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The Colonel and his friends sprang up with shocked faces and hurried back. But before them were the negroes, now gathered in helpless, awe-struck groups about a small boy lying in the path. It was little Mesmie, and a glance at her arms, the shattered, still smoking fragments of a giant cracker, told the pitiful story of inexperience, a quick fuse, irreparable horror.
Miss Liz had offered to do this, and so had Jane and Ann, but the old woman indignantly waved them aside. "What d' you-all know 'bout nussin'?" she had asked, with a fine degree of scorn. But the true reason was that Bip loved Mesmie, and this gave Mesmie a claim upon Aunt Timmie's love. Uncle Zack was sitting, shortly after noon a week later, on the door step of Bradford's cottage.
To the side, and ready to champion her little friend, stood Mesmie, daughter of Bradford, the overseer, with one bare foot pressing nervously on the instep of its mate, and her fingers twisting the end of her long, golden plait. This was apprehension, not embarrassment. The old negro's pretended anger invariably deceived this little girl as it frequently puzzled the boy.
Then, catching an inspiration, he asked: "Why does you swaller when you'se chawin' a piece of cake?" "I don't know; just do. I reckon!" "Dar now, Mesmie, ain' he a smart li'l man?" the old fellow chuckled. "Dat's de ve'y reason you jes' do! An' dat's 'zackly what de knuckles does dey jes' do! Now, since we done relieve ourse'ves on dat pint, le's move 'long!"
If he thinks Mesmie can wait that long, I'll stop to-night and get ready. That's all. Tell him, will you, Aunt Timmie? And let me know? I'll be up stairs pretty soon." A soft light crept into her face. "We don' need it now, chile," she murmured. "We'se gwine git some nice, soft lady-like skin. De doctor's done gone arter her!" "You don't mean Miss Jane!" he turned furiously upon her.
The Colonel was not in his accustomed place on the honeysuckled end of the porch, nor was Zack about, so she dismounted alone and tied the lathery beast. Perhaps they were at Bradford's cottage, comforting little Mesmie. Perhaps they were but she tried not to think of that! Never had the world seemed so deserted. Nothing was astir.
"You'd moved your Queen to her Bishop's second, hadn't you? Ah, yes! Then my Bishop takes your Bishop's pawn, and checks. Now, sir, watch out! I'm coming after you in good earnest!" As it happened no one intruded upon the drive to church. When four o'clock came around Bip had taken Mac down on the creek with Bob and Mesmie, to hunt under the stones for crawfish.
At half past eight o'clock in the morning Aunt Timmie was tidying up the room, Doctor Stone was removing his white jacket, and, on an adjoining cot to Mesmie, Nancy lay dozing from the effect of an anæsthetic. Her face held a frown, as though even in slumber the memory of the ordeal was following her. "I'll go now," he whispered, "and be back at twelve. You know what to do."
"Go on, den, an' find de Willer-de-Wispies. De chile's done been honin' 'bout 'em in his sleep. An' mind, don' let 'im git nigh no pisen-ivy! An' Zack," she called, as they were riding away with Mesmie now up behind Bip, "git 'im back heah by twelve!"
The windows were getting black now; night was settling over the earth; yet this man in whose hands rested the fate of Mesmie walked softly back and forth across the room, muttering: "I must have good skin." "I knows whar you kin git good skin," she whispered excitedly, arising and grasping him by the sleeve.
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