CHAPTER VIII.

"Pompey," said Evadne one morning, "I am going to see your wife."

The black face beamed with satisfaction. "Dyee'll be mighty uplifted,
Miss 'Vadney. She think a powerful sight o' Mass Lennux."

Evadne stood watching him as he gave finishing touches to the silver mountings of the handsome harness. "I don't believe there is another harness in Marlborough that shines like yours, Pompey," she said with a laugh. "You are as particular with it as though every day was a special occasion."

"So 'tis, Miss 'Vadney," said Pompey simply. "Can't slight nuthin' when de Lord's lookin' on. Whoa, Brutis! Dere's goin' ter be Holiness to de Lord written on de bells ob de horses bimeby, Missy. I'se got it writ dere now."

"I believe you have, Pompey," said Evadne soberly, "for you do your work just as perfectly whether Uncle Lawrence is going to see it or not. It almost seems as if you were trying to please someone out of sight."

Pompey drew himself up to his full height. "I'se a frien' ob de Lord
Jesus, Miss 'Vadney. I'se got ter do everything perfect 'cause ob dat.
Couldn't bring no disgrace on my Lord."

"But would that disgrace him?" asked Evadne in wonderment.

"Why, yes, Missy. Ef I wuz a poor, shifles' crittur, only workin' fer de praise o' men, folks would say,—'he's no differen' frum de rest; you've got to keep yer eye on him ef yer want tings done properly. De King's chillen ain't no better dan de worl's chillen be.'

"De Lord Jesus, he say to me,—'Pompey, you must be faithful in de little things as well as in de big. I never slurred nuthin when I wuz a walkin' up and down troo Palestine. I sees you, Pompey; don't make no difference whether de earthly master does or not.' So I does all de little tings to de Lord, Miss 'Vadney, an' de Jedge knows he can depen' on Pompey. Whenever he wants me, I'se here."

"That is lovely!" said Evadne softly. "But don't you get dreadfully tired doing the same work over and over? Every day you have to do exactly the same things. It is as bad as a tread-mill. You just keep on going round and round."

Pompey gave one of his low chuckles. "'Specs dat's de way in dis worl', Miss 'Vadney. We'se got ter keep on eatin', an' we can't sleep enuff one night ter last fer a week,—but I 'low it's jes' one o' de beautiful laws ob de Lord,—de sun an' de moon an' de stars keeps a'goin over de same ground most continuous. So long as we'se doin' his will, Missy, it don't matter much whether we'se goin' roun' an' roun' or straight ahead. Stan' over, Ceesah!" and Pompey gave a final polish to the horse's already immaculate legs.

"Why don't you blacken their hoofs, Pompey? They used to do it in
Barbadoes."

Pompey's eyes twinkled. "Dat's a no 'count livery notion, Miss 'Vadney, a coverin' up de cracks an' makin' de horse's hufs look better dan dey is. De King's chillens can't stoop ter any sech decepshuns. De Lord Jesus says, 'Pompey, I is de truff. You's got ter speak de truff an' live de truff ef you belongs ter me.' We ain't got no call ter cover up anything, Miss 'Vadney, ef we'se livin' ez de Lord wants us to. 'Sides, der ain't no 'cashun fer it. Ef we keeps de stable pure an' de food good an' gives de horse de right kind of exercise an' plenty of 'tention, de hufs will take care ob demselves," and he held Caesar's foot up for her inspection.

"Halloo, Evadne, are you taking lessons in farriery? What's the matter, Pompey? Has Caesar got a sand crack?" and Louis sauntered up, the inevitable cigar between his lips.

"I don't 'low my horses ever hez sech things, Mass Louis," said Pompey grandly.

"Ha, ha! what a conceited old beggar you are. But I'll give the devil his due and acknowledge the horses are a credit to you." He held a dollar towards him balanced on his forefinger. "Here, take this and fill your pipe with it."

"Don't want no pay fer doin' my dooty, Mass Louis."

"Pshaw, man! Take a tip, can't you?"

Pompey shook his head. "I don't smoke, Mass Louis."

"Don't smoke!" ejaculated Louis. "You don't here, I know, because the Judge is afraid of fire, but you'll never make me believe that you don't spend your evenings over the fire with your pipe. You darkeys are as fond of one as the other."

"You's mistaken, Mass Louis," said Pompey quietly.

"'Pon my word! And why don't you smoke, Pomp? You don't know what you're missing. It is the greatest comfort on earth."

"'Specs I don't need sech poor comfort, Mass Louis. I takes my comfort wid de Lord."

Pompey's voice was low and sweet. Evadne felt her heart glow.

"But come now, Pomp," persisted Louis, "that's all nonsense. You must have some reason for not smoking. Everybody does. Come, I insist on your telling me."

Pompey was silent for a moment. "'The pure in heart shall see God,'" he said slowly. "I 'low, Mass Louis, de King's chillen's got ter be pure in body too."'

"You insolent scoundrel! How dare you?" and Louis dashed the glowing end of his cigar in the negro's face.

For a moment Pompey stood absolutely still,—the cigar which had left its mark upon his cheek lying smouldering at his feet,—then he turned quietly and walked away.

Louis strode out of the coach-house. Evadne followed him, her eyes blazing. "You are a coward!" she cried passionately. "You would not have dared to do that to a man who could hit you back. You forced him to tell you and then struck him for doing it! If this is your culture and refinement, I despise it! I am going to be a Christian, like Pompey. That is grand!"

"Well done, coz!" and Louis affected a laugh. "There's not much of the 'meek and lowly' in evidence just now at any rate."

He looked after her as she walked away, her indignant tones still lingered in his ears. "By Jove! there's something to her though she is so quiet! I must cultivate the child."

Seen through Evadne's clear eyes his action looked despicable and his better nature suggested an apology, but he swept the suggestion aside with a muttered "Pshaw! he's only a nigger," and turned carelessly on his heel.

"You are Dyce!" cried Evadne impulsively when she reached the cottage in whose open doorway a pleasant-faced colored woman was standing. "Pompey has told me about you. I think your husband is one of the grandest men I know."

"Thank you, Missy. Walk right in, I'se proper glad ter see Mass Lennux's chile."

"Why, how did you know me?" asked Evadne wonderingly.

The woman laughed softly. "Laws, honey, you'se de livin' image of yer
Pa."

She excused herself after a few moments and Evadne laid her head against the cushions of a comfortable old rocking chair and rested. She wondered sometimes where her old strength had gone. She had never felt tired in Barbadoes. The tiny room was full of a homely comfort which did her heart good. There were books lying on the table and flowers in the window, a handsome cat purred in front of the fireplace, and on a bracket in one corner an asthmatic clock ticked off the hours with wheezy vigor. In an adjoining room Evadne could see a bed with its gay patchwork quilt of Dyce's making, and in the little kitchen beyond she heard her singing as she trod to and fro. A couple of dainty muslin dresses were draped over chairs, for Dyce was the finest clear starcher in Marlborough, and her kitchen was all too small to hold the products of her skill. She entered the room again bearing a tray covered with a snowy napkin on which were quaint blue plates of delicious bread and butter, pumpkin pie, golden browned as only Dyce could bake it, and a cup of fragrant coffee.

"I did not know anything could taste quite so good!" Evadne said when she had finished, "you must be a wonderful cook."

Dyce laughed, well pleased. "When de Lord gives us everything in perfecshun, 'specs it would be terrible shifles' of me ter spoil it in de cookin', Miss 'Vadney."

"The Lord," repeated Evadne. "You know him too, then? You must, if you live with Pompey."

Dyce's face grew luminous. "He is my joy!" she said softly.

"And does he make you happy all the time?" asked the girl wistfully. "You seem to have to work as hard as Pompey. What is it makes you so glad?"

"Laws, honey, how kin I help bein' glad? De chile o' de King, on de way ter my Father's palace. Ain't dat enuff 'cashun ter keep a poor cullered woman rejoicin' all de day long? I'se so happy I'se a singin' all de time over my work, an' in de street; it don't matter where I be."

"But you can't sing in the streets, Dyce!"

"Laws, chile, don't yer know de heart kin sing when de lips is silent? It's de heart songs dat de King tinks de most of, but when de heart gits too full, den de lips hez ter do deir share."

"But suppose you were to lose your eyesight, or Pompey got sick, or——"

Dyce gave one of her soft laughs. "Laws, honey, I never supposes. De Lord's got no use fer a lot o' supposin' chillen who's allers frettin' demselves sick fer fear Satan'll git de upper han'. De Lord's reignin', dat's enuff fer me. I 'low he'll take care o' me in de best way."

Evadne looked again at the exquisitely laundered dresses. "Why do you work so hard?" she asked. "Doesn't Pompey get enough to live on?"

"Oh, yes, honey; de Jedge gives good wages; but yer see, we wants to do so much fer Jesus dat de wages don't hold out."

"So much for Jesus!"

"Why, yes, Missy. He says ef we loves him we'll do what he tells us, an' he's tol' us ter feed de hungry, an' clothe de naked, an' go preach de gospel. So, when we cum ter talk it ober, it seem drefful shifles' in me ter be doin' nothin' when de Lord worked night an' day, so I begun ter take in laundry work an' now we hev more money ter spen' on de Lord. But we never hez enuff. De worl's so full o' perishin' souls an' starvin' bodies. I tells Pompey I never wanted ter be rich till I began ter do de King's bizniss. It's drefful comfortin' work, Miss 'Vadney."

* * * * *

The chill March wind blew fiercely along the streets of Marlborough one afternoon and Evadne shivered. She had been standing for an hour wedged tightly against the doors of the Opera House by an impatient crowd which swayed hither and thither in a fruitless effort to force an entrance. It was Signor Ferice's farewell to America and it was his whim to make his last concert a popular one, with no seats reserved. Every nerve in her body seemed strained to its utmost tension and her head was in a whirl. She turned and faced the crowd. A sea of faces; some eager, some sullen, some frowning, all impatient. The scraps of merry talk which had floated to her at intervals during the earlier stages of the waiting were no longer heard. A gloomy silence seemed to have settled down upon every one. Suddenly a laugh rang out upon the keen air,—so full of a clear joyousness that people involuntarily straightened their drooping shoulders, as if inspired with a new sense of vigor and smiled in sympathy.

Evadne started. Surely she had heard that voice before! It must be,—yes, it was,—her knight of the gate! Their eyes met. A great light swept over his face and he lifted his hat. Then the surging crowd carried him out of her range of vision.

"I don't see what you find to look so pleased about, Evadne," grumbled Isabelle, as they drove homeward. "For my part I think the whole thing was a fizzle."

"I was thinking," said Evadne slowly, "of the power of a laugh."

"The power of a laugh! What in the World do you mean?"

"I mean that it is a great deal better for ourselves to laugh than to cry, and vastly more comfortable for our neighbors."

"Evadne will not be down," announced Marion the next morning as she entered the breakfast room. "She caught a dreadful cold at the concert yesterday and she can't lift her head from the pillow. Celestine thinks she is sickening for a fever."

"Dear me, how tiresome!" exclaimed Mrs. Hildreth. "I have such a horror of having sickness in the house,—one never knows where it will end. Ring the bell for Sarah, Marion, to take up her breakfast."

"It is no use, Mamma. She says she does not want anything."

"But that is nonsense. The child must eat. If it is fever, she will need a nurse, and nurses always make such an upheaval in a house."

"You had better go up, my dear, and see for yourself," said Judge
Hildreth. "Celestine may be mistaken."

"Mercy!" cried Isabelle, "it is to be hoped she is! I have the most abject horror of fevers and that is enough to make me catch it. Fancy having one's head shorn like a convict! The very idea is appalling."

"Oh, of course if there is the slightest danger, you and Marion will have to go to Madame Castle's to board," said her mother. "It is very provoking that Evadne should have chosen to be sick just now."

"Not likely the poor girl had much choice in the matter," laughed Louis. "There are a few things, lady mother, over which the best of us have no control."

"I wish you would go up and see the child, Kate," said Judge Hildreth impatiently. "If there is the least fear of anything serious I will send the carriage at once for Doctor Russe. It is a risky business transplanting tropical flowers into our cold climate."

The kind-hearted French maid was bending over Evadne's pillow when Mrs. Hildreth entered the room. She had grown to love the quiet stranger whose courtesy made her work seem light, and it was with genuine regret that she whispered to her mistress,—"It is the feevar. I know it well. My seestar had it and died."

Evadne's eyes were closed and she took no notice of her aunt's entrance. Mrs. Hildreth spoke to her and then left the room hurriedly to summon her husband. Even her unpractised eyes showed her that her niece was very ill.

Doctor Russe shook his head gravely. "It is a serious case," he said, "and I do not know Where you will find a nurse. I never remember a spring when there was so much sickness in the city. I sent my last nurse to a patient yesterday and since then have had two applications for one. It is most unfortunate. The young lady will need constant care. She requires a person of experience."

Pompey, waiting to drive the doctor home, caught the words, spoken as he descended the steps to enter the carriage, and came forward eagerly. "If you please, Missus," he said, touching his hat, "Dyce would come. She's hed a powerful sight of 'sperience nussin' fevers in New Orleans. She'd be proper glad ter tend Miss 'Vadney."

"How is that?" questioned the busy doctor. "Oh, your wife, my good fellow? The very thing. Let her come at once."

So Dyce came, and into her sympathetic ears were poured the delirious ravings of the lonely heart which had been so suddenly torn from its genial surroundings of love and happiness and thrust into the chilling atmosphere of misunderstanding and neglect.

Every day the patient grew weaker and after each visit the doctor looked graver. Mrs. Hildreth began to feel the gnawings of remorse, as she thought of the lonely girl to whom she had so coldly refused a daughter's place; and the Judge's thoughts grew unbearable as he remembered his broken trust; even Louis missed the earnest face which he had grown to watch with a curious sense of pleasure; while the girls at school felt their hearts grow warm as they thought of the young cousin so soon to pass through the valley of the shadow.

But Evadne did not die. The fever spent itself at last and there followed long days of utter prostration both of mind and body. Dyce's cheery patience never failed. Her sunny nature diffused a bright hopefulness throughout the sick chamber, until Evadne would lie in a dreamy content, almost fancying herself back in the old home as she listened to the musical tones and watched the dusky hands which so deftly ministered to her comfort. One day after she had lain for a long time in silence, she looked up at her faithful nurse and the grey eyes shone like stars.

"Dyce!" she cried softly. "I have found Jesus Christ!" 4bELssmqjO9xBg/Qt4eH5SINSGtfPkSkkBqhgJ+eVUeNq1X6TcdoWgPFP4sHOZww