A Romance of Billy-Goat Hill | Page 2

Across his feet
with nose on paws lay a dog, and about him was scattered a profusion
of fishing paraphernalia.
The Colonel, carefully crushing the mint between his stubby fingers,
stirred it with the sugar at the bottom of his tall glass; then, resting the
concoction on the broad arm of the rocker, and without turning his head,
lifted his voice in stentorian command:
"Jimpson!"
No answer. He turned his head slightly to the left, in the general
direction of the negro cabins whose roofs could be seen through the
trees, and sent another summons hurtling through the bushes:
"Jimpson!"
Again he waited, and again there was no response. The Colonel sighed
resignedly, and spreading a large bordered handkerchief over his

obliterated features, clasped his fat hands with some difficulty about his
ample girth, and slept. When he awoke he began exactly where he had
left off, only this time turning his head slightly to the right, and sending
his command toward the kitchen wing.
A door slammed somewhere in the distance, and presently a shuffling
of feet was heard in the hall, and a small, alert old negro presented
himself to his master with an air of cheerful conciliation.
The Colonel did not turn his head; he gazed with an air of great injury
at the tops of the locust trees, clasping his tumbler as it rested on the
arm of the rocker.
"Jimpson," he began, after the culprit had suffered his silence some
minutes.
"Now, Cunnel," began Jimpson nervously. He had evidently rehearsed
this scene in the past.
"Just answer my questions," insisted the Colonel. "Is this my house?"
"Yas, sir, but Carline, she--"
"And are you my nigger?" persisted the Colonel plaintively.
"Yas, sir; but you see, Carline--"
"And haven't I, for twenty years," persisted the Colonel, "been taking a
mint julep at half past two on Sunday afternoons?"
"Yas, sir, I was a comin'--"
"Then you don't regard it as an unreasonable request, that a gentleman
should ask his own nigger, in his own house, to bring him a small piece
of ice?" The Colonel's sense of injury was becoming so overpowering
that the offender might have been crushed by contrition had not a laugh
made them both look up.
Standing in the doorway was a young girl in a short riding habit, and a

small hat of red felt that was carelessly pinned to her bright, tumbled
hair. Her eyes were dark, and round like those of a child, and they
danced from object to object as if eager to miss none of the good things
that the world had to offer. Joy of life and radiant youth seemed to flash
from her face and figure.
"What's the matter, Squire Daddy?" she asked, pausing on the threshold.
"Mad again?" The Colonel's head twitched in her direction, but he held
it stiff.
"Well, please don't kill Uncle Jimpson 'til he finds my gloves. I don't
know where I took them off."
"Yas 'm, Miss Lady," Jimpson welcomed the diversion. "I'll find 'em
jes as soon as I git yer Paw his ice."
"Oh, Daddy'll wait, won't you, Dad? I'm in a hurry."
For a moment Jimpson and the Colonel eyed each other, then the
Colonel's gaze shifted.
"I'll git de ice fer you on my way back," Jimpson whispered
reassuringly. "I spec' dat chile is in a hurry."
The young lady in question gave no appearance of haste as she perched
herself on the arm of her father's chair, and presented a boot-lace for
him to tie.
"Going fishing, Dad?" she asked.
"Yes," said the Colonel, struggling to make a two-loop bow-knot.
"Noah Wicker and I are going down below the mill dam. Want to come
along?"
"I can't. I'm going riding."
"That's good. Who with?"
"With Don Morley."

The smile that had returned to the Colonel's face during this
conversation contracted suddenly, leaving his mouth a round little
button of disapprobation.
"What in thunder is he doing up here anyhow; why don't he go on back
to town where he belongs?"
"Don?" Miss Lady pretended to effect a part in the few straggling hairs
that adorned his forehead. "Why, he's staying over to the Wickers'
while he looks around for a farm. Here's a gray hair, Daddy! I'd pull it
out only there are two more on that other side now than there are on
this."
"Buying a farm, is he?" The Colonel waxed a deeper mahogany. "Well,
this place is not for sale. I should think he could find something better
to do with his time than hanging around here. For two weeks I haven't
been able to sit on this porch for five minutes without having him under
my feet! What's the sense of his coming so often?"
Miss Lady caught him by the ears, and