The Storyteller.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2443, 6 March 1909, Page 10 (Supplement)

The Storyteller.

“ELIZA.”

“You may take the rugs to the back porch, Eliza,- and clean them. Then come and I will show you you. work.” - , ' •‘ ? '

“Mrs Tltint turned to prepare lu-r self for her day’s outing, and the servant took up the rugs. There was nothing remarkable ii Eliza. She had the dusky complex ion and kinky hair and her feature: were 'somehow moro regular, and he: expression brighter, than that o! many.

Once, upon the porch, her whole face lighted, for Eliza had the lovr of beauty, so natural to the African.

“I reckon dere’s a right smart o! mountains licah, anyhow,” she gas ped, as the full view of Pisgah, in it soft glory, caught her eye. “Maybe No’th Cawlina is as good as Tennessee if it ain’t got no Smokies.” Eliza had arrived in North CarolhiY the day before, and, leaving he: 'children with a relative, had securer work in a family of Northerners re siding in that State. “Ef I could only liev do ehild’en, v. would be fine, but maybe I kin git tr keep dem.” Eilza’s love of beauty included personal adornment, and none knew bit ter than she how to make the most oi her possessions. Her turban might be of the flimsiest, but it was always becomingly arranged. Just now sir tossed her head coquettishly, jinglim her ear-drops as a colored man of un usual dignity of manner approached The old man politely touched his cap “Please, cook, will you toll Mr-. Hunt dat Silas Gates is healiP”

With a condescending nod and dainty manipulating of her skirl Eliza went to deliver the message Mrs Hunt gave Silas his instruction: and then laid out the day’s work fc Eliza, before going away. Eliza w; especially anxious to make a good in prossion in her new situation, an worked unremittingly until a gre-c jiart- of her day’s work was done. “I reckon I bett-ah go _see if dr mail’s doin’ all right,” she mused. “I jes’ waht some chips fur de ki chen stove, Mistali Gates,” she sale advancing toward him, proud of hai ing correctly remembered his name. “Of cou’se, cook. Let me help yo get dem,” was the kindly_answer.

“’Sense me, Mistali Gates. I’se r widow, Mrs Eliza Jackson’s on name.” This was said with a figure drawn up to full height and-a pofi ceptible flutter of ear-rings, whic\ were not lost upon the dftbman. “I’se happy to make yo’ acquaintance, Mis’ Jackson. I’se Deacon Siias Gates.” “Well, now! I done heard nn cousin, Sarah Graves, say last niglu; says she. Deacon Gates belongs t< our church, says she, and lie’s 2 pow’f ful man. I’se right glad to meet you

so soon.”

Eliza was discreet- enough to conceal any further reason for her joy at meeting him, but she resolved to play her cards skilfully. “Sistah Graves is right,” returned

the old man, -thoughtfully. “I’se ; scholah, shuah enough.” “Well, I’se no scholah, but I wen in company of de fust families, alius I do wish I was a scholah.” Eliza was amazed that he eouh mention such a trifle as scholarship and apparently forget the possessior of the vine-covered cottage she hac seen from her cousin’s cabin the even ing before. -Her cousin had assurer her that no other colored man in tin town owned as fine a cottage, not tc mention the trumpet vine. Morning glories were well enough, but the;! were not to he compared with trumpet vines. Any commonplace dark} might own a few flowers, but to possess a cottage covered luxuriantly a.‘ was that of Deacon Gates, was an unmistakable mark of rank' “Yes, Mis’ Jackson,” continued the old man patronisingly, “it’s great tc know as much as I do. Mis’ Hunt, she say to me this mawnin’, I want you to cut about one fou’th of dis woods into pieces fur de little stove.’ Now, I goes to work and I totes each stick and counts it. De're’s twentynine sticks—l kin- count to twentynine and moah. It takes a scholah but I kin do it.” “How you gwine to find out dc fou’th?” queried his listener..--, “You see a fou’th means a quawtah, each time,” said the deacon, argumentatively. “But how you -gwine git de quawtah?’’ she persisted. A pause. Tlie old man scratched his head thoughtfully. “I’se sorry you can’t see dat dc matta is too deep fur -anyone what ain’t used to sicli meditation.” He quietly resumed his -work to cover any sense of defeat, and Eliza wisely -felt'that in a -game like hers silence was the better course, so she hurried with the chips to the kitchen. ' . Her mind was made up. She would make one supreme effort. A slight overcasting of the sky and a distant ' rumbling of thunder gave her ample excuse for again Mr Gates. ||f | “I’se all flustered, Deacon Gates. I’se powerful afeard of tluindah, so I jes’ run to speak to you. I don’t reckon a scholah is afeard of tluindah.

I’se- tollable weak, I low, but Lawd, what if de thundah would strike me !”

- All the old man’s" chivalry was aroused. To be appealed to by a finelooking woman in the very prime of iifo touched his heart and flattered his pride, while it surely got the better of his prudence. “Mis’ Jiackson, I ain’t afeard of thundah, nowhow. Do Lawd sends it and He kin take care of it. I feel so had to see you so fiustorated dat 1 don’t mind talcin’ care of you fur de rest of my life,.maybe.” “Bless de Lawd!” ejaculated Eliza, with » bewitching air of reverence. ■“And now,” she added, as a softer look came into her eyes, “I 'kin hev’ my chikl’on.” The deacon started. This was another matter.

' “I didn’t know you had child’en, Sistah Eliza. .. How many you -got P”

“Two. One is sixteen and one is fourteen. Dey both worked in Tennessee, and when "I’se ’quainted heah, dey’ll git places. Dey’s girls as anyone is glad to git to work when dey wants good help.” ' - “I ’clar, I’se got to meditate on it,” said the deacon anxiously. “It’s kind of oneasy business, but I alius goes to Marse Hill fur advice. If he say it’s right, I’ll know it’s right. He don’t make 110 mistakes. I’ll step out and see him and let you know,” - - ’ : .

The time seemed an age to Eliza while waiting for the deacon’s return. As she busied, herself at her work 1 , she prayed softly, “Lawd, deah. Lawd, I do want a home fur my cliild’en.”

Prayer never interfered with the careful preparation of her toilet, so she was even more tastefully arrayed when Deacon Gates stood again at the kitchen door.

“Marse Hill say you come to his house and bring de child’en at seven dis evenin’ if you kin git away. Ii! he dere myself. Sistah kin tell you where Marse Hill lives. 1 live jes' back of him. but I’ll be at his place.” He was gone in a moment to finish his work, and Eliza strained every nerve to have the house in perfect order before Mrs Hunt’s return.

.“Please, ma’am,” said, she, as Mrs Hunt entered the kitchen a little later, “my little boy is pow’ful bad and I’se feared it’s bold hives. Kin I go jes’ dis once at seven to take him to de doctahP I shan’t ask it no rnoah, if you’ll only let nie go to-night. He’s so sick I’se freted ’bout him all day.” After various promises not- to ask further favors, she obtained the lady’s permission ~and was on her way to her cousin's before seven. She gave Sarah Graves a glowing account of the day, and proceeded to attire herself in her best, while Sarah helped in the dressing of the younger ones. “You needn’t lay out to dress much to please Marse Hill. He ain’t that kind, nowhow,” said Sarah warningly- “ What fur you done talk like datP [’so maybe gwine to be married d:« evenin’. I ain’t- gwine to lose no time foolin’ if I kin manage it.” “Don’t you lose time now afixin' up. If Marse Hill say he see you at seven, you bettah not stop to dress up too slick,” was the answer. “Ain’t Marse Hill quality ? If he is I’d bo ashamed to go to him without lookin’ tol’able.” “Yes, Marse Hill, is suah. enough quality. Do Hills was one of the best Xo’tli Cawlina families, and he is as good as any of his folks that went befoah him! but you jes’ hurry up.” Sarah accompanied Eliza until they came within sight, of Mr Hill’s residence, when she prudently withdrew, after cautioning the latter to act “like she was in meetin’!” Eliza and her children entered by the sea gate, and the beauty of the grounds, the sweet scent ol ; flowers and tho perfect, peace impressed even her giddy mind. “Marse Hill is quality, suah enough,” she mused. As she drew near the house" witli a studied jauntincss of movement, she saw a gentleman sitting on one of the piazzas, while Deacon Gates stood near him on tin lawn. The instinct of coquetry was stronger upon the woman than ever. It had won battles for her in the past, and now she was fighting.one of the hardest. With a dozen mincing movements, she approached, still keeping her eyes upon the ground as if unconscious of the presence of anyone but herself. Suddenly, she raised her eyes prepared to be surprised. And. surprised she certainly was; in a moment all her arts fell from her and she stood thoroughly 'ashamed in the presence of Mr .Hill. Ho was not a severe looking 'man, yet she stood apparently already condemned in his presence. In all her poor, frivolous •life, she' had' never met a man like him before, 'and her little .affectation fell from her, unable to exist in the sight of a great, sincerity. Not that -s-he eould reason, it out; she was-only conscious that before, this man s steady . gaze; she must put aside •falsity. / , For the .first time in her life she sincerely wished to'be better than she had ever been. A dim thought that -it would have, been better for her had she only known such men as Marse ' -p- ■ Si",'

Hill, was struggling through her brain, when she was recalled by the voice ol Deacon Gates.

“Sister Eliza, what, what’s dkv? You done tole mo you bed two child’--en. Heah’s fouah. Does dey all lielong to you?” , “La, yes, deacon. I done tole you Pee no scholah. I only wish I was. If I didn’t tell you do right munbah, I’se sorry. How did I know?”

“Sistah Eliza, how you know to tell me one is sixteen and one is fourteen, if you can’t count no better den .to say fouah is two?” demanded the deacon.

“La, deacon, dey’s soholahs demselves. Dey know how old dey is. 1 don’t keep no ’count. ,De two little fellows is pow’ful cute. I done love dem a heap.” Mr Hill had. beckoned the two younger children to him and was engaging them in conversation, when Eliza turned toward, them. The mother love showed through' the petty frivolity of the woman, and the man’s heart was touched.

“Take the four children round and ask Julia to give them some fruit. Then you may show them the flowers, Silas. I will call you when I waiit you.” The deacon bowed gravely. He knew Marse -Hill was about to settle the difficulty, and that whatever the decision might be, it would be right. “Eliza,” said Mr Hill, when they were alone, “this is a serious business. Do you want to marry Silas ?” “’Deed, yes, I do, Marse Hill. 1. want' a home fur my child’en. It’s pow’ful hard to be away from dem so much. Dey ain’t had no pa senco de littlest one was a year old, and now he’s six, and I’se bed to leave most of de time, so I want to get dem a home.”

Her eloquence was genuine. .No trace was left of the actress who had entered tho grounds a few minutes before.

“It’s perfectly right to he anxious for your children, but you must think of Silas, too. Are you sure you will love him?”

“Deed I will. I'd love anyone what would gimme a home for my child’en. But he don’t want de little fellows, and dey’s awful cunnin’, and party. Marse Hill, can’t you help me git dem a home?” This was a bolder stroke than she had heretofore but straight-fodwardness was the only course that counted with Mr Hill, ami she dared nothing else. Like Dr. McQueen, Mr Hill seemed always to receive confidences while asking none. • “Eliza,” he said, firmly, “there is no need for you to -go in your old way ii you want to do better. Siias was my father’s own servant, and is a good man. If you feel that you wantto marry him, and do what is right for him, I will see that you have the means to keep your children -with you. I ask no promise until you are sure vou are ready to give it. Silas lost his wife and only child years ago, and has been alone ever since. But, Eliza, you must understand for all time, that there is to be no trifling. The wife of Silas Gates must bo above that.” -

The woman’s tears were flowing fast now.

. “Oh, Marse Hill, Fse been a sinnah,” she began. “I do not want to hear what anyone has. been. I am thinking of what the future may be,” he said gently. “’Deed, Marse Hill, I swar I’ll do de honest way fur Deacon Gates. I swar it shuah. No one talked to me like you befoah. I’se bo’ll again, shuah enough.” And the black face shone as if baptised in the right kind of love hitherto undreamed of.

That evening a select company of members of the deacon’s church were very hastily summoned to witness his union in the holy bonds of matrimony with Eliza.

For the first time in years he joined tho dancers, proudly leading his wife, who had refused her hand to,ail the younger men, and declared she would henceforth dance only Avit-h her husband.

Late that night, as two tiny black heads ivere laid upon the best bed they had ever seen, one very softly whispered to tho other: “Wasn’t it lucky that rna furgot how to count us when she told dat she hed tAVO children? Now Averse jolly fine counted fur keeps.”