“And now, my dear,” she had said, “I want you should know what little there is to tell about us. We live just three miles from here, and in the same old Virginia homestead where my husband was born. We, means my son Harry7, and Brevet and myself. Brevet, as you already know, perhaps, has neither father nor mother. His mother died when he was six months old, and his father, my oldest son, was drowned when the Utopia went down, off the coast of Spain five years ago. We are doing our best, Harry and I, to make up to Brevet for his great loss; but it is sad that the little fellow should only know the love of an old grandmama like me, and never of his own young mother. But I do not want to burden you with my sorrows, dear child; I only want you to know we must all be the best of friends 050the whole summer through. It seems to me we just need each other, and in order to commence right, you must all come and spend the day with us to-morrow.”
And on the morrow they all did go up to Ellismere, Mary Duff and Sylvia with the others; the children went again the day after that, and then all hands from Ellismere came down to Homespun for the day, and so what with constant coming and going from one house to the other, in just two weeks’ time it was as though they had known each other always. And then it was that Joe arranged with Courage for the day to be spent at Arlington.
“The Ellis’s will all come,” Joe explained, “Mammy wid de res’ of ‘em, I suppose,” (but very much as though he preferred she should not) “and I done wish de Colonel could be persuaded to drive out from Washington, case ‘tween us we knows mos’ dere is of interest happened at Arlington. He use’ to visit at de big house when General Lee lived in it ’fo’ de wah, an’ I was a slave on de place.”
“You don’t mean Colonel Anderson, do you, Joe?”
“De berry same, Miss.”
“Well, then, of course he’ll come. He is an old, old friend of Miss Julia’s. I met him on 051the train when we came down and he asked me to invite him out some time,” and so Courage wrote a note of invitation that very day which Joe, with his own hands, carried into Washington. It was written on pretty blue paper, which had “Homespun” engraved9 at the top of the sheet and Tiffany’s mark on the envelope as well. It must be confessed that Courage had a little extravagant10 streak11 in her; that is, she loved to have everything just about as nearly right as she could. Sister Julia had encouraged the little streak, knowing the peculiar12 pleasure that the reasonable indulgence of a refined taste brings into life, “but, dear,” she had often said to Courage, “there is one thing to look out for, and that is that the more you gratify your own taste the more you must give to the people who have no taste at all, or very little of anything that makes life enjoyable,” all of which good advice Courage had taken to heart and remembered. But extravagant streak or no, the stylish13 little blue note accomplished14 its purpose, for at precisely15 nine o’clock the next morning Colonel Anderson wheeled up at Joe’s cabin, in his high, old-fashioned carriage, and at almost the same moment arrived the Homespun buckboard with its load of eight (for Sylvia and Mary Duff were to be in 052as many good times as possible) and a moment later Grandma Ellis, Harry, Brevet and old Mammy drove upon the scene.
“Now, how would we best manage things, Joe?” asked Colonel Anderson, after everybody had had a. little chat with everybody else, and luncheon16 baskets and wraps had been safely stowed away in Joe’s cabin.
“Well, seems ter me we’d better take a look over de house first, den8 take a stroll through de groun’s an’ come back to de shade of dat ol’ ches’nut yonder for de story. You can’t make a story bery interestin’ when you hab a walkin’ aujence, an’ de aujence what’s walkin’ can’t catch on ter de story bery well either.”
It was easy to see that this suggestion was a wise one, so with the exception of Grandma Ellis and Mammy, for whom comfortable rocking-chairs were at once placed under the chestnut17 tree, the little party made its way into the old colonial house.
“Arlington House is rather a cheerless looking place now, I admit,” sighed Colonel Anderson, as they walked through the large empty rooms, “but wait till we have the story and we’ll fill it full enough.”
“Yes, but don’t let us wait any longer than we have to,” answered Courage, and as this was the sentiment of the entire party, they 053hurried from the house for the walk that was to follow. The four little Bennetts kept close to each other all the way, Mary, the eldest18, leading little Gertrude by the hand. They were very quiet, too, wondering and overawed by the unbroken lines of graves on every side.
“I wonder if Teddy and I will have to go to a war when we grow up,” said Allan at last, half under his breath, with a perceptible little shiver and as though barely mustering19 courage to speak.
“We’ll go if there is a war, I can tell you that,” Teddy replied, rather scornfully.
“Then we’ll be buried here, I suppose,” and Allan shook his head hopelessly, as though standing20 that moment at the foot of their two soldier-graves.
“And so will I,” affirmed Brevet, who had kept his place close beside his favourite Allan from the start. “I’ll speak to be buried right by both of you, too, just as though I was one of your family,” and Brevet stood as he spoke21 with his arms folded and his brows knit, in solemn and soldier-like fashion.
Now and then the little party would group itself around Colonel Anderson as he read the inscription22 from some monument or headstone, telling of the valour of the man whose grave it marked and often of the brave deed 054dared that cost the hero his life. And so some idea was gained of the beauty and significance of the great soldier cemetery23, and then all hurried back to Grandma Ellis, and Colonel Anderson began his story.
An odd assortment24 of rush-bottomed chairs had been brought from Joe’s cabin for the grown-ups, and the children were scattered25 about on shawls and carriage rugs on the ground.
“Now, it isn’t easy,” said Colonel Anderson thoughtfully, “to know just where to commence.”
“Den I’ll tell you,” said Joe, who was seated at the Colonel’s elbow. “Dere ain’t no such proper place ter begin as at de beginnin’. Tell ‘em as how der was a time when Arlington was a great unbroken forest, an’ how way back early in de eighteen hundreds, George Washington Parke Custis came by de lan’ through his father and built Arlington House.”
“If you are going as far back as that, Joe, you ought to go farther, and tell how there was an old house here even before this one, which was built way back early in the seventeen hundreds. It was a little house, with only four rooms, and it stood down yonder near the bank of the river, and was bought 055with the land by John Custis from the Alexanders. John Custis, you know, children, was Martha Washington’s son, for she was a widow with two children when she married General Washington; and George Washington Parke Custis, who lived for awhile in the little house before he built this beautiful big one, was her grandson. He was a fortunate young fellow, as the world counts being fortunate, for he had more money than he knew what to do with. As soon as this fine house was completed, George Custis was married and brought his bride to his new home, where for the next fifty years they lived the most happy and contented26 life imaginable. They had one daughter, a very beautiful young lady, as I myself clearly remember, for my birthday and her wedding-day fell together, and that was why I was allowed to attend the wedding. My mother and Miss Mollie’s mother were the warmest friends, but I was only a boy of ten, and would have been left at home, I think, but for the coincidence of the birthday. I remember my mother told me Miss Custis said she would like me always to think of her wedding-day, when my birthday came round, and I can tell you, children, I always do, even though I am an old man and have started in the seventies.” 056"An’ so do I,” chimed in Joe; “I neber done think of one without de oder, so closely are dey ’sociated in my min’.”
“Why, were you there too, Joe?” asked Brevet, with a merry little twinkle in his eyes, for if there was one story more often told than any other for Brevet’s edification, it was the story of Miss Mary Custis’s wedding.
“Sho’ as yo’ born, Honey,” quite overlooking Brevet’s insinuation in his absorbing interest in the subject. “It was a bery busy day for me, de day Miss Mollie was married.”
“How ole was you, Joe, ‘bout dat time?” asked Mammy, her old eyes a-twinkle with mischief27 as well as Brevet’s, for Joe’s age, as every one knew, was a mere2 matter of guesswork, so careful was he that no one should ever come to a knowledge of the same.
“Seems ter me dat question ain’t no wise relavent,” replied Joe, bristling28 up a little, “but de Colonel and I warn’t so bery far apart when we was chilluns.”
“Why, were you friends then?” asked Allan Bennett.
“Well, that day made us friends,” answered Colonel Anderson, “and this was the way it happened. Everything was ready for the wedding. As many of the guests as it would hold were assembled in the drawing-room, the 057room on the left of the front door there as you go in, but the clergyman had not arrived. Then it was that Mr. Custis, beginning to grow nervous, called to Joe there, who stood on the porch, as fine as silk in his best clothes and white cotton gloves, ready to open the carriage doors for the guests as they arrived.
“‘Joe,’ called Mr. Custis, ‘run down the road, and see if you see a sign of a carriage anywhere in sight,’ and, children, what do you suppose Joe did? Well, he just stood stock still, looking down at his bright polished boots, and he never budged30 an inch.”
“It’s de truf,” said Joe, shaking his head regretfully, for the children were looking to him for confirmation31 of the story.
“You see the boots were very shiny,” continued the Colonel, in a tone of apology for Joe, “and the roads were very very muddy, so that he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Fortunately for Joe, I imagine, Mr. Custis had not waited to see him start, taking for granted, of course, that he would obey at once, and then what did I do but spring down the steps and run on Joe’s errand for him, only too thankful if I could do anything to prove my gratitude32 for being allowed to be present at that, to me, greatest of occasions. I had to wait less than five minutes before I discovered the open 058chaise, which had been sent into Washington to bring the dominie, tearing up the road.
“‘They’re coming, they’ll be here in a minute,’ I called, hurrying back to Joe, and then he rushed away in his new shiny boots and delivered my message to Mr. Custis, pretending, as the rogue33 confessed to me afterward34, to be quite out of breath from the haste with which he had come. And then in the next moment Mr. Meade, for that was the clergyman’s name, was really there, but he came in at the back door and slipped upstairs as quickly as he could, followed by Joe and myself. You see he had driven right into the heart of a heavy thunder shower, just outside of Washington, and was drenched35 to the skin. There was nothing for it but that he must make a change of clothing as quickly as he could, so Joe, who knew where Mr. Custis kept his clothes, ran hither and thither36, bringing one article after another, and I helped the minister into them—but my, how he did look! Mr. Custis was short and stout37, and Mr. Meade was tall and thin, and I didn’t see how any one could keep their faces straight with such a guy of a minister. They couldn’t have done it either, if they had seen how he looked, could they, Joe?”
“No, Colonel, not for a minute,” chuckled38 Joe. 059"But why didn’t they see?” questioned eager little Allan.
“Why, because, of course, he had brought his gown with him, and it covered him all up,” for Brevet, able to anticipate much of the familiar story, was glad to have a hand in its telling.
“I wish you could know how the house looked in those days,” said the Colonel with a sigh of regret, echoed by a much louder and deeper sigh on the part of Joe. “It was full of the most beautiful things. There was a magnificent array of old family portraits; among them two or three of George and Martha Washington. Then there was a marvelous old sideboard that held many beautiful things that had belonged to Washington. I remember in particular some great silver candlesticks with snuffers and extinguishers, and silver wine-coolers, and some exquisite39 painted china, part of a set that had been given to Washington by the Society of the Cincinnati.”
“I do not think you have told the children,” interrupted Grandma Ellis, “who it was that Miss Custis married.”
“Can that be possible?” provoked that he should have left out anything so important. “Why, it was General Robert E. Lee!” 060"I’m afraid we don’t know who General Lee was,” said Mary Bennett, blushing a little, and then she added quickly, “you see we live so far away from where the war was fought,” for Brevet’s undisguised look of astonishment40 was really quite paralysing.
“We only know what we have learnt at school,” Teddy further explained, “and we don’t remember so very much of that.”
“Why, General Lee,” said Brevet earnestly, feeling that he must come personally to the rescue of such dense41 ignorance, “was the greatest general they had down South. He would have whipped us Yankees if any one could.”
“He was a fine man though, a fine man,” said Joe, solemnly. “He and Miss Mary lived right on here at Arlington after dey was married and dere wasn’t a slave of us on de place who wouldn’t hab let Lieutenant42 Lee walk right ober us if he’d wanted to. So den when Mr. Custis died in 1857, and Lieutenant Lee done come to be de haid of de house, it was changin’ one good master for anoder.”
“Was Joe a slave?” asked Allan, drawing himself up to Mammy’s knees, near whom he happened to be sitting, and speaking in an awe-struck whisper.
“Why, yes, Honey, Joe was born in a cabin 061nex’ where he lives to-day, an’ we was all slaves down here ‘fo’ de wah, but de coloured folks here at Arlington was always treated ver’ han’some. I wasn’t so fortunate, Honey—I belonged down to a plantation43 in Georgia, where de Missus was kind, but where our Master treated us des like cattle, an’ I had my only chile sold away from me, when she wasn’t no mo’ den fo’teen or fifteen, an’ I don’ know ter this day whether she be livin’ or daid.”
“Oh, Mammy!” was all Allan could say in reply, but his little face looked worlds of sympathy.
Meanwhile Joe and Colonel Anderson between them went on with the story of Arlington, now one and now the other taking up its thread. Joe told of the many cosy cabins at that time dotted about the place in which the slaves lived, and of their happy life on a plantation where they all felt as though they were part of the household, and took as great pride and pleasure as the Master himself in everything belonging to it. He described, too, to the great delight of the children, the wild excitement of the Autumn hunting parties, when Mr. Custis and a whole houseful of guests would start off at sunrise, coming home at night with their game-bags full to a banquet in the house and an evening of unbounded fun and merri062ment. The Colonel told about the house itself, for from the time he became a young man until the day when, about to take command of a Washington regiment44, he came to say goodbye to Lieutenant Lee, he had been a constant visitor there. He told of the luxury and comfort of the delightful45 home, now so bare and desolate46; of the pretty sewing-rooms in the right wing, set apart for Mrs. Custis and Miss Mary; of the cosy library in the left wing, and then of the pictures painted on the walls by Mr. Custis. The pictures represented five of the battles of the Revolution, and Washington was the central figure in them all. There is just a trace of some of his work left now on the rear entrance of the wide hall, but Colonel Anderson admitted they could never have been considered very fine, rather detracting than adding to the other beautiful finishings of the house.
“But what became of all the beautiful things and how did the place ever happen to become a national cemetery?” asked Courage in one of the pauses, when both Joe and the Colonel seemed to be casting about in their minds for what would best be told next. She had listened as intently as any of the children to the whole narrative47, and was every whit29 as much interested. 063"Well, it seems to me that is almost a story in itself,” Colonel Anderson answered, “and that we would better have out the luncheon baskets and take a bit of rest.”
Even the children agreed but half-heartedly at first to this interruption, but the avidity with which they afterward settled down to sandwiches and sponge cake showed that they really had minds not above the physical demands of life.
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1
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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10
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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12
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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13
stylish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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mustering
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的现在分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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budged
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| v.（使）稍微移动( budge的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）改变主意，（使）让步 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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38
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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40
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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41
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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42
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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43
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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45
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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46
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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