Hannah Calline's Jim: In Two Parts. Part First

I.

IT was four P. M. by the guard-house clock, and the April sun of our semitropical climate was blazing in the sky with a fierceness that would have been oppressive but for the breeze from the bay that riotously fanned the streets of the city.

Daniel Newsome, Esquire, attorney-at-law, sat in his office sipping his preprandial julep, redolent of mint and cold with pounded ice. This was an old habit of “ Mars Dan’l’s,” resumed within the last twelve months after an interruption of four disastrous years; for it was now just a twelvemonth since Appomattox. The war had broken up the old habits of most men in Mr. Newsome’s section of the country, but this big, rubicund gentleman enjoyed the exceptional advantage of being able to take up his ante-bellum routine pretty accurately. He had come out of the struggle, at the age of forty-nine, a whole man, with some honorable scars, and a sufficient remnant of his fortune to enable him still to live in comfort. He drank the daily julep in his office and good wine at his table, and his wife still rode in her own carriage — when she could command a driver; for Jericho the dignified, who used to sit in state upon Mrs. Newsome’s carriagebox. when he comprehended that the world was all before him where to choose, had elected to go to New Orleans ; Mobile being, in the language of his estimation, “ too much of a onehorse town for his team.” At parting, he assured Mars Dan’l that so long as the world lasts, doctoring, lawing, and the grocery business are bound to prosper. Now Mars Dan’l pursued the law, and was likely, so Jericho opined, “to get on mo’n tollable.” As for the excarriage-driver, he went into the sidewalk grocery business ; and that was the end of Jericho so far as Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Newsome were concerned. Time and again, Mr. Newsome, and more particularly Mrs. Newsome, had felt the lack of a carriage-driver, but otherwise Mars Dan’l had fared “ mo n tollable ; ” and he was disposed to take life easy, now that the war was over, so he sipped his julep leisurely at, or about, four P. M. Very often he ordered two juleps, and invited a jovial friend ; and not infrequently the party would be increased to five or six, — tellers of good stories, all of them, who kept dinner waiting at home. Yet it happened now and then that Mr. Newsome took his julep alone.

He was alone now ; with his glass in one hand, his palmetto fan in the other, and his eyes on the dusty window-pane, where a fly was buzzing, he sipped and meditated upon a birthday gift for Mary Frances, his only child and the apple of his eye. In ten minutes more he would ring for his office boy to lock up, while he went in search of the dilatory streetcar to convey him home.

When he turned to set down his glass, he saw standing in the doorway, with the air of having stood there patiently for some time, which was indeed the case, a tidy negro woman of middle age. She was clad in a dress of dark homespun, so short that her coarse stockings and russet shoes were plainly visible. A ruffled white lawn cape was crossed upon her ample bosom, and underneath the ancient bombazine bonnet that crowned her head could be seen the border of the gay bandana that bound her brows. She had a pleasant face of an ebon blackness, and she smiled with her eyes in a way that spoke volumes in her favor.

“ Hello! ” said Mr. Newsome. “What will you have, auntie ? ”

“ Sho’ly, now, Mars Dan’l, you doan re-mumber Hanner Calline ? ” said the woman suggestively. But the name awoke no echoes in Mr. Newsome’s brain.

” Hannah Calline?” he repeated, and shook his head. “ Can’t say that I do.”

A shade of disappointment flitted over Hannah Calline’s face, but she smiled still. “Hit’s a matter of five years, sho’ly, sence you wuz up ter Monroe County,” she said, in a tone of indulgence, “but many an’ many’s de glass o’ buttermilk you’s had at my hands.”

The buttermilk refreshed his memory, and Mars Dan’l shouted,—

“ Why, you don’t tell me so ! All the way from Monroe County ? ”

“ Sho’ly, sho’ly, Mars Dan’l ! ” responded Hannah Calline, with a glittering joy in her eyes.

“What in the name of— all the cows brought you to Mobile ? Ain’t there nothing for you to do on the plantation ? ” “Oh, yes, Mars Dan’l, plenty fumme ter do,” replied Hannah Calline complacently. “But”— she hesitated — “ I been studyin’ a year — an’ den — I come.”

Mr. Newsome shook his head. “Thought you had better sense,” he said, frowning, “ good dairy-woman that you are. Do you expect to make your fortune peddling buttermilk in the streets of Mobile ? ”

“No, sah, " said Hannah Calline, with sobriety.

“Oh, I understand,” said Mr. Newsome sarcastically. “ You 're like the rest of the free niggers : you must quit the country for the town, to gad the streets and eat the bread of idleness.”

“ No, Mars Dan’l,” responded Hannah Calline sadly. “ I ’se too ole ”—

“ Why, then, don’t your children look after you ? Have n’t you any children ? ”

“ Sho’ly, Mars Dan’l. You furgits. I ’se got fo’ chillen — I mean I ’se got five. They is Basheby, is ’bout gwan on twenty-five, an’ is married an’ got fo’ chillen herse’f, an Ozias, an’ Lucifer, an’ Twinette. They is all growed up, so’s they ain’ got no mo’ use fumme.”

“ It ’s a disgrace ! ” shouted Mr. Newsome. “Four children all grown, and no use for their old mammy? They ought to be flogged, and made to take care of you.”

“ Sho’ly, sho’ly, now, Mars Dan’l ! ” remonstrated Hannah Calline. “They ain’ got no use fumme cawse they is growed, an’ kin scuffle fur theyselves. They ain’ druv me off, bless yo’ soul, — dat they ain’. I wuz gwan seh, a piece ago, I ’se too ole ter turn fool an’ ’spect ter live ’dout wukin’ long o’ freedom. But I ain’ so ole ’s ter be useless. I ain’ mo’n ”— pausing reflectively — “ mo’n — bout thutty-fo’.”

Mr. Newsome threw back his head with uproarious laughter. “ Well, that’s a good one ! You tell me you 're not more than thirty-four, and Basheby, your oldest child, is twenty-five ? ”

“ Basheby ain’ my oldes’ chile. Mars Dan’l,”corrected Hannah Calline, quite aggrieved. “Jim’s my oldes’ chile,— Jim.”

“ Jim ? That makes it worse and worse ! ” And Mr. Newsome laughed again. “You re not a day under fifty.”

“ Rekin so, Mars Dan’l ? ” Hannah Calline queried, in a tone of pathetic disappointment. “Well,” after a pause of resignation, “ fifty ain’ so ole.” Then, with resolution. “ Ain’ you got naire dairy, Mars Dan’l ? ”

“ Dairy ? Lord, no ! Wish’t I had ! ”

“ Den ain’ you got nothin’ fumme ter do ? ” demanded Hannah Calline desperately.

“ Not unless you can drive the carriage,” said Mr. Newsome.

But Hannah Calline was not discouraged. " I kin drive, sho’ly,” said she. “ I have druv Miss Rene, on a pinch.”

“ Well, we don’t put on that much style in town,” returned Mr. Newsome, with a fine irony that was lost on his bucolic visitor. “ However, I suppose you’ve nowhere to go ? No friends in Mobile, eh ? ”

“’Donten hit’s you, Mars Dan’l,” Hannah Calline made answer confidingly.

“ Then I ’ll have to take you home with me, as you ’re one of the old family niggers. By the way, the kin up the country all well ? ”

“ They is all peart, mos’ly. All’ Miss Louisa an’ little Miss Mary Frances, — they is well ? ”

“ Oh, yes, spry as crickets. Where is your baggage ? Left it with the clerk of the boat ? ”

“ I had my trunk an’ a coob o’ chickens fur Miss Louisa, but I ain’ leffum wid de clerk. I leffum wid a cullud gemman what had a sorter — elevated wheel-harrer.”

“ Oh, a hand-cart, you mean. Friend of yours, eh ? ”

“ No, sah, I ain’ nuver seen him befo’; but he said he gwan tek charge, an’ wait ontel I come back, ef hit wuz plum tell dark. I tole him I wuz gwan hunt Mars Dan’l, an’ hit tuk a power of ’quirin’ ter fin’ you ; an’ when I come up ter you, you ’peared ter be studyin’, an’ I jes’ waited ” —

“ Do you ever expect to see that trunk or that coop of chickens again ? ” Mr. Newsome in terrupted.

“ Sho’ly, Mars Dan’l ? He said he ’d wait,” Hannah Calline repeated, with sublime trust, and Mars Dan’l laughed aloud.

“ Well, well,” he said, ringing sharply for Leonidas, we ’ll go down to the wharf and see.”

Leonidas sauntered in to take charge of the office, and Mr. Newsome, bearing his fan and umbrella, with Hannah Calline at his heels, hastened down the street to the river-side.

The wharf, that had been so distracting a scene of bustle and confusion to Hannah Calline an hour and a half agone, was deserted; there was no sign of a negro, nor a hand-cart, nor a trunk, nor a coop of chickens, anywhere along the street.

“ Sho’ly, sho’ly,” murmured Hannah Calline in skeptical perplexity.

“ Confound the thieving rascal ! If I had him, I’d wring his neck ! ” said Mr. Newsome.

“ Sho’ly, Mars Dan’l,” remonstrated Hannah Calline, " he said he gwan wait. I ’spect he jes’ gwan off ’bout some yether bizness; he gwan come ’long back bombye. You go ’long ter dinner, Mars Dan’l. I gwan wait ontel he come back.”

“ Wait till Judgment Day ! ” said Mr. Newsome. “Say, did you have any valuables in that trunk, — any money ? ”

“ Valybles ? Money ? ” repeated Hannah Calline, bewildered. “ I ain’ got but seben dollars, an’ hit’s in my bussum ; but they wuz my close in dat trunk, an’ a bottle o’ snuff, an’ dat brown satting whey Miss Patty Larkin gimme when I come away from Kaintuck, an’ what I has promused ter heir ter Basheby, she bein’ my oldes’ darter, ’ceptin’ Jim’s married. Sho’ly, Mars Dan’l, you doan ’spect he stole it ? ” she queried tremulously, with sudden misgiving.

“ Sho’ly, I do! ” responded Mars Dan’l ruthlessly.

“ Well, you bein’ in de law, Mars Dan’l, I ’spect hit ’ll come back ter me, stret,” said Hannah Calline, with cheerful confidence. “ ’Ceptin’ de chickens, " she sighed.

But Mars Dan’l shook his head. “ Should you know him again, if you were to see him, that black rascal ? ”

“ No, sah,” Hannah Calline answered, after a reflective pause. ” No, sah; I can’t rightly say ez I should. They wuz a mixin’ crowd, an’ he wuz a stranger ; they wuz all strangers ter me.”

“ Pretty innocent, you are, to be turned loose on the world! ” muttered Mars Dan’l; then he suddenly began waving both fan and umbrella frantically, shouting, " Hi ! Hi ! Stop ! Hold on ! ” And he ran, as he shouted, towards Government Street.

Hannah Calline thought that, with the acuteness of legal vision, he had caught sight of the little hair trunk and the coop of chickens, and she began to run likewise, though nothing could she see but what seemed a monstrous painted box disappearing past the corner.

“ Confound it! ” said Mars Dan 'l, stopping to fan himself. " I ve missed my car. Well, never mind ; I ’ll foot it. Come along ! ”

He turned up Government Street, and Hannah Calline followed at a respectful distance. It was the first time she had ever been in a city, and she wondered in her simple soul what the people did for “ greens,” seeing that the little ” patch ” some houses had in front was all given up to grass ; but her amazement reached its height when Mr. Newsome, upon arriving at his own door, drew a key from his pocket and admitted himself. She was convinced now that Mobile must be a dreadfully wicked place, since Mars Dan’l was obliged to keep Miss Louisa and little Miss Mary Frances locked in while he was away.

At the opening of the door, Mrs. Newsome came down-stairs, and behind her came the little Mary Frances, who would be twelve years old in May. Mother and daughter were arrayed in white, and to Hannah Calline, who stood waiting on the threshold, they looked like angels in Paradise.

“ Have you found me a carriage-driver ? ” Mrs, Newsome asked, as she kissed her husband.

“ Yes, my dear, if a female charioteer will content you ! ”

“ What joke is this ? ” said Mrs. Newsome, glancing at Hannah Calline, who was bobbing her head and bending her knees in a series of curtsies, such as only she could perform.

“Oh, it is Hannah Calline, from uncle George’s! ” cried Mary Frances. She had visited Monroe County within the last eighteen months, and her memory with regard to the dairy-woman was quicker than either her father’s or her mother’s. “ And did you bring me a jug of buttermilk ? “ she asked, as she darted into Hannah Calline’s arms.

“ Lawd love de chile ! She ain’ furgot de ole nigger ! I ain’ fetch no buttermilk, honey ; hit 'ud a spiled on my hands. I did fotch a coob o’ chickens, but de is gone, please Gawd.”

“ Why so it is Hannah Calline ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Newsome. " What brings you to Mobile, Hannah ? ”

“ Don’t waste time trying to find that out,” Mr. Newsome interposed. " I’m in a hurry for dinner. It is enough, just now, that Hannah Calline is here, that she has lost her trunk, and is without friends. We must take her in, if we have to start up a dairy or set her on the carriage-box. Let ’s have dinner !”

“ Dinner is ready now,” said Mrs. Newsome. “ But I do wish you had found me a carriage-driver. The horses are eating their heads off, and such lovely weather for the Bay Shell Road! ”

“ Pity you ain’t Jim, Hannah Calline, Where is Jim, anyhow ? Could n’t he drive?” Mr. Newsome asked jocosely.

“ Sho’ly, Mars Dan’l, I dunno whey Jim is, prezac’ly,” answered Hannah Calline, with sober consideration, “ But effen you could ketch up wid Jim, he ’d drive you, fur Jim wuz fotch up ter be a kerridge-driver.”

“ Well, when you run across him, let me know,” said Mr. Newsome carelessly. He had no recollection whatever of Jim, as he told his wife. " But for that matter,” he added, " I don’t remember Basheby nor the others. How should I ? I 've lived so little on the plantation.”

Now it was to find Jim that Hannah Calline had come to Mobile, relying on Mars Dan '1 to aid her. It was not Mars Dan’l, however, who took the quest in hand, but the little Mary Frances. Mary Frances felt a lively interest in the recovery of the stolen trunk,—the coop of chickens did not so much matter, — and she assured Hannah Calline that her “ popper ” was certain to find that trunk and hang that thief.

“ I dunno ez I want him hung, honey,” Hannah Calline replied, with her kindly smile ; “ but I 'd lak ter see him shamed.”

“ Well, my popper is the man to do it,” Mary Frances declared. But when she appealed to him, Mr. Newsome was of a different opinion ; he had business of more importance.

“Go down town and buy Hannah Calline what she needs, and I ’ll pay the bill,” he said ; “ but don’t worry me any more about that trunk.”

It was easy enough to buy Hannah Calline what she needed, but that brown satin bestowed by Miss Patty Larkin no money could replace, and Mary Frances sighed over the loss almost as much as if it had been her own. For Miss Patty Larkin and the brown satin dress had deeply impressed the young lady’s imagination. Who was Miss Patty Larkin ; and why was it that never from father or mother, from uncles, aunts, or cousins, had she heard any mention of Miss Patty Larkin and her connection with the Newsome family ? In the persuasion that some interesting mystery attached to the lady of the brown satin, Mary Frances eagerly seized the first opportunity to question Hannah Calline.

This happened one evening when Mrs. Newsome had company. It had rained in the afternoon, and as Mary Frances was threatened with a sore throat, she was required to keep her room. Hannah Calline sat with her; she was always willing to stay in of an evening, and she was devoted to Mary Frances.

“ Hannah Calline,” said the child, " what kin is Miss Patty Larkin to me ? ”

II.

Hannah Calline’s eyes opened wide at this unexpected question.

“Honey, what put hit in yo’ mind ter be axin’ dat? Miss Patty Larkin ain’ no kin o’ de Newsomes; sho’ly! sho’ly ! She b’longed in ole Kaintuck, whey I wuz raised.”

“ I thought you could tell me something about old times in the Newsome family,” said Mary Frances, in a disappointed tone.

“ Sho’ly, no, honey. I warn’t bawn inter de Newsome family ; I come to ’em by pu’chase. I wuz bawn ter de Brasswoods of Boyle County, in de Blue Grass. They wuz mighty high people, de Brasswoods ; houses, an’ money, an lan’, an’ niggers, an’ hawses, an’ cattle. I b’longed ter Mars Tom Brasswood, an’ he wuz de las’ in his branch of de fam’ly. Mars Tom wuz held mighty high in Boyle County; he wuz mighty tall an’ mighty good-lookin’, an’ carried hissef lak a race-hawse, an’ spent his money free, —all de Brasswoods done dat way, — ridin’ round de country night an’ day. N’Yorleens in de winter, an’ de Springs in de summer; an’ when de wuz home, dinner-parties, an’ dance-parties, an’ suppers, an’ cyard-playin’, an’ drinkin’ wine, an’ hawse-racin’. Mars Tom, he married Miss Connie Wedimore, wuz ole Colonel Wedimore’s onlies’ chile, an’ he wuz done dade. At fust Miss Connie, she kep’ up wid Mars Tom, company an’ pleasurin’ all de time. But she had bad luck wid her chillen. De Lawd sont her three on ’em, but de jes’ pined away an’ died, one atter de yother ; an’ den Miss Connie, she tuk rulligeon same ez a disease, so de said. She got sorter onsettled in her mind, an’ she would n’ nuver go 'bout, nor see comp’ny no mo’ ; but bein’ she nuver done nothin’ outen de way, she warn’t nuver shut up, but jes’ staid home. On’y sometimes she would be tuk wid spells when she would n’ eat, an’ she would n’ speak, an’ she would n’ notice ; an’ den Miss Patty Larkin usened ter be sont fur ter come down from her place on de river, ’bout fo’ miles off, an’ stay wid Miss Connie night an’ day. She wuz de onlies’ somebody could persuade Miss Connie, dem times.

“ Miss Patty wuz cousin ter Mars Tom, an’ she had n’ no nigher kin. She usened ter say she putty much raised Mars Tom. She warn’ nuver married, an’ she warn’ nothin’ lak ez rich ez de Brasswoods, — nobody warn’ rich ez de Brasswoods, — but Miss Patty owned a place of ’bout a hund’ed acres, an’ niggers ’nuff ter keep hit goin’. Folks said she wuz stingy. She did n’ go pleasurin’, but she always come when Mars Tom sont for her, an’ she did n’ nuver come but she let Mars Tom hear her mind putty strong. She was sho’ ter tell him how he wuz gwan ruin hissef wid his hawse-racin’, an’ his cyard-playin’, an’ flingin’ his money round loose, lak so much sand. An’ Mars Tom, he tuk hit all mighty good-natured ; he jes’ laugh, an’ say, ' Rekin so, Patty? Ain’ you gwan skwimp an’ save 'nuff ter pay my fun’ral ’spenses ? ’ An’ Miss Patty, she say, sharp an’ short, ' No, I ain’, you fool! ’

“ But fur all she mought say, Mars Tom nuver lef’ off his pleasurin’. He give dinners, an’ he went ter dinners; he give suppers, an’ he went ter suppers ; an’ they wuz cyard-playin’, an’ hawse-racin’, an’ flyin’ round de country same as ever; on’y Miss Connie nuver tuk part in nothin’ no mo’.

“ Well, come one time, Miss Connie wuz tuk mighty bad : she would n’ eat, an’ she would n’ speak, an’ she would n’ go ter bed when night come, an’ de sont fur Miss Patty in a hurry.

“Mars Tom, he had been away from home a many days, but he come back when Miss Patty come. I ’members jes’ ez well! Hit wuz June, an’ all de lan’ wuz flourishin’. But Mars Tom wuz mighty troubled. He kep’ his hat pulled down over his eyes, an’ savin’ nothin’ ter nobody. He’d always been mighty good ter Miss Connie, buyin’ her ev’ythin’ he could think ter please her ; an’ sometimes she wuz pleased, an’ agin she would n’ tek no notice; but one thing Mars Tom could n’ do ter pleasure nobody, — he could n’ tie hissef down ter please nobody.

“ Well, dis time, agin, Miss Patty let loose on him wid her tongue, an’ he say, ‘ For Gawd-sake, Patty, lemme lone ! ’ Hit wuz de fust time he ain’ answered her gay an’ easy; an’ Miss Patty ain’ say no mo’.

“ 'Bout sundown Mars Tom went inter Miss Connie’s room. She wuz settin’ By de winder, lookin’ at de sky, lak she warn’ seein’ nothin’, — I wuz house-gal, how come I knowed what happened. Miss Patty, she went ter de yother end of de room, an’ Mars Tom, he stooped down an’ kissed Miss Connie : but she wuz same ’s ef she war stone; she ain’ tuk no notice. Den Mars Tom went ter Miss Patty, an’ he say, ' Do you think she is wuss then common ? ’ An’ Miss Patty answers, ‘ Yes; she is wusser an’ wusser, ev’y time she has dese spells.’ Mars Tom give a kinder groan, an’ he say, ' Fur Gawd-sake, cousin Patty, doan let her outlive you, fur she ain’ got no better frien’, an’ no nigher.’ Miss Patty says, ' We 'll have ter tek her ter some great doctor, Tom; 't ain’no use talkin’,— we got hit ter do.’ Says Mars Tom, ' Will you go wid her, Patty ? ’ ' Sho’ly I will, Tom,’ says Miss Patty; ‘an’ you gotter go, too.’

“ But Mars Tom, he jes’ went back ter de winder whey wuz Miss Connie, an’ he put his arm roun’ her, an’ he say, — I heard him, cawse I wuz outside breshin’ off de piazza, — he say, ' Won’ you kiss me good-by, Connie ? I ’m goin’ a long journey.’

“ Now Miss Connie had n’ spoke one word nur noticed one thing fur mo’n three days, but she jes’ lifted up her arms an put ’em roun’ Mars Tom’s neck, an’ she say, plain ez you please, ' Is you goin’ ter de Devil, Tom ? '

“ ‘ Mebbe I am,’ says Mars Tom; an’ I wuz dat ’stonished an’ sheered, I drapped my broom, an’ runned often dat piazza, an’ sot down behin’ de dairy, an’ flung my ap’un over my hade, an’ prayed ter Gawd.

“ Bombye I heard somebody come ridin’ up, an’ I tuk down my ap’un, an’ dere wuz a man none on us had n’ nuver see befo’, an’ I did n’ lak his looks. We knowed de looks of gemmens, an’ fur all dis man hilt hissef big an’ strutted roun’, he warn’t no gemman.

“ He staid ter supper, how’ver; an’ after supper he an’ Mars Tom wuz shot up in de business-room ; an’ sometimes we could hear 'em lak they wuz cussin’, but we could n’ mek out nothin’ what de said.

“When de moon was riz, de stranger rode away, an’ Mars Tom called Rius, whey wuz married ter me, ter shave him; an’ he say ter tell Boone, de stable-boy, ter have Snapdragon at de do’ by the fust streak o’ day in de mawnin".

“ Snapdragon wuz Mars Tom’s most speshul hawse, an’ a beautiful animal, sho’ly ! He wuz black, wid a star in his forehead, an’ nobody had n’ nuver backed him ’ceptin" Mars Tom. He wuz foaled on de place, an’ Mars Tom tuk a mighty pride in dat hawse.

“ Well, honey, Rius ain’ slept none dat night, fur watchin’ de light in Mars Tom’s room, — I mean de business-room, whey he sot de merest part of dat night. I had done tole Rius how I heard Mars Tom say he wuz gwan a long journey, an’ Rius, he ’lowed he wuz ter foller wid de baggage, ’cordin’ ter d’rections from Miss Fatty ; fur you see, honey, Rius mostly waited on Mars Tom, only he had n’ been with Mars Tom of late, so ’s he had n’ kep’ up wid his doin’s, an’ he did n’ know nothin’ bout dat stranger.

“ Well, dat light kep’ a-shinin’ tell long atter midnight, an’ Rius, he ’lowed Mars Tom warn’ gwan git much res’ in preparation fur his long journey, else he wuz gwan oversleep hissef, an’ we did n’ know ef we orter wake him when de hawse wuz at de do’. But befo’ Snapdragon begin ter paw de dirt at de hitchin’-post, Mars Tom wuz ready ter mount. I nuver see him myse’f, but Rius, he wuz out in de big drive, wid a bucket o’ water from de spring, an’ he tell me Mars Tom ain’ nuver look so spurritted. He wuz dressed in his best, an’ when he come trottin’ down de drive in de yearly mornin’ light, he kinder rise in his stirrups, an’ he waved his hand at Rius, an’ say, gay, like he always wuz, ‘ Farewell, Rius ! I ’m goin’ a long journey; an’ may de Lawd have massy on de rest of you ! ’

“An’ Rius so used ter Mars Tom’s harum-scarum ways, he jes’ grin, an’ answer back, ‘ Good-by, Mars Tom ! Luck go wid you ! '

An’ he come on home wid his bucket o’ water. But time he got ter ow cabin do’ come a c-r-a-c-k! sharp, on de mawnin’ stillness ; an’ befo’ you could think 'bout hit, here come another c-r-a-c-k! an’ somebody gin a scream that fair made yo’ hair rise. Hit wuz po’ Miss Connie. Seem lak she knowed.

“ Rius. he fell down in de flo’, an’ sloshed de water all outen de bucket, an’ he say, ' Lawd! Lawd ! They’s Mars Tom’s long journey! They’s been a juel fout down ter de spring, sho ’s you bawn ! ’

“ Fust hit seemed lak I did n’ have no mo’ sense lef’, but prusently I say ter Rius, ' You pizen coward ! Why n’t you go foller 'long o’ Mars Tom ?' Den I opened de do’, an’ de yard wuz a-swarmin’ wid niggers, an’ Mr. Gibbons, de overseer, wuz there, an’ Miss Patty in her night-gown, wid her long black hair down her back, an’ de sun comin’ up over de hills to’ards Danville, an’ a bird a-singin’.

“ Nobody did n’ know what wuz de matter ontel Rius told 'em how Mars Tom wuz ridden down ter de spring an’ fout a juel. Miss Patty say she wuz gwan down ter de spring, stret, an’ she had her foot on de piazza step; but Mr. Gibbons, he say 't warn’ no place fur her, an’ better let him go fust. An’ he called Rius an’ Boone, an’ all three went a-runnin’.

“ I dunno what mek me do it, but I went ter de room whey Mars Tom been all night, an’ on de table I foun’ a letter, an’ I carried hit ter Miss Patty. When Miss Patty done read dat letter, she flung up her hands, and say, ' O my good Lawd above! It am’ no juel! Tom is killed hissef! May Gawd have mussy on you po’ people ! ’

“ We did n’ none on us un’erstan’ what dat meant, but bombye we had it ter un’erstan’.

“ Well, honey, I nuver went down ter de spring, but them whey did told me this wuz what they seed. There wuz Snapdragon stretched out dade, wid a bullet in his brain, — de finest hawse, sbo’ly, that ever kicked up his heels in de Blue Grass ; but Mars Tom had always swo’ nobody warn’ nuver gwan ride Snapdragon ’ceptin’ hissef. An’ there wuz Mars Tom across Snapdragon, dade too, only he wuz shot through his heart. I rekin he sot sto’ by his good looks, how come he did n’ aim at his hade.

“ Tempe, whey had always minded Miss Connie, had a time ter keep dat po’ ’stracted soul quiet. Tempe wuz pow’ful strong, but hit tuk all her stren’th ter hol’ Miss Connie in dat room. She kep’ a-callin’ Mars Tom, tell hit would a broke yo’ heart ter hear her.

“ Well, they hilt a inquess, an’ de people ’sembled from fur an’ nigh, an’ they ’greed dat Mars Tom killed hissef ; an’ they buried him on de hill beyand de orchard, whey de chillen wuz laid, an’ Snapdragon at his feet, as he had lef’ word in his letter ter Miss Patty.

“ Den come on de settlement of de ’state, an’ hit wuz found out dat Mars Tom, what wid hawse-racin’, an’ cyardplayin’, an’ pleasurin’ ginerally, had done run clean plum’ through wid ev’ythin’; an’ hawses, an’ cattle, an’ lan’, an’ niggers, an’ nothin’ warn’ his’n no mo’, not even ef he had a been alive. But fur all dat, he wuz a good marster, wuz Mars Tom. He usened ter say ter de overseer : ‘ Keep my niggers sleek an’ fat, Gibbons, same ez my cattle. Wuk ’em well, an’ feed ’em high, an’ give ’em a frolic when de crap ’s laid by.’

“ But them times wuz all gone now, an’ ev’ythin’ Mars Tom had, niggers an’ all, wuz divided up ’mongst de creditors. I dunno what’s become of ’em all; some here an’ some there, an’ many dade, I rekin, an’ me all ter mysef, a-huntm’ Jim.”

“ Well ! ” said Mary Frances, drawing a long breath that testified to her deep interest, “and how did you happen to be here, ' a-huntin’ Jim,’ as you say ? And who is Jim ? ”

“ Jim ’s my oldes’ bawn, Jim is. You see, honey, dat same man whey wuz wid Mars Tom dat las’ night, —his name wuz Walsin’ham, — an’ me, an’ Rius, an’ seben of de yothers fell ter his lot. I made sho’ dat my one chile Jim wuz gwan long wid us. Jim wuz nigh on ter two years ole dat time, an’ de peartest little chap, sho’ly, ’ceptin’ he wuz sickly an’ bow-legged ; an’ I wuz dat ’stonished when I foun’ Jim warn’ counted in de lot with me an’ Rius I could un’erstan’ hit, so I went ter ’quire ‘bout hit ter Mr. Walsin’ham. I had n’ nuver been skeered ter lay no complain’ befo’ Mars Tom, but dat man, he jes’ ’stonished me mo an’ mo . He cussed me, an’ said he nuver had no money ter resk on little sickly, bowlegged brats, an’ he would n’ have Jim ez a gracious gif’, ter be layin’ out ’spenses in doctor’s bills an’ physic.

“ Den I went ter Miss Patty. She wuz mighty troubled, Miss Patty wuz ; an’ ef you b’lieve me, honey, her hair, in dem few days, wuz jes’ a gallopin’ gray ; an’ dat same day Mars Tom shot hissef there warn’ a white stran in hit, yet she was pas’ her prime.

“ Well, Miss Patty, she done her bes’, but dat man wuz sot. He swo’ he wuz cheated, any way, an’ he would n’ put no money in Jim. He wuz gwan tek stret ter South Callina, an’ he said Jim wuz boun’ ter die soon ez we git there, ef he did n’ die ’long de way. I wuz dat ’stonished 'peared lak I did n’ know what ter think. Den Miss Patty, she say, ‘Doan you fret, Hanner Calline. I been a-studyin’, an’ I gwan buy Jim. I wish I had de money ter buy de whole on you, but I ain’ ; an’ ef I had hit, dat man would n’ lemme have you ’an Rius. But nobody doan want Jim, so I ’m gwan buy him.’ Den hit seem lak Miss Patty kinder come ter hersef, lak she wuz befo’ all de trouble, an she say, ' I’m gwan look out ter marry a doctor puppose ter git Jim’s legs straightened.’ Hit did seem so funny fur Miss Patty, at her time o’ day, ter be gittin’ married I had ter laugh; an’ she kep hit up, sayin’, ' Ef my husban’ de doctor doan straighten Jim’s legs, I gwan git a divorce, an have Jim larnt ter be a fiddler, so ’s ter hire him out ter dance-parties. An’ I gwan be jes’ ez good ter Jim ez I know how.’ An’ de las’ time I see Jim, he wuz a-settin’ on de flo’, ’longside o’ Miss Fatty’s rockin’-cheer, eatin’ a ginger-cake, an’ not keerin’ no mo’ ’bout me goin’ away ’n ef I had n’ been his mammy. An’ sence dat day I ain’ pestered mysef no mo’ ’bout Jim ’n ef he’d a been done dade an’ gawn ter glory, — cawse he’d a died, sho’ly, ef I’d a brung him wid me, — ontel come freedom, bless Gawd! Hit seem lak I ain’ thought nothin’ but Jim,—jes’ Jim, Jim, day an’ night.”

“ But how do you know that he is alive ? ” objected Mary Frances.

“ Honey,” said Hannah Calline solemnly, “does you rekin Gawd A’mighty spared me ontel freedom jes’ ter fin’ out Jim’s dade ? ”

“No,” Mary Frances replied, in an awed tone, — " no, I suppose not.”

“ Well, honey,” Hannah Calline resumed, with a placid smile, " dat wuz de time Miss Patty gimme dat brown satting dress, jes’ befo’ I come away. Hit wuz bran’ new, an’ hit had her name on de linin’ in ‘dullible ink, — ' Patty Larkin. Her dress.' Miss Patty wuz mighty preticklar ’bout markin all her ’sessions, an’ though I could n’ read nur write, I knowed de look o’ dat mark. Miss Patty, she said ter me, “ I’m gwan give you dis dress, Hanner Calline, ter remumber me wherever you go, an’ ter show thet you b’longed ter fust-class owners.’ I sot a sto’ by dat brown satting, sho’ly. " Hannah Calline sighed, and paused.

“ But how did you happen to be one of the Newsome negroes ? ” Mary Frances asked.

“ Well, honey, you see dat man tuk us down ter South Callina, close by whey yo’ grandpaw Newsome was livin’. Hit wuz a mighty suddent change from Kaintuck, an’ de lan’ did n’ ’gree wid us. We all tuk de fever, an’ Rius, he died, ’long wid two or three of de yothers ; an’ dat man, he say he done los’ too much a’ready by Kaintuck niggers, an’ he gwan sell all de res’. An’ when I heard dis I mek out ter git speech wid yo’ grandpaw, — ole marster, — an’ I asked him ter buy me ; so he bought me, an’ I bin tendin’ de dairy ever sence.

“ Ole marster bruk up from there prusently, an’ come ter Alybama, ter Monroe County; an’ I had one-eyed Flanders fur my husban’, an’ I wuz, jes’ ez satisfied ez I bin in Kaintuck. I had fo’ chillen, an’ they is all livin’; but Flanders, he wuz killed by de drappin’ of a sill when de new gin house wuz raised; an’ dat time Miss Rene’s maw gimme that blombazine bawnit fur mo’nin’.

“ When de war wuz done, yo’ aunt Rene asked me, ‘ Hanner Calline, sho’ly you ain’ gwan quit dat dairy ? ’ An’ I say, ' No, Miss Rene, I doan know ez I is.’ But all de time I wuz studyin’ bout Jim, tell I got so onres’less ’peared lak I wuz ’bleedged ter mek a start; an’ here I come ter Mobile ter insult Mars Dan’l; but somehow I ain’ said nothin’ ter him yit.”

“ I ’ll make popper find him for you ! ” declared the autocratic daughter of Daniel Newsome, bringing her small fist down upon her knee.

“ The Lawd reward you, honey! ” said Hannah Calline, with misty eyes.

But when Mary Frances appealed to her father, he answered impatiently, “As well look for a needle in a haystack ! ”

Mary Frances, however, was not to be discouraged. She proclaimed herself ready to prosecute the search, if only her “ popper ” would show her how.

“Very well,” said Mr. Newsome; “since your heart is set upon it, write to the postmaster at Danville, Kentucky, and ask for information as to Miss Patty Larkin’s whereabouts. But I must warn you, my little daughter, that it is a questionable benefit you seek to confer on Hannah Calline ; for aught we know, this Jim may be a worthless scamp, and she may be better off without him,”

But Mary Frances could not believe this; neither could Hannah Calline. “Mars Dan’l,”she remonstrated, “s’posen hit wuz you, an’ yo’ fust-bawn ? ” And Mr. Newsome said no more.

III.

Before an answer came to Mary Frances’s letter, Mr. Newsome had found a carriage - driver, or rather a carriage - driver had found Mr. Newsome. This was a good-looking negro, presumably about thirty years old, — a little dandified, perhaps, but well mannered,— who presented himself late one afternoon at the back door.

“What did you say is your name?” Mr. Newsome asked. Though the name had been given, he could not recall it.

At that moment Hannah Calline came out on the gallery that extended along the wing containing the kitchen and servants’ rooms, and sat down on the steps leading into the yard. Now Hannah Calline regarded the post of carriage-driver in Mars Dan’l’s family as the reserved right of her yet undiscovered Jim, and the scowl she bent upon this interloper had the effect of disconcerting him to such an extent that he hesitated before he replied.

“ My name is Jim, sir : Jim Brand is my name.”

Is that the name you gave me just now ? ” Mr, Newsome demanded sternly. He could have sworn that the man had given him a different name,—a name that began with a P, or possibly a B, but certainly a name of more than one syllable.

“Jim Brand’s my name, sir,” repeated the negro firmly. “ If I named aire 'nother, must of been the name of some one that named you to me. There was several as recommended you to me, sir.”

Mr. Newsome accepted this explanation,— not without reservation, however, — and Jim Brand, to Hannah Calline’s infinite vexation, was engaged to drive the Newsome carriage. He was required to occupy a room over the carriage-house, which was in a yard back of the kitchen yard, and he moved in the next day, with a “ chist ” and a trunk covered by an old army-blanket. The horses were brought back from the livery stable, and Mrs. Newsome resumed her drives on the Bay Shell Road.

It was soon found that Jim Brand was a treasure: not only was he a firstrate coachman, but he proved to be also an expert in dainty desserts, and he understood marketing to perfection ; moreover, he never objected to any job as being " out of his line;” and when, one day, — the washer-woman having proved a delusion and a snare, — this all-accomplished carriage-driver took little Mary Frances’s white lawn and fluted the multitudinous ruffles in time for the afternoon drive, Mrs. Newsome declared that she would buy Jim Brand, if she could.

Mr. Newsome shook his head. " I’m afraid there is another side to him,” he said.

Hannah Calline held the same opinion, and expressed her sentiments freely to Mary Frances. “ I been a-talkin’ wid dis Jim,” she said scornfully, " an’ he tell me his white folks come from Tennessee, an’ his marster wuz a gin’ral or somethin’ in the army; but, honey, dis I know, — all de quality white folks ever I see come from Kaintuck or else from South Callina. An s’posen we gits news of my Jim termorrer,” — Hannah Calline had a sublime faith in to-morrow’s possibilities regarding her Jim, — “ which one on 'em gwan drive Mars Dan 'l’s kerridge? Dat ’s de question is a-pesterin’ me.

This question was “pesterin’ ” Mary Frances likewise. She shared her mother’s prepossessions in favor of Jim Brand, but she felt that it was a point of family honor to put Hannah Calline’s Jim in charge of the Newsome stable.

However, Hannah Calline’s Jim was not found yet, and the letter that came at last from the postmaster at Danville, Kentucky, threw no light upon the search. Miss. Patty Larkin, he wrote, had married a Dr. Penniman, and removed with him to Tennessee some time before the war, and it was not known in Danville what had become of her.

Yet Hannah Calline was cheered by this letter; it brought her nearer to Miss Patty than she had been any time since she left " ole Kaintuck.” " Well, sho’ly ! ” she exclaimed. “ Miss Patty said she gwan marry a doctor ter straighten Jim’s legs, an’ I ’speet they mus’ be straight by now. They wuz some Pennimans in ow neighborhood, an’ one on ’em wuz a doctor, ‘ceptin’ he had a wife. I ’spect she must a died. “Well ! Miss Patty got married ef she warn’ so young! I rekin we gwan hear agin shortly, honey. Dat man whey wrote dat letter gwan mek ’quiries, no doubt.”

But Mary Frances knew better. She placed her reliance on her father. ” Can’t you find out where there are any Pennimans, popper? ” she coaxed.

“ Oh, let Hannah Calline go back to Monroe County, and rest content with Basheby and the others. I tell you it is hunting a needle in a haystack,” said Mr. Newsome.

But Mary Frances was importunate, and her father had to promise to ransack the State of Tennessee for the name of Penniman ; but that name had so familiar a sound in his ears that he determined to begin his inquiries nearer home. He was, however, on the eve of an important visit to Montgomery, and he found it convenient to defer investigation until his return. Meantime, during his absence, Mary Frances made a discovery.

It hail been decided by that young lady that some geraniums she owned would be the better for transferring to larger pots, and Jim Brand was called on to perform the job. It was not the season for re-potting, as Jim Brand well knew, but what Miss Mary Frances commanded must be done.

“ Cur’us,” remarked Jim Brand, deftly balancing a flower-pot on his left hand, " how one thing puts you in mind o’ another. These here geraniums makes me think of whey I used ter live, an’ that always ’minds me of —ghoses.”

“Ghosts?" repeated Mary Frances, from her seat under the mimosa-tree. “ There are no such things.”

“Dunno 'bout that,” Jim answered. “ Some folks have seen ’em. They wuz a gentleman lived close by whey we usened ter live. He had heaps of money, an’ a big property in land an’ niggers ; but he wuz a pleasere-seekin’ gentleman, an’ he come ter the end of his means suddently. So he come home, one night, an’ soon, nex’ mawnin’, he had out his saddle-hawse, whey nobody had n’ nuver rode but hissef, an’ he galloped down ter the spring befo’ sun-up, an’ out with his pistol an’ fired two shots ; an’ one went through his hawse’s head, an t’other went through that, man’s heart; an’ his wife, when she heard them shots, went ravin’ ’stracted. So now folks say nobody can’t farm that land, 'long o’ that man’s careerin’ round on that hawse ; an’ every month o’ June, come that day, you kin hear them two pistol-shots an’ that scream of his crazy wife— What’s the matter, Miss Mary Frances? ”

For Mary Frances had risen up in great excitement. “ That was in Kentucky,” she said, “and you — you are Hannah Calline & Jim ! ”

“ You rekin so ? ” queried Jim. “ I been studyin’ on that same ever sence I been here, cawse ' Hannah Calline ’ ain’t no new name ter me ; but I ain’t had the heart ter say nothin’, seein’ she was so sot beginst me, she don’t hardly take good-mawnin’ from me.”

“ She ’ll get over all that, when she knows,” Mary Frances declared.

“ She was sold from the Brasswood estate long befo’ the wah,” Jim explained. “ I know all about it.”

“That’s so,”said Mary Frances; “and your name was n’t always Jim Brand ? — tell me truly.”

“ I ain’t always been called Jim Brand,” Jim admitted ; “ but it ’s the name I been goin’ by sence I went with Colonel Brand, what married Dr. Penniman’s daughter.”

“I know!” Mary Frances nodded. “ Dr. Penniman that married Miss Patty Larkin ” —

“ Yes’m,” Jim answered, glancing uneasily over his shoulder. “ She married Dr. Penniman. She was a — a pow’ful manager, Miss Patty was, an’ she an’ Dr. Penniman did n’t ’gree so mighty well together. They ’sputod considerable ’bout Miss Patty’s property.”

“ Well, that’s no matter now, so you’re Hannah Calline’s Jim,” said Mary Frances, with serene indifference. “ I’m going to tell mommer, first; you just wait, and then we 'll see ! ”

The child flew into the house, breathless with the wonderful tidings, while Jim Brand leaned against the mimosatree, and grinned over the good luck that had befallen him. To have such an industrious, able-bodied old woman for a mother was indeed a matter for selfgratulation.

Mary Frances told hurriedly the two stories, that fitted into each other like the parts of a dissecting map, and now she clamored for permission to make her discovery known to Hannah Calline.

“ But, my dear,” Mrs. Newsome objected, “you’d better wait until your father comes home, and let him examine the evidence.”

“ He won’t be home until day after to-morrow,” Mary Frances reminded her ; " and poor Hannah Calline has been waiting so long. And besides, it’s certainly true.”

So Mary Frances was allowed to break the joyful tidings to Hannah Calline, who, between long-preparedness for meeting her son and utter astonishment at finding him in the obnoxious Jim Brand, was subdued to an almost matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation.

“Honey, honey,” she said, “sho’ly hit must be so ! An’ jes’ ter think how I has de-spised dat Jim Brand in my sight! But I always ’lowed, sence freedom, dat I was gwan come up wid Jim some day. I 'm all of a trimble, till I can’t stan’. Tell him ter come, chile ! ”

Away went Mary Frances, and called Jim, who bore himself with a very filial grace in this most moving scene.

Hannah Calline, remembering her persistent prejudice against Jim Brand, was overcome with shame and remorse. “ I ax yo’ pardin, son, I humbly ax yo’ pardin an’ furgiveness,” said she, with pathetic iteration, “ dat I nuver tuk ter you from de fust. Hit must a been Satan possessed me, sho’ly.” And then, between laughter and tears, she babbled about Kentucky and Miss Patty Larkin. “ An’ you doan tell me, Jim, Mars Tom Brasswood — Gawd res’ him ! — is a-ridin’ that hawse yit? I mean his sperit ? Lawd ! Ain’ I glad I lef’ there ! An’ Miss Patty, she kep’ her word : she said she gwan marry a doctor ter git yo’ legs straightened; an’ de is, Jim ! ” she interjected, admiringly. “ But who’d a b’lieved Miss Patty gwan marry at her time o’ day ? An whey she now, an’ po’ Miss Connie ? ”

“ Lawd knows ! ” replied Jim. “ I ain’t been 'mongst ’em this long time back. Miss Patty an’ the doctor was constant swapping back’uds an’ for’uds of their property, an’ I was made over ter Colonel Brand, what married Dr. Penniman’s oldes’ daughter.”

“ Well, I 'm plum’ ’stracted fur joy ! ” Hannah Calline declared, wiping her eyes and smiling, “ I ain’ nuver gwan quit thankin’ Gawd. An’ I humbly ax yo’ pardin an’ furgiveness, Jim, thet I wuz so plum’ sot beginst you ; but I gwan mek hit up ter you, I is dat! ”

Mr. Newsome, when he returned, was disposed to reproach Mrs. Newsome for allowing Hannah Calline to be so precipitate ; but, upon investigation, there appeared no ground for doubt that Jim Brand was Hannah Calline’s son.

And now began Jim’s deterioration. With a doting mother ready to wait upon him at every turn, he quickly fell into the habit of shirking all the work that it was possible for Hannah Calline to do in his stead. She had no lack of warning that she was spoiling Jim, but she could see no fault in this long-lost, newfound son. When Mrs. Newsome remonstrated with her for doing Jim’s work, she would answer, —

“ ’Pears lak I could n’ do enough fur de way I did de-spise him in my sight, Miss Louisa.”

“ But Jim is young, and you are growing old ; he should be studying your comfort, instead of your studying his,” Miss Louisa insisted.

“ I ain’ so ole,” said Hannah Calline resentfully ; “ but I ’se a heap mo’ seasoned then Jim; he warn’ nuver that strong, nohow. An I ain’ skeered but what Jim gwan study my comfort. He ’s mighty smart, Jim is ; he un’erstan’s business, an’ he gwan put my wages money out ter intrus’.”

“ You old fool! ” said Mr. Newsome. ” You surely don’t mean to turn your wages over to Jim ? ”

“ Now, Mars Dan’l? Jim’s my son.”

“ More’s the pity ! ” muttered Mars Dan’l.

For Mr. Newsome had always distrusted Jim, and even Mrs. Newsome was beginning to lose faith in him. But competent coachmen were hard to find, and Mrs. Newsome, though willing to remain in town until August, was not willing to forego her daily drive ; and Jim, whatever else he neglected, did not neglect the carriage and horses that exhibited his coachmanship so conspicuously, every afternoon, on the Bay Shell Road.

In those days, there were not so many carriages frequenting that popular drive as there were before the war, but the primitive benches on the beach at Frascati, and. even the old logs stranded there were crowded, every afternoon, with the denizens of the city, who had gasped all day with the heat ; and Jim Brand liked nothing better than driving the Newsome carriage and horses past this crowd that came down to the beach in the street-cars. He felt that his lofty perch became him well, and he luxuriated in the sense of superiority it gave him.

Among the equipages that occasionally appeared on the drive, in those days, was a shabby, creaking little one-horse open carriage, of an ancient date, drawn by a raw-boned, spiritless sorrel nag, and driven by a poorly clad negro, young, but of a sober visage. The only occupant of the carriage was a small, white-haired, pale-faced old woman, in rusty black, with the lofty air of a princess. Superbly unconscious of her sorry outfit, she sat with her ungloved hands folded in her lap, and looked neither to the right nor to the left. Apparently she saw no one ; but every one saw her, and many and various were the conjectures regarding her. It was rumored that she was very poor, that she was enormously wealthy, that she was insane, that she was a miser, that she was fabulously old, that she was much younger than she looked, and so on. No one knew whence she came, but it had been ascertained that her name was Mrs. Lassiter.

On a certain Friday afternoon, the Newsomes were taking their drive somewhat later than usual. They had just passed the toll-gate, when the shabby little open carriage, drawn by the starveling sorrel horse, was descried approaching from the opposite direction. The sober-faced driver looked back and said something to the small old whitehaired woman, taking her solitary airing. She leaned forward with an intent gaze, and as the Newsome carriage passed she stood up, shaking her fist, and shrieking shrilly, —

“ You rascal! You rascal! ”

Mr. Newsome’s spirited horses gave a plunge, and apparently Jim Brand had much ado to control them ; they had gone half a mile before their speed slackened. Then Jim turned, and said to Mr. Newsome, —

“ That pusson orter be arrested, sir. See how she scared my hawses.”

Mr. Newsome had his doubts as to who was responsible for the horses’ performance. “ Which one of us is the rascal, Jim? ” he asked good-naturedly, and Jim grinned.

“ 'Spect hit’s yosef, Mr. Newsome ; folks do say she have a powerful spite at lawyers. By good rights, ’pears ter me, she b’longs in the ’sylum ; she’s commonly jedged ter be crazy.”

Soon after this, Mr. Newsome was seized with an attack of fever that lasted two weeks. It was during this illness that Mary Frances’s diamond ring, which had been given her on her last birthday, disappeared. She had a childish habit of taking it off to play with it, and she had laid it down in a safe place, as she thought; but when she looked for it, the ring was gone. Mary Frances was heart-broken, and Hannah Calline wearied herself in a fruitless search.

Mr. Newsome was not told of the loss until his recovery. He did not reprove Mary Frances for her carelessness, —he could never find it in his heart to reprove Mary Frances, — but he said at once that Jim Brand must be the thief.

Hannah Calline was loud and indignant in denial, but Jim met the accusation with composure.

“ What proof can you bring thet I took hit?” he said. “Mo’n likely a rat whisked it off.”

“ Not at all likely! ” returned Mr. Newsome hotly. “I’ve no proof, but I believe you stole that ring, just as I believe you stole several other small articles of value I’ve missed since you came here : a diamond button, a seal, a watch-chain, a silver match-safe.”

At this Jim waxed insolent. “ Mr. Newsome, sir,” said he, with an immense swagger, “ ef I was minded ter steal, I’d suttinly steal somethin’ wuth havin’.” Whereupon Mr. Newsome dismissed him.

Hannah Calline was in great distress, but she had taken on a faint reflection of Jim’s swagger. Mars Dan’l and Miss Louisa became at once Mr. and Mrs. Newsome ; little Mary Frances she ignored, through sheer heart-break at the turn affairs had taken.

“ Ef Jim gotter go, I gotter go too, Mrs. Newsome,” she declared, when it was explained to her that she might stay.

“ Very well,” said Mr. Newsome; “ but remember that if you get into trouble, or need help, you can come back to us.”

“ I ain’ lakly ter git in no trouble ’long with Jim, bless Gawd ! ” returned Hannah Calline. “Jim’s my son, fust an’ last, Mr. Newsome, an’ I follers Jim.”

She followed Jim, and the Newsomes lost sight of her for some months.

Elizabeth W. Bellamy.