With the first beam came the West Floridian and the Creole out upon the bank below the village. Upon the parson's arm hung a pair of antique saddlebags. Baptiste limped wearily behind; both his eyes were encircled with broad, blue rings, and one cheek bone bore the official impress of every knuckle of Colossus' left hand. The "beautiful to take care of somebody" had lost his charge. At mention of the negro he became wild, and, half in English, half in the "gumbo" dialect, said murderous things. Intimidated by Jules to calmness, he became able to speak confidently on one point: he could, would, and did swear that Colossus had gone home to the Florida parishes; he was almost certain; in fact, he thought so. There was a clicking of pulleys as the three appeared upon the bayou's margin, and Baptiste pointed out, in the deep shadow of a great oak, the "Isabella," moored among the bulrushes, and just spreading her sails for departure. Moving down to where she lay, the parson and his friend paused on the bank, loath to say farewell. "O Jools!" said the parson, "supposin' Colossus ain't gone home! O Jools, if you'll look him out for me, I'll never forget you- I'll never forget you, nohow, Jools. No, Jools, I never will believe he taken that money. Yes, I know all niggahs will steal" he set foot upon the gang plank - — “but Colossus wouldn't steal from me. Good-by." "Misty Posson Jone'," said St.-Ange, putting his hand on the parson's arm with genuine affection, "hol' on. You see dis money-w'at I win las' night? Well, I win it by a specious providence, ain't it?” "There's no tellin'," said the humbled Jones. "Providence "Moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform." "Ah!" cried the Creole, "c'est very true. I ged this money in the mysterieuze way. Mais, if I keep dis money, you know where it goin' be to-night?" "I really can't say," replied the parson. "Goin' to de dev'," said the sweetly smiling young man. The schooner captain, leaning against the shrouds, and even Baptiste, laughed outright. "O Jools, you mustn't!" "Well, den, w'at I shall do wid it?" "Anything!" answered the parson; "better donate it away to some poor man "Ah! Misty Posson Jone', dat is w'at I want. You los' five hondred dollar' - 'twas me fault." "No, it wa'n't, Jools." "Mais, it was!" "No!" "It was me fault! I swear it was me fault! Mais, here is five hondred dollar'; I wish you shall take it. Here! I don't got no use for money. Oh, my faith! Posson Jone', you must not begin to cry some more.' Parson Jones was choked with tears. When he found voice he said: : "O Jools, Jools, Jools! my pore, noble, dear, misguidened friend! ef you hed of hed a Christian raisin'! May the Lord show you your errors better'n I kin, and bless you for your good intentions-oh, no! I cayn't touch that money with a ten-foot pole; it wa'n't rightly got; you must really excuse me, my dear friend, but I cayn't touch it." St.-Ange was petrified. "Good-by, dear Jools," continued the parson. "I'm in the Lord's haynds, and he's very merciful, which I hope and trust you'll find it out. Good-by!"—the schooner swung slowly off before the breeze-"good-by!" St.-Ange roused himself. "Posson Jone'! make me hany'ow dis promise: you never, never, never will come back to New Orleans." "Ah, Jools, the Lord willin', I'll never leave home again !” "All right!” cried the Creole; "I thing he's willin'. Adieu, Posson Jone'. My faith! you are the so fighting an' moz rilligious man as I never saw! Adieu! Adieu!" Baptiste uttered a cry and presently ran by his master toward the schooner, his hands full of clods. St.-Ange looked just in time to see the sable form of Colossus of Rhodes emerge from the vessel's hold, and the pastor of Smyrna and Bethesda seize him in his embrace. "O Colossus! you outlandish old nigger! Thank the Lord! Thank the Lord!" The little Creole almost wept. He ran down the towpath, laughing and swearing, and making confused allusion to the entire personnel and furniture of the lower regions. By odd fortune, at the moment that St.-Ange further dem onstrated his delight by tripping his mulatto into a bog, the schooner came brushing along the reedy bank with a graceful curve, the sails flapped, and the crew fell to poling her slowly along. Parson Jones was on the deck, kneeling once more in prayer. His hat had fallen before him; behind him knelt his slave. In thundering tones he was confessing himself "a plum fool," from whom "the conceit had been jolted out," and who had been made to see that even his "nigger had the longest head of the two." Colossus clasped his hands and groaned. The parson prayed for a contrite heart. "Oh, yes!" cried Colossus. The master acknowledged countless mercies. "Dat's so!" cried the slave. The master prayed that they might still be "piled on." 66 99 Glory!" cried the black man, clapping his hands; "pile on! " "An' now," continued the parson, "bring this pore, backslidin' jackace of a parson and this pore ole fool nigger back to thar home in peace !" "Pray fo' de money!" called Colossus. But the parson prayed for Jules. 66 Pray fo' de money!" repeated the negro. "And oh, give thy servant back that there lost money!" Colossus rose stealthily, and tiptoed by his still shouting master. St.-Ange, the captain, the crew, gazed in silent wonder at the strategist. Pausing but an instant over the master's hat to grin an acknowledgment of his beholders' speechless interest, he softly placed in it the faithfully mourned and honestly prayed-for Smyrna fund; then, saluted by the gesticulative, silent applause of St.-Ange and the schooner men, he resumed his first attitude behind his roaring master. "Amen!" cried Colossus, meaning to bring him to a close. "Onworthy though I be" cried Jones. "Amen!" reiterated the negro. "A-a-amen!" said Parson Jones. He rose to his feet, and, stooping to take up his hat, beheld the well-known roll. As one stunned, he gazed for a moment upon his slave, who still knelt with clasped hands and rolling eyeballs; but when he became aware of the laughter and cheers that greeted him from both deck and shore, he lifted eyes and hands to heaven, and cried like the veriest babe. And when he looked at the roll again, and hugged and kissed it, St.-Ange tried to raise a second shout, but choked, and the crew fell to their poles. And now up runs Baptiste, covered with slime, and prepares to cast his projectiles. The first one fell wide of the mark; the schooner swung round into a long reach of water, where the breeze was in her favor; another shout of laughter drowned the maledictions of the muddy man; the sails filled; Colossus of Rhodes, smiling and bowing as hero of the moment, ducked as the main boom swept round, and the schooner, leaning slightly to the pleasant influence, rustled a moment over the bulrushes, and then sped far away down the rippling bayou. M. Jules St.-Ange stood long, gazing at the receding vessel as it now disappeared, now reappeared, beyond the tops of the high undergrowth; but when an arm of the forest hid it finally from sight he turned townward, followed by that faggedout spaniel, his servant, saying, as he turned, "Baptiste." "Miché?" "You know w'at I goin' do wid dis money?" "Non, m'sieur." "Well, you can strike me dead if I don't goin' to pay hall my debts! Allons!" He began a merry little song to the effect that his sweetheart was a wine bottle, and master and man, leaving care behind, returned to the picturesque Rue Royale. The ways of Providence are indeed strange. In all Parson Jones' after life, amid the many painful reminiscences of his visit to the City of the Plain, the sweet knowledge was withheld from him that by the light of the Christian virtue that shone from him even in his great fall, Jules St.-Ange arose, and went to his father an honest man. |