Stories of Enchantment 4

Stories of Enchantment 4

In the meantime, down below, in the kitchen of the old house, an excited

group of colored people were talking. Aunt Polly was the centre of the

group, and was relating, for the benefit of a new comer, her experience.

 

“I tell you, I done heerd that ghost-child agin. No, I didn’t see it,

but I heerd it. I went ovah to the noth wing to put away that ar seed,

as Mistah Jones told me to do, and while I was in that dark, lonesome

bedroom above the pahlor, I heerd a child laugh, just as cleah and sweet

as a bird; it sounded just right beside me. Oh, I was so skeered, I run

and banged the doah after me. You don’t ketch this child goin’ in that

pawt of the house no moah.”

 

“Aunt Polly,” asked one breathless listener, “wasn’t that the room whar

the murdah was committed?”

 

“Yas, em; yes indeedy; the poor child was strangled in its sleep.”

 

Just then the voice of Mr. Jones was heard. “Here, hurry up in there;

got too much to do to stand here gabbling. You know Mister Tom comes

to-night; he wants this place to be shining.” Each one hurried off to

her work. Aunt Polly, with a toss of her head and a sniff, proceeded

leisurely to hang out the white curtains and bed-linen she was doing up

against the arrival of her beloved Mistah Tom.

 

Dolores ate her dinner when she became hungry, gave some of it to the

squirrel, and played on until the shadows in the attic indicated that

evening was coming. Then she scrambled down and ran for home. She had

time to brush the dust from her clothes, wash her face and hands, and

lie down on the bed and fall asleep before Aunt Polly returned. By the

time supper was ready and Dolores awakened, Aunt Polly had forgotten to

ask about the school, in her eagerness to tell the important news that

Mistah Tom was coming, and that she had heard the little ghost-girl’s

laugh. And in a little while Dolores again had forgotten everything in

the dreamless sleep which comes to tired children whether they are good

or bad.

 

She awoke in the morning to find Aunt Polly already gone. Not long

after, the little truant followed and, climbing her sylvan stairway, was

soon in the delightful attic. She had explored all but one chest, that

was pushed under the eaves. The other chests had yielded up a rich

treasure, but she was curious to know what they all contained before she

enjoyed the contents. So the little box was pushed close to the window,

for it was growing dark in the attic. Dolores could hear the rumble of

thunder, and the rain was beginning to patter on the shingles; she was

not the least afraid of a storm, and proceeded leisurely with her task.

The little chest was locked, but the key hung obligingly tied to one of

the handles by a string. She unlocked it, and raised the lid. Who can

say what loving, breaking heart looked last into that little box? For,

carefully folded away, with dead roses in each dainty garment, was a

little girl’s wardrobe, complete,—the finest linen undergarments,

trimmed with delicate laces, little white silk clocked stockings, little

heelless slippers of blue and red kid, all faded and spotted with age

and mould; the loveliest little lace-trimmed dresses with short waists,

puffed sleeves, and long skirts. Dolores hesitated a moment before

examining them. On top of them was placed a note in a woman’s hand. She

laid it aside and did not read it, until she had finished the

examination. She opened it at last, and read, “This is the wardrobe of

my dear little dead daughter Dolores.”

 

She closed the lid down gently, sprang up, and went to the window. “I

must go home; I don’t like this old attic. I’ve been a wicked girl to

come here. But how did that little dead girl come to have my name?”

 

She started to climb through the window, and saw that it was raining

very hard; a steady downpour that promised to last all day. She returned

to the chest, laid the note carefully aside, and again lifted out and

unfolded each garment. How beautiful they were! Time had given them the

delicate, mellow tint of old ivory. Dolores dearly enjoyed pretty

clothes, and had possessed but few in her short life. She was charmed by

their dainty quaintness.

 

“They look like they’d just fit me—I’m going to try on a suit—the lady

would not care—I’ll be very careful of them.”

 

So on went the pretty underclothing, the white silk stockings, and

little heelless slippers. Then over her head she slipped a little white

dress, hemstitched and hand embroidered. Her hair, which Aunt Polly kept

tightly braided, was loosened in soft waves around her face and neck.

The broken mirror revealed a little maid of the beginning of the

nineteenth century; such a charming little maid, that Dolores was

delighted with the vision.

 

“My, but she’s sweet; Little Dolores, do you like coming back to life?”

 

And then her busy brain recalled the story of the little ghost-girl. “I

have a great mind to go downstairs. If any one sees me, I can run back.”

She looked questioningly at the little figure in the glass. “Dolores,

shall I go? You tell me, for I am you to-day.” The little shadow nodded.

“Very well, then, I will.”

 

She went to a door she had noticed, tried it, found it unlocked, and

ventured out.

 

A flight of stairs led down into a narrow corridor, flanked on each side

by closed doors, and this led into the main hall. She stole shyly out

into this, and proceeded toward the great stairway; but to reach it, she

had to pass an open door. Some one was moving leisurely about in the

room. She peeped in, and saw a young colored man unpacking his master’s

clothes. He had carefully arranged the toilet articles on the

dressing-case, and was trying one of the silver-backed brushes on his

curly locks, with an unlit cigar between his teeth, evidently extracted

from a full box on the dressing-case.

 

Dolores swung the door slowly open, and the man, seeing its reflection

in the mirror, turned and confronted her, in her quaint dress, standing

in the soft gloom of the hall. She was pointing a threatening finger at

the stolen cigar, frowning and biting her lips to keep from laughing, as

she saw the horrified look on his face. Evidently, he had heard of the

little ghost; the cigar fell from his lips, and his knees knocked

together: he was too frightened to speak.

 

When Dolores could control her face no longer she turned, and ran back

to the attic. The colored man fled to the kitchen, declaring that he had

seen the ghost; and that if Mass Tom didn’t go back to the city, he

would, for he wasn’t goin’ to stay in no old house full of ghosts.

 

Aunt Polly met her Mr. Tom, on his return from hunting, at the door, and

told him the marvellous tale.

 

“Wait till I change my clothes, Aunt Polly, and then come to the little

library, if there’s a fire there, for I am chilly; I’ll hear all about

it then;” and he hurried upstairs.

 

In the meantime, naughty Dolores had tired of the attic, and, having

enjoyed her first adventure, had sallied forth to meet others. Not

encountering any one, she ventured down the wide stairs, peeped into

numerous rooms, and opening a door into a very cosy one, small and snug,

with a fire burning on the hearth, she drew a big cushioned chair in

front of it, sat down to watch it, and fell asleep. About an hour later,

Aunt Polly was met in the hall by Mister Tom, who looked very much

surprised.

 

“Come into the library, quick, Auntie; I’ve found the little ghost,” he

whispered. Aunt Polly followed, her knees trembling beneath her. Seeing

the little figure in the chair, she started for the door, but thought

better of it, and ventured nearer. Getting a good look at the ghost, she

saw it was Dolores, and sank limply down by her on her knees.

 

“Well, well, well, I declare for it, it’s the hand of the Lord,” she

whispered.

 

“Who is she, Aunt Polly, and where’d she come from?”

 

“She belongs to this fambly, Mistah Tom, and I’ll tell you by and by

whar she come from; but whar she got them clothes, or how she got in

here, is more than I can tell you.”

 

Just then Dolores stirred in her sleep, opened her eyes, and seeing them

watching her, jumped to her feet.

 

“Is this Mr. Tom? I am the little ghost-girl, and I bring you good

fortune;” and she looked up into his face and laughed.

 

Aunt Polly grunted, “You need a good lambastin’ fo’ skeerin’ me so,” she

said wrathfully.

 

Not long after, Dolores and Aunt Polly went to live with Mr. Tom. A

wrong was righted, and the little ghost-girl walked no more.

 

 

 

 

IV.

TITANIA’S MAID OF HONOR.

 

 

“Mammy, I wish dis yer rabbit could talk to me; ’pears like he wanted to

tell me somefin’.”

 

“Well, Mateel, yo take him in yo arms and lay down on yo baid, and I’s a

goin’ to conjur’ dat rabbit so he kin talk to yo-alls.”

 

The little girl took her pet in her arms and lay down, holding the soft

furry ball close to her ear. The old mammy, whose duty it was to take

care of the little darkies on the plantation while their mothers were at

work in the field or the house, sat down by the child, and slowly,

soothingly, passed her hand over the little dark head; presently the

large eyes closed, and half awake, half asleep, Mateel heard her say,—

 

“Now, Mistah Rabbit, tell Mateel yo news.”

 

And to her intense surprise, the rabbit, slipping from her arms, sat

back on his haunches, and, regarding her intently, commenced:—

 

“Mateel, have you ever heard of the fairies? And do you know where they

live?”

 

“No, Mistah Rabbit. What is they for, and what do they look like?”

 

“Oh, I haven’t time to tell you; I’m due in Fairyland now. Do you want

to go with me? Because if you do, you must come at once.”