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Updated: June 18, 2025
Three notice-boards, belonging to Dorking agents, lolled on her fence and announced the not surprising fact. Her paths were already weedy; her pocket-handkerchief of a lawn was yellow with dandelions. "The place is ruined!" said the ladies mechanically. "Summer Street will never be the same again." As the carriage passed, "Cissie's" door opened, and a gentleman came out of her. "Stop!" cried Mrs.
But somehow the stars multiplied and kept Cissie's image before Peter a cold, frightened girl, harassed with coming motherhood, peering at those chill, distant lights out of the blackness of a jail. The mulatto decided to spend the night in his mother's cabin. He would do his packing, and be ready for the down-river boat in the morning. He found his way to his own gate in the darkness.
She has only to laugh at the proper intervals. However, these intervals are not always distinctly marked. Some girls take no chances and laugh all the time. Cissie's appreciation was the sedative Peter needed. The relief of her laughter and her presence ran along his nerves and unkinked them, like a draft of Kentucky Special after a debauch.
Peter puzzled over it time and time again as he waited in Hooker's Bend for the outcome of Cissie's trial. The octoroon's imprisonment came to an end on the third day after Tump's death. Sam Arkwright's parents had not known of their son's legal proceedings, and Mr. Arkwright immediately quashed the warrant, and hushed up the unfortunate matter as best he could.
Higgman was out of the cabin, and Peter stood at the little square window, with his arm about Cissie's waist, looking out to the rear of the steamer. A strong east wind blew the spray away from the glass, and Peter could see the huge wheel covered with a waterfall thundering beneath him. Back of the wheel stretched a long row of even waves and troughs.
Still, it struck him that it would not be precisely the thing to call on Cissie immediately after Tump's arrest. It might look as if Then the thought came that, as a neighbor, he should stop and tell Cissie of Tump's misfortune. He really ought to offer his services to Cissie, if he could do anything. At Cissie's request he might even aid Tump Pack himself.
But somehow Cissie's visit increased the old woman's wrath. She remained obstinately in the kitchen, and made remarks not only audible, but arresting, through the thin partition that separated it from the poor living-room. Cissie was hardly inside when a voice stated that it hated to see a gal running after a man, trying to bait him with a lot of fum-diddles.
Cissie's face looked bloodless in the blanched light of the gasolene- lamp. She forced a faint, doubtful smile. "You don't seem very glad to see me, Peter." "I am," he assured her, mechanically, but he really felt nothing but astonishment and dismay. They filled his voice. He was afraid some one would see Cissie in his room.
You say we're together " "Oh, I'm a woman. We haven't the chance to do as we will." A kind of titillation went over Peter's scalp and body. "Then you are going to stay here and marry Tump?" He uttered the name in a queer voice. Tears started in Cissie's eyes; her bosom lifted to her quick breathing. "I I don't know what I'm going to do," she stammered miserably.
He suspected he was hinting at Cissie's visit to his room. However, he did not dare ask any questions or press the point in any manner, lest he commit himself. The minstrel had succeeded in making Peter's walk very uncomfortable, as somehow he always did. Peter went on thinking about the matter. If Jim Pink knew of Cissie's visit, all Niggertown knew it.
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