Lily’s “feather-bag,” as Berry called the receptacle in which the negro girl so carefully stored each feather that she could secure, was missing from her belt one morning, and Berry at once announced the fact.
“Your feather-bag, Lily! Have you forgotten it?” she asked, as Lily appeared at the corner of the cabin and stood watching Berry who was busily engaged in transplanting woodland violets to the shady corner of her garden.
“No, Missie Berry. I knows jes’ whar dat bag is. Yas’m, I’se got it hid up safe,” Lily responded with her usual nods and chuckles. “I’se got all de feathers I wants,” she added.
“Well, you must have nearly enough to stuff a pillow,” Berry declared, wishing that Lily would tell her what she intended to do with the treasured feathers, but Lily only repeated:
“Yas’m,” and Berry went on with her work.136 Lily immediately vanished, and did not again appear until it was time for her to help with the midday meal.
“I do wonder where Lily goes, and what she is up to,” Berry confided to her mother. “Every day she suddenly disappears and is gone for an hour or two. She always comes back looking as well pleased with herself as if she had just discovered a pot of gold.”
“Why do you not ask her where she goes?” questioned Mrs. Arnold. “Very likely she only goes off by herself for a nap, for she is up very early each morning.”
“I have asked her,” Berry responded, “and she just chuckles and nods and says that she hasn’t been anywhere. ‘Jes’ kinder perspectin’ ’roun’’; that’s what she says, Mother.” And Mrs. Arnold smiled at Berry’s imitation of Lily’s voice and manner. But it was only a few days after this when Berry, coming into the sitting-room, discovered Lily peeping out from Berry’s chamber.
“Lily! What are you doing in my room?” she called sharply, and the surprised Lily gazed at her a little fearfully.
“I jes’ stepped in to take yo’ somefin’.137 Somefin’ ter s’prise yo’,” she finally found courage to say, for Berry did not usually speak in so sharp a tone, and Lily was sure that she herself was to blame. “I wasn’t lookin’ fer yo’, Missie,” she went on, as if to excuse herself for some fault, but Berry pushed past the negro girl and entered her chamber. Her quick glance went straight to the dainty dressing-table and with an admiring exclamation she ran across the room and stood looking eagerly at the prettiest basket she had ever seen. It was shaped like a shallow bowl, and at the first glance Berry thought it was made entirely of feathers, but the feathers were only skilfully woven in broad bands through the sweet-grass that formed the warp of the basket. The woof was of the fragrant cedar roots; these Lily had split and polished until they shone like silver bands.
It was indeed a beautiful piece of work, and Lily’s “surprise” was a great success. The negro girl had never before been so praised and thanked, and when Mr. and Mrs. Arnold were called to come and admire “Lily’s basket,” and when they also said that it was the finest basket they had ever seen, Lily was as happy as it was possible for a girl to be.
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“Who taught you, Lily?” questioned Mrs. Arnold, and Lily told of the old negroes at the plantation from which she had fled, who were expert basket makers.
“I hears tell dey learned ter make baskets ’fore dey was fetch to dis country,” she said, and Mr. Arnold remembered having seen feather baskets that were brought from Africa.
“And that’s what you wanted feathers for; and that’s what you have been doing when I wondered where you were!” Berry exclaimed, and she was now eager to learn how to make just such a basket, and Lily promised to at once begin gathering more feathers.
The basket henceforth was one of Berry’s chief treasures, and years afterward, in her New England home, she would often show it and tell of Lily’s “feather-bag.”
As the days went on Berry was constantly discovering how many things Lily knew.
“Not the same things I know,” she explained to her mother, “but wonderful things. Lily can make all sorts of things out of tiny twigs; she can make dolls and birds; long-legged cranes, that look just like those that Father and I have seen along the river.” And Lily could indeed twist139 the pliant willow twigs into many shapes, over which Berry would laugh delightedly.
The spring days went rapidly by, and it was now months since the Arnolds had received any word from their soldier son, Francis, and visits to the post-box on the Corinth road only brought disappointment. One morning, toward the end of March, after her unfailing daily visit to the clump of Judas-trees, Berry decided to visit the box and then to go on to the Braggs’ cabin and see if there was any sign of the witch’s promise of Mollie’s speedy return coming true.
Much to Berry’s surprise there was something in the box. But she quickly discovered that it was not the hoped-for letter, for her hand had closed on a smooth roll of birch-bark. Berry drew it out and looked at it wonderingly. There were a number of queerly-shaped letters traced on its smooth surface.
“I wonder who put this in our box?” she said aloud, and then suddenly she waved the bark triumphantly and exclaimed, “Mollie! Mollie did it. She makes letters just that way. This means Mollie’s home!” and Berry started off toward the wood road leading to the Braggs’ cabin, sure that Mollie would come running140 to welcome her, and thinking happily of all she would have to tell and of all Mollie’s probable adventures of which she would hear. She looked eagerly for some trace of smoke rising from the cabin chimney, but there was none to be seen, and as she came to the rough clearing about the cabin Berry stopped suddenly.
“They’re not there!” she exclaimed; for the windows were still boarded over and there was no sign that the dilapidated cabin was again inhabited. Berry, standing near a sheltering clump of fir trees, felt almost ready to cry over her disappointment. She still held the roll of bark in her hand, and now again looked at it. The letters M. and B. were clumsily traced with a bit of charcoal on the smooth surface of the bark, and were followed by the lines and curves such as Mollie had drawn on the slate during the lesson hour in the Arnolds’ sitting-room. “I am sure Mollie wrote these,” Berry whispered, “and that she put them in our box as a message to me. She must have been here;” and Berry’s eyes again turned anxiously toward the cabin, but there was nothing to be seen to indicate that the Braggs had returned.
Berry decided that she would go home by a141 woodland trail that led from the back of the cabin through a thick growth of forest trees toward the stream which ran down from the Shiloh plateau, and she walked slowly across the clearing and to the back of the cabin. Her moccasin-covered feet made no noise, and as she turned the corner of the cabin she heard the familiar voice of Mrs. Bragg and saw that the back door was ajar. Berry’s first impulse was to run toward the open door, but at that moment she heard Mrs. Bragg say, “No, Mollie! How many times must I tell ye that yer can’t see Berry Arnold? Didn’ yer Pa warn us ter keep ter ourselves till he lets us know which army’s gwine ter win? I reckon we kin stan’ bein’ a little hungry, an’ I reckon Berry’s fergot ye ’fore this!”
“Oh! Mrs. Bragg! I haven’t!” Berry exclaimed, darting forward and pushing open the cabin door. “Why don’t you want us to know you are home? Oh, Mollie! I’m so glad to see you!” and Berry ran toward the thin little figure that, at the sound of her voice, had jumped up from the wooden stool in a far corner of the room.
“Oh! Berry! Berry!” sobbed Mollie, as she felt Berry’s firm arms holding her tightly;142 and for a moment the two little friends quite forgot Mrs. Bragg and everything except the jo............