Gabriel Tolliver. Joel Chandler Harris

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СКАЧАТЬ home, he called out to Nan from his gig: "I have brought you a live doll, daughter; come and see how you like it."

      Nan went running—she never learned how to walk until she was several years older—and regarded Tasma Tid with both surprise and sympathy. The African, seeing only the sympathy, leaped from the gig, seized Nan around the waist, lifted her from the ground, ran this way and that, and then released her with a loud and joyous laugh.

      "What do you mean by that?" cried Nan, somewhat taken aback.

      "She stan' fer we howdy," the African answered.

      "Well, let's see you tell popsy howdy," suggested Nan, indicating her father.

      "Uh-uh! he we buckra."

      From that hour Tasma Tid attached herself to Nan, following her everywhere with the unquestioning fidelity of a dog. She sat on the floor of the dining-room while Nan ate her meals, and slept on a pallet by the child's bed at night. If the African was sweeping the yard, a task she sometimes consented to perform, she would fling the brushbroom away and go with Nan if the child started out at the gate. At first this constant attendance was somewhat annoying to Nan, for she was an independent lass; but presently, when she found that Tasma Tid was a most accomplished and versatile playfellow, as well as the depositary of hundreds of curious fables and quaint tales of the wildwood, Nan's irritation disappeared.

      As for Gabriel—Gabriel Tolliver—he was almost as indispensable as the African woman. Children learn a good many things, as they grow older, and I have heard that Nan and Gabriel were thought to be queer, and that all who were much in their company were also thought to be queer. No one knows why. It was a simple statement, and simple statements are readily believed, because no one takes the trouble to inquire into them. A man who has views different from those of the majority is called eccentric; if he insists on promulgating them, he is known as a crank. In the case of Nan and Gabriel, it may be said by one who knows, that, while they were different from the majority of children, they were neither queer nor eccentric.

      They, and those whom they chose as companions, were children at a time when the demoralisation of war was about to begin—when it was already casting its long shadow before it—and when their elders were discussing as hard as ever they could the questions of State rights, the true interpretation of the Constitution, squatter sovereignty, the right of secession—every question, in short, except the one at issue. In this way, and for this reason, the two children and their companions were thrown back upon themselves.

      Of those who formed this merry little company, not one went to the academies that had been established in the town early enough to be its most ancient institutions. Nan was taught by her father, Randolph Dorrington, and Gabriel and I said our lessons to his grandmother, Mrs. Lucy Lumsden. Thus it happened that we were through with our school tasks before the children in the two academies had begun their morning recess.

      "We would never have been such good friends," said Nan on one occasion, "if I hadn't wanted to go to your house, Gabriel, to see how your grandmother wavies her hair. I saw Cephas, and asked him to go along with me." Child as she was, Nan had her little vanities. She desired above all things that her hair should fall away from her brow in little rippling waves, like those that shone in the silver-grey hair of Gabriel's grandmother.

      "Why, my grandmother doesn't wavie her hair at all," protested Gabriel.

      "Of course not," replied Nan, with a toss of the hand; "I found that out for myself. And I was very sorry; I want my hair to wavie like hers and yours."

      "Well, if your hair was to wavie like mine," said Gabriel, "you'd have a mighty hard time combing it in the morning."

      "Don't you remember," Nan went on in a reminiscent way, "that she made you shake hands with me that day? It was funny the way you came up and held out your arm. If I had jumped at you and said Boo! I don't know what would have happened." Gabriel grew very red at this, but Nan ignored his embarrassment. "You had syrup on your fingers, you know, and then we all had some in a saucer. Yes, and we all sopped our bread in the same saucer, and Cephas here got the syrup on his face and in his hair."

      It never occurred to me in those days that Nan was beautiful, or that Gabriel was handsome, but looking back in the light of experience, it is easy to remember that they had in their features all the promises that the long and slow-moving years were to fulfil. I was struck, however, by one peculiarity of Nan's face. When her countenance was at rest, it gave out a hint of melancholy, and there was an appealing look in her brown eyes; but when she smiled or laughed, the sombre face broke up into numberless dimples. Apart from her countenance, there was a charm about her which I have never been able to trace to its source, and which of course is beyond description; and this charm remained, and made itself felt whether the appearance of melancholy had its dwelling-place in her eyes, which were large, and lustrous, and full of tenderness, or whether her face was brilliant with smiles. She had a deserved reputation as a tomboy, but she carried off her tricksy whims with a daintiness that preserved them from all hint of coarseness; and if sometimes she was rude, she had a way of righting herself that none could resist.

      As for Gabriel, he was always large for his age. He was strong and healthy, possessing every physical excuse for roughness and boisterousness; but association with his grandmother, who was one of the gentlest of gentlewomen, had toned him down and smoothed the rough edges. His hair was dark and curly, and his face gave promise of great strength of character—a promise which, it may be said here, was fulfilled to the letter. He was as whimsical as Nan, and, in addition, had moods to which she was a stranger.

      These things did not occur to Cephas the Child, but are the fruits of his memory and experience. He only knew at that time that Nan and Gabriel were both very good to him. He was considerably younger than either of them, and he often wondered then, and has wondered since, why they were such good friends of his, and why they were constantly hunting him up if he failed to make his appearance. Perhaps because he was so full of unadulterated mischief. Gabriel, with all his gravity, was full of a quaint humour, and Nan hunted for cause for laughter in everything; and she was never more beautiful than when this same laughter had shaken her tawny hair about her face.

      We had travelled widely. Nan had been to Malvern with her father, and had seen sights—railway trains, omilybuses, as she called them, a great big hotel, and "oodles" of crippled persons; yes, and besides the crippled persons, there was a blind man standing on the corner with a big card hanging from his neck; and that very day, she had eaten "reesins" until she never wanted 'em any more, as she said. Gabriel and Cephas had not gone so far; but once upon a time, they went to Halcyondale, and, among other things, had seen Major Tomlin Perdue kill sparrows with a pistol. Nan had been anxious to go with them at the time, but when she heard about the slaughter of the sparrows, she was very glad she had stayed at home, for what did a grown man as old as Major Perdue want to kill the poor little brown sparrows for? Nan's question was never answered. Gabriel and Cephas had only seen in the transaction the enviable skill of the Major; whereas Nan thought of nothing but the poor little birds that had been slain for a holiday show. "They may have been singing sparrows, or snow-birds," mourned Nan. True enough; but Gabriel and Cephas had thought of nothing but the skill of the marksman with his duelling pistols. Tasma Tid also had her point of view. "Wey you no fetcha dem lil bud home fer we supper?" She was hardly satisfied when she was told that the little birds, all put together, would have made hardly more than a mouthful.

CHAPTER ONE

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Kettledrum and Fife

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