The Maid-At-Arms | Page 5

bees a-humming on
every bud.
There was no salt in the air, no citrus scent in the breeze, no heavy
incense of the great magnolia bloom perfuming the wilderness like a
cathedral aisle where a young bride passes, clouded in lace.
But in the heat a heavy, sweetish odor hung; balsam it is called, and
mingled, too, with a faint scent like our bay, which comes from a
woody bush called sweet-fern. That, and the strong smell of the bluish,
short-needled pine, was ever clogging my nostrils and confusing me.
Once I thought to scent a 'possum, but the musky taint came from a
rotting log; and a stale fox might have crossed to windward and I not
noticed, so blunted had grown my nose in this unfamiliar Northern
world.
Musing, restless, dimly confused, and doubly watchful, I rode through
the timber-belt, and out at last into a dusty, sunny road. And
straightway I sighted a house.

The house was of stone, and large and square and gray, with only a
pillared porch instead of the long double galleries we build; and it had a
row of windows in the roof, called dormers, and was surrounded by a
stockade of enormous timbers, in the four corners of which were set
little forts pierced for rifle fire.
Noble trees stood within the fortified lines; outside, green meadows
ringed the place; and the grass was thick and soft, and vivid as a green
jewel in color--such grass as we never see save for a spot here and there
in swampy places where the sun falls in early spring.
The house was yet a hundred rods away to the eastward. I rode on
slowly, noticing the neglected fences on either hand, and thought that
my cousin Varick might have found an hour to mend them, for his
pride's sake.
Isene, my mare, had already scented the distant stables, and was
pricking forward her beautiful ears as I unslung my broad hat of plaited
palmetto and placed it on my head, the better to salute my hosts when I
should ride to their threshold in the Spanish fashion we followed at
home.
So, cantering on, I crossed a log bridge which spanned a ravine, below
which I saw a grist-mill; and so came to the stockade. The gate was
open and unguarded, and I guided my mare through without a
challenge from the small corner forts, and rode straight to the porch,
where an ancient negro serving-man stood, dressed in a tawdry livery
too large for him. As I drew bridle he gave me a dull, almost sullen
glance, and it was not until I spoke sharply to him that he shambled
forward and descended the two steps to hold my stirrup.
"Is Sir Lupus at home?" I asked, looking curiously at this mute,
dull-eyed black, so different from our grinning lads at home.
"Yaas, suh, he done come home, suh."
"Then announce Mr. George Ormond," I said.

He stared, but did not offer to move.
"Did you hear me?" I asked, astonished.
"Yaas, suh, I done hear yoh, suh."
I looked him over in amazement, then walked past him towards the
door.
"Is you gwine look foh Mars' Lupus?" he asked, barring my way with
one wrinkled, blue-black hand on the brass door-knob. "Kaze ef you is,
you don't had better, suh."
I could only stare.
"Kaze Mars' Lupus done say he gwine kill de fustest man what 'sturb
him, suh," continued the black man, in a listless monotone. "An' I spec'
he gwine do it."
"Is Sir Lupus abed at this hour?" I asked.
"Yaas, suh."
There was no emotion in the old man's voice. Something made me
think that he had given the same message to visitors many times.
I was very angry at the discourtesy, for he must have known when to
expect me from my servant, who had accompanied me by water with
my boxes from St. Augustine to Philadelphia, where I lingered while he
went forward, bearing my letter with him. Yet, angry and disgusted as I
was, there was nothing for me to do except to swallow the humiliation,
walk in, and twiddle my thumbs until the boorish lord of the manor
waked to greet his invited guest.
"I suppose I may enter," I said, sarcastically.
"Yaas, suh; Miss Dorry done say: 'Cato,' she say, 'ef de young gem'man
come when Mars' Lupus am drunk, jess take care n' him, Cato; put him
mos' anywhere 'cep in mah bed, Cato, an' jess call me ef I ain' busy

'bout mah business--'"
Still rambling on, he opened the door, and I entered a wide hallway,
dirty and disordered. As I stood hesitating, a terrific crash sounded
from the floor above.
"Spec' Miss Dorry busy," observed the old man, raising his solemn,