"That's no way to feel. It's exactly what I was talking about,--racial self-reliance. You've married hundreds of colored couples."

"Ya-as, suh,"--the old fellow scratched his black jaw.--"I kin yoke up a pair uv ordina'y n.i.g.g.e.rs all right. Sometimes dey sticks, sometimes dey don't." The old man shook his white, kinky head. "I'll bust in an' try to hitch up you-all. I--I dunno whedder de cer'mony will hol' away up North or not."

"It'll be all right anywhere, Parson," said Peter, seriously. "Your name on the marriage-certificate will--can you write?"

"N-no, suh."

After a brief hesitation Peter repeated determinedly:

"It'll be all right. And, by the way, of course, this will be a very quiet wedding."

"Yas-suh." The old man bobbed importantly.

"I wouldn't mention it to any one."

"No, suh; no, suh. I don' blame you a-tall, Mr. Peter, wid dat Tump Pack gallivantin' roun' wid a forty-fo'. Hit would keep 'mos' anybody's weddin' ve'y quiet onless he wuz lookin' fuh a short cut to heab'n."

As the two negroes pa.s.sed the Berry cabin, Nan Berry thrust out her spiked head and called to Peter Captain Renfrew wanted to see him.

Peter paused, with quickened interest in this strange old man who had come to his mother's death-bed with a doctor. Peter asked Nan what the Captain wanted.

Nan did not know. Wince Washington had told Nan that the Captain wanted to see Peter. Bluegum Frakes had told Wince; Jerry Dillihay had told Bluegum; but any further meanderings of the message, when it started, or what its details might be, Nan could not state.

It was a typical message from a resident of the white town to a denizen of n.i.g.g.e.rtown. Such messages are delivered to any black man for any other black man, not only in the village, but anywhere in the outlying country. It may be pa.s.sed on by a dozen or a score of mouths before it reaches its objective. It may be a day or a week in transit, but eventually it will be delivered verbatim. This queer system of communication is a relic of slavery, when the master would send out word for some special negro out of two or three hundred slaves to report at the big house.

However, as Peter approached the Dildine cabin, thoughts of his approaching marriage drove from his mind even old Captain Renfrew's message. His heart beat fast from having made his first formal step toward wedlock. The thought of having Cissie all to himself, swept his nerves in a gust.

He opened the gate, and ran up between the dusty lines of dwarf box, eager to tell her what he had done. He thumped on the cracked, unpainted door, and impatiently waited the skirmish of observation along the edge of the window-blinds. This was unduly drawn out. Presently he heard women's voices whispering to each other inside. They seemed urgent, almost angry voices. Now and then he caught a sentence:

"What difference will it make?" "I couldn't." "Why couldn't you?"

"Because--" "That's because you've been to Nashville." "Oh, well--" A chair was moved over a bare floor. A little later footsteps came to the entrance, the door opened, and Cissie's withered yellow mother stood before him.

Vannie offered her hand and inquired after Peter's health with a stopped voice that instantly recalled his mother's death. After the necessary moment of talk, the mulatto inquired for Cissie.

The yellow woman seemed slightly ill at ease.

"Cissie ain't so well, Peter."

"She's not ill?"

"N-no; but the excitement an' ever'thing--" answered Vannie, vaguely.

In the flush of his plans, Peter was keenly disappointed.

"It's very important, Mrs. Dildine."

Vannie's dried yellow face framed the ghost of a smile.

"Ever'thing a young man's got to say to a gal is ve'y important, Peter."

It seemed to Peter a poor time for a jest; his face warmed faintly.

"It--it's about some of the details of our--our wedding."

"If you'll excuse her to-day, Peter, an' come after supper--"

Peter hesitated, and was about to go away when Cissie's voice came from an inner room, telling her mother to admit him.

The yellow woman glanced at the door on the left side of the hall, crossed over and opened it, stood to one side while Peter entered, and closed it after him, leaving the two alone.

The room into which Peter stepped was dark, after the fashion of negro houses. Only after a moment's survey did he see Cissie sitting near a big fireplace made of rough stone. The girl started to rise as Peter advanced toward her, but he solicitously forbade it and hurried over to her. When he leaned over her and put his arms about her, his ardor was slightly dampened when she gave him her cheek instead of her lips to kiss.

"Surely, you're not too ill to be kissed?" he rallied faintly.

"You kissed me. I thought we had agreed, Peter, you were not to come in the daytime any more."

"Oh, is that it?" Peter patted her shoulder, cheerfully. "Don't worry; I have just removed any reason why I shouldn't come any time I want to."

Cissie looked at him, her dark eyes large in the gloom.

"What have you done?"

"Got a preacher to marry us; on my way now for a license. Dropped in to ask if you 'll be ready by tomorrow or next day."

The girl gasped.

"But, Peter--"

Peter drew a chair beside her in a serious argumentative mood.

"Yes I think we ought to get married at once. No reason why we shouldn't get it over with--Why, what's the matter?"

"So soon after your mother's death, Peter?"

"It's to get away from Hooker's Bend, Cissie--to get you away. I don't like for you to stay here. It's all so--" he broke off, not caring to open the disagreeable subject.

The girl sat staring down at some f.a.gots smoldering on the hearth. At that moment they broke into flame and illuminated her sad face.

"You'll go, won't you?" asked Peter at last, with a faint uncertainty.

The girl looked up.

"Oh--I--I'd be glad to, Peter,"--she gave a little shiver. "Ugh! this n.i.g.g.e.rtown is a--a terrible place!"

Peter leaned over, took one of her hands, and patted it.

"Then we'll go," he said soothingly. "It's decided--tomorrow. And we'll have a perfectly lovely wedding trip," he planned cheerfully, to draw her mind from her mood. "On the car going North I'll get a whole drawing-room. I've always wanted a drawing-room, and you'll be my excuse. We'll sit and watch the fields and woods and cities slip past us, and know, when we get off, we can walk on the streets as freely as anybody. We'll be a genuine man and wife."

His recital somehow stirred him. He took her in his arms, pressed her cheek to his, and after a moment kissed her lips with the trembling ardor of a bridegroom.