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Updated: May 9, 2025
He could have summered her in love, if she would but have been passive and happy! He asked no more of her than that. Poor, silent, passionate Dode! No one knew her as he knew her! What were that man's cold blue eyes telling her now at the house? It mattered nothing to him. He went across the cornfield to the church, his thin coat flapping in the wind, looking at his rusty pistol with a shudder.
Her father saw it. He had better not tell her his fancy to-night about Gaunt wishing her to be his wife. He hallooed to him, bidding him "hap up an' come along till see what the Yankees were about. Go in, Dode, you sha'n't be worrit, child." Gaunt came closer, fastening his thin coat. A lean face, sharpened by other conflicts than disease, poetic, lonesome eyes, not manly.
He goes to another house and wipes his boots on the mat. Now, every man who uses that mat must get some of the stuff on his boots, and he spreads it over every other door-mat that he wipes them on. Now, don't he?" "Why dode you tague thad sbell frob udder by dose?" "Well, then, my idea is to construct a door-mat that will disinfect those boots.
So she used to take longer walks before breakfast, and cry sharply, incessantly, in her heart, as the man did who was tainted with leprosy, "Lord, help me!" And the Lord always did help her. My story is of Dode; so I must tell you that these passion-fits were the only events of her life. For the rest, she washed and sewed and ironed.
So they were married, Douglas and Dode, in the wide winter night. A few short words, that struck the very depths of their being, to make them one: simple words, wrung out of the man's thin lips with what suffering only he knew. "Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder." Thus he shut himself out from her forever.
"Where is he, Uncle Bone? where?" The old man understood all. "Gone dead, darlin'." holding her hand in his paw, tenderly. "Don't fret, chile! Down in de Tear-coat gully. Dead, chile, dead! Don't yer understan'?" "He is not dead," she said, quietly. "Open the gate," pulling at the broken hasp. "Fur de Lor's sake, Mist' Dode, come in 'n' bathe yer feet 'n' go to bed! Chile, yer crazy!"
"But how are you going to get the goods on him?" asked Oliver. "I'll manage that easily," laughed Ned. "The first thing is to catch him. Now, Frank, you saw where Bradley went?" "Why, he headed for the old counterfeiter den." "Think you can keep track of him for a short time?" "Can I?" You know it!" "Then take Dode with you, so as to be in communication with the camp, and follow him!
The women kissed each other as often as women do whose kisses are cheap, and Mis' Browst set off down the road. Bone, turning to shut the gate, felt a cold hand on his arm. "Gor-a'mighty! Mist' Dode, what is it?" The figure standing in the snow wrapt in a blue cloak shook as he touched it. Was she, too, struck with death? Her eyes were burning, her face white and clammy.
When trouble stabbed Dode to the quick, she was one of those people who do not ask for help, but go alone, like a hurt deer, until the wound heals or kills. This was a loss for life. Of course, this throbbing pain would grieve itself down; but in all the years to come no one would take just the place her old father had left vacant.
Why didn't you come to camp?" "This is the boy that built the Boy Scout signals!" Jimmie said, bringing the other forward. "His name is Dode Surratt, and he's a bold, bad boy, being at present lookout for a gang of counterfeiters!" "That's a nice clean job," Oliver replied. "Where are the counterfeiters?" "At work in a hole in the ground. Hear the click of their machines?
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