CHAPTER XVII.

“JES’ MISS ANNE.”

Columbus was sitting out in the wood-shed one morning late in March. He was absorbed in picking over a pan of chicken feathers, from which he had selected such as he thought might be suitable to adorn a new hat for his doll. “Your doll ought to have an Easter bonnet,” Persis had told him.

“What are Eastah, Miss Anne?” Columbus asked, and “Miss Anne” explained, as best she could, concluding with the remark, “In the city, where I used to live, Columbus, everybody likes to dress up in something new for Easter.”

“I wisht I could see ’em, Miss Anne.”

“Perhaps you can some day, when you have grown to be a man, and have become a famous dress-maker, with an establishment like Worth’s or Redfern’s.”

Columbus grinned. It was a favorite joke with him and Miss Anne. He was thinking of Easter now. “An’ I gwine git Miss Anne some Eastah aigs lak she done tell me ‘bout; I cyarnt git none o’ dem little mek-believe rabbits what she say dey has, too; but I gwine git her rabbit-foot fo’ good luck. Lef’ han’ hin’ foot o’ a rabbit cotched in a grabeyard in de dark ob de moon. Dat what ole Han’bal say. Ole Unc’ Han’bal say dat, an’ I mek up mah min’ Miss Anne ’bleedged ter hev one. I thes knows she are. Dey ain’t all de bestes’ frien’s to’ds Miss Anne ‘roun’ hyar, dat dey ain’t; an’ I ‘low I ain’t gwine let her git inter no kin’ o’ trouble ef I kin he’p it, ’deedy I ain’t.” Thus Columbus soliloquized over his pan of feathers.

He picked out a particularly long, prancing cock’s feather, and held it out at arm’s length. “Dat thes what I lookin’ fo’,” he exclaimed, “an’ I cyarnt do no better’n dat ef I tries all day. I has my eye on dat fedder befo’ dish yer ole rooster git he neck twis’. I been watchin’ dis long, droopy fedder dis many a day. I knowed ole rooster gwine drap hit some time or nur’r, or essen I gwine fin’ hit in de pan whilst he a-bilin’ in de pot. Lemme see, dat all? Who dat a-comin’ lickety-split up de lane? My lan’!”

Columbus dropped his pan and fled with long, springing leaps towards the road. Two horses were dashing furiously up the lane. They were harnessed to a buggy, in which sat Persis, vainly tugging at the lines. It was Dr. Rivers’s vehicle. He was that day trying a pair of new horses, and was bringing Persis home behind them. Getting out to open a gate, he had left her to hold the lines. The horses had taken fright at a white chicken which suddenly started up in the road, and now the pair were running away.

Columbus took in the situation at a glance. He did not hesitate a moment. If the horses should swerve ever so little, it would, perhaps, mean death to his adored Miss Anne, and he ran full tilt towards them. The terrified creatures came on faster and faster. The boy made a grasp at one of the check-reins and seized it, but he was dragged forward, stumbling, falling, but still holding on. At last, with this weight tugging at his bit, the horse stopped, and the other, prancing, trembling, tossing his head, also came to a stand-still just before the last gate-way was reached, but not before poor Columbus had been dragged along, had received more than one blow from the sharp hoofs, and now lay on the ground, stunned, bleeding, but still holding the rein.

By this time Dr. Rivers came up. “Miss Anne, are you all right?” he asked, anxiously. “Thank God, you did not try to jump.”

“Oh, never mind me, doctor; see to poor Columbus. Oh, don’t tell me he is killed!” And Persis looked, shuddering, at the limp figure which the doctor dragged from under the wheels.

“Poor fellow, I’m afraid he is done for,” he said.

“Oh, no, no,” cried Persis, beginning to climb out of the buggy.

“Wait,” the doctor advised. “I must fasten these horses. There, now, you may get out, Miss Anne. That is the last of this team for any one. I fancy these blacks have run away before, or they wouldn’t have shied at a chicken. A horse that has once run away is never safe.”

Persis was leaning over the unconscious form of the poor boy. “Oh, doctor, he has saved my life, and has given his own.” And the tears rained down her cheeks.

By this time Mrs. Temple, Aunt Ginny, and others had gathered around, and Columbus was gently lifted and carried to the house.

The doctor shook his head gravely, as he made a careful examination. “I’m afraid he can’t live long. He may linger awhile, but there is not much chance of ultimate recovery. All we can do is to make him as easy as possible, after I have dressed his hurts; that one on his head is pretty bad.”

Persis was kneeling by the boy’s side. One of his hands still held the feather which he had borne to the scene of the accident, and which clung to the flesh where it was cut through.

He opened his eyes after a while. “Miss Anne,” he said, faintly.

“I’m here, Columbus.”

“Yuh ain’t killed?”

“No, I am not even hurt.”

“Den, I done hit.”

“Yes, you saved me. If the horses had reached the gate-posts, the chances are that I should have been flung out. Oh, Columbus!”

The doctor shook his head at her. “He must be kept perfectly quiet. It is his only chance. We’ll do our best for him, but even if he should live he would probably be a cripple. I think partial paralysis is likely to ensue, so he would be useless.”

“Not useless, with such a brave soul,” whispered Persis.

“Aunt Ginny is a good nurse,” the doctor went on. “You’d better let her take charge of him, and go lie down. Your nerves are pretty well shaken. I’ll give you a composing draught.”

But Persis could not be satisfied to give Columbus up entirely to his old grandmother’s care, and spent many an hour by his side in the next few days; and, strange to say, Columbus did seem to get better.

“His internal injuries were not so great as I at first thought them,” the doctor told them.

After a while the boy began to hobble about on crutches, still very weak and hollow-eyed, but patient and uncomplaining. Miss Anne, his beloved doll, and his box of pieces seemed to be sufficient to fill him with content.

Persis robbed one of her own hats that the doll should have a marvellous Easter bonnet. “After all,” she sighed, “it would have been an easy solution of many difficulties if I had gone out of the world,” but she reproached herself the next moment. “While I can be useful I have no right to say such a thing.”

Easter was coming very near, and Columbus had not given up his idea of getting Miss Anne a rabbit’s foot. There was something connected with its supposed mysterious influence which somehow in his simple mind seemed to make it an appropriate Easter offering. He had strange ideas concerning the year’s spring festival. If Easter-eggs and rabbits, why not a rabbit’s foot? And so he laboriously set forth to hobble off to a cabin in the woods where lived an old colored man who had promised to secure him the luckiest kind of a voodoo charm in the shape of a rabbit’s foot, in return for the boy’s long-hoarded store of pennies, and Columbus returned with it in his pocket. He felt weak and exhausted after his unusual effort, and a few days after was “down sick” Aunt Ginny told them.

The old woman’s little cabin stood not far from the house. It was a remarkable-looking place inside, with the queerest jumble of things on the mantel and other shelves. It had always had a fascination for Persis, who thought the nodding mandarin figures of coarse plaster, the cheap glass-ware, the skins and stuffed birds, the big black fireplace with its crane and its baking kettle, all made it as grotesque an apartment as she had ever seen.

“Columbus he plum sick agin,” Aunt Ginny brought word to the house.

“What seems to be the matter?” asked Mrs. Temple.

“He got a misery in he haid, an’ he say he th’oat feel mighty quare. I ast him do he want nothin’, an’ he say ‘jes’ Miss Anne.’”

“I’ll go see him right after breakfast,” Persis decided promptly. And this she did.

The boy’s eyes were very bright and his speech hoarse and thick, but he smiled a welcome. “Miss Anne,” he said, huskily, “when dat Eastah?”

“Day after to-morrow, Columbus.”

“I feels lak I ain’t gwine ter see hit.”

“Oh, yes, you will. Why, Columbus, you were so near to dying a while ago, and see how you came through it.”

He shook his head.

“His throat seems to hurt him. Have you looked at it?” Persis asked Aunt Ginny.

“No, I ain’t ‘zackly _look_. I give him a winegar goggle dis mawnin’.”

“I think the doctor ought to see him,” Persis remarked. “I’ll go after him. I promised to go there to-day anyhow.”

Columbus turned his big mournful eyes on her. “Is you cornin’ back befo’ dat Eastah?” he asked.

“I think so, but I am not sure.”

“Den, granny, please ma’am, jes’ put yo’ han’ un’neat’ my pillow, an’ get me out dat little passel yuh fin’ dere.”

Granny obeyed, and Columbus took it in his hand. “I ain’t got de aigs what I was a gwine ter git, but I has a rabbit-foot fo’ yuh, Miss Anne; hit lucky, an’ I done got hit fo’ yuh.”

Persis recoiled. She could not bear to touch the uncanny thing, but she saw the eager look in the boy’s, face and she accepted the gift with all the grace she could summon.

“Hit boun’ter bring yuh luck; hit de mos’ luck’es’ kin’,” continued Columbus; “an’ yo en’mies ain’t gwine ter do yuh no mo’ ha’m.”

“Dat so,” chimed in Aunt Ginny. “Whar you git hit at, ’Lumbus?”

“Ole Unc’ Han’bal’s.”

“Yuh ain’t been dar?”

“Why, Columbus, that’s ’way off in the woods two miles, isn’t it? and through the swamp and all. How could you manage it?” exclaimed Persis.

“I ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout de furness ob hit,” said Aunt Ginny. “What I thinkin’ is dat uvery blessed one o’ Unc’ Han’bal’s gran’chilluns is got de diphthery. Dat what I a-thinkin’. Yuh ain’t oughter be hyar, Miss Anne. Dat what got ’Lumbus. I ’bleedged ter go tell Miss Marthy; she set out ter come hyar torreckly.”

“Go tell her, and I’ll stay here. I’d better not go back to the house myself till I’ve seen the doctor. Bring my hat and coat and my gloves, Aunt Ginny.”

Aunt Ginny made her exit, and Persis remained.

“I knowed I ain’t gwine see dat Eastah,” whispered Columbus, still more huskily. “Miss Anne, ef I dies, will yuh dress my doll in her mo’nin’?”

“Why,—oh, Columbus, don’t think of such things.”

“Please, Miss Anne?”

“Yes, yes; I will.”

“An’ will yuh tek her an’ tek keer o’ her twel de day I’se bu’ied, an’ den dress her in her white frock an’ let her be bu’ied with me?”

“Oh, yes, certainly; but please don’t talk so, Columbus. You’ll get well—you must.”

“I wisht you’d put on her new frock an’ dat pretty hat an’ set her hyar on de baid, please, ma’am.” And Persis obeyed, feeling strangely apprehensive. She had just finished tying the hat on the doll’s head, when Aunt Ginny returned.

“I’ll go right off,” Persis said. “Columbus, I’m going to send the doctor here to make you well; and we’ll have a nice Easter, I’m sure. I’ll come back as soon as I can. Did you tell Mrs. Temple, Aunt Ginny?”

“Yass, miss; an’ she say huccome yuh don’t come back, she know why.”

“Very well. Good-bye, Columbus.” And she was soon on her way down the road towards the village. She found the doctor in his office, and told her errand.

“Humph!” he said; “and you’ve been there exposing yourself to the contagion. You’d better not go back to Mrs. Temple and those children.”

Persis looked distressed.

“You just stay here,” added the doctor. “The mischief’s done, I suppose; but there are no children in this house, and here you stay, miss. Let me see,—you have holiday to-day.”

“Yes; it is Good-Friday.”

“So much the better. If you were to take diphtheria it wouldn’t do to carry it to your scholars.”

“Indeed, no; but I hope I’m safe.”

“I’ll try to keep you so, but you’re in just the state to take it.”

“Now, doctor, why try to scare me?”

“I’m not; I’m simply showing you that you must take care of yourself. You’re not given to doing it, and you’re run down and peaked-looking. You’ve had too much of a strain lately. You need a tonic.”

“Oh, I’m always rather less hearty in the spring.”

“Yes, yes, no doubt; but I know you’ve had a dozen things to pull you down lately,—nursing that nigger boy and fussing over that girl of Flint’s, besides the nervous shocks you have had.”

“Doctor, it’s no use trying to keep secrets from you. I believe you have second sight, or are the seventh son of a seventh son, or something of that kind.”

“I’m not a blind idiot. I know that two and two make four.”

“Where did you find the two twos?”

“You mean in that Flint affair? Well, one of the school children whom I was attending told me how Joe Flint had acted, and also how she believed Virginia Southall had put her up to it. You must remember that a patient has a good chance to dispense gossip. And then Dick Southall called on me to give him a little attention, which it was quite evident he needed. Young men don’t fall out of their buggies and get quite that kind of marks on them. Patient number three tells me that Miss Anne actually goes and takes tea at the Flints’, and that Joe fairly worships the ground she walks on. You see, my multiplication table doesn’t have to be carried on very far.”

Persis smiled, “I think perhaps I’d better give you the inside facts, and let you scold me.” And she told him of her night in the school-house, of the events which led to it, and its sequel, sparing Josephine as much as she could.

But the doctor did no scolding. He fumbled around in his medicine closet, and made no remark for some minutes. “Here,” he said at last, pouring something out in a glass, “take this, and go up-stairs and tell Mrs. Rivers that I say to see that you have some good chicken broth for dinner, and that your room is dry and warm, and that you don’t sit in draughts.”

“And you won’t let me go back to poor Columbus.”

“I see myself!”

“Then I will try to submit gracefully. Oh, I forgot, I’m proof against all evil.” And she produced her rabbit’s foot. “I forgot to tell you, or did I say? that Columbus had been to Uncle Hannibal’s, where they have three cases of diphtheria, and that he got the rabbit’s foot from there.”

The doctor held out his hand for Columbus’s gift and, opening the door of the stove, he threw it inside. “That’s the best thing to do with that,” he remarked.

“Thank you,” returned Persis. “I hated to touch it. I am too fond of little Molly Cotton-tails to want their poor little feet as charms.”

“No, you don’t need them,” returned the doctor, picking up his hat.

His report of Columbus’s case was not encouraging. “The boy has been in a pretty bad way all along,” he said. “He couldn’t have stood any disease, and I’m afraid he’ll not pull through; but we’ll make a fight for it.”

The tears came to Persis’s eyes. “And all for me,” she murmured. “Doctor, it is a dreadful responsibility, this of our duty towards our neighbor. I’ve done so little for that poor boy, and he sacrificed his life for me. I can’t get him out of my mind.”

“You’d better,” replied the doctor. “See here, Miss Anne, you’ve got a way of taking things too much to heart. You must get over it.”

“I can’t, and I do not know that I want to.”

The doctor gave her a glance which expressed several things,—disapproval that she made light of her own dangers; approval that she was willing to bear others’ burdens. “I never had but one crow to pick with you,” he said.

“And that is——?”

“That you don’t let those good people at home know where you are.” And he left the room.

This was on Saturday. On Easter morning Persis was standing on the porch in the spring sunshine, just after the doctor had driven off, when a little scrap of a darky came up the steps.

“Dis Miss Anne?” he asked.

“Yes; did you want to see me?”

“Aun’ Ginny she say ’Lumbus mighty bad.”

“Oh, poor boy!”

“An’ is de doctah gwine let you come see ’im?”

“Why?”

“Kase he keep a-sayin, ‘I wants Miss Anne. Jes’ Miss Anne,’ Aun’ Ginny say.”

“Tell her I’ll come.”

The small bow-legged specimen of humanity soberly dropped an old-fashioned bow, pulling at the tuft of wool on his expansive forehead as he did so, and then he turned and went up the road.

Persis entered the house and sought Mrs. Rivers. “What shall I do?” she said. “That poor boy is begging for me. And oh, Mrs. Rivers, he did not regard his danger, but flung himself before those horses to save me. Can I let him lie there longing to see me, and not go to him? I don’t believe I’m in any greater danger than at first, and I was with him then, you know.”

Mrs. Rivers looked thoughtful. “I’m afraid to advise. I know what the doctor would say.”

“What?”

“Don’t go”

“‘Greater love hath no man than this,’ and it is Easter-day. Mrs. Rivers, I must. Don’t say a word. I take my life in my hands, perhaps, but, after all, what is it?”

“Don’t stay long, and come right back. I’ll see that you are provided with the necessary safeguards. You’d better have this bottle of camphor, and—well, Miss Anne, I know how you feel, and I think I should do just as you are doing if I were in your place.”

“Thank you. I’ll do my best.” And in a few moments she was on her way. The light of the Easter promise hung over the land. The spring was near at hand, yet Persis felt conscious, even then, of a chilliness and of a tightness about her throat.

She came in sight of Aunt Ginny’s cabin; a flood of sunlight struck its whitewashed walls. “What a glorious Easter-day!” thought the girl. Just then the door of the little dwelling opened, and she met the doctor face to face. His face was very grave. “How is he?” inquired Persis. “Oh, doctor, he asked for me, and I could not deny a poor dying boy on Easter-day. I could not.” She paused. “May I go in, please, and see him, just one minute?”

The doctor shook his head. “Columbus knows better than we do the meaning of Easter,” he answered, gently. “Come home with me, Miss Anne.”

[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’]