When Jack woke at the dawning of the next day, in the little bare room at the end of the upper hall where he slept within easy call of Mr. Parkers voice, he did not at first know where he was. Then instantly came recollection, and with it a keen longing to see his new surroundings. He arose, dressed hastily, and went down-stairs and out of doors. Everything looked very different in the wide clear light of early morning. The buildings he had seen in the blackness of the night before resolved into a clustered jumble of negro huts, some of frame, some of wattled sticks, about which moved the wild figures of the half-savage black men, women, and children.
Jack walked out into the open yard, and turned and looked back at the house.
It was a great rambling frame structure, weather-beaten and gray. Several of the windows were open, and out of one of them hung a patchwork bed-coverlet, moving lazily now and then in the wind. A thin wreath of smoke curled away from one of the chimneys into the blue air. Everything looked very fresh and keen in the bright light of the morning.
A lot of negro children had been playing about the huts, some of them entirely naked. They ceased their play and stood staring at Jack as he came out into the open yard, and a negro lad of about his own age, who was standing in the door of a wattled hut at a little distance, came over and spoke to him. The black boy was lean and lanky, with over-grown, spider-like legs and arms. He had a little round, nut-like head covered with a close felt of wool. Hi, boy! he said, when he had come up close to Jack, what your name?
My names Jack Ballister, said Jack; whats your name?
My name Little Coffee, and the negro boy grinned with a flash of his white teeth.
Little Coffee! Why, to be sure, thats a very queer name for any Christian soul to have, said Jack.
The negro boys grin disappeared into quick darkness. My name no queer, he said, with a sudden childish sullenness. My name Little Coffee all right. My fader Big Coffee I Little Coffee.
Well, said Jack, I never heard of anybody named Coffee in all my life before.
Where you come from? asked the negro boy.
I came from England, said Jack; we drink coffee there; we dont give Coffee as a name to Christian souls. Where do you come from, Coffee?
Me come nowhere, said Coffee, with a returning grin. Me born here in yan house.
Beyond the row of negro huts was a small wooden cabin of a better appearance than the others. Suddenly a white man came out of the door of this hut, stood looking for a moment, and then walked forward toward Jack. It was Dennis, the overseer. He unless Peggy Pitcher be excepted became almost the most intimate friend Jack had for the two months or so that he lived at the Roost; and in this curiously strange fragment of his life, perhaps the most vivid recollections that remained with him in his after memory were of intervals of time spent in Denniss hut; of the great black, sooty fireplace; of the shelf-like floor at the further end of the cabin, where was the dim form of the bed with the bright coverlet; of Denniss negro wife, pattering about the earthen floor in her bare feet, her scant red petticoat glowing like a flame of fire in the shadowy interior; of Dennis himself, crouching over the smoldering ashes, smoking his Indian clay pipe of tobacco. As Dennis now approached, Jack thought that he had hardly ever seen a stranger-looking figure, for a pair of gold ear-rings twinkled in his ears, a broad hat of woven grass shaded his face, he wore a pair of loose white cotton drawers, and a red beard covered his cheeks and chin and throat. I do suppose, said Dennis, when he had come close enough to Jack I do suppose that you are the new boy that came last night.
Yes, said Jack, I am.
CHAPTER XIV
IN ENGLAND
IT is not to be supposed that Jack could have disappeared so suddenly and entirely as he had done without leaving behind him much talk and wonder as to what had become of him.
One day, for instance, Mr. Stetson stopped old Hezekiah in the street and began asking after Jack. I know nought of him, Master Stetson, said the old man. He always was a main discontented, uneasy lad as ever I see. Time and time again have he talked to me about running away to sea and that, whenever I would tell him twas time for him to be earning his own living by honest, decent work.
But, Mr. Tipton, said the rector, I do hear talk that he hath been kidnapped.
Mayhap he have been, said Hezekiah; but I know naught of him.
And are you not, then, going to do anything to try to find him? cried out the good old rector. Sure, you would leave no stone unturned to discover what hath become of your nephew.
What can I do, master? said Hezekiah, almost whining. Im main sorry Jacky be gone, and am willing to do whatever I can for to find him again, but what can I do?
Why, Master Tipton, said the rector, that, me-seems, is your affair and not mine. I can hardly tell you how to set about doing your own duty in this thing. But sure am I you should do whatever you can to find what hath become of your poor nephew.