering at Marian’s taste in caring to hear from him, when Frederic appeared, and all else was forgotten in his eagerness to inspect the man “who could make a gal bite her tongue in two and yank her hair out by the roots, all for the love of him.”
Frederic seemed in no hurry to commence a conversation, and during the minute that he stood there without speaking, Ben had ample time to take him in from his brown hair and graceful mustache down to his polished boots.
“Got up in considerable kind of good style,” was Ben’s mental comment, as he watched the young man carelessly scraping his finger nail with a pen-knife.
“Did you wish to see me?” Frederic said at last, and with another thrust at the sliver, Ben stuck his pin upon his coat sleeve, and reversing the position of his legs, replied, “wall, if you’re the boss, I guess I dew; I’m Ben Butterworth from down East, and I’ve got belated, and bein’ there ain’t no taverns near I want to stay all night, and pay in money or notions. Got a lot on ’em, besides some tip-top muslin collars for your wife, Mrs., what do you call her?” and the gray eyes glistened themselves upon the face, which for a single instant was white as marble—then the hot blood came rushing back, and Frederic replied, “there is no wife here, sir, but you can stay all night if you please. Will you walk in?” and he led the way to the sitting-room, followed by Ben, who had obtained what to him was the most important information of all.
The night was chilly, and in the grate a cheerful coal fire was burning, casting its ruddy light upon the face of a little girl, who, seated upon a stool, with her hair combed back from her sweet face, her waxen hands folded together and her strange brown eyes fixed upon the coals as if she were looking at something far beyond them, seemed to Ben what he had fancied angels in heaven to be. It was not needful for Mr. Raymond to say, “Alice, here is a peddler come to stay all night,” for Ben knew it was the blind girl, and his heart gave a great throb when he saw her sitting there so beautiful, so helpless, and so lonely, too, for he almost knew that she was thinking of Marian, and he longed to take her in his arms and tell her of the lost one.
Motioning him to a chair, Frederic went out, leaving them together. For some minutes there was perfect silence, while Ben sat looking at her and trying hard to keep from crying. It seemed terrible to him that one so young should be blind, and he wanted to tell her so, but he dared not, and he sat so still that Alice began to think she was alone, and, resuming her former thoughts, whispered softly to herself, “oh, I wish she would come back.”
“Blessed baby,” Ben had almost ejaculated, but he checked himself in time, and said instead, “little gal.”