14. CHAPTER XIV.
WHICH VERIFIES THE PROVERB THAT LISTENERS NEVER
HEAR ANY GOOD OF THEMSELVES.
On the morning following the scenes just narrated, St.
John leaped out of bed at sunrise, and leaving Tom Alston
still asleep, dressed quickly, and went down stairs;
thence he issued forth upon the lawn, and bent his steps
toward the “quarters.”
Here, in all the dignified state of a log cabin of the largest
size, his nurse, “Mammy Liza,” resided.
Let it not be a matter of surprise that the lieutenant of
his Excellency's guards rose thus early to go and see his
nurse. In the South, and more especially in Virginia, that
element of society denominated “Mammy,” is of no slight
importance and dignity.
This lady is of high aristocratic dignity. She is of the
Order of the “Bath”—in reference to the young ladies of
the manor house, both of the “Bath” and the “Garter.”
Honi soit qui mal y pense!
For her young master, the old African countess preserves
an unfailing attachment and a jealous care. All his goings
on are criticised with a watchful supervision. Does he perform
a generous and noble action? the countess is there to
say it is just like her boy. Does he sit up late with reveling
blades, and make darkness hideous with tipsy uproar?
the countess eloquently extends her arm, assumes a look of
outraged virtue, and rates the delinquent soundly—using
for the purpose all her vast resources in the art of scolding;
and ending with an ominous shake of the head, an unfavorable
comparison of the scapegrace with his honored sire,
Old Master, and a prophecy that if he do n't reform, he'll
come to want, and them overseers will be masters at the hall.
Does the crushed malefactor urge in gentle tones that he
was merely entertaining his friends, and playing a hand at
cards, for amusement only? the countess is unconvinced,
and requests, with dignity, that she may not be told any
thing of that sort; she never thought that any son of Mistress
would turn out a sorrow to her; and with renewed
ominous shakings of the head, she sends away the penitent
criminal, overwhelmed with remorse, and making good resolutions.
Beautiful and touching is the love of these old
women for the children they have nursed; and they cherish
and love, and scold and forgive them, with the earnestness
of real maternity.
Mammy Liza is an old woman with her head enveloped
in a white handkerchief, and she spins at the door of her
comfortable cabin, from the summit of whose stone chimney
built up outside, a wreath of smoke rises, and glows like a
stream of gold in the sunrise.
St. John hastens on, smiling, and his shadow falling before
her, makes Mammy Liza lift her old face. She utters an
exclamation of great joy, and in a moment they are sitting
side by side on the old bench, talking of a thousand things
—this talk being chiefly on the part of the old woman, who,
with the garrulity of age, embraces the past, the present,
and the future, in her monologue.
For half an hour they thus sit side by side, and then Mr.
St. John rises with the bright smile which makes his countenance
at times singularly attractive. He has renewed
with the old woman all those recollections of his youth and
childhood, rapidly disappearing amid the dust of the arena,
and the kind old voice has sounded to him like the softest
music, the very echo of happiness.
As he looks forth thus into the fields, he thinks he sees
Bonnybel approaching, and soon this is confirmed. He suddenly
passes behind the door, and cautioning the old woman,
waits to give the young lady a surprise.
She comes on with an active and springy step, clad in a
brown gown, thick, serviceable shoes, and a broad-rimmed
chip hat; presenting thus a strong contrast to the Miss
Bonnybel of the minuet. But her cheeks are even more
rosy, her eyes brighter, her laughing lips resemble real carnations.
She is followed by a small negro maiden, carrying a
basket and pitcher—the duty of this maiden at Vanely being
to watch Miss Bonnybel's countenance, and run at her nod.
Bonnybel's voice salutes Mammy Liza, and asks how she
is, to which the old woman returns the reply that she is
“poorly, thank God; how is Miss Bel?”
“I'm as gay as a lark,” returns the young lady, summoning
her body-guard, “and I've been to see Aunt Jane and
all the sick. Aunt Seraphina tried to take it away from me,
but I fought her and made her give up,” added Miss Bonnybel,
with great cheerfulness.
St. John, behind the door, laughs silently. The young
lady continues, running on carelessly:
“Here's some breakfast, Mammy. I suppose you know
the news. Your great General Harry's come back! and
now I suppose you think I'm going to praise him! but
you're mistaken! He is terribly ugly! and the most disagreeable
person I ever knew! Lazy, too! just think of
his lying in bed, with poor little me out here! It was chilly
enough when I got out of my warm bed. But I am going
to get up every morning, just to shame those lazy boys.
Ha! ha! now you are getting angry, Mammy! You want
me to praise that stiff, awkward, lazy, odious, good-for-nothing
Harry of yours, but I won't! Do you believe that he
had the audacity to kiss me! Humph! he thinks I'm a
child still, does he? I'll make him know that I'm a young
lady! I'm seventeen! and I intend to make every one of the
boys run when I tell them! some of 'em are glad enough to!”
The young lady paused to catch her breath; but seeing
what she considered an expression of pain upon Mammy
Liza's face, immediately recommenced:
“Have I hurt your feelings, Mammy, with my talk about
your boy? O! I was only jesting! and I'll say any thing
you wish! To think me in earnest! He's the dearest,
sweetest, handsomest fellow in the world! I would n't
have had him to miss kissing me for any thing! He's so
erect, and proud, and noble! and has such an excellent
heart! and dances so well! and rides so well! and—”
“Fishes young ladies from the water so well!” says St.
John, coming from his hiding place, with a laugh.
Bonnybel retreats a step, almost screaming. She reconsiders
this, however, and bursts out laughing.
“Ain't you ashamed, sir?” she then says, passing quickly
to a pout, “to lie in wait, and listen to me so! But there's
one comfort, you heard my abuse of you; listeners never
hear any good of themselves.”
“I did,” said St. John.
“You heard some bad too, then!”
“Well, I'll mix the good and bad together, and perhaps
I shall arrive at your real opinion of your poor cousin.”
“Now you are commencing your mock humility. I detest
you!”
And Bonnybel draws away abruptly the small soft hand
which, by some accident, has remained in that of her companion
since he took possession of it. There is, however,
very little detestation in the tone of the words, or the
glance which accompanies them.
When they take leave of Mammy Liza, and return toward
the mansion over the beautiful dewy lawn, beneath the great
oaks, bathed in the red sunlight, an excellent understanding
seems to have been arrived at, and Bonnybel is plying the
dangerous artillery of her eyes with fatal effect upon her
companion.
Mr. Harry St. John is falling in love as rapidly as it is
possible to go through that ceremony.
