The midland journal., 1916-02-18
CHAPTER Continued.

She pointed to the house and then to
herself and smiled. He understood
the pant0mime and nodded. When
they reached the house a withered
and wrinkled little woman came out
to the arched veranda to meet them.
She looked Gerry over shrewdly and
then held out her hand. He shook
it listlessly. They walked through a
long dividing hall. On each side were
large rooms, empty, save one where
big bed, a wash-stand, and an old
bureau with mlldewed glass, were
grouped like an oasis in desert. They
reached the kitchen. 1t was evidently
the living room of the house. A ham
mock cut OF one corner. Chairs were
drawn up to a rough. uncovered table.
A stove was built into the masonry
and cavernous oven gaped from the
massive wall.
At the stove was an old negress.
making coffee with shaky deliberation.
On the floor sat an old darky clad
only from his waist down in such trou-
sers as Gerry was wearing; except
that they were soiled and tattered.
He looked up and fastened his eyes
on Gerry and then struggled to his
feet Dim recollections of some by
gone white master brought a gleam
into his bleary eyes. He raised his
hand in the national gesture of child
to parent, slave to master. blessing.
master, blessing" Gerry had learned
the meaning of the quaint custom.
.'God bless tEee," he answered in
badly junbled Portuguese. The girl
and the wrinkled woman looked at
him, surprised. ard then smiled ut
each other as women smile at the first
steps of child.
They made him sit down at the
table and placed before him crisp
rusks of manioc -four and steaming
coffee whose splendid aroma trf-
umphed over the soriidness of the
scene and through the nostrils reached
the palate with anticipatory touch.
1t was sweetened with dark, rungent
+ sirup and was served black in capa-
cious bowl, as though one could not
( drink too deeply of the elixir of life.
Gerry ate ravenously and slipped the
coffee. at first sparingly, then greedily.
The old negress fluttered nervously
about the stove, nursing its inadequate
fire of charcoal. Her eyes We're big
with wonder at the capacity of the
white master. The old negro had sunk
back to his seat on the floor. The two
white women stood and watched Ger
ry. The more he ate the more they
urged
Gerry set down the empty bowl with
a sigh. The rusks had been delicious.
Before the coffee the name of nectar
dwindled to impotency. Its elixir riot
ed in his veins. At the sigh the girl
had deftly rolled cigarette in a bit
of corn husk, scraped thin as paper.
Now she slipped it into his fingers.
The old negress picked up a live coal
and passing it from shaky hand to
shaky hand, deposited it on his plate.
Gerry lit the cigarette. With the first
long cOntented Whit he smiled. The
smile brought stinging recollection.
With frown he threw away the ciga-
rette and rose from the table. "The
brute is fed and laughs" he said aloud
and strode from the room. The girl
and the little wrinkled woman looked
at each other in dismay.. They seemed
to sense the unintelligible words. The
old darky crawIed across the floor and
possessed himself of the cigarette.
Gerry went to seat himself on the
steps of the veranda. Before him
stretched the fallow valley. beyond it
CLEANED the black line Of the rushing
river. To the right were the ruins OF
sugar mill and stables To the left
the debris that once had been slaves
quarters. The fields still bore the hum
mocks. in rough alignment, that told
the story Of past years fruitful in
cane. All was waste. all was ruin.
The girl slipped to seat beside him.
She rolled a fresh cigarette and then
shyly laid small brown hand on his
arm. Gerry looked at her. Her big
brown eyes were sorrowful and plead
ing. She held out the cigarette with a
little shrug that deprecated the small
ness of the offering.
Gerry felt q twinge of remorse. He
patted the hand that lay on his arm,
smiled, and took the cigarette. The
girls face lit up. She called and again
the negress brought fire. This time
Gerry smoked gravely. The girl sat
on beside him Her hand lay In his
So they sat until the sun passed the
zenith and, slipping over the caves,
S@r W on their bare feet Gerry