CHAPTER II.
Mom Beck carried the ironing-board out of the hot kitchen, set the ironsoff the stove, and then tiptoed out to the side porch of the littlecottage.
"Is yo' head feelin' any bettah, honey?" she said to the pretty,girlish-looking woman lying in the hammock. "I promised to step up tothe hotel this evenin' to see one of the chambah-maids. I thought I'dtake the Little Cun'l along with me if you was willin'. She's alwayswild to play with Mrs. Wyford's children up there."
"Yes, I'm better, Becky," was the languid reply. "Put a clean dress onLloyd if you are going to take her out."
Mrs. Sherman closed her eyes again, thinking gratefully, "Dear, faithfulold Becky! What a comfort she has been all my life, first as my nurse,and now as Lloyd's! She is worth her weight in gold!"
The afternoon shadows were stretching long across the grass when MomBeck led the child up the green slope in front of the hotel.
The Little Colonel had danced along so gaily with Fritz that her cheeksglowed like wild roses. She made a quaint little picture with such shortsunny hair and dark eyes shining out from under the broad-brimmed whitehat she wore.
Several ladies who were sitting on the shady piazza, busy with theirembroidery, noticed her admiringly. "It's Elizabeth Lloyd's littledaughter," one of them explained. "Don't you remember what a scene therewas some years ago when she married a New York man? Sherman, I believe,his name was, Jack Sherman. He was a splendid fellow, and enormouslywealthy. Nobody could say a word against him, except that he was aNortherner. That was enough for the old Colonel, though. He hatesYankees like poison. He stormed and swore, and forbade Elizabeth evercoming in his sight again. He had her room locked up, and not a soul onthe place ever dares mention her name in his hearing."
The Little Colonel sat down demurely on the piazza steps to wait for thechildren. The nurse had not finished dressing them for the evening.
She amused herself by showing Fritz the pictures in an illustratedweekly. It was not long until she began to feel that the ladies weretalking about her. She had lived among older people so entirely thather thoughts were much deeper than her baby speeches would lead one tosuppose.
She understood dimly, from what she had heard the servants say, thatthere was some trouble between her mother and grandfather. Now she heardit rehearsed from beginning to end. She could not understand whatthey meant by "bank failures" and "unfortunate investments," but sheunderstood enough to know that her father had lost nearly all his money,and had gone West to make more.
Mrs. Sherman had moved from their elegant New York home two weeks agoto this little cottage in Lloydsborough that her mother had left her.Instead of the houseful of servants they used to have, there was onlyfaithful Mom Beck to do everything.
There was something magnetic in the child's eyes.
Mrs. Wyford shrugged her shoulders uneasily as she caught their piercinggaze fixed on her.
"I do believe that little witch understood every word I said," sheexclaimed.
"Oh, certainly not," was the reassuring answer. "She's such a littlething."
But she had heard it all, and understood enough to make her vaguelyunhappy. Going home she did not frisk along with Fritz, but walkedsoberly by Mom Beck's side, holding tight to the friendly black hand.
"We'll go through the woods," said Mom Beck, lifting her over the fence."It's not so long that way."
As they followed the narrow, straggling path into the cool dusk ofthe woods, she began to sing. The crooning chant was as mournful as afuneral dirge.
"The clouds hang heavy, an' it's gwine to rain. Fa'well, my dyin' friends. I'm gwine to lie in the silent tomb. Fa'well, my dyin' friends."
A muffled little sob made her stop and look down in surprise.
"Why, what's the mattah, honey?" she exclaimed. "Did Emma Louise makeyou mad? Or is you cryin' 'cause you're so ti'ed? Come! Ole Becky'lltote her baby the rest of the way."
She picked the light form up in her arms, and, pressing the troubledlittle face against her shoulder, resumed her walk and her song.
"It's a world of trouble we're travellin' through, Fa'well, my dyin' friends."
"Oh, don't, Mom Beck," sobbed the child, throwing her arms around thewoman's neck, and crying as though her heart would break.
"Land sakes, what is the mattah?" she asked, in alarm. She sat down on amossy log, took off the white hat, and looked into the flushed, tearfulface.
"Oh, it makes me so lonesome when you sing that way," wailed the LittleColonel. "I just can't 'tand it! Mom Beck, is my mothah's heart allbroken? Is that why she is sick so much, and will it kill her suah'nuff?"
"Who's been tellin' you such nonsense?" asked the woman, sharply.
"Some ladies at the hotel were talkin' about it. They said thatgran'fathah didn't love her any moah, an' it was just a-killin' her."Mom Beck frowned fiercely.
The child's grief was so deep and intense that she did not know justhow to quiet her. Then she said, decidedly, "Well, if that's all that'sa-troublin' you, you can jus' get down an' walk home on yo' own laigs.Yo' mamma's a-grievin' 'cause yo' papa has to be away all the time.She's all wo'n out, too, with the work of movin', when she's nevah beenused to doin' anything. But her heart isn't broke any moah'n my neckis."
The positive words and the decided toss Mom Beck gave her head settledthe matter for the Little Colonel. She wiped her eyes and stood up muchrelieved.
"Don't you nevah go to worryin' 'bout what you heahs," continued thewoman. "I tell you p'intedly you cyarnt nevah b'lieve what you heahs."
"Why doesn't gran'fathah love my mothah?" asked the child, as they camein sight of the cottage. She had puzzled over the knotty problem all theway home. "How can papas not love their little girls?"
"'Cause he's stubbo'n," was the unsatisfactory answer. "All the Lloydsis. Yo' mamma's stubbo'n, an' you's stubbo'n--"
"I'm not!" shrieked the Little Colonel, stamping her foot. "You sha'n'tcall me names!"
Then she saw a familiar white hand waving to her from the hammock, andshe broke away from Mom Beck with very red cheeks and very bright eyes.
Cuddled close in her mother's arms, she had a queer feeling that she hadgrown a great deal older in that short afternoon.
Maybe she had. For the first time in her little life she kept hertroubles to herself, and did not once mention the thought that wasuppermost in her mind.
"Yo' great-aunt Sally Tylah is comin' this mawnin'," said Mom Beck, theday after their visit to the hotel. "Do fo' goodness' sake keep yo'selfclean. I'se got too many spring chickens to dress to think 'boutdressin' you up again."
"Did I evah see her befo'?" questioned the Little Colonel.
"Why, yes, the day we moved heah. Don't you know she came and stayed solong, and the rockah broke off the little white rockin'-chair when shesat down in it?"
"Oh, now I know!" laughed the child. "She's the big fat one with curlshangin' round her yeahs like shavin's. I don't like her, Mom Beck. Shekeeps a-kissin' me all the time, an' a-'queezin' me, an' tellin' me tosit on her lap an' be a little lady. Mom Beck, I de'pise to be a littlelady."
There was no answer to her last remark. Mom Beck had stepped into thepantry for more eggs for the cake she was making.
"Fritz," said the Little Colonel, "yo' great-aunt Sally Tylah's comin'this mawnin', an' if you don't want to say 'howdy' to her you'll have tocome with me."
A few minutes later a resolute little figure squeezed between thepalings of the garden fence down by the gooseberry bushes.
"Now walk on your tiptoes, Fritz!" commanded the Little Colonel, "elsesomebody will call us back."
Mom Beck, busy with her extra baking, supposed she was with her motheron the shady, vine-covered porch.
She would not have been singing quite so gaily if she could have seenhalf a mile up the road.
The Little Colonel was sitting in the weeds by the railroad track,deliberately taking off her shoes and stockings.
"Just like a little niggah," she said, delightedly, as sh
e stretched outher bare feet. "Mom Beck says I ought to know bettah. But it does feelso good!"
No telling how long she might have sat there enjoying the forbiddenpleasure of dragging her rosy toes through the warm dust, if she had notheard a horse's hoof-beats coming rapidly along.
"Fritz, it's gran'fathah," she whispered, in alarm, recognizing theerect figure of the rider in its spotless suit of white duck.
"Sh! lie down in the weeds, quick! Lie down, I say!" They both madethemselves as flat as possible, and lay there panting with the exertionof keeping still.
Presently the Little Colonel raised her head cautiously.
"Oh, he's gone down that lane!" she exclaimed. "Now you can get up."After a moment's deliberation she asked, "Fritz, would you rathah havesome 'trawberries an' be tied up fo' runnin' away, or not be tied up andnot have any of those nice tas'en 'trawberries?"
The Little Colonel Page 2