The Sins of the Father: A Romance of the South

by Thomas Dixon

  CHAPTER XIX

  CLEO'S CRY

  The decision once made was carried out without delay. He placed an editorpermanently in charge of his paper, closed the tall green shutters of thestately old house, sold his horses, and bought tickets for himself andmammy for New York.

  He paused at the gate and looked back at the white pillars of which he hadonce been so proud. He hadn't a single regret at leaving.

  "A house doesn't make a home, after all!" he sighed with a lingering look.

  He took the boy to the cemetery for a last hour beside the mother's gravebefore he should turn his back on the scenes of his old life forever.

  The cemetery was the most beautiful spot in the county. At this period ofthe life of the South, it was the one spot where every home had its littleplot. The war had killed the flower of Southern manhood. The bravest andthe noblest boys never surrendered. They died with a shout and a smile ontheir lips and Southern women came daily now to keep their love watches onthese solemn bivouacs of the dead. The girls got the habit of going thereto plant flowers and to tend them and grew to love the shaded walks, thedeep boxwood hedges, the quiet, sweetly perfumed air. Sweethearts werealways strolling among the flowers and from every nook and corner peeped arustic seat that could tell its story of the first stammering words fromlovers' lips.

  Norton saw them everywhere this beautiful spring afternoon, the girls intheir white, clean dresses, the boys bashful and self-conscious. A throb ofpain gripped his heart and he hurried through the wilderness of flowers tothe spot beneath a great oak where he had laid the tired body of the firstand only woman he had ever loved.

  He placed the child on the grass and led him to the newly-made mound, putinto his tiny hand the roses he had brought and guided him while he placedthem on her grave.

  "This is where little mother sleeps, my boy," he said softly. "Remember itnow--it will be a long, long time before we shall see it again. You won'tforget----"

  "No--dad-ee," he lisped sweetly. "I'll not fordet, the big tree----"

  The man rose and stood in silence seeing again the last beautiful day oftheir life together and forgot the swift moments. He stood as in a trancefrom which he was suddenly awakened by the child's voice calling himexcitedly from another walkway into which he had wandered:

  "Dad-ee!" he called again.

  "Yes, baby," he answered.

  "Oh, come quick! Dad-ee--here's C-l-e-o!"

  Norton turned and with angry steps measured the distance between them.

  He came upon them suddenly behind a boxwood hedge. The girl was kneelingwith the child's arms around her neck, clinging to her with all theyearning of his hungry little heart, and she was muttering half articulatewords of love and tenderness. She held him from her a moment, looked intohis eyes and cried:

  "And you missed me, darling?"

  "Oh--C-l-e-o!" he cried, "I thought 'oo'd _nev-er_ tum!"

  The angry words died in the man's lips as he watched the scene in silence.

  He stooped and drew the child away:

  "Come, baby, we must go----"

  "Tum on, C-l-e-o, we do now," he cried.

  The girl shook her head and turned away.

  "Tum on, C-l-e-o!" he cried tenderly.

  She waved him a kiss, and the child said excitedly:

  "Oh, dad-ee, wait!--wait for C-l-e-o!"

  "No, my baby, she can't come with us----"

  The little head sank to his shoulder, a sob rose from his heart and heburst into weeping. And through the storm of tears one word only came outclear and soft and plaintive:

  "C-l-e-o! C-l-e-o!"

  The girl watched them until they reached the gate and then, on a suddenimpulse, ran swiftly up, caught the child's hand that hung limply down hisfather's back, covered it with kisses and cried in cheerful, half-laughingtones:

  "Don't cry, darling! Cleo will come again!"

  And in the long journey to the North the man brooded over the strange tonesof joyous assurance with which the girl had spoken.