Edwin Fuller - Sea-gift

“I am afraid not before another moon. We are talking, however, of getting up a picnic for the Sound next – .” They passed down the room, and out of hearing, as Cassell and Miss Ella came up, she all smiles, he all languor.

“You say they are from the western part of the State?” he inquired, with a drawl, as if he only pursued the subject because he was too lazy to find another.

“Yes,” replied Miss Ella, with nervous vivacity, “from Charlotte, I think. They are quite an addition to our society, are they not?”

“Quite!” laconicised Cassell, as if he had done all for the subject that could be required of him.

“And then,” she continued, “they are connected with the Cartoneaus of South Carolina, who, you know, are some of the first people in the State. Mr. Paning brought a letter of introduction to pa from Judge Francis Cartoneau. He and ma called, of course, and were much pleased, though Mrs. Paning, ma thought, was a little stiff.”

Lulie and I were immensely interested in this conversation, and eagerly listened for its further development.

Mr. Cassell paused awhile, as if to debate whether his system could stand a continuance of the conversation, then, with a resigned arch of his eyebrows to himself, asked:

“Do they intend to reside here?”

“Oh yes, they have bought Mr. Huxley’s place, and are having it fitted up in magnificent style. When they move in I understand they intend giving a grand ball!”

Mr. Cassell paused again, then taking a flower from his lappel, bit it savagely, and asked:

“Have they any daughters?” as if it was the last question she might expect from him.

“No, they have only one child – a little boy – named Frank, after his uncle, Judge Cartoneau.”

Cassell did not appear at all interested in the name of the little boy, but I was intensely so, and leaned in the door to hear more, but, unfortunately, they had passed down the room out of hearing, while Miss Gertrude and her beau came again into audience. They were still on the subject of the excursion, and Mr. Berton was verging towards the sentimental, while Miss Gertrude was encouraging him with all the art she could command.

“I’ll vow I didn’t, Miss Gerty; I sat apart almost the whole night, thinking of you.”

“Why, Mr. Berton! Ella told me you were perfectly devoted to Miss Withers.”

“Withers, indeed! she’s perfectly horrid; but did you think enough of me to inquire what I did?”

“Of course, I – ” Her remarks were broken off, as far as we were concerned, by the entrance of the gentlemen from the dining room. We tried to dodge, and get away, but two of them caught us, and holding us by the ears, asked our names – which question seems to be, with most people, a test of a child’s intelligence. To answer it was a task I dreaded more than Hercules did the Augean stables. My name, short as it was, seemed to stretch into a length equal to the King of Siam’s whenever I had to pronounce it; and I have often blessed the man who invented cards. There being no escape now, we drawled out, respectively, “John Smith” and “Lulie Mayland,” and were released, one of our captors remarking as we scampered off:

“Smith, you and Mayland ought to raise them up for each other. They will make a fine match one of these days.”

I fully forgave him for asking my name, and earnestly wished he might be a prophet.

Glad to get away, Lulie and I ran out into the back yard, and played till ‘twas very dark, when one of the servants came to call us in. We found all the guests gone but Dr. and Mrs. Mayland, who were just entering their carriage. I bade Lulie a hasty good-bye, and turned back into the house, feeling a joyous flutter about the heart, as if a humming bird were enclosed in it and was struggling to escape. Mother met me in the hall, and said:

“John, it is so late you need not get your lesson to-night, but, as you are perhaps sleepy, you can go into the nursery, and I will come in and hear you say your prayers.”

Though I was a good stout boy, mother could not get out of the old habit of seeing me to bed, and hearing me repeat my prayers aloud.

I entered the nursery, but instead of undressing, sat down by the fire, and began —

“Fancy unto fancy linking.”

Again I was on the desert island, but the boot track had disappeared, and our snug grotto received the addition of a grate, a rug, and a house model. The savages came, and smacked their bloody lips through the bars of our cave, and yelled with eager desire to reach us, but I cared not. I was happy as long as those curls were drooping over the blocks, and I was stealing kisses from the rosy architect.

Mother came in, and broke my reverie. I got up, undressed, and kneeled down by her side. Laying my cheek on her knee, I commenced “Our father” with my tongue, while my mind was still in the grotto with Lulie. I had not repeated half, when a ferocious savage tore loose a bar, and was squeezing himself through the aperture, while I stood on the defensive, with one of the Corinthian columns of our little house for a weapon, ready to strike down the invaders. So vivid was the picture that even my tongue forgot its office, and with the broken prayer upon my lips I lay gazing into the glowing coals. Mother’s hands touched my head as she said gently:

“My child, what are you thinking of? Remember, you are praying to the great God, who will not hear you unless you ask in earnest. If you were asking your father for something you wished very much would you not think of what you were saying?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, meekly, at length recalled from my vision.

“And do you not want God to take care of father and mother, and yourself, to-night?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then ask him as you ought.” And with that soft hand upon my head all earthly visions vanished, and I repeated the oft-said prayer, with all of childhood’s earnestness, and its simple, trusting faith.

I rose, got in the bed, received mother’s good-night kiss, and, as I closed my eyes, Queen Mab’s grey gnat coachman drove his atomic team across my nose, and Lulie, models, savages, Cassell, Miss Gertrude, and crestfallen Prank Paning, all danced before me, and danced me to sleep.

On the morning succeeding the day described in the last chapter, father startled me very much at the breakfast table, by asking:

“John, how would you like to commence school? you are getting too old to be playing all the time.”

“Oh, ever so much!” I replied, eagerly, watching his face closely, to see if he was in earnest. “Ned Cheyleigh began last session, and I can read and spell as well as he can now, so it will be easy for me to keep up.”

“Well, I saw Miss Hester Weck about it yesterday, and she said she would be very glad to take you, so you can get ready to start to-morrow morning.”

I was too much excited to eat any more, but began teazing mother to begin right away on my school outfit.

“Mother, I want a satchel to carry my books in, and a basket for my luncheon; and, mother, please get me a string for my top, because all the boys play top, and I broke my string yesterday; and father, please sir, get me a knife to peel apples and to cut pencils with, and a piece of leather to make me a sling, and a – ”

“Hush, Johnnie,” said mother, “be quiet, and I will be sure to have you ready. The school room is just around the corner, so you can come home for your lunch; and as your ‘books’ only consist of one ‘Angell’s First Book’ you will hardly need a bag.”

I gulped down a mouthful of food, then hastening from the table, I got my Reader and devoted the whole morning to picking out all the hard words and spelling them over. By dinner time I had mastered nearly all of them, and could read with considerable fluency the pathetic tale of retributive justice which befel the cruel James Killfly.