 | CHAPTER XXIX.
HANNIBAL LEARNS HOW HIS HEART CAN BE
WHITE. What can she do? |  |
29. CHAPTER XXIX.
HANNIBAL LEARNS HOW HIS HEART CAN BE
WHITE.
WHEN Edith rose the next morning she found
Laura only at her mother's bedside. Mrs.
Lacey had returned quite early, saying that she
would come soon again. Mrs. Allen's delirium had
passed away, leaving her exceedingly weak, but the
doctor said, at his morning call:
“With quiet and good nursing she will slowly
regain her usual health.”
After he was gone, Laura said: “Taking care of
mother will now be my work, Edie. I feel a good
deal stronger. I'll doze in a chair during the day,
and I am a light sleeper at night, so I don't think
we will need any more watchers. Poor Mrs. Lacey
works hard at home, I am sure, and I don't want to
trespass on her kindness any longer. So if Mrs.
Groody sends you work you may give all your time
to it.”
And early after breakfast quite a bundle did come
from the hotel, with a scrawl from the housekeeper:
“You may mend this linen, my dear, and I'll send
for it to-morrow night.”
Edith's eyes sparkled at the sight of the work as
they never had over the costliest gifts of jewelry.
kept in state for possible callers, she put on her
thimble, and, with a courage and heroism greater
than many a knight drawing for the first time his
ancestral sword, she took her needle and joined the
vast army of sewing-women. Lowly was the
position and work first assigned to her—only mending
coarse linen. And yet it was with a thrill of
gratitude and joy, and a stronger hope than she had
yet experienced, that she sat down to the first
real work for which she would be paid, and in her
exultation she brandished her little needle at the
spectres want and fear, as a soldier might his
weapon.
Hannibal stood in the kitchen regarding her with
moist eyes and features that twitched nervously.
“Oh, Miss Edie, I neber tho't you'd come to
dat.”
“It's one of the best things I've come to yet,”
said Edith, cheerily. “We'll be taken care of,
Hannibal. Cheer up your faithful old heart,
brighter days are coming.”
But, for some reason, Hannibal didn't cheer up,
and he stood looking very wistfully at Edith. At
last he commenced,
“It does my ole black heart good to hear you
talk so, Miss Edie —”
“Why do you persist in calling your heart black?
It's no such thing,” interrupted Edith.
“Yes, 'tis, Miss Edie,” said Hannibal, despondently,
“I'se know 'tis. I'se black outside, and I
felt jes right here yet, Miss Edie,” said the old man,
laying his hand on his breast. “I come de nighest
to 't de toder day when you said you lubbed me.
Dat seemed to go down deep, but not quite to de
bottom of de trouble.”
“But, Miss Edie,” continued he in a whisper,
“I'se hope you'll forgive me, but I couldn't help
listenin to you last night. I neber heerd such talk
afore. It seemed to broke my ole black heart all
up, and made it feel like de big ribers down south
in de spring, when dey jes oberflow eberyting. I
says to myself, dat's de Friend Miss Edie say she'se
goin to tell me about. And now, Miss Edie,
would you mind tellin me little about Him? Cause
if He's your Friend, I'd think a heap of Him, too.
Not dat I specs He'se goin to bodder wid dis ole
niggah, but den I'd jes like to hear about Him a
little.”
Edith laid down her work, and turned her glorious
dark eyes, brimming over with sympathy, on
the poor old fellow, as he stood in the doorway
fairly trembling with the excess of his feeling.
“Come and sit down here by me,” she said.
“Oh, Miss Edie, I'se isn't —”
“No words—come.”
Hannibal crouched down on a divan near.
“What makes you think He wouldn't bother
with you?”
“Well, I'se don't know 'zactly, Miss Edie, I'se
only Hannibal.”
“Hannibal,” said Edith, earnestly, “you are the
best man I know in all the world.”
“Oh, Lor bless you, Miss Edie, how you talk;
you'se jes done gone crazy.”
“No, I haven't. I never spoke in more sober
earnest. You are faithful and true, unselfish and
patient, and abound in the best material of which
men are made. I admit,” she added, with a twinkle
in her eye, “that one very common element of manhood,
as I have observed it, is dreadfully lacking,
that is conceit. I wish I were as good as you are,
Hannibal.”
“Oh, Miss Edie, don't talk dat way, you jes done
discourages me. If you'd only say, Hannibal,
you'se sick, but I'se got a mighty powerful medicine
for you; if you'd only say, I know you isn't
good; I know your ole heart is black, but I know
a way to make it white, I'd stoop down and kiss the
ground you'se walks on. Dere's sumpen wrong
here, Miss Edie,” said he, laying his hand on his
breast again, and shaking his head, with a tear in
the corner of each eye, “I tells you dere's sumpen
wrong. I don't know jes what 'tis. My heart's
like a baby a-cryin' for it doesn't know what. Den
it gits jes like a stun, as hard and as heavy. I don't
understan' my ole heart; I guess it's kinder sick and
wants a doctor, 'cause it don't work right. But
dere's one ting I does understan'. It 'pears dat it
would be a good heaven 'nuff if I'se could allers be
waitin' on you alls. But Massa Allen's gone; Miss
Zell, poor chile, is gone; and I'se growin' ole, Miss
are stiff, and de feet tired. Dey can't tote dis ole
body roun' much longer. Where am I gwine, Miss
Edie? What's gwine to become of ole Hannibal?
I'se was allers afeard of de dark. If I could only
find you in de todder world and wait on you, dat's
all I ask, but I'se afeard I'll get lost, it seems such
a big, empty place.”
“Poor old Hannibal! Then you are `heavy-laden'
too,” said Edith, gently.
“Indeed I is, Miss Edie, 'pears as if I couldn't
stan' it anoder minute. And when I heerd you
talkin' about dat Friend last night, and tellin' how
good He was to people, and He seemed to do you
such a heap of good, dat I would jes like to hear
little 'bout Him.”
“Wait till I get my Bible,” said Edith.
“Bless you, Miss Edie, you'se needn't stop your
work. You can jes tell me anything dat come into
you'se head.”
“Then I wouldn't be like Him, Hannibal. He
used to stop and give the kindest and most patient
attention to every one that came to Him, and, as
far as I can make out, the poorer they were, the
more sinful and despised they seemed, the more
attention He gave to them.”
“Dat's mighty quar,” said Hannibal, musingly,
“not a bit like de big folks dat I'se seen.”
“I don't understand it all myself yet, Hannibal.
But the Bible tells me that He was God come down
to earth to save the world. He says to the lost and
the heavy-laden, `Come unto me.' So I went to
Him, Hannibal, and you can go just as well.”
The old man's eyes glistened, but he said, doubtfully,
“Yes, but den you'se Miss Edie, and I'se only
black Hannibal. I wish we'd all lived when He was
here. I might have shine his boots, and done little
tings for Him, so He'd say, `Poor old Hannibal,
you does as well as you knows how. I'll 'member
you, and you shan't go away in de dark.'”
Edith smiled and cried at the same time over the
quaint pathos of the simple creature's words, but
she said, earnestly, “You need not go away in the
dark, for He said, `I am the light of the world,' and
if you go to Him you will always be in the light.”
“I'd go in a minute,” said Hannibal, eagerly, “if
I only know'd how, and wasn't afear'd.” Then,
as if a sudden thought struck him, he asked, “Miss
Edie, did He eber hab anything to do wid a black
man?”
Edith was so unfamiliar with the Bible that she
could not recall any distinct case, but she said, with
the earnestness of such full belief on her part, that
it satisfied his child-like mind, “I am sure He did,
for all kinds of people—people that no one else
would touch or look at—came to Him, or He went
to them, and spoke so kindly to them and forgave all
their sins.”
“Bress Him, Miss Edie, dat kinder sounds like
what I wants.”
Edith thought a moment, and, with her quick,
truth that would bring to the trusting nature she
was trying to guide the perfect assurance that
Jesus' love and mercy embraced him as truly as
herself.
They made a beautiful picture that moment; she
with her hands, that had dropped all earthly tasks
for the sake of this divine work, clasped in her lap,
her lustrous eyes dewy with sympathy and feeling,
looking far away into the deep blue of the June
sky, as if seeking some heavenly inspiration; and
quaint old Hannibal, leaning forward in his eagerness,
and gazing upon her, as if his life depended
upon her next utterances.
It was a picture of the Divine Artist's own creation.
He had inspired the faith in one and the
questioning unrest in the other. He, with Edith's
lips, as ever by human lips, was teaching the way
of life. Glorious privilege, that our weak voices
should be as the voice of God, telling the lost and
wandering where lies the way to life and home.
The angels leaned over the golden walls to watch
that scene, while many a proud pageant passed unheeded.
“Hannibal,” said Edith, after her momentary
abstraction, “God made everything, didn't He?”
“Sartin.”
“Then He made you, and you are one of His
creatures, are you not?”
“Sartin I is, Miss Edie.”
“Then see here what is in the Bible. Almost the
up into heaven, was, `Go ye into all the world and
preach the gospel to every creature.' Gospel means
`good news,' and the good news was, that God had
come down from heaven and become a man, so we
wouldn't be afraid of Him, and that He would take
away the sins and save all who would let Him.
Now, remember, He didn't send His preachers to
the white people, nor to the black people, but to
all the world, to every creature alike, and so He
meant you and me, Hannibal, and you as much as
me. I am just as sure He will receive you as that
He received me.”
“Dat's 'nuff, Miss Edie. Ole Hannibal can go
too. And I'se a gwine, Miss Edie, I'se a gwine
right to Him. Dere's only one ting dat troubles
me yet. What is I gwine to do with my ole black
heart? I know dere's sumpen wrong wid it. It's
boddered me all my life.”
“O Hannibal,” said Edith eagerly, “I was reading
something last night, that I think will just suit
you. I thought I would read a little in the Old
Testament, and I turned to a place that I didn't understand
very well, but I came to these words, and
they made me think of you, for you are always talking
about your `old black heart.'” And she read:
“I will give them one heart, and I will put a new
spirit within you; and I will take the stony heart
out of their flesh and will give them an heart of
flesh.”
To Hannibal the words seemed a revelation from
he said;
“O Miss Edie, you'se been an angel of light to
me. Dat was jes de berry message I wanted. I
knowed my ole heart was nothin but a black stun.
De Lord couldn't do nothin wid it but throw it
away. But tanks be to His name, He says He'll
give me a new one—a heart of flesh. Now I sees
dat my heart can be white like yours, Miss Edie.
Bless de Lord, I'se a gwine, I'se a comin,” and
Hannibal vanished into the kitchen, feeling that he
must be alone in the glad tumult of his emotions.
| CHAPTER XXIX.
HANNIBAL LEARNS HOW HIS HEART CAN BE
WHITE. What can she do? | |