The Romance of a Plain Man. Glasgow Ellen Anderson Gholson
its red mouth and arched black eyebrows inspired by a solemn purpose.
"If you'll promise never, never to kill a cat, I'll let you come into the garden – for a minute," she said.
I hesitated for an instant, dazzled by the prospect and yet bargaining for better terms. "Will you let me walk under the arbours and down all the box-bordered paths?"
She nodded. "Just once," she responded gravely.
"An' may I play under the trees on the terrace where you built yo' houses of moss and stones?"
"For a little while. But I can't play with you because – because you don't look clean."
My heart sank like lead to my waist line, and I looked down ashamed at my dirty hands.
"I – I'd rather play with you," I faltered.
"Fur de Lawd's sake, honey, come in en let dat ar gutter limb alont," exclaimed the old negress, wagging her turbaned head.
"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do," said her charge, after a deep moment; "I'll let you play with me for a little while if you'll take the cat."
"But I ain't got any use for it," I stammered.
"Take it home for a pet. Grandmama won't let any more come on the place. She's very cruel is grandmama, isn't she, mammy?"
"Go way, chile, dar ain' nobody dat 'ould want all dem ar critters," rejoined the old negress.
"I do," said the little girl, and sighed softly.
"I'll take it home with me," I began desperately at last, "if you'll let me play with you the whole evening."
"And take you into the house?"
"An' take me into the house," I repeated doggedly.
Her glance brushed me from head to foot, while I writhed under it, "I wonder why you don't wash your face," she observed in her cool, impersonal manner.
I fell back a step and stared defiantly at the ground.
"I ain't got any water," I answered, driven to bay.
"I think if you'd wash it ever so hard and brush your hair flat on your head, you'd look very nice – for a boy," she remarked. "I like your eyes because they're blue, and I have a dog with blue eyes exactly like yours. Did you ever see a blue-eyed dog? He's a collie. But your hair stands always on end and it's the colour of straw."
"It growed that way," I returned. "You can't get it to be flat. Ma has tried."
"I bet I could," she rejoined, and caught at the old woman's hand. "This is my mammy an' her name is Euphronasia, an' she's got blue eyes an' golden hair," she cried, beginning to dance up and down in her red shoes.
"Gawd erlive, lamb, I'se ez black ez a crow's foot," protested the old woman, at which the dance of the red shoes changed into a stamp of anger.
"You aren't! – You aren't! You've got blue eyes an' golden hair!" screamed the child. "I won't let you say you haven't, – I won't let anybody say you haven't!"
It took a few minutes to pacify her, during which the old negress perjured herself to the extent of declaring on her word of honour that she had blue eyes and golden hair; and when the temper of her "lamb" was appeased, we turned the corner, approached the front of the house, and ascended the bright bow of steps. As we entered the wide hall, my heart thumped so violently that I hurriedly buttoned my coat lest the little girl should hear the sound and turn indignantly to accuse, me of disturbing the peace. Then as the front door closed softly behind us, I stood blinking nervously in the dim green light which entered through the row of columns at the rear, beyond which I saw the curving stairway and the two miniature yew trees at its foot. There was a strange musty smell about the house – a smell that brings to me now, when I find it in old and unlighted buildings, the memory of the high ceiling, the shining floor over which I moved so cautiously, and the long melancholy rows of moth-eaten stags' heads upon the wall.
A door at the far end was half open, and inside the room there were two ladies – one of them very little and old and shrivelled, and the other a pretty, brown-haired, pliant creature, whom I recognised instantly as our visitor of that stormy October evening more than two years ago. She was reading aloud when we entered, in a voice which sounded so soft and pious that I wondered if I ought to fold my hands and bow my head as I had been taught to do in the infant Sunday-school.
"Be careful not to mush your words, Sarah; the habit is growing upon you," remarked the elder lady in a sharp, imperative tone.
"Shall I read it over, mother? I will try to speak more distinctly," returned the other submissively, and she began again a long paragraph which, I gathered vaguely, related to that outward humility which is the becoming and appropriate garment for a race of miserable sinners.
"That is better," commented the old lady, in an utterly ungrateful manner, "though you have never succeeded in properly rolling your r's. There, that will do for to-day, we will continue the sermon upon Humility to-morrow."
She was so little and thin and wrinkled that it was a mystery to me, as I looked at her, how she managed to express so much authority through so small a medium. The chair in which she sat seemed almost to swallow her in its high arms of faded green leather; and out of her wide, gathered skirt of brocade, her body rose very erect, like one of my mother's black-headed bonnet pins out of her draped pincushion. On her head there was a cap of lace trimmed gayly with purple ribbons, and beneath this festive adornment, a fringe of false curls, still brown and lustrous, lent a ghastly coquetry to her mummied features. In the square of sunshine, between the gauze curtains at the window, a green parrot, in a wire cage, was scolding viciously while it pecked at a bit of sponge-cake from its mistress's hand. At the time I was too badly frightened to notice the wonderful space and richness of the room, with its carved rosewood bookcases, and its dim portraits of beruffled cavaliers and gravely smiling ladies.
"Sally," said the old lady, turning upon me a piercing glance which was like the flash of steel in the sunlight, "is that a boy?"
Going over to the armchair, the little girl stood holding the kitten behind her, while she kissed her grandmother's cheek.
"What is it, Sally, dear?" asked the younger woman, closing her book with a sigh.
"It's a boy, mamma," answered the child.
At this the old lady stiffened on her velvet cushions. "I thought I had told you, Sally," she remarked icily, "that there is nothing that I object to so much as a boy. Dogs and cats I have tolerated in silence, but since I have been in this house no boy has set foot inside the doors."
"I am sure, dear mamma, that Sally did not mean to disobey you," murmured the younger woman, almost in tears.
"Yes, I did, mamma," answered the child, gravely, "I meant to disobey her. But he has such nice blue eyes," she went on eagerly, her lips glowing as she talked until they matched the bright red of her dancing shoes; "an' he's goin' to take a kitten home for a pet, an' he says the reason he doesn't wash his face is because he hasn't any water."
"Is it possible," enquired the old lady in the manner of her pecking parrot, "that he does not wash his face?"
My pride could bear it no longer, and opening my mouth I spoke in a loud, high voice.
"If you please, ma'am, I wash my face every day," I said, "and all over every Saturday night."
She was still feeding the parrot with a bit of cake, and as I spoke, she turned toward me and waved one of her wiry little hands, which reminded me of a bird's claw, under its ruffle of yellowed lace.
"Bring him here, Sally, and let me see him," she directed, as if I had been some newly entrapped savage beast.
Catching me by the arm, Sally obediently led me to the armchair, where I stood awkward and trembling, with my hands clutching the flaps of my breeches' pockets, and my eyes on the ground.
For a long pause the old lady surveyed me critically with her merciless eyes. Then, "Give him a piece of cake, Sally," she remarked, when the examination was over.
Sally's mother had come up softly behind me while I writhed under the piercing gaze, and bending over she encircled