Audrey

By now every man had dismounted, and the valley was ringing with the

merriment of the jovial crew. The negroes led the horses down the stream,

lightened them of saddle and bridle, and left them tethered to saplings

beneath which the grass grew long and green. The rangers gathered fallen

wood, and kindled two mighty fires, while the gentlemen of the party threw

themselves down beside the stream, upon a little grassy rise shadowed by a

huge sugar-tree. A mound of turf, flanked by two spreading roots, was the

Governor's chair of state, and Alce and Molly he must needs seat beside

him. Not one of his gay company but seemed an adept in the high-flown

compliment of the age; out of very idleness and the mirth born of that

summer hour they followed his Excellency's lead, and plied the two simple

women with all the wordy ammunition that a tolerable acquaintance with the

mythology of the ancients and the polite literature of the present could

furnish. The mother and daughter did not understand the fine speeches, but

liked them passing well. In their lonely lives, a little thing made

conversation for many and many a day. As for these golden hours,--the

jingle and clank and mellow laughter, the ruffles and gold buttons and

fine cloth, these gentlemen, young and handsome, friendly-eyed,

silver-tongued, the taste of wine, the taste of flattery, the sunshine

that surely was never yet so bright,--ten years from now they would still

be talking of these things, still wishing that such a day could come

again.

The negroes were now busy around the fires, and soon the cheerful odor of

broiling meat rose and blended with the fragrance of the forest. The

pioneer, hospitably minded, beckoned to the four Meherrins, and hastening

with them to the patch of waving corn, returned with a goodly lading of

plump, green ears. A second foraging party, under guidance of the boy,

brought into the larder of the gentry half a dozen noble melons, golden

within and without. The woman whispered to the child, and the latter ran

to the cabin, filled her upgathered skirts with the loaves of her mother's

baking, and came back to the group upon the knoll beneath the sugar-tree.

The Governor himself took the bread from the little maid, then drew her

toward him.

"Thanks, my pretty one," he said, with a smile that for the moment quite

dispelled the expression of haughtiness which marred an otherwise comely

countenance. "Come, give me a kiss, sweeting, and tell me thy name."

The child looked at him gravely. "My name is Audrey," she answered, "and

if you eat all of our bread we'll have none for supper."