University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

The next morning the weary child slept until Picter
gently shook her by the shoulder, and called her to arise.

“O, good morning, Uncle Pic,” said she, smiling, as
she sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Is it late?”

“Well, missy, not so berry late, I reckon, dough I
hasn' got my goold watch on dis mornin'; but breaksus
is all ready, an' a fus' rate one, too, honey.”

“Is it? What have we got?” asked Dora, merrily, as
she jumped up and came towards the fire.

“Mos' eberyting, honey. Fus' place dere's de soup
made out o' beef an' hard tack. Dat mighty good w'en
it ain't too salt; and I's freshened my beef a heap. Den
dere's taters roasted, an' dere's a hoe-cake bake, an' dere's
coffee bilin', wid sugar in it.”

“Why, Uncle Pic, where did you get all these things?”
asked the astonished child.

“Well, honey, de beef, an' de coffee, an' de sugar, I
fotcht from camp, an' de taters an' de corn for de hoe-cake
I 'fistercated las' night.”

“Did what, Pic?”

“'Fistercated, honey. Dat's a bran'-new Yankee word

dat I larn in camp. I can't zackly splain de meanin'
on't, but I understands it fus' rate, an' it's an oncommon
handy kin' of a word.”

Picter chuckled to himself as he lifted the tin kettle of
soup off the fire, and Dora, giving up the attempt to
understand his joke, inquired,—

“Where can I wash my face, Uncle Pic?”

“Dere, now,” cried the negro, in a sort of delighted
admiration, “dat's what I calls de effec' ob a good eddication.
Here dis bressed lamb gits up in de mornin', an'
wot does she ax fer fust? Her breaksus? Not a bit
on't. She axes fer water to wash her purty lilly face.
Now dat cl'ar buckra. De nigger picaninnies isn't up
to dat.”

“Why, Uncle Pic, don't you always wash your face
in the morning?”

“Alluz, alluz, chile — w'en it handy, an' when I tink
ob it, an' de water ain't too cole, an' I ain't too much
druv up. Bud now I 'spec you an' you mammy wash
'um face ebery single day.”

“Why, yes, of course, Picter. I thought everybody
alive did.”

“Bress de pore lilly child! An' she wor gwine all
'lone to look fur aunt Lucy in de Norf, and didn' know
no more 'bout de worl' dan dat ar. Well, well, de Bible
say dat Hebbenly Marster takes keer to temper de win'
to de shorn lamb, an' I spec he will to dis one.”

“I don't think that's in the Bible, Pic,” said Dora,
doubtfully.

“Lors, chile, dere's no sasserfying ye, ye're so curus,”
retorted Pic good-naturedly. “But you come long o'
me, missy, an' I'll show you de baf-room.”

Taking the coffee-pail off the fire, lest it should boil
over in his absence, Picter led the way out into the
open air.

Looking about her with some curiosity, Dora saw that
she was, as she supposed, in a very deep and narrow
valley, hardly more, indeed, than a deep cleft near the
summit of a mountain. A narrow strip of verdure ran
through it; at one end was the opening through which
they had entered, and at the other was the only break in
the rocky wall that rose around it to a height of from
twenty to fifty feet. This break, or, as it may more
properly be described, this slight division between two
toppling crags, served as a loophole from whence the
fugitives might command a very extended view of the surrounding
country. At their feet arose a little bubbling
spring, which, after filling its deep, rocky basin, sparkled
away in a stream, that, after a course of only a few feet,
fell over the edge of the precipice, which seemed to have
yawned asunder to allow it room to pass.

Looking carefully down the dashing little waterfall,
Dora saw that some twenty feet below her lay another
little glen, similar in size and shape to that where she

stood. Through this the waters of the fall, collecting
themselves after their leap, danced gayly along until they
reached its lower end, when they made their way through
another cañon so narrow as to leave no room except for
their bed, and so sinuous that no one standing at either
end could possibly catch a glimpse of the other. The
passage was further obstructed at the present time by a
good-sized pine tree, which had been cut down and
dragged into the bed of the stream.

This little valley, thus fortified, thus watered, and well
provided with herbage, was “the pasture” of which Pic
had spoken when asked where he had left the horse;
and here, at the moment when Dora looked down from
her mountain eyry, a fine, strong looking animal of that
description was indulging in a roll upon the dewy grass
by way of performing his morning toilet.

“And how do we get down there, Pic?” asked Dora,
after taking a long survey of the little valley, the horse,
the sparkling stream, and the grand view of mountain
scenery that stretched away for miles before her.

“Well, dat ruffer a bodder, missy,” acknowledged
Pic. “You see I t'ou't we was comin' in de same way
we come out, an' den I was goin' roun' to fotch out de
hoss t'oder way. But now I spects we'm bof got to
scrabble down behin' de fall.”

“Behind the fall!” echoed Dora.

“Yes, honey. See here, now: dere's a chance to put

you foot on dis yer ledge just b'low here, an' den you
stick you fin'ers an' toes in mighty tight, an' gits down
to dat ar nex' one, an' den you kin' o' sidle along an' git
right in 'hind de water; an' so you keeps workin' down,
one step to a time, till you lan's to de bottom. T'ink you
kin do't, lilly missy?”

“Yes, I reckon I can,” said Dora, bravely, though she
turned a little pale as she carefully scanned the slippery
and dizzy path pointed out to her.

“Yer'll have to pull off yer shoe an' 'tockin', missy,”
resumed Pic, “an' I's 'fraid you'll git orful wet. I's
mighty sorry, honey, fer to ax you ter do sich a thin',
bud dere ain't no oder way.”

“No, I see there isn't, Picter; and I dare say it won't
be half so bad as it looks. I'll try, any way,” said Dora,
bravely.

“Bress you heart, honey! You jes' as brave as a
lion, an' jes' as purty as a lamb; an' now you jes' wash
you lilly face here to de sprin', an ole Pic 'll go see to
de breaksus.”