CHAPTER II.
PALLAS AND SATURN.
Supper was over, and David Wilde was cutting with his jack-knife thestrings of several packages which had accompanied him on his trip backfrom Center City, where he had disposed of his raft. His guest sat upona wooden settle, as much interested as the others in the proceedings,though his eyes were fixed mostly upon the happy girl, who, withall of her sex's love of finery, was upon her knees on the floor,assisting, with smiling eyes and eager fingers, at the pleasant taskof bringing forth the contents of these packages. A dark-blue dressof the finest merino, a rich shawl, and some pretty laces for collarsand ruffles rewarded her search. There was another package which wasall her own, with which she was equally delighted; it was made up of adozen of books, whose titles she eagerly read before she continued herexplorations.
"Here's a dress Mr. Moore picked out for you," said the raftsman,maliciously, unfolding a gorgeous red and yellow calico.
"But I hadn't seen you, you know," returned Philip coloring.
At this moment Pallas, who had an eye upon the bundles, came in on apretence of clearing off the table.
"Come and look at my beautiful presents, Pallas," cried her youngmistress.
"You've got little les'n an angel fer a fadder, my dear chile,"ejaculated that personage, catching sight of the calico from the cornerof her eye while admiring the merino.
Alice looked up into the rough sun-burnt face of her father with asmile; the idea of his being an angel was not so ludicrous to her as itwas to their guest.
"Here's somethin' to help you along with yer sewing," continued David,taking a little box containing a gold thimble from his jacket-pocket."See if it fits," and he placed it on the little fair hand.
"It sets to your finger like a cup to an acorn," exclaimed Pallas."Thar's none like masser to tell per-_cisely_ what a person wants andis a wishin' fer," and again her covert glance sought the calico.
"Sartainly, old girl; no doubt," chuckled the raftsman. "If that's thecase, jist take them handkerchiefs and that dress-pattern and give'em to Saturn. You can keep the vest and the tobacker and the bootsyerself, and especially the trowsers--you've allers worn 'em!"
"Laws, masser, ef I _hadn't_, things would a gone to rack and ruin longago. Dat nigger of mine no use, but to sleep hisself to deaf. He'sa great cross to me, Saturn is," and with a profusion of smiles andthanks she carried off her booty to the kitchen, graciously dispensinghis share to her "ole man," and condescending to be unusually affable.
"Ef we only had a camp-meetin' to go to now," she said, spreading outthe new jacket and trowsers beside the calico. "It's four yeer, comenex' monf, since we went to dat meetin' down de riber. I declar' it'sjes' like de heathen fer decent culled pussons not to have any place toholler Glory, and show der new clo'es."
"I'd like to go to meetin' wid dese boots," remarked her spouse,looking down at the immense pair into which he had squeezed his feet.
"Ef you did, all I can say is, dar' wouldn' be no room fer anybody elsedar'," returned Pallas, giving way, by mere force of habit, to hercustom of snubbing her companion.
"Wha' fer?" inquired Saturn.
"No matter, ef yer don't know. My! my!"--hopelessly--"what a fool youis!"
"Dat's so, wife;" was the humble reply, "but," picking up courage atthe sight of his new rig, "mebbe when I get my new jacket on, I'll knowmore."
"You'd bettar put it on quick, den, and nebbar take it off."
When her dishes were washed, Pallas took the calico in her lap and satdown.
"I've a sense," she said, in a low voice, "dat things is goin' tohappen."
"Wha' fer?"
"I haven't had such a sense fer years," she continued, too preoccupiedto administer her customary rebuke. "And when I've a sense, it allerscomes to suthin'--it never fails. I haven't had such feelin's sincemissus died. 'Pears to me dat young gentleum looks like missus' family.And it's de same name--curus, isn't it?"
"Berry," replied Saturn, at random, lost in the study of his feet; "demboots is beauties."
"I dunno what masser brought him here fer, he's allers been so keerful.He tole me 'twas a pardner in de steam saw-mill dat takes his lumberoff his han's; a young storekeeper in Center City now, though he useto be a lawyer in New York--bress it! it's a long time since I soteyes on dat city now. Our fus' masser, Mortimer Moore, usin to inviteno shop-keepers to _his_ house. My! my! but he was a mighty proud man,and dat's what made all de trouble. Dem was grand times, wid all deserbents and de silber--never tought I cud come to dis--but I promisedmissus, when she died, I'd stan' by her chile, and I shall stand byher, long as der's any bref left in dis ole body--bress her! She'sgrowing up jes' as han'some as ever her mudder was, and she's got herways; and as for manners--hi! hi! folks might larf at the idea of olePallas learnin' manners to her missus, but dar ain't nobody knowsbetter how table ought to be set and sarbed, and things to be done,than my dear chile now, dis minit. Ef masser _will_ keep her, like dechildren of Israel, forty years in de wilderness, she shall be a ladyfor all dat, bress her, and a Christian lady, too! She knows all debes' part of de psalms by heart, now; and she can sing hymns like acherubim. Sometimes I mos' think she's got one of dem golden harps inher hand. If dat ole fool ain't asleep. Saturn!" kicking his shins,"wake up yer, and go to bed--immejetly!"
Saturn had a discouraging time getting his new boots off in the sleepystate which had come upon him; but this being at last accomplished,and he safely lodged in the bed, which took up the greater portion ofPallas' "settin'-room," off her kitchen, she stole out to the cornerof the house to "spy out the land," in Bible language, which, to her,sheltered the deed from opprobrium. Pallas was no mischief-makinglistener; she considered herself entitled to know all that transpiredin the family, whose secrets she kept, and whose welfare she had in herheart.
"My! my! they make a pretty pictur' sittin' dar' in de light ob demoon," she thought, peeping at the group, now gathered outside of thedoor, enjoying the glory of a most brilliant August moon. The youngstranger was telling some story of foreign adventure, his fine faceand animated gestures showing well in the pure light, while the oldraftsman smoked his pipe to keep away musquitoes, as he said--thoughthey were not particularly troublesome in that neighborhood--and Alicesat on the step at his feet, her arms folded over his knee, her eager,girlish face lifted to the story-teller.
"He sartainly belongs to _our_ family of Moores, ef he ain't no nearerthan a forty-second cousin," whispered Pallas to herself. "Masser don'tknow 'em, root and branch, as well as I do, else he'd see it rightaway. How that pickaninny is a watchin' of him talk! Laws! nobody knowswhat their doing in dis yere worl', or we'd all act different."
As she stood there, taking observations, she thought she saw a personin the shade of the great elm on the bank; and not being afraid of anything but "gosstesses" and "sperits," she went back to the kitchen fora bucket, as an excuse for going down to the river and finding out whoit was.
"Ef it's that yer young Perkins, won't I let him know what a fool he'smaking of hisself--he, indeed! Gorry! I'll give a scolding 'at'lllas' him his lifetime." But she had no opportunity of venting herindignation, as the form, whosever it was, slipped down the bank, andran away along the wet sand, taking shelter behind a ledge of rock,before she could recognize it.
"My! my! dis ole bucket full of silber," she ejaculated, as she liftedit out of the river, glittering in the moonlight. "Dis yere ribberlooks lubly as de stream of life dat's flowin' round de streets obParadise, to-night;" and the good old creature stood watching theburnished ripples. The rush of waters and the murmur of the pine-forestwere sweet even to her ears.
"It's a bad night for young folks to be sittin' out-o'-doors," shereflected, shaking her yellow turban suggestively, as she looked at thetwo by the cabin-door.
But let us go back a little way with our story.
Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter. A Forest Romance Page 2