40. CHAPTER XL.
CONCLUSION.
The New England hills were tinged with that peculiar
purplish haze, so common to the Indian summer time, and
the warm sunlight of November fell softly upon Snowdon,
whose streets were full of eager, expectant people — all
hurrying on to the old brick church, and quickening their
steps with every stroke of the merry bell, pealing
so joyfully from the tall, dark tower. The Richards'
carriage was out, and waiting before the door of the Riverside
cottage, for the appearance of Anna, who was this
morning to venture out for a short time, leaving her
baby Hugh alone. Another, and handsomer carriage, was
standing before the hotel, where Hugh and his mother
were stopping, and where, in a pleasant private room, Adah
Richards helped Alice Johnson make her tasteful toilet,
smoothing lovingly the rich folds of greyish colored
silk, arranging the snowy cuffs and collar, and then bringing
the hat of brown Neapolitan, with its pretty
face trimmings of blue, and declaring it a shame to cover
up the curls of hair falling so luxuriously about the face
and neck of the blushing bride. For it was Alice's wedding
day, and in the room adjoining, Hugh Worthington
stood, waiting impatiently the opening of the mysterious
door which Adah had shut against him, and wondering if,
after all, it were not a dream that the time was coming
fast when neither bolts nor locks would have a right to
keep him from his wife.
It seemed too great a joy to be true, and by way
of re-assuring himself he had to look often at the crowds
of people hurrying by, and down upon old Sam, who, in
full dress, with white cotton gloves drawn awkwardly upon
his cramped distorted fingers, stood by the carriage,
bowing to all who passed, himself the very personification
of perfect bliss.
“Massah Hugh the perfectest massah,” he said, “and
Miss Ellis a little more so;” adding that though “Canaan
was a mighty nice place, he 'sumed, he'd rather not go
thar jist yet, but live a leetle longer to see them 'joy
themselves. Thar they comes — dat's Miss in grey. She
knows how't orange posies and silks and satins is proper
for weddin' nights; but she's gwine travelin', and dat's
why she comed out in dat stun-color, Sam'll be blamed if
he fancies.” And having thus explained Alice's choice of
dress, the old negro held the carriage door himself, while
Hugh, handing in his mother, sister, and his bride, took
his seat beside them, and was driven to the church.
Twenty minutes passed, and then the streets were filled
again; but now the people were going home, talking as
they went of the beauty of the bride, and of the splendid-looking
bridegroom, who looked so fondly at her as she
murmured her responses, kissing her first himself when
the ceremony was over, and letting his arm rest for a moment
around her slender form. No one doubted its being
a genuine love-match, and all rejoiced in the happiness
of the newly married pair, who, at the village depot
were waiting for the train which would take them on their
way to Kentucky, for that was their destination.
In the distracted condition of the country Hugh's presence
was needed there; for, taking advantage of his absence,
and the thousand rumors afloat touching the Proclamation
one of his negroes had already ran away in company
with some half-dozen of the Colonel's, who, in a terrible
state of excitement, talked seriously of emigrating
to Canada. Hugh's timely arrival, however, quieted him
somewhat, though he listened in sorrow, and almost with
tears, to Hugh's plan of selling the Spring Bank farm and
removing with his negroes to some New England town,
where Alice, he knew, would be happier than she had
been in Kentucky. But a purchaser for Spring Bank was
not so easily found in those dark days; and so, doing
with his land the best he could, he called about him his
negroes, and giving to each his freedom, proposed that
they stay quietly where they were until Spring, when he
hoped to find them all employment on the farm he was
to buy in New England.
Aunt Eunice who understood managing blacks better
than his mother or his inexperienced wife, was to be
his housekeeper in that new home of his, where the
Colonel and his family would always be welcome; and
having thus provided for those for whom it was his duty
to care, he returned to Snowdon in time to join the
Christmas party at Terrace Hill, where Irving Stanley was
a guest, and where, in spite of the war-clouds darkening
our land, and in spite of the sad, haunting memories of
the dead, there was much of hilarity and joy — reminding
the villagers of the olden time when Terrace Hill was
filled with gay revelers. Anna Millbrook was there, more
beautiful than in her girlhood, and excessively fond of her
missionary Charlie, who she laughingly declared was perfectly
incorrigible on the subject of surplice and gown,
adding that as “the mountain would not go to Mahomet,
Mahomet must go to the mountain;” and so she was fast
becoming an out-and-out Presbyterian of the very bluest
stripe.
Sweet Anna! None who looked into her truthful, loving
face, or knew the consistency of her daily life, could
doubt that whether Presbyterian or Episcopal in sentiment,
the heart was right and the feet were treading
the narrow path which leadeth unto life eternal.
It was a happy week spent at Terrace Hill; but one
heart ached to its very core when, at its close, Irving
Stanley went back to where duty called him, trusting
that the God who had succored him thus far, would shield
him from future harm, and keep him safely till the coming
autumn, when, with the first falling of the leaf, he
would gather to his embrace his darling beautiful Adah.
On the white walls of a handsome country seat just
on the banks of the Connecticut, the light of the April
sunset falls, and the soft April wind kisses the fair cheek
and lifts the golden curls of the young mistress of Spring
Bank — for so, in memory of the olden time, Hugh and
Alice have named their new home. Arm in arm they
walk up and down the terraced garden, talking softly of
the way they have been led, and gratefully ascribing all
praise to Him who rules and overrules, but doeth nought
save good to those who love Him.
Down in the meadow-land and at the rear of the building,
dusky forms are seen — the negroes, who have come
to their Northern home, and with them the runaway.
Ashamed of his desertion he has returned to his former
master, resenting the name of contraband, and denouncing
the ultra-abolitionist as humbugs, who deserved putting
in the front of every battle. Hugh knows it will be
hard accustoming these blacks to Northern usages but
as he has their good in view, he feels sure that in time
he will succeed, and cares but little for the opinion of
those who wonder what he “expects to do with that lazy
lot of niggers.”
On a rustic seat, near a rear door, white-haired old
Sam is sitting, listening intently, while dusky Mug, reads
to him from the book of books, the one he prizes above
all else, stopping occasionally to expound, in his own
way, some point which he fancies may not be clear to
her, likening every good man to “Massah Hugh,” and
every bad one to the leader of the “Suddern Federacy,”
whose
horse he declares he held once in “ole Virginny,”
telling Mug, in an aside, “how, if 'twant wicked, nor
agin de scripter, he should most wish he'd put beech-nuts
under Massah Jeffres' saddle, and so broke his fetch-ed
neck, 'fore he raise sich a muss, runnin' calico so high
that Miss Ellis 'clar she couldn't 'ford it, and axin' fifteen
cents for a paltry spool of cotton.”
In the stable-yard, Claib, his good-humored face all
aglow with pride, is exercising Rocket, who arches his
neck as proudly as of old, and dances mincingly around,
while Lulu leans over the gate, watching not so much
him as the individual who holds him. And now that it
grows darker, and the ripple of the river sounds more
like eventide, lights gleam from the pleasant parlor where
Mrs. Worthington and Aunt Eunice are sitting by the
cheerful fire, just kindled on the marble hearth. Thither
Hugh and Alice repair, while one by one the negroes come
quietly in, and kneeling side by side, follow with stammering
tongues, but honest hearts, their beloved master
as he says first the prayer our Saviour taught, and then
with words of thankful praise asks God to bless and
keep him and his in the days to come, even as he has
blessed and kept them in the days gone by.
THE END.
