The Little Colonel | Page 4

against his wishes, and he had closed his doors for ever against her.
The old bitterness came back redoubled in its force.
The next instant he was stamping down the avenue, roaring for Walker,
his body-servant, in such a tone that the cook's advice was speedily
taken: "Bettah hump yo'self outen dis heah kitchen befo' de ole tigah
gits to lashin' roun' any pearter."

CHAPTER II.
Mom Beck carried the ironing-board out of the hot kitchen, set the
irons off the stove, and then tiptoed out to the side porch of the little
cottage.
"Is yo' head feelin' any bettah, honey?" she said to the pretty,
girlish-looking woman lying in the hammock. "I promised to step up to
the hotel this evenin' to see one of the chambah-maids. I thought I'd
take the Little Cun'l along with me if you was willin'. She's always wild
to play with Mrs. Wyford's children up there."
"Yes, I'm better, Becky," was the languid reply. "Put a clean dress on

Lloyd if you are going to take her out."
Mrs. Sherman closed her eyes again, thinking gratefully, "Dear, faithful
old Becky! What a comfort she has been all my life, first as my nurse,
and now as Lloyd's! She is worth her weight in gold!"
The afternoon shadows were stretching long across the grass when
Mom Beck led the child up the green slope in front of the hotel.
The Little Colonel had danced along so gaily with Fritz that her cheeks
glowed like wild roses. She made a quaint little picture with such short
sunny hair and dark eyes shining out from under the broad-brimmed
white hat she wore.
Several ladies who were sitting on the shady piazza, busy with their
embroidery, noticed her admiringly. "It's Elizabeth Lloyd's little
daughter," one of them explained. "Don't you remember what a scene
there was some years ago when she married a New York man?
Sherman, I believe, his name was, Jack Sherman. He was a splendid
fellow, and enormously wealthy. Nobody could say a word against him,
except that he was a Northerner. That was enough for the old Colonel,
though. He hates Yankees like poison. He stormed and swore, and
forbade Elizabeth ever coming in his sight again. He had her room
locked up, and not a soul on the place ever dares mention her name in
his hearing."
The Little Colonel sat down demurely on the piazza steps to wait for
the children. The nurse had not finished dressing them for the evening.
She amused herself by showing Fritz the pictures in an illustrated
weekly. It was not long until she began to feel that the ladies were
talking about her. She had lived among older people so entirely that her
thoughts were much deeper than her baby speeches would lead one to
suppose.
She understood dimly, from what she had heard the servants say, that
there was some trouble between her mother and grandfather. Now she
heard it rehearsed from beginning to end. She could not understand

what they meant by "bank failures" and "unfortunate investments," but
she understood enough to know that her father had lost nearly all his
money, and had gone West to make more.
Mrs. Sherman had moved from their elegant New York home two
weeks ago to this little cottage in Lloydsborough that her mother had
left her. Instead of the houseful of servants they used to have, there was
only faithful Mom Beck to do everything.
There was something magnetic in the child's eyes.
Mrs. Wyford shrugged her shoulders uneasily as she caught their
piercing gaze fixed on her.
"I do believe that little witch understood every word I said," she
exclaimed.
"Oh, certainly not," was the reassuring answer. "She's such a little
thing."
But she had heard it all, and understood enough to make her vaguely
unhappy. Going home she did not frisk along with Fritz, but walked
soberly by Mom Beck's side, holding tight to the friendly black hand.
"We'll go through the woods," said Mom Beck, lifting her over the
fence. "It's not so long that way."
As they followed the narrow, straggling path into the cool dusk of the
woods, she began to sing. The crooning chant was as mournful as a
funeral dirge.
"The clouds hang heavy, an' it's gwine to rain. Fa'well, my dyin' friends.
I'm gwine to lie in the silent tomb. Fa'well, my dyin' friends."
A muffled little sob made her stop and look down in surprise.
"Why, what's the mattah, honey?" she exclaimed. "Did Emma Louise
make you mad? Or is you cryin' 'cause you're so ti'ed? Come! Ole
Becky'll tote her baby the rest of the way."

She picked the light form up in her arms, and, pressing the troubled
little face against her shoulder, resumed her walk