When Paul had finished his meal he returned to his old place on the little stool by Jube"s side, and the pair sat looking wistfully at each other, oppressed by the strangeness and gloom of the place.
Mrs. Allen paid little attention to them. She washed the dishes with her usual care, and put them away in the corner cupboard, brushed the hearth, moved restlessly about, finding that relief in constant occupation which the mind is sure to seek during a great sorrow.
Paul sat watching her with his large, wistful eyes, for she had strangely excited some inexplicable sympathy in his heart.
After a time a feeble voice called from the bedroom.
"Mother; where are you, mother?"
Katharine had awakened, and was startled to find herself alone; but at the summons the old woman went into the bedroom, and the murmur of their voices reached the kitchen faintly.
In a few moments Mrs. Allen came out with a cup in her hand. She went to the fire, took a tin basin from the hearth, and poured a portion of the contents into the cup, but her hands shook so tremulously that the hot liquid spilled over them.
Paul arose, and took the dish from her with his usual gentleness.
"Let me carry it," he said. "Madame very tired."
Poor old madame! His kindness touched her like a new pang. She followed him to the bedroom and took the cup again.
"Sick lady there?" he whispered.
Mrs. Allen bent her head, she could not speak just then.
"Paul will help," continued the boy. "Paul nursed mamma once--please let him help the sweet mademoiselle."
The boy had caught a glimpse of Katharine"s face, and his own brightened.
The old woman felt as if an angel had unexpectedly been sent to aid her in her misery--the pitying light in those beautiful eyes went to her heart like a blessing.
After that, every time she went in or out, Paul watched her movements and a.s.sisted her in his un.o.btrusive way, then crept back to Jube, and waited to see in what manner he could next express his desire to be of use.
"He goes about as handy as a pet kitten," said the officer at last, sorely perplexed in his mind. "Got a mother, little chap?"
The negro understood these words, and put up his hands with a warning gesture.
"Hush!" said Mrs. Allen, sternly; "you know what the letter said."
"I forgot," returned the man, and he began uneasily biting his finger nails, to hide his confusion; but the nails proved very h.o.r.n.y and tough, and he failed to get rid of much contrition in that way.
Paul made no answer to his question; he only retreated a little closer to Jube, and laid his head upon the negro"s knee. The simple action wrung Mrs. Allen"s heart with a new pang. Hard and severe as her nature was, it had become so softened under her grief that she was unusually observant, and touched by trifles which at another time would have pa.s.sed by unheeded.
"I expect you"re tired," said the officer, pointing his finger, with its dilapidated nail, at the boy; "you"re tired now, aint you?"
"A little," said Paul, without raising his head. "Only very little."
Jube knew by the sorrowful voice that the child was thinking of his mother, and had been pained by the man"s thoughtless question in regard to her. He attempted no consolation in words, but laid his great hand protectingly upon the boy"s shoulder. The two crept a little closer to each other, feeling a sort of safety and comfort in that silent companionship.
"I expect they feel kinder cold," remarked the officer.
Mrs. Allen heard, and remembered that there was a fireplace in the chamber where she intended them to sleep. She went out into the wood house for pine knots to kindle a fire, but Paul had followed her with that solicitude to which she was so unaccustomed, and when he saw her errand, motioned Jube to follow.
"Jube very strong," he said; "carry me--carry wood--likes to do it too much."
The old woman attempted no opposition; she allowed the negro to take up an armful of sticks, and led the way up-stairs in silence, Paul still accompanying them, from an unwillingness to remain alone with the strange man.
Jube"s intentions were of the most praiseworthy description, but it must be confessed that his success in making a fire was not equal to his ambition. When Mrs. Allen saw that he only succeeded in raising a smoke instead of kindling a flame, she took the matter into her own hands, and speedily the knots and kindlings were hissing and snapping on the unused hearth at a famous rate.
"Jube learn," Paul said, smiling at both, and trying to comfort the negro"s evident discomfiture, "learn very quick. _Tout suit!_"
"Yes, little ma.s.ser," he replied; "Jube know how next time."
Mrs. Allen signified to them that they were to sleep in that room; there was a trundle bed for Paul, which Katharine had occupied when a child, and she improvised a very comfortable sort of couch for the attendant.
She spread a bit of rag carpet before Paul"s bed, and made every thing homelike and tidy for the shivering strangers.
"Come down and warm," she said, when her preparations were completed, noticing that they shivered with cold.
Paul and Jube followed her down-stairs and took their former seats by the fire, while she, after stealing into the bedroom, to be certain that Katharine slept, took her station by the hearth likewise, and remained gazing drearily into the fire.
At last she seemed to remember how late it was, and, getting up, took a bra.s.s warming-pan, with its long wooden handle, which she filled with hot coals. Thus armed, she went up-stairs, came down again after an absence of ten minutes, and told her guests to go up to bed before the sheets got cold.
When the two went up-stairs, Jube found his humble bed warmed comfortably, like that of his little master.
CHAPTER x.x.xI.
THE RED SCHOOL-HOUSE AT SHRUB OAK.
One entire week that poor girl lay upon the verge of death; but so still, so mournfully feeble, that it would have pained you to look at her. The sound of her voice must have sent you from her presence heart-broken. The doctor visited her every day. At times he attempted to arouse her with some of his droll sayings, but the voice in which they were uttered was so pitiful that she understood it only as a compa.s.sionate attempt to comfort her, and so, in truth, it was.
One day, when the fever had left her brain, and she could scarcely speak for want of strength, Katharine whispered the doctor to sit down a little while, as she had something to ask him about.
The doctor slid his crutches along the floor, and seated himself on the edge of the bed, looking very grave, for he felt what the poor thing was about to say.
"Doctor."
"Well, my child."
"What is that man always staying in the kitchen for?"
"That man--oh! he"s help."
"Night and day, night and day, he"s always there," murmured the unhappy girl. "He tries to keep out of sight; but every time the door opens I see his shadow on the wall."
"And it frightens you, poor child; is that it?"