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Updated: May 3, 2025
Thirty or forty men in brilliant uniform lined up on either side of the huge engine, tugging away at the great horizontal handles, presented a spectacle which no one even in these days of advancement would despise. And the singing! "O Lindy, Lindy my dear honey, Lindy, gal, I'm boun' to go; O Lindy, Lindy my dear honey, O Lindy, gal, I'm boun' to go," etc.
Lindy Briggs uttered a choking cry and clutched her husband; Jed Briggs stared at Scattergood with hunted eyes. "It'll be best for you to tell. I'm standin' your friend, Jed Briggs.... Better tell me than the sheriff.... Asa Levens was here Tuesday night...." "He excused us from payin' our int'rest," said Jed, and then he, too, laughed shrilly. "Let us off our int'rest.
"You didn't let us know he was coming, either, and Lindy says there isn't a thing fit to eat for supper." Fletcher snorted, and then, before entering the house, stopped to haggle with an old Negro woman for a pair of spring chickens hanging dejectedly from her outstretched hand, their feet tied together with a strip of faded calico.
"Fer God's sake, Lindy," she begged, "don't go on denyin' me no more. We used ter love one another ... when I was married ye stud up with me ... when yore fust baby war born I set by yore bedside ... now I'm nigh heart-broke!"
Then I heard the hoof-beats on the soft dirt of the drive. Then silence, the silence of a summer morning which is all myriad sweet sounds. Then Lindy appeared, starched and turbaned. "Marse Dave, how you feel dis mawnin'? Yo' 'pears mighty peart, sholy. Marse Dave, yo' chair is sot on de gallery. Is you ready? I'll fotch dat yaller nigger, Andre." "You needn't fetch Andre," I said; "I can walk."
The boy told the story of that man-hunt without a suspicion that there was anything in it to outrage the feelings of the girl. "If it hadn't been for old Nance Cunningham, I reckon Devil Dave an' his brothers would have fixed up some cock an' bull story about how 'Lindy was drowned by accident. But folks heard Nance an' then wouldn't believe a word they said.
I had a quaint feeling of unreality as I sank back on the red satin cushions and was borne out of the gate between the lions. Monsieur de St. Gre and Nick walked in front, the faithful Lindy followed, and people paused to stare at us as we passed.
"In my country," says he, "men do not but then we have our own customs. I have explain. Now I may depart." "Not so fast, old scout!" says I. "If it's so you're a friend of Lindy, she'll be wantin' to see you, and all we got to do is to step inside and call her down." "But thanks," says he. "It is very kind. I will not trouble, however. It need not be."
To-night at eleven o'clock, 'Lindy, under the big laurel." While she resented his assurance, it none the less coerced her. She did not want a lover who groveled in the dust before her. She wanted one to sweep her from her feet, a young Lochinvar to compel her by the force of his personality. "I'll not be there," she told him. "We'll git right across the river an' be married inside of an hour."
"Lan' sakes, is you Marse Dave?" She opened the door furtively, I thought just wide enough for me to pass through. I found myself in a low-ceiled, darkened room, opposite a trim negress who stood with her arms akimbo and stared at me. "Marse Dave, you doan rec'lect me. I'se Lindy, I'se Breed's daughter. I rec'lect you when you was at Temple Bow. Marse Dave, how you'se done growed!
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