Dab Kinzer | Page 4

and the wonder
was that he should so long have lived alone in the big, square-built
house his father left him. At all events, Miranda Kinzer was just the
wife for him.
Miranda's mother had seen that at a glance, the moment her mind was
settled about the house. As to that and his great, spreading,

half-cultivated farm, all either of them needed was ready money and
management.
These were blessings Ham was now made reasonably sure of, on his
return from his wedding-trip, and he was likely to appreciate them.
As for Dabney Kinzer, he was in no respect overcome by the novelty
and excitement of the wedding-day. All the rest of it, after the departure
of Ham Morris and the bride, he devoted himself to such duties as were
assigned him, with a new and grand idea steadily taking shape in his
mind. He felt as if his brains too, like his body, were growing. Some of
his mother's older and more intimate friends remained with her all day,
probably to comfort her for the loss of Miranda; and two or three of
them, Dab knew, would stay to tea, so that his services would be in
demand to see them safely home.
All day long, moreover, Samantha and Keziah and Pamela seemed to
find themselves wonderfully busy, one way and another, so that they
paid even less attention than usual to any of the ins and outs of their
brother.
Dabney was therefore able, with little difficulty, to take for himself
whatever of odd time he might require for putting his new idea into
execution.
Mrs. Kinzer herself noticed the rare good sense with which her son
hurried through with his dinner, and slipped away, leaving her in
undisturbed possession of the table and her lady guests, and neither she
nor either of the girls had a thought of following him.
If they had done so, they might have seen him draw a good-sized
bundle out from under the lilac-thicket in the back yard, and hurry
down through the garden.
A few moments more, and Dabney had appeared on the fence of the old
cross-road leading down to the shore. There he sat, eying one passer-by
after another, till he suddenly sprang from his perch, exclaiming,--

"That's just the chap! Why, they'll fit him, and that's more'n they ever
did for me."
Dab would probably have had to search along the coast for miles before
he could have found a human being better suited to his present
charitable purposes than the boy who now came so lazily down the
road.
There was no doubt about his color, or that he was all over of about the
same shade of black. His old tow trowsers and calico shirt revealed the
shining fact in too many places to leave room for a question, and shoes
he had none.
"Dick," said Dabney, "was you ever married?"
"Married!" exclaimed Dick, with a peal of very musical laughter, "is I
married? No. Is you?"
"No," replied Dabney; "but I was very near it, this morning."
"Dat so?" asked Dick, with another show of his white teeth. "Done ye
good, den; nebber seen ye I look so nice afore."
"You'd look nicer'n I do if you were only dressed up," said Dab. "Just
you put on these."
"Golly!" exclaimed the black boy. But he seized the bundle Dab threw
him, and he had it open in a twinkling.
"Any t'ing in de pockets?" he asked.
"Guess not," said Dab; "but there's lots of room."
"Say dar was," exclaimed Dick. "But won't dese t'ings be warm?"
It was quite likely; for the day was not a cool one, and Dick never
seemed to think of getting off what he had on, before getting into his
unexpected present. Coat, vest, and trousers, they were all pulled on
with more quickness than Dab had ever seen the young African display

before.
"I's much obleeged to ye, Mr. Kinzer," said Dick very proudly, as he
strutted across the road. "On'y I dasn't go back fru de village."
"What'll you do, then?" asked Dab.
"S'pose I'd better go a-fishin'," said Dick. "Will de fish bite?"
"Oh! the clothes won't make any odds to them," said Dabney. "I must
go back to the house."
And so he did: while Dick, on whom the cast-off garments of his white
friend were really a pretty good fit, marched on down the road, feeling
grander than he ever had before in all his life.
"That'll be a good thing to tell Ham Morris, when he and Miranda get
home again," muttered Dab, as he re-entered the house.
Late that evening, when Dabney returned from his final duties as escort
to his mother's guests, she rewarded him with more than he could
remember ever receiving of