by Bret Harte
her proud mouth wereslightly lifted.
"But, candidly, Miss Reed, don't you think that you would prefer tohave old Hannibal, whom you know, as county judge, than a stranger and aNorthern man like ME?"
Miss Reed's dark eyes glanced sideways at the handsome face and elegantfigure beside her. Something like a saucy smile struggled to her thinlips.
"There mightn't be much to choose, Co'nnle."
"I admit it. We should both acknowledge our mistress, and be like wax inher hands."
"Yo' ought to make that pooty speech to Sally Dows, she's generallymistress around here. But," she added, suddenly fixing her eyes on him,"how does it happen that yo' ain't walking with her instead of thatEnglishman? Yo' know that it's as plain as day that he took that landover there just to be near her, when he was no longer agent."
But Courtland was always master of himself and quite at ease regardingMiss Sally when not in that lady's presence. "You forget," he saidsmilingly, "that I'm still a stranger and knew little of the localgossip; and if I did know it, I am afraid we didn't bargain to buy upwith the LAND Mr. Champney's personal interest in the LANDLADY."
"Yo' 'd have had your hands full, for I reckon she's pooty heavilymortgaged in that fashion, already," returned Miss Reed with merebadinage than spitefulness in the suggestion. "And Mr. Champney was runpooty close by a French cousin of hers when he was here. Yo' haven't gotany French books to lend me, co'nnle--have yo'? Paw says you read a heapof French, and I find it mighty hard to keep up MY practice since Ileft the Convent at St. Louis, for paw don't knew what sort of books toorder, and I reckon he makes awful mistakes sometimes."
The conversation here turning upon polite literature, it appeared thatMiss Octavia's French reading, through a shy, proud innocence andan imperfect knowledge of the wicked subtleties of the language, wassomewhat broad and unconventional for a young lady. Courtland promisedto send her some books, and even ventured to suggest some American andEnglish novels not intensely "No'th'n" nor "metaphysical"--accordingto the accepted Southern beliefs. A new respect and pitying interestin this sullen, solitary girl, cramped by tradition, and bruised ratherthan enlightened by sad experiences, came over him. He found himselftalking quite confidentially to the lifted head, arched eyebrows, andaquiline nose beside him, and even thinking what a handsome high-bredBROTHER she might have been to some one. When they had reached thehouse, in compliance with the familiar custom, he sat down on one ofthe lower steps of the veranda, while she, shaking out her skirt, took aseat a step or two above him. This enabled him, after the languid localfashion, to lean on his elbow and gaze up into the eyes of the younglady, while she with equal languor looked down upon him. But in thepresent instance Miss Reed leaned forward suddenly, and darting a sharpquick glance into his very consciousness said:--
"And yo' mean to say, co'nnle, there's nothing between yo' and SallyDows?"
Courtland neither flushed, trembled, grew confused, nor prevaricated.
"We are good friends, I think," he replied quietly, without evasion orhesitation.
Miss Reed looked at him thoughtfully, "I reckon that is so--and no more.And that's why yo' 've been so lucky in everything," she said slowly.
"I don't think I quite understand," returned Courtland, smiling. "Isthis a paradox--or a consolation?"
"It's the TRUTH," said Miss Reed gravely. "Those who try to be anythingmore to Sally Dows lose their luck."
"That is--are rejected by her. Is she really so relentless?" continuedCourtland gayly.
"I mean that they lose their luck in everything. Something is sure tohappen. And SHE can't help it either."
"Is this a Sibylline warning, Miss Reed?"
"No. It's nigger superstition. It came from Mammy Judy, Sally's oldnurse. It's part of their regular Hoo-doo. She bewitched Miss Sally whenshe was a baby, so that everybody is bound to HER as long as they carefor her, and she isn't bound to THEM in any way. All their luck goes toher as soon as the spell is on them," she added darkly.
"I think I know the rest," returned Courtland with still greatersolemnity. "You gather the buds of the witch-hazel in April when themoon is full. You then pluck three hairs from the young lady's righteyebrow when she isn't looking"--
"Yo' can laugh, co'nnle, for yo' 're lucky--because yo' 're free."
"I'm not so sure of that," he said gallantly, "for I ought to be ridingat this moment over to the Infirmary to visit my Sunday sick. If beingmade to pleasantly forget one's time and duty is a sign of witchcraftI am afraid Mammy Judy's enchantments were not confined to only oneSouthern young lady."
The sound of quick footsteps on the gravel path caused them both to lookup. A surly looking young fellow, ostentatiously booted and spurred,and carrying a heavy rawhide riding-whip in his swinging hand, wasapproaching them. Deliberately, yet with uneasy self-consciousness,ignoring the presence of Courtland, he nodded abruptly to Miss Reed,ascended the steps, brushed past them both without pausing, and enteredthe house.
"Is that yo'r manners, Mr. Tom?" called the young lady after him,a slight flush rising to her sallow cheek. The young man mutteredsomething from the hall which Courtland did not catch. "It's Cousin TomHigbee," she explained half disdainfully. "He's had some ugliness withhis horse, I reckon; but paw ought to teach him how to behave. And--Idon't think he likes No'th'n men," she added gravely.
Courtland, who had kept his temper with his full understanding of theintruder's meaning, smiled as he took Miss Reed's hand in parting."That's quite enough explanation, and I don't know why it shouldn't beeven an apology."
Yet the incident left little impression on him as he strolled back toRedlands. It was not the first time he had tasted the dregs of formersectional hatred in incivility and discourtesy, but as it seldom camefrom his old personal antagonists--the soldiers--and was confined to thecallow youth, previous non-combatants and politicians, he could affordto overlook it. He did not see Miss Sally during the following week.
CHAPTER IV.
On the next Sunday he was early at church. But he had perhapsaccented the occasion by driving there in a light buggy behind a fastthoroughbred, possibly selected more to the taste of a smart cavalryofficer than an agricultural superintendent. He was already in a sidepew, his eyes dreamily fixed on the prayer-book ledge before him, whenthere was a rustle at the church door, and a thrill of curiosity andadmiration passed over the expectant congregation. It was the entranceof the Dows party, Miss Sally well to the fore. She was in her newclothes, the latest fashion in Louisville, the latest but two in Parisand New York.
It was over twenty years ago. I shall not imperil the effect of thatlovely vision by recalling to the eye of to-day a fashion of yesterday.Enough, that it enabled her to set her sweet face and vapory golden hairin a horseshoe frame of delicate flowers, and to lift her oval chinout of a bewildering mist of tulle. Nor did a certain light polonaiseconceal the outlines of her charming figure. Even those who wereconstrained to whisper to each other that "Miss Sally" must "be nowgoing on twenty-five," did so because she still carried the slendergraces of seventeen. The organ swelled as if to welcome her; as she tookher seat a ray of sunlight, that would have been cruel and searching toany other complexion, drifted across the faint pink of her cheeks,and nestling in her nebulous hair became itself transfigured. A fewstained-glass Virtues on the windows did not come out of this effulgenceas triumphantly, and it was small wonder that the devotional eyes of theworshipers wandered from them to the face of Sally Dows.
When the service was over, as the congregation filed slowly into theaisle, Courtland slipped mutely behind her. As she reached the porch hesaid in an undertone:
"I brought my horse and buggy. I thought you might possibly allow meto drive"--But he was stopped by a distressful knitting of her goldenbrows. "No," she said quickly, but firmly, "you must not--it won't do."As Courtland hesitated in momentary perplexity, she smiled sweetly:"We'll walk round by the cemetery, if you like; it will take about aslong as a drive." Courtland vanished, gave hurried instructions and adollar to a
lounging negro, and rejoined Miss Sally as the delighted andproud freedman drove out of the gate. Miss Sally heaved a slight sighas the gallant equipage passed. "It was a mighty pooty turnout, co'nnle,and I'd have just admired to go, but it would have been rather hard onthe other folks. There's the Reeds and Maxwells and Robertsons that aretoo pooah to keep blood horses, and too proud to ride behind anythingelse. It wouldn't be the right thing for us to go whirling