University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
MATTERS IN KENTUCKY.

Backward now with our reader we turn, and take up
the broken thread of our story at the point where we left
Adah Hastings, sleeping, in that best chamber at Spring
Bank; while around the timeworn building the winter wind
howled dismally, and drove the sleet in gusts against the
windows. There were piles of snow next morning upon
the steps, huge rifts against the doors, and banks against
the fences, while the bent-up negroes shivered and drew
back from the cutting blast, so foreign to their temperaments.

It was a bitter morning in which to face the fierce north
wind, and plow one's way to the Derby cornfield, where
in a small, dilapidated building, Aunt Eunice Reynolds,
widowed sister of John Stanley, had lived for many years,
first as a pensioner upon her brothers bounty, and next as
Hugh's incumbent. At the time of her brother's death
Aunt Eunice had intended removing to Spring Bank, but
when Hugh's mother wrote, asking for a home, she abandoned
the plan, and for two seasons more lived alone,
watching from her lonely door the tasselled corn ripening
in the August sun. It was strange that a house should
have been built there in the center of that corn-field, with
woods enclosing it on every side save one, and stranger
still, that Aunt Eunice should care to stay there, year
after year, as she did. But she preferred it, she said “to
having a paltry, lazy nigger under foot,” and so her brother
suffered her to have her way, while the neighbors marvelled
at and admired the untiring energy and careful
neatness which made the cottage in the corn field so cozy-like

and cheerful. Hugh was Aunt Ennice's idol, the
object which kept her old heart warm and young with
human love. For him she would endure any want or encounter
any difficulty, and in his dilemma regarding Adah
Hastings, he intuitively turned to her, as the one who
would lend a helping hand. He had not been to see her
in two days, and when the grey December morning broke,
and he looked out upon the deep, untrodden snow, he
frowned impatiently, as he thought how bad the path
must be between Spring Bank and the corn-field, whither
he intended going, as he would be the first to tell what
had occurred. 'Lina's fierce opposition to, and his mother's
apparent shrinking from Adah, had convinced him how
hopeless was the idea that she could stay at Spring Bank
with any degree of comfort to herself or quiet to him.
Aunt Eunice's house was the only refuge for Adah, and
there she would be comparatively safe from censorious
remarks.

“Inasmuch as ye did it to the least of these ye did it
unto me,” kept ringing in Hugh's ears, as he hastily dressed
himself, striking his benumbed fingers together, and
trying hard to keep his teeth from chattering, for Hugh
was beginning his work of economy, and when at daylight
Claib came as usual to build his master's fire, he had
sent him back, saying he did not need one, and bidding
him go, instead, to Mrs. Hastings' chamber.

It took more than a shake or two that morning ere
Hugh's toilet was completed, for the stiff, heavy boots refused
at first to go on, but with a kick and a jerk, and
what would have been an oath if he had not thoght of
Golden Hair in time to prevent its utterance, Hugh prevailed
at last and the refractory boots came to their proper
place. Bounding down the stairs he hurried out to the
kitchen, where only a few of his negroes were stirring.

“Ho, Claib!” he called, “saddle Rocket quick and bring
him to the door. I'm going to the corn field.”

“Lor' bless you, mas'r, it's done snow higher than Rocket's
head. He'll never stand it nohow.”

“Do as I bid you,” was Hugh's reply, and indolent
Claib went shivering to the stable where Hugh's best
horses were kept.

A whinnying sound of welcome greeted him as he entered,
but was soon succeeded by a spirited snort as he attempted
to lead out a most beautiful dapple gray, Hugh's
favorite steed, his pet of pets, and the horse most admired
and coveted in all the country.

“None of yer ars,” Claib said coaxingly, as the animal
threw up his neck defiantly, “You've got to get along
'case Mas'r Hugh say so. You know Mas'r Hugh.”

As if he really knew and understood, the proud head
came down at once, and Rocket suffered himself to be led
from the stall, but when the keen north wind struck full
upon his face, the gleaming eyes flashed with stubborn
fire, and planting his feet firmly in the snow, Rocket resisted
all Claib's efforts to get him any further. Scolding
did no good, coax him he could not, strike him he dared
not, and alternately changing the halter from hand to hand
poor Claib blew his stiffened fingers and called lustily for
help.

“What is it?” Hugh asked, coming out upon the stoop,
and comprehending the trouble at a glance. “Rocket
Rocket,” he cried, “Easy, my boy,” and in an instant Rocket's
defiant attitude changed to one of perfect obedience.

He knew and loved the voice calling so cheerily to him,
and with a sudden plunge, which wrenched his halter from
Claib's grasp and sent the poor negro headlong into the
snow, he bounded to his master's side. Rubbing his head
against Hugh's shoulder, he suffered himself to be caressed
for a moment, and then, playful as a kitten, gambolled
around him in circles, sometimes making a feint of coming
near to him, and again leaping backward with the peculiarly
graceful motion for which he was so famous. How

Hugh loved that noble animal, and how Rocket loved him,
licking his hands whenever he entered the stable, and crying
piteously after him when he left. Five hundred dollars
had been offered him for that horse, but though wanting
money sadly, he had promptly refused the offer, determined
that Rocket should know no master save himself.

“There, my beauty,” he said, as the animal continued
to prance around him. “There, you've showed off enough.
Come, now, I've work for you to do.”

Docile as a lamb when Hugh commanded, he stood quietly
while Claib equipped him for his morning's task.

“Tell mother I shan't be back to breakfast,” Hugh said,
as he sprang into the saddle, and giving loose rein to
Rocket went galloping through the snow.

Under ordinary circumstances that early ride would have
been vastly exhilarating to Hugh, who enjoyed the bracing
air, but there was too much now upon his mind to admit
of his enjoying any thing. Thoughts of Adah, and the
increased expense her presence would necessarily bring,
flitted across his mind, while Harney's bill, put over once,
and due again ere long, sat like a nightmare on him, for
he saw no way in which to meet it. No way save one,
and Rocket surely must have felt the throbbing of Hugh's
heart as that one way flashed upon him, for he gave a
kind of coaxing whine, and dashed on over the billowy
drifts faster than before.

“No, Rocket, no,” and Hugh patted his neck. He'd
never part with Rocket. He'd sell Spring Bank first with
all its incumbrances.

The cornfield was reached by this time, and with a single
bound Rocket cleared the gate at the entrance. A six-rail
fence was nothing for him to leap, and like a deer he
sped across the field, and ere long stood before Aunt Eunice's
door. It was now three days since Hugh had gladdened
Aunt Eunice's cottage with the sunshine of his

presence, and when she awoke that morning, and saw
how high the snow was piled around her door, she said to
herself, “The boy'll be here directly to know if I'm
alive,” and this accounted for the round deal table drawn
before the blazing fire, and looking so inviting with its
two plates and cups, one a fanciful china affair, sacredly
kept for Hugh, whose coffee always tasted better when
sipped from its gilded side. The lightest of egg bread was
steaming on the hearth, the tenderest of steak was broiling
on the griddle, while the odor of the coffee boiling on
the coals came tantalizingly to Hugh's olfactories as Aunt
Eunice opened the door, saying pleasantly,

“I told 'em so. I felt it in my bones, and the breakfast
is all but ready. Put Rocket up directly, and come in to
the fire.”

Fastening Rocket in his accustomed place in the outer
shed, Hugh stamped the snow from his heavy boots, and
then went in to Aunt Eunice's kitchen-parlor, as she called
it, where the tempting breakfast stood upon the table.
Nimble as a girl Aunt Eunice brought his chair, and
placing it in the warmest part of the room, the one next
to the wall and fartherest from the door where the wind
and snow crept in. But Hugh was not selfish enough to
keep it, and he made Aunt Eunice change, for he knew
the blood moved more slowly through her veins than his.

“No coffee! What new freak is that?” and Aunt Eunice
gazed at him in astonishment as he declined the cup
she had prepared with so much care, dropping in the
whitest lumps of sugar, and stirring in the thickest cream.

It cost Hugh a terrible struggle to refuse that cup of
coffee, but if he would retrench, he must begin at once,
and determining to meet it unflinchingly he replied that
“he had concluded to drink water for a while, and see
what that would do; much was said nowadays about
coffee's being injurious, and he presumed it was.”

In great distress the good old lady asked if “his dyspeptic

was out of order,” still insisting that he should take
the cup, whose delicious odor well nigh overcame resolution.
But Hugh was firm as a granite rock when once
his mind was settled, and assuring Aunt Eunice that his
“dyspeptic” was right, he betook himself to the gourd,
standing in the pail of water within his reach. Poor
Aunt Eunice did not half enjoy her breakfast, and she
would not have enjoyed it at all had she known that
Hugh was abstaining from what he loved so much only
that she and others might be fed and warmed.

“There's something on your mind,” she said, observing
his abstraction. “Have you had another dunning letter,
or what?”

Aunt Eunice had made a commencement, and in his
usual impulsive way Hugh told the story of Adah and
then asked if she would take her.

“But, Hugh,” and Aunt Eunice spoke earnestly, “you
cannot afford the expense. Think twice before you commit
yourself.”

“I have thought twice, the last time just as I did the
first. Adah shall stay. You need some one these winter
nights. There's the room you call mine. Give her that.
Will you, Aunt Euuice?” and Hugh wound his arm
around Aunt Eunice's ample waist, while he pleaded for
Adah Hastings.

Aunt Eunice was soon won over as Hugh knew she
would be, and it was settled that she should come that
very day if possible.

“Look, the sky is clearing,” and he pointed to the sunshine
streaming through the window.

“We'll have her room fixed before I go,” and with his
own hands Hugh split and prepared the wood which was
to kindle Adah's fire, then with Aunt Eunice's help sundry
changes were made in the arrangement of the rather meagre
furniture, which never seemed so meagre to Hugh as
when he looked at it with Adah's eyes and wondered how
she'd like it.

“Oh, I wish I were rich,” he sighed mentally, and taking
out his well-worn purse he carefully counted its contents.

Twenty-five dollars. That was all, and this he had been
so long in saving for the new coat he meant to buy. Hugh
would like to dress better if he could, and was even anticipating
his sister's surprise when he should appear
before her some day habited in a coat of the latest style.
To do this Adah's room must go unfurnished yet awhile
and with another sigh the purse was returned to his pocket,
just as Aunt Eunice, who had stepped out for a moment,
reappeared, bringing a counterpane and towel, one
of which was spread upon the bed, while the other covered
the old pine stand, marred and stained with ink and
tallow, the result of Hugh's own carelessness.

“What a heap of difference that table cloth and pocket-handkerchief
do make,” was Hugh's man-like remark, his
face brightening with the improved appearance of things,
and his big heart growing warm with the thought that he
might keep his twenty-five dollars and Adah be comfortable
still.

With a merry laugh Aunt Eunice explained that the
table-cloth was a bed-spread, and the handkerchief a towel.
It was all the same to Hugh so long as they improved the
room, and glancing at his watch, he said it was time to be
gone.

“Ad may pick Adah's eyes out before I get home,” was
his laughing remark as he vaulted into his saddle and
dashed off across the fields, where, beneath the warm
Kentucky sun, the snow was already beginning to soften.

Breakfast had been late at Spring Bank that morning,
for the strangers had required some care, and Miss Lina
was sipping her coffee rather ill-naturedly when a note
was handed her, and instantly her mood was changed.

“Splendid, mother!” she exclaimed, glancing at the tiny,
three-cornered thing; “an invitation to Ellen Tiffton's

party. I was afraid she would leave me out after Hugh's
refusal to attend the Ladies' fair, or buy a ticket for her lottery.
It was only ten dollars either, and Mr. Harney
spent all of forty, I'm sure, in the course of the evening.

“Hugh had no ten dollars to spare,” Mrs. Worthington
said, apologetically, “though, of course, he might
have been more civil than to tell Ellen it was a regular
swindle, and the getters-up ought to be indicted. I almost
wonder at her inviting him, as she said she'd never
speak to him again.”

“Invited him! Who said she had? It's only one card
for me,” and with a most satisfied expression 'Lina presented
the note to her mother, whose face flushed at the
insult offered her son — an insult which even 'Lina felt,
but would not acknowledge, lest it should interfere with
her going. “There may be some mistake,” she suggested.
“Lulu may have dropped his,” and ringing the bell she
summoned to their presence a bright, handsome mulatto
girl, who answered frankly that

“Only one invite was given her, and, and that for Miss
'Lina. I asked Jake,” she said, “where was Master
Hugh's, and he said, `Oh. Miss Ellen's ravin' at him;
called him no gentleman; and wouldn't invite him any
way.' I think it's right mean in her, for Master Hugh is
enough sight better gentleman than Bob Harney, that
she's after. I told Jake to tell her so,” and having thus
vindicated her master's cause, Lulu tripped back to the
kitchen, leaving her mistress and 'Lina to finish their
party discussion.

“You won't go, of course,” Mrs. Worthington said,
quietly. “You'll resent her slighting Hugh.”

“Indeed I shan't,” the young lady retorted. “I hardly
think it fair in Ellen, but I shall accept, and I must go to
town to-day to see about having my pink silk fixed. I
think I'll have some black lace festooned round the skirt.
How I wish I could have a new one. Do you suppose
Hugh has any money?”

“None for new dresses or lace flounces either,” Mrs.
Worthington replied. “I fancy he begins to look old and
worn with this perpetual call for money from us. We
must economize.”

“Never mind, when I get Bob Harney I'll pay off old
scores,” 'Lina said, laughingly, as she arose from the table,
and went to look over her wardrobe, having first investigated
the weather, and ascertained, from a consultation
with Cæsar, that the roads would undoubtedly be passable
by noon.

Meantime Hugh had returned, meeting in the kitchen
with Lulu, who worshipping her young master with a
species of adoration, resented any insults offered him far
more keenly than his own sister did.

“Well, Lu, what is it? What's happened?” Hugh
asked, as he saw she was full of some important matter.

In an instant the impetuous Lulu told him of the party
to which he was not invited, together with the reason
why, and the word she had sent back.

“I'll give 'em a piece of my mind!” she said, as she saw
Hugh change color. “She may have old Harney. He's
jes good enough for her! The hateful! His man John,
told Claib how his master said he meant to get me and
Rocket, too, some day; me for her waiting-maid, I reckon.
You won't sell me, Master Hugh, will you?” and Lulu's
eyes looked pleadingly up to Hugh.

“Never!” and Hugh's riding whip came down upon
the table with a force which made Lulu start.

Satisfied that she was safe from Ellen Tiffton's whims.
Lulu darted away, while Hugh entered the sitting-room,
where 'Lina sat, surrounded by her party finery, and prepared
to do the amiable to the utmost.

“That really is a handsome little boy upstairs,” she said,
as if she supposed it were her mother who came in; then
an affected start she added, “Oh, it's you! I thought
'twas mother. Don't you think, Ellen has not invited you.
Mean, isn't it?”

“Ellen can do as she likes,” Hugh replied, adding, as he
guessed the meaning of all that finery, “You surely are
not going?”

“Why not?” and 'Lina's black eyes flashed full upon
him.

“I thought perhaps you would decline for my sake,” he
replied.

An angry retort trembled on 'Lina's lip, but she had an
object to attain, so she restrained herself and answered
that “she had thought of it, but such a course would do
no good, and she wanted to go so much, the Tifftons were
so exclusive and aristocratic.”

Hugh whistled contemptuously, but 'Lina kept her temper,
and continued, coaxingly,

“Everybody is to be there, and you'd like to have your
sister look decent, I know; and really, Hugh, I can't unless
you give me a little money. Do, Hugh, be good for
once.”

“Ad, I can't,” and Hugh spoke sorrowfully, for a kind
word from 'Lina always touched his weaker side. “I
would if I could, but honestly I've only twenty-five dollars
in the world, and I've thought of a new coat. I don't like
to look so shabby. It hurts me worse than it does you,”
and Hugh's voice trembled as he spoke.

Any but a heart of stone would have yielded, but, Lina
was too supremely selfish. Hugh had twenty-five dollars.
He might give her half, or even ten. She'd be satisfied
with ten. He could soon make that up. The negro hire
came due ere long. He must have forgotten that.

No, he had not; but with the negro hire came debts,
thoughts of which gave him the old worn look his mother
had observed. Only ten dollars! It did seem hard to
refuse, and if 'Lina went, Hugh wished her to look well,
for underneath his apparent harshness lurked a kind of
pride in his sister, whose beauty was of the bold, dashing
style.

“Take them,” he said at last counting out the ten with
regretful sigh. “Make them go as far as you can, and Ad,
remember don't get into debt.”

“I won't,” and with a civil “Thank you,” 'Lina rolled
up her bills, while Hugh repaired to Adah's room telling
her of Aunt Eunice, and his plan of taking her there.

With a burst of tears, Adah listened to him, and then
insisted upon going away, as she had done the previous
night. She had no claim on him, and she could not be a
burden.

“You, madam, think it best, I'm sure,” she said, appealing
to Mrs. Worthington, who was present and who answered
promptly,

“I do not. I am willing you should remain until your
friends are found.”

Adah offered no further remonstrance, but turning to
Hugh, said hesitatingly,

“I may hear from my advertisement. Do you take the
Herald?”

“Yes, though I can't say I think much of it,” Hugh replied,
and Adah continued,

“Then if you ever find anything for me, you'll tell me,
and I can go away. I said, `Direct to Adah Hastings.'
Somebody will be sure to see it. Maybe George, and
then he'll know of Willie.”

With a muttered invective against the “villain,” Hugh
left the room to see that the carriage was ready, while his
mother, following him into the hall, offered to go herself
with Adah if he liked. Glad to be relieved, as he had
business that afternoon in Versailles, and was anxious to
set off as soon as possible, Hugh accepted at once, and
half an hour later, the Spring Bank carriage, containing
Mrs. Worthington, Adah and Willie, drove slowly from
the door, 'Lina calling after her mother to send Cæsar
back immediately, as she was going to Frankfort after dinner,
and wanted the carriage herself.