Elsie's children

"That horse blanket, Jim! bring it here quick, quick!" he shouted back to his servant. Then to the half-crazed woman, "Where is your baby? where did you leave it?"

"In there, in there on the bed, oh, oh, it's burnin' all up! I forgot it, an' I couldn't get back."

Eddie made one step backward, and ran his eye rapidly over the burning pile, calmly taking in the situation, considering whether the chances of success were sufficient to warrant the awful risk.

It was the work of an instant to do that, snatch the blanket from Jim, wrap it around his person, and plunge in among the flames, smoke, and falling firebrands, regardless of the boy's frightened protest, "Oh, Mr. Eddie don't; you'll be killed! you'll burn all up!"

He had looked into the cabin but a day or two before, and remembered in which corner stood the rude bed of the family, their only one. He groped his way to it, half suffocated by the heat and smoke, and in momentary dread of the falling in of the roof, reached it at last, and feeling about among the scanty coverings, laid hold of the child, which was either insensible or sound asleep.

Taking it in his young, strong arms, holding it underneath the blanket, which he drew closer about his person, he rushed back again, stepping from the door just as the roof fell in with a crash.

The woman snatched her babe, and its gallant rescuer fell fainting to the ground. A falling beam had grazed his head and struck him a heavy blow upon the shoulder.

With a cry Jim sprang forward, dragged his young master out of reach of the flying sparks, the overpowering heat, and suffocating smoke, and dropping, blubbering, down by his side, tried to loosen his cravat.

"Fetch some wattah!" he called, "quick dar, you ongrateful white trash! you gwine let young Marse Eddie die, when he done gone saved yo' baby from burnin' up?"

"Take the gourd and run to the spring Celestia Ann; quick, quick as you kin go," said the mother hugging up her rescued child, and wiping a tear from her eye with the corner of a very dirty apron.

"There ain't none," answered the child, "we uns ain't got nothin' left; it's all burnt up."

But a keen, fresh air was already reviving our hero.

"Take me home, Jim," he said faintly. "Stop that wagon," as one was heard rumbling down the road, still at some distance.

"Hollo dar! jes stop an' take a passenger aboard!" shouted Jim, springing to his feet and rushing into the road, waving his cap above his head.

"Hollo!" shouted back the other, "dat you Jim Yates? Burnin' down Smith's house. Dat's a plenepotentiary crime, dat is, sah!"

"Oh go 'long, you fool, Pete White!" retorted Jim, as the other drew rein close at his side, "you bet you don't catch dis niggah a burnin' no houses. Spect ole Smith set de fire goin' hisself wid dat ole pipe o' his'n!"

"An' it's clar burnt down to de ground," observed Pete, gazing with eager interest at the smouldering ruins. "What you s'pose dey's gwine to do for sheltah for dem po' chillen?"

"Dat ain't no concern ob mine," returned Jim indifferently. "Ise consarned 'bout getting young Marse Ed'ard safe home, an' don't care nuffin' for all de white trash in de country. Jes hitch yo' hoss an' help me lift him into de wagon."

"What's de mattah?" queried Pete, leisurely dismounting and slowly hitching his horse to a tree.

"Oh you hurry up, you ole darky!" returned Jim impatiently. "Mr. Ed'ard's lyin' dar in de cold; 'catch his diff if you's gwine to be all night 'bout gittin' to him."

"Ise got de rheumatiz, chile; ole folks can't turn roun' like young uns," returned Pete quickening his movements somewhat as he clambered over the fence and followed Jim to the spot where Eddie lay.

"Hurt, sah?" he asked.

"A little; I fear I can hardly sit my horse – for this faintness," Eddie answered, low and feebly. "Can you put me into your wagon and drive me to Ion?"

"Yes, sah; wid de greatest pleasah in life, sah. Mr. Travilla and de Ion ladies ben berry kind to me an' my ole woman and de chillen."

Mrs. Smith and her dirty ragged little troop had gathered round, still crying over their fright and their losses, curious too about the young gentleman who had saved the baby and was lying there on the ground so helpless.

"Are ye much hurt, Mr. Edward?" asked the woman. "Oh yer mother'll never forgive me fur lettin' ye risk yer life that away!"

"I don't think the injury is serious, Mrs. Smith, at least I hope not; and you were not to blame," he answered, "so make yourself easy. Now, Pete and Jim, give me an arm, each of you."

They helped him into the wagon and laid him down, putting the scorched horse blanket under his head for a pillow.

"Now drive a little carefully, Pete," he said, suppressing a groan, "and look out for the ruts, I'd rather not be jolted.

"And you, Sim, ride on ahead and lead Prince. I want you to get in before us, ask for my father and tell him I've had an accident; am not seriously hurt, but want my mother prepared. She must not be alarmed by seeing me brought in unexpectedly, in this state."

His orders were obeyed, Jim reached Ion some ten minutes ahead of the wagon and gave due warning of its approach. He met his master in the avenue and told his story in a tolerably straightforward manner.

"Where is Mr. Edward now?" asked Mr. Travilla.

"De wagon's jes down de road dar a piece, sah; be here in 'bout five minutes, sah."

"Then off for the doctor, Jim, as fast as you can go. Here, give me Prince's bridle. Now don't let the grass grow under your horse's feet. Either Dr. Barton, or Dr. Arthur; it doesn't matter which; only get him here speedily." And vaulting into the saddle Mr. Travilla rode back to the house, dismounted, throwing the bridle to Solon, and went in.

Opening the door of the drawing-room where the family were gathered:

"Wife," he said cheerfully, "will you please step here a moment?"

She came at once and followed him down the hall, asking, "What is it, Edward?" for her heart misgave her that something was wrong.

"Not much, I hope, dearest," he said, turning and taking her in his arms. "Our boy, Eddie, has done a brave deed and suffered some injury by it, but nothing serious, I trust. He will be here in a moment."

He felt her cling to him with a convulsive grasp, he heard her quick coming breath, the whispered words, "Oh, my son! Dear Lord, help!" then, as the rumble of the wagon wheels was heard nearing the door, she put her hand in his, calm and quiet, and went forth with him to meet their wounded child.

His father helped him to alight, and supported him up the veranda steps.

"Don't be alarmed, mother, I'm not badly hurt," he said, but staggered as he spoke, and would have fallen but for his father's sustaining arm, and by the light from the open door, she saw his eyes close and a deadly pallor overspread his face.

"He's fainting!" she exclaimed, springing to his other side. "Oh, my boy, this is no trifle!"

Servants were already crowding about them, and Eddie was quickly borne to his room, laid upon the bed, and restoratives administered.

"Fire!" his mother said with a start and shudder, pointing to his singed locks, "oh, where has the child been?"

Her husband told her in a few words.

"And he has saved a life!" she cried with tears of mingled joy and grief, proud of her brave son, though her tender mother heart ached for his suffering. "Thank God for that, if – if he has not sacrificed his own."

The door opened and Arthur Conly came in.

Consciousness was returning to the lad, and looking up at his cousin as he bent over him, "Tell mother," he murmured, "that I'm not much hurt."

"I have to find that out, first," said Arthur. "Do you feel any burns, bruises? whereabouts are you injured, do you think?"

"Something – a falling beam, I suppose, grazed my head and struck me on the shoulder; I think, too, that my hands and face are scorched."