!??;■■ '■'r::--r:-:.,f:''r::.:^f,::, V;.:;;;:^ MABEL GORDON. I'l; A INovel. By R. K. D. NEV/ YORK : J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 57 Rose Street. STEPHEN B, WEEKS CLASS OF 1886: PH.D THE JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY liBIRAW OF THE UMVERsmr OF Mm camdliina TIE WEEKS COLlLECTnON ®F CMOLIMAM (l&l2)-03?.i i :.J i Mabel Gordon. K A NOVEL. By R. K. D. i - JUp (Copyright 1901, by J. S. Ogilvih Publishing Cohfanv.) All Rights Reserved. NEW YORK : J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY* 57 EosE Street. TO MY MOTHER, TO WHOM, UNDER GOD, 1 OWE THE SAFE GUIDANCE OF MY youth; AND TO THE MEMORY OF MY DAUGHTER, who was in CHARACTER A PERFECT MODEL OF MY HEROINE, THIS LITTLE WORK IS GRATEFULLY AND LOVINGLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR PREFACE Reader^ my work is before you ; if it only beguiles a lonely hour I shall be glad. If it serves to strengthen the faith of anyone, then "love's labor" will not have been lost. If, also, someone should find pleasure in criticising that which the writer, while painfully con- scious of his inability to tell this story perfectly, yet has done so with care, somebody will be happy, and to give happiness to even one heart is cause for gladness. R. K. D. MABEL GORDON CHAPTER I. 'TwAS not the place to look for a high-bred, hand- some young man, yet Allan Harvey leaned against Farmer Gordon's fence, though he was evidently not interested in the growing crops, and the flood of melody poured forth from the throat of a mocking-bird perched upon a tree near by, fell on unheeding ears. "What can keep her so late?" he said. "Ah, there she comes," and with a brightening face he started forward to meet a slender, almost childish-looking girl who came with light, quick steps across the field. In one hand she held her sunbonnet, a way she had of carrying it instead of on her head, as was evidenced by patches of freckles she hated, and which gave her brother cause for fun at her expense. In the other she carried a basket of strawberries, "Little loiterer," said he as they met, "I've waited for you till my patience was almost gone." "Why did you wait at all ?" she asked. "I wanted to see my little comrade particularly," he replied. "I came by your home and talked with the dear mother a while. She told me you had gone to take something nice to old Mrs. Jones and would not be out late. I would have gone to meet you had I known what route you'd take ; whether the road or the path by your old nurse's house; your feet naturally gravitate that way." 10 MABEL GORDON "And you are not to say anything if they do," re- torted the girl. "Mammy deserves all my devotion." "Oh, I wouldn't dare say aught against the old lady," he said, smiling, "for I know what a loyal little girl you are, and then Mammy seems faithful to you. What have you in your basket? Strawberries? I didn't know they were ripe." "I found these as I came and stopped to pick them; that's why I stayed so long. Father is fond of them with sugar and cream. Mind, don't spill any. Won't you stay and enjoy them with us at supper?" "Thank you," he said, "but I'll have to decline your invitation, tempting as it is. You scratched your hand, little girl ; that's too bad." "Oh, it is nothing," she said, "and I did it myself. Some of the berries grew low down on the ditch and in reaching for some I was determined to get I scratched my hand on a briar. Father's enjoyment will ease my hurt." "Mab," said he, "do you know you are the most un- selfish being I ever saw ?" "Why, no," she replied. "Yes," said he, "you are, and I hate dreadfully to have to give up this pleasant companionship, but I came this afternoon to say good-bye for a long time." "Why do you leave so soon?" asked the girl, her face clouding slightly. "Are you sorry, dear?" and Allan's voice was very tender. "Yes," she answered frankly. "We wall miss you very much. Mother enjoys your calls." "Mrs. Gordon is a lovely woman," said he, "and her daughter bids fair to be like her. It gives me a wrench to say farewell, but my aunt has decided to take my cousin Lucile abroad. The climate and health-giving springs have benefitted Lucile so much she thinks she can resume her studies, and they want me with them in MABEL GORDON 11 Berlin. I will take a course in something. We will be gone quite a long time, and when I return my little comrade will be a young lady, and a pretty one I'll wager." The girl laughed in a surprised way as she an- swered : "Why, my hair is red, and, Willie says, never looks * like it is brushed, and I'm freckled. Pretty, indeed ! You never made fun of me before." "And I don't now," he said. "This unruly hair will some day be beautiful, with a color artists love to paint, and when you learn to be careful of your skin the freckles will disappear, and these glorious eyes will make you irresistible. Don't let the admiration that will be yours change you, for your artlessness is your chief charm. Keep that, and your purity; study hard in your books and you will make a splendid woman; one any man might be proud to call his wife." The eyes raised to his were full of startled surprise as she replied : "Mother would not like you to talk so to me. I am very young." "Yes, sweet child," said he, smiling, "you are young, but the years go by swiftly, and ere long you will be a lovely woman, and then — I am coming back. Don't forget me, Mabel." "I couldn't," she said, simply, "and I will improve the time. You shall not be disappointed in me." "How do you pass the evenings?" he asked, to pro- long the talk. "I help mother if she needs me. Sometimes I read, and then we retire early, for we ri-se betimes at our house." "Unlike us at the hotel," said he. "Last night we had a grand ball, and danced till the "wee sma' hours" came, and to-day we are a lazy set." "I heard the music," she said, "and it was so sweet 12 MABEL GORDON that even when I said my prayers it drew my mind away till I was ashamed, and I wondered if you were among the dancers." A mental picture of the young girl kneeling in her white robe rose before him, in strong contrast with the gayly dressed throng whirling in the dance for hours after she was calmly sleeping, and he looked at her with a fond smile. "Dear, simple-hearted child!" he exclaimed. "I wonder if I'll find you changed when I come back. Re- member me always, Mabel, and I promise not to for- get the little girl I find so sweet that 'tis hard to leave her." He took both the little sunburnt hands in his shapely white one and looked deep into the eyes which met his with the innocent look he knew so well, though the tears were near just now ; then he stooped suddenly and kissed her, "for," he said softly, "we may never meet again." Then he went away, and Mabel watched him till the lithe, graceful figure was lost to sight, and with a strange feeling of loneliness she went on to her home. Mrs. Gordon noticed that she seemed serious, and she asked : "What saddens my little girl ?" "Mr. Harvey told me good-bye for a long time," she replied, "and I will miss him very much." "Yes, and I'll miss him, too," said the mother. "He is a nice fellow, and I liked to have him run in occa- sionally." Then she dismissed the subject, and if Mabel felt grieved at the loss of her friend she was too busy to brood over it, and soon she was as bright as was her wont. She was an only daughter. One son was left, while two gallant boys had laid down their lives for their country, and the parents' faces showed what grief had MABEL GORDON 13 3one for them. Mr. Gordon had been a wealthy- planter and numbered many slaves as his own ; now the fertile fields went untilled, save a small farm, for labor was hard to command, and he, like many of his kind, could not adjust himself to the new order of affairs. His children were denied the advantages their birth called for, and the gentle, cultivated mother had to find time, with all her arduous duties, to teach Mabel, while Willie went to the district school a few months every year. The parents grieved that the children were deprived of so much they had hoped for, but Mabel ac- cepted the situation bravely, and went about her many duties cheerfully, glad to lighten the mother's burdens m any way. She was so carefully reared, so pure and artless, she had attracted young Harvey from their first accidental meeting, and he really hated to leave her, but when health and strength came to his petted cousin, his aunt decided to return home and of course he had to attend them. As he was easily entertained he soon par- tially forgot his "little wild flower." 14 MABEL GORDON CHAPTER 11. Always fond of study, Mabel worked with added zeal after Allan left. "For," she said to herself, "he is coming back some time, and I must please him. How I wish 'twas so I could study music ! He loves that as much as I do, and he said his cousin was going abroad to perfect herself in it. I wonder if there is no way for me to learn? I'll talk to mother about it, and maybe she can think of a plan. She always helps me." Not a tinge of envy was there in her heart toward the luckier girl ; her nature was too sunny and pure for that. While she was moving about the well-kept dairy, thinking of her plans, her brother appeared. "Are you too busy, Mab, to stop a while?" he asked. "I have to go to town to carry some things, and there is a seat on the wagon for you if you'll go. Mother said she could spare you, as you'd been real smart to- day, and I want to know if she meant you were lazy other days." She laughed pleasantly as she put the finishing touches to her work. "Run, now," her brother continued, "and get on the clothes you want to wear, and let's be off. Needn't take time to comb your hair, for it looks the same all the time. Let it be as it is." She was soon ready, and they rode merrily away, Mabel sitting straight and alert, occasionally giving Willie a sisterly punch to make him hold himself erect, and telling him that red hair and freckles were not as bad as stooped shoulders, for they couldn't be helped, 'MABEL GORDON 15 and round back, when not caused by illness, looked like pure laziness. Usually she sat on the wagon and waited for Willie to attend to his errands, but as they drove by the church on the quiet street they heard music, and Mabel turned to her brother, her face aglow. "Willie, do let me get out here and go in the church. I hear the organist practicing, and 'twould be so much nicer to wait there, and you could call for me. I know mother wouldn't care, and you don't need me, for the pony is gentle and will stand all right. You know 'tisn't often I ask favors, and 'twill be such pleas- ure to listen to the music till you are ready to go home. I won't keep you waiting when you call me." "Jump out, then," said he, "if you are sure mother won't care. You have so few pleasures you might en- joy this." With a joyous "thank you, brother," she sprang to the ground and went quietly into the church, seating herself where she would not be seen. The organist went on with the music till, at the close of a song, she heard a long-drawn sigh, and, turning to see whence it came, discovered Mabel, listening intently, her face lighted with rapture. Smiling kindly at the girl. Miss Lane said : "You are fond of music, I see, and a splendid lis- tener. I did not hear you come in." "You were playing so beautifully," said Mabel, as she approached the lady, "that I made no noise. I beg pardon for coming in at all, but the music was too sweet for me to resist." "And you are very welcome," replied Miss Lane. "It would be an inspiration to have such listeners all the time. Do you play?" "No, ma'am," the girl replied; "mother's piano was destroyed during the war, and we have never been able to buy an instrument since, and I live in the country 16 MABEL GORDON you know, and not near any teacher. Then father could hardly spare money for me." "How would you like to take lessons from me?" \ asked Miss Lane. "From you!" exclaimed Mabel. "Oh, I should be so glad!" Then the look of delight died, and she added, "But you know I told you that father couldn't pay for music." Miss Lane noticed the expression of the changing face, and she said : "But can't we arrange it so that father's purse will not feel it? I have to live, and if the mother could spare me butter, eggs and other things I need your music won't be such a great expense." "Thank you, thank you, ma'am," the girl exclaimed in rapturous tones. "I'll tell mother of your offer, and she will help me. She always does." "A good mother you have, I know," said the lady. "Lay the matter before her, and if your parents agree you would do well to begin soon. You know where I live, and can come when it suits you best. I am or- ganist here, and I practice after school hours. Some day, perhaps, little girl, you will fill my place." "Ah, how nice 'twould be," sighed the child, "and how I thank you for your kindness! You shall have no trouble with me if they let me come." "I apprehend none," said the other. "Hark ! I hear someone calling you !" "It's Willie ; he was to call for me here. Good-bye, Miss Lane, till I see you. I'm going home to tell mother of my good fortune," and the happy child al- most flew out to her brother, who had disposed of his produce and was ready to return. "Had a pleasant time, sis?" he asked as she set- tled herself beside him. "Delightful!" she replied. "Oh, Willie, I am so happy." ■MABEL GORDON 17 "You look so, I declare. Just keep on being so and you'll be pretty in spite of freckles and red hair. Can't you tell a fellow what pleases you ?" "Not now," she said; "wait till I talk with mother and then I'll tell you." "I suppose father and I come in to the secrets only when we are needed to carry out you ladies' plans? I feel happy, too, for the things sold well, and by just rights, sis, some of the proceeds belong to you." "Mother will make that all right," she replied. "I am so glad you did well to-day." The conversation turned on other topics, and chatting merrily they soon reached home, when Mabel hurried to her mother with a request for a "talk." Mrs. Gor- don knew from her manner something unusual had oc- curred, so she answered : "Very well, but we must attend to several duties now, and after supper we can talk satisfactorily." Mabel worked with a will till the tasks were accom- plished, and they were seated by the spacious fire place, wherein blazed some lightwood fagots, for the evening was cool, and Mr. Gordon loved to watch the cheer- ful flame, and he could enjoy his pipe more then." Seizing a time when Mr. Gordon was out of the room Mabel told her mother of Miss Lane's offer, and of her own intense desire to study music, and Mrs. Gordon said, as she smiled fondly at the eager, young face lifted pleadingly to her : "I am willing, dear, and will gladly spare to Miss Lane the things she is so kind as to let us pay with, but how will you manage to get to the village regu- larly ? Father and Willie are too busy most of the time to carry you." "I can fix that if you and father will consent. It is only three miles to the village, and I can walk that dis- tance in good weather. My work can be so arranged 18 MABEL GORDON. as not to interfere, and if you knew how I long to learn I know you would help me," pleaded the girl. "My darling child," said the mother, "I will do all in my power to aid you. I feel our inability to educate you as you should be, and you are such a faithful little creature you deserve more than is done for you. Ah, if that cruel war had not come you could have every accomplishment." "Never mind," said the girl, "I'll accomplish my- self, and enjoy it far more. Now I am going to my room to study a while, and you talk it over with father. Don't sit up late, please, mother, for you are not well, and need rest," and with a fond kiss the girl took her lighted candle and went away. When Mr. Gordon entered the room he saw the low chair near his wife was vacant, and he asked for Mabel. "She has gone off to study a little while," replied his wife. "Poor child, she is so anxious to learn, and her advantages are so limited, I feel sad about her." Mr. Gordon's face clouded. "Yes," he said; "it grieves me to think our only daughter must grow up without the education her birth demands. She would take all one could give. Even as it is she will appear well, but it hurts me to see her brave efforts. Ah, if I were what I was years ago, how different life would be to our children !" "True, dear; but don't fret," comforted his wife. "Let us trust God to bring out everything right, and some day we'll see the silver lining to the cloud that has overshadowed us so long." "May be so," he assented, sighing. For a while they were silent ; then he asked : "Margaret, what became of that young chap, Har- vey, who used to seem to fancy Mabel, and who came about us often?" "He has gone away," replied Mrs. Gordon. "His MABEL GORDON 19 cousin's health improved very much while at the springs." "Well, I'm glad he has left," said her husband. "I can't forget that he belongs to a people that ruined us all. My noble boys would not now be in their graves but for such as he. I am glad Mabel was no older, and likely will forget him. I couldn't bear for her to love there." "Dear husband, you are too hard, I think," the wife spoke, gently. "I, too, grieve for our boys; but he lost a father then. Both sides suffered; ours is not the only home made desolate by that cruel strife be- tween brothers. I rather liked Mr. Harvey." "What was his loss compared to ours?" inquired Mr. Gordon. "He has v/ealth left to make life pleas- ant; he doesn't see the lone chimneys of his ancestral home standing like sentinels over the ashes of that loved home. He has his luxurious house to go to, while my children — the only ones we have left us — are reared in this humble home — my overseer's cottage. Oh, wife, it is hard, hard for me to feel as you say I should !" "The grace of our Lord can overcome these feel- ings, dear, and remember, we were thankful for such a comfortable house as this the day ours was burned, and " "Yes, thankful then to have our lives spared," re- joined Mr. Gordon, bitterly. "Let us talk of something pleasanter now," said the lady, "and try, dear, to feel less bitter toward those who so cruelly wronged us. Let me lay before you a plan of Mabel's," and she proceeded to tell him of their conversation. "My poor child!" exclaimed the father. "Again comes in thoughts of our wrongs, and even your char- ity cannot excuse them. Just think of your handsome piano split into kindling wood, and which might now be Mabel's; and see the sacrifices she is compelled to 20 MABEL GORDON make! With all her duties here, she must often walk into the village to get to an instrument. I will take her when not too busy, but how can she go other times?" "She said that could be arranged if we would con- sent, and I think we can trust to her resources. All she seems to need now is our permission, and she is such a patient, helpful child we are blessed much in our daughter, so you see we have cause for grati- tude." MABEL GORDON 21 CHAPTER III. The next day Mrs. Gordon met Mabel's eager ques- tions with the required permission from both parents. "And now, daughter, tell me how you will manage when father and Willie are too busy to take you?" said her mother. "Oh, don't you worry about that," her child replied, smiling. "I am going to see old Mammy, and she will help me out. Please fix something nice for me to take to her. I will not be gone long." Mrs. Gordon smiled kindly, and went about getting up some "goodies" to send to the old negress, whom she had always found faithful, and who still clung to them, glad to occupy a little house on their land, where she was cared for by her daughter and tenderly looked after by "de fambly," as she called the Gordons. She took great pleasure in telling of the past grandeur of her "white folks," and no one bewailed their condition more than she. Mabel found the old woman sitting near the door of her humble home, and a warm welcome she gave her "chile." "Cum in, honey," she cried; "it duz my ole eyes good ter see yer lookin' so well an' happy. Yer mus' fetch good news ter-day ! Viney, git little missy a cheer an' tek de basket an' empty it. What yer got ter tell Dicey? I see dar's sump'n on yer min'." "You are right. Mammy," answered Mabel, as she handed the basket to Viney and seated herself near the old negress. "I have something you must help me do, and which I am so anxious about. You have never 22 MABEL GORDON failed me In all my life, and you'll help me now, won't you?" "Dat I will ef it in my powah," responded Mammy, her dark face lit up with anticipation and a sense of her importance. Then Mabel told her all her plan. "You see, I could walk to the village when father or Willie couldn't take me," she said, "and I thought if you could spare Viney sometimes you could stay with mother while we were gone, and let her go with me. You'll do this for me, won't you. Mammy?" "Dis an' mo', too, my baby," replied the woman. "I duz enjy gwine ter see Mis' Marget, for she alius got sump'n good ter eat, an' den it'll be heppen' my chile ter larn. Uh! sum er dese days I'll see yer a gran' lady lak yer longs ter be. Effen dem vilyuns had er listen' ter me yer'd er had ez fine er planner ez enny lady in de Ian', but la ! dey nebber notis ole nigga lak me den, an' sot fire to Mahster's fine house an' bu'nt it up bodaciously. Po' Mis' Marget des sot wid her arms roun' you an' yer brudder an' look lak her heart gAvine break. Dem wuz awful times, honey," and the old woman groaned and swayed her body as she talked. "Well, we can't help matters by recalling them." said Mabel. "Of course, I remember the horror of it, though I was young, and I'll never forget father's grief and anger. He can't bear to speak of it yet. Now tell me how your aches are getting on." "I'se better, thank de Lawd, honey, do' when de win' shif's it mek my bones ache pow'ful. Sumtimes I feared I wun't be hyur long, an' I duz want ter stay twel you an' Willie is dun rais' an' settle in life. You mus' put all yo min' in yer work, so when dat likely young man I seed yer walkin' wid cum back he'll fin' yer 'nudder sort frum de little gal he lef. I 'spec' he^ll be atter 'swadin' my chile away den," and the old woman chuckled heartily. MABEL GORDON 23 Mabel smiled as she answered quietly: "I am too young for him to care in such a way for me; besides, his pretty cousin is with him all the time, and if he cares for anyone 'twill be her." "Yer call her putty wid all dat paint an' powder on her face, an' no wais' at all ?" queried Mammy. "She putmc in min' er a was' mo' dan anyt'ing else. Go 'way, Missy ! ef he can't see mo' beauty in you he sho' is blin'. But I don' want yer ter love him, caze he mought be kin ter de one what had our house bu'nt, an' I jes' can't gie my cawnsent ter dat." "Don't trouble yourself over what is not likely to happen," said Mabel. "I am going to study about my books and music. You'll go with me when I need you, Viney?" " 'Deed I will, little Missy, an' I'll tek az good care er you az Mammy would. I monstus proud yer gwine tek lessons same ez dem town gals," and Viney's white teeth showed in a broad smile. "I'll not need you every time," said Mabel ; "for when the pony isn't busy I can ride him. You know he is gentle and loves me." "Yo' ain' gwine stop twel yo' neck is broke," said Mammy. "I seed yer ridin' de udder day, an' thought de boss wuz runnin' away twel I heerd yer laff. You chillun iz ben skeerin' me nigh 'bout ter death all yer life. Effen Viney did'n' keep my hair wrop so tight it 'ud rize on eend menny er time." Mabel laughed as she replied : "I don't want to worry you, but it would certainly be a funny sight to see your hair do that. You'd look like some of those pictures in that book of travels we have." "Dat's one Willie fetch hyur an' say he want ter show me de picters er sum er my cousins in Affiky, signifyin' dat I look lak dem hidjus things, an' me no mo' kin ter 'em dan he iz, fer I bin a Gawd'n all my 24 MABEL GORDON life; wuz bawn on dis plantation," said the nurse, a trifle indignantly. "He was just teasing you," consoled Mabel, "for he really loves you. You ought to have heard him when that Bates boy laughed at us for loving you." "Dat's dat lown-down white trash what's moved 'bout hyur lately, an' becawz dey's got plenty money acts lak dey own de airth. Nebber had no black ones, an' doan' know how ter treat 'em now. I wish you chillun' did'n' haf ter 'soshiate wid sech trash," was the wrathful reply. "Well, I sha'nt be thrown with them much now," said Mabel, "so comfort your proud old heart. Let me have the basket, please, Viney, and I'll go. What a pretty brood of little chicks you have here!" she ex- claimed as a hen bustled proudly by the door with her downy brood. "Dat de chick'n you gie me," said the old woman, "an' she de smahtes' hen, to be sho'." "She favor you, little Missy," said Viney. "Me!" cried Mabel. "Why Viney, where do you see any resemblance ? It must be that she is speckled." "She so brisk an' go 'bout de yard so cheerful, an* now she hatter work she so earnes'," explained Viney. "Willie said dat his chick'n," said Mammy, to which Mabel indignantly replied : "I wouldn't claim or give away anything not my own. 'Twas his at first, and was so weak it nearly died trying to keep up with the mother, and he gave it to me. It got so bad in the house that when I wanted to give you a hen, mother suggested Pet. Willie should tell the whole truth." "What gwine cum er dat boy?" asked Mammy. "He so kin' hearted, a body 'bleege ter love him, an' he do torment us all sumtimes. He cum by hyur de udder day on de way fum de pastur', where he bin to cut Brownie loose when she hung herse'f by de hawns, an' MABEL GORDON 25 Viney wuz feelin* po'ly, so he stop an' cut us er big tu'n er wood. Den he axed me ef I did'n' want er new kin' er terbakker, an' tuck my pipe an' fill it up, an' got er live coal outen de ashes, an' I draw'd an' draw'd twel my jaws ache, an' it wouldn't smoke; den I tuck it ter loosen it sum, an' 'twuz nigh full er tu'nup seed." "That was a bad trick to play on you," said Mabel, though she laughed. "But he cum back next day," continued Mammy, "and fetch me de nicest kin' er bought terbakker, so I had ter let it all go. Yer gwine, honey? Cum ergin' soon," and as Mabel promised to do so, and walked away, the old woman broke forth : "De blessedes' chile in dis worl' ! I feared she neb- ber gwine be rais'. Fetch me sum er dat vittles she brung, Viney; my appertite dun cum ter me," and she proceeded to prove her words, though she interspersed the repast with grunts and groans, "thank de Lawd!" and praise of her "white folks." Mabel walked quickly homeward, eager to report her success in overcoming the obstacles in her way. Then she thought of Allan and his promise to return when she should be an accomplished woman. No doubt of him entered her mind, and she determined to be all he had prophesied for her, save becoming beautiful — that was hopeless, she believed, but a fine character was in her reach, and she would satisfy him. She had suggested to Mammy the possibility of his marrying his cousin, of whom he seemed fond, but in her heart she did not believe he would marry anyone ; he would come back her kind, genial friend and comrade, and they would take up life happ}- in each other's society. Their tastes were alike, and she knew he enjoyed the friendship very much, for he had said to her, "I am a different being when with you, little oa MABEL GORDON. 4'o j^irl, for I can drop all sham and the silly ways I de- spise. You are so sincere and pure, you compel a man lo be honest. Mabel, you could not be false !" "I would not," she said. Mother and father have taught me to scorn such, and it would kill them for me to be untrue," and the dark, pansy-blue eyes looked full in his face with such resolution as he had never seen in one so young. "And some day you will give that pure heart into a man's keeping, and if he should prove false, what then, ma belief Would you die of a broken heart, or become a bitter, cynical woman?" "I don't know," she said. "That is so far off I need not think of it yet, and if it ever comes I'll pray the Lord to give me strength to bear it." "And will He?" asked Allan. "Oh, yes," she answered, confidently, and seeing her faith he said no more on that, but after a silence he spoke softly : "You are too pure and good for earth, little girl; but I want you to stay here, for the world would lose a great charm for me if you were gone." "You are so kind to me," she replied, "that if you were gone I should feel lost. Willie laughs at me sometimes, and hides my books and don't want me to study, but he loves me if he does worry me lots." "That is strange love, isn't it?" he asked. "If I had a sister I think I should be kinder. If he bothers you too much tell me and I'll punch his head." "Willie is quite strong," she said, laughing. "And I am not feeble," he replied, "and my muscles are in fine order. See how easily I lift you over this bad place in the road, and you are quite a substantial little body. There, now, you are all right, and I must leave you. We will meet again, ma belle," and, lifting his hat, he left her. 'I* 'n 3K ?|^ ^^ 'J^ ^W J|t MABEL GORDON 27 Not many days after meeting Miss Lane Mabel be- gan her study, and no pupil was ever more faithful. She was very apt anyway, and the purpose she held caused her to progress finely, to her teacher's delight as well as her own, and time flew by as it does to those who work. The faithful Viney reported wonderful things to Mammy, to which the old soul listened deliglitedly. "Did'n' I alius tell yer she de smahtes' chile 'bout hyur?" asked the old nurse. "She gM'ine tek de shine offen dem udder gals. She er Gazvd'n, an' dey is peo- ple. I bless de Lawd I'se one, too. I bawn one on 'em; I ain' no bought trash, ner you ain' needer. You libs whar yo' bawn, an' de great Mahster willin' we gwine stay hyur twel He git ready ter sen' de charrit atter us. Dese fool niggas roun' hyur can go to Libery ef dey Avants ter ; Dicey gwine stay wid dem she knows. I boun' heap er dem what went away 'ud cum back ef dey could." "Little missy read 'bout it ter me," said Viney. "She gittin' putty, Mammy," whereat the old woman waxed wrathful. "Look hyur, chile, don' yer signify she ebber bin ugly. I nuss dat baby, an' partly rais' her, an' de time ain' nebber bin when she 'peared ugly ter me, an' my tas' iz des az good az enny young nigga's." "I did'n' mean no harm," apologized the daughter. "I knows she dear ter you ez yer own chile, an' I love her, too. She same az er preacher whar de gawspel is consarned. She 'splain er heap ter me de las' time we went ter de village." "She gwine 'cordin' ter her raisin'," said Mammy,, "an' she g\vine keep in de broad way." "Te, he," snickered Viney. "Mammy, don' you know no mo' 'bout scripter dan dat?" "What I say fer yer ter giggle at, gal ?" demanded her mother. "Tiz de broad way, fer it leads ter glory 28 MABEL GORDON eberlasting, an' it boun' ter be broad, so many is trablin' in it. I gwine long dat road, bless de Lawd, an' sum day dis po' ole pain-racked body is gwine drap all its aches an' go sweepin' in de heabenly gates," and Mam- my began to clap her hands and sing, then to shout, Viney looking on in awed silence till the old woman paused for want of breath and to wipe her shining face. After a brief rest she said : "Gimme my stick now. I gwine tub de house, a while. I feels de need o' sump'n stranknin', an' maybe Mahster '11 gie mc ur dram. I 'clar I kin hardly git up when down. Do, Lawd, be mussiful tub po' ole sinner," and with many grunts and groans she made her way across the field to the house, where she always found a welcome and something to "suit her appertite." MABEL GORDON 29 CHAPTER IV. Though engrossed in her studies and duties, Mabel often thought of her absent friend, and wondered if he would be pleased with her. She loved study for the sake of knowledge gained thereby, but Allan had awakened her ambition and determined her to excel, and at twenty years of age she was a highly cultivated young lady. And beauty had come to her, for added to the noble expression of her face were other charms. The "un- ruly hair" clustered in soft curls about the fair brow; the freckles had faded, and the deep, purplish-blue eyes Allan admired in her early girlhood were indeed beau- tiful. While her appearance had changed, she still kept the simple faith and artless manner of the girl he left at the bars that spring evening, years ago. Suitors came in time, but to all she gave a firm though kind refusal. Allan would come some day and they would find life full of joy. And so believing she waited con- tentedly. Miss Lane had given up the organ to her, for the pupil had passed beyond the teacher. One bright Sabbath day in early winter, when she felt unusually happy and enjoyed the services with all ' her heart, as she turned from the organ to join her father who awaited her, she noticed going out of the church door a lady and gentleman not belonging to the regular congregation. He turned to speak to some- one and she caught a good view of his face, when her heart gave a big throb. 30 MABEL GORDON "It is Allan!" she said to herself. "He has come back — to me." She managed to answer calmly those who spoke to her as she made her way to her father, who helped her to a seat, and they were well started before he said : "Daughter, did you see Mr. Harvey this morning? He was in church." "Yes, sir; and the lady with him I supposed to be his cousin, Lucile," she replied, glad that she had put on a thick veil and hidden her face. Not for worlds would she have had anyone see her, for at the mere mention of Allan's name the telltale color mantled the fair cheeks. "Cousin, and wife, too," responded Air. Gordon. "Father!" she exclaimed, "you must be mistaken." "I heard him say so," maintained the old man. "Her health is bad, and he has come to the Springs, where she was much benefited years ago." "I remember that the water did her good then. She has always been delicate," the poor girl forced herself to answer quietly, while her heart sickened and every- thing became dark to her. Poor fool that she had been to let a few sweet words take hold of her as his had done, and cause her to build such hopes as she found then that she had done. Now all that love she unwittingly gave him must be crushed if it took her life, and her parents must not know of her suffering. Only One could help her, and she breathed a silent prayer to Him. The time had come of which Allan spoke, and she had said her God would give her strength for the trial. She wanted to steal off where no one could see her, and pour out her soul in prayer, but when they reached home there were duties to attend to, so she stifled her feelings and quietly helped. At dinner Mr. Gordon told his wife of Harvey's re- turn. MABEL GORDON 31 "Did you see him, Mabel ?" asked her mother. "Yes, ma'am, and his cousin also. They are mar- ried now," she replied steadily. "Indeed ! Well, I am not surprised, for I heard she was very fond of him. Do you feel like going with me to see Mrs. Smith. Mabel? I heard to-day she was quite sick and needing attention, so I can't wait till to- morrow." "Please excuse me this afternoon, mother, and take Willie. I have a severe headache and would like to rest. Brother, won't you take my place?" "I would be glad to go, sis, but there is a little busi- ness for me to look after to-day," replied her brother. Mr. Gordon looked at him smilingly. "Business to-day, my son? Are you a Sabbath- breaker?" "You can hardly call me that, sir. I am better trained. Mab knows what it is. Nellie Bruce scarcely spoke to me to-day, and I must find out what is wrong. Somebody is getting in my way, I think, and it must be stopped." "So, wife, it falls to my lot to escort you," said Mr. Gordon. "And then you must lose your nap, but, dear, you know the poor woman is sick," said his wife. "Yes, and I know, too, your slumbers would not be sweet to you to-night if you failed to relieve suffer- ing. So, my good lady, fix up your goodies and get ready and I'll take you. Mabel doesn't look bright, and needs a nap worse than I, while this young man has to look after a case in Cupid's court. Well, son, I know how it was with me at your age, so you are ex- cusable." "Thank you, sir. I will not be out late. Come, Mab, and brush me up a little. I must be all right to-day." "Go by Mammy's house, my son, and take her this," 33 MABEL GORDON said Mrs. Gordon, giving him a package. "The old creature always looks for some of our dinner." "And she isn't disappointed often, eh, wife'* AVell, she was faithful when the others proved false and she shall not want." Mrs. Gordon watched her boy as he rode away. He was a handsome fellow, and sat his horse well, and to her motherly eyes a boy to be proud of, but she sighed as she turned to her husband, saying: "It seems but yesterday since he was a child, and now he is a man with manly hopes. How our children grow away from us !" "We keeps ours right well," comforted her hus- band. "I am glad Mabel seems so content. 'Twill be a sad day for us when she leaves." "I trust we may keep her," said the mother fer- vently. "I don't feel easy when she complains. She is so patient!" "She sang too much to-day, I reckon, and brought on that headache. She will be well after a good nap. Get ready, wife; the afternoons are short," replied Mr. Gordon. Mrs. Gordon finished her preparations, then went quietly into their "best room" to see that the wood fire was doing well, and to throw a blanket over the daugh- ter so dear to her. "I'll be well when you return, mother, so don't worry at all about me," said Mabel. "I'm. going to sleep right ofif." But sleep did not come at her bidding, and lying there thinking of her shattered hopes Mabel heard a step on the porch floor, and, rising wearily to answer a rap, she stood face to face with Allan. "You !" she exclaimed, almost recoiling. "Yes, I," he said, smiling joyously, and extending his hand. "Have you forgotten your old friend ? Has my little comrade no welcome for me?" MABEL GORDON 33 "I was startled," she said, and, remembering it was her home, she asked him in, though she was trembhng so she could scarcely stand. He walked confidently into the pretty room and seated himself with easy grace in a chair near the one she sank into. Travel and time had developed him into a very handsome man, and now, with flushed cheeks and eyes brilliant with joy, he seemed to her like some radiant vision. ''Where is the family?' he asked. "I want to see them all. Tell me you are glad to see me, Mab, for I am overjoyed at the sight of you. And you have veri- fled my prediction and gone beyond my wildest fancy. I could hardly believe that beautiful young lady pre- siding so gracefully at the organ to-day was the same little girl to whom I bade a sorrowful good-bye at the pasture bars. Did you miss me much, Mabel, and did you want me to come back ? You have studied hard, I know, and are you ready to take your place in life ?" 'T really don't know just what my place is," she replied. 'T try to do my duty all the time and trust to Providence to lead me aright." "The same trustful little soul," he said, smiling ten- derly. "Ah, Mabel, it had been better for me if I could have felt as you do !" "Tell me of your stay abroad," she said. "Let us not speak of that now," he answered. "I want to talk about you. Have you no plans for the future?" "A lady whose husband was ill at the Springs wants me to go to her as her daughter, but my parents can't spare me. She says she is coming for me some time. She is Mrs. Rowland, of New York. Perhaps you know her?" replied Mabel. "Mrs. George Rowland! Certainly I know her. Her husband is dead, and she lives with her brother, 34 MABEL GORDON Colonel Chester. The other brother is in an asylum for the insane." "Does insanity run in the family?" she asked . "Oh, no! Louis and Rudolf Chester were twins, ?.nd perfectly devoted to each other, and Louis fell in love with a young lady who seemed to love him dearly, but a richer man came along and she jilted Mr. Ches- ter for him, and he went crazy, and Rudolf became a woman-hater. He is a very handsome, brilliant man, but cold as ice to all ladies. I don't remember ever seeing him notice a woman more than politeness re- quires. He is very fond of his sister, who has been like a mother to him, she being much older than the boys. I never saw a man love his brother as devotedly as Colonel Chester loves poor Louis." "And he went mad because a girl jilted him! I didn't know a man could love like that," replied Mabel. "You didn't know men could love so much ! Why, Mabel, what do you mean ? Certainly we love as deeply as it is possible for any creatures to love." "So you loved your cousin devotedly? She must be a happy woman to be your wife." "My wife!" said he. "How do you know I have one?" "I heard it to-day. Isn't it true?" "Yes," he said, "I am married, and I want to tell you how it happened." "Why tell me? I can guess very easily. It was natural you should prefer her to any other," she said very quietly. "But I must tell you," he insisted. "Lucile and I were joint heirs to an uncle, and he wanted us to in- herit together all he left, and if we did not marry we forfeited all. She seemed to love me very dearly, and as I knew not then what love was, the arrangement suited me very well. Besides, I needed the money, for I could not get along without plenty of that." MABEL GORDON 35 "And you sold yourself?" His face burned, and his eyes fell under her clear glance. "Yes," he admitted; "but when I did it I did not know what love was ; now anything could be given up for freedom." "Hush !" she exclaimed in horror. "Don't talk so. Think how miserable your wife would be if she knew you felt as you do." "I must speak," he said. "My feelings overpower me, and you must know who taught me what love is. 'Twas a little girl, and had I known at that time what was in store for me I would have won my darling then, but it was not revealed to me till to-day, when I sat in church and listened to your sweet voice and watched your dear face. I didn't mean to ever let you know of this, but since I've seen you here, and felt the charm of your presence, I realize life to me is nothing unblest by your love. No, I won't hush! You shall hear me, though you spurn me from you." Leaning forward, he caught her hand in his. "Oh, Mabel, you once cared for me — I know you did — and my love for you is so deep, so intense, you must return it. Dearest, I am rich, and can give you all that heart may wish. Go with mc to the city and be my soul-bride. I will care for Lucile and let her want for no attention, but I want 5'ou to go to when I am tired of everything. You are a part of myself. Oh, Mabel, don't took so horrified. Other men live thus, and why not I? Will you go, love, and bless my life? I would offer you honorable marriage if I could, but I am fettered, while all my heart is yours. Will you go with me? Speak, Mabel." His words had come in such a torrent, and she was so stunned with surprise she could hardly speak at first ; then, raising both hands and with a face filled with horror, she almost moaned: 36 MABEL GORDON "My God ! Oh, my God !" and the agony and en- treaty in her voice pierced the man before her. "Mabel! Oh, Mabel." he cried, "don't look like that! don't turn from me in horror! I don't mean to hurt you. I love you so dearly I couldn't help asking you to go with me. Dearest, hear me 1" "Go with you into sin!" she cried. "Leave all I hold dear for such a life! Oh, Allan, yon told me to keep my purity and truth always, and you are the only one to suggest wrong to me. You are trying to make me false to myself, my parents and my God. You are false to your wife; false to everything noble. Leave me! Go where I will never see you again. Oh, that the friend I loved and trusted should fall so low. Dear Lord, forgive him this awful sin, and be merciful, oh ! be merciful !" "Mabel," he said, his voice hoarse and face deadly white, "don't drive me from you. I meant no harm. I didn't intend letting you know I cared for you other than a friend, but when I saw you, and realized all you are to me, my strength gave way. I forgot every- thing save the desire to make you mine. Forgive me, please, and say you'll let me come to see you some- times. I will be a man, and in no way pain or insult you. Only let me come to see you. Think how I suf- fer, and be kind." "No," she said, through lips drawn with suffering; "never again. You are dead to me. My dear friend is dead, and in his place is a man I can't trust. Your stay abroad has not improved you. Oh, if you had never gone!" He buried his face in his hands and groaned : "If I had not ! Oh, if I had not gone. What would I not give to be to you what I once was !" "Leave me," she said, "and if you can face your wife go to her. She is to be pitied, while I — oh, it would be sweet to lie down and die." MABEL GORDON 37 "Don't talk so, Mabel," he pleaded. "You cannot suffer more than I, for I have lost your respect and friendship, while I love you hopelessly. Tell me good- bye and I will go back and take up my burden alone." He took her hands that were so cold they frightened him, and almost crushed them in his burning palms, then raised them to his mouth. "Good-bye," he whispered with quivering lips. "Gods! but this is worse than death!" Releasing her hands, he strode away, while she sought her room and fell on her bed in an agony of grief, and when her parents returned they found her ill indeed. She could not tell her mother the true cause of the attack lest her father should learn it and in his wrath do something terrible. Her only conso- lation was in prayer, and it was well she had a refuge, a comforter w^ho could strengthen her then. Allan had told her that her purity and sincerity attracted him most, and she must be the noble woman her childhood gave promise of. Now, because he claimed to love her, he could ask her to lead a life of fearful sin — could ask her to give up all she held dear on earth and her hope of heaven. And he said other men led the life he pro- posed. Could it be true, and could she ever trust any man again? Her idol had fallen and dragged others down with him. Had he died she could have mourned him as a sweet memory, but this — this death of all that was high and noble and pure in him was so bitter, no wonder she shuddered and sickened; that it was days before she could take her place in the household, and that her white face and listless manner alarmed the watchful mother. 38 MABEL GORDONi CHAPTER V. "The weather has turned so cold," said Mrs. Gordon at breakfast one morning, "that we must look after Mammy. She suffers from rheumatism anyhow, and these changes are bad on her." "Til go over and see what she needs," volunteered Mabel. "Do you feel able, daughter?" asked Mr. Gordon. "We can't let you risk yourself even for your beloved nurse." "It will do me good to get out of the house a while," replied Mabel, "besides, I'm getting spoiled and selfish, and it is time for me to think of others." "You don't know anything about selfishness," said the mother. "Don't walk fast and bring on that head- ache again. I was very anxious, and if it returns will call in the doctor." "I don't need him," said the girl quietly. "Now, while I put on my wraps you prepare something nice for me to take Mammy. I won't be back right away. She will want me to stay and talk and read for her." She was soon ready, and started with full hands, glad to get out in the fresh, crisp air. IMammy's eyes were getting dim. but she saw at once that her "chile" had been ill and that the young face was sad. "I mi'ty po'ly, honey," she said, in answer to Mabel's greeting. "I ain' been well 'tall, an' I miss yo' pow'ful. It been long time tub me since yer cum. Whut de mat- tah dat de sunshine gone outen yer face? Iz yer sick, ur iz yer in trouble? Ef yer iz, tell me lak yer uster when yo' er little gal an' got inter botherments. MABEL GORDON 39 Young Mr. Harvey dun cum ter de Springs. Iz yer seen him, an' iz he az Hkely az he wuz befo' he went ter furrin parts?" "Oh, Mammy," exclaimed the girl, "don't mention him, please !" The old woman studied her face a moment, then she asked : "Chile, whut yer mean? I feared he hung roun' you too much when he 'bout hyur, an' den yer so young I hoped he nebber got yer heart. Now ef he haz hu't you I hopes he'll nebber have anudder hour o' peace. De fus' time I sees him I low tub tell him jes' whut I think er him. Dis iz near 'bout bad az burnin' de house, an' he ain' wuff greevin' ober, an' I 'lows ter tell him er his meanness," and for a time Mammy's indignation got the better of her rheumatism. "You must not do that," said Mabel. "He can't help matters being as they are, and he musn't know I care at all. He is married now, and it is a sin even to think of him, and I do want to keep from wrong of any kind." "Dat you do," assented Mammy. "Yer de bes' chile I knows, an' de Lawd not g~\vine let you suffer long, fer He promises ter be wid dem dat trustes Him," and rising with difficulty from her chair, the old woman hobbled to her "chest," a long box with leather hinges, and carefully took out a bible which she handed to Mabel. "Heer, chile," she said, "dis iz de place tub fin' help. Dis blessed book got lot o' comfort in it fer sick an' fiicted folks. Read whar it talk 'bout 'bidin' under de wings, fer dat whar yo' stays. Why, honey, how 3^er reck'n ole IMammy 'd stan' all dese aches an' pains if de Lawd didn' help me. an' He'll do az much fo' you. He kin heal er wounded heart if it iz broke ober er triflin' man. Read on, now," and, folding her hands, Mammy settled herself to listen reverently, her tur- baned head nodding assent, while she gave vent occa- 40 MABEL GORDON sionally to low-toned ejaculations of "Bless de Lawd !" And it comforted Mabel to see her rejoicing over the precious truths and hear her faith in them. Mammy saw the young face grew more cheerful as she read, for she opened her eyes once in a while to watch the effect, and when she thought best, she said : "Stop readin', baby; yer head ain' non' too well yet. Shet de book an' let's tawk sum now. Yer feels better dan yer did. Put yer head in my lap an' let me pet yer lak I uster when yer wuz ailin'. Yo'll nebber be nuttin' but er baby fer me. Set in dis low cheer by me an' lay yer head on my knee. My apun's clean." Mabel smilingly did as she was told, for she was in a condition to want just such caressing, and the old nurse's touch on her head recalled her childhood days. After a silence she said : "Mammy, what would you say to my going away from here?" "Eh!" exclaimed the woman; "yer not wantin' ter leab us, honey? How Mahster and Mis' Marget gwine spar' yer, an' how I gwine git on widout yer ?" "You know Nellie has promised to marry Willie in the springtime, and as my parents already love her she can fill my place at home. As for you, you dear old soul, I don't know how you'll make out, and I hate to leave you, but I feel that it is best for me to go away, at least for some time." "I unnerstan'," said Mammy, "an' I'll tawk ter mistis an' try ter 'swade her dat yer needs er change. Yer duz look mi'ty peaked an' white, but dis place gwine be lonesum az er graveyard when yo' goes off. I'll pray fer de Lawd ter guide yer an' fetch yer back in peace. Cum often an' we'll read de blessed scripters an' tawk." "I feel better since talking with you," said Mabel, "and if I do go away I'll miss you sadly, for who will humor me as you do ?" MABEL GORDON 41 "I dunno, honey," replied Mammy. "Dey ain' no- body lak ole Mammy, an' yer seem ter me same az my own blood. Menny er time I'm hel' yer in dese arms an' walked de flo' hours at a time when yer sick. An now yer gwine leab me. Well, I s'poze it natterel, an' in dis case sorter 'bleegin' ; fer yer'll git ober yer hurt quicker effen yo' quit stayin' where yer can' see nottin' but whut yer think er dat 'sateful creeter. It'll teat my heart ter see yer go, but sum day, honey, weze goin' whar dar'll be no sorrerful partin's ner achii^ hearts, an' ef yer beautiful home wuz 'stroyed, yer'll hab one so glor'us it'll mek up ter all. I'll pray fer yer. Yo' gwine now ? Tell mistis I mi'tily 'bleeged ter her fer de wine an' 'intment, an' fer 'tendin' ter my 'stresses, an' tell Willie my woodpile gittin' scace." Promising to remind her brother and to return soon, Mabel left. The old nurse stood in the doorway watch- ing her with anxious eyes, for the girl walked with a languid step, far different from her usual light, quick tread, and Mammy shook her head in strong disap- proval, muttering something about "wringin' dat ras- cal's head off." It was nearer by way of the bars, and Mabel took the old familiar path through the field. How long ago it seemed since that day, when, her heart filled with the joy of having given happiness to a poor sufferer, and anticipation of the pleasure in store for her dear ones at the evening meal, and walking with the buoy- ancy of youth, she found Allan waiting impatiently for her. Then the sun shone with a lustre soft and the birds sang sweeter than e'er before. All Nature seemed to be rejoicing in vernal beauty, and she felt like saying, *'The world is very beautiful. Oh, my God, I thank thee that I live !" Now winter's chill had fallen over the earth; the trees tossed naked boughs in the wind; dead leaves 43 MABEL GORDON rustled under foot ; from a distance came the sound of bleating sheep, and at any time the plaincive cry pierced her heart. Her summer sun had gone, "leav- ing behind a dreary waste, all dead, and cold, and gray." Could she ever take hold of life again? A numb- ness seemed to have settled over her ; even her prayers after that first wild cry for help seemed almost void of feeling. Heart and soul, as well as the frail body, were sick, and the Great Physician must touch with healing fingers to bring the "harp of a thousand strings" into perfect tune once more. Fortunately she had given herself into His care unreservedly. A while she stood with her arms on the fence till a step near by aroused her, and turning her head she met Allan's wistful gaze. The blood rushed to her face and she drew back as he advanced a step. "Forgive me, please," he said gently. "I couldn't resist the desire to revisit the place where we parted, trusting each other entirely. Will you speak to me, Mabel, and tell me you forgive me? You can't know what I've suffered since we last met, or you certainly would forgive me freely." He did look haggard, and she could not repress a feeling of pity. As he searched her face with his eyes he saw the change there. "You, too, have suffered," he said. "Your dear face shows it, and I, unhappy wretch, caused it!" "Yes," she replied, "I have felt such agony as you can know nothing of. To have one I honored and trusted fall so low was bitter sorrow to me." "I know it," said he, "and it hurts me as much as to give you up. I entreat your pardon. You are so good and pure you tio nothing wrong, and you can't understand my feelings ; but surely one so kind cannot withhold forgiveness to a penitent being. Besides, the Savior you worship enjoined a forgiving spirit." MABEL GORDON ^g <» 244 MABEL GORDON De Almi'ty Wings iz bin a restin' place fo' me, 'n' so you'll fin' 'em ef yo'll 'bide unner de shadow o' 'em. Dey tells me yo' iz uh great lawyer, Mahs Kun'l, but yo' nebber kin know de floods o' glory de spehit poahs into dis ol' nigga's soul. I prays de Lawd tub keep yo' bofe close tub Him, fo' yo' bofe my chillun now. Don't fo'git ol' Mammy, honey." Placing her hand softly on her nurse's head, Mabel answered : "Colonel Chester will tell you I remember you too well. He was a little jealous of my home folks." " 'Twas so hard to get her to care for me," ex- plained the husband, "and she longed always for her dear ones here." "And now," said Mabel, "he says my people shall be his people." She looked at him, smiling, and he added softly: " 'And thy God my God.' "Amen! Amen!" exclaimed Mammy. "Hallelu- yah ! Praise de Lam' ! Bless de Lawd, I'm see'n 'dis day!" Then she admonished "de Kun'l" : "Now yo' got my chile, yo' mus' be mi'ty good tub huh 'n' put huh in ez fine uh house ez dem " Mabel's fingers gently laid on the old woman's lips, checked further speech, for she saw the color rush into her husband's face, and she said gayly: "You should see the beautiful house he has given me, and all the other nice things that are mine. I only wish my dear ones could share my pleasures. Even your pride would be satisfied." "We'll enj'y knowin' 'bout it," said Mammy, "en sum day we'll all share de glory o' dat manshun in de skies. Oh, honey, it pays tub walk in de highway ef even we duz fin' it tejus sumtimes. De heartaches will en' sum day, an' de Lawd Hisself will wipe away our tears. All dese aches'Il en' den, and' honey, dat 'minds MABEL GORDON 245 me. Tell Mahster, uh Willie, my medsin all gone 'n' I needs mo' spehits, too. Dese triflin' niggas whut waits on me sumtimes tuh res' Viney drinks up de liq- uor. 'Tends dey sick jes' ez long ez dar's uh drop in de jug. I don' know wot iz goin' become on 'em." "I'll see to it that you get a supply, and take pleas- ure in so doing," said Colonel Chester, smiling at the quick change of subject. "Mammy needs something stimulating," spoke Ma- bel, quickly. "We have been taught to look with horror upon the use of strong drink. Father is an ex- tremist in his views, but he gets Mammy all she needs now." "Dat he do," put in the old woman, "en' I'd uh had plenty now, but fo' dese idlin' niggas mekin' b'leeve dey sick jes' tuh get my dram." "I'll bring your medicines and the little gifts I have for you and Viney, and will leave Colonel Chester at home, and we'll have one of our old-time talks. You remember how you used to smooth the tangles out of my life as well as unruly hair, and cheered my heart when it was sad." Mammy gave Mabel a searching glance, which she answered with a bright smile, at the same time laying her hand on her husband's arm, seeing which the nurse nodded her head with a satisfied expression on her face. "You's had yo' share o' trials," she said, "but, bless de Lawd, yo' cum out victor'us. I prayed mi'tily, honey, fo' yo' heavenly Fadar tuh be nigh yo' 'n' tuh fetch yo' through puah. Ah, chile, ef yo' feet had'n' bin stayed on de Rock, ol' Sat'n ud uh toted yo' boda- shusly off; but yo' ma gin yo' tuh de Lawd when yo' a tiny babe, 'n' yo' gin yo'se'f soon's yo' ol' 'nuff tuh know whut yo' 'bout. You's hel' on tuh de faith, 'n' now de clouds iz gone 'n' yo' iz at peace." Promising to return soon, Mabel said "good-bye", ^46 MABEL GORDON Colonel Chester lifted his hat, and the two turned homeward. For a little time neither spoke, then the gentleman broke the silence. "Truly," said he, "you have in the negro a problem hard to solve. I believe your old nurse is thoroughly good and devoted, and don't wonder you love her as you do. They all claim to be good, and seem very re- ligious, and yet they set at naught the laws of God and man whenever they please." "They are a peculiar people," responded Mabel, "and only Infinite Wisdom can know how to deal with them in regard to the hereafter, but there is a part of the problem those who are accustomed to them might solve if they were not interfered with so much by people who know nothing of them nor the situation, and who really don't like them as we do. Now you fought to free them, and can you tell me of one you love as we do Mammy and the companions of our childhood?" "I cannot," answered he. "And yet," she continued, "you are unwilling to trust those who have been raised with them, and have kindly feelings toward them, to manage them now." "I am certainly willing to trust you," he replied. "You've been converted," she retorted, smiling archly, "but didn't it take a lot to effect the change! Poor boy, you did have a hard lesson." "All that is past," he said, "and I've entered into peace. I can take up life with a cheerful heart. And, sweet, I don't want to sadden you, but you must not keep me away from my work too long, however pleas- ant we may find it. I must rise now for the sake of my wife." Mabel gave a sigh, and he asked : "Does it hurt you so much for me to speak of your going back? You are going with me, dearest." MABEL GORDON M? "Yes," she said, "and you know I would go with you anywhere, and 'where thou lodgest I will lodge'; but I can't help a feeling of sadness at the thought of leaving my old home. Sometimes, Rudolf, when I first went to stay with your sister I nearly died of homesickness. I remember writing mother that all the grand sights of New York had no charms for me — the cotton fields at home were far prettier to my eyes." "Dear, homesick, little girl," said he, tenderly; "so sad at heart and yet so brave, and not only sad but worried with my bearish ways. Mabel, will I ever make amends to you for all my conduct?" "That's all past, too," she answered, smiling up in his face. "And how changed life is to me," he said. "How different, too, everything about here is now from what it was when I first saw this place. War is a cruel thing and should be the last resort." "And ours," she said, "need not have been. Father says all those questions, the settling of which cost both sides so dearly, might have been settled in Con- gress, and just think of the precious lives that would have been spared, and of the suffering that might have been avoided!" "I am inclined to think the old gentleman is right. 'Twas an awful struggle, and showed the world what kind of soldiers we could put in the field. There were deeds of daring on both sides unexcelled by any other nation, still we might have gotten on very well with- out those evidences of bravery," replied Colonel Ches- ter. "I think," said Mabel, "those soldiers who met in honorable battle cherish only respect for each other. Our people have no hard feelings toward men who did their duty. 'Tis the wanton vandalism practiced by some that " "Mabel," he interrupted quickly, "you checked your 248 MABEL GORDON old nurse when she would have spoken ; can't you spare me?" "Dear," she answered, "you are over-sensitive. I didn't mean my remark for you, though we suffered terribly because of what you did." "I know it," he said earnestly. "I was sorry as soon as my anger cooled, and after you came and stole into ' my heart — ah, well I found what suffering meant when you steadfastly refused my love and left me. If I caused sorrow, I also felt it." The fingers of the hand he held tightened on his. "I have heard," went on Mabel, "that some of our men retaliated in kind on a few occasions, and I was sorry, for we want to feel that they left no wounds that even time fails to heal. Our leaders wanted nothing unsoldierly in their men." "You wrong ours," said he, "if you believe they en- dorsed such." "You had some fine men," she acknowledged, "magnanimous men, to whom we yield their meed of praise; but " "I know," said he, "and I grieve to acknowledge it, that you have just cause to remember some bitterly." "Well," she said, "the war is over, and the wounds are healing some. I pray we may never have another, and that the time will hasten when the Prince of Peace will reign in the hearts of all men." They had reached the summit of a little hill, at the foot of which a brook rippled past and wound, like a thread of silver, into the depths of the woods beyond, whence came a bird's clear evening song. Over the fields, where hung the heavy ears of corn, the soft breeze brought the lowing of home-driven cattle. A band of cotton-pickers were piling high the fleecy staple, while they sung with fine effect an old plantation melody. MABEL GORDON 249 ft Across the West the traveling day^ Was hast'ning to depart." Long rays of golden light fell on the peaceful land- scape and brought out the rich autumnal hues of the forest. Colonel Chester paused and removed his hat. "Mabel," said he, "standing here with you and taking in the quiet beauty of this scene, I do not won- der you grew up so unspotted. These surroundings fill me with reverence and recall a beautiful senti- ment from a great writer: 'The world henceforth becomes a temple, and life itself one continued act of adoration.' To you, my beloved, I am indebted for being able to understand his feelings, and am other than the miserable unbeliever I was." "Not to me," she cried. "Oh, Rudolf, not to me. To our God give all the honor and glory." "To Him first, of course," he replied, "but to you, too, because of your unfaltering fidelity and sincerity. Love, 'twas shameful in me to tease you as I did. Do you remember my calling you 'Saint Mabel'?" "Yes," she said; "but even then I had a hope you would some day see the error of your way." "For all you coolly told me you would never trou- ble me about it, and seemed to think the heathen over the seas more precious than I." Lifting her face, filled with emotion, she answered : "And now, and for all time, your welfare will be my constant care. Always I bear you in my prayers to Him who has brought us safely through so many sorrows, who let us meet 'and read life's meaning in each other's eyes.' And my earnest prayer is to be to you a helpmeet indeed." 250 MABEL GORDON Drawing her close within his arms, his rich tones deepening as he spoke, he said : "I know it. Ah, Mabel, sweet wife, of you it may truly be said : '' 'The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her.' " THE END. 00006739247 ■> This BOOK may he kept out -3^*50 ^SftQ ONLY, and is suhject to a fine ot ^i^S* CENTS a day thereafter. It was r.iVftn "lit on the day indicated below : JUN 5 1956 y r- -- I* ■• ■+• \V*: ?^i "^ uCI