Crittenden | Page 3

of the mouth showed a settled melancholy where before was
sunny humour. The eyes, which were dreamy, kindly, gray, looked
backward in a morbid glow of concentration; and over the rather
reckless cast of his features, lay at once the shadow of suffering and the
light of a great tenderness. Slowly, a little hardness came into his eyes
and a little bitterness about his mouth. His upper lip curved in upon his

teeth with self-scorn--for he had had little cause to be pleased with
himself while Judith was gone, and his eyes showed now how proud
was the scorn--and he shook himself sharply and sat upright. He had
forgotten again. That part of his life belonged to the past and, like the
past, was gone, and was not to come back again. The present had life
and hope now, and the purpose born that day from five blank years was
like the sudden birth of a flower in a desert.
The sun had burst from the horizon now and was shining through the
tops of the trees in the lovely woodland into which Crittenden turned,
and through which a road of brown creek-sand ran to the pasture
beyond and through that to the long avenue of locusts, up which the
noble portico of his old homestead, Canewood, was visible among
cedars and firs and old forest trees. His mother was not up yet--the
shutters of her window were still closed--but the servants were astir and
busy. He could see men and plough-horses on their way to the fields;
and, that far away, he could hear the sound of old Ephraim's axe at the
woodpile, the noises around the barn and cowpens, and old Aunt
Keziah singing a hymn in the kitchen, the old wailing cry of the
mother-slave.
"Oh I wonder whur my baby's done gone, Oh Lawd! An' I git on my
knees an' pray."
The song stopped, a negro boy sprang out the kitchen-door and ran for
the stiles--a tall, strong, and very black boy with a dancing eye, white
teeth, and a look of welcome that was little short of dumb idolatry.
"Howdy, Bob."
"Howdy, Ole Cap'n." Crittenden had been "Ole Captain" with the
servants--since the death of "Ole Master," his father--to distinguish him
from "Young Captain," who was his brother, Basil. Master and servant
shook hands and Bob's teeth flashed.
"What's the matter, Bob?"
Bob climbed into the buggy.

"You gwine to de wah."
Crittenden laughed.
"How do you know, Bob?"
"Oh, I know--I know. I seed it when you was drivin' up to de stiles, an'
lemme tell you, Ole Cap'n." The horse started for the barn suddenly and
Bob took a wide circuit in order to catch the eye of a brown milkmaid
in the cowpens, who sniffed the air scornfully, to show that she did not
see him, and buried the waves of her black hair into the silken sides of
a young Jersey.
"Yes," he said, shaking his head and making threats to himself, "an'
Bob's gwine wid him."
As Crittenden climbed the stiles, old Keziah filled the kitchen-door.
"Time you gittin' back, suh," she cried with mock severity. "I been
studyin' 'bout you. Little mo' an' I'd 'a' been comin' fer you myself.
Yes--suh."
And she gave a loud laugh that rang through the yard and ended in a
soft, queer little whoop that was musical. Crittenden smiled but, instead
of answering, raised his hand warningly and, as he approached the
portico, he stepped from the gravel-walk to the thick turf and began to
tiptoe. At the foot of the low flight of stone steps he stopped--smiling.
The big double front door was wide open, and straight through the big,
wide hallway and at the entrance of the dining-room, a sword--a long
cavalry sabre--hung with a jaunty gray cap on the wall. Under them
stood a boy with his hands clasped behind him and his chin upraised.
The lad could see the bullet-hole through the top, and he knew that on
the visor was a faded stain of his father's blood. As a child, he had been
told never to touch the cap or sword and, until this moment, he had not
wanted to take them down since he was a child; and even now the habit
of obedience held him back for a while, as he stood looking up at them.
Outside, a light wind rustled the leaves of the rose-bush at his mother's

window, swept through the open door, and made the curtain at his
elbow swell gently. As the heavy fold fell back to its place and swung
out again, it caught the hilt of the sword and made the metal point of
the scabbard clank softly against the wall. The boy breathed sharply,
remembered that he was grown, and reverently