University of Virginia Library

37. CHAPTER XXXVII.

In leaving the colonel's tent, Dora encountered Picter,
limping along with a gun over his shoulder.

“I'm glad I met you, Pic,” said she, turning and
walking along beside him. “I have something to tell
you.”

“Wha's it?”

“We're going North, Pic — you and I — in the course
of a very few days.”

“Don' say so, honey! Dat good news, any way.
How's we gwine?”

“With Captain Karl. He's going home because he's
so poorly, and he wants us to go and take care of him.”

“An' is we gwine ter stop dere alluz?” asked Pic,
rather coolly.

“No, I suppose not. I don't know yet, Pic, and you
musn't say a word about it to any one; but I think
very likely, when the regiment goes home, Mr. Brown
will want us to come to Ohio, and live with him.”

“Dat's it, missy. Dat's de ticket. I goes for libin'
long wid de parson. Cap'n Charlie, he mighty funny
gen'l'man; de fust rates comp'ny dat eber I seed; but

de parson on'erstan's better. Get a heap ob t'outs out'n
'im ebery time I sees 'im.”

“Have you talked much with him, Picter?” asked
Dora, with a suppressed smile.

“Lor', yes, missy. Dat day you fus' 'vised me fer
talk wid 'im, he tuck me 'long to he tent, an' 'varsed so
sensible an' pooty I felt 's if I'd growd a inch 'fore I lef'
'im. Didn' hab no jokes, an' kin' o' makin' fun way, wid
'im, like Cap'n Charlie, but jes' talk right off ser'ous,
same's he'd talk to a w'ite gen'l'man. Made ole nigger
feel's ef he wor some 'count in de worl', arter all.”

“But what did he talk about?”

“'Bout hebenly matters, mos'ly, missy. Gib me some
new idees; tell yer, he did dat, honey.”

“And you've talked since with him?”

“Lots o' times. He alluz jes' so patien' an' good-natured,
neber makin' fun, nor showin' off he buckra ways
on pore ole darkey, dat don' know noffin'. Knows w'en
he's treated right, dough, jes' as well as a lighter complected
feller.”

Dora's face glowed.

“Yes, Mr. Brown is a different man from the rest of
the world,” said she, softly.

“No truer word dan dat in de Bible, missy. Reckon
he's he one dat'll sign de pass for bof ob us ter trabel de
dark road. Satan's paterole can' tech us, ef we gits a
line from 'im fer pertection.”

“Yes, Pic, you are right,” said Dora, thoughtfully
“To live with him will be the wisest, but the merriest
would be Captain Karl's home.”

“Merry 'nough,” grunted Pic. “So's de cracklin' o'
thorns underneaf de pot merry 'nough; bud fer good stiddy
fire ter cook yer vittles, or warm yer berry heart to
de middle, gib me good solid oak. Now, dat ar's de
parson.”

“Heart of oak,” murmured Dora.

“Well, missy, I's all ready w'en you is. 'Spec's I'll
see yer ag'in to-night or 'morrer mornin'. I's gwine out
in de woods a piece jes' now, an'll say, Mornin', fer
'twon't do ter let de scouts get 'noder crack at yore lilly
head.”

“Where are you going, Pic?”

“O, jes' out here a piece. Mornin', missy.”

“Good morning, Pic,” said Dora, dubiously; for she
recognized in the eye of her old retainer a certain gleam
that, experience warned her, foreboded mischief.

Returning to the hospital, she found Captain Karl
dressed for the day, and impatiently awaiting her appearance.
He was about to return to his own quarters,
having hitherto preferred the hospital, that he might
enjoy Dora's nursing. Now, however, the surgeon
insisted that purer air, and more quiet, would be his
best remedies, until he could set out upon his homeward
journey; and he only awaited Dora's return to

bid her good by, or, rather, to solicit her company to
his quarters.

“Just to make it seem a bit cheerful at first,” pleaded
he. “And you must stay with me all you can. No one
else needs you as I do,” added he, somewhat querulously.
“Now, tell me, if you have got through your mysteries,
are you going home with me? because, if not, I've made
up my mind not to go myself.”

“Wait till we get settled in your own quarters, and
then I will tell you all about it,” said Dora, smilingly, as
she busied herself in wrapping the invalid from the keen
air he was about to encounter.

Having seen him comfortably disposed upon his own
bed, and having dismissed the nurse and servant who had
supported him during the short walk, Dora sat down beside
her patient, and while gently caressing his hair with
her fingers, told him all the incidents of the morning,
and her own decision as to her future movements.

“You're a darling Dora, as well as a Dora Darling,”
said the captain, putting the little hand to his lips: “I
began to be afraid you were going to slip through my
fingers, somehow, though you wouldn't have found it an
easy matter to accomplish, I can tell you. As for your
going to the parson by and by, that's all bosh. Once
under my mother's roof, it'll be a hard fight to get
away again, you'll find. However, we needn't bother
about that now. And so the old man thought to play

judge after the fashion of the fox with the crows —
did he?”

“How was that?”

“Don't you know? Why, they were quarrelling over
a bit of cheese, and referred the matter to the fox, who
settled it at once by gobbling up the cheese, just as the
colonel wanted to gobble you.”

“But whichever crow gets it will gobble it all the
same; so the poor cheese is lost, any way,” suggested
Dora, archly.

“Yes, swallowed down, appropriated, assimilated,
what you will; you may be sure the crow known as
Captain Karl is too wise a bird to let go, once he has his
clutches on you.”

“Well, now I am going to find Mr. Brown, and tell
him. Perhaps I shall come to see you again, after
dinner.”

“Bother Mr. Brown! Stay here; I want you —”

But Dora, with a merry nod, was already gone; and
the captain, after a good-natured growl of disappointment,
had no alternative but to lie and think of a certain
little secret of his own, and the happy days awaiting
them both at home, until he fell fast asleep, and continued
his air castles in his dreams.

Dora, meantime, found the chaplain in his tent, and
after confiding to him the story of her brother's evasion,
that she might not escape whatever censure her share in

it might elicit from him, she repeated her conversation
with the colonel, and her own decision.

Mr. Brown listened attentively, and when she had
done, said, —

“You have done well, Dora. I say nothing of your
connivance at your brother's escape. As you are to
leave the army at once, it is not worth while to insist
upon questions of army discipline; and your future life
will not probably bring a similar emergency. Your
proposition to accompany Captain Windsor home is humane
and wise; for, with Colonel Blank's ideas upon
this matter, I should not feel it advisable to retain you in
his camp. But remember, Dora, that you promise to
come to me whenever I am again at home, and at liberty
to devote myself as I would wish to your education. I
shall not say now how much that promise is to me, nor
how much I build upon it; but remember that it is a
promise.”

“Yes, sir, it is a promise,” said Dora, with a little
solemn air that brought a smile to the grave face of her
companion.

“I see that you feel its weight,” said he. “And now
run away; for I am busy with my sermon.”

Late that night Dora was aroused from deep slumber
by a scratching on the outside of her tent. Starting up,
she exclaimed, —

“Who's that? What's the matter?”

“'Sh, missy. 'Tain't no one but ole Pic. T'out I jes'
stop an' tell yer he'm done fer.”

“Who's done for? What do you mean, Pic?”

“De Bony party, missy. He done fer, shore, dis
time.”

“What, killed?”

“Reckon he's dat, missy. Heern tell wid one ob our
scouts he wor 'long wid a picket, 'hout half way from
here to de place whar de rebs is. So I t'out I'd bes' go
an' exercute dat jus'ice dat I got disapp'inted ov t'oder
time, 'specially as I reck'nd we'd be movin' 'fore long.
So I tuck de ole rifle an' jogged along inter de woods a
piece, foun' our own pickets, got d'rections whar de rebs
was, crep' up, an' shore 'nough, seed dat feller skinnin' a
rabbit 'fore de fire, innercent as a turkle dub. T'out I'd
wait till 'e got de rabbit skun, 'cause dey say onfinished
work ha'nts yer in t'oder worl', an' as he rips it off an'
frows it down, I jes' squints 'long de bar'l, pull 'e trigger,
an' golly, missy, it'd do yer good fer see dat feller
kick.”

“Did you really shoot him, Picter?”

“No two ways 'bout it, missy. Jus'ice am exercuted
dis time, shore, an' so's de nigger.”

“Picter, I am very much shocked, and very angry, too.
It was murder, and nothing else. Go away, directly;
and in the morning tell Mr. Brown about it, and see what
he will say,” exclaimed Dora, indignantly.

“Now, honey, chile, don' 'e talk dat ar way to poor
ole uncle,” began Pic, soothingly; but Dora interrupted
him.

“No, don't say any more. I don't like you, Picter,
and I don't want to talk any longer. I'm going to sleep,
and shan't answer again, whatever you say.”

“Ain't no use sayin' noffin', den,” retorted Pic, offended
in his turn, and with no further attempt at conversation,
he withdrew to his own quarters; nor did Dora
again see him until the morning of their departure for
the North.

But neither then, nor at any subsequent period, did
either allude to this, the subject of their only disagreement;
nor did Pic think it necessary to obey the recommendation
of his young mistress, to submit his course for
judgment to the chaplain.