"What dat, honey?"
"We start to-morrow for Viamede; papa has sent John to engage our passage
on the steamer."
"Dat all, darlin'?" queried Chloe, with a sigh of relief, "if we's got to
go, might's well go quick an' hab it ober."
"Well, I'm glad you take so sensible a view of it," remarked Elsie,
relieved in her turn; "and I hope you will find much less pain and more
pleasure than you expect in going back to the old home."
The next morning, as Mr. Dinsmore and his daughter sat upon the deck of
the steamer, enjoying the sunlight, the breeze, and the dancing of the
water, having cleared their port and gotten fairly out into the gulf, a
startling incident occurred.
Chloe stood at a respectful distance, leaning over the side of the vessel,
watching the play of the wheel and the rainbow in the spray that fell in
showers at its every revolution. An old negro busied about the deck; drew
near and addressed her:
"Well, auntie, you watchin' dat ole wheel dar? Fust time you trable on dis
boat, eh?"
Chloe started at the sound of the voice, turned suddenly round and faced
the speaker, her features working with emotion: one moment of earnest
scrutiny on the part of both, and with a wild cry, "Aunt Chloe! my ole
woman," "Uncle Joe! it can't be you," they rushed into each other's arms,
and hung about each other's neck, weeping and sobbing like two children.
Pages:
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56