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Page 16
Then suddenly she cried out, "Fo' God! Oh, my Miss Jinny!" and fell on
her knees.
Mrs. Cabell gazed down, startled. "Who is it? Oh, whom have you brought
me, Eleanor?" She bent to look more closely at Aunt Basha, kneeling,
speechless, tears streaming from the brave old eyes, holding up clasped
hand imploring. "It isn't--Oh, my dear, I believe it _is_ our own old
nurse, Basha, who took care of your father!"
"Yas'm. Yas, Miss Jinny," endorsed Aunt Basha, climbing to her feet.
"Yas, my Miss Jinny, bress de Lawd. It's Basha." She turned to the girl.
"Dis yer chile ain't nebber my young Marse Pendleton's chile!"
But it was; and there was explanation and laughter and tears, too, but
tears of happiness. Then it was told how, after that crash of disaster
was over; the family had tried in vain to find Basha and Jeems; had
tried always. It was told how a great fortune had come to them in the
turn of a hand by the discovery of an unsuspected salt mine on the old
estate; how "young Marse Pendleton," a famous surgeon now, had by that
time made for himself a career and a home in this Northern state; how
his wife had died young, and his mother, "Miss Jinny," had come to live
with him and take care of his one child, the vision. And then the simple
annals of Aunt Basha and Uncle Jeems were also told, the long struggle
to keep respectable, only respectable; the years of toil and frugality
and saving--saving the two hundred dollars which she had offered this
morning as a "free gif" to her country. In these annals loomed large for
some time past the figure of a "young marse" who had been good to her
and helped her much and often in spite of his own "_res augusta
domi_,"--which was not Aunt Basha's expression. The story was
told of his oration in the little hall bedroom about Liberty
"whatjer-m'-call-'ems," and of how the boy had stirred the soul of the
old woman with his picture of the soldiers in the trenches.
"So it come to me, Miss Jinny, how ez me'n Jeems was thes two wuthless
ole niggers, an' hadn't fur to trabble on de road anyways, an' de Lawd
would pervide, an' ef He didn't we could scratch grabble some ways. An'
dat boy, dat young Marse David, he tole me everbody ought to gib dey
las' cent fo' Unc' Sam an' de sojers. So"--Aunt Basha's high,
inexpressibly sweet laughter of pure glee filled the room--"so I thes
up'n handed over my two hun'erd."
"It was the most beautiful and wonderful thing that's been done in all
wonderful America," pronounced Eleanor Cabell as one having authority.
She went on. "But that young man, your young Marse David, why doesn't he
fight if he's such a patriot?"
"Bress gracious, honey," Aunt Basha hurried to explain, "he's a-honin'
to fight. But he cayn't. He's lame. He goes a-limpin'. Dey won't took
him."
"Oh!" retracted Eleanor. Then: "What's his name? Maybe father could cure
him."
"He name Lance. Marse David Lance."
Why should Miss Jinny jump? "David Lance? It can't be, Aunt Basha."
With no words Aunt Basha began hauling up her skirts and Eleanor,
remembering Mr. Davidson's face, went into gales of laughter. Aunt Basha
baited, looked at her with an inquiring gaze of adoration. "Yas'm, my
young miss. He name dat. I done put the cyard in my ridicule. Yas'm,
it's here." The antique bead purse was opened and Lance's card was
presented to Miss Jinny.
"Eleanor! This is too wonderful--look!"
Eleanor looked, and read: "Mr. David Pendleton Lance." "Why,
Grandmother, it's Dad's name--David Pendleton Cabell. And the Lance--"
Mrs. Cabell, stronger on genealogy than the younger generation, took up
the wandering thread. "The 'Lance' is my mother's maiden name--Virginia
Lance she was. And her brother was David Pendleton Lance. I named your
father for him because he was born on the day my young uncle was killed,
in the battle of Shiloh."
"Well, then--who's this sailing around with our family name?"
"Who is he? But he must be our close kin, Eleanor. My Uncle David
left--that's it. His wife came from California and she went out there
again to live with her baby. I hadn't heard of them for years. Why,
Eleanor, this boy's father must have been--my first cousin. My young
Uncle David's baby. Those years of trouble after we left home wiped out
so much. I lost track--but that doesn't matter now. Aunt Basha," spoke
Miss Jinny in a quick, efficient voice, which suddenly recalled the
blooming and businesslike mother of the young brood of years ago, "Aunt
Basha, where can I find your young Marse David?"
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