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Elsie's Motherhood

by Martha Finley · English · Gutenberg #14566 · 457,457 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Elsie's Motherhood

Author: Martha Finley


        
Release date: January 3, 2005 [eBook #14566]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14566

Credits: E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELSIE'S MOTHERHOOD ***

ELSIE'S MOTHERHOOD

A Sequel to _Elsie's Womanhood_

by

MARTHA FINLEY (FARQUHARSON)

Author of _The Story of Elsie_, _Casella_, _Wanted, a Pedigree_,
_Old-Fashioned Boy_, etc.

1876







"Sweet is the image of the brooding dove!
Holy as heaven a mother's tender love!
The love of many prayers and many tears,
Which changes not with dim declining years--
The only love which, on this teeming earth,
Asks no return for passion's wayward birth."

MRS. NORTON.




PREFACE.


In compliance with the expressed desire of many of Elsie's friends and
admirers, the story of her life is continued in this, the fifth volume
of the series.

When about to undertake its preparation the suggestion was made to the
author that to bring in the doings of the Ku Klux would add interest to
the story, and at the same time give a truer picture of life in the
South during the years 1867-68 in which its events take place.

The published reports of the Congressional Committee of Investigation
were resorted to as the most reliable source of information, diligently
examined, and care taken not to go beyond the facts there given as
regards the proceedings of the Klan, the clemency and paternal acts of
the Government, or the kindly, fraternal feelings and deeds of the
people of the North toward their impoverished and suffering brethren of
the South.

These things have become matters of history: vice and crime should be
condemned wherever found; and naught has been set down in malice; for
the author has a warm love for the South as part and parcel of the dear
land of her birth.

May this child of her brain give pain to none, but prove pleasant and
profitable to all who peruse its pages, and especially helpful to young
parents,

M. F.




Chapter First.

"Meantime a smiling offspring rises round,
And mingles both their graces. By degrees
The human blossom blows, and every day,
Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm,
The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom."
--Thomson's Seasons


"Mamma! Papa too!" It was a glad shout of a chorus of young voices as
four pairs of little feet came pattering up the avenue and into the
veranda; then as many ruby lips were held up for the morning kiss from
the children's dearly loved father.

They had already had their half hour with mamma, which made so sweet a
beginning of each day, yet she too must have a liberal share of the
eagerly bestowed caresses; while Bruno, a great Newfoundland, the pet,
playfellow, and guardian of the little flock, testified his delight in
the scene by leaping about among them, fawning upon one and another,
wagging his tail, and uttering again and again a short, joyous bark.

Then followed a merry romp, cut short by the ringing of the breakfast
bell, when all trooped into the house, Harold riding on papa's shoulder,
mamma following with Elsie, Eddie and Vi; while Dinah, with Baby Herbert
in her arms; brought up the rear.

The children had been very gay, full of laughter and sweet innocent
prattle, but a sudden hush fell upon them when seated about the table in
the bright, cheerful breakfast parlor; little hands were meekly folded
and each young head bent reverently over the plate, while in a few
simple words which all could understand, their father gave God thanks
for their food and asked his blessing upon it.

The Ion children were never rude even in their play, and their table
manners were almost perfect; made the constant companions of cultivated,
refined parents--whose politeness springing from genuine unselfishness,
was never laid aside, but shown on all occasions and to rich and poor,
old and young alike--and governed with a wise mixture of indulgence and
restraint, mildness and firmness, they imitated the copies set before
them and were seldom other than gentle and amiable in their deportment,
not only toward their superiors, but to equals and inferiors also.

They were never told that "children should be seen and not heard," but
when no guests were present, were allowed to talk in moderation; a
gentle word or look of reproof from papa or mamma being quite
sufficient to check any tendency to boisterousness or undue loquacity.

"I think we should celebrate this anniversary, Elsie," remarked Mr.
Travilla, stirring his coffee and gazing with fond admiration into the
sweet face at the opposite end of the table.

"Yes, sir, though we are rather late in thinking of it," she answered
smilingly, the rose deepening slightly on her cheek as delicately
rounded and tinted as it had been ten years ago.

Little Elsie looked up inquiringly. "What is it, papa? I do not
remember."

"Do you not? Ten years ago to-day there was a grand wedding at the Oaks,
and your mamma and I were there."

"I too?" asked Eddie.

"Yes, course, Eddie," spoke up five year old Violet, "grandpa would
'vite you and all of us; and I b'lieve I 'member a _little_ about it."

"Me too," piped the baby voice of Harold, "me sat on papa's knee."

There was a general laugh, the two little prattlers joining in right
merrily.

"I really don't remember that part of it, Harold," said papa, while wee
Elsie--as she was often called by way of distinguishing her from mamma,
for whom she was named--shook her curly head at him with a merry "Oh,
you dear little rogue, you don't know what you are talking about;" and
mamma remarked, "Vi has perhaps a slight recollection of May Allison's
wedding."

"But this one at the Oaks must have been before I was born," said Elsie,
"because you said it was ten years ago, and I'm only nine. O, mamma, was
it _your_ wedding?"

"Yes, daughter. Shall we invite our friends for this evening, Edward?"

"Yes, wife; suppose we make it a family party, inviting only relatives,
connections and very intimate friends."

After a little more discussion it was decided they would do so; also
that the children should have a full holiday, and while their mother was
giving orders and overseeing the necessary preparations for the
entertainment, papa should take them all in the roomy family carriage
and drive over to the Oaks, Roselands, Ashlands and Pinegrove to give
the invitations. Beside these near friends only the minister and his
wife were to be asked; but as Adelaide and her family were at this time
paying a visit to Roselands, and Lucy Ross was doing the same at her old
home, and all the younger generation except the mere babies, were to be
included in the invitation, should all accept it would be by no means a
small assemblage.

Early hours were named for the sake of the little ones; guests to come
at six, refreshments to be served at eight, and the Ion children, if
each would take a nap in the afternoon, to be allowed to stay up till
nine.

How delighted they were: how the little eyes danced and sparkled, and
how eagerly they engaged to fulfill the conditions, and not to fret or
look cross when summoned at nine, to leave the drawing-room and be put
to bed.

"O, mamma, won't you wear your wedding dress?" cried little Elsie; "do,
dear mamma, so that we may all see just how you looked when you were
married."

Elsie smiled, "You forget, daughter, that I am ten years older now, and
the face cannot be quite the same."

"The years have robbed it of none of its beauty," said Mr. Travilla.

"Ah, love is blind," she returned with a blush and smile as charming as
those of her girlhood's days. "And the dress is quite out of date."

"No matter for that. It would gratify me as well as the children to see
you in it."

"Then it shall be worn, if it fits or can be altered in season."

"Veil and all, mamma," pleaded Elsie, "it is so beautiful--Mammy showed
it to me only the other day and told me you looked so, _so_ lovely; and
she will put the orange blossoms in your hair and on your dress just as
they were that night; for she remembers all about it."

The children, ready dressed for their drive, were gathered in a merry
group on the veranda, Eddie astride of Bruno, waiting for papa and the
carriage, when a horse came cantering up the avenue, and Mr. Horace
Dinsmore alighted and stepped into their midst.

"Oh, grandpa, what you turn for?" cried Harold in a tone of
disappointment, "we was dus doin to 'vite you!"

"Indeed!"

"Yes, grandpa, it's a 'versary to-day" explained Vi.

"And mamma's going to be married over again," said Eddie.

"No, no; only to have a party and wear her wedding dress," corrected
Elsie.

"Papa, good morning," cried their mother, coming swiftly through, the
hall, "I'm so glad, always so glad to see you."

"I know it," he said, pressing a fatherly kiss on the sweet lips, then
holding her off for an instant to gaze fondly into the fair face. "And
it is ten years to-day since I gave Travilla a share in my treasure. I
was thinking of it as I rode over and that you should celebrate this
anniversary at your father's house."

"No, no, Dinsmore, you must be our guest," said Travilla, coming out and
shaking hands cordially with his old friend. "We have it all
arranged,--a family gathering, and Elsie to gratify us by wearing her
bridal robes. Do you not agree with me that she would make as lovely a
bride to-day as she did ten years ago?"

"Quite. I relinquish my plan for yours; and don't let me detain you and
these eager children."

"I thank you: I will go then, as the invitations will be late enough
with all the haste we can make."

The carriage was at the door and in a trice grandpa and papa had helped
the little ones in: not even Baby Herbert was left behind, but seated on
his mammy's lap crowed and laughed as merrily as the rest.

"Ah, mamma, you come too!" pleaded the little voices, as their father
took his place beside them. "Can't mammy and Aunt Dicey and the rest
know what to do without you to tell them?"

"Not this time, dears; and you know I must make haste to try on the
dress, to see if it fits."

"Oh, yes, mamma!" and throwing a shower of kisses, they drove off.

"A carriage load of precious jewels," Elsie said, looking after it as it
rolled away: "how the ten years have added to my wealth, papa."

She stood by his side, her hand on his arm, and the soft sweet eyes
lifted to his were full of a content and gladness beyond the power of
words to express.

"I thank God every day for my darling's happiness," he said low and
tenderly, and softly smoothing her shining hair.

"Ah, it is very great, and my father's dear love forms no small part of
it. But come in, papa, I want to consult you about one or two little
matters; Edward and I rely very much upon your taste and judgment."

"To Roselands first," was Mr. Travilla's order to the coachman.

The old home of the Dinsmores, though shorn of the glory of its grand
old trees, was again a beautiful place: the new house was in every
respect a finer one than its predecessor, of a higher style of
architecture, more conveniently arranged, more tastefully and handsomely
furnished; lawns, gardens and fields had become neat and trim as in the
days before the war, and a double row of young, thrifty trees bordered
the avenue.

Old Mr. Dinsmore now resided there and gave a home to his two widowed
and impoverished daughters--Mrs. Louise Conly, and Mrs. Enna
Johnson--and their families.

These two aunts loved Elsie no better than in earlier years: it was gall
and wormwood to them to know that they owed all these comforts to her
generosity; nor could they forgive her that she was more wealthy,
beautiful, lovely and beloved than themselves. Enna was the more bitter
and outspoken of the two, but even Louise seldom treated her niece to
anything better than the most distant and frigid politeness.

In a truly Christian spirit Elsie returned them pity and compassion,
because of their widowhood and straitened circumstances, invited them to
her house, and when they came received them with kindness and
cordiality.

Her grandfather had grown very fond of her and her children, was often
at Ion, and for his sake she occasionally visited Roselands. Adelaide's
presence had drawn her there more frequently of late. The invitation Mr.
Travilla carried was to the grandfather, three aunts and all their
children.

Adelaide and Enna were in the drawing-room when the Ion carriage drew up
at the door.

"There's Travilla, the old scalawag: how I hate him! Elsie too, I
presume," exclaimed the latter, glancing from the window; "I'll leave
you to entertain them," and she hastily left the room.

Adelaide flashed an indignant look after her, and hurried out to meet
and welcome the callers. Mr. Travilla had alighted and was coming up the
steps of the veranda.

"How d'ye do. I'm _very_ glad to see you," cried Adelaide, extending her
hand, "but where is Elsie?"

"Left at home for once," he answered gayly, "but I come this morning
merely as her ladyship's messenger."

"But won't you come in; you and the children?"

"Thanks, no, if you will permit me just to deliver my message and go;
for I am in haste."

Mrs. Allison accepted the invitation for herself and children with
evident pleasure, engaged that her sisters would do the same; then went
to the carriage window for a moment's chat with the little ones, each of
whom held a large place in her warm heart. "Aunt Addie," said Elsie in
an undertone, "mamma's going to wear her wedding dress to-night, veil
and all."

"Is she? why that's an excellent idea. But don't tell it anywhere else
that you go; it will be such a nice surprise to the rest if we can keep
it a secret."

"That was a good suggestion of Aunt Addie's," Mr. Travilla remarked as
they drove down the avenue. "Suppose we carry it out. How many of you
can refrain from telling what mamma is to wear to-night? how many can I
trust to keep a secret?"

"All of us, papa!" "Me, papa, me, I won't tell," cried the little voices
in chorus.

"Yes, I believe I can trust you all," he answered in his bright cheery
way. "Now on to the Oaks, Solon, then to Pinegrove, Springbrook, and
Ashlands. That will be the last place, children, and as our hurry will
then be over, you shall get out of the carriage and have a little time
to rest before we start for home."

Re-entering the house Mrs. Allison went to the family sitting-room where
she found both her sisters and several of the younger members of the
household. "So they have asked for us?" exclaimed Louise in a tone of
vexation, "at such an unreasonable hour too. Well," with a sigh of
resignation, "I suppose we must show ourselves or papa will be
displeased: so wonderfully fond of Elsie as he has grown of late."

"As well he may," returned Adelaide pointedly; "but Elsie is not here
nor has any one inquired for you."

"No, I presume not," interrupted Enna with a sneer, "we are not worth
inquiring for."

Indignation kept Adelaide silent for a moment, she was sorely tempted to
administer a severe and cutting rebuke. But Enna was no longer a child,
and controlling herself she calmly delivered Mr. Travilla's message.

"Oh, delightful! Cousin Elsie always does give such splendid parties,
such elegant refreshments!" cried Virginia and Isadore Conly, girls of
ten and twelve, "mamma, you'll never think of declining?"

"No, your grandfather wouldn't like it," said Louise, as anxious as her
daughters to enjoy the entertainment, yet glad to save her pride, by
putting her acceptance on the score of pleasing her father.

"And you'll go too, and take us, mamma, won't you?" anxiously queried
Molly Percival, who was between her cousins in age.

"Of course I'll go; we all want our share of the good things, and the
pleasure of seeing and being seen," answered Enna, scorning Louise's
subterfuge; "and if you and Dick will promise to make me no trouble,
I'll take you along. But Bob and Betty may stay at home, I'm not going
to be bothered with them,--babies of five and three. But what shall we
wear, Lu? I do say it's real mean in them to give us so short a notice.
But of course Elsie enjoys making me feel my changed circumstances. I've
no such stock of jewels, silks and laces as she, nor the full purse that
makes it an easy matter for her to order a fresh supply at a moment's
warning."

"You have all, and more than the occasion calls for," remarked Adelaide
quietly; "it is to be only a family gathering."




Chapter Second.

"Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers,
We, who improve his golden hours,
By sweet experience know
That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good
A paradise below."
--Cotton


Mr. Allison had fully kept his promise to Sophie, and Ashlands was again
the fine old place it had been prior to the war. The family, consisting
of the elder Mrs. Carrington, a young man, named George Boyd, a nephew
of hers who had taken charge of the plantation, Sophie and her four
children, had now been in possession for over a year.

Sophie, still an almost inconsolable mourner for the husband of her
youth, lived a very retired life, devoting herself to his mother and his
orphaned little ones.

Mrs. Ross, expecting to spend the fall and winter with them, had brought
all her children and a governess, Miss Fisk, who undertook the tuition
of the little Carringtons also during her stay at Ashlands, thus leaving
the mothers more at liberty for the enjoyment of each other's society.

It was in the midst of school-hours that the Ion carriage came driving
up the avenue, and Philip Ross, lifting his head from the slate over
which he had been bending for the last half hour, rose hastily, threw
down his pencil and hurried from the room, paying no attention to Miss
Fisk's query, "Where are you going, Philip?" or her command, "Come back
instantly: it is quite contrary to rules for pupils to leave the
school-room during the hours of recitation, without permission." Indeed
he had reached the foot of the staircase before the last word had left
her lips; she being very slow and precise in speech and action, while
his movements were of the quickest.

"What now is to be done in this emergency?" soliloquized the governess,
unconsciously thinking aloud. "Miss Gertrude Ross," turning to a girl
of nine whose merry blue eyes were twinkling with fun, "follow your
brother at once and inform him that I cannot permit any such act of
insubordination; and he must return instantly to the performance of his
duties."

"Yes ma'am," and Gertrude vanished; glad enough of the opportunity to
see for herself who were the new arrivals. "Phil," she said, entering
the drawing-room where the guests were already seated, "Miss Fisk says
you're an insubordination and must come back instantly."

"Gertude," said her mother, laughing "come and speak to Mr. Travilla and
your little friends. Why yes, Phil, to be sure; how came you here when
you ought to be at your lessons?"

"Because I wanted to see Elsie Travilla," he answered nonchalantly.

"Yes, but you should have asked for permission. I ought to send you
back."

"But you won't, ma, you know that as well as I do. I'll not go back a
step while Elsie stays."

"Well, well, it seems you are bound to have your own way, as usual,"
Lucy answered, half laughing, half sighing, then resumed her talk with
Mr. Travilla.

Seeing that the little Travillas had listened to this colloquy in blank
amazement, she felt much mortified at Phil's behavior, and on receiving
the invitation threatened to leave him at home as a punishment. But this
only made matters worse: he insisted that go he would, and if she
refused permission he should never, never love her again as long as he
lived. And she weakly yielded.

"Lucy," said her mother, when the guests were gone, and the children had
left the room, "you are ruining that boy."

"Well, I don't see how I can help it, mamma how could I bear to lose his
affection?"

"You are taking the very course to bring that about; it is the weakly
indulged, not the wisely controlled, children who lose, first respect,
and then affection for their parents. Look at Elsie's little family for
instance; where can you find children ruled with a firmer hand, or more
devotedly attached to their parents?"

Eddie was at that moment saying to his father, "Papa, isn't Phil Ross a
very, _very_ naughty boy, to be so saucy and disobedient to his mamma?"

"My son," answered Mr. Travilla with gentle gravity, "when you have
corrected all Eddie Travilla's faults it will be time enough to attend
to those of others." And the child hung his head and blushed for shame.

It was Mr. and Mrs. Horace Dinsmore who did the honors at Ion early in
the evening, receiving and welcoming each bevy of guests, and replying
to the oft repeated inquiry for the master and mistress of the
establishment, that they would make their appearance shortly.

Elsie's children, most sweetly and becomingly dressed, had gathered
about "Aunt Rosie," in a corner of the drawing-room, and seemed to be
waiting with a sort of intense but quiet eagerness for the coming of
some expected event.

At length every invited guest had arrived. All being so thoroughly
acquainted, nearly all related, there was an entire absence of stiffness
and constraint, and much lively chat had been carried on; but a sudden
hush fell upon them, and every eye turned toward the doors opening into
the hall, expecting--they knew not what.

There were soft foot-falls, a slight rustle of silk, and Adelaide
entered followed by Mr. Travilla with Elsie on his arm, in bridal
attire. The shimmering satin, rich, soft lace and orange blossoms became
her well; and never, even on that memorable night ten years ago, had she
looked lovelier or more bride-like; never had her husband bent a
prouder, fonder look upon her fair face than now as he led her to the
centre of the room, where they paused in front of their pastor.

A low murmur of surprise and delight ran round the room, but was
suddenly stilled, as the venerable man rose and began to speak.

"Ten years ago to-night, dear friends, I united you in marriage. Edward
Travilla, you then vowed to love, honor and cherish till life's end the
woman whom you now hold by the hand. Have you repented of that vow? and
would you be released?"

"Not for worlds: there has been no repentance, but my love has grown
deeper and stronger day by day."

"And you, Elsie Dinsmore Travilla, also vowed to love, honor and obey
the man you hold by the hand. Have you repented?"

"Never, sir; never for one moment." The accents were low, sweet, clear,
and full of pleasure.

"I pronounce you a faithful man and wife: and may God, in his good
providence, grant you many returns of this happy anniversary."

Old Mr. Dinsmore stepped up, kissed the bride and shook hands with the
groom. "Blessings on you for making her so happy," he said in quivering
tones.

His son followed, then the others in their turn, and a merry scene
ensued.

"Mamma, it was so pretty, _so_ pretty," little Elsie said, clasping her
arms about her mother's neck, "and now I just feel as if I'd been to
your wedding. Thank you, dear mamma and papa."

"Mamma, you are so beautiful, I'll just marry you myself, when I'm a
man," remarked Eddie, giving her a hearty kiss, then gazing into her
face with his great dark eyes full of love and admiration.

"I too," chimed in Violet. "No, no, I forget, I shall be a lady myself:
so I'll have to marry papa."

"No, Vi, oo tan't have my papa; he's dus' my papa always," objected
Harold, climbing his father's knee.

"What a splendid idea, Elsie," Lucy Ross was saying to her friend, "you
have made me regret, for the first time, not having kept my wedding
dress; for I believe my Phil and I could go through that catechism
quite as well as you and Mr. Travilla. The whole thing, I suppose, was
quite original?"

"Among us: my namesake daughter proposed the wearing of the dress: and
the ceremony," turning to the minister, "was your idea, Mr. Wood, was it
not?"

"Partly, Mrs. Travilla; your father, Mrs. Dinsmore, and I planned it
together."

"Your dress is as perfect a fit as when made, but I presume you had it
altered," observed Lucy, making a critical examination of her friend's
toilet.

"No, not in the least," answered Elsie, smiling.

The banquet to which the guests were presently summoned, though gotten
up so hastily, more than fulfilled the expectation of the Misses Conly,
who as well as their mother and Aunt Enna did it ample justice; there
was a good deal of gormandizing done by the spoiled children present,
spite of feeble protests from their parents; but Elsie's well trained
little ones ate contentedly what was given them, nor even asked for the
rich dainties on which others were feasting; knowing that papa and mamma
loved them too dearly to deny them any real good.

"Holloa, Neddie and Vi, why you've been overlooked!" said Philip Ross,
coming toward the two little ones with a plate heaped up with rich
viands, "you've nothing but ice cream and plain sugar biscuit; here,
take some of this pound cake and these bonbons. They're delicious, I
tell you!"

"No, no, thank you: mamma says pound cake is much too rich for us, and
would make us sick," said Eddie.

"'Specially at night," added Vi, "and we're to have some bonbons
to-morrow."

"Goodest little tots ever I saw," returned Philip laughing. "Ma wanted
me to let 'em alone, but I told her I'd risk the getting sick," he added
with a pompous grown-up air.

"Phil, you certainly are an insubordination, as Miss Fisk said,"
remarked his sister Gertrude, standing near, "I believe you think you're
'most a man, but it's a great mistake."

"Pooh, Ger! people that live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. I
heard you telling ma you wouldn't wear the dress she'd laid out for you.
Elsie Travilla, allow me the pleasure of refilling your saucer."

"No, thank you, Phil, I've had all mamma thinks good for me."

"Time to go to bed, chillens," said mammy, approaching the little group,
"de clock jes gwine strike nine. Here, Uncle Joe, take dese empty
saucers."

Promptly and without a murmur the four little folks prepared to obey the
summons, but cast wistful longing glances toward mamma, who was gayly
chatting with her guests on the other side of the room. Just then the
clock on the mantel struck, and excusing herself she came quickly toward
them. "That is right, dears; come and say good-night to papa and our
friends; then go with mammy and mamma will follow in a few moments."

"What dear sweet creatures they are! perfect little ladies and
gentlemen," remarked Mrs. Wood, as, after a courteous good-night to all,
they went cheerfully away with their mammy.

"I wish mine were half as good," said Mrs. Ross.

"Now ma, don't expose us," cried Phil. "I've often heard you say Mrs.
Travilla was a far better little girl than you; so of course her
children ought to be better than yours."

"Some children keep their good behavior for company," sneered Enna, "and
I've no doubt these little paragons have their naughty fits as well as
ours."

"It is quite true that they are not always good," Elsie said with
patient sweetness. "And now I beg you will all excuse me for a few
moments, as they never feel quite comfortable going to bed without a
last word or two with mamma."

"Before I'd make myself such a slave to my children!" muttered Enna,
looking after her as she glided from the room. "If they couldn't be
content to be put to bed by their mammies, they might stay up all
night."

"I think Mrs. Travilla is right," observed the pastor; "the
responsibilities of parents are very great. God says to each one, 'Take
this child and nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy wages.'"




Chapter Third.

"Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot,
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,
To breathe the enlivening spirit and to fix
The generous purpose in the glowing breast!"
--THOMSON'S SEASONS.


The Ion little folks were allowed an extra nap the next morning, their
parents wisely considering plenty of sleep necessary to the healthful
development of their mental and physical powers. They themselves,
however, felt no necessity for a like indulgence, their guests having
departed in season to admit of their retiring at the usual hour, and
were early in the saddle, keenly enjoying a brisk canter of several
miles before breakfast.

On their return Elsie went to the nursery, Mr. Travilla to the field
where his men were at work. Half an hour later they and their children
met at the breakfast table.

Solon came in for orders.

"You may leave Beppo saddled, Solon," said Mr. Travilla, "and have
Prince and Princess at the door also, immediately after prayers."

The last named were a pair of pretty little grey ponies belonging
respectively to Eddie and his sister Elsie. They were gentle and well
trained for both saddle and harness.

Nearly every day the children rode them, one on each side of their
father, mounted on Beppo, his beautiful bay; and occasionally they drove
behind them in the phaeton with their mother or some older person; and
one or the other of the children would often be allowed to hold the
reins when on a straight and level road; for their father wished them to
learn to both ride and drive with ease and skill.

Little Elsie's great ambition was "to be like mamma" in the ease and
grace with which she sat her horse, as well as in every thing else;
while Eddie was equally anxious to copy his father.

Violet and Harold ran out to the veranda to watch them mount and ride
away.

"Papa," said Vi, "shall we, too, have ponies and ride with you, when
we're as big as Elsie and Eddie?"

"I intend you shall, little daughter, and if you and Harold will be here
with your hats on, all ready to start at once when we come back, I will
give you each a short ride before the ponies are put away."

"Oh, thank you, papa! we'll be sure to be ready," they answered, and
ran in to their mother to tell her of papa's kind promise, and to have
their hats put on.

Elsie, who was in the sitting-room with Herbert on her lap, rejoiced in
their joy, and bade Dinah prepare them at once for their ride.

"Bress dere little hearts! dey grows hansomer ebery day," exclaimed an
elderly negress, who had just come in with a basket on her arm.

"Don't say such things before them, Aunt Sally," said her mistress in a
tone of gentle reproof, "their young hearts are only too ready to be
puffed up with vanity and pride. Now what is your report from the
quarter."

"Well, missus, dere's lots ob miseries down dere dis mornin'; ole Lize
she's took wid a misery in her side; an' Uncle Jack, he got um in his
head; ole Aunt Delie's got de misery in de joints wid de rheumatiz, an'
ole Uncle Mose he's 'plainin ob de misery in his back; can't stan' up
straight no how: an' Hannah's baby got a mighty bad cold, can't hardly
draw its breff; 'twas took dat way in de night; an' Silvy's boy tore his
foot on a nail."

"Quite a list," said Elsie. And giving her babe to Aunt Chloe, she
selected a key from a bright bunch lying in a little basket, held by a
small dusky maid at her side, unlocked a closet door and looked over her
medical store. "Here's a plaster for Uncle Mose to put on his back, and
one for Lize's side," she said, handing each article in turn to Aunt
Sally, who bestowed it in her basket. "This small bottle has some drops
that will do Uncle Jack's head good; and this larger one is for Aunt
Delia. Tell her to rub her joints with it. There is medicine for the
baby, and Hannah must give it a warm bath. If it is not better directly
we must send for the doctor. Now, here is a box of salve, excellent for
cuts, burns and bruises; spread some on a bit of rag, and tie it on
Silvy's boy's foot. There, I think that is all. I'll be down after a
while, to see how they are all doing," and with some added directions
concerning the use of each remedy, Aunt Sally was dismissed.

Then Aunt Dicey, the housekeeper, came for her orders for the day, and
such supplies from pantry and storehouse as were needed in carrying them
out.

In the meantime the riding party had returned, Harold and Violet had
been treated to a ride about the grounds, the one in his father's arms,
Beppo stepping carefully as if he knew he carried a tender babe, the
other on one of the ponies close at papa's side and under his watchful
eye.

It was a rosy merry group mamma found upon the veranda, chatting to each
other and laughing gayly as they watched their father cantering down
the avenue on his way to the fields to oversee the work going on there.

They did not hear their mother's step till she was close at hand asking
in her own sweet, gentle tones, "My darlings, had you a pleasant time?"

"O, yes, mamma, so nice!" and they gathered about her, eager to claim
her ever ready sympathy, interested in their joys no less than their
sorrows.

They had been taught to notice the beauties of nature--the changing
clouds, the bright autumn foliage, plants and flowers, insects, birds,
stones; all the handiwork of God; and the elder ones now never returned
from walk or ride without something to tell of what they had seen and
enjoyed.

It was surprising how much they learned in this easy pleasant way, how
much they gained almost imperceptibly in manners, correctness of speech,
and general information, by this habit of their parents of keeping them
always with themselves and patiently answering every proper question.
They were encouraged not only to observe, but to think, to reason, and
to repeat what they had learned; thus fixing it more firmly in their
minds. They were not burdened with long tasks or many studies, but
required to learn thoroughly such as were set them, and trained to a
love for wholesome mental food; the books put into their hands being
carefully chosen by their parents.

Though abundantly able to employ a governess, Elsie preferred teaching
her darlings her self. There was a large, airy room set apart for the
purpose, and furnished with every suitable appliance, books, maps,
globes, pictures, an orrery, a piano, etc., etc. There were pretty
rosewood desks and chairs, the floor was a mosaic of beautifully
grained and polished woods, the walls, adorned with a few rare
engravings, were of a delicate neutral tint, and tasteful curtains
draped each window.

Thither mother and children now repaired, and spent two happy hours in
giving and receiving instruction.

Harold had not yet quite mastered the alphabet. His task was, of course,
soon done, and he was permitted to betake himself to the nursery or
elsewhere, with his mammy to take care of him; or if he chose to submit
to the restraint of the school-room rather than leave mamma and the
others, he might do so.

Violet could already read fluently, in any book suited to her years, and
was learning to spell, write and sew.

Eddie was somewhat further advanced, and Elsie had begun arithmetic,
history and geography; music, also, and drawing; for both of which she
already shown decided talent.

School over, she had a half hour of rest, then went to the piano for an
hour's practice, her mamma sitting by to aid and encourage her.

Mr. Travilla came in, asking, "Where is Eddie?"

"Here, papa," and the boy came running in with face all aglow with
delight. "O, are you going to teach me how to shoot? I saw you coming
with that pistol in your hand, and I'm so glad."

"Yes," his father answered, smiling at the eager face. "You will not be
anxious, little wife?" turning to her with a tender loving look.

"No, my husband; surely I can trust him with you, his own wise, careful,
loving father;" she answered with a confiding smile.

"O papa, mayn't I go along with you? and won't you teach me too?" cried
Violet, who was always ready for any excitement.

"Not to-day, daughter: only Eddie and I are going now; but sometime I
will teach you all. It is well enough for even ladies to handle a pistol
on occasion, and your mamma is quite a good shot."

Vi looked disappointed but did not fret, pout, or ask a second time; for
such things were not allowed in the family by either parent.

"Mamma's good little girl," the mother said, drawing her caressingly to
her side, as Mr. Travilla and Eddie left the room. "I am going to walk
down to the quarter this afternoon and will take you and your brother
and sister with me, if you care to go."

"O, mamma, thank you! yes indeed, I do want to go," cried the little
one, her face growing bright as its wont. "May we be there when the bell
rings? 'cause I do like to see the dogs." And she clapped her tiny hands
with a laugh like the chiming of silver bells.

Her sister laughed too, saying, "O, yes, mamma, do let us."

The Ion negroes were paid liberal wages, and yet as kind and generously
cared for as in the old days of slavery; even more so, for now Elsie
might lawfully carry out her desire to educate and elevate them to a
higher standard of intelligence and morality.

To this end Mr. Travilla had added to the quarter a neat school-house,
where the children received instruction in the rudiments during the day,
the adults in the evening, from one of their own race whose advantages
had been such as to qualify him for the work. There, too, the master and
mistress themselves held a Sunday school on Sabbath afternoons.

Aunt Sally, the nurse, also instructed the women in housewifely ways,
and Dinah taught them sewing; Elsie encouraging and stimulating them to
effort by bestowing prizes on the most diligent and proficient.

Eddie came in from his first lesson in the use of firearms, flushed
and excited.

"Mamma, I did shoot," he cried exultingly, "I shooted many times, and
papa says I'll make a good shot some day if I keep on trying."

"Ah! did you hit the mark?"

"Not quite this time, mamma," and the bright face clouded slightly.

"Not quite," laughed Mr. Travilla, drawing his boy caressingly toward
him. "If you please, mamma, do not question us too closely; we expect to
do better another time. He really did fairly well considering his age
and that it was his first lesson."

"Papa," asked Vi, climbing his knee, "were you 'fraid Eddie would shoot
us if we went along?"

"I thought it safer to leave you at home."

"Papa, mamma's going to take us walking down to the quarter this
afternoon; we're to be there when the bell rings, so we can see those
funny dogs."

"Ah, then I think I shall meet you there and walk home with you."

This announcement was received with a chorus of exclamations of delight;
his loved companionship would double their enjoyment; it always did.

'Twas a pleasant, shady walk, not too long for the older children, and
Harold's mammy would carry him when he grew weary. They called at the
school-room, witnessed the closing exercises, then visited all the aged
and ailing ones, Elsie inquiring tenderly concerning their "miseries,"
speaking words of sympathy and consolation and giving additional advice;
remedies too, and some little delicacies to whet the sickly appetites
(these last being contained in a basket, carried by a servant).

As they left the last cabin, in the near vicinity of the post where hung
the bell, which summoned the men to their meals, and gave notice of the
hour for quitting work, they saw the ringer hurrying toward it.

"Oh, mamma, we're just in time!" cried Vi, "how nice!"

"Yes," said her sister, "mamma always knows how to make things come out
right."

Every negro family owned a cur, and at the first tap of the bell they
always, with a united yelp, rushed for the spot, where they formed a
ring round the post, each seated on his haunches and brushing the ground
with his tail, with a rapid motion, from side to side, nose in the air,
eyes fixed upon the bell, and throat sending out a prolonged howl so
long as the ringing continued. The din was deafening, and far from
musical, but it was a comical sight, vastly enjoyed by the young
Travillas, who saw it only occasionally.

Mr. and Mrs. Travilla were walking slowly homeward, the children and
Bruno frolicking, jumping, dancing, running on before. After a while the
two little girls grew somewhat weary, and subsided into a soberer pace.

"Vi," said Elsie, "Don't you believe Aunt Delia might get better of
those 'miseries' in her bones, if she had some nice new red flannel
things to wear?"

"Yes; let's buy her some," and a pretty dimpled hand went into her
pocket, and out came a dainty, silken purse, mamma's gift on her last
birthday, when she began to have a weekly allowance, like Elsie and
Eddie.

"Yes, if mamma approves."

"'Course we'll 'sult mamma 'bout it first, and she'll say yes; she
always likes us to be kind and--char--char--"

"Charitable? yes, 'specially to Jesus' people, and I know Aunt Delia's
one of his. How much money have you, Vi?"

"I don't know; mamma or papa will count when we get home."

"I have two dollars and fifty cents; maybe Eddie will give some if we
haven't enough."

"Enough of what?" queried Eddie, over-hearing the last words as he and
Bruno neared the others in their gambols.

Elsie explained, asking, "Would you like to help?"

"Yes, and I'm going to buy some 'baccy' as he calls it, for old Uncle
Jack."

Mamma was duly consulted, approved of their plans, took them the next
day to the nearest village, let them select the goods themselves, then
helped them to cut out and make the garments. Eddie assisted by
threading needles and sewing on buttons, saying "that would do for a boy
because he had heard papa say he had sometimes sewed on a button for
himself when he was away at college."

To be sure the work might have been given to the seamstress, but it was
the desire of these parents to train their little ones to give time and
effort as well as money.




Chapter Fourth.

"O, what a state is guilt! how wild! how wretched!"
--HAVARD.


The war had wrought many changes in the neighborhood where our friends
resided; some who had been reared in the lap of luxury were now in
absolute want, having sacrificed almost their last dollar in the cause
of secession; to which also in numerous instances, the husbands, sons
and brothers had fallen victims.

Though through the clemency of the Government there had been no
executions for treason, no confiscation of property, many plantations
had changed hands because of the inability of the original owners to
work them, for lack of means to pay the laborers.

Elsie's tender sympathies were strongly enlisted for these old friends
and acquaintances, and their necessities often relieved by her bounty
when they little guessed whence help had come. Her favors were doubled
by the delicate kindness of the manner of their bestowal.

The ability to give largely was the greatest pleasure her wealth
afforded her, and one in which she indulged to the extent of disposing
yearly in that way, of the whole surplus of her ample income; not
waiting to be importuned, but constantly seeking out worthy objects upon
whom to bestow that of which she truly considered herself but a steward
who must one day render a strict account unto her Lord.

It was she who had repaired the ravages of war in Springbrook, the
residence of Mr. Wood, her pastor; she who, when the Fosters of
Fairview, a plantation adjoining Ion, had been compelled to sell it, had
bought a neat cottage in the vicinity and given them the use of it at a
merely nominal rent. And in any another like deed had she done; always
with the entire approval of her husband, who was scarcely less generous
than herself.

The purchaser of Fairview was a Mr. Leland, a northern man who had been
an officer in the Union army. Pleased with the southern climate and the
appearance of that section of country, he felt inclined to settle there
and assist in the development of its resources; he therefore returned
some time after the conclusion of peace, bought this place, and removed
his family thither.

They were people of refinement and culture, quiet and peaceable, steady
attendants upon Mr. Wood's ministry, and in every way conducted
themselves as good citizens.

Yet they were not popular: the Fosters, particularly Wilkins, the only
son, hated them as their supplanters, and saw with bitter envy the rapid
improvement of Fairview under Mr. Leland's careful cultivation. It was
no fault of his that they had been compelled to part with it, and he had
paid a fair price: but envy and jealousy are ever unreasonable; and
their mildest term of reproach in speaking of him was "carpet-bagger."

Others found fault with Mr. Leland as paying too liberal wages to the
negroes (including Mr. Horace Dinsmore and Mr. Travilla in the same
charge), and hated him for his outspoken loyalty to the Government; for
though he showed no disposition to seek for office or meddle in any way
with the politics of others, he made no secret of his views when
occasion seemed to call for their expression. It was not a prudent
course under existing circumstances, but accorded well with the frank
and fearless nature of the man.

Messrs. Dinsmore and Travilla, themselves strong Unionists, though the
latter was more discreet in the utterance of his sentiments, found in
him a kindred spirit. Rose and Elsie were equally pleased with Mrs.
Leland, and pitying her loneliness, called frequently, inviting a return
of their visits, until now the three families had become tolerably
intimate.

This state of things was extremely displeasing to Louise and Enna;
scarcely less so to their father; but the others, convinced that they
were in the path of duty in thus extending kindness and sympathy to
deserving strangers, who were also "of the household of _faith_," were
not to be deterred by remonstrances or vituperation. "Scalawags"--a term
of reproach applied by the Democrats of the South to the Republicans,
who were natives of that section--was what Enna called her brother, his
son-in-law and daughter, when out of hearing of her father, who though
vexed at their notice of the Lelands, was too strongly attached to his
only remaining son, and too sensible of the kindness he had received at
the hands of Mr. Travilla and Elsie, to permit anything of that sort.

The Lelands had several young children, well-bred and of good
principles, and it angered Louise and Enna that Elsie evidently
preferred them to their own rude, deceitful, spoiled offspring as
companions and playmates for her little ones.

Elsie and her husband were very desirous to live on good terms with
these near relatives, but not to the extent of sacrificing their
children's morals; therefore did not encourage a close intimacy with
their Roselands cousins; yet ever treated them politely and kindly, and
made a valuable present to each on every return of his or her birthday,
and on Christmas; always managing to select something specially desired
by the recipient of the favor.

Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore pursued a similar course; Rosie was allowed to be
as intimate as she chose at Ion, and with her Aunt Sophie's children,
but never visited Roselands except with her parents or sister; nor were
the Roseland cousins ever invited to make a lengthened stay at the Oaks.

One afternoon, several weeks subsequent to the events related in the
last chapter, Mary and Archie Leland came over to Ion to spend an hour
with their young friends.

The weather was delightful, and the children preferred playing out of
doors; the girls took their dolls to a summer-house in the garden, while
with kite, ball and marbles, the boys repaired to the avenue.

"Who are those?" asked Archie, as looking up at the sound of approaching
footsteps he saw two boys, a good deal older than themselves, coming
leisurely toward them.

"My cousins, Wal Conly and Dick Percival," answered Eddie. "I wish they
hadn't come, they always tease me so."

"Hilloa!" cried Dick, "what! Ed Travilla, you play with carpet-baggers,
eh? fie on you! I wouldn't be seen with one."

"That's not polite, Dick. Archie's a good boy; mamma and papa says so;
and I like him for a playfellow."

"You do? ah, that's because you're a scalawag."

"What's that?"

"What your father is and your grandfather too."

"Then I don't care; I want to be just like my papa."

"But it isn't nice," put in Walter, laughing, "a scalawag's the meanest
thing alive."

"Then you shall not call papa that, nor grandpa!" and the child's great
dark eyes flashed with anger.

"Whew! I'd like to see you hinder me. Look here, Ed," and Dick pulled
out a pistol, "what d'ye think o' that? don't you wish you had one?
don't you wish you could shoot?"

"I can," returned Eddie, proudly, "papa's been teaching me, and he's
given me a better pistol than that."

"Hey! a likely story!" cried the two tormentors, with an incredulous
laugh. "Let's see it now?"

"It's in the house, but papa said I should never touch it 'cept when he
gives it to me; not till I grow a big boy."

"Nonsense!" cried Dick, "if 'twas there, you'd bring it out fast
enough. I sha'n't believe a word of the story until I see the pistol."

"I'll show you if I'm not telling the truth;" exclaimed Eddie, flushing
hotly, and turning about as if to go into the house.

But Archie laid a hand on his arm, and speaking for the first time since
the others had joined them, "Don't, Eddie," he said persuasively, "don't
disobey your father; I know you'll be sorry for it afterwards."

"Hold your tongue, you young carpet-bagger," said Dick. "Run and get it,
Ed."

"No, never mind about his pistol, he can't shoot," said Walter,
mockingly. "If he can, let him take yours and prove it."

Eddie remembered well that his father had also forbidden him to touch
firearms at all, except when with him; but the boy was naturally proud
and wilful, and spite of all the careful training of his parents, these
faults would occasionally show themselves.

He did not like to have his word doubted, he was eager to prove his
skill, which he conceived to be far greater than it was, and as his
cousins continued to twit and tease him, daring him to show what he
could do, he was sorely tempted to disobey.

They were slowly walking on farther from the house as they talked, and
finally when Dick said, "why, Ed, you couldn't hit that big tree yonder,
I dare you to try it," at the same time offering him the pistol, the
little fellow's sense of duty suddenly gave way, and snatching the
weapon from Dick's hand, he fired, not allowing himself time, in his
haste and passion, to take proper aim.

In their excitement and pre-occupation, none of the boys had noticed Mr.
Travilla riding into the avenue a moment before, closely followed by his
body servant Ben. Almost simultaneously with the report of the pistol
the former tumbled from the saddle and fell heavily to the ground.

With a cry, "O, Mass Edard's killed!" Ben sprang from his horse and bent
over the prostrate form, wringing his hands in fright and grief. He was
his master's foster-brother and devotedly attached to him.

The fall, the cry, the snorting and running of the frightened horses,
instantly told the boys what had happened, and Eddie threw himself on
the ground screaming in an agony of grief and remorse, "O, I've killed
my father, my dear, dear father! O, papa, papa! what shall I do? what
shall I do?"

Mr. Leland coming in search of his children, the men passing the gate
returning from their work, all heard and rushed to the spot. The blacks
crowded about the scene of the accident, sobbing like children at the
sight of their loved master and friend lying there apparently lifeless.

Mr. Leland, his features working with emotion, at once assumed the
direction of affairs.

"Catch the horses," he said, "and you, Ben, mount the fleetest and fly
for the doctor. And you," turning to another, "take the other and hurry
to the Oaks for Mr. Dinsmore. Now the rest of you help me to carry your
master to the house. I will lift his head, there gently, gently, my good
fellows, I think he still breathes. But Mrs. Travilla!" he added,
looking toward the dwelling, "all seems quiet there; they have not
heard, I think, and she should be warned. I wish--"

"I will go, I will tell mamma," interrupted a quivering child voice at
his side.

Little Elsie had pushed her way through the crowd and dropping on her
knees on the grass was raining kisses and tears upon the pale,
unconscious face.

"You? poor child!" Mr. Leland began in piteous tones; but she had
already sprung to her feet and was flying toward the house with the
fleetness of the wind.

One moment she paused in the spacious entrance hall, to recover her
breath, calm her features, and remove the traces of her tears. "Mamma,
mamma," she was saying to herself, "O Lord Jesus give me the right words
to speak to her."

She hardly knew to which apartment to direct her steps, but "Hark! there
was the sound of the piano and mamma's sweet voice singing a song papa
had brought home only the other day, and that he liked. Ah would she
ever sing again now that he--"

But no, not even in thought could she say that dreadful word; but she
knew now that mamma was in the music room; and earnestly repeating her
silent petition for help, she hurried thither.

The door was open; with swift, noiseless steps she gained her mother's
side; passing an arm about her neck, and half averting her own pale,
agitated face, "Mamma," she said in low, tremulous tones, "'God is our
refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble!' Mamma, Jesus loves
you, Jesus loves you! He will help you to bear--"

"My daughter, what is it?" asked the mother in a tone of forced
calmness, a terrible pang shooting through her heart, "your father?
Eddie? Vi?"--then starting up at a sound as of the feet of those who
bore some heavy burden, she ran into the hail.

For a moment she stood as one transfixed with grief and horror.

"He breathes, he lives," Mr. Leland hastened to say.

Her lips moved but no words came from them. Silently motioning them to
follow her, she led the way to his room and pointed to the bed. They
laid him on it and at that instant consciousness returned.

"Dear wife, it is nothing," he faintly murmured, lifting his eyes to
her face as she bent over him in speechless anguish.

She softly pressed her lips to his brow, her heart too full for
utterance.

The words sent a thrill of gladness to the heart of little Elsie, who
had crept in behind the men, and stood near the bed silently weeping;
her father lived; and now Eddie's frantic screams seemed to ring in her
ears (in her fear for her father she had scarcely noticed them before)
and she must go and tell him the glad news. She was not needed here;
mamma was not conscious of her presence, and she could do nothing for
the dear injured father. She stole quietly from the room.

On the veranda she found Violet crying bitterly, while Mary Leland
vainly tried to comfort her.

"Don't cry so, little sister," Elsie said, going to her and taking her
in her arms in tender motherly fashion, "our dear papa is not killed;
I saw him open his eyes, and heard him say to mamma, 'Dear wife, it is
nothing.'"

Vi clung to her sister with a fresh burst of tears, but this time they
were tears of joy. "O, I'm so glad! I thought I had no papa any more."

A few more soothing words and caresses and Elsie said, "Now I must go
and tell poor Eddie. Do you know where he is?"

"Hark! don't you hear him crying way off in the grounds?" said Mary, "I
think he's just where he was."

"O, yes, yes!" and Elsie hastened in the direction of the sounds.

She found him lying on the grass still crying in heart-broken accents,
"Oh, I've killed my father, my dear, dear father! what shall I do! what
shall I do!"

Dick and Walter were gone; like the guilty wretches they were, they had
fled as soon as they saw what mischief they had caused. But Archie too
kind-hearted and noble to forsake a friend in distress, was still there.

"You didn't mean to do it, Eddie," he was saying, as Elsie came within
hearing.

"No, no," burst out the half distracted child, "I wouldn't hurt my dear
papa one bit for all the world! but it was 'cause I disobeyed him. He
told me never to touch firearms when he wasn't by to help me do it
right. Oh, oh, oh, I didn't think I'd ever be such a wicked boy! I've
killed my father, oh! oh!"

"No, Eddie, no, you haven't; papa opened his eyes and spoke to mamma,"
said his sister hurrying to his side.

"Did he? O Elsie, is he alive? Isn't he hurt much?" asked the child,
ceasing his cries for the moment, and lifting his tear-swollen face to
hers.

"I don't know, Eddie dear, but I hope not," she said, low and
tremulously, the tears rolling fast down her own cheeks, while she took
out her handkerchief and gently wiped them away from his.

He dropped his head again, with a bitter, wailing cry. "O, I'm afraid he
is, and I shooted him! I shooted him!"

Fortunately Dr. Burton's residence was not far distant, and Ben urging
Beppo to his utmost speed and finding the doctor at home, had him at Mr.
Travilla's bedside in a wonderfully short space of time.

The doctor found the injury not nearly so great as he had feared: the
ball had struck the side of the head and glanced off, making a mere
scalp-wound, which, though causing insensibility for a time, would have
no very serious or lasting consequences; the blood had been already
sponged away, and the wound closed with sticking plaster.

But the fall had jarred the whole system and caused some bruises; so
that altogether the patient was likely to have to keep his bed for some
days, and the doctor said must be kept quiet and as free from excitement
as possible.

Elsie, leaving Aunt Chloe at the bedside, followed the physician from
the room.

"You need give yourself no anxiety, my dear Mrs. Travilla," he said
cheerily, taking her hand in his for a moment, in his kind fatherly
way--for he was an old man now, and had known her from her early
childhood--"the injuries are not at all serious, and there is no reason
why your husband should not be about again in a week or so. But how did
it happen? What hand fired the shot?"

"Indeed I do not know, have not asked," she answered, with an emotion
of surprise at herself for the omission. "It seems strange I should not,
but I was so taken up with grief and fear for him, and anxiety to
relieve his suffering that I had room for no other thought. Can you
tell us, sir?" turning to Mr. Leland, who was standing near.

"I--did not see the shot," he replied with some hesitation.

"But you know; tell me, I beg of you."

"It was an accident, madam, entirely an accident: there can be no
question about that."

"But tell me all you know," she entreated, growing very pale. "I see you
fear to wound me, but it were far better I should know the whole truth."

"I suppose your little son must have been playing with a pistol," he
answered, with evident reluctance. "I heard him screaming, 'O, I've
killed my father, my dear, dear father!'"

"Eddie!" she groaned, staggering back against the wall, and putting her
hand over her eyes.

"My dear madam!" "My dear Mrs. Travilla," the gentlemen exclaimed
simultaneously, "do not let it distress you so, since it must have been
the merest accident, and the consequences are not so serious as they
might have been."

"But he was disobeying his father, and has nearly taken his life," she
moaned low and tremulously, the big tears coursing down her cheeks. "Oh,
my son, my son!"

The gentlemen looked uneasily at each other, scarcely knowing what
consolation to offer; but a well known step approached, hastily, yet
with caution, and the next instant Elsie was clasped in her father's
arms.

"My darling, my poor darling!" he said with emotion, as she laid her
head on his breast, with a burst of almost hysterical weeping.

He caressed her silently. How could he ask the question trembling on his
lips? what meant this bitter weeping? His eye sought that of the
physician, who promptly answered the unspoken query with the same
cheering report he had just given her.

Mr. Dinsmore was intensely relieved. "Thank God that it is no worse!" he
said in low, reverent tones. "Elsie, daughter, cheer up, he will soon be
well again."

Mr. Leland, taking leave, offered to return and watch by the sick bed
that night; but Mr. Dinsmore, while joining Elsie in cordial thanks,
claimed it as his privilege.

"Ah, well, don't hesitate to call upon me whenever I can be of use,"
said Mr. Leland, and with a kindly "Good evening," he and the doctor
retired, Mr. Dinsmore seeing them to the door.

Returning, he found Elsie still in the parlor where he had left her.

She was speaking to a servant, "Go, Prilla, look for the children, and
bring them in. It is getting late for them to be out."

The girl went, and Elsie saying to her father that Prilla had brought
word that Mr. Travilla was now sleeping, begged him to sit down and talk
with her for a moment. The tears fell fast as she spoke. It was long
since he had seen her so moved.

"Dear daughter, why distress yourself thus?" he said, folding her in his
arms, and drawing her head to a resting place upon his breast; "your
husband's injuries are not very serious. Dr. Burton is not one to
deceive us with false hopes."

"No, papa, oh, how thankful I am to know he is not in danger; but--oh,
papa, papa! to think that Eddie did it! that my own son should have so
nearly taken his father's life! I grow sick with horror at the very
thought!"

"Yet it must have been the merest accident, the child almost idolizes
his father."

"I had thought so, but he must have been disobeying that father's
positive command else this could not have happened. I could never have
believed my son could be so disobedient, and it breaks my heart to think
of it all."

"The best of us do not always resist temptation successfully, and
doubtless in this case it has been very strong. And he is bitterly
repenting; I heard him crying somewhere in the grounds as I rode up the
avenue, but could not then take time to go to him, not knowing how much
you and Travilla might be needing my assistance."

"My poor boy; he does love his father," she said, wiping her eyes.

"There can be no question about that, and this will be a life-long
lesson to him."

"Papa, you always bring me comfort," she said gratefully. "And you will
stay with us to-night?"

"Yes; I could not leave you at such a time. I shall send a note to Rose,
to relieve her anxiety in regard to Edward's accident, and let her know
that she need not expect me home till morning. Well, Prilla," as the
girl reappeared, "what is it? why have you not brought the children as
your mistress directed?"

"Please, sah, Massa Dinsmore, Mars Eddie won't come; he jes' lie on de
ground an' scream an' cry, 'O, I've killed my fader, my dear, dear
fader,' an Miss Elsie she comfortin' an' coaxin', an' pleadin', but he
won't pay no pretention to nobody."

Elsie wept anew. "My poor child! my poor little son! what am I to do
with him?"

"I will go to him; trust him to me," Mr. Dinsmore said, leaving the room
with a quick firm step.




Chapter Fifth.

"If hearty sorrow
Be a sufficient ransom for offence,
I tender it here; I do as truly suffer,
As e'er I did commit."
--SHAKESPEARE.


"O Eddie, dear, do get up and come into the house!" entreated his
sister. "I must leave you if you don't, for Prilla said mamma had sent
for us; and you know we must obey."

"Oh I can't, I can't go in! I can't see mamma! she will never, never
love me any more!"

"Yes, she will, Eddie; nothing will ever make her stop loving us; and if
you're really sorry for having disobeyed poor, dear papa, you'll not go
on and disobey her now."

"But oh I've been such a wicked, wicked boy. O Elsie, what shall I do?
Jesus won't love me now, nor mamma nor anybody."

"O Eddie," sobbed his sister, "don't talk so. Jesus does love you and
will forgive you, if you ask him; and so will mamma and papa; for they
both love you and I love you dearly, dearly."

The two were alone, Archie having gone home with his father.

A step drew near, and Mr. Dinsmore's voice spoke close at hand in tones
sterner and more peremptory than he really meant them to be.

"Edward, get up from that damp grass and come into the house
immediately. Do you intend to add to your poor mother's troubles by
your disobedience, and by making yourself sick?"

The child arose instantly. He was accustomed to yield to his
grandfather's authority quite as readily as to that of his parents.

"O grandpa, please don't be hard to him! His heart's almost broken, and
he wouldn't have hurt papa on purpose for all the world," pleaded little
Elsie, hastening to Mr. Dinsmore's side, taking his hand in both hers,
and lifting her tear-dimmed eyes beseechingly to his face.

"Yes, grandpa ought," sobbed Eddie, "I've been such a wicked, wicked
boy, I deserve the dreadfulest whipping that ever was. And papa can't do
it now!" he cried with a fresh burst of grief and remorse, "and mamma
won't like to. Grandpa, it'll have to be you. Please do it quick, 'cause
I want it over."

"And has all this distress been for fear of punishment?" asked Mr.
Dinsmore, taking the child's hand, and bending down to look searchingly
into his face.

"Oh no, no, no, grandpa! I'd rather be whipped any day than to know
I've hurt my dear papa so. Grandpa, won't you do it quick?"

"No, my son, I am not fond of such business and shall not punish you
unless requested to do so by your father or mother. The doctor hopes
your father will be about again in a week or two, and he can then attend
to your case himself."

"Oh then he won't die! he won't die, our dear, dear papa!" cried both
children in a breath.

"No; God has been very good to us all in causing the ball to strike
where it could do but little injury. And Edward, I hope this will be
such a lesson to you all your life as will keep you from ever disobeying
again."

They were passing up the avenue, Eddie moving submissively along by his
grandfather's side, but with tottering steps; for the dreadful
excitement of the last hour had exhausted him greatly. Perceiving this
Mr. Dinsmore presently took him in his arms and carried him to the
house.

Low pitiful sobs and sighs were the only sounds the little fellow made
till set down in the veranda; but then clinging to his grandfather's
hand, he burst out afresh, "O grandpa, I can't go in! I can't, I can't
see mamma, for she can't love me any more."

The mother heard and came quickly out. The tears were coursing down her
cheeks, her mother heart yearned over her guilty, miserable child:
stooping down and stretching out her arms, "Eddie, my little son," she
said in tender tremulous accents, "come to mother. If my boy is truly
sorry for his sin, mamma has no reproaches for him: nothing but
forgiveness and love."

He threw himself upon her bosom, "Mamma, mamma, I am sorry, oh, _so_
sorry! I will never, never disobey papa or you again."

"God helping you, my son; if you trust in your own strength you will be
sure to fall."

"Yes mamma; oh, mamma, I've been the wickedest boy! I disobeyed my
father and shooted him; and oughtn't I to have a dreadful whipping?
Shall grandpa do it?"

Mrs. Travilla lifted her full eyes inquiringly to her father's face.

"It is all his own idea," said Mr. Dinsmore with emotion, "I think he
has already had a worse punishment by far in his grief and remorse."

Elsie heaved a sigh of relief. "I think his father would say so too; it
shall be decided by him when he is able. Eddie, my son, papa is too ill
now to say what shall be done with you. I think he does not even know of
your disobedience. You will have to wait some days. The suspense will be
hard to bear, I know, but my little boy must try to be patient,
remembering that he has brought all this suffering on himself. And in
the meantime he has mamma's forgiveness and love," she added folding him
to her heart with a tender caress.

Sorely the children missed their precious half hour with mamma that
night, and every night and morning of their papa's illness; she could
leave him only long enough each time to give them a few loving words and
a kiss all round, and they scarcely saw her through the day--were not
admitted to their father's room at all.

But they were very good; lessons went on nearly as usual, little Elsie
keeping order in the school-room, even wilful Eddie quietly submitting
to her gentle sway, and grandpa kindly attending to the recitations. He
rode out with them too, and he, Aunt Rosie or their mammies, took them
for a pleasant walk every fine day.

Friends and neighbors were very kind and attentive, none more so than
the Lelands. Archie told his father how, and by whom, poor Eddie had
been teased, provoked and dared into firing the pistol; Mr. Leland told
Mr. Dinsmore the story, and he repeated it to his father and sisters.

The old gentleman was sufficiently incensed against the two culprits to
administer a severe castigation to each, while Elsie was thankful to
learn that her son had not yielded readily to the temptation to
disobedience. She pitied him deeply, as she noted how weary to him were
these days of waiting, how his gay spirits had forsaken him, how anxious
he was for his father's recovery; how he longed for the time when he
should be permitted to go to him with his confession and petition for
pardon.

At length that time came. Mr. Travilla was so much better that Dr.
Burton said it would do him no harm to see his children, and to hear all
the details of his accident.

The others were brought in first and allowed to spend a few minutes in
giving and receiving caresses, their little tongues running very fast in
their exuberant joy over their restored father.

"Elsie, Vi, Harold, baby--but where is Eddie?" he asked, looking a
little anxiously at his wife; "not sick, I hope?"

"No, my dear, he will be in presently," she answered, the tears starting
to her eyes, "no one of them all has found it harder to be kept away
from you than he. But there is something he has begged me to tell you
before he comes."

"Ah!" he said with a troubled look in his eyes, a suspicion of the truth
dawning upon him. "Well, darlings, you may go now, and mamma will let
you come in again before your bedtime."

They withdrew and Elsie told her story, dwelling more particularly upon
the strength of the temptation and the child's agony of grief and
remorse.

"Bring him here, wife," Mr. Travilla said, his eyes full, his voice
husky with emotion.

There was a sound of sobs in the hall without as she opened the door.
"Come, son," she said, taking his hand in hers, "papa knows it all now."

Half eagerly, half tremblingly he suffered her to lead him in.

"Papa," he burst out sobbingly, scarcely daring to lift his eyes from
the floor, "I've been a very wicked, bad boy; I disobeyed you
and--and--"

"Come here to me, my little son." How gentle and tender were the tones.

Eddie lifted his head and with one joyous bound was in his fathers arms,
clinging about his neck and sobbing out upon his breast his grief, his
joy, his penitence. "Papa, papa, can you forgive such a naughty
disobedient boy? I'm so sorry I did it! I'm so glad you didn't die,
dear, dear papa! so glad you love me yet."

"Love you, son? I think if you knew how much, you would never want to
disobey again."

"I don't, papa, oh, I don't! I ask God earnestly every day to give me
a new heart, and help me always to be good. But mustn't I be punished?
mamma said it was for you to say, and grandpa didn't whip me and he
won't 'less you ask him."

"And I shall not ask him, my son. I fully and freely forgive you,
because I am sure you are very sorry and do not mean to disobey again."

How happy the child was that at last his father knew and had forgiven
all.

Mr. Travilla improved the occasion for a short but very serious talk
with him on the sin and danger of disobedience, and his words, so
tenderly spoken, made a deep and lasting impression.

But Eddie was not yet done with the pain and mortification consequent
upon his wrong doing. That afternoon the Ashland ladies called bringing
with them the elder children of both families. While their mammas
conversed in the drawing-room the little people gathered in the veranda.

All was harmony and good-will among them till Philip Ross, fixing his
eyes on Eddie, said with a sneer, "So, Master Ed, though you told me one
day you'd never talk to your mamma as I did to mine, you've done a good
deal worse. I don't set up for a pattern good boy, but I'd die before
I'd shoot my father."

Eddie's eyes sought the floor while his lips trembled and two great
tears rolled down his burning cheeks.

"Phil Ross," cried Gertrude, "I'm ashamed of you! of course he didn't do
it a-purpose."

"May be not; he didn't disobey on purpose? hadn't his father--"

But catching a reproachful, entreating look from Elsie's soft, brown
eyes, he stopped short and turning away, began to whistle carelessly,
while Vi, putting her small arms about Eddie's neck, said, "Phil Ross,
you shouldn't 'sult my brother so, 'cause he wouldn't 'tend to hurt
papa; no, not for all the world;" Harold chiming in, "'Course my Eddie
wouldn't!" and Bruno, whom he was petting and stroking with his chubby
hands, giving a short, sharp bark, as if he too had a word to say in
defence of his young master.

"Is that your welcome to visitors, Bruno?" queried a young man of
eighteen or twenty, alighting from his horse and coming up the steps
into the veranda.

"You must please excuse him for being so ill-mannered, Cousin Cal,"
little Elsie said, coming forward and offering her hand with a graceful
courtesy very like her mamma's. "Will you walk into the drawing-room?
our mammas are all there."

"Presently, thank you," he said, bending down to snatch a kiss from the
sweet lips.

She shrank from the caress almost with aversion.

"What's the use of being so shy with a cousin?" he asked, laughing, "why
Molly Percival likes to kiss me."

"I think Molly would not be pleased if she knew you said that," remarked
the little girl, in a quiet tone, and moving farther from him as she
spoke.

"Holding a levee, eh?" he said, glancing about upon the group. "How
d'ye, young ladies and gentlemen? Holloa, Ed! so you're the brave fellow
that shot his father? Hope your grandfather dealt out justice to you in
the same fashion that Wal and Dick's did to them."

Eddie could bear no more, but burst into an agony of tears and sobs.

"Calhoun Conly, do you think it very manly for a big fellow like you to
torment such a little one as our Eddie?" queried Elsie, with rising
indignation.

"No, I don't," he said frankly. "Never mind, Eddie, I take it all back,
and own that the other two deserve the lion's share of the blame, and
punishment too. Come, shake hands and let's make up."

Eddie gave his hand, saying in broken tones, "I was a naughty boy, but
papa has forgiven me, and I don't mean ever to disobey him any more."




Chapter Sixth.

"So false is faction, and so smooth a liar,
As that it never had a side entire."
--DANIEL.


By the first of December Mr. Travilla had entirely recovered from the
ill effects of his accident--which had occurred early in November--and
life at Ion resumed its usual quiet, regular, but pleasant routine,
varied only by frequent exchange of visits with the other families of
the connection, and near neighbors, especially the Lelands.

Because of the presence among them of their northern relatives, this
winter was made a gayer one than either of the last two, which had seen
little mirth or jovialty among the older ones, subdued as they were by
recent, repeated bereavements. Time had now somewhat assuaged their
grief, and only the widowed ones still wore the garb of mourning.

A round of family parties for old and young filled up the holidays; and
again just before the departure of the Rosses and Allisons in the early
spring, they were all gathered at Ion for a farewell day together.

Some of the blacks in Mr. Leland's employ had been beaten and otherwise
maltreated only the previous night by a band of armed and disguised men,
and the conversation naturally turned upon that occurrence.

"So the Ku Klux outrages have begun in our neighborhood," remarked Mr.
Horace Dinsmore, and went on to denounce their proceedings in unmeasured
terms.

The faces of several of his auditors flushed angrily. Enna shot a fierce
glance at him, muttering "scalawag," half under her breath, while his
old father said testily, "Horace, you speak too strongly. I haven't a
doubt the rascals deserved all they got. I'm told one of them at least,
had insulted some lady, Mrs. Foster, I believe, and that the others had
been robbing hen-roosts and smoke-houses."

"That may perhaps be so, but at all events every man has a right to a
fair trial," replied his son, "and so long as there is no difficulty in
bringing such matters before the civil courts, there is no excuse for
Lynch law, which is apt to visit its penalties upon the innocent as well
as the guilty."

At this, George Boyd, who, as the nephew of the elder Mrs. Carrington
and a member of the Ashlands household, had been invited with the
others, spoke warmly in defence of the organization, asserting that its
main object was to defend the helpless, particularly in guarding against
the danger of an insurrection of the blacks.

"There is not the slightest fear of that," remarked Mr. Travilla, "there
may be some few turbulent spirits among them, but as a class they are
quiet and inoffensive."

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Boyd, "I find them quite the
reverse;--demanding their wages directly they are due, and not satisfied
with what one chooses to give. And that reminds me that you, sir, and
Mr. Horace Dinsmore, and that carpet-bagger of Fairview are entirely too
liberal in the wages you pay."

"That is altogether our own affair, sir," returned Mr. Dinsmore,
haughtily. "No man or set of men shall dictate to me as to how I spend
my money. What do you say, Travilla?"

"I take the same position; shall submit to no such infringement of my
liberty to do as I will with my own."

Elsie's eyes sparkled: she was proud of her husband and father. Rose,
too, smiled approval.

"Sounds very fine," growled Boyd, "but I say you've no right to put up
the price of labor."

"Papa," cried young Horace, straightening himself and casting a
withering look upon Boyd, "I hope neither you nor Brother Edward will
ever give in to them a single inch. Such insolence!"

"Let us change the subject," said old Mr. Dinsmore, "it is not an
agreeable one."

It so happened that a few days after this Messrs. Dinsmore, Travilla and
Leland were talking together just within the entrance to the avenue at
Ion when Wilkins Foster, George Boyd and Calhoun Conly came riding by.

They brought their horses to a walk as they neared the gate, and Foster
called out sneeringly, "Two scalawags and a carpet-bagger! fit company
for each other."

"So we think, sir," returned Travilla coolly, "though we do not accept
the epithets you so generously bestow upon us."

"It is an easy thing to call names; any fool is equal to that," said Mr.
Leland, in a tone of unruffled good-nature.

"True; and the weapon of vituperation is generally used by those who
lack brains for argument or are upon the wrong side," observed Mr.
Dinsmore.

"Is that remark intended to apply to me sir?" asked Foster, drawing
himself up with an air of hauteur and defiance.

"Not particularly: but if you wish to prove yourself skilled in the
other and more manly weapon, we are ready to give you the opportunity."

"Yes; come in, gentlemen, and let us have a free and friendly
discussion," said Mr. Travilla.

Boyd and Conly at once accepted the invitation, but Foster, reining in
his horse in the shade of a tree at the gate, said, "No, thank you; I
don't care to alight, can talk from the saddle as well as anyway. I call
you scalawags, Messrs. Dinsmore and Travilla, because though natives of
the South, you have turned against her."

"Altogether a mistake," observed Travilla.

"I deny the charge and call upon you to prove it," said Mr. Dinsmore.

"Easy task; you kept away and took no part in our struggle for
independence."

"That is we (I speak for Travilla as well as myself) had no share in the
effort to overthrow the best government in the world, the hope of the
down-trodden and oppressed of all the earth a struggle which we foresaw
would prove, as it has, the almost utter destruction of our beloved
South. They who inaugurated secession were no true friends to her."

"Sir!" cried Boyd, with angry excitement, "ours was as righteous a cause
as that of our Revolutionary fathers."

Mr. Dinsmore shook his head. "They fought against unbearable tyranny;
and that after having exhausted every other means of obtaining a redress
of their grievances; and we had suffered no oppression at the hands of
the general government."

"Hadn't we?" interrupted Foster fiercely. "Were the provisions of the
Fugitive Slave Law carried out by the North? didn't some of the Northern
States pass laws in direct opposition to it? and didn't Yankee
abolitionists come down here interfering with our institutions and
enticing our negroes to run away, or something worse?"

"Those were the acts of private individuals, and individual states,
entirely unsanctioned by the general government, which really had always
rather favored us than otherwise."

"But uncle," said Conly, "there would have been no secession but for the
election of Lincoln, an abolition candidate."

"And who elected him? who but the Democrats of the South? They made a
division in the Democratic party, purposely to enable the Republicans to
elect their man, that they might use his election as a pretext for
secession."

A long and hot discussion followed, each one present taking more or less
part in it. It was first the causes of the war, then the war itself;
after that the reconstruction policy of Congress, which was bitterly
denounced by Foster and Boyd.

"Never was a conquered people treated so shamefully!" cried the former,
"it is a thing hitherto unheard of in the history of the world, that
gentlemen should be put under the rule of their former slaves."

"Softly, softly, sir," said Leland, "surely you forget that the terms
proposed by the fourteenth amendment, substantially left the power of
the State governments in your hands, and enabled you to limit suffrage
and office to the white race. But you rejected it, and refused to take
part in the preliminary steps for reorganizing your State governments.
So the blacks acquired the right to vote and hold office: they were, as
a class, well meaning, but ignorant, and their old masters refusing to
accept office at their hands, or advise them in regard to their new
duties, they fell an easy prey to unscrupulous white men, whose only
care was to enrich themselves by robbing the already impoverished
states, through corrupt legislation.[A] Now, sir, who was it that really
put you under the rule of your former slaves, if you are there?"

[Footnote A: See report of Congressional Committee of Investigation]

Foster attempted no reply, but merely reiterated his assertion that
no conquered people had ever been so cruelly used; to which Messrs.
Travilla, Dinsmore and Leland replied with a statement of facts, i.e.,
that before the war was fairly over, the Government began to feed,
clothe, shelter and care for the destitute of both colors, and millions
were distributed in supplies; that in 1865 a bureau was organized for
this purpose, and expended in relief, education and aid to people of
both colors, and all conditions, thirteen millions, two hundred and
thirty thousand, three hundred and twenty-seven dollars, and forty
cents; while millions more were given by charitable associations and
citizens of the North: that the Government sold thousands of farm
animals in the South, at low rates, and large quantities of clothing and
supplies at merely nominal prices, that there had been no executions for
treason, no confiscation of lands, but that some estates abandoned by
the owners during the war, and taken possession of and cultivated by the
Government, had been returned in better condition than they would have
been in if permitted to lie idle; that the railroads of the South were
worn out by the war, woodwork rotted, rails and machinery worn out; that
the Government forces as they advanced, captured the lines, repaired the
tracks, rebuilt bridges and restored and renewed the rolling stock; that
at the close of the war the Government might have held all these lines,
but instead turned them over to the stockholders, sold them the rolling
stock at low rates, and on long time, and advanced millions of dollars
to the southern railroads; that there were debts estimated, when the war
began, at three hundred millions of dollars due the merchants of the
North; that they compounded with their southern debtors, abating more
than half their dues, and extending time for the payment of the
remainder; that a bankrupt act was passed enabling those hopelessly
involved to begin business anew. Sound institutions took the places of
the old broken banks, and United States currency that of Confederate
notes, etc. etc.[B]

[Footnote B: See Reports of Congressional Committee of Investigation.]

Foster attempted no denial of these facts, but spoke bitterly of
corruption among the state government officials, resulting in ruinous
taxation etc.

His antagonists freely admitted that there had been frauds and great
extravagance, yet claimed that neither party was responsible for these,
but members of both and persons belonging to neither who cared only for
their own gains.[C] "And who," they asked, "are responsible for their
success in obtaining the positions which enable them thus to rob the
community?"

[Footnote C: See Reports of Congressional Committee of Investigation.]

"They had no vote from me," said Foster. "But, I say it again, we have
been shamefully treated; if they'd confiscated my property and cut off
my head, I'd have suffered less than I have as things have gone."

"Why not petition Congress for those little favors? Possibly it may not
yet be too late;" returned Leland, laughing.

This ended the talk, Foster put spurs to his horse and rode off in a
rage.

"Come, Conly, we've surely had enough of this Republican discourse: let
us go also," said Boyd, and with a haughty wave of his hand to the
others, he hurried into the road and remounted.

But Conly did not follow. Elsie joined the group at that moment and
laying her hand on his arm, said with one of her sweetest smiles, "Don't
go, Cal, you must stay and take tea with us; it is already on the
table."

"Thank you, I will," he said with a pleased look.

He was one of his cousin's ardent admirers, thinking her the most
beautiful, intelligent, fascinating woman he had ever seen.

She extended her invitation to Leland and Boyd, Mr. Travilla seconding
it warmly, but it was courteously declined by both, and each went his
way.

"Papa, you will not forsake us?" Elsie said gayly, putting both hands
into his and smiling up into his face, her sweet soft eyes, brimful of
fond, filial affection; "but you know you are at home and need no
invitation."

"Yes," he said, returning the smile, and holding the hands fast for a
moment, "I am at home and shall stay for an hour or so."




Chapter Seventh.

"Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much."
--SHAKESPEARE'S TWELFTH NIGHT.


"Will you walk into the library, gentlemen? I have just received a
package of new books, which, perhaps, you would like to examine," said
Mr. Travilla to his guests as they left the tea-table.

"Presently, thank you," Mr. Dinsmore answered, catching Elsie's eye, and
perceiving that she had something for his private ear.

She took his arm and drew him out to her flower garden, while her
husband and Calhoun sought the library.

"Papa, I want a word with you about Cal. I do not like Foster and Boyd;
that is, they seem to me to be unprincipled men, of violent temper and
altogether very bad associates for him; and you must have noticed how
intimate he is with them of late."

"Yes, I regret it, but have no authority to forbid the intimacy."

"I know; but, papa, you have great influence; he is proud to be known
as your nephew; and don't you think you might be able to induce him to
give them up for some better friend; my brother, for instance? Papa, he
is twenty-one now, and are not his principles sufficiently fixed to
enable him to lead Cal and Arthur, doing them good instead of being
injured by association with them?"

"Yes, you are right; Horace is not one to be easily led, and Calhoun is.
I am glad you have spoken and reminded me of my duty."

"My dear father, please do not think I was meaning to do that," she
cried, blushing, "it would be stepping out of my place. But Edward and I
have had several talks about Cal of late, and decided that we will make
him very welcome here, and try to do him good. Edward suggested, too,
what a good and helpful friend Horace might be to him, if you approved,
and I said I would speak to you first, and perhaps to my brother
afterward."

"Quite right. I think Horace will be very willing. I should be loth to
have him drawn into intimacy with Boyd or Foster, but as he likes
neither their conduct nor their principles, I have little fear of that."

They sauntered about the garden a few moments longer, then rejoined the
others, who were still in the library.

The children were romping with each other and Bruno on the veranda
without; the merry shouts, the silvery laughter coming pleasantly in
through the open windows.

"How happy they seem, Cousin Elsie," remarked Calhoun, turning to her.

"Yes, they are," she answered, smiling. "You are fond of children, Cal?"

"Yes; suppose you let me join them."

"Suppose we all do," suggested Mr. Dinsmore, seeing Travilla lay aside
his book, and listen with a pleased smile to the glad young voices.

"With all my heart," said the latter as he rose and led the way, "I find
nothing more refreshing after the day's duties are done, than a romp
with my children."

For the next half hour they were all children together; then Aunt Chloe
and Dinah came to take the little ones to bed, and Elsie, after seeing
her guests depart, followed to the nursery.

Mr. Dinsmore rode over to Roselands with his nephew, conversing all the
way in a most entertaining manner, making no allusion to politics or to
Boyd or Foster.

Calhoun was charmed, and when his uncle urged him to visit the Oaks more
frequently, observing that he had been there but once since Horace's
return from college, and proposing that he should begin by coming to
dinner the next day and staying as long as suited his convenience, the
invitation was accepted with alacrity and delight.

On returning home Mr. Dinsmore explained his views and wishes, with
regard to Calhoun, to his wife and son, who at once cordially fell in
with them in doing all they could to make his visit enjoyable. In fact,
so agreeable did he find it that his stay was prolonged to several days.

The morning papers one day brought news of several fresh Ku Klux
outrages, beatings, shootings, hanging.

Mr. Dinsmore read the account aloud at the breakfast table, and again
made some remarks against the organization.

Calhoun listened in silence, then as Mr. Dinsmore laid the paper down,
"Uncle," said he doubtfully, and with downcast troubled look, "don't you
think the reconstruction acts form some excuse for the starting of such
an organisation?"

"Let the facts answer," returned Mr. Dinsmore: "the organization existed
as early as 1866; the reconstruction acts were passed in March,
1867."[D]

[Footnote D: See Reports of Congressional Committee of Investigation.]

"Ah, yes, sir, I had forgotten the dates; I've heard that reason given;
and another excuse is the fear of a conspiracy among the negroes to rob
and murder the whites: and I think you can't deny that they are
thievish."

"I don't deny, Cal, that some individuals among them have been guilty of
lawless acts, particularly stealing articles of food; but they are poor
and ignorant; have been kept in ignorance so long that we cannot
reasonably expect in them a very strong sense of the rights of property
and the duty of obedience to law; yet I have never been able to discover
any indications of combined lawlessness among them. On the contrary they
are themselves fearful of attack."

"Well, sir, then there were those organizations in the other--the
Republican party; the Union Leagues and Redstrings. I've been told the
Ku Klux Klan was gotten up in opposition to them."

"I presume so, but Union Leaguers and Redstrings do not go about in
disguise, robbing, beating, murdering."

"But then the carpet-baggers," said Calhoun, waxing warm, "putting
mischief into the negroes' heads, getting into office and robbing the
state in the most shameless wholesale manner; they're excuse enough for
the doings of the Ku Klux."

"Ah!" said his uncle, "but you forget that their organization was in
existence before the robberies of the state began: also that they do not
trouble corruptionists: and why? because they are men of both parties;
some of them men who direct and control, and might easily suppress the
Klan. No, no, Cal, judged out of their own mouths, by their words to
their victims, with some of whom I have conversed, their ruling motives
are hostility to the Government, to the enjoyment of the negro of the
rights given him by the amendments to the Constitution, and by the laws
which they are organized to oppose.[E] Their real object is the
overthrow of the State governments and the return of the negro to
bondage. And tell me, Cal, do you look upon these midnight attacks of
overpowering numbers of disguised men upon the weak and helpless, some
of them women, as manly deeds? Is it a noble act for white men to steal
from the poor ignorant black his mule, his arms, his crops, the fruit of
his hard labor?"

[Footnote E: See Reports of Congressional Committee of Investigation.]

"No, sir," returned Calhoun half-reluctantly, his face flushing hotly.

"No, emphatically no, say I!" cried Horace, Jr., "what could be more
base, mean, or cowardly?"

"You don't belong, do you, Cal?" asked Rosie, suddenly.

He dropped his knife and fork, his face fairly ablaze, "What--what could
make you think that, Rosie? No, no, I--don't belong to any organization
that acknowledges that name."

A suspicion for the first time flashed upon Mr. Dinsmore, a suspicion of
the truth. Calhoun Conly was already a member of the White Brotherhood,
the name by which the Klan was known among themselves, Ku Klux being the
one given to the world at large; that thus they might avail themselves
of the miserable, Jesuitical subterfuge Calhoun had just used.

He had been wheedled into joining it by Foster and Boyd, who utterly
deceived him in regard to its objects. He had never taken part in the
outrages and was now fully determined that he never would; resolving
that while keeping its secrets, the penalty of the exposure of which was
death, he would quietly withdraw and attend no more of its meetings. He
understood the language of the searching look Mr. Dinsmore gave him and
seized the first opportunity for a word in private, to vindicate
himself.

"Uncle," he said with frank sincerity, "I am not free to tell you
everything, as I could wish, but I hope you will believe me when I
assure you that I never had any share in the violent doings of the Ku
Klux, and never will."

Mr. Dinsmore bent upon him a second look of keen scrutiny. Conly bore it
without flinching; and extending his hand, his uncle replied, "I think I
understand the situation: but I will trust you, Cal, and not fear that
in entertaining you here I am harboring a hypocrite and spy who may
betray my family and myself into the hands of midnight assassins."

"Thanks, uncle, you shall never have cause to repent of your
confidence," the lad answered with a flush of honest pride.

He returned to Roselands the next day, and went directly to an upper
room, at some distance from those usually occupied by the family, from
whence came the busy hum of a sewing machine.

The door was securely fastened on the inner side, but opened immediately
in response to three quick, sharp taps of a pencil which Calhoun took
from his pocket.

It was his mother's face that looked cautiously out upon him. "Oh, you
have returned," she said in an undertone; "well, come in. I'm glad to
see you."

He stepped in, and she locked the door again, and sitting down, resumed
the work, which it seemed had been laid aside to admit him. She was
making odd looking rolls of cotton cloth; stuffing them with cotton
wool.

Mrs. Johnson, the only other person present, was seated before the
sewing machine, stitching a seam in a long garment of coarse, white
linen.

"How d'ye do, Cal?" she said, looking up for an instant to give him a
nod.

He returned the greeting, and taking a chair by Mrs. Conly's side, "All
well, mother?" he asked.

"Quite. You're just in time to tell me whether these are going to look
right. You know we've never seen any, and have only your description to
go by."

She held up a completed roll. It looked like a horn, tapering nearly to
a point.

"I think so," he said; "but, mother, you needn't finish mine: I shall
never use it."

"Calhoun Conly, what do you mean?" she cried, dropping the roll into her
lap, and gazing at him with kindling eyes.

"You're not going to back out of it now?" exclaimed Enna, leaving her
machine, and approaching him in sudden and violent anger. "You'd better
take care, coward, they'll kill you if you turn traitor; and right they
should too."

"I shall not turn traitor," he said quietly, "but neither shall I go any
farther than I have gone. I should never have joined, if Boyd and Foster
hadn't deceived me as to the objects of the organization."

"But you have joined, Cal, and I'll not consent to your giving it up,"
said his mother.

"I don't like to vex you, mother," he answered, reddening, "but--"

"But you'll have your own way, whether it displeases me or not? A
dutiful son, truly."

"This is Horace's work, and he's a scalawag, if he is my brother,"
cried Enna, with growing passion, "but if I were you, Cal Conly, I'd be
man enough to have an opinion of my own, and stick to it."

"Exactly what I'm doing, Aunt Enna. I went into the thing blindfold;
I have found out what it really is--a cruel, cowardly, lawless
concern--and I wash my hands of it and its doings."

Bowing ceremoniously he unlocked the door, and left the room.

Enna sprang to it and fastened it after him. "If he was my son, I'd turn
him out of the house."

"Father would hardly consent," replied her sister, "and if he did, what
good would it do? Horace or Travilla would take him in of course."

"Well, thank heaven, Boyd and Foster are made of sterner stuff and our
labor's not all lost," said Enna, returning to her machine.

The two ladies had been spending many hours every day in that room for
a week past, no one but Calhoun being admitted to their secrets, for
whether in the room or out of it they kept the door always carefully
locked.

The curiosity of servants and children was strongly excited, but vain
had been all their questions and coaxing, futile every attempt to solve
the mystery up to the present time.

But three or four days after Calhoun's return from the Oaks, the thought
suggested itself to mischievous, prying Dick and his coadjutor Walter,
that the key of some other lock in the house might fit that of the door
they so ardently desired to open. They only waited for a favorable
opportunity to test the question in the temporary absence of their
mothers from that part of the building, and to their great joy
discovered that the key of the bedroom they shared together was the
duplicate of the one which had so long kept their masculine curiosity
at bay.

It turned readily in the lock and with a smothered exclamation of
delight they rushed in and glanced eagerly about.

At first they saw nothing in any way remarkable--the familiar furniture,
the sewing machine, the work-table and baskets of their mothers, a few
shreds of white cotton and linen, a scrap here and there of red braid
littering the carpet near the machine, and the low rocking-chair used by
Mrs. Conly.

"Pooh! nothing here to be so secret about," cried Walter, but Dick,
nodding his head wisely said, "Let's look a little further. What's in
that closet?"

They ran to it, opened the door, and started back in sudden momentary
affright.

"'Taint alive," said Dick, the bolder of the two, quickly recovering
himself; "horrid thing! I reckon I know what 'tis," and he whispered a
few words in his companion's ear.

Walter gave a nod of acquiescence of the opinion.

"Here's another 'most finished," pursued Dick, dragging out and
examining a bundle he found lying on the closet floor. (The one which
had so startled them hung on the wall.) "We'll have some fun out of 'em
one of these times when it's ready, eh, Wal?"

"Yes, but let's put 'em back, and hurry off now, for fear somebody
should come and catch us. I'm afraid those folks in the drawing-room may
go, and our mothers come up to their work again."

"So they might, to be sure," said Dick, rolling up the bundle and
bestowing it in its former resting place. "We must be on the watch, Wal,
or we'll miss our chance; they'll be sending them out o' this about as
soon as they're finished."

"Yes. Who do you think they're for?"

(The boys scorned the rules of English grammar, and refused to be
fettered by them. Was not theirs a land of free speech--for the
aristocratic class to which they undoubtedly belonged?)

"Cal and Art, of course."

"Don't you believe it, Art cares for nothing but his books and
Silverheels. Wasn't that a jolly birthday present, Dick? I wish Travilla
and Cousin Elsie would remember ours the same way."

"Reckon I do. There, everything's just as we found it. Now let's
skedaddle."




Chapter Eighth.

"A horrid spectre rises to my sight,
Close by my side, and plain, and palpable
In all good seeming and close circumstance
As man meets man."
--JOANNA BAILLIE.


It was a sultry summer night, silent and still, not a leaf stirring,
hardly so much as the chirp of an insect to be heard. The moon looked
down from a cloudless sky upon green lawns and meadows, fields and
forests clothed in richest verdure; gardens, where bloomed lovely
flowers in the greatest variety and profusion, filling the air in their
immediate vicinity with an almost overpowering sweetness; a river
flowing silently to the sea; cabins where the laborer rested from his
toil, and lordlier dwellings where, perchance, the rich man tossed
restlessly on his more luxurious couch.

Mr. and Mrs. Travilla had spent the earlier part of the evening at the
Oaks, and after their return, tempted by the beauty of the night, had
sat conversing together in the veranda long after their usual hour for
retiring. Now they were both sleeping soundly.

Perhaps the only creature awake about the house or on the plantation,
was Bungy the great watch dog, who, released from the chain that bound
him during the day, was going his rounds keeping guard over his master's
property.

A tiny figure, clothed in white, stole noiselessly from the house,
flitted down the avenue, out into the road beyond, and on and on till
lost to view in the distance. So light was the tread of the little bare
feet, that Bungy did not hear it, nor was Bruno, sleeping on the
veranda, aroused.

On and on it glided, the little figure, now in the shadow of the trees
that skirted the road-side, now out in the broad moonbeams where they
fell unimpeded upon dew-laden grass and dusty highway alike.

Ion had been left more than a mile behind, yet farther and farther the
bit feetie were straying, farther from home and love, and safety, when a
grotesque, hideous form suddenly emerged from a wood on the opposite
side of the road.

Seemingly of gigantic stature, it wore a long, white garment, that,
enveloping it from head to foot, trailed upon the ground, rattling as it
moved, and glistening in the moonlight; the head was adorned with three
immense horns, white, striped with red, a nose of proportional size,
red eyes and eyebrows, and a wide, grinning red mouth, filled with
horrible tusks, out of which roiled a long red tongue.

Catching sight of the small white form gliding along on the other side
of the road, it uttered a low exclamation of mingled wonder, awe and
superstitious dread.

But at that instant a distant sound was heard like the rumble of
approaching wheels, and it stepped quickly behind a tree.

Another minute or so and a stage came rattling down the road, the
hideous monster stepped boldly out from the shadow of the tree, there
was the sharp crack of a rifle, and the driver of the stage tumbled from
his high seat into the road. The horses started madly forward, but some
one caught the reins and presently brought them to a standstill.

"Ku Klux!" exclaimed several voices, as the trailing, rattling white
gown disappeared in the recesses of the wood.

The stage door was thrown open, three or four men alighted, and going to
the body stooped over it, touched it, spoke to it, asking, "Are you
badly hurt, Jones?"

But there was no answer.

"Dead, quite dead," said one.

"Yes, what shall we do with him?"

"Lift him into the stage and take him to the next town."

The last speaker took hold of the head of the corpse, the others
assisted, and in a few moments the vehicle was on its way again with its
load of living and dead.

No one had noticed the tiny white figure which now crouched behind a
clump of bushes weeping bitterly and talking to itself, but, in a
subdued way as if fearful of being overheard.

"Where am I? O mamma, papa, come and help your little Vi! I don't know
how I got here. Oh, where are you, my own mamma?" A burst of sobs; then
"Oh, I'm so 'fraid! and mamma can't hear me, nor papa; but Jesus can;
I'll ask him to take care of me; and he will."

The small white hands folded themselves together and the low sobbing
cry went up, "Dear Jesus, take care of your little Vi, and don't let
anything hurt her; and please bring papa to take her home."

At Ion little Elsie woke and missed her sister. They slept together in
a room opening into the nursery on one side, and the bedroom of their
parents on the other. Doors and windows stood wide open and the moon
gave sufficient light for the child to see at a glance that Vi was no
longer by her side.

Slipping out of bed, she went softly about searching for her, thinking
to herself the while, "She's walking in her sleep again, dear little
pet, and I'm afraid she may get hurt; perhaps fall down stairs."

She had heard such fears expressed by her papa and mamma since of late
Violet had several times risen and strayed about the house in a state of
somnambulism.

Elsie passed from room to room growing more and more anxious and alarmed
every moment at her continued failure to find any trace of the missing
one. She must have help.

Dinah, who had care of the little ones, slept in the nursery. Going up
to her bed, Elsie shook her gently.

"What's de matter, honey?" asked the girl, opening her eyes and raising
herself to a sitting posture.

"Where's Violet? I can't find her."

"Miss Wi'let? aint she fas' asleep side o' you, Miss Elsie?"

"No, no, she isn't there, nor in any of mamma's rooms. I've looked
through them all. Dinah where is she? We must find her: come with me,
quick!"

Dinah was already out of bed and turning up the night lamp.

"I'll go all ober de house, honey," she said, "but 'spect you better
wake yo' pa. He'll want to look for Miss Wi'let hisself."

Elsie nodded assent, and hastening to his side softly stroked his face
with her hand, kissed him, and putting her lips close to his ear,
whispered half sobbingly, "Papa, papa, Vi's gone: we can't find her."

He was wide awake instantly. "Run back to your bed, darling," he said:
"and don't cry; papa will soon find her."

He succeeded in throwing on his clothes and leaving the room without
rousing his wife. He felt some anxiety, but the idea that the child had
left the house never entered his mind until a thorough search seemed to
give convincing proof that she was not in it.

He went out upon the veranda. Bruno rose, stretched himself and uttered
a low whine.

"Bruno, where is our little Violet?" asked Mr. Travilla, stooping to pat
the dog's head and showing him the child's slipper, "lead the way, sir;
we must find her." There was a slight tremble in his tones.

"Dinah," he said, turning to the girl, who stood sobbing in the doorway,
"if your mistress wakes while I am gone, tell her not to be alarmed; no
doubt with Bruno's help I shall very soon find the child and bring her
safely back. See he has the scent already," as the dog who had been
snuffing about suddenly started off at a brisk trot down the avenue.

Mr. Travilla hurried after, his fatherly heart beating with mingled hope
and fear.

On and on they went closely following in the footsteps of the little
runaway. The dog presently left the road that passed directly in front
of Ion, and turned into another, crossing it at right angles, which was
the stage route between the next town and the neighboring city.

It was now some ten or fifteen minutes since the stage had passed this
spot bearing the dead body of the driver who had met his tragical end
some quarter of a mile beyond.

The loud rumble of the wheels had waked little Vi, and as in a flash she
had seen the whole--the horrible apparition in its glistening, rattling
robes, step out from behind a tree and fire, and the tumble of its
victim into the dusty road. Then she had sunk down upon the ground
overpowered with terror.

But the thought of the almighty Friend who, she had been taught, was
ever near and able to help, calmed her fears somewhat.

She was still on her knees sobbing out her little prayer over and over
again, when a dark object bounded to her side, and Bruno's nose was
thrust rather unceremoniously into her face.

"Bruno, you good Bruno!" she cried clasping her arms about his neck,
"take me home! take me home!"

"Ah, papa will do that, now he has found his lost darling," said a loved
voice, as a strong arm put aside the bushes, and grasped her slight form
with a firm, but tender hold. "How came my little pet here so far away
from home?" he asked, drawing her to his breast.

"I don't know, papa," she sobbed, nestling in his arms and clinging
about his neck, her wet cheek laid close to his, "that carriage waked
me, and I was 'way out here, and that dreadful thing was over there by a
tree, and it shooted the man, and he tumbled off on the ground. O papa,
hurry, hurry fast, and let's go home; it might come back and shoot us
too."

"What thing, daughter?" he asked, soothing her with tender caresses, as
still holding her to his breast, he walked rapidly toward home.

"Great big white thing, with horns, papa."

"I think my pet has been dreaming?"

"No, no, papa, I did see it, and it fired, and the man tumbled off, and
the horses snorted and ran so fast; then they stopped, and the other
mans came back, and I heard them say, 'He's killed; he's quite dead.' O
papa, I'm so frightened!" and she clung to him with convulsive grasp,
sobbing almost hysterically.

"There, there, darling: papa has you safe in his arms. Thank God for
taking care of my little pet," he said, clasping her closer, and
quickening his pace, while Bruno wagging his tail and barking joyously,
gamboled about them, now leaping up to touch his tongue to the little
dusty toes now bounding on ahead, and anon returning to repeat his
loving caress; and so at last they arrived at home.

Mr. Travilla had scarcely left the house, ere the babe waked his mother.
She missed her husband at once, and hearing a half smothered sob coming
from the room occupied by her daughters; she rose and with the babe in
her arms, hastened to ascertain the cause.

She found Elsie alone, crying on the bed with her face half hidden in
the pillows.

"My darling, what is it?" asked the mother's sweet voice. "But where is
Vi?"

"O, mamma, I don't know; that is the reason I can't help crying," said
the child, raising herself and putting her arms about her mother's neck,
as the latter sat down on the side of the bed. "But don't be alarmed,
mamma, for papa has gone to find her."

"Where, daughter? she cannot have gone out of the house, surely?"

At this instant Dinah appeared and delivered her master's message.

To obey his injunction not to be alarmed, was quite impossible to the
loving mother heart, but she endeavored to conceal her anxiety and to
overcome it by casting her care on the Lord. The babe had fallen asleep
again, and laying him gently down, she took Elsie in her arms and
comforted her with caresses and words of hope and cheer.

"Mamma," said the little girl, "I cannot go to sleep again till papa
comes back."

"No, I see you can't, nor can I so we will put on our dressing-gowns and
slippers, and sit together at the window, to watch for him, and when we
see him coming up the avenue with Vi in his arms, we will run to meet
them."

So they did, and the little lost one, found again, was welcomed by
mother and sister, and afterward by nurse and mammy, with tender, loving
words, caresses and tears of joy.

Then Dinah carried her to the nursery, washed the soiled, tired little
feet, changed the draggled night-gown for a fresh and clean one, and
with many a hug and honeyed word, carried her back to bed, saying, as
she laid her down in it, "Now, darlin', don't you git out ob heyah no
mo' till mornin'."

"No, I'll hold her fast; and papa has locked the doors so she can't get
out of these rooms," said Elsie, throwing an arm over Vi.

"Yes, hold me tight, tight" murmured Vi, cuddling down close to her
sister, and almost immediately falling asleep, for she was worn out with
fatigue and excitement.

Elsie lay awake some time longer, her young heart singing for joy over
her recovered treasure, but at length fell asleep also, with the murmur
of her parents' voices in her ears.

They were talking of Violet, expressing their gratitude to God that
no worse consequences had resulted from her escapade, and consulting
together how to prevent a repetition of it.

Mr. Travilla repeated to his wife the child's story of her awaking and
what she had seen and heard.

"Oh my poor darling, what a terrible fright for her!" Elsie exclaimed,
"but do you not think it must have been all a dream?"

"That was my first thought; but on further consideration I fear it may
have been another Ku Klux outrage. I dare say, the disguise worn by them
may answer to her description of 'the horrible thing that shooted the
man;' I judge so from what I have heard of it."

"But who could have been the victim?" she asked with a shudder.

"I do not know. But her carriage was probably the stage: it was about
the hour for it to pass."

Day was already dawning and they did not sleep again.

Mr. Travilla had gone on his regular morning round over the plantation,
and Elsie stole softly into the room of her little daughters.

Though past their usual hour for rising they still slept and she meant
to let them do so as long as they would. They made a lovely picture
lying there clasped in each other's arms. Her heart swelled with tender
emotions, love, joy and gratitude to Him who had given these treasures
and preserved them thus far from all danger and evil. She bent over them
pressing a gentle kiss upon each round rosy cheek.

Little Elsie's brown eyes opened wide, and putting her arm about her
mother's neck, "Mamma," she whispered, with a sweet, glad smile, "was
not God very good to give us back our Vi?"

"Yes, dearest, oh, so much better than we deserve!"

Violet started up to a sitting posture. "Mamma, oh mamma, I did have a
dreadful, dreadful dream!--that I was 'way off from you and papa, out in
the night in the woods, and I saw--"

She ended with a burst of frightened sobs and tears, hiding her face on
the bosom of her mother who already held her closely clasped to her
beating heart.

"Don't think of it, darling, you are safe now in your own dear home with
papa and mamma and sister and brothers." Tender soothing caresses
accompanied the loving words.

"Mamma, did I dream it?" asked the child lifting her tearful face, and
shuddering as she spoke.

The mother was too truthful to say yes, though she would have been glad
her child should think it but a dream.

"Perhaps some of it was, daughter," she said, "though my pet did walk
out in her sleep; but papa is going to manage things so that she can
never do it again. And God will take care of us, my darling."

The sobs grew fainter and softly sighing, "Yes mamma," she said, "I
asked him to send papa to bring me home, and he did."

"And papa came in here this morning and kissed both his girls before he
went down stairs. Did you know that?"

"Did he? Oh I wish I'd waked to give him a good hug!"

"I too;" said Elsie, "Papa loves us very much, doesn't he, mamma?"

"Dearly, dearly, my child; you and all his little ones."

Vi's tears were dried and when her father came in she met him with a
cheerful face, quite ready for the customary romp, but days passed ere
she was again her own bright, merry self, or seemed content unless
clinging close to one or the other of her parents.

While the family were at the breakfast table, Uncle Joe came in with the
mail, his face full of excitement and terror.

"Dem Ku Kluxes dey's gettin' awful dangerous, Massa," he said, laying
down the bag with a trembling hand, "dey's gone an' shot the stage
drivah an' killed 'um dead on the spot. Las' night, sah, jes ober
yondah in de road todder side o' Mars Leland's place, and--"

Mr. Travilla stopped him in the midst of his story, with a warning
gesture and an anxious glance from one to another of the wondering,
half frightened little faces about the table.

"Another time and place, Uncle Joe."

"Yes, sah, beg pardon, sah, Massa Edard," and the old man, now growing
quite infirm from age, hobbled away talking to himself. "Sure nuff, you
ole fool, Joe, might 'a knowed you shouldn't tole no such tings fo' de
chillum."

"Was it 'bout my dream, papa?" Vi asked with quivering lip and fast
filling eyes.

"Never mind, little daughter; we needn't trouble about our dreams," he
said cheerily, and began talking of something else, in a lively strain
that soon set them all to laughing.

It was not until family worship was over and the children had left the
room that he said to his wife, "The Ku Klux were abroad last night and
I have no doubt Uncle Joe's story is quite true, and that our poor little
Vi really saw the murder."

Elsie gave him a startled, inquiring look. "You have other proof?"

"Yes; Leland and I met in going our rounds this morning, and he told me
he had found a threatening note, signed 'K.K.K,' tacked to his gate, and
had torn it down immediately, hoping to conceal the matter from his
wife, who, he says is growing nervously fearful for his safety."

"Oh, what a dreadful state of things! Do these madmen realize that they
are ruining their country?"

"Little they care for that, if they can but gain their ends,--the
subversion of the Government, and the return of the negro to his former
state of bondage."

She was standing by his side, her hand on his arm. "My husband," she
said in trembling tones, looking up into his face with brimming eyes,
"what may they not do next? I begin to fear for you and my father and
brother."

"I think you need not, little wife," he said, drawing her head to a
resting place on his shoulder, and passing his hand caressingly over her
hair, "I think they will hardly meddle with us, natives of the place,
and men of wealth and influence. And," he added low and reverently, "are
we not all in the keeping of Him without whom not one hair of our heads
can fall to the ground?"

"Yes, yes, I will trust and not be afraid," she answered, smiling
sweetly through her tears. Then catching sight, through the open window,
of a couple of horsemen coming up the avenue, "Ah, there are papa and
Horace now!" she cried, running joyfully out to meet them.

"Have you heard of last night's doings of the Ku Klux?" were the first
words of Horace Jr. when the greetings had been exchanged.

"Run away, dears, run away to your play," Elsie said to her children,
and at once they obeyed.

"Uncle Joe came in this morning with a story that Jones, the stage
driver had been shot by them last night in this vicinity," Mr. Travilla
answered, "but I stopped him in the midst of it, as the children were
present. Is it a fact?"

"Only too true," replied Mr. Dinsmore.

"Yes," said Horace, "I rode into the town, before breakfast, found it
full of excitement; the story on everybody's tongue, and quite a large
crowd about the door of the house where the body of the murdered man
lay."

"And is the murderer still at large," asked Elsie.

"Yes; and the worst of it is that no one seems to have the least idea
who he is."

"The disguise preventing recognition, of course," said Mr. Travilla.

Then the grandfather and uncle were surprised with an account of little
Vi's escapade.

"If Violet were my child," said Mr. Dinsmore, "I should consult Dr.
Burton about her at once. There must be undue excitement of the brain
that might be remedied by proper treatment."

Elsie cast an anxious look at her husband.

"I shall send for the doctor immediately," he said, and summoning a
servant dispatched him at once upon the errand.

"Don't be alarmed, daughter," Mr. Dinsmore said; "doubtless a little
care will soon set matters right with the child."

"Yes; I do not apprehend any thing serious, if the thing is attended to
in time," Mr. Travilla added cheerfully; then went on to tell of the
notice affixed to Fairview gate.

They were all of the opinion that these evil doers, should, if possible,
be brought to justice; but the nature and extent of the organization
rendered it no easy matter for the civil courts to deal with them. The
order being secret, the members were known as such only among
themselves, when strangers, recognizing each other by secret signs. They
were sworn to aid and defend a brother member under all circumstances;
were one justly accused of crime, others would come forward and prove an
alibi by false swearing; were they on the jury, they would acquit him
though perfectly cognizant of his guilt. In some places the sheriff and
his deputies were members, perhaps the judge also[F]. Thus it happened
that though one or two persons who had been heard to talk threateningly
about Jones, as "a carpet-agger and Republican, who should be gotten rid
of, by fair means or foul," were arrested on suspicion, they were soon
set at liberty again, and his death remained unavenged.

[Footnote F: See Reports of Congressional Committee of Investigation.]




Chapter Ninth.

"I feel my sinews slackened with the fright,
And a cold sweat thrills down o'er all my limbs
As if I were dissolving into water."
--DRYDEN.


Early one evening, a few days subsequent to the tragical death of Jones,
the Ion family carriage, well freighted, was bowling along the road
leading toward the Oaks.

A heavy shower had laid the dust and cooled the air, and the ride past
blooming hedgerows, and fertile fields was very delightful. The parents
were in cheerful mood, the children gay and full of life and fun.

"Oh, yonder is grandpa's carriage coming this way!" cried Eddie as they
neared the cross-road which must be taken to reach Roselands in the one
direction, and Ashlands in the other.

"Yes, turn out here, Solon, and wait for them to come up," said Mr.
Travilla.

"On your way to the Oaks?" Mr. Dinsmore queried as his carriage halted
along side of the other. "Well, we will turn about and go with you."

"No, we were going to Roselands but will put off the call to another
day, if you were coming to Ion," Mr. Travilla answered.

"No, the Dinsmores had not set out for Ion, but to visit Sophie at
Ashlands; Daisy, her youngest child, was very ill."

"I wish you would go with us, Elsie," Rose said to Mrs. Travilla. "I
know it would be a comfort to Sophie to see you."

"Yes, we have plenty of room here," added Mr. Dinsmore, "and your
husband and children can certainly spare you for an hour or so."

Elsie looked inquiringly at her husband.

"Yes, go, wife, if you feel inclined," he said pleasantly. "The children
shall not lose their ride. I will go on to Roselands with them, make a
short call, as I have a little business with your grandfather, then take
them home."

"And we will have their mother there probably shortly after," said Mr.
Dinsmore.

So the exchange was made and the carriages drove on, taking opposite
directions when they came to the cross-road.

Arrived at Roselands, Mr. Travilla found only the younger members of the
family at home, the old gentleman having driven out with his daughters.
Calhoun thought however that they would return shortly, and was
hospitably urgent that the visitors should all come in and rest and
refresh themselves.

The younger cousins joined in the entreaty, and his own children
seeming desirous to accept the invitation, Mr. Travilla permitted them
to do so.

They, with Aunt Chloe and Dinah, were presently carried off to the
nursery by Molly Percival and the Conly girls, while their father walked
into the grounds with Calhoun and Arthur.

"Wal," whispered Dick to his cousin, drawing him aside unnoticed by the
rest, who were wholly taken up with each other, "now's our time for some
fun with those Ku Klux things. They must be about done, and I reckon
will be packed off out o' the house before long."

Walter nodded assent; they stole unobserved from the room, flew up to
their own for the key, hurried to the sewing-room of their mothers, and
finding there two disguises nearly completed, sufficiently so for their
purpose, arrayed themselves in them, slipped unseen down a back
staircase, and dashing open the nursery door, bounded with a loud whoop,
into the midst of its occupants.

Children and nurses joined in one wild shriek of terror, and made a
simultaneous rush for the doors, tumbling over each other in their haste
and affright.

But fortunately for them, Mr. Travilla and Calhoun had come in from the
grounds, were on their way to the nursery, and entered it from the hall
but a moment later than the boys did by the opposite door.

Mr. Travilla instantly seized Dick, (Calhoun doing the same by Walter),
tore off his disguise, and picking up a riding-whip, lying conveniently
at hand, administered a castigation that made the offender yell and roar
for mercy.

"You scoundrel!" replied the gentleman, still laying on his blows,
"I have scant mercy for a great strong boy who amuses himself by
frightening women and helpless little children."

"But you're not my father, and have no right, oh, oh, oh!" blubbered
Dick, trying to dodge the blows and wrench himself free, "I'll--I'll sue
you for assault and battery."

"Very well, I'll give you plenty while I'm about it, and if you don't
want a second dose, you will refrain from frightening my children in
future."

It was an exciting scene, Walter getting almost as severe handling from
Calhoun, nurses and children huddling together in the farthest corner of
the room, Baby Herbert screaming at the top of his voice, and the others
crying and sobbing while shrinking in nervous terror from the hideous
disguises lying in a heap upon the floor.

"O, take them away! take them away, the horrid things!" screamed
Virginia Conly, shuddering and hiding her face. "Wal and Dick, you
wicked wretches, I don't care if they half kill you."

"Papa, papa, please stop. O, Cal, don't whip him any more. I'm sure
they'll never do it again," pleaded little Elsie amid her sobs and
tears, holding Vi fast and trying to soothe and comfort her.

"There, go," said Calhoun, pushing Walter from the room, "and if ever
I catch you at such a trick again, I'll give you twice as much."

Dick, released by his captor with a like threat, hastened after his
fellow delinquent, blubbering and muttering angrily as he went.

Calhoun gathered up the disguises, threw them into a closet, locked the
door and put the key into his pocket.

"There!" said he, "they're out of sight and couldn't come after us if
they were alive; and there's no life in them; and little else but linen
and cotton."

Baby Herbert ceased his cries and cuddled down on Aunt Chloe's shoulder;
the other four ran to their father.

He encircled them all in his arms, soothing them with caresses and words
of fatherly endearment. "There, there, my darlings, dry your tears; papa
will take care of you; nothing shall hurt you."

"Papa, they's like that horrid thing that shooted the man," sobbed Vi,
clinging to him in almost frantic terror. "Oh don't let's ever come
here any more!"

"I so frightened, papa, I so frightened; p'ease tate Harold home,"
sobbed the little fellow, the others joining in the entreaty.

"Yes, we will go at once," said Mr. Travilla, rising, Vi in one arm
Harold in the other; and motioning to the servants to follow, he was
about to leave the room, when Calhoun spoke.

"Do not go yet, Mr. Travilla: I think grandpa and the ladies will be
here directly."

"Thanks, but I will see Mr. Dinsmore at another time. Now my first duty
is to these terrified little ones."

"I am exceedingly sorry for what has occurred; more mortified than I can
express--"

"No need for apology, Conly; but you must see the necessity for our
abrupt departure. Good evening to you all."

Calhoun followed to the carriage door, helped to put the children in,
then addressing Mr. Travilla, "I see you doubt me, sir," he said, "and
not without reason, I own; yet I assure you I have no property in those
disguises, never have worn, and never will wear such a thing: much less
take part in the violence they are meant to protect from punishment."

"I am glad to hear you say so, Cal. Good evening." And the carriage
whirled away down the avenue.

The rapid motion and the feeling that the objects of their affright
were being left far behind, seemed to soothe and reassure the children,
yet each sought to be as near as possible to their loved protector.

Harold and the babe soon fell asleep, and on reaching home were carried
directly to bed; but the older ones begged so hard to be allowed to
"stay with papa till mamma came home" that he could not find it in his
heart to refuse them.

The Dinsmore party found Sophie devoting herself to her sick child; the
attack had been sudden and severe, and all the previous night the mother
had watched by the couch of the little sufferer with an aching heart,
fearing she was to be taken from her; but now the danger seemed nearly
over, a favorable change having taken place during the day.

Daisy had fallen into a quiet slumber, and leaving the nurse to watch at
the bedside, the mother received and conversed with her friends in an
adjoining room.

Though evidently very glad to see them, she seemed, after the first few
moments, so depressed and anxious, that at length her sister remarked
it, and asked if there were any other cause than Daisy's illness.

"Yes, Rose," she said, "I must own that I am growing very timid in
regard to these Ku Klux outrages. Since they have taken to beating and
shooting whites as well as blacks, women as well as men, who shall say
that we are safe? I a Northern woman too and without a protector."

"I do not think they will molest a lady of your standing," said Mr.
Dinsmore, "the widow too of a Confederate officer. But where is Boyd,
that you say you are without a protector?"

A slight shudder ran over Sophie's frame. "Boyd?" she said, drawing her
chair nearer and speaking in an undertone, "he is my great dread, and
for fear of wounding mother's feelings I have had to keep my terrors to
myself. I know that he is often out, away from the plantation, all
night. I have for weeks past suspected that he was a Ku Klux, and last
night, or rather early this morning, my suspicions were so fully
confirmed that they now amount almost to certainty. I had been up all
night with Daisy, and a little before sunrise happening to be at the
window, I saw him stealing into the house with a bundle under his
arm,--something white rolled up in the careless sort of way a man would
do it."

"I am not surprised," said Mr. Dinsmore, "he is just the sort of man one
would expect to be at such work,--headstrong, violent tempered, and
utterly selfish and unscrupulous. Yet I think you may dismiss your fears
of him, and feel it rather a safeguard than otherwise to have a member
of the Klan in your family."

"It may be so," she said, musingly, the cloud of care partially lifting
from her brow.

"And at all events you are not without a protector, dear sister,"
whispered Rose, as she bade adieu. "'A father of the fatherless, and a
judge of the widows is God in his holy habitation.'"

Elsie too had a word of sympathy and hope for her childhood's friend,
and with warm invitations to both the Oaks and Ion as soon as Daisy
could be moved with safety, they left her, greatly cheered and refreshed
by their visit.

"My heart aches for her," Elsie said as they drove away, "what a sad,
sad thing to be a widow!"

"Yes;" responded Rose, "and to have lost your husband so,--fighting
against the land of your birth and love."

There was a long pause broken by a sudden, half frightened exclamation
from Rosie. "Papa! what if we should meet the Ku Klux!"

"Not much danger, I think: they are not apt to be abroad so early. And
we are nearing Ion."

"I presume Edward has reached home before us," remarked Elsie, "I wonder
how my little ones enjoyed their first visit to Roselands without their
mother."

She soon learned; for she had scarcely set foot in the veranda ere they
were clinging about her and pouring out the story of their terrible
fright.

She pitied, soothed and comforted them, trying to dispel their fears and
lead them to forgive those who had so ill-used them, though it cost no
small effort to do so herself.




Chapter Tenth.

"Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven."
--Luke vi, 87.


Calhoun Conly was much perturbed by the occurrences of the evening. He
was fond of his cousin Elsie and her children, and very sorry, for both
her sake and theirs, that they had suffered this fright; he greatly
respected and liked Mr. Travilla too, and would fain have stood well
in his esteem; he had hoped that he did; and also with his Uncle
Horace,--he had been so kindly treated, especially of late, at both Ion
and the Oaks; but now this unfortunate episode had placed him in a false
position, and he could hardly expect to be again trusted or believed in.

Such were his cogitations as he sat alone in the veranda, after the Ion
carriage had driven away. "What shall I do?" he asked himself, "what
shall I do to recover their good opinion?"

Just then Walter appeared before him, looking crestfallen and angry.

"I say, Cal, it's bad enough for you to have thrashed me as you did,
without bringing mother and Aunt Enna, and maybe grandfather too, down
on me about those wretched masks and things; so give 'em up and let Dick
and me put 'em back before they get home."

"Of course put them back as fast as you can; pity you hadn't let them
alone," said Calhoun, rising and with a quick step leading the way
toward the nursery, "and," he added, "we must see what we can do to keep
the young ones from blabbing; else putting them back will help your case
very little."

"Oh we'll never be able to do that!" exclaimed Walter, despairingly,
"one or another of 'em is sure to let it out directly. And there come
the folks now," as the rolling of wheels was heard in the avenue. "It's
of no use; they'll know all about it in five minutes."

"Yes, sir, you and Dick have got yourselves into a fine box, beside all
the trouble you've made for other people," said Calhoun angrily. Then
laying his hand on Walter's arm as he perceived that he was meditating
flight, "No, sir, stay and face the music like a man; don't add
cowardice to all the rest of it."

They heard the clatter of little feet running through the house and out
upon the veranda, the carriage draw up before the door, then the voices
of the children pouring out the story of their fright, and the
punishment of its authors, and the answering tones of their grandfather
and the ladies; Mr. Dinsmore's expressing surprise and indignation,
Enna's full of passion, and Mrs. Conly's of cold displeasure.

"Let go o' me! they're coming this way," cried Walter, trying to wrench
himself free.

But the inexorable Calhoun only tightened his grasp and dragged him on
to the nursery.

Dick was there trying to pick the lock of the closet door with his
pocket knife.

"What are you about, sir? No more mischief to-day, if you please,"
exclaimed Calhoun, seizing him with the free hand, the other having
enough to do to hold Walter.

"Give me that key then," cried Dick, vainly struggling to shake off his
cousin's strong grip.

The words were hardly on the boy's tongue, when the door was thrown
open, and Mr. Dinsmore and his daughters entered hastily, followed by
the whole crowd of younger children.

"Give you the key indeed! I'd like to know how you got hold of mine, and
how you dared to make use of it as you have, you young villain! There,
take that, and that and that! Hold him fast, Cal, till I give him a
little of what he deserves," cried Mrs. Johnson, rushing upon her son,
in a towering passion, and cuffing him right and left with all her
strength.

"Let me alone!" he roared; "'taint fair; old Travilla's half killed me
already."

"I'm glad of it! You ought to be half killed, and you won't get any
sympathy from me, I can tell you."

"And you had a share in it too, Walter?" Mrs. Conly was saying in
freezing tones. "If you think he deserves any more than you gave him,
Cal, you have my full permission to repeat the dose."

"Where is the cause of all this unseemly disturbance?" demanded Mr.
Dinsmore severely. "Calhoun, if you have the key of that closet and
those wretched disguises are there, produce them at once."

The young man obeyed, while Enna, holding Dick fast, turned a half
frightened look upon her sister; to which the latter, standing with her
arms folded and her back braced against the wall, replied with one of
cold, haughty indifference.

Calhoun drew out the obnoxious articles and held them up to view, a
flush of mortification upon his face.

The children screamed and ran.

"Be quiet! they can't hurt you," said the grandfather, stamping his
foot; then turning to Calhoun, "Ku Klux--your property and Arthur's, I
presume, you are members doubtless?" and he glanced from one to the
other of his older grandsons in mingled anger and scorn; Arthur having
just entered the room to ascertain the cause of the unusual commotion.

He flushed hotly at his grandsire's words and look. "I, sir! I a Ku
Klux?" he exclaimed in a hurt, indignant tone, "I a midnight assassin
stealing upon my helpless victims under cover of darkness and a hideous
disguise? No, sir. How could you think so ill of me? What have I done to
deserve it?"

"Nothing, my boy; I take it all back," said the old gentleman, with a
grim smile, "it is not like you--a quiet bookish lad, with nothing of
the coward or the bully about you. But you, Calhoun?"

"I have no property in these, sir; and I should scorn to wear one, or to
take part in the deeds you have spoken of."

"Right. I am no Republican, and was as strong for secession as any man
in the South, but I am for open, fair fight with my own enemies or those
of my country; no underhand dealings for me; no cowardly attacks in
overwhelming numbers upon the weak and defenceless. But if these
disguises are not yours, whose are they? and how came they here?"

"I must beg leave to decline answering that question, sir," replied
Calhoun respectfully.

His mother and aunt exchanged glances.

"Ah!" exclaimed their father, turning to Enna, as with a sudden
recollection, "I think I heard you claiming some property in these
scarecrows speak out; are they yours?"

"No, sir; but I'm not ashamed to own that I helped to make them, and
that if I were a man, I would wear one."

"You? you helped make them? and who, pray, helped you? Louise--"

"Yes, sir, Louise it was," replied Mrs. Conly drawing herself up to her
full height, "and she is no more ashamed to own it, than is her sister.
And if Calhoun was a dutiful son he would be more than willing to wear
one."

"If you were a dutiful daughter, you would never have engaged in such
business in my house without my knowledge and consent," retorted her
father, "and I'll have no more of it, let me tell you, Madams Conly and
Johnson; no aiding or abetting of these midnight raiders."

Then turning to a servant he ordered her to "take the hideous things
into the yard and make a bonfire of them."

"No, no!" cried Enna. "Papa, do you understand that you are ordering the
destruction of other men's property?"

"It makes no difference," he answered coolly, "they are forfeit by
having been brought surreptitiously into my house. Carry them out,
Fanny, do you hear? carry them out and burn them."

"And pray, sir, what am I to say to the owners when they claim their
property?" asked Enna with flashing eyes.

"Refer them to me," replied her father leaving the room to see that his
orders were duly executed.

Calhoun and Arthur had already slipped away. Dick was about to follow,
but his mother again seized him by the arm, this time shaking him
violently; she must have some one on whom to vent the rage that was
consuming her.

"You--you bad, troublesome, wicked boy! I could shake the very life out
of you!" she hissed through her shut teeth, suiting the action to the
word. "A pretty mess you've made of it, you and Walter. Your birthday
coming next week too; there'll be no presents from Ion for you, you may
rest assured. I hoped Mr. Travilla would send you each a handsome suit,
as he did last year; but of course you'll get nothing now."

"Well, I don't care," muttered Dick, "it's your fault for making the
ugly things." And freeing himself by a sudden jerk, he darted from the
room.

Children and servants had trooped after Mr. Dinsmore to witness the
conflagration, and Dick's sudden exit left the ladies sole occupants of
the apartment.

"I declare it's too bad! too provoking for endurance!" exclaimed Enna,
bursting into a flood of angry tears.

"What's the use of taking it so hard?" returned her sister.

"You're a perfect iceberg," retorted Enna.

"That accounts for my not crying over our misfortune, I presume; my
tears being all frozen up," returned Mrs. Conly with an exasperating
smile. "Well there is comfort in all things: we may now congratulate
ourselves that Foster and Boyd did not wait for these but supplied
themselves elsewhere."

There was a difference of two years in the ages of Dick Percival and
Walter Conly, but they were born on the same day of the same month, and
their birthday would occur in less than a week.

"I say, Wal, what precious fools we've been," remarked Dick as the two
were preparing to retire that night; "why didn't we remember how near it
was to our birthday? Of course, as mother says, there'll be no presents
from Ion this time."

"No, and I wish I'd never seen the hateful things," grumbled Walter,
"but there's no use crying over spilt milk."

"No; and we'll pretend we don't care a cent. Mother sha'n't have the
satisfaction of knowing that I do anyhow;" and Dick whistled a lively
tune as he pulled off his boots and tossed them into a corner.

At about the same time Elsie and her husband, seated alone together in
their veranda, were conversing on the same subject. Mr. Travilla
introduced it. They had been regretting the effect of the fright of the
evening upon their children--Vi especially as the one predisposed to
undue excitement of the brain--yet hoping it might not prove lasting.

Elsie had just returned from seeing them to bed. "I left them much
calmed and comforted," she said, "by our little talk together of God's
constant watch over us, His all-power and His protecting care and love;
and by our prayer that He would have them in his keeping."

He pressed her hand in silence; then presently remarked, "The birthday
of those boys is near at hand. They certainly deserve no remembrance
from us; but how do you feel about it?"

"Just as my noble, generous husband does," she said, looking up into his
face with a proud, fond smile.

"Ah! and how is that?"

"Like giving them a costlier and more acceptable present than ever
before; thus 'heaping coals of fire upon their heads.'"

"And what shall it be?"

"Whatever you think they would prefer, and would not that be a pony
a-piece?"

"No doubt of it; and I will try to procure two worth having, before the
day comes round."

Talking with her little ones the next morning, Elsie told them of the
near approach of the birthday of Dick and Walter, spoke of the duty of
forgiveness and the return of good for evil, and asked who of them
would like to make their cousins some nice present.

"I should, mamma," said little Elsie.

Eddie looked up into his mother's face, dropped his head, and blushing
deeply muttered, "I'd rather flog them like papa and Cal did."

"So would I; they're naughty boys!" cried Vi, the tears starting to her
eyes at the remembrance of the panic of fear their conduct had cost
herself, brothers and sister.

Their mother explained that it was papa's duty to protect his children
from injury, and that that was why he had flogged naughty Dick; but now
he had forgiven him and was going to return good for evil, as the Bible
bids us. "And you must forgive them too, dears, if you want God to
forgive you," she concluded; "for Jesus says, 'If you forgive not men
their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.'"

"I can't, mamma: I don't love them," said Eddie, stoutly.

"Ask God to help you, then, my son."

"But mamma, I can't ask him with my heart, 'cause I don't want to love
them or forgive them."

"Can my boy do without God's forgiveness? without Jesus' love?" she
asked, drawing him to her side. "You feel very unhappy when papa or
mamma is offended with you, and can you bear your heavenly Father's
frown?"

"Don't look so sorry, dear mamma: I love you ever so much," he said,
putting his arms about her neck and kissing her again and again.

"I cannot be happy while my dear little son indulges such sinful
feelings," she said, softly smoothing his hair, while a tear rolled down
her cheek.

"Mamma, how can I help it?"

"Try to think kind thoughts of your cousins, do them all the kindness
you can, and ask God to bless them, and to help you to love them. I want
my little Vi to do so too," she added, turning to her.

"Mamma, I will; I don't 'tend to say cross things 'bout 'em any more,"
Violet answered impulsively; "and I'll give 'em the nicest present I can
get with all my pocket-money."

"Mamma, must I give them presents?" asked Eddie.

"No, son, I do not say must; you shall decide for yourself whether you
ought, and whether you will."

"Mamma, they made me hurt my dear father."

"No, Eddie, no one can _make_ us do wrong; we choose for ourselves
whether we will resist temptation or yield to it."

"Mamma, what shall we give," asked the little girls.

"Talk it over between yourselves, daughters, decide how much you are
willing to spend on them, and what your cousins would probably like
best. I want my children to think and choose for themselves, where it
is proper that they should."

"But mamma, you will 'vise us."

"Yes, Vi, you may consult me, and shall have the benefit of my opinion."

The little girls held several private consultations during the day, and
in the evening came with a report to their mother. Elsie was willing to
appropriate five dollars to the purpose, Vi three, and the gifts were to
be books, if mamma approved, and would help them select suitable ones.

"I think you have decided wisely," she said, "and as it is too warm for
us to drive to the city, we will ask papa to order a variety sent out
here, and he and I will help you in making a choice."

Eddie was standing by. Nothing had been said to him on the subject,
since his morning talk with his mother, but all day he had been
unusually quiet and thoughtful.

"Mamma," he now said, coming close to her side, "I've been trying to
forgive them, and I'm going to buy two riding whips, one for Dick, and
one for Wal; if you and papa like me to."

Her smile was very sweet and tender as she commended his choice, and
told him his resolve had made her very happy.

The birthday found Dick and Walter in sullen, discontented mood, spite
of their resolve not to care for the loss of all prospect of gifts in
honor of the anniversary.

"What's the use of getting up?" growled Dick, "it's an awful bore, the
way we've been sent to Coventry ever since we got into that scrape with
the young ones. I've a great mind to lie a-bed and pretend sick; just to
scare mother and pay her off for her crossness."

"Maybe you might get sick in earnest," suggested Walter. "I'm going to
get up anyhow," and he tumbled out upon the floor, "for it's too hot to
lie in bed. Hark! there's Pomp coming up the stairs to call us now. Why,
what's all that, Pomp?" as the servant rapped, then pushing open the
door, handed in a number of brown paper parcels.

"Dunno, Mars Wal," replied the man grinning from ear to ear; "somethin'
from Ion, an de rest's down stairs; one for each ob you."

"One what?" queried Dick, starting up and with one bound placing himself
at Walter's side.

"Birthday present, sahs. Wish you many happy returns, Mars Wal and Mars
Dick, an' hope you'll neber wear no mo' Ku Klux doins."

But the lads were too busily engaged in opening the parcels and
examining their contents, to hear or heed his words.

"Two riding whips--splendid ones--and four books!" exclaimed Walter;
"and here's a note."

"Here let me read it," said Dick. "I declare, Wal, I'm positively
ashamed to have them send me anything after the way I've behaved."

"I too. But what do they say?"

"It's from Travilla and Cousin Elsie," said Dick turning to the
signature. "I'll read it out."

He did so. It was very kind and pleasant, made no allusion to their
wrong doing, but congratulated them on the return of the day, begged
their acceptance of the accompanying gifts, stating from whom each came,
the largest a joint present from themselves; and closed with an
invitation to spend the day at Ion.

"I'm more ashamed than ever, aren't you, Wal?" Dick said, his face
flushing hotly as he laid the note down.

"Yes, never felt so mean in my life. To think of that little Ed sending
us these splendid whips, and the little girls these pretty books. I
'most wish they hadn't."

"But where's 'the larger gift' they say is 'a joint present from
themselves'?"

"Oh that must be what Pomp called the rest left down stairs. Come, let's
hurry and get down there to see what it is."

Toilet duties were attended to in hot haste and in a wonderfully short
time the two were on the front veranda in eager quest of the mysterious
present.

Each boyish heart gave a wild bound of delight as their eyes fell upon a
group in the avenue, just before the entrance;--two beautiful ponies,
ready saddled and bridled, in charge of an Ion servant; old Mr.
Dinsmore, Calhoun and Arthur standing near examining and commenting upon
them with evident admiration.

"O, what beauties!" cried Dick, bounding into the midst of the group.
"Whose are they, Uncle Joe?"

"Well, sah," answered the old negro, pulling off his hat and bowing
first to one, then to the other, "dey's sent heyah, by Massa Travilla
and Miss Elsie, for two boys 'bout de size o' you, dat don' neber mean
to frighten young chillen no mo'."

The lads hung their heads in silence, the blush of shame on their
cheeks.

"Do you answer the description?" asked Calhoun, a touch of scorn in his
tones.

"Yes; for we'll never do it again," said Walter. "But it's too much:
they're too kind!" and he fairly broke down, and turned away his head to
hide the tears that would come into his eyes.

"That's a fact!" assented Dick, nearly as much moved.

"You don't deserve it," said their grandfather, severely, "and I'm much
inclined to send them back, with a request that if they're offered you
again it shall not be till a year of good conduct on your part has
atoned for the past."

"O, grandpa, you couldn't be so hard, so very hard!" cried Dick
imploringly, stroking and patting the pony nearest to him, "they're
such beauties."

"I should think you'd be ashamed to accept such gifts after the way
you've behaved," said Arthur.

"So we are; but wouldn't it be worse to send 'em back? Awful rude, I
should say." And Dick turned a half saucy, half beseeching look upon his
grandfather.

The old gentleman smiled in spite of himself, and consented, in
consideration of the boys' penitence for the past, and fair promises
for the future, to allow them to accept the generous gifts.

Uncle Joe explained which was for Dick, and which for Walter, and
springing into their saddles, they were off like a shot, their
grandfather calling after them to be back in ten minutes if they wanted
any breakfast.




Chapter Eleventh.

"If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst give him drink;
for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. Be not
overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good."
--ROMANS XII. 20, 21.


"Splendid!" cried Dick, wheeling about toward home, now half a mile
away, "but we must hurry back or grandpa will be mad. I say Wal, what
_do_ you s'pose makes Travilla and Cousin Elsie so different from us?
I mean all of us at Roselands."

"I don't know," returned Walter reflectively; "maybe because they're
Christians. You know it says in the Bible we're to return good for
evil."

"Yes, and so heap coals of fire on our enemies' heads. And, Wal, I feel
'em burn now. I'd give anything not to have coaxed and teased Ed into
shooting that time, and not to have scared him and the others with those
frightful disguises."

"So would I: and we'll never do the like again, Dick, never; will we?"

"I reckon not: and we must ride over to Ion after breakfast, and tell
'em so, and thank 'em for these beauties and the other things."

"Yes; didn't the note invite us to spend the day there?"

"Why so it did! But I'd forgot; the sight of the ponies knocked it all
out of my head."

So great was the delight of the lads in their new acquisitions, that not
even the repeated assertions of their mothers and other members of the
family--seconded by the reproaches of their own consciences--that they
did not deserve it, could materially damp their joy.

An ungracious permission to accept the invitation to Ion, was granted
them with the remark that Calhoun and Arthur, who were included in it,
would be there to keep them in order, and also to report upon their
conduct.

Calhoun, troubled and mortified by the suspicions which he imagined must
have been entertained against him at both the Oaks and Ion since the
escapade of Dick and Walter, had kept himself closely at home during the
past week, and studiously avoided meeting either his uncle or Travilla:
but this invitation, as the holding out of the olive branch of peace,
was joyfully accepted.

The four rode over to Ion together, directly after breakfast, and found
themselves greeted with the greatest kindness and cordiality by Mr.
Travilla, Elsie and the children, all gathered in the veranda awaiting
their coming.

The two culprits, shame-faced in view of their ill-deserts, yet
overflowing with delight in their ponies, poured out mingled thanks and
apologies, and promises for the future.

"Never mind, my lads, we'll say nothing more about it," Mr. Travilla
said in his kind, cheery way, Elsie adding, "You are very welcome, and
we are sure you do not intend ever again to try to alarm our darlings,
or tempt them to do wrong."

She led the way to her beautiful summer parlor, a large, lofty
apartment, with frescoed walls and ceiling; the floor a mosaic of
various colored marbles; a bubbling fountain in the centre, gold and
silver fish swimming in its basin, windows draped with vines, and at the
farther end a lovely grotto, where a second fountain threw showers of
spray over moss-grown rocks and pieces of exquisite statuary.

Here they were presently joined by their Cousin Horace. Ices and fruits
were served, and the morning passed in a most agreeable manner,
enlivened by music, conversation, and a variety of quiet games; Mr. and
Mrs. Travilla laying themselves out for the entertainment of their
guests.

Their children had been excused from lessons in honor of the day, and
with their sweet prattle, and merry pretty ways, contributed not a
little to the enjoyment of their elders.

Mr. Dinsmore came to dinner. Calhoun fancied his manner rather cool
toward him, while Dick and Walter were left in no doubt of his stern
disapproval of them, until their Cousin Elsie said a few words to him in
a quiet aside, after which there was a decided change for the better.

Calhoun watched his cousin furtively, as he had of late formed a habit
of doing: and as he studied her character, his respect, admiration, and
affection grew apace; he found her so utterly unselfish and sincere, so
patient and forbearing, yet firm for the right, so unaffectedly gay and
happy.

Something of this he remarked to her when for a few moments they chanced
to be alone together.

"Ah," she said smiling and blushing, "it is not lover love alone that is
blind; you have been looking at me through rose colored spectacles, as
so many of my relatives and friends do."

"But are you not really happy, cousin?"

"Happy? Ah yes, indeed! Have I not everything to make me so? the best of
husbands and fathers, five darling children; comparative youth, health,
wealth that enables me to prove in my own sweet experience the truth of
those words of the Lord Jesus, 'It is more blessed to give than to
receive'; and the best of all" she added low and reverently, the soft
eyes shining through glad tears, "His love and tender care surrounding
me. His strong arm to lean upon; His blood to wash away my sins. His
perfect righteousness put upon me. These, cousin, are more than all the
rest, and you and every one may have them if you will; for His own words
are, 'Ask, and ye shall receive; seek and ye shall find.' 'Him that
cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.'"

"You give me a new view of religion," he said after a moment's
surprised, thoughtful silence. "I have been accustomed to look upon it
as something suitable, perhaps desirable, for old age, and certainly
very necessary for a death bed; but too great a restraint upon youthful
pleasures."

"Sinful pleasures must indeed be given up by those who would follow
Christ; but they are like apples of Sodom,--beautiful in appearance, but
bitter and nauseous to the taste; while the joys that he gives are pure,
sweet, abundant and satisfying. 'Godliness is profitable unto all
things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to
come.' 'They shall be abundantly satisfied with the fatness of thy
house; and thou shalt make them drink of the river of thy pleasures.'
Ah, Cal, if one might safely die without the Christian's faith and hope,
I should still want them to sweeten life's journey."

Another thoughtful pause; then the young man said, frankly, "Cousin
Elsie, I'm afraid I'm very stupid, but it's a fact that I never have
been quite able to understand exactly what it is to be a Christian, or
how to become one."

She considered a moment, her heart going up in silent prayer for help to
make the matter plain to him, and for a blessing on her words; for well
she knew that without the influence of the Holy Spirit they would avail
nothing.

"To be a Christian," she said, "is to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ,
receiving and resting upon him alone for salvation. 'He hath made him to
be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness
of God in him.' 'God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten
Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have
everlasting life.' Do not these texts answer both your queries? We have
broken God's holy law, but Jesus, the God man, has borne the penalty in
our stead; 'all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags'; we dare not
appear before the King clothed in them; but Jesus offers to each of us
the pure and spotless robe of his righteousness, and we have only to
accept it as a free gift; we can have it on no other terms. It is
believe and be saved; look and live."

"But there is something beside for us to do surely? we must live
right."

"Yes, true faith will bring forth the fruits of holy living; but good
works are the proofs and effects of our faith, not the ground of the
true Christian's hope; having nothing whatever to do with our
justification."

The entrance of Arthur and young Horace put an end to the conversation.

Horace was not less devoted to his elder sister now than in childhood's
days; Arthur, distant and reserved with most people, had of late learned
to be very frank and open with her, sure of an attentive hearing, of
sympathy, and that his confidence would never be betrayed.

She never sneered, never laughed in contempt, nor ever seemed to think
herself better or wiser, than others. Her advice, when asked, was given
with sweet simplicity and humility, as of one not qualified, in her own
estimation, to teach, or desirous to usurp authority over others: yet
she had a clear intellect and sound judgment, she opened her mouth with
wisdom and in her tongue was the law of kindness. There seemed a sort of
magnetism about her, the attraction of a loving, sympathetic nature,
that always drew to her the young of both sexes, and the large majority
of older people also.

The three young men gathered round her, hanging upon her sweet looks,
her words, her smiles, as ardent lovers do upon those of their
mistress.

Somehow the conversation presently turned upon love and marriage, and
she lectured them, half-playfully, half seriously, upon the duties of
husbands.

She bade them be careful in their choice, remembering that it was for
life, and looking for worth rather than beauty or wealth; then after
marriage not to be afraid of spoiling the wife with too much care and
thoughtfulness for her comfort, and happiness, or the keeping up of the
little attentions so pleasant to give and receive, and so lavishly
bestowed in the days of courtship.

"Ah, Elsie, you are thinking of your own husband, and holding him up as
a model to us," said Horace laughingly.

"Yes," she answered, with a blush and smile, a tender light shining in
the soft brown eyes, "that is true. Ah, the world would be full of happy
wives if all the husbands would copy his example! He is as much a lover
now as the day he asked me to be his wife; more indeed, for we grow
dearer and dearer to each other as the years roll on. Never a day passes
that he does not tell me of his love by word and deed, and the story is
as sweet to me now, as when first I heard it."

"Ah, good wives make good husbands," said Mr. Travilla, who had entered
unobserved, just in time to hear the eulogy upon him. "Boys, let each
of you get a wife like mine, and you can not fail to be good husbands."

"Good husbands make good wives," she retorted, looking up into his face
with a fond smile as he came to her side.

"The trouble is to find such," remarked Horace, regarding his sister
with tender admiration.

"True enough," said Travilla, "I know not of her like in all the length
and breadth of the land."

Catching sight of Mr. Dinsmore pacing the veranda alone, Calhoun slipped
quietly away from the rest and joined him.

"Uncle," he said, coloring and dropping his eyes, "I think you doubt
me."

"Have I not reason, Calhoun?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, looking searchingly
into the lad's face.

"Yes, sir, I own that appearances are strongly against me, and I can not
disprove the tale they tell; but--oh, if you could trust me still,
uncle!"

He lifted his head, and gazed fearlessly into the keen dark eyes still
bent searchingly upon him.

Mr. Dinsmore held out his hand, and cordially grasped the one Calhoun
placed in it.

"Well, my boy, I will try: it is far pleasanter than to doubt you. But
there is some one at Roselands who is disposed to aid and abet the Ku
Klux in their lawless proceedings."

"I can not deny that," said the nephew, "yet it would ill become me to
say who it is; and I think, sir, since grandpa has set down his foot so
decidedly in opposition, there will be no more of it. Travilla and
Cousin Elsie have given me their confidence again, and I assure you,
sir, I am deeply grateful to you all."




Chapter Twelfth.

"If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps,
Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar,
That beasts shall tremble at thy din."
--SHAKESPEARE'S TEMPEST.


The Ion family were spending the day at the Oaks. It was now early in
the fall of 1868 and political excitement ran high over the coming
presidential election. There had been as yet no effectual check given to
the lawless proceedings of the Ku Klux, and their frequent raids and
numerous deeds of violence had inaugurated a reign of terror that was a
shame and reproach to our boasted civilization and free institutions.

Many of the poorer class, both blacks and whites, dared not pass the
night in their houses, but when darkness fell, fled for safety to the
shelter of the nearest woods, carrying their beds with them, and
sleeping in the open air.

That the Ku Klux Klan was a political organization working in the
interests of the Democratic party, their words to their victims left no
doubt. The latter were told that they were punished for belonging to
the Union League or for favoring the Republican party or using their
influence in its behalf, and threatened with severer treatment if they
dared vote its ticket or persuade others to do so.

The outrages were highly disapproved by all Republicans and by most of
the better class in the opposite party; but many were afraid to express
their opinions of the doings of the Klan, lest they should be visited
with its terrors; while for the same reason, many of its victims
preferred to suffer in silence rather than institute proceedings, or
testify against their foes.

It was a state of things greatly deplored by our friends of the Oaks and
Ion, and Messrs. Dinsmore and Travilla, who were not of the timid sort,
had been making efforts to bring some of the guilty ones to justice;
though thus far with very little success.

Such an errand had taken them to the town on this particular day.

They were returning late in the afternoon and were still several miles
from home, when, passing through a bit of woods, a sudden turn of the
road brought them face to face with a band of mounted men, some thirty
or forty in number, not disguised but rough and ruffianly in appearance
and armed with clubs, pistols and bowie knives.

The encounter was evidently a surprise to both parties, and reining in
their steeds, they regarded each other for a moment in grim silence.

Then the leader of the band, a profane, drunken wretch, who had been a
surgeon in the Confederate army, scowling fiercely upon our friends and
laying his hand on a pistol in his belt, growled out, "A couple of
scalawags! mean dirty rascals, what mischief have you been at now, eh?"

Disdaining a reply to his insolence, the gentlemen drew their revolvers,
cocked them ready for instant use, and whirling their horses half way
round and backing them out of the road so that they faced it, while
leaving room for the others to pass, politely requested them to do so.

"Not so fast!" returned the leader, pouring out a torrent of oaths and
curses; "we've a little account to settle with you two, and no time's
like the present."

"Yes, shoot 'em down!" cried a voice from the crowd.

"Hang 'em!" yelled another, "the ---- ---- rascals!"

"Yes," roared a third, "pull 'em from their horses and string 'em up to
the limb o' that big oak yonder."

Our friends faced them with dauntless air.

"You will do neither," said Mr. Dinsmore, in a firm, quiet tone; "we are
well armed and shall defend ourselves to the last extremity."

Travilla threw his riding whip into the road a foot or two in front of
his horse's head, saying, as he looked steadily into the leader's eyes,
"The first one who passes that to come nearer to us is that instant a
dead man."

The two were well known in the community as men of undoubted courage and
determination; also as excellent marksmen.

A whisper ran along the lines of their opponents.

"He's a dead shot; and so's Dinsmore; and they're not afraid o' the
devil himself. Better let 'em go for this time."

The leader gave the word, "Forward!" and with hisses, groans and a
variety of hideous noises, they swept along the road and passed out of
sight, leaving our friends masters of the field.

"Cruelty and cowardice go hand in hand," observed Mr. Travilla, as they
resumed their homeward way.

"Yes, those brave fellows prefer waging war upon sleeping unarmed men,
and helpless women and children, to risking life and limb in fair and
open fight with such as you and I," returned his companion.

"They are Ku Klux, you think?"

"I am morally certain of it, though I could not bring proof to convict
even that rascally Dr. Savage."

They agreed not to mention the occurrence in presence of their wives:
also that it would be best for Travilla to take his family home early,
Mr. Dinsmore and Horace Jr. accompanying them as an escort.

This they could readily do without arousing the fears of the ladies, as
both were constantly coming and going between the two places.

The sun was nearing the horizon when they reached the Oaks.

Rose and Elsie were in the veranda awaiting their coming in some
anxiety.

"Oh," they cried, "we are so rejoiced to see you! so thankful that you
are safe. We feared you had met some of those dreadful Ku Klux."

"Yes, little wife, we are safe, thanks to the protecting care which is
over us all in every place," Mr. Travilla said, embracing her as though
they had been long parted.

"Ah yes," she sighed, "how I have been forgetting to-day the lessons of
faith and trust I have tried to impress upon Mrs. Leland. It is far
easier to preach than to practice."

Little feet came running in from the grounds, little voices
shouted, "Papa has come! Papa and grandpa too," and a merry scene
ensued--hugging, kissing, romping--presently interrupted by the call
to tea.

There was nothing unusual in the manner of either gentleman and the
wives had no suspicion that they had been in peril of their lives.

"I think it would be well to return home early to-night," Mr. Travilla
remarked to Elsie.

"Yes," she said, "on account of the children."

So the carriage was ordered at once, and shortly after leaving the table
they were on their way--Elsie, children and nurses in the carriage, with
Mr. Travilla, Mr. Dinsmore and son, all well armed, as their mounted
escort.

Horace had been taken aside by his father and told of the afternoon's
adventure, and in his indignation was almost eager for "a brush with the
insolent ruffians."

None appeared, however; Ion was reached in safety, they tarried there an
hour or more, then returned without perceiving any traces of the foe.

The hush of midnight has fallen upon the Oaks, Ion, Fairview and all the
surrounding region; the blinking stars and young moon, hanging a golden
crescent just above the horizon, look down upon a sleeping world; yet
not all asleep, for far down the road skirting yonder wood, a strange
procession approaches;--goblin-like figures, hideous with enormous
horns, glaring eye-balls and lolling red tongues, and mounted upon
weird-looking steeds, are moving silently onward.

They reach a small house hard by the road-side, pause before it, and
with a heavy riding whip the leader thunders at the door.

The frightened inmates, startled from their sleep, cry out in alarm,
and a man's voice asks, "Who's there?"

"Open the door," commands the leader in a strange sepulchral voice.

"I must know first who is there and what's wanted," returns the other,
hurrying on his clothes.

A shot is fired, and penetrating the door, strikes the opposite wall.

"Open instantly, or we'll break in, and it'll be the worse for you,"
thunders the leader; and with trembling hands, amid the cries of wife
and children, the man removes the bars, draws back the bolts, and looks
out, repeating his question, "What's wanted?"

"Nothing, this time, Jim White, but to warn you that if you vote the
Republican ticket, we'll call again, take you to the woods, and flog you
within an inch of your life--Beware! Forward, men!" and the troop sweeps
onward, while White closes and bars the door again, and creeps back to
bed.

"Ku Klux!" says the wife shuddering. "Jim, we'll have to hide o' nights
now, like the rest. Hush, hush, children, they're gone now; so go to
sleep; nothing'll hurt ye. Jim, ye'll mind?"

"Yes, yes, Betsy, though it galls me to be ordered round like a nigger;
me with as white a skin as any o' them."

Onward, still onward sweeps the goblin train, and again and again the
same scene is enacted, the victim now a poor white, and now a freedman.

At length they have reached Fairview; they pause before the gate, two
dismount, make off into the woods, and presently reappear bearing on
their shoulders a long dark object; a little square of white visible on
the top.

They pass through the gate, up the avenue, and silently deposit their
burden at the door, return to their companions, and with them repair to
the negro quarter.

Dismounting, they tie their horses to the fence, and leaving them in
charge of one of their number, betake themselves to the nearest cabin,
surround it, break open the door, drag out the man, carry him to a
little distance, and with clubs and leathern straps, give him a terrible
beating.

Leaving him half dead with pain and fright, they return to his cabin,
threaten his wife and children, rob him of his gun, and pass on to
repeat their lawless deeds; menacing some, beating and shooting others;
not always sparing women or children; the latter perhaps, being hurt
accidentally in the melee.

From the quarter at Fairview, they passed on to that of Ion, continuing
there the same threats and acts of violence; winding up by setting fire
to the school-house, and burning it to the ground.

The bright light shining in at the open windows of her room, awoke the
little Elsie. She sprang from her bed, and ran to the window. She could
see the flames bursting from every aperture in the walls of the small
building, and here and there through the roof, curling about the
rafters, sending up volumes of smoke, and showers of sparks; and in
their light the demon-like forms of the mischief-doers, some seated upon
their horses and looking quietly on, others flitting to and fro in the
lurid glare; while the roar and crackling of the flames, and the sound
of falling timbers came distinctly to her ear.

At the sight a panic terror seized the child. She flew into the room
where her parents lay sleeping, but with habitual thoughtfulness for
others, refrained from screaming out in her fright, lest she should
rouse the little ones.

She went to her father's side, put her lips to his ear, and said in low
tremulous tones, "Papa, papa, please wake up, I'm so frightened; there's
a fire and the Ku Klux are there. O papa, I'm afraid they'll come here
and kill you!" and she ended with a burst of almost hysterical weeping,
rousing both father and mother.

"What is it, darling?" asked Mr. Travilla, starting up to a sitting
posture, and throwing an arm about the child, "what has alarmed my
pet?" while the mother, exclaiming "Vi! is she gone again?" sprang out
upon the floor, and hastily threw on a dressing-gown.

"No, no, no, mamma; Vi's safe in bed, but look at that red light on the
wall yonder! it's fire, and the Ku Klux!"

In another moment all three were at the window overlooking the scene.

"The school-house!" exclaimed Mr. Travilla. "I am not surprised; for the
Klan is greatly opposed to the education of the negro, and has burned
down buildings used for that purpose in other places. Do you see them,
wife? those frightful looking horned animals."

"Yes," she said with a shudder, followed by a deep sigh, "and O Edward
what may they not be doing to our poor people? can we do anything to
save them?"

He shook his head sadly.

"No: they are out in considerable force, and I could do nothing,
single-handed, against twenty or thirty armed men."

"O papa, mamma, I am so frightened!" cried little Elsie, clinging to
them both. "Will they come here and hurt us?"

"I think not, daughter," her father said soothingly; "their raids have
hitherto been almost entirely confined to the blacks, and poor whites,
with now and then one of those from the North whom they style
carpet-baggers."

"Be calm, dearest, and put your trust in the Lord," the mother said,
folding the trembling, sobbing child to her breast. "'The beloved of the
Lord shall dwell in safety by him, and the Lord shall cover him all the
day long.' 'Not an hair of your head shall fall to the ground without
your Father.'"

"Yes, sweet words," said Mr. Travilla; "and remember what the Lord Jesus
said to Pilate, 'Thou couldst have no power at all against me, except it
were given thee from above.'"

A short pause, in which all three gazed intently at the scene of
conflagration, then, "Do you see how the walls are tottering?" said Mr.
Travilla, and even as he spoke they tumbled together into one burning
mass, the flames shot up higher than before, burning with a fierce heat
and roar, while by their lurid light the Ku Klux could be seen taking up
their line of march again.

The two Elsies watched in almost breathless suspense till they saw them
turn in a direction to take them farther from Ion.

"Thank God they are not coming here!" ejaculated Mrs. Travilla, in low,
reverent, grateful tones.

"Hark, mamma, papa, I hear cries and screams!" exclaimed little Elsie.
"Oh it must be some of the poor women and children coming up from the
quarter!"

As the child spoke there came a quick sharp tap, that seemed to tell of
fright and excitement, at the outer door of the suite of apartments, and
an old servant, hardly waiting for the permission to enter, thrust in
his head, saying in tremulous tones, "Mars Ed'ard, de people's all
comin' up from de quarter, an' knockin' an' cryin' to get in. Dere's
been awful times down dere; de Ku Klu--"

"Yes, yes, Jack, I know; but be quiet or you'll wake the children. Open
the hall door and let the poor things in, of course," said Mr. Travilla,
"and I'll be down in a moment."

"Plenty room on de back veranda, Mars Ed'ard, an' 'tween dat an' de
kitchen."

"Very well, they'll be safe there, but if they don't feel so let them
into the hall."

"Yes, sah."

The head was withdrawn, the door closed, and Jack's shuffling feet could
be heard descending the stairs.

Mr. and Mrs. Travilla, having each completed a hasty toilet, were about
to go down; but little Elsie clung to her mother.

"Mamma, mamma, don't go and leave me! please let me go too."

"My darling, you would be quite safe here; and it is much earlier than
your usual hour for rising."

"But day is breaking, mamma, and I could not sleep any more: besides
maybe I could help to comfort them."

"I think she could," said her father, and mamma gave consent at once.

They found the back veranda, the kitchen, and the space between, filled
with an excited crowd of blacks, old and young, talking, gesticulating,
crying, moaning and groaning.

"De Ku Klux, de Ku Klux!" was on every tongue.

"Tell ye what, darkies," one was saying, "dey's debbils! why two ob dem
stop befo' my doah an' say 'You black rascal, give us some watah! quick
now fo' we shoot you tru the head': den I hand up a gourd full--'bout a
quart min' yo',--an de fust snatch it an' pour it right down his troat,
an' hand de gourd back quick's a flash; den he turn roun' an' ride off,
while I fill de gourd for de udder, an' he do jes de same. Tell ye what
dey's debbils! didn't you see de horns, an' de big red tongues waggin'?"

There was a murmur of assent, and a shudder ran through the throng. But
Mr. Travilla's voice was heard in cheerful reassuring tones.

"No, boys, they are men, though they do the work of devils. I have seen
their disguise, and under that long red tongue, which is made of
flannel, and moved by the wearer's real tongue, there is a leather bag,
inside of the disguise--and into it they pour the water; not down their
throats."

"Dat so, Mars Ed'ard?" cried several, drawing a long breath of relief.

"Yes, that is so, boys. And they've been threatening and abusing you
to-night?"

"Yes, sah, dat dey hab!" cried a score of voices, and one after another
showed his wounds, and told a piteous tale.

Elsie and her namesake daughter wept over their losses and sufferings:
the medicine closet was unlocked and its stores liberally drawn upon for
materials to dress their wounds, both master and mistress attending to
them with their own hands; and at the same time speaking soothing,
comforting words, and promising help to repair the damage to their
property, and make good their losses: also to bring their enemies to
justice if that might be possible.

It was broad daylight ere the work was finished.

The veranda was nearly empty now, the people slowly returning to their
homes--Mr. Travilla having assured them the danger was past for the
present--when Elsie caught sight of a woman whom she had not observed
till that moment.

The poor creature had dropped down upon a bench at the kitchen door. Her
right arm hung useless at her side; with the left she held the bloody
corpse of a puny infant to her breast, and the eyes she lifted to the
face of her mistress were full of a mute, tearless agony.

Elsie's overflowed at the piteous sight. "O my poor Minerva," she said,
"what is this they have done to you and poor little Ben?"

"Oh, oh, oh, Miss Elsie! de Ku Kluxes dey shot tru de doah, an' de balls
flyin' all roun', an'--an'--one hit me on de arm, an' killed my baby!"
she sobbed, "oh! oh! oh! de doctah mend de arm, but de baby,
he--he--done gone foreber;" and the sobs burst forth with renewed
violence, while she hugged the still form closer, and rocked herself to
and fro in her grief.

"Gone to heaven, my poor Minerva, to be forever safe and happy with the
dear Lord Jesus," her mistress said in quivering tones, the tears
rolling fast down her own cheeks.

"An' he neber hab no mo' miseries, honey," said Aunt Dicey, drawing
near; "no Ku Klux come into de garden ob de Lord to scare him or hurt
him; bress his little heart!"

"Wish we all dere, safe an' happy like he! Let me wash off de blood an'
dress him clean for de grave," said Aunt Sally, the nurse of the
quarter, gently taking the child, while Mr. Travilla and Elsie bound up
the wounded arm, speaking soothingly to the sufferer, and promising the
doctor's aid as soon as it could be procured.

Aunt Sally sat near attending to the last offices for the tiny corpse,
little Elsie looking on, with big tears coursing down her cheeks.
Presently going to her mother's side, she whispered a few words in her
ear.

"Yes, dear, you may go to the bureau drawer and choose it yourself," was
the prompt reply, and the child ran into the house, returning directly
with a baby's slip of fine white muslin, delicately embroidered.

"Put this on him, Aunt Sally," she said; "mamma gave me leave to get
it."

Then going to the bereaved mother, and clasping the dusky, toil-worn
hand with her soft, white fingers, "Don't cry, Minerva," she said, "you
know poor little Ben was always sick, and now he is well and happy. And
if you love Jesus, you will go to be with him again some day."

Evidently much gratified by the honor done her dead babe, Minerva sobbed
out her thanks for that, and the dressing of her wounded arm, and
dropping a courtesy, followed Aunt Sally as she bore the corpse into
Aunt Dicey's cabin close by.

The scanty furniture of Minerva's own had been completely demolished by
the desperadoes, and her husband terribly beaten.

He and one or two others had not come up with the crowd, presumably from
inability to do so, and Mr. Travilla now mounted his horse and went in
search of them.

They had been left by their assailants in the woods, where one--"Uncle
Mose"--dreadfully crippled by rheumatism, still lay on the ground half
dead with bruises, cuts, and pistol shot wounds.

Another had crawled to his cabin and fainted upon its threshold; while a
third lay weltering in his gore some yards distant from his.

Mr. Travilla had them all carried into their houses, and made as
comfortable as circumstances would permit, and a messenger was
dispatched in all haste for Dr. Barton.

The family at Fairview had slept through the night undisturbed by the
vicinity, or acts of the raiders. Mr. Leland's first intimation of their
visit was received as he opened the front door at his usual early hour
for beginning his morning round of the plantation.

He almost started back at the sight of a rude pine coffin directly
before him; but recovering himself instantly, stooped to read a label
affixed to the lid.

"Beware, odious carpet-bagger! this is your third and last warning.
Leave the country within ten days, or your carcass fills this."

He read it deliberately through, carefully weighing each word, not a
muscle of his face moving, not a tremor agitating his nerves.

Turning to his overseer, who at that moment appeared before him, "Bring
me a hatchet," he said in stern, calm tones, "and be quick, Park; I
would not have your mistress see this on any account."

Stepping upon the lid as he spoke, he broke it in with a crash,
finishing his work when the hatchet came, by quickly chopping and
splitting the coffin up into kindling-wood.

"There!" he said, bidding the man gather up the fragments and carry them
to the kitchen, "they'll not put me into that, at all events. What
mischief have they been at in the quarter, I wonder?" he added,
springing into the saddle.

"Dreffle bad work, sah; mos' killed two ob de boys; scared de rest to
deff," said Park, hastily obeying the order to gather up the bits of
wood, "jes' gwine tell ye, sah, when you tole me go for de hatchet."

"Indeed! hellish work! Follow me, Park, as quickly as you can. And mind,
not a word of this," pointing to the demolished coffin, "to any one,"
and putting spurs to his horse, he galloped off in the direction of the
quarter.

But presently catching sight of the still smoking embers of the Ion
school-house, he drew rein for an instant with a sudden exclamation of
surprise and regret. "The wretches, what will they do next? burn our
houses about our ears?" and sighing, he pursued his way.

Indignant anger, and tender pity and compassion filled his breast by
turns, on reaching the quarter and discovering the state of things
there; worse even than Park's report had made it.

He rode from cabin to cabin inquiring into the condition of the inmates
and speaking words of pity and of hope.

Finding several badly bruised and cut, and others suffering from gunshot
wounds, he sent to the house for lint, salve and bandages, and directed
a lad to run to the stables, saddle a horse; and go immediately for Dr.
Barton.

"De doctah ober to Ion now, sah," returned the boy, "debbils dore las'
night, too, sah."

"Run over to Ion, then, and ask the doctor to come here when he is
through there," said Mr. Leland.

Mr. Travilla came with the doctor and the two planters compared notes,
in regard to damages, Mr. Leland also telling the story of the coffin
laid at his door.

"What do you intend doing?" asked Mr. Travilla.

"Inclination says, 'Stay and brave it out;' but I have not yet fully
decided. I have invested all my means in this enterprise, and have a
wife and family of helpless little ones to support."

"That makes it hard indeed; yet I fear your life is in great danger. But
come what may, Leland, I stand your friend. If you should be attacked,
fly to Ion; you will find an open door, a hearty welcome, and such
protection as I am able to give. I think we could conceal you so that
it would be a matter of difficulty for your foes to find you."

"A thousand thanks! God bless you for your kindness, sir!" exclaimed
Leland, with emotion, warmly grasping the hand held out to him; and the
two parted, each wending his homeward way.




Chapter Thirteenth.

"Humble love,
And not proud reason, keeps the door of heaven;
Love finds admission, where proud science fails."
--Young


Elsie was on the veranda looking for her husband's return to breakfast;
for it was already past the usual hour.

"All alone, little wife?" he asked as he dismounted and came up the
steps.

"Not now," she answered, putting her arms about his neck and looking up
at him with her own fond, beautiful smile. "But your face is sad, my
husband! What news?"

"Sad enough, my little friend; poor old Uncle Mose has been so
barbarously handled that he cannot live through the day, Dr. Barton
says: and two of the others are suffering very much."

Elsie's eyes were full. "Does Uncle Mose know it?" she asked.

"Yes, I told him, as tenderly as I could, and asked if he was ready to
go. 'Yes, Mars Edard,' he said, with a triumphant smile, 'for I'se
got fast hold ob Jesus.'"

Elsie's head was laid on her husband's shoulder, the bright drops were
coming fast down her cheeks.

"I have sent word to Mr. Wood," he went on, "the poor old fellow is
anxious to see him; and you also."

"Yes, yes, I will go down directly after prayers," she said.

Then he told her of the coffin laid at the door of Fairview, and the
threatening words on its lid.

She heard it with a shudder and a sigh. "Oh poor Mr. Leland! Edward,
don't you think it would be wise in him to leave for the present?"

"Perhaps so. I fear they will really attempt his life if he stays; but
all his means being invested in Fairview makes it very hard. Where are
our children?"

"They went to deck the corpse of Baby Ben with flowers. Ah, here they
come, the darlings!" as little feet came pattering through the hall.

They hastened to their father for their usual morning kiss, and hung
about him with tender loving caresses; but their manner was subdued, and
Vi and Harold told with a sort of wondering awe of the poor little dead
baby so still and cold.

"Are you going out, mamma?" asked little Elsie an hour later, as Mrs.
Travilla appeared, dressed in walking costume, in the midst of the
group of children and nurses gathered under a tree on the shady side of
the house.

"Yes, daughter, I am going down to the quarter to see poor old Uncle
Mose who is very ill; and I want you to be mother to the little ones
while I am away."

"O mamma, mayn't we go with you?" cried Eddie and Vi in a breath, Harold
chiming in, "And me too, mamma, me too!"

"No, dears, not to-day, but some other time you shall," the mother
answered, giving each a good-bye kiss.

"Mamma, stay wis us; I'se 'f'aid de Kluxes get 'oo!" said Harold
coaxingly, clinging about her neck with his chubby arms, while the big
tears gathered in his great dark eyes.

"No, dear, they don't come in the day-time. And God will take care of me.
Papa is down at the quarter, too; and Uncle Joe and mammy will go with
me;" and with another tender caress, she gently released herself from
his hold and turned away.

The children gazed wistfully after her graceful figure as it disappeared
among the trees, Uncle Joe holding a great umbrella over her to shield
her from the sun, while mammy and Aunt Sally followed, each with a
basket on her arm.

Uncle Mose was rapidly nearing that bourne whence no traveler returns.
As his mistress laid her soft white hand on his, she felt that the
chill of death was there.

"You are almost home, Uncle Mose," she said, bending over him, her sweet
face full of tender sympathy.

"Yes, my dear young Missus, I'se in de valley," he answered, speaking
slowly and with difficulty, "but bress de Lord, it's not dark!"

"Jesus is with you?"

"Yes, Missus, he is my strength and my song: de riber's deep, but he'll
neber let me sink. De pain in dis ole body's dreffle, but I'll neber hab
no mo', bress de Lord!"

"Do your good works give you this comfortable assurance that you are
going to heaven, Uncle Mose?"

"Bress yo' heart, honey, I ain't neber done none; but de bressed Lord
Jesus covers me all ober wid his goodness, and God de Fader 'cepts me
for his sake."

"Yes, that is it, 'He hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin;
that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.' 'There is none
other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved;' and
'he that believeth on him shall not be confounded.'"

"Yes, honey, dose de words ob de good book. Now will you please sing de
twenty-third Psalm, an' den ask de Lord Jesus keep fas' hold dis ole
niggah, till Jordan am past, an' de gate into de city."

The request was granted; the sweet voice that had thrilled the hearts
of many of the rich and noble of earth, freely poured forth its richest
strains to soothe the dying throes of agony of a poor old negro.

Then kneeling by the humble couch, in a few simple, touching words she
commended the departing spirit to the almighty love and care of Him who
had shed His blood to redeem it, earnestly pleading that the dying one
might be enabled to cast himself wholly on Jesus, and in doing so be
granted a speedy and abundant entrance into His kingdom and glory.

The fervent "Amen!" of Uncle Mose joined in with hers; then low and
feebly he added, "De good--Lord--bress you--my dear--young--Missus."

A shadow had fallen on Elsie, and as she rose from her knees, she turned
her head to find her father standing at her side.

He drew her to him and pressed his lips tenderly to her forehead. "You
must go now; the heat of the sun is already too great for you to be out
with safety."

The low quiet tone was one of authority as of old.

He only waited for her good-bye to Uncle Mose, and to speak a few kindly
words of farewell himself, then led her out and placed her in his
carriage, which stood at the door.

Mr. Travilla rode up at that instant. "That's right," he said. "Little
wife, I am loth to have you exposed to the heat of this sultry day."

"And you, Edward? can you not come home now?" she asked.

"Not yet, wife; there are several matters I must attend to first, and
I want to speak to Mr. Wood, who, I see, is just coming."

He kissed his hand to her with the gallantry of the days of their
courtship, and cantered off, while the carriage rolled on its way toward
the mansion.

"Daughter, if you must visit the quarter during this sultry weather, can
you not choose an earlier hour?" asked Mr. Dinsmore.

"I think I can after this, papa;" and she went on to explain how her
time had been taken up before breakfast that morning. "Do you know about
Mr. Leland?" she asked in conclusion.

"Yes; their next outrage will, I fear, be an attack upon him."

"Then upon you and Edward!" she said, her cheek growing very pale, and
her eyes filling. "Papa I am becoming very anxious."

"'I would have you without carefulness,'" he answered taking her hand in
his. "They can have no power at all against us except it be given them
from above. My child, God reigns, and if God be for us, who can be
against us?"

"Yes, dear papa, and with David let us say, 'In the shadow of thy wings
will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast.'"

Mr. Dinsmore was still with his daughter when Mr. Travilla returned with
the news that Uncle Mose's sufferings were over, and it had been
arranged that he and Baby Ben should be buried that evening at dusk.

The children begged to be permitted to attend the double funeral; but
their parents judged it best to deny them, fearing an onslaught by the
Ku Klux; of which there was certainly a possibility.

"I have been talking with Leland," Mr. Travilla remarked aside to his
friend, "and he proposes that we accompany the procession as a mounted
guard."

"Good!" said Mr. Dinsmore, "Horace and I will join you: and let us all
go armed to the teeth."

"Certainly, and I accept your offer with thanks. Some of the boys
themselves are pretty fair marksmen but they were all robbed of their
arms last night."

"Let us supply them again, Edward," exclaimed Elsie, with energy "and
have them practice shooting at a mark."

Her husband assented with a smile. "You are growing warlike in your
feelings," he said.

"Yes, I believe in the privilege and duty of self-defence."

Toward evening Mr. Dinsmore rode back to the Oaks, returning to Ion with
his son, shortly before the appointed hour for the obsequies.

Elsie saw them and her husband ride away in the direction of the
quarter, not without some fluttering of the heart, and with a silent
prayer for their safety, retired with her children, to the observatory
at the top of the house, from whence a full view might be obtained of
the whole route from the cabin of Uncle Mose to the somewhat distant
place of sepulture; the spot chosen for that purpose in accommodation to
the superstitious feelings of the blacks, which led them to prefer to
lay their dead at a distance from their own habitations.

The children watched with deep interest as the procession formed, each
man carrying a blazing pine-knot, passed down the one street of the
quarter, and wound its slow way along the road that skirted two sides of
the plantation, then half way up a little hill, where it gathered in a
circle about the open grave.

Twilight was past, thick clouds hid the moon and the torches shone out
like stars in the darkness.

"Mamma, what dey doin' now?" asked Harold.

"Listen! perhaps you may hear something," she answered, and as they
almost held their breath to hear, a wild, sweet negro melody came
floating upon the still night air.

"They're singing," whispered Vi, "singing Canaan, 'cause Uncle Mose, and
little Baby Ben have got safe there."

No one spoke again till the strains had ceased with the ending of the
hymn.

"Now Mr. Wood is talking, I suppose," remarked Eddie, in a subdued tone,
"telling them we must all die, and which is the way to get to heaven."

"Else praying," said Vi.

"Mamma, what is die?" asked Harold leaning on her lap.

"If we love Jesus, darling, it is going home to be with him, and oh, so
happy."

"But Baby Ben die, and me saw him in Aunt Dicey's house."

"That was only his body, son; the soul--the part that thinks and feels
and loves--has gone away to heaven, and after a while God will take the
body there too."

For obvious reasons the services at the grave were made very short, and
in another moment they could see the line of torches drawing rapidly
nearer, till it reached the quarter and broke into fragments.

"We will go down now," Elsie said, rising and taking Harold's hand,
"papa, grandpa and Uncle Horace will be here in a moment."

"Mamma," whispered her namesake daughter, "how good God was to keep them
safe from the Ku Klux!"

"Yes, dearest, let us thank him with all our hearts."




Chapter Fourteenth.

"The more the bold, the bustling, and the bad,
P

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