Gordon Keith | Page 8

Madame weel abuse me--weel keel me!"
"Mamma will not mind; it is my doll. Aunt Abby gave it to me. I can
get a plenty more, and I will give it to her," insisted the little girl again.
Then suddenly, gaining more courage, she turned quickly, and, before
the governess could stop her, thrust the doll into the other child's arms.
"Here, you shall have it."
The governess, with a cry of rage, made a spring for the child, but too
late: the grimy little hands had clutched the doll, and turning without a
word of thanks, the little creature sped down the road like a frightened

animal, her ragged frock fluttering behind her.
"Why, she did not say 'Thank you'!" exclaimed the child, in a
disappointed tone, looking ruefully after the retreating figure.
The governess broke out on her vehemently in French, very comically
mingling her upbraidings of her charge, her abuse of the little girl, and
her apprehension of "Madame."
"Never mind; she does not know any better," said Gordon.
The child's face brightened at this friendly encouragement.
"She is a nasty little creature! You shall not play with her," cried the
governess, angrily.
"She is not nasty! I like her, and I will play with her," declared the child,
defiantly.
"What is your name?" asked the boy, much amused by such sturdiness
in so small a tot.
"Lois Huntington. What is your name?" She looked up at him with her
big brown eyes.
"Gordon Keith."
"How do you do, Gordon Keith?" She held out her hand.
"How do you do, Lois Huntington?"
She shook hands with him solemnly.
A day or two later, as Gordon was passing through one of the streets in
the lower part of the village, he came upon a hurdy-gurdy playing a
livelier tune than most of them usually gave. A crowd of children had
gathered in the street. Among them was a little barelegged girl who,
inspired by the music, was dancing and keeping perfect time as she
tripped back and forth, pirouetted and swayed on the tips of her bare

toes, flirting her little ragged frock, and kicking with quite the air of a
ballet-dancer. She divided the honors with the dismal Savoyard, who
ground away at his organ, and she brought a flicker of admiration into
his bronzed and grimy face, for he played for her the same tune over
and over, encouraging her with nods and bravas. She was enjoying her
triumph quite as much as any prima donna who ever tripped it on a
more ambitious stage.
Gordon recognized in the little dancer the tangled-haired child who had
run away with the little girl's doll a few days before.
CHAPTER II
GENERAL KEITH BECOMES AN OVERSEER
When the war closed, though it was not recognized at first, the old
civilization of the South passed away. Fragments of the structure that
had once risen so fair and imposing still stood for a time, even after the
foundations were undermined: a bastion here, a tower there; but in time
they followed the general overthrow, and crumbled gradually to their
fall, leaving only ruins and decay.
For a time it was hoped that the dilapidation might be repaired and the
old life be lived again. General Keith, like many others, though broken
and wasted in body, undertook to rebuild with borrowed money, but
with disastrous results. The conditions were all against him.
Three or four years' effort to repair his fallen fortunes only plunged him
deeper in debt. General Keith, like most of his neighbors and friends,
found himself facing the fact that he was hopelessly insolvent. As soon
as he saw he could not pay his debts he stopped spending and notified
his creditors.
"I see nothing ahead of me," he wrote, "but greater ruin. I am like a
horse in a quicksand: every effort I make but sinks me deeper."
Some of his neighbors took the benefit of the bankrupt-law which was
passed to give relief. General Keith was urged to do likewise, but he

declined.
"Though I cannot pay my debts," he said, "the least I can do is to
acknowledge that I owe them. I am unwilling to appear, even for a
short time, to be denying what I know to be a fact."
He gave up everything that he owned, reserving nothing that would
bring in money.
When Elphinstone was sold, it brought less than the debts on it. The old
plate, with the Keith coat-of-arms on it, from which generations of
guests had been served, and which old Richard, the butler, had saved
during the war, went for its weight in silver. The library had been
pillaged until little of it remained. The old Keith pictures, some of them
by the best artists, which had been boxed and