V.
_CARL AND HIS FRIENDS._
Carl Minnevich was the son of a German, who, in company with a brother,had come to America a few years before, and settled in Tennessee. Therethe Minneviches purchased a farm, and were beginning to prosper in theirnew home, when Carl's father suddenly died. The boy had lost his motheron the voyage to America. He was now an orphan, destined to experienceall the humiliation, dependence, and wrong, which ever an orphan knew.
Immediately the sole proprietorship of the farm, which had been boughtby both, was assumed by the surviving brother. This man had a selfish,ill-tempered wife, and a family of great boys. Minnevich himself wasnaturally a good, honest man; but Frau Minnevich wanted the entireproperty for her own children, hated Carl because he was in the way, andtreated him with cruelty. His big cousins followed their mother'sexample, and bullied him. How to obtain protection or redress he knewnot. He was a stranger, speaking a strange tongue, in the land of hisfather's adoption. Ah, how often then did he think of the happyfatherland, before that luckless voyage was undertaken, when he stillhad his mother, and his friends, and all his little playfellows, whom hecould never see more!
So matters went on for a year or two, until the boy's grievances grewintolerable, and he one day took it into his head to please FrauMinnevich for once in his life, if never again. In the night time hemade up a little bundle of his clothes, threw it out of the window, gotout himself after it, climbed down upon the roof of the shed, jumped tothe ground, and trudged away in the early morning starlight, a wanderer.It has been necessary to touch upon this point in Carl's history, inorder to explain why it was he ever afterwards felt such deep gratitudetowards those who befriended him in the hour of his need.
For many days and nights he wandered among the hills of Tennessee,looking in vain for work, and begging his bread. Sometimes he almostwished himself a slave-boy, for then he would have had a home at least,if only a wretched cabin, and friends, if only negroes,--thoseoppressed, beaten, bought-and-sold, yet patient and cheerful people,whose lot seemed, after all, so much happier than his own. Carl had alarge, warm heart, and he longed with infinite longing for somebody tolove him and treat him kindly.
At last, as he was sitting one cold evening by the road-side, weary,hungry, despondent, not knowing where he was to find his supper, andseeing nothing else for him to do but to lie down under some bush, thereto shiver and starve till morning, a voice of unwonted kindness accostedhim.
"My poor boy, you seem to be in trouble; can I help you?"
Poor Carl burst into tears. It was the voice of Penn Hapgood; and in itstones were sympathy, comfort, hope. Penn took him by the arm, and liftedhim up, and carried his bundle for him, talking to him all the time solike a gentle and loving brother, that Carl said in the depths of hissoul that he would some day repay him, if he lived; and he prayed Godsecretly that he might live, and be able some day to repay him for thosesweet and gracious words.
Penn never quitted him until he had found him a home; neither after thatdid he forget him. He took him into his school, gave him his tuition,and befriended him in a hundred little ways beside.
And now the time had arrived when Penn himself stood in need of friends.The evening came, and Carl was missing from his new home.
"Whar's dat ar boy took hisself to, I'd like to know!" scolded old Toby."I'll clar away de table, and he'll lose his supper, if he stays anoderminute! Debil take me, if I don't!"
He had made the same threat a dozen times, and still he kept Carl'spotatoes hot for him, and the table waiting. For the old negro, thoughhe loved dearly to show his importance by making a good deal of blusterabout his work, had really one of the kindest hearts in the world, andwas as devoted to the boy he scolded as any indulgent old grandmother.
"The 'debil' will take you, sure enough, I'm afraid, Toby, if you appealto him so often," said a mildly reproving voice.
It was Mr. Villars, the old worn-out clergyman; a man of seventywinters, pale, white-haired, blind, feeble of body, yet strong andserene of soul. He came softly, groping his way into the kitchen, inorder to put his feet to Toby's fire.
"Laws, massa," said old Toby, grinning, "debil knows I ain't in 'arnest!he knows better'n to take me at my word, for I speaks his name widout nokind o' respec', allus, I does. Hyar's yer ol' easy char fur ye, Mass'Villars. Now you jes' make yerself comf'table." And he cleared a placeon the stove-hearth for the old man's feet.
"Thank you, Toby." With his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, hishands folded thoughtfully before his breast, and his beautiful old facesmiling the kindness which his blind eyes could not _look_, Mr. Villarssat by the fire. "Where is Carl to-night, Toby?"
"Dat ar's de question; dat's de pint, massa. Mos' I can say is, he ain'twhar he ought to be, a eatin' ob his supper. Chocolate's all a bilin'away to nuffin! ketch dis chile tryin' to keep tings hot for his supperanoder time!" And Toby added, in a whisper expressive of greatastonishment at himself, "What I eber took dat ar boy to keep fur's oneob de mysteries!"
For Toby, though only a servant (indeed, he had formerly been a slave inthe family), had had his own way so long in every thing that concernedthe management of the household, that he had come to believe himself theproprietor, not only of the house and land, and poultry and pigs, but ofthe family itself. He owned "ol' Mass Villars," and an exceedinglyprecious piece of property he considered him, especially since he hadbecome blind. He was likewise (in his own exalted imagination) soleinheritor and guardian-in-chief of "Miss Jinny," Mr. Villars's youngestdaughter, child of his old age, of whom Mrs. Villars said, on herdeath-bed, "Take always good care of my darling, dear Toby!"--aninjunction which the negro regarded as a sort of last will and testamentbequeathing the girl to him beyond mortal question.
There was, in fact, but one member of the household he did notexclusively claim. This was the married daughter, Salina, whose life hadbeen embittered by a truant husband,--no other, in fact, than the erringson of the worthy Mrs. Sprowl. The day when the infatuated girl made amarriage so much beneath the family dignity, Toby, in great grief andindignation, gave her up. "I washes my hands ob her! she ain't no more achile ob mine!" said the old servant, passionately weeping, as if thewashing of his hands was to be literal, and no other fluid would servehis dark purpose but tears. And when, after Sprowl's desertion of her,she returned, humiliated and disgraced, to her father's house,--that isto say, Toby's house,--Toby had compassion on her, and took her in, butnever set up any claim to her again.
"Where is Carl? Hasn't Carl come yet?" asked a sweet but very anxiousvoice. And Virginia, the youngest daughter, stood in the kitchen door.
"He hain't come yet, Miss Jinny; dat ar a fact!" said Toby. "'Pears likesomefin's hap'en'd to dat ar boy. I neber knowed him stay out so, whendar's any eatin' gwine on,--for he's a master hand for his supper, datboy ar! Laws, I hain't forgot how he laid in de vittles de fust nightMassa Penn fetched him hyar! He was right hungry, he was, and he tookholt powerful! 'I neber can keep dat ar boy in de world,' says I; 'he'lleat me clar out o' house an' home!' says I. But, arter all, it done myol' heart good to see him put in, ebery ting 'peared to taste so d'efflegood to him!" And Toby chuckled at the reminiscence.
"My daughter," said Mr. Villars, softly.
She was already standing behind his chair, and her trembling littlehands were smoothing his brow, and her earnest face was looking pale andabstracted over him. He could not see her face, but he knew by her touchthat the tender act was done some how mechanically to-night, and thatshe was thinking of other things. She started as he spoke, and, bendingover him, kissed his white forehead.
"I suspect," he went on, "that you know more of Carl than we do. Has hegone on some errand of yours?"
"I will tell you, father!" It seemed as if her feelings had been longrepressed, and it was a relief for her to speak at last. "Carl came tome, and said there was some mischief intended towards Penn. This waslong before dark. And he asked permission to go and see what it was. Isaid, 'Go, but come rig
ht back, if there is no danger.' He went, and Ihave not seen him since."
"Is this so? Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because, father, I did not wish to make you anxious. But now, if youwill let Toby go----"
"I'll go myself!" said the old man, starting up. "My staff, Toby! When Iwas out, I heard voices in the direction of the school-house,--I feltthen a presentiment that something was happening to Penn. I can controlthe mob,--I can save him, if it is not too late." He grasped the staffToby put into his hand.
"O, father!" said the agitated girl; "are you able?"
"Able, child? You shall see how strong I am when our friend is indanger."
"Let me go, then, and guide you!" she exclaimed, glad he was soresolved, yet unwilling to trust him out of her sight.
"No, daughter. Toby will be eyes for me. Yet I scarcely need even him. Ican find my way as well as he can in the dark."
The negro opened the door, and was leading out the blind old minister,when the light from within fell upon a singular object approaching thehouse. It started back again, like some guilty thing; but Toby had seenit. Toby uttered a shriek.
"De debil! de debil hisself, massa!" and he pulled the old man backhurriedly into the house.
"The devil, Toby? What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Villars.
"O, laws, bress ye, massa, ye hain't got no eyes, and ye can't see!"said Toby, shutting the door in his fright, and rolling his eyes wildly."It's de bery debil! he's come for dis niggah dis time, sartin'. Cos I,cos I 'pealed to him, as you said, massa! cos I's got de habit obspeakin' his name widout no kind o' respec'!"
And he stood bracing himself, with his back against the door, as ifdetermined that not even that powerful individual himself should get in.
"You poor old simpleton!" said Mr. Villars, "there is no fiend except inyour own imagination. Open the door!"
"No, no, massa! He's dar! he's dar! He'll cotch old Toby, shore!" Andthe terrified black held the latch and pushed with all his might.
"What did he see, Virginia?"
"I don't know, father! There was certainly somebody, or something,--Icould not distinguish what."
"It's what I tell ye!" gibbered Toby. "I seed de great coarse har on hisspeckled legs, and de wings on his back, and a right smart bag in hishand to put dis niggah in!"
"It might have been Carl," said Virginia.
"No, no! Carl don't hab sech legs as dem ar! Carl don't hab sech greatbig large ears as dem ar! O good Lord! good Lord!" the negro's voicesank to a terrified whisper, "he's a-knockin' for me now!"
"It's a very gentle rap for the devil," said Mr. Villars, who could notbut be amused, notwithstanding the strange interruption of his purpose,and Toby's vexatious obstinacy in holding the door. "It's some stranger;let him in!"
"No, no, no!" gasped the negro. "I won't say nuffin, and you tell him Iain't to home! Say I'se clar'd out, lef', gone you do'no' whar!"
"Toby!" was called from without.
"Dat's his voice! dat ar's his voice!" said Toby. And in his desperatepushing, he pushed his feet from under him, and fell at full lengthalong the floor.
"It's the voice of Penn Hapgood!" exclaimed the old minister. "Arise,quick, Toby, and open!"
Toby rubbed his head and looked bewildered.
"Are ye sartin ob dat, massa? Bress me, I breeve you're right, foroncet! It _ar_ Mass' Penn's voice, shore enough!"
He opened the door, but started back again with another shriek,convinced for an instant that it was, after all, the devil, who hadartfully borrowed Penn's voice to deceive him.
But no! It was Penn himself, his hat and clothes in his hand, smearedwith black tar and covered with feathers from head to foot; not even hisfeatures spared, nor yet his hair; on his cheeks great clumps of graygoose plumes, suggestive of diabolical ears, and with no other coveringbut this to shield him from the night wind, save the emptied bed-tick,which he had drawn over his shoulders, and which Toby had mistaken forSatanic wings.