Elsie's Motherhood Part 5

"Hilloa!" cried d.i.c.k, "what! Ed Travilla, you play with carpet-baggers, eh? fie on you! I wouldn't be seen with one."

"That's not polite, d.i.c.k. Archie's a good boy; mamma and papa says so; and I like him for a playfellow."

"You do? ah, that's because you're a scalawag."

"What's that?"

"What your father is and your grandfather too."

"Then I don't care; I want to be just like my papa."

"But it isn't nice," put in Walter, laughing, "a scalawag's the meanest thing alive."

"Then you shall not call papa that, nor grandpa!" and the child's great dark eyes flashed with anger.

"Whew! I'd like to see you hinder me. Look here, Ed," and d.i.c.k pulled out a pistol, "what d'ye think o' that? don't you wish you had one?

don't you wish you could shoot?"

"I can," returned Eddie, proudly, "papa's been teaching me, and he's given me a better pistol than that."

"Hey! a likely story!" cried the two tormentors, with an incredulous laugh. "Let's see it now?"

"It's in the house, but papa said I should never touch it 'cept when he gives it to me; not till I grow a big boy."

"Nonsense!" cried d.i.c.k, "if 'twas there, you'd bring it out fast enough. I sha'n't believe a word of the story until I see the pistol."

"I'll show you if I'm not telling the truth;" exclaimed Eddie, flus.h.i.+ng hotly, and turning about as if to go into the house.

But Archie laid a hand on his arm, and speaking for the first time since the others had joined them, "Don't, Eddie," he said persuasively, "don't disobey your father; I know you'll be sorry for it afterwards."

"Hold your tongue, you young carpet-bagger," said d.i.c.k. "Run and get it, Ed."

"No, never mind about his pistol, he can't shoot," said Walter, mockingly. "If he can, let him take yours and prove it."

Eddie remembered well that his father had also forbidden him to touch firearms at all, except when with him; but the boy was naturally proud and wilful, and spite of all the careful training of his parents, these faults would occasionally show themselves.

He did not like to have his word doubted, he was eager to prove his skill, which he conceived to be far greater than it was, and as his cousins continued to twit and tease him, daring him to show what he could do, he was sorely tempted to disobey.

They were slowly walking on farther from the house as they talked, and finally when d.i.c.k said, "why, Ed, you couldn't hit that big tree yonder, I dare you to try it," at the same time offering him the pistol, the little fellow's sense of duty suddenly gave way, and s.n.a.t.c.hing the weapon from d.i.c.k's hand, he fired, not allowing himself time, in his haste and pa.s.sion, to take proper aim.

In their excitement and pre-occupation, none of the boys had noticed Mr.

Travilla riding into the avenue a moment before, closely followed by his body servant Ben. Almost simultaneously with the report of the pistol the former tumbled from the saddle and fell heavily to the ground.

With a cry, "O, Ma.s.s Edard's killed!" Ben sprang from his horse and bent over the prostrate form, wringing his hands in fright and grief. He was his master's foster-brother and devotedly attached to him.

The fall, the cry, the snorting and running of the frightened horses, instantly told the boys what had happened, and Eddie threw himself on the ground screaming in an agony of grief and remorse, "O, I've killed my father, my dear, dear father! O, papa, papa! what shall I do? what shall I do?"

Mr. Leland coming in search of his children, the men pa.s.sing the gate returning from their work, all heard and rushed to the spot. The blacks crowded about the scene of the accident, sobbing like children at the sight of their loved master and friend lying there apparently lifeless.

Mr. Leland, his features working with emotion, at once a.s.sumed the direction of affairs.

"Catch the horses," he said, "and you, Ben, mount the fleetest and fly for the doctor. And you," turning to another, "take the other and hurry to the Oaks for Mr. Dinsmore. Now the rest of you help me to carry your master to the house. I will lift his head, there gently, gently, my good fellows, I think he still breathes. But Mrs. Travilla!" he added, looking toward the dwelling, "all seems quiet there; they have not heard, I think, and she should be warned. I wish--"

"I will go, I will tell mamma," interrupted a quivering child voice at his side.

Little Elsie had pushed her way through the crowd and dropping on her knees on the gra.s.s was raining kisses and tears upon the pale, unconscious face.

"You? poor child!" Mr. Leland began in piteous tones; but she had already sprung to her feet and was flying toward the house with the fleetness of the wind.

One moment she paused in the s.p.a.cious entrance hall, to recover her breath, calm her features, and remove the traces of her tears. "Mamma, mamma," she was saying to herself, "O Lord Jesus give me the right words to speak to her."

She hardly knew to which apartment to direct her steps, but "Hark! there was the sound of the piano and mamma's sweet voice singing a song papa had brought home only the other day, and that he liked. Ah would she ever sing again now that he--"

But no, not even in thought could she say that dreadful word; but she knew now that mamma was in the music room; and earnestly repeating her silent pet.i.tion for help, she hurried thither.

The door was open; with swift, noiseless steps she gained her mother's side; pa.s.sing an arm about her neck, and half averting her own pale, agitated face, "Mamma," she said in low, tremulous tones, "'G.o.d is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble!' Mamma, Jesus loves you, Jesus loves you! He will help you to bear--"

"My daughter, what is it?" asked the mother in a tone of forced calmness, a terrible pang shooting through her heart, "your father?

Eddie? Vi?"--then starting up at a sound as of the feet of those who bore some heavy burden, she ran into the hail.

For a moment she stood as one transfixed with grief and horror.

"He breathes, he lives," Mr. Leland hastened to say.

Her lips moved but no words came from them. Silently motioning them to follow her, she led the way to his room and pointed to the bed. They laid him on it and at that instant consciousness returned.

"Dear wife, it is nothing," he faintly murmured, lifting his eyes to her face as she bent over him in speechless anguish.

She softly pressed her lips to his brow, her heart too full for utterance.

The words sent a thrill of gladness to the heart of little Elsie, who had crept in behind the men, and stood near the bed silently weeping; her father lived; and now Eddie's frantic screams seemed to ring in her ears (in her fear for her father she had scarcely noticed them before) and she must go and tell him the glad news. She was not needed here; mamma was not conscious of her presence, and she could do nothing for the dear injured father. She stole quietly from the room.

On the veranda she found Violet crying bitterly, while Mary Leland vainly tried to comfort her.

"Don't cry so, little sister," Elsie said, going to her and taking her in her arms in tender motherly fas.h.i.+on, "our dear papa is not killed; I saw him open his eyes, and heard him say to mamma, 'Dear wife, it is nothing.'"

Vi clung to her sister with a fresh burst of tears, but this time they were tears of joy. "O, I'm so glad! I thought I had no papa any more."

A few more soothing words and caresses and Elsie said, "Now I must go and tell poor Eddie. Do you know where he is?"

"Hark! don't you hear him crying way off in the grounds?" said Mary, "I think he's just where he was."

"O, yes, yes!" and Elsie hastened in the direction of the sounds.

She found him lying on the gra.s.s still crying in heart-broken accents, "Oh, I've killed my father, my dear, dear father! what shall I do! what shall I do!"

d.i.c.k and Walter were gone; like the guilty wretches they were, they had fled as soon as they saw what mischief they had caused. But Archie too kind-hearted and n.o.ble to forsake a friend in distress, was still there.