Not to put too fine a point upon it, it was a hideous room.
The ceiling was so low that Ferrol felt as if he must knock his head
against it; it was papered—ceiling and all—with paper of an
unwholesome yellow enlivened with large blue flowers; there was a
bedstead in one corner, and the walls were ornamented with colored
lithographs of moon-faced houris, with round eyes and round, red
cheeks, and wearing low-necked dresses, and flowers in their bosoms,
and bright yellow gold necklaces. These works of art were the first
things which caught Ferrol's eye, and he went slowly up to the most
remarkable, and stood before it, regarding it with mingled wonderment
and awe.
He turned from it after a few seconds to look at Louisiana, who stood
near him, and he beheld what seemed to him a phenomenon. He had never
seen her blush before as other women blush—now she was blushing,
burning red from chin to brow.
"There—there is no one in this part of the house," she said. "I—I
know more of these people than you do. I will go and try to find some
one."
She was gone before he could interpose. Not that he would have
interposed, perhaps. Somehow—without knowing why—he felt as if she
did know more of the situation than he did—almost as if she were, in a
manner, doing the honors for the time being.
She crossed the passage with a quick, uneven step, and made her way, as
if well used to the place, into the kitchen at the back of the house.
A stout negro woman stood at a table, filling a pan with newly made
biscuits. Her back was toward the door and she did not see who entered.
"Aunt Cassandry," the girl began, when the woman turned toward her.
"Who's dar?" she exclaimed. "Lor', honey, how ye skeert me! I aint no
C'sandry."
The face she turned was a strange one, and it showed no sign of
recognition of her visitor.
It was an odd thing that the sight of her unfamiliar face should have
been a shock to Louisiana; but it was a shock. She put her hand to her
side.
"Where is my—where is Mr. Rogers?" she asked. "I want to see him."
"Out on de back po'ch, honey, right now. Dar he goes!"
The girl heard him, and flew out to meet him. Her heart was throbbing
hard, and she was drawing quick, short breaths.
"Father!" she cried. "Father! Don't go in the house!"
And she caught him by both shoulders and drew him round. He did not
know her at first in her fanciful-simple dress and her Gainsborough
hat. He was not used to that style of thing, believing that it
belonged rather to the world of pictures. He stared at her. Then he
broke out with an exclamation,
"Lo-rd! Louisianny!"
She kept her eyes on his face. They were feverishly bright, and her
cheeks were hot. She laughed hysterically.
"Don't speak loud," she said. "There are some strange people in the
house, and—and I want to tell you something."
He was a slow man, and it took him some time to grasp the fact that she
was really before him in the flesh. He said, again:
"Lord, Louisianny!" adding, cheerfully, "How ye've serprised me!"
Then he took in afresh the change in her dress. There was a pile of
stove-wood stacked on the porch to be ready for use, and he sat down on
it to look at her.
"Why, ye've got a new dress on!" he said. "Thet thar's what made ye
look sorter curis. I hardly knowed ye."
Then he remembered what she had said on first seeing him.
"Why don't ye want me to go in the house?" he asked. "What sort o'
folks air they?"
"They came with me from the Springs," she answered; "and—and I want
to—to play a joke on them."
She put her hands up to her burning cheeks, and stood so.
"A joke on 'em?" he repeated.
"Yes," she said, speaking very fast. "They don't know I live here,
they think I came from some city,—they took the notion
themselves,—and I want to let them think so until we go away from the
house. It will be such a good joke."
She tried to laugh, but broke off in the middle of a harsh sound. Her
father, with one copperas-colored leg crossed over the other, was
chewing his tobacco slowly, after the manner of a ruminating animal,
while he watched her.
"Don't you see?" she asked.
"Wa-al, no," he answered.
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