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He had somehow injured his knee that he could not walk a step. His father stooped to lift him. "I'll carry you, Markie," he said. "Oh, no, no, you must not, papa! It will tire you! Set me on that stone, and send Jacob. He carries a sack of meal, and I'm not so heavy as a sack of meal." His father was already walking homeward with him. The next moment Mark spied the waving of a dress.
I should prefer more quiet. How is my daughter Tabb? Mother and son are improving, I trust. I hope you and Markie are also doing well. No change in myself as yet. The girls would send love if I could find them. Affectionately yours, "Mrs. R. E. Lee. R. E. Lee." A few days later he writes: "White Sulphur Springs, August 14, 1869.
He did not show them much kindness, but a little went a great way with them, and they loved him. "Mind you're well, before I come again, Markie," he said as he took his leave; "you're not a pleasant sight moping about the house!" The tears came in the child's eyes. He was not moping only weakly and even when looking a little sad, was quite happy. "I don't think I mope, Hessy do I?" he said.
You must give a great deal of love to Fitzhugh, Tabb, my grandson Robert, and all with you. "Most truly and affectionately, "R. E. Lee. "P. S. Monday. Your note of the 6th with Colonel Allen's letter has just been received. I am very sorry to hear of Tabb's sickness. I hope that she will be well by the time of my arrival. I shall be glad to see Markie. "R. E. Lee. "Mrs. R. E. Lee."
I will tell you hereafter of a most comical account Mr. has given me of the prolonged and still protracted pseudo-pregnancy of a woman called Markie, who for many more months than are generally required for the process of continuing the human species, pretended to be what the Germans pathetically and poetically call 'in good hope, and continued to reap increased rations as the reward of her expectation, till she finally had to disappoint the estate and receive a flogging.
"When Majie comes," he said one of those days, "he must not go again." "Why, Markie?" asked his mother, almost without a meaning, for her thought was with her eldest-born, her disgrace. "Because, if he does," he answered, "I shall not see much of him." The mother looked at the child, but said nothing. Sorrow was now the element of her soul.
I'm turrible clumsy with strangers, specially women, an' I want t' do what's right." "'T ain't a woman!" This declaration was wrung from Mark. "What's that?" Billy sprang from his chair. "Now, Markie, do be keerful!" cautioned Pa, "don't make no statement ye can't stand by. Nation! that fat is burnin'!" "I said, 'twarn't no woman painter as done Janet.
He is so patient with him, Markie! 'I know that, Jesus, I said; 'I know that he could easily take him to pieces again because he don't go well, but he would much rather make him go right' I suppose I was thinking of mamma's beautiful gold watch, with the wreath of different-coloured gold round the face of it: that wouldn't go right, and papa wanted to change it, but mamma liked the old one best.
"Well, I'll lay the things on fur the noon meal, Pa, you tend t' business." "But you ain't slept, Markie. Up all night an' no sleep nex' day! 'T won't do, Markie, now will it?" "I'll sleep, come night time." Mark seized his third almost boiling cruller and turned to Billy. "You ain't seen Janet, hev you?" Billy looked guilty. "No, an' I ain't a-goin' t' this trip.
He stood with his arms folded, like a sentry relieved, and waiting the next order. Even Corney's eyes filled with tears, and he murmured, "Poor Markie!" It should have been "Poor Corney!" He stooped and kissed the insensate face, then drew back and gazed with the rest on the little pilgrim-cloak the small prophet had dropped as he rose to his immortality.
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