Chapter 11

THE YOUNG PEOPLE'S EXCURSION.

RUTH and Agnes had joined the Young People's Association, and now there was to be a grand excursion. Such an excursion as had never been seen in Ripley. Guy had become acquainted with the Rev. John Jay, through his sisters, and as that gentleman had united his entreaties with theirs that Guy should accompany them, he was at last prevailed upon. It happened to be the very hottest day of the season, although the latter part of August, and although Guy had several times declared to himself that he would "back out" of the affair, the extreme heat decided him. "He would go with a pack of monkeys to the moon, or anywhere, for a breath of pure air." Of all the gay parties that ever set out from Ripley this was the gayest. Scarcely a breath of air stirred. People were astir because their business compelled them to make some exertion, but they moved about listlessly, as if the mere act of living were a labor rather than a pleasure.

The excursion was to start from the church, where already there was quite an array of omnibusses drawn up as much in the shade as possible. So when six young people came up breathless, their faces flushed and eyes sparkling, hoping they were not too late to get a seat, they did _so_ want to get among the green fields, out of that stifling place, the horses pricked up their ears, and the sleepy drivers brightened up, having come in contact with the freshness and charm of those glad gay natures.

"We can't make very good time to-day, no how," said the driver of the coach they were about entering. "It's going to be as hot as blazes."

"All right, driver; we're in no particular hurry. Any time this week will do," said one of the young men as he clambered in.

"Isn't it delightful, none but ourselves," was the exclamation. But just then Guy, Agnes and Ruth appeared, and took their seats. By this time the other coaches had been filled, the word was given, and the party started off amidst cheers and waving of handkerchiefs. It was for the time as if a fresh breeze had suddenly sprung up, giving new life to the town through which they passed.

"Can't you turn into a by-road soon," said one; and "O, please do, it is excruciating going over these cobble-stones," said others. But the heat had not quite dried up the driver's fun, or else the street was in very bad condition, for just as this was said, they were bounced up like so many rubber balls, and the driver, with a twinkle in his eye, remarked that there could not be more than a mile or so of that kind of road.

"Are there any undertakers along this road?" asked Guy, seriously.

"Undertakers! what do you mean, Guy?" said Agnes, quite shocked at his levity. The whole party set up a laugh in which the driver heartily joined, knowing what had called forth the remark.

"I merely thought we would require the services of one, if not more, at the rate we are going, especially as there is a mile more of such road."

In the midst of another laugh which followed this speech, the coach turned off into a shady lane where the trees on either side almost met, forming a delightful shelter from the sun, which was now pouring down its rays most lavishly.

Through sun and shade the horses kept up their trot, the driver being called to repeatedly to be kind to them, until the joyful announcement, "The woods, the grand old woods!" was made. Just at the entrance to the woods stood a hotel. And the arrival of the coaches made quite a stir at the "Cross Keys," as it was called. The proprietor was aroused from his slumbers under the old chestnut tree at the end of the house, where he had been vainly endeavoring to fix in his mind some of the previous week's news; judging from the paper which lay on the grass, and the spectacles which, just resting on the tip of his nose, seemed ready to follow the news,--by the barking of the dogs and the scampering of servants.

"Bless me," he gasped, "if there ain't a load. Pretty plucky whoever they are to travel this sort of weather." And gathering up himself and his glasses, he made as great speed towards the front of the house as his roly-poly figure and the heat would admit.

By the time he reached it, black Pete, whose business was to attend to the stables and do a little of anything needed about the house, stood cap in hand, grinning and bowing to the party who were alighting.

"Nice kind of a day this, friend," said one of the young men, as Pete took his station near the horses heads. "No heat to speak of up this way, I suppose."

"Just a little, sah!" and Pete's grin was broader than ever, while he rolled his eyes in the direction of the girls. "It feels a good sight breezin' since you come sah, de young ladies, I mean." Here there was another bow, and the whole thing, the bow and the compliment was so overwhelming, that the girls ran laughing up the steps, almost upsetting the worthy landlord.

Presently they were followed by the young men who had staid behind to have another word with Pete, and then those who had not brought dinner, among whom of course were Guy and his sisters, made arrangements with the landlord for that meal, urging him to bring out everything his larder contained, in view of the fact that a party of ravenous wolves were to be fed.

"This weather don't appear to set very hard on you at that rate," he replied, his fat sides shaking with merriment as he went off to obey orders.

Then Guy and a few others began to search for a cool place, in which to eat dinner. First they tried the house, but it was so dark they could not see, and when the shutters were opened the flies swarmed in; next they tried the porch, but the glare was too great. Some were beginning to be cross and unamiable, when Pete's head again appeared.

"If de ladies and gen'lemen wants a nice cool place, there's one over yonder in de arbor."

"O, yes, come and take tea in the arbor," sang the girls, as they bounded down the steps and followed Pete, whose delight appeared to equal theirs, for although the sun could not penetrate the closely interwoven vines, which covered it, neither could the air, had there been a breath stirring. But it was "romantic" all thought, and Pete agreed with them; though I question whether if he had gone to the stake for it, he could have told what the word meant. There was one thing he _did_ know, however, and that was, that if they remained out of doors, he could enjoy their society, and it was not every day such a rare treat was his. So while the party sought the woods until the time for dinner, Pete went to bring out "de table and cheers," thinking of the good time he was to have, "listenin' to de grand talk of dem town folks."

At the appointed hour the "wolves" sought their prey.

"I guess dat here will do to begin with," remarked Pete, drolly, as he deposited on the table two large dishes of chicken, and a plate of tongue.

"Yes, that will do for the first bite," was the reply, of one of the young men. Pete showed his ivories and darted off again. But on the return trip he had an assistant, and between the two the board was amply spread.

"I'll just be rusticatin' round here, Susan, so you needn't stay," he said, as Susan announced her readiness to "fetch them anything else that was needed."

The girl looked at Pete, then at the party. Her look of inquiry was met with: "O, no, there is no need of you waiting, if we require anything he can get it."

Pete made a bow, and Susan, glad to be relieved, thanked them and retired. Pete would have acted in full the part of waiter; already he had installed himself behind the prettiest young girl's chair, but he was requested to seat himself outside and keep his ears open in case of being needed.

Seating himself on the top step of the summer-house, and leaning his back against the lattice-work, he obeyed orders by listening intently to all the conversation. He evidently favored the ladies, from the nods of approval and looks of delight which he gave at their remarks.

It certainly could not have been from the conversation that he was reminded of angels; perhaps the bright, fair faces of the girls and their light attire suggested it, but he began, during a little lull in the talking, to hum:--

"O, gib me de wings of de angels, To fly away, to fly away,--"

before he had gone farther, there was an exclamation of delight; "Don't stop, sing it all, it is splendid!"

Pete chuckled and after wriggling round to where he could see without being seen, and clearing his throat several times, took up the strain again; this time in a louder key, and with the swaying of the whole body, where before it had only been the movement of the head.

"O, gib me de wings of de angels, To fly away, to fly away, O, gib me de wings of de angels, To fly to my heabenly home. Thar thar ain't any sorrow nor sighin', Thar thar ain't any sickness nor dyin', But de Lord will himself wipe de tears from our eyes, When we fly to our heabenly home.

O, gib me de wings of de angels, To fly away, to fly away; O, gib me de wings of de angels To fly to my heabenly home; Thar we'll all be dressed up in white raiment, And keep walkin' along de gold pavement, And we'll each hab a crown and a harp in our hand, When we fly to our heabenly home.

O, gib me de wings of de angels, To fly away, to fly away; O, gib me de wings of de angels, To fly to my heabenly home. Thar we'll sing hallelujah foreber, And keep wavin' our palms all together, And the Saviour will say, 'Come sit down by my side,' When we fly to our heabenly home."

By the time Pete had finished he was in a state of rapture, swaying from side to side as though in fancy he were mounting upwards on angel's wings. But he was brought out of his ecstasy by the shouts of

"Bravo! well done for you, Pete."

"Where did you learn it?" eagerly inquired Agnes.

"At de camp, Miss," was the reply.

"Why, were you in the army, or were you a slave?" another asked.

Pete rolled his eyes until nothing but the whites could be seen, as he said, "At de Camp-Meetin', you know. No, ladies, I never was a slave only to old Satan. Dat was enough of slavery for dis here darkey."

"Say, now, tell us how he treated you, that's a good fellow," said Guy, handing him some loose change out of his pocket. "This is for singing, now go on."

Poor Pete's face grew very grave. "It ain't very pleasin' to tell of, and ef it's jest de same, I won't scare de ladies with talkin' about it."

"But we wish it," they said, and as there was no help for him, Pete began.