In Old Plantation Days
Who Stand for the Gods
There was a warm flush of anger on Robert Curtis’ face as he ran down the steps of the old Stuart mansion. Every one said of this young man that he possessed in a marked degree the high temper for which his family was noted. And one looking at him that night would have said that this temper had been roused to the utmost.
This was not the first time Robert Curtis had ridden away from the Stuarts’ in anger. Emily Stuart was a high-strung girl, independent, and impatient of control, and their disagreements had been many. But they had never gone so far as this one, and they had somehow always blown over. This time the young lover had carried away in his pocket the ring with which they had plighted their troth, and had gone away vowing never to darken those doors again, and Emily had been exasperatingly polite and cool, though her eyes were flashing as she assured him how little she ever wanted to look upon his face again.
It may have been the strain of keeping this self-possession that made her break down so completely as soon as her lover was out of sight. That she did break down is beyond dispute, for when Dely came in with a very much disordered waistband she found her mistress in tears.
With the quick sympathy and easy familiarity of a favorite servant she ran to her mistress exclaiming, “La, Miss Em’ly, whut’s de mattah?”
“Dely,” she said, “Mr. Curtis will not come here any more after to-day. Certain things have made it impossible. I know that you and Ike are interested in each other, and I do not want the changed relations between Mr. Curtis and me to make any difference to you and Ike.”
“La, Miss Em’ly,” said Dely, surreptitiously straightening her waistband, “I don’ keer nuffin’ ’bout Ike; he ain’t nuffin’ ‘tall to me.”
“Don’t fib, Dely,” said Emily impressively.
“‘Claih to goodness, Miss Em’ly, I ain’t fib-bin’ ; but even if Ike was anyt’ing to me you know I wa’n’t nevah ‘spectin’ to go ovah to the Cu’tis plantatin ‘ceptin’ wid you, w’en you an’ Mas’ Bob ”
“That will do, Dely.” Emliy caught up her handkerchief and hurried from the room.
“Po’ Miss Em’Iy,” soliloquized Dely; “she des natchully breakin’ huh hea’t now, but she ain’t gwine let on. Ike, indeed! I ain’t bothahed ’bout Ike,” and then she added, smiling softly, “That scamp’s des de same ez a b’ah; he mighty nigh ruined my ap’on at de wais’.”
Robert Curtis was crossing the footbridge which separated the Curtis and Stuart farther fields before Ike rode up abreast of him. The bay mare was covered with dust and foam, and a heavy scowl lay darkly on the young man’s face.
Finding his horse blown by her hard gallop, the white man drew rein, and they rode along more slowly, but in silence.
“Well,” he said bitterly, “when you go to the Stuarts’ again, Ike, you’ll have to go alone.”
“Then I won’t go,” said Ike promptly.
Robert was very young.
“Then I don’ go,” returned Ike doggedly; “don’ you reckon I got some fambly feelin’s?”
The young man’s q