The Marrow of Tradition | Page 5

and not to be lightly
disregarded.
Not wishing to be considered as a prophet of evil omen, Jane kept her
own counsel in regard to this significant discovery. But later, after the
child was several days old, she filled a small vial with water in which
the infant had been washed, and took it to a certain wise old black
woman, who lived on the farther edge of the town and was well known
to be versed in witchcraft and conjuration. The conjure woman added
to the contents of the bottle a bit of calamus root, and one of the
cervical vertebrae from the skeleton of a black cat, with several other
mysterious ingredients, the nature of which she did not disclose.
Following instructions given her, Aunt Jane buried the bottle in
Carteret's back yard, one night during the full moon, as a good-luck
charm to ward off evil from the little grandson of her dear mistress, so
long since dead and gone to heaven.

II
THE CHRISTENING PARTY
They named the Carteret baby Theodore Felix. Theodore was a family
name, and had been borne by the eldest son for several generations, the
major himself being a second son. Having thus given the child two
beautiful names, replete with religious and sentimental significance,
they called him--"Dodie."
The baby was christened some six weeks after its birth, by which time
Mrs. Carteret was able to be out. Old Mammy Jane, who had been
brought up in the church, but who, like some better informed people in
all ages, found religion not inconsistent with a strong vein of
superstition, felt her fears for the baby's future much relieved when the
rector had made the sign of the cross and sprinkled little Dodie with the
water from the carved marble font, which had come from England in
the reign of King Charles the Martyr, as the ill-fated son of James I.
was known to St. Andrew's. Upon this special occasion Mammy Jane
had been provided with a seat downstairs among the white people, to
her own intense satisfaction, and to the secret envy of a small colored
attendance in the gallery, to whom she was ostentatiously pointed out
by her grandson Jerry, porter at the Morning Chronicle office, who sat
among them in the front row.
On the following Monday evening the major gave a christening party in
honor of this important event. Owing to Mrs. Carteret's still delicate
health, only a small number of intimate friends and family connections
were invited to attend. These were the rector of St. Andrew's; old Mrs.
Polly Ochiltree, the godmother; old Mr. Delamere, a distant relative
and also one of the sponsors; and his grandson, Tom Delamere. The
major had also invited Lee Ellis, his young city editor, for whom he
had a great liking apart from his business value, and who was a
frequent visitor at the house. These, with the family itself, which
consisted of the major, his wife, and his half-sister, Clara Pemberton, a
young woman of about eighteen, made up the eight persons for whom

covers were laid.
Ellis was the first to arrive, a tall, loose-limbed young man, with a
slightly freckled face, hair verging on auburn, a firm chin, and honest
gray eyes. He had come half an hour early, and was left alone for a few
minutes in the parlor, a spacious, high-ceilinged room, with large
windows, and fitted up in excellent taste, with stately reminiscences of
a past generation. The walls were hung with figured paper. The ceiling
was whitewashed, and decorated in the middle with a plaster
centre-piece, from which hung a massive chandelier sparkling with
prismatic rays from a hundred crystal pendants. There was a handsome
mantel, set with terra-cotta tiles, on which fauns and satyrs, nymphs
and dryads, disported themselves in idyllic abandon. The furniture was
old, and in keeping with the room.
At seven o'clock a carriage drove up, from which alighted an elderly
gentleman, with white hair and mustache, and bowed somewhat with
years. Short of breath and painfully weak in the legs, he was assisted
from the carriage by a colored man, apparently about forty years old, to
whom short side-whiskers and spectacles imparted an air of sobriety.
This attendant gave his arm respectfully to the old gentleman, who
leaned upon it heavily, but with as little appearance of dependence as
possible. The servant, assuming a similar unconsciousness of the
weight resting upon his arm, assisted the old gentleman carefully up the
steps.
"I'm all right now, Sandy," whispered the gentleman as soon as his feet
were planted firmly on the piazza. "You may come back for me at nine
o'clock."
Having taken his hand from his servant's arm, he advanced to meet a
lady who stood in the door awaiting him, a tall,