the methodist society of laurel hill had built themselves a new church upon the corner of the common, and as a mark of respect had made black john their sexton. perfectly delighted with the office, he discharged his duties faithfully, particularly the ringing of the bell, in which accomplishment he greatly excelled his episcopal rival, who tried to imitate his peculiar style in vain. no one could make such music as the negro, or ring so many changes. in short, it was conceded that on great occasions he actually made the old bell talk; and one day toward the last of september, and five months after the events of the preceding chapter, an opportunity was presented for a display of his skill.
the afternoon was warm and sultry, and overcome by the heat the village loungers had disposed of themselves, some on the long piazza of the hotel, and others in front of the principal store, where, with elevated heels and busy jackknives, they whittled out shapeless things, or made remarks concerning any luckless female who chanced to pass. while thus engaged they were startled by a loud, sharp ring from the belfry of the methodist church succeeded by a merry peal, which seemed to proclaim some joyful event. it was a musical, rollicking ring, consisting of three rapid strokes, the last prolonged a little, as if to give it emphasis.
"what's up now?" the loungers said to each other, as the three strokes were repeated in rapid succession. "what's got into john?" and those who were fortunate enough to own houses in the village, went into the street to assure themselves there was no fire.
"it can't be a toll," they said. "it's too much like a dancing tune for that," and as the sound continued they walked rapidly to the church, where they found the african bending himself with might and main to his task, the perspiration dripping from his sable face, which was all aglow with happiness.
it was no common occasion which had thus affected john, and to the eager questioning of his audience he replied, "can't you hear the ding—dong—de-el. don't you know what it says? listen now," and the bell again rang forth the three short sounds. but the crowd still professed their ignorance, and, pausing a moment, john said, with a deprecating manner: "i'll tell the first word, and you'll surely guess the rest: it's 'maude.' now try 'em," and wiping the sweat from his brow, he turned again to his labor of love, nodding his head with every stroke. "no ear at all for music," he muttered, as he saw they were as mystified as ever, and in a loud, clear voice, he sang, "maude can see-e! maude can see-e!"
it was enough. most of that group had known and respected the blind girl, and joining at once in the negro's enthusiasm they sent up a deafening shout for "maude de vere, restored to sight."
john's face at that moment was a curiosity, so divided was it between smiles and tears, the latter of which won the mastery, as with the last hurrah the bell gave one tremendous crash, and he sank exhausted upon the floor, saying to those who gathered round, "will 'em hear that, think, in france?"
"how do you know it is true?" asked one, and john replied, "she writ her own self to tell it, and sent her love to me; think of dat—sent her love to an old nigger!" and john glanced at the bell, as if he intended a repetition of the rejoicings.
surely maude de vere, across the sea, never received a greater tribute of respect than was paid to her that day by the warm-hearted john, who, the moment he heard the glad news, sped away, to proclaim it from the church-tower. the letter had come that afternoon, and, as john said, was written by maude herself. the experiment had been performed weeks before, but she would wait until assurance was doubly sure ere she sent home the joyful tidings. it was a wonderful cure, for the chance of success was small, but the efforts used in her behalf had succeeded, and she could see again.
"but what of louis?" asked dr. kennedy, who was listening while his wife read to him the letter. "what of louis? have they done anything for him?"
"they had tried, but his deformity could not be helped," and with a pang of disappointment the father was turning away when something caught his ear which caused him to listen again.
"you don't know," maude wrote, "how great a lion louis is getting to be. he painted a picture of me just as i looked that dreadful morning when i stood in the sunshine and felt that i was blind. it is a strange, wild thing, but its wildness is relieved by the angel-faced boy who looks up at me so pityingly. louis is perfect, but maude—oh! i can scarce believe that she ever wore that expression of fierce despair. strange as it may seem, this picture took the fancy of the excitable french, and ere louis was aware of it he found himself famous. they come to our rooms daily to see le petit artist, and many ask for pictures or sketches, for which they pay an exorbitant price. one wealthy american gentleman brought him a daguerreotype of his dead child, with the request that he would paint from it a life-sized portrait, and if he succeeds in getting a natural face he is to receive five hundred dollars. think of little louis kennedy earning five hundred dollars, for he will succeed. the daguerreotype is much like nellie, which will make it easier for louis."
this was very gratifying to dr. kennedy, who that day more than once repeated to himself, "five hundred dollars: it's a great deal of money, for him to earn; maybe he'll soon be able to help me, and mercy knows i shall soon need it if that woman continues her unheard-of extravagances. more city company to-morrow, and i heard her this morning tell that jezebel in the kitchen to put the whites of sixteen eggs into one loaf of cake. what am i coming to?" and dr. kennedy, groaned in spirit as he walked through the handsome apartments, seeking in vain for a place where he could sit and have it seem as it used to do, when the rocking-chair which matty had brought stood invitingly in the middle of the room where now a center-table was standing, covered with books and ornaments of the most expensive kind.
since last we looked in upon her maude glendower had ruled with a high hand. she could not live without excitement, and rallying from her grief at parting with her child, she plunged at once into repairs, tearing down and building up, while her husband looked on in dismay. when they were about it, she said, they might as well have all the modern improvements, and water, both hot and cold, was accordingly carried to all the sleeping apartments, the fountain-head being a large spring distant from the house nearly half a mile. gas she could not have, though the doctor would hardly have been surprised had she ordered the laying of pipes from rochester to laurel hill, so utterly reckless did she seem. she was fond of company, and as she had visited everybody, so everybody in return must visit her, she said, and toward the last of summer she filled the house with city people, who vastly enjoyed the good cheer with which her table was always spread.
john's desire to see the fun was more than satisfied, as was also hannah's, and after the receipt of maude's letter the latter determined to write herself, "and let miss de vere know just how things was managed." in order to do this, it was necessary to employ an amanuensis, and she enlisted the services of the gardener, who wrote her exact language, a mixture of negro, southern, and yankee. a portion of this letter we give to the reader.
after expressing her pleasure that maude could see, and saying that she believed the new miss to be a good woman, but a mighty queer one, she continued:
"the doin's here is wonderful, and you'd hardly know the old place. thar's a big dining room run out to the south, with an expansion table mighty nigh a rod long, and what's more, it't allus full too, of city stuck-ups—and the way they do eat! i haint churned nary pound of butter since you went away. why, bless yer soul, we has to buy. do you mind that patch of land what the doctor used to plant with corn? well, the garden sass grows there now, and t'other garden raises nothin' but flowers and strabries, and thar's a man hired on purpose to tend 'em. he's writin' this for me. thar's a tower run up in the northeast eend, and when it's complete, she's goin' to have a what you call 'em—somethin' that blows up the water—oh, a fountain. thar's one in the yard, and, if you'll believe it, she's got one of cary's rotary pumpin' things, that folks are runnin' crazy about, and every hot day she keeps john a-turnin' the injin' to squirt the water all over the yard, and make it seem like a thunder shower! thar's a bathroom, and when them city folks is here some on 'em is a-washin' in thar all the time. i don't do nothin' now but wash and iron, and if i have fifty towels i have one! but what pesters me most is the wide skirts i has to do up; miss canady wears a hoop bigger than an amberell. they say miss empress, who makes these things, lives in paris, and i wish you'd put yourself out a little to see her, and ask her, for me, to quit sendin' over them fetched hoops. thar aint no sense in it! we've got jiggers in every chamber where the water spirts out. besides turnin' the injin john drives the horses in the new carriage. dr. canady looks poorly, and yet madam purrs round him like a kitten, but i knows the claws is thar. she's about broke him of usin' them maxims of his, and your poor marm would enjoy it a spell seein' him paid off, but she'd pity him after a while. i do, and if things continners to grow wus, i shall just ask pra'rs for him in my meetin'. elder blossom is powerful at that. my health is considerable good, but i find i grow old. yours, with respect and regrets," hannah.
"p.s.—i don't believe that t'other beau of yourn is none the happiest. they live with miss kelsey yet, but thar's a story round that she's a-gwine to marry again, and the man don't like de vere, and won't have him thar, so if the doctor should run out, as i'm afraid he will, what'll them lazy critters do? nellie's got to be kinder sozzlin' in her dress, and he has took to chawin' tobacker by the pound. they was here a spell ago, and deaf as i be, i hearn 'em have one right smart quarrel. he said she was slatterly, or somethin' like that, and she called him a fool, and said she 'most knew he wished he'd took you, blind as you was, and he said, kinder sorry-like, 'maude would never of called me a fool, nor wore such holes in the heels of her stockin's.' i couldn't hear no more, but i knew by her voice that she was cryin', and when i went below and seen the doctor out behind the woodshed a-figgerin' up, says i to myself, `if i was a univarselar, i should b'lieve they was all on 'em a-gittin' thar pay,' but bein' i'm a methodis', i don't believe nothin'."
this letter, which conveyed to maude a tolerably correct idea of matters at home, will also show to the reader the state of feeling existing between j.c. and nellie. they were not suited to each other, and though married but seven months, there had been many a quarrel besides the one which hannah overheard. nellie demanded of her husband more love than he had to bestow, and the consequence was, a feeling of bitter jealousy on her part and an increasing coldness on his. they were an ill-assorted couple, utterly incapable of taking care of themselves, and when they heard from mrs. kelsey that she really contemplated a second marriage, they looked forward to the future with a kind of hopeless apathy, wholly at variance with the feelings of the beautiful, dark-eyed maude and the noble james de vere.
their love for each other had increased each day, and their happiness seemed almost greater than they could bear on that memorable morn when the husband bent fondly over his young girl-wife, who laid a hand on each side of his face, and while the great tears rolled down her cheeks, whispered joyfully, "i can see you, darling; i can see!"
