Gabriel Tolliver. Joel Chandler Harris
the ransoms were paid, the prisoners were one and all forwarded to the Clopton Place, where they were cared for until such time as they could be transferred to the white settlements. In this way hospitality became a habit at the Place, and in the years that followed, no wayfarer was ever turned away from those wide doors.
In the pleasant weather, it was a familiar spectacle to see Meriwether Clopton sitting on the wide lawn, reading Virgil and Horace, two volumes of which he never tired. His favourite seat was in the shade of a silver maple, through the branches of which a grapevine had been trained. This silver maple, with the vine running through it, and the seat in the shade, were a realisation, he once told Gabriel and Cephas, of one of the most beautiful poems in one of the volumes, but whether Virgil or Horace, the aforesaid Cephas is unable to remember.
There were days long to be remembered when the Master of Clopton Place read aloud to the children, translating as he went along, and smacking his lips over the choice of words as though he were tasting a fine quality of wine. And the children felt the charm of these ancient verses; and they soon came to understand why words written down centuries ago, had power to take possession of the mind. They were charged with the qualities that brought them home to the modern hour; and for all that was foreign in them, they might have been composed at Shady Dale. It is no wonder that the common people in the Middle Ages clothed Virgil with the gift and power of a prophet or a magician.
Something of the charm that dwelt all about the place had its origin and centre in Meriwether Clopton himself. His years sat lightly upon him. He had led an active and a temperate life, and a hale and hearty old age was the fruit thereof. He had had his flings, and something more, perhaps, for there were traditions of some very serious troubles in which he had been engaged shortly after reaching his majority. But Gabriel's grandmother, who knew—none better—declared that these troubles were not of Meriwether Clopton's seeking. They were the results of a legacy of feuds which Raleigh Clopton, through no desire of his own, had left to his son. It was said of Raleigh Clopton that his sense of justice was as strong as his temper, which was a stormy one. He espoused the cause of young Eli Whitney, who had been despoiled of his rights in the cotton-gin in Georgia, and this led him into a series of difficulties without parallel in the history of the State. Raleigh Clopton's attitude in this contest brought him in conflict with some of the most powerful men and interests in the commonwealth. It was a contest in which knavery, fraud and corruption, the courts, and considerable private capital, were all combined against Whitney, who appeared to be without a strong friend until Raleigh Clopton became his champion.
The collusion of the courts with this high-handed robbery was so ill-concealed that Raleigh Clopton soon discovered the fact, and his indignation rose to such a white heat that it drove him to excesses. He dragged one judge from a buggy, and plied him with a rawhide, he slapped the face of another in a public house, and posted a dozen prominent men as thieves and corruptionists, with the result that the State fairly swarmed with his enemies, men who were able to keep him busy in the way of troubles and difficulties. It was the day of private feuds, and it was not surprising that some of these enemies should attack the father through the son. Thus it fell out that Meriwether Clopton's experience for half a score of years after he came of age was anything but peaceful. But he came out of all these difficulties with head erect, clean hands and a clear conscience. He was neither hardened nor embittered by the violence with which he had to deal. On the contrary, his character was strengthened and his temper sweetened; so that when the lads who listened to his mellifluous translations from the Latin poets, were old enough to appreciate the qualities that go to make up a good man and an influential citizen, the fact dawned upon their minds that Meriwether Clopton was the finest gentleman they had ever seen.
CHAPTER THREE
The Return of Two Warriors
When the great contest began, Nan was close to thirteen, and Gabriel was fourteen. Cephas was younger; he had lived hardly as many months as he had freckles on his face, otherwise he would have been an aged citizen. They wandered about together, always accompanied by Tasma Tid, all of them being children in every sense of the word. Occasionally they were joined by some of the other boys and girls; but they were always happier when they were left to themselves.
In the late afternoons they could always be found in the Bermuda fields, but at other times, especially on a warm day, their favourite playground was under the wide-spreading elms in front of the post-office. Amusing themselves there in the fine weather, they could see the people come and go, many of them looking for letters that never came. When the conflict at the front became warm and serious, and when the very newspapers, as Mrs. Absalom said, smelt of blood, there was always a large crowd of men, old and young, gathered at the post-office when the mail-coach came from Malvern. As few of the people subscribed for a daily newspaper, Judge Odom (he was Judge of the Inferior Court, now called the Court of Ordinary) took upon himself to mount a chair or a dry-goods box, and read aloud the despatches printed in the Malvern Recorder. This enterprising journal had a number of volunteer correspondents at the front who made it a point to send with their letters the lists of the killed and wounded in the various Georgia regiments; and these lists grew ominously long as the days went by.
And then, in the course of time, came the collapse of the Confederacy, an event that blew away with a breath, as it were, the hopes and dreams of those who had undertaken to build a new government in the South; and this march of time brought about a gradual change in the relations between Nan and Gabriel. It was almost as imperceptible in its growth as the movement of the shadow on the sun-dial. Somehow, and to her great disgust, Nan awoke one morning and was told that she was a young woman, or dreamt that she was told. Anyhow, she realised, all of a sudden, that she was now too tall for short dresses, and too old to be playing with the boys as if she were one of them; and the consciousness of this change gave her many a bad quarter of an hour, and sometimes made her a trifle irritable; for, sweet as she was, she had a temper.
She asked herself a thousand times why she should now begin to feel shy of Gabriel, and why she should be so self-conscious, she who had never thought of herself with any degree of seriousness until now. It was all a puzzle to her. As it was with Nan, so it was with Gabriel. As Nan grew shy and shyer, so the newly-awakened Gabriel grew more and more and more timid, and the two soon found themselves very far apart without knowing why. For a long time Cephas was the only connecting link between them. He was a sly little rascal, this same Cephas, and he found in the situation food for both curiosity and amusement. He had not the least notion why the two friends and comrades were inclined to avoid each other. He only knew that he was not having as pleasant a time as fell to his portion when they were all going about together with no serious notions of life or conduct.
Cephas got no satisfaction from either Nan or Gabriel when he asked them what the trouble was. Nan tried to explain matters, but her explanation was a very lame one. "I am getting old enough to be serious, Cephas; and I must begin to make myself useful. That's what Miss Polly Gaither says, and she's old enough to know. Oh, I hate it all!" said Nan.
"Is Miss Polly Gaither useful?" inquired Cephas.
"I'm sure I don't know," replied Nan; "but that's what she told me, and then she held up her ear-trumpet for me to talk in it; but I just couldn't, she looked so very much in earnest. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. Did you ever notice, Cephas, how funny people are when they are really in earnest?"
Alas! Cephas had often pinched himself in Sunday-school to keep from laughing at old Mrs. Crafton, his teacher. She was so dreadfully in earnest that she kept her face in a pucker the whole time. Outside of the Sunday-school she was a very pleasant old lady.
Gabriel had no explanation to make whatever. He simply told Cephas that Nan was becoming vain. This Cephas denied with great emphasis, but Gabriel only shook his head and looked wise, as much as to say that he knew what he knew, and would continue to know it for some