LITMIR.BIZ

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“ef she ain't recommembered.” Recovering his gravity and the brush simultaneously, he made Virginia a low bow. “Mornin', Miss Jinny. I sholy is gwinter s'lute you dis day. May de good Lawd make you happy, Miss Jinny, an' give you a good husban'—”

      “Thank you, Mister Johnson, thank you,” said Virginia, blushing.

      “How come she recommembered, Marse Comyn? Dat's de quality. Dat's why. Doan't you talk to Ned 'bout de quality, Marsa.”

      “And when did I ever talk to you about the quality, you scalawag?” asks the Colonel, laughing.

      “Th' ain't none 'cept de bes' quality keep they word dat-a-way,” said Ned, as he went off to tell Uncle Ben in the kitchen.

      Was there ever, in all this wide country, a good cook who was not a tyrant? Uncle Ben Carvel was a veritable emperor in his own domain; and the Colonel himself, had he desired to enter the kitchen, would have been obliged to come with humble and submissive spirit. As for Virginia, she had had since childhood more than one passage at arms with Uncle Ben. And the question of who had come off victorious had been the subject of many a debate below stairs.

      There were a few days in the year, however, when Uncle Ben permitted the sanctity of his territory to be violated. One was the seventh of December. On such a day it was his habit to retire to the broken chair beside the sink (the chair to which he had clung for five-and-twenty years). There he would sit, blinking, and carrying on the while an undercurrent of protests and rumblings, while Miss Virginia and other young ladies mixed and chopped and boiled and baked and gossiped. But woe to the unfortunate Rosetta if she overstepped the bounds of respect! Woe to Ned or Jackson or Tato, if they came an inch over the threshold from the hall beyond! Even Aunt Easter stepped gingerly, though she was wont to affirm, when assisting Miss Jinny in her toilet, an absolute contempt for Ben's commands.

      “So Ben ordered you out, Mammy?” Virginia would say mischievously.

      “Order me out! Hugh! think I'se skeered o' him, honey? Reckon I'd frail 'em good ef he cotched hole of me with his black hands. Jes' let him try to come upstairs once, honey, an' see what I say to 'm.”

      Nevertheless Ben had, on one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, ordered Mammy Easter out, and she had gone. And now, as she was working the beat biscuits to be baked that evening, Uncle Ben's eye rested on her with suspicion.

      What mere man may write with any confidence of the delicacies which were prepared in Uncle's kitchen that morning? No need in those days of cooking schools. What Southern lady, to the manner born, is not a cook from the cradle? Even Ben noted with approval Miss Virginia's scorn for pecks and pints, and grunted with satisfaction over the accurate pinches of spices and flavors which she used. And he did Miss Eugenie the honor to eat one of her praleens.

      That night came Captain Lige Brent, the figure of an eager and determined man swinging up the street, and pulling out his watch under every lamp-post. And in his haste, in the darkness of a midblock, he ran into another solid body clad in high boots and an old army overcoat, beside a wood wagon.

      “Howdy, Captain,” said he of the high boots.

      “Well, I just thought as much,” was the energetic reply; “minute I seen the rig I knew Captain Grant was behind it.”

      He held out a big hand, which Captain Grant clasped, just looking at his own with a smile. The stranger was Captain Elijah Brent of the 'Louisiana'.

      “Now,” said Brent, “I'll just bet a full cargo that you're off to the Planters' House, and smoke an El Sol with the boys.”

      Mr. Grant nodded. “You're keen, Captain,” said he.

      “I've got something here that'll outlast an El Sol a whole day,” continued Captain Breast, tugging at his pocket and pulling out a six-inch cigar as black as the night. “Just you try that.”

      The Captain instantly struck a match on his boot and was puffing in a silent enjoyment which delighted his friend.

      “Reckon he don't bring out cigars when you make him a call,” said the steamboat captain, jerking his thumb up at the house. It was Mr. Jacob Cluyme's.

      Captain Grant did not reply to that, nor did Captain Lige expect him to, as it was the custom of this strange and silent man to speak ill of no one. He turned rather to put the stakes back into his wagon.

      “Where are you off to, Lige?” he asked.

      “Lord bless my soul,” said Captain Lige, “to think that I could forget!” He tucked a bundle tighter under his arm. “Grant, did you ever see my little sweetheart, Jinny Carvel?” The Captain sighed. “She ain't little any more, and she eighteen to-day.”

      Captain Grant clapped his hand to his forehead.

      “Say, Lige,” said he, “that reminds me. A month or so ago I pulled a fellow out of Renault's area across from there. First I thought he was a thief. After he got away I saw the Colonel and his daughter in the window.”

      Instantly Captain Lige became excited, and seized Captain Grant by the cape of his overcoat.

      “Say, Grant, what kind of appearing fellow was he?”

      “Short, thick-set, blocky face.”

      “I reckon I know,” said Breast, bringing down his fist on the wagon board; “I've had my eye on him for some little time.”

      He walked around the block twice after Captain Grant had driven down the muddy street, before he composed himself to enter the Carvel mansion. He paid no attention to the salutations of Jackson, the butler, who saw him coming and opened the door, but climbed the stairs to the sitting-room.

      “Why, Captain Lige, you must have put wings on the Louisiana,” said Virginia, rising joyfully from the arm of her father's chair to meet him. “We had given you up.”

      “What?” cried the Captain. “Give me up? Don't you know better than that? What, give me up when I never missed a birthday,—and this the best of all of 'em.

      “If your pa had got sight of me shovin' in wood and cussin' the pilot for slowin' at the crossin's, he'd never let you ride in my boat again. Bill Jenks said: 'Are you plum crazy, Brent? Look at them cressets.' 'Five dollars' says I; 'wouldn't go in for five hundred. To-morrow's Jinny Carvel's birthday, and I've just got to be there.' I reckon the time's come when I've got to say Miss Jinny,” he added ruefully.

      The Colonel rose, laughing, and hit the Captain on the back.

      “Drat you, Lige, why don't you kiss the girl? Can't you see she's waiting?”

      The honest Captain stole one glance at Virginia, and turned red copper color.

      “Shucks, Colonel, I can't be kissing her always. What'll her husband say?”

      For an instant Mr. Carvel's brow clouded.

      “We'll not talk of husbands yet awhile, Lige.”

      Virginia went up to Captain Lige, deftly twisted into shape his black tie, and kissed him on the check. How his face burned when she touched him.

      “There!” said she, “and don't you ever dare to treat me as a young lady. Why, Pa, he's blushing like a girl. I know. He's ashamed to kiss me now. He's going to be married at last to that Creole girl in New Orleans.”

      The Colonel slapped his knee, winked slyly at Lige, while Virginia began to sing:

      “I built me a house on the mountain so high,

       To gaze at my true love as she do go by.”

      “There's only one I'd ever marry, Jinny,” protested the Captain, soberly, “and I'm a heap too old for her. But I've seen a youngster that might mate with her, Colonel,” he added mischievously. “If he just wasn't a Yankee. Jinny, what's the story I hear about Judge Whipple's young man buying Hester?”

      Mr. Carvel looked uneasy. It was Virginia's turn to blush, and she grew red as a peony.

      “He's a tall,

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