CHAPTER LXXVIII. AT REST.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 248, 21 March 1888, Page 8

CHAPTER LXXVIII. AT REST.

Long yeare have seen her roaming A sad and weary way, Like traveller tired at gloaming Of a sultry summer day. But now a homo doth greet her, Though low its portals bo, And already kindness meets her. And peace that will not flee. Piskcival, " Orr, my lamb ! my lamb ! is it indeed yourself ? And have you suffered so much ? And did your stupid old nurse deny you V" said old Je=s, opening her aims to iier child. Gertrude rushed into them, and was folded to the motheily bosom, Jefs bowed her face over the young head pillowed there, and wept aloud, muttering " And to fink I should habe denied and dejected my poor child, coming back like Noah's weary do\e to her ark ! To think I should have denied and dejected her, and called her a ghost and a nightmare." "In was natural, dear soul, when you thought 1 had been drowned a year ago,' said (Jertrude, soothingly, caressing the poor dark face. 11 Yes, honey, 1 did fink you was lost ; and it was jes' de heabie&t cross as eber I was called upon to lif and tote ! And, honey, X was jes' a finking ob you dis berry identical Wednesday night, which started me to singing dat wory hymn as you must a heard me singing when you come up. 'Bout meetin' 'on Jordan's happy shore,' chile. It was you I was a finkin' ob meetin' — you, honey, more'n anybody else. I allots sings dat hymn when I gets low in my mind about dem as has gone before, tinkin' maybe, arter all, dey's buried into de ground, 'stead o' being 'scended into heaben.'' " You should never think that, Jess. No human being was over buried yet unless he was buried alive, and even then the grave could not hold him, for as soon as the body should be suffocated there the man would be released and ascend. There are no human beings in the ground, Jess. Those who have passed away before us have ascended, and are more alive than we are. Yes, as much more alive as tho bird out of the shell is more alive than the bird hi it. These mortal bodies are only our shells, Jess, and when we chip the shells, and not until then, we are truly alive." "That's berry comforting to a poor ole soul like me, whoso body is getting ole and feeble. And to think it is> yourself sure enough, honey, and no ghost and no nightmare ! Yourself talkin' your ole sweet talk. And I scared out o' my senses, a finking as you was a sperit !" " Well, Jess, if I had boon a spirit— as lam— why should that have frightened you ? You are a spirit, Jess— a spirit in the body, like a bird in tho shell. Why should you bo afraid of a spirit out of the body ?" " I dunno, honoy^ but I am, and if I was to see a spent, it would kill me dead — dere '." " You will never see a spirit, Jess. Not one in millions ever had their inner sight opened to behold spirits. It is not permitted, Jess. It ■would make too much confusion in this material world." "I b'leibe yer, honey. It would make 'fashion enough in one ole head, and dats mine. But here's me a chatterin' like an old goose, 'stead o' gettin' you some warm supper and makin' ob you comfortable. Get offen my knees, honey, and let me got up and vut de kettle on."

'" I don't want a thing, Jess. I havo eaten a hearty supper of rich milk and sweeb light bread." " Well, to be suro, that's agravatin' when I could a gob you a bv'led partridge and an omelotle, and rice waffles, and tea, and cream, and ' "Get them for breakfasb, dear Jess," said Gertrude, as she arose and took off her wateroroof cloak, her jacket and her hat. " So I will, honey, and a splendid bieakfas' I will get you. Bui goodness ! now I think ob it, chile, where did you drap from? Right down oub'n do sky, didn't yer?" '• No. not quite, Jess. Sit up to the fire now, and I will tell you about ib," said Gertrude, talcing a chair and drawing ib up to the kitchen lire, and seating herself upon ib. As soon as Josd took the place at her side Gertrude said, briefly : •'The ship that picked me up from the life-boat and canied me all around the world, landed me in Baltimore on Sunday lasb. From there I camo by rail to Washington. From there I came by coach to Wendover. From thence by a hired carriage down to the Eagle Roost landing. From there I crossed the river in the Wai er , Lily, which I found at tho little beat house. Now, Jess, you have all in brief. Some ! time I will tell ib all to you in detail, bub not now. I am too tired. I must rest j myself, for presently I expecb to hear John ! Brook 3 call : I "'Boat!' "And then I shall have to go for him." "No, you won'b, I reckon, honey. John , Brooks said as he didn'b know he should be home bo-nigh b ab all. And ibs so late now, I don't expect as he'll come home unbil morning. I'll go and fix your bed for you, honey," «aid the woman, rising. "No, do nob, Aunt Jess. Sib down. Oh ! I havo so many questions to ask you. You know 1 have nob heard from home for so long. First of all, tell me about my husband. Have you seen him lately? I was told at tho Wendover Barracks that he was quite well, and that he had left on the fiist of February for the Summit, on a month's leave. Of course he musb have crossed this ferry. Did you see him ? How was he looking? Did he speak of me ?" " Stop, honoy !'' cried old Jess, suddenly starting up. "I think I hear a weasel out derearter de hens." And she rushed out of the back door into the poultry yard. Having got there, she leaned up against the house wall, with her heart beating violently. "Oh, my laws in Heaben, what I gwine say to her now ? Her comin' on a body &o sudden, and putting me out o' my senses, (irsb wid fear, and den wid joy, knocked ib all clean out'n my head, when it ought to aknocked it harder in, if it did anything. She, de wife, comin' home to-night, an' he de husband, gwine to be married to-morrow. But I can't tell her to-night. No ! I can'b break my lamb's heart to-night, and she I was so glad to get home. 'Sides which, ib wouldn't do a bit of good, for she can't do nothin' to-night. She'd only lay awake and cry all night, and maybe cry herself into a spell of sickness. No ! I won'b tell her to night. Wild horses shan't draw ib out'n me to-night. I'll put her to bed, sweet and comfortable, in her own little nest, and then jes as soon as dab good-for-nothin' creetur, John Brooks, gib back, as is aliers oub'n de way when he's irosb wanted, I'll send him post haste to tell de news to Parson Goodwin, and borrow his gig on a matter ob life and deaf. And den I'll tell her, and John Brooks can drive her over to St. Pay trick's Church, to 'bid de banns an' stop "de weddin'. Wonder what Madam Gerl'din' look like den ? Bub we must look sharp and be in a hurry, or we might be too late. Sho ! too late for what ? S'pose he does marry her? Dab won't 'mount to nuffin, and his true wife living. If Madam GeiTdin's so fresh as to marry another woman's husband, dab's her lookout, not our'n. And serbo her right, too. Never gib de man any peace ob his life till he 'gaged himself to marry her." "Jess ! Jess ! wheie are you ? Have the weasels carried off you as well as the chickens ?" called the voice of Gertrude from the house. "No, honey. But I'm gwine for a weasol all de same— a two-legged weasel," answered Jess, rather incoherently. " Come m, Je&s. I want to talk to you.'* "I's comin', honey. Here I is," exclaimed the oM woman, re-entering tha kitchen and resuming her seat near Gertrude. "Jess, I asked you if you had seen Colonel Fitzgerald and how ho looked," said Gertrude. "Oh, yes, honey, I seen him last Friday as never was, when he passed the ferry on. his way to the Summit." "How did he look, Jess?" "Honey, I s'pose he was well enough in body, but he looked mighty melancholy. Tell you do trufc, honey, he am t neber looked like himself since he toughb he lost you, and dats a fact." " Oh, my dear Gerald, my dearest Gerald ! You have suffered as much as I havei' ( murmured Gertrude to herself. " Did he speak otme, Jess?" " He didn'b speak ob hardly anything elac, honey. He staved all night here, and I beliebe in my soul it was only to talk about you. He made me tell him all about you, when you was a child, honoy, and when you was a growing gal. And when bed-time came, nothing would suit him bub he must sleep in your room. He did say, though, that ho and Parson Goodwin, as was your gardeen, was not going to 'low any change into de ferry for some years to come yet, but to leabe tings jes' as dey are. Ho said he would leabe me and old John Brooks here for your sake, 'cause he knew you loved us and the old ferry, and ebery ring you loved or cared for was dear to him." " Did he say that Did Gerald say that?" sho murmured sottly to herself. But Jess heard her and answered, earnestly : "Yes, honey, he did, and a great deal more. Ho did seem to take comfort in. talking about you. La ! Why not ? Wasn't I his nuss when his mammy died ? Didn't I bring him up on my lap ? Hush, honey ! You and Marse Ger'ld jes' liko my own dear chillun, ef you is white and me black."' " And wo both love you dearly, Jess, you know that," said Gertrude, tenderly. " Yes, honey, you is bofe dc comfort ob my old age. Why nob, when 1 missed you bofce when you was little and helpless ? On'y dere was a long time atween yer. I missed him in my young days, and misled you in my middle" days, and now you's bofo a comfort to mo in my ole days. La ! Marso GeraF is heap older'n you, chile !— fifteen or sixteon years older." "Oh, 1 know it. I wish I was nearer his ago for his sake," sighed tho childwife. "Now, don't you wish no sich nonsense as dat. He love you bes 1 jes' as you is. And now, you mine dis, chile. I g\rine gib you a sollum warnin' dis night. No matter what you hear, no matter what happen in dis world, don't you nebber fink as your husband don't lovo you better'n de apple ob his own eye. Mind ! I gib you dis sollum wainin 11 — don'c you !" said old Jess, meaning to prepare and fortify

the mind of the young wife to sustain the I shock sho must receivo in the morning. ' " Why, of course I should nover doubt my husband's love, Jess. How could I, well as I know him? Why should you think it noee^nry to give me such a warning, nurse?" anxiously inquired Gortvude. " Oh, chile, 'cause dove's so many little miffs) and tills in nuuried life, you know, and do n\ ifo, she's apt to link, • Oh, ho don't love me no move,' and all dat tnv*h," 10pliedJcss, evasively. " But como, honey, I won't lector you no more to-night". I'm gwine up stairs to iix your room. It don't want much iixiu', and 1 won't be long." And Jess went o(l before Gertrude could question her further ; but she soon returned, and conducted Oertiudc up-stairs to her own familiar bed-room, in the south end of the house. It was a large, low-ceiled, pleasant chamber, warmed by a fragrant fiie of pine cones and cedar log?., and 'it was lighted by two home dipped candles in old son re*, china candlesticks. A wicker arm-ch.iir, with a bull calico cushion on it, was placed near the lire for (Gertrude's use. Through all the room there- n\ as an air fopure cleanliness, and a grateful odour of aromatic herbs. And through and over all an indescribable influence of ponce and ic.st. Even as Gertuule entered, invisible love eeemed to receive her. and shed its benedictions over her. Again timo seemed rolled back like a bcioll, and it appeared as though the had but left her faimhar room that morning to return to it as usual this e%ening. " Come now and sit down .iforo dis fire, honey, and lot me take down yer hair and comb and bref-h it for you, like 1 Uf-ed to do wnen you v\as a little gal," said Jess. Gertrude laid oft* her seal -skin jacket and hat, and sat down to please her old nurse. Jess combed and brushed her hair and wound it into a soft, easy coil, and then provided her plcntcously with fresh water, iine soap, and clean towels for a refreshing wash, and waited on her and helped her until she saw her finally in bed. 41 What time do you suppose John Brooks will letnrn in the morning, Jess ? I Nvish to know, because I must get up in time to fetch him over. There id no boat on the other side." "Oh, honey," answered the artful Jess, " you jes take your rest and get your sleep out good. John Brooks mayn't be back 'fore nine o'clock." "I am \ery sorry to hear that, because I wished him to go to the rectory and borrow the doctor's gig to take me to the Summit. The good old man is as well as ever you say, Jess ?" "Yes, honey, and gibs it to de sinners ebery Sunday morning hot as popper !" " Jess, if John Brooks .should come down to the river and call the boat before I am up in the morning, I want you to wake me, because I must go and fetch him over. There is no boat on that side. Do you hear me, Jess ?" "Yes, honey; I hear you," answored the old woman, in a non-committal sort of way. 11 Well, then, bid me good-night, dear Jess." Th« good creature took the hand that her child held ont and pressed it to her face, and then left the room. Gertrude, profoundly wearied in mind, reposing comfortably in her oNvn delightful bed, and lulled by the distant, weird music of old Jessie's voice singing in the kitchen the refrain of an old camp meeting rallying song, soon fell into a sweet, deep, delicious sleep, untroubled by the ambitious thoughts that haunted the pillow of Geraldine, the bride-elect ; undisturbed by the fierce tortures of memory and i*egret that drove clumber from the eyes of Fitzgerald, the bridegroom expectant, and all unsuspicious of what the morning was fated to bring forth. (To be continued.)