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Everything was in readiness except the little wagon
which was to convey the best looking-glass, the stuffed
rocking chair, Mrs. Wilder, and Charlie. On an old
stump near the gate sat Aunt Dillah, industriously wiping
the tears from her dusky cheeks, and ever and anon exclaiming,
“'Pears like I could bar it better, if I was gwine
with them.”

This remark was overheard by her master, Capt. Wilder.
He had frequently heard Cato express the same
wish, and thought it quite natural, too, inasmuch as Jake,
their only child, was to accompany the deacon. For a
moment the captain stood irresolute. We will not say
what thoughts passed through his mind, but after a time
he turned away and went in quest of his brother. There
was a short consultation, and then Capt. Wilder, returning
to Dillah, laid his hand on her shoulder, and said,
“Aunt Dillah, would it please you and Cato to go to Kentucky,
and be killed by the Indians along with Jake?”

“Lord bless you, marster, that it would,” said Dillah,
rolling up her eyes till only the whites were visible.

“Very well, you can go,” was Capt. Wilder's reply.

By this time old Cato and Jake had gathered near, and
the “Lord bless you's” which they poured in upon the
captain sent him into the house, out of sight and hearing.
But Dillah had no time to lose. Her goods and chattels
must be picked up, and old Cato's Sunday shirt must be
wrung out of the rinsing water, Dillah declaring, “she
could kind o'shake it out and dry it on the road!” While
putting up her things, the old creature frequently

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lamented the unfortunate fact, that the new gown given her last
Christmas by “old Miss,” was not made, “for,” said she,
“I shall want to look toppin' and smart-like amongst the
folks in Kentuck.”

“Ain't no folks thar,” said Jake; but as often as he
repeated this assertion, Aunt Dillah answered, “Now and
then one, I reckon, 'less why should marster tote the
whole on us out thar.”

“For the Injuns to eat, I s'pose,” answered Jake, and
then he went through with a short rehearsal of what his
mother would say, and how she would yell, when one of
the natives got her in his grip. Little Ella wept passionately
when she learned that Dillah, too, was going, but
when Charlie, stealing up to her, said, “she will take care
of me,” her tears were dried, and her last words to Dillah
were, “Be kind to Charlie till he dies.”

Sweet Ella, it would seem that a foreshadowing of the
future had fallen around her, for when at last Charlie's
farewell kiss was warm upon her cheek, her voice was
cheerful, as she said, “You will send for me and I shall
surely come.” Could she have known how long and wearisome
were the miles, how dark and lonely was the wood,
and how full of danger was the road which lay between
herself and Charlie's future home, she might not have been
so sure that they would meet again.

One after another the wagons belonging to Deacon
Wilder passed down the narrow road, and were lost to
view in the deep forest which stretched away to the west
as far as the eye could reach. Here for a short time we
will leave them, while we introduce to our readers another
family, whose fortunes are closely interwoven with our
first party.

p598-286

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