"Dull books in leather," she answered. "And I have sometimes feared that
this schooling has unfitted me for the light and pleasing society of my
friends. They called me an old maid before I was twenty. Oh, I've got
something to show you," she cried, jumping up and running out of the
room; and soon she returned with a little chicken held against her
cheek. "A hawk carried its mother away, and all of its brothers and
sisters were drowned in the rain. Listen to the little thing. Isn't it
sweet? I had a pet duck once and I loved it until it got big enough to
go out and get its feet muddy and then--I granted it a divorce. And
after a while this little thing will grow up and leave me, won't you,
pet? No, you won't, will you? There, I knew you wouldn't. You'll always
be little and lovable, and will stay with me. Come on, now, and let's go
back to the kitchen." She tripped out a girl, singing as she went, but
she came back a woman; and of the ways, the air and the ambitions of the
town I gathered more from a few moments of her talk than her father
could have given me in an hour's oration. He knew the men, but she knew
the whims; and while men may build the houses and make the laws, it is
the whim that makes the atmosphere. And for this reason an old town is
always more interesting than a new one. The subtle influence of odd
characters long since gone continues to live in the air. The Spaniards
had settled on the site of Bolanyo, and though naught but the faint
tracings of a fortified camp were left to mark the manner of their
occupation, still the town felt the honor of almost an ancient origin.
We talked until nearly noontime; until there came a light tap at the
open door. I looked up and there stood the black giant.
"Pardon me," he said, "but I am afraid you have been up long enough."
"Hannibal, your unbending discipline--" I began, but with lifting his
mighty hand he shut me off.
"I am a soldier of the Lord and Hannibal was a soldier of the devil," he
said. "Please don't compare us."
Mrs. Estell jumped up, laughing. "You'll have to do as he tells you, Mr.
Belford."
I had no time to argue against his authority, for already he had
advanced and put his hands on the back of my chair. She walked beside me
down the hall, and as the giant was easing the chair across the
threshold of my room she said:
"I hope you'll soon get well, and when you do, we'll go fox-hunting, you
and papa and I. Won't that be fun?"
"I don't know," I answered, from the inside of the room. "Oh, yes, it
will be fun for you and your father."
The negro took hold of the door as if impatient to shut it, and I looked
at him hard enough, I thought, to have bored him through, but, giving me
simply the heed of his slow wink, he continued to stand there.
"Of course, you can ride a horse," she said; and quickly she added:
"Gracious alive, Washington, don't look at me that way. Good-bye, Mr.
Belford."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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