--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Sanders, Ellen Lee collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 13 number: 11 published: 1910-09 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Sanders, Ellen Lee, “Dudley Bain,” *Improvement Era* 13, no. 11 (September 1910): 974–987." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera13011unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera13011unse start_page: 974 end_page: 987 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1910-09) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera13011unse publication_year: 1910 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1910, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Dudley Bain Dudley Bain. BY ELLEN LEE SANDERS. (Concluded.) "What is it, Dudley?" Mr. Crawford asked quisically, but not unkindly. "Are you wanting to get married, boy?' The young secretary paused and laid the papers on the table. "Mr. Crawford," he said, putting the intimation of mar- riage from him with something like disgust, "I want to ask a very great favor of you, and because it is of so much moment to me, and because I have been thinking of it so long — years, I think — I find it very difficult to speak to you about it."' There was something so dignified in the boy's manner, — an assumption of equality, an unspoken and perhaps unconscious dropping of the slave attitude, that the planter was irritated before the sentence was fairly finished, and while in the very act inviting the confidence of his secretary. "You understand my position here," the lad continued. "With all your kindness to me I am still your slave, and will be the slave of whomsoever shall inherit your estate after you. I cannot associate with negroes, much less marry among them. There are places where my dark blood would not matter so much as it does here. In Cuba, Mexico, Manila, or many of the beau- tiful islands of the South Seas where life would be delightful. Give me what you will, and my freedom, and with good feeling between us let me go to some of these places." There was a sobbing breath, and his great dark eyes were lifted to his master's face beseechingly, as he continued. "Some place on the face of the earth, since God has made such places for such as I, where I can hold up my head and be a man among men; where I can hope to make an honorable name for DUDLEY BAIN. 975 myself, marry and live like other men. You understand me, sir, far better than I can express myself," he said with proud yet respectful deference. But the planter did not understand at all, and that was Dud- ley Bain's first mistake. The secretary-slave had been thinking about himself for years and what he would like to do, who he was, and on whom he had first claims; and this had colored every act of his life, and even put unjustifiable meaning into the easy-going kindness of his master, while Dan Crawford had thought of his slave not at all, except as he was a useful pawn on the checkerboard of his life. Not particularly quick at any mental process, the planter found the entire subject presented by his slave bewilderingly and benumbingly new. It filtered into his mind in fragments, Dudley was asking for his freedom and he was worth two thousand dollars; that was sur- prising enough, but the planter also noted that the fellow was giving himself airs, and asking for it like a crown prince might prefer a request to the king. With rising anger he next took cognizance of the "With good feeling between us." Had the boy suddenly gone mad? No, there was the light of reason and strong emotion in the face opposite him. Anger and surprised helplessness warred with each other in Mr. Crawford's mind. He leaned back in his chair and took refuge in sarcasm. "My very dear Sir," he said, elaborately imitating Dudley's assumption of equality, "You don't think you are asking too much do you? You are worth about two thousand dollars, and if I un- derstand you right, I believe that you suggested that in addition to your freedom I add a suitable amount to start you in business, I presume in this new country you would like to honor with your presence. Why, I have never even thought of giving you your freedom, much less of starting you in business, and I know of no reason why I should think of it." Then with swiftly rising anger he thundered, "Don't you think you have asked a little too much?" Dudley, who well understood his master's moods, the storms of temper that sometimes assailed him, and also the justness and 976 IMPROVEMENT ERA. generosity which was habitual, turned and gathered up his papers and would have left the room in silence had he been permitted. But Dan Crawford had worked himself into a towering pas- sion by this time, and insisted the question he had asked should be answered. "Answer me, you impudent hound!" he yelled, getting up on his feet and standing before the boy, "Answer me!" For a moment there was silence save for the master's hurried breathing, then as if his will was compelling his body to obey, the slave raised his eyes, and looking his master in the face steadily, said, as if every separate word was an effort, said slowly and dis- tinctly, "No, sir, not too much for a son to ask of his father." Dan Crawford staggered as if he had been struck a blow. Such an insult from such a source was maddening. With a bellow of rage he seized a whip that hung on the wall and rained savage blows on the defenseless head and shoulders, yes and across the face of the boy who stood passive, the blood trickling from a dozen wounds, till as h is been said the master was paralyzed with shame. Shame because this creature, suffering under his just anger, was helpless -socially, physically and also before the law. Throwing the whip across the room as if afraid to trust him- self with it he said, "Go to the negro quarters, you hound, and never come into my presence again. You are no son of mine," and in a few brutal sentences he told Dudley the shameful story of his parentage. Harsh treatment and bitter words had only served to deepen the impression in Dudley's mind that Mr. Crawford was his father, and without a word he passed out of his master's presence, giving him a look as he went that was full of hate and menace, and it stuck to the planter's memory in spite of his efforts to get rid of it. However, the deed was done and could not be helped, but as his anger cooled, and his better nature again assumed sway, Dan Crawford felt that he had been both unwise and unjust in the course he had taken, for, wholly untrue, and deeply insulting as he knew the lad's charge to be, there had been that in the boy's words and manner that forced his master to believe that the boy DUDLEY BAIN. 977 had been honest in making the suggestion, and compelled by him- self into the open assertion. In the heat of his anger he had ordered Dudley to the negro quarters, whither he had promptly gone, and the lashing he had given the lad made it impossible from his point of view to act on a cooler judgment. The planter shifted about in his chair and, mopping the per- spiration from his forehead, communed with himself. "Jf he was a real nigger he'd come crawling up here to ask my forgiveness in about an hour, but that fellow's got enough white blood in him and enough education that if there's any asking forgiveness done it'll be old Dan Crawford that's got to do it." Of course that was out of the question, and the planter fell into a brown study. His mother's dying injunction, which he had always held sacred, seemed doubly binding on him now, and yet he could see no way out of the dilemma in wnich his bad temper had placed him. He felt that any yielding, any concession he might wish to make for the sake of his dead mother's wishes, or for the lad's white blood, or the conduct of his past life, would be construed by Dudley into an admission of the degrading charge. After a very bad hour with himself the planter decided that he would sell Dudley to some man who would be a kind master, and employ the boy at his accustomed work. Never again could he employ him thus, have him about his person, or willingly come in contact with him; and while thus resolved, and cursing him for an impertinent negro, Dan Crawford knew in his heart that it was the white blood that had spoken and acted through the entire deplorable interview. So poor Dudley was abandoned to a fate far worse to him than death. Living in a small cabin among the crowded cabins of the noisy, dirty, ignorant field-negroes, never for a moment out of sight and hearing of them, working at rough manual labor that taxed both strength and endurance to the limit, not basking in the heat of the sun as a negro does, but sickening as white men do in the cotton districts of the South. Performing these unac- customed labors under the eye of a brutal overseer, who was high- 978 IMPR 0 VEMENT ERA . ly gratified to find the secretary in disgrace, it was not strange that thoughts of suicide should begin to haunt the waking hours of Dudley Bain. The negroes were very broadly amused to see the secretary degraded from his high calling, and invented many reasons for "ol' Mar's gettin' mad," which they told in Dudley's presence, hoping to get the truth. They resented his silence and aloofness, and took advantage of all the small means that presented them- selves to make him feel his position among them. At first the work in the fields was almost more than he could endure, and brought on a spell of sickness; but Dudley was young, and although he longed to die, he got well and went back again to work. The slave had loved his master dearly, partly because be be- lieved the bond of blood was between them, partly for the sake of the good woman who had protected his forlorn childhood, but more than all else, because he had inherited his mother's devoted affectionate nature that must love something or somebody with all his heart. A nature made up of a white man's intellect, and a tropical capacity for loving, had met a condition that turned that love into hate, bitter and deep, and it was not fear of death, or of eternal punishment, nor the love of life that held him back from suicide, but the hope of a revenge as great as the wrongs he fancied his master had inflicted upon him. With the coming of Mr. Crawford's niece, Miss Agnes Burley, the old Crawford mansion took on a new base of life and gaiety. Miss Burley was a blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked girl, plump as a partridge, so full of wholesome, high spirits that she electrified all with whom she came in contact. School days, that leave so many girls languid and spiritless, had by no means robbed Miss Burley of her health and vivacity. She had absorbed, along with a fair share of mathematics, music, and "ologies," a love of fun, and a thorough enjoyment of life, that might have been deemed sufficient for a whole seminary of ordinary girls. The young folks of adjoining plantations and, indeed, for miles around, were attracted to the hospitable mansion and its kind- DUDLEY BAIN. 979 hearted, resourceful mistress. With an artistic and romantic nature, backed by good sense and a fair share of executive ability, Miss Agnes organized and carried out all kinds of entertain- ments— rides and hunts, picnics and exploring parties, moonlight rows upon the river, and masquerades indoors and out. Dumb suppers were cooked and served at the ghostly hour of midnight, with weird ceremonies. From these suppers only were the gentle- men excluded. They were left to sift, as best they might, the grains of truth from the bushels of fiction which the girls told of their ghostly experiences. Uncle Dan was never excused from taking an active part in the merry-making. Often he was dragged off, unwillingly enough, until he almost sighed acquiescence to Old Mammy's remarks: "Mars Crawford, dat ar chile, Miss Agnes, hav done turn dis here place wrong side out and shook it, plum from de ole trunks in de garret, where your mammy usen to keep her ole clo's, to de smoke-house cellah." But even when he sighed occasionally for the quiet indolence of his past life, Mr. Crawford was well-pleased to have it so, and even old black mammy, with all her grumbling, liked the "goings on," for the negroes are a fun-loving, light-hearted race, much like children, after their generations of slavery, when not crossed by vicious or alien blood. The house was full of young people, and an air of subdued excitement. Preparations were going forward for the most mysterious and thrilling party ever yet devised. Hallowe'en was to be celebrated with every form of fortune telling that had ever been heard of. There were plots and counterplots, and the air was full of a riot of half suppressed mirth, not entirely free from superstition. Dan Crawford, the courteous, urbane, hospitable gentleman of the old school, was occupying his favorite chair on the wide veranda, answering the merry remarks addressed to him by his guests. But his mind wandered from the mirth, music and laugh- ter around him, to the as yet unsolved pro Mem of Dudley Bain and his face, as his master had last seen it. Though months had passed since the recorded episode between master and slave, not yet had a suitable purchaser been found; 980 IMPROVEMENT ERA. and try as he would, the planter could not shake off the feeling that the boy was in his immediate vicinity. The rustling of leaves, the sighing of a zephyr, the flickering of leaf-shadows on the wall, breathed of his presence, and brought back, with annoying distinctness, the last look on the face of the punished slave as he had left his master's presence. The terrible is the unknown. Out of the mysterious unknown came a relentless spirit of hate and accusation — an invisible atmosphere that surrounded Mr. Crawford. There is a latent superstition in all human nature which edu- cation teaches people to hide, to deny, to reason about, but never, even in one individual, to wholly eradicate. Mr. Crawford had been blessed by nature, no doubt, with a full share of this mental mirage, and to this had been added the teachings of his negro nurse; and though he had repudiated all such things long ago, it was like the colors that are set in the unwoven wool, it was there to stay until the last fragment was worn out; and that he had disobeyed the dying request of his mother — broken his word to her, in fact, —gave superstition vital- ity, and called it into active life. Stronger than any other trait in the planter's nature was his pride. He had never spoken of the occurrence between himself and Dudley Bain, for pride had sealed his lips closer than any con- fessional could have done. Pride now forbade that by look or word he should betray his mental sufferings, which, in spite of his stout denials to himself were fast degenerating into fear —the fear that becomes panic. Pride would not allow him to even question his overseer with regard to Dudley, as he would not, and could not, explain the situ- ation. Of the boy's severe illness and recovery he had only heard through a conversation between two housemaids. Pride made it impossible for the master to concede anything, change any condition, unless Dudley should first come to him, retract his charge and apologize, lest, to the boy, it should seem a con- fession of fatherhood, and to himself a bribe to his fears. He had considered the advisability of going away for a time. "Yes," he said to himself, "that is what I will do. Just as soon as this party is over, I will take my kinswoman and together DUDLEY BAIN. 981 we will make an extended visit somewhere, I don't care where, so I get away from here for awhile. I've always intended to travel, anyhow, and may as well go now." And poor Dudley Bain — what of him? Amidst surroundings abhorrent, and associations repulsive, in unaccustomed labor, he was fast wasting the flowers of his youth, and burning up the light and fires of his life in a cold and deadly rage. He would have gone raving mad had it not been for the daily task that kept his mind from the subject of his revenge during the day, though he never quite forgot it. At night he would lie awake 1 )ng hours thinking over his wrongs, and planning. He could have assassinated his master almost any day, if that had seemed a desirable thing to do, or he could have laid the beautiful old mansion waste with fire; but either of these would have seemed to him a coarse and poor revenge indeed. When sleep came, that should have cooled his heated brain, and brought sweet refreshment to quivering nerves and burning eye-balls, he dreamed. Such dreams! He stood over his master, whip in hand, and from his lash-tortured flesh drew blood for blood. Lashed him till he owned the truth, having neither pity nor remorse, even when he pleaded with his son to end his sufferings. With such thoughts and plans and dreams, he fed the evil in his soul and bided his time, nor night nor day, ever for one moment, abandoned the purpose of his life. Was it any marvel that Dan Crawford felt in the very air about him the impulse of such a hatred? Dudley had seen Miss Agnes Burley, and knew of all the gay doings up at the big house, as did every slave on the plantation; and to himself he mockingly called her "cousin." He tried to hate her as he did Mr. Crawford, and wondered once, in a vague way, why he could not be more thoroughly revenged on his master through the girl; but the thought revolted the few shreds of manhood not burned to bitter dust by the fires of his murderous hate, and was abandoned. Queer orchids semetimes bloom in the most unexpected places. Dudley Bain fell in love with Agnes Burley. He loved her at various times with all the natures that were 982 IMPROVEMENT ERA. his by the terrible inheritances of his mixed blood. The love of a refined, educated white man, who desires a spiritual, and intel- lectual companion for life, — a chivalrous, romantic love that rated her as little less than angelic. Then he also loved her with the love of a negro— a passionate, unreasoning, devoted love, not to be denied by any obstacle, but true even unto dying, which was the nature of his gentle mother. Reaching back to his savage Afri- can ancestors, who with club and spear slew all the males of a village, and took the woman of his choice from her dead kindred, and expected her to rejoice at his prowess and strength, he loved her when most he hated his master, and when the fires of revenge burned hottest;— loved her with the love of a beast that crushes and mangles what it will not set at liberty, or leave living for another, and which it cannot retain. And so it was, that mingled with the revengeful fires of his hate was this other dream, this dream of love, that was to his soul like the rich and exquisite jewels of a miser, that are shut away in the dark, but of which the owner is always conscious, rejoicing in their richness and radiance, even while he shivers in rags, and fin- ally dies of cold and hunger, for the price of a fragment of the poorest. Hate is not so ingenious and resourceful as love. No sooner had this new passion taken possession of Dudley Bain, than he knew what he wanted to do. He would build himself a house in the innermost recesses of the swamp, on a little island known only to himself. This he would furnish the best he could secretly, and provide other nec- essaries, and take Miss Burlev there and lav siege to her heart. He would be so kind, so tender, so devoted, that she must love him at last, even if she was angry with him at first. He would tell her of those far-off countries where the moiety of dark blood in his veins would be no bar against him. With the education, ability and good breeding which they both possessed, and the money rightfully theirs, as the planter's joint heirs, they could enter the most exclusive circles. He still intended to revenge himself upon Mr. Crawford, of course, but the manner did not matter so much now. When the girl loved him enough that he could trust her, it DUDLEY BAIN. 983 would be necessary for her to claim the estate, that he, who was the rightful heir, might through her receive his own; and in another and kinder land they would find happiness together. When the thought obtruded itself, as it did sometimes, that Miss Burley would always loathe, scorn and hate him, his soul grew faint with horror at the monstrous alternative which his evil genius would suggest. There are those who believe that we are all given a guardian angel at our birth. If the planter had one, and it knew its busi- ness, it was time for it to start the languid gentleman on the con- templated journey, even if it had to invent more daylight night- mares for him. Swift-footed, dexterous, energetic, Dudley Bain found opportunity to carry out his project. As the months went by he made every arrangement to receive and keep his captive in the house in the swamp. He had made his plans so that the night of the Hallowe'en party was to bring the denoument, and he felt a cold certainty of success. Without difficulty he had learned from the negro housekeeper the details of the evening's program, and had prepared himself to take advantage of its excellent oppor- tunities. There was a good moon rising a little late. The young folks had played their games, eaten a most delicious supper, tried their fortunes in every conceivable way, and played mad-cap pranks on each other, till, with somewhat subdued spirits, they gathered about a fire of glowing logs, burning on the hearth in a great open fireplace in the huge hall. Then came the budget of ghost stories, carefully prepared beforehand by Miss Agnes, which blanched the cheeks of the timid, and sent little ecstatic thrills of fear up and down the nerves of the bravest. As the last ghostly lady with clanking chain was made to "walk the plank," the fire waned to a dull glow, and somewhere on the plantation a hound lifted up his voice in a long, lugubrious howl. To this banshee accompaniment, Miss Agnes dared those present, who claimed the proud title of bravery, to go to the edge of a wooded knoll, a few hundred yards away, where a trickle of 984 IMPROVEMENT ERA. water was caught in a shallow stone basin, irregular and ringed around with moss and ferns, and known from colonial times as the "Gipsy's Well," and having its own special spooks, according to the superstitions of the negroes. It was a very pretty place, and they had visited it often in daylight hours; but to go at midnight, after their ghostly carousal, was a very different thing. "We will have a roll of honor," said Miss Burley, producing a large sheet of paper, and tacking it on the wall where a square frame of evergreen had been placed to receive it. "Who, for the honor of their house, their name and lineage, will have their names first inscribed here, by making the ghostly visit to the Gipsy's Well?" she asked bravely and laughingly. But the laugh did not ring quite true, and the girls drew closer together, and it seemed to them all that shadows drew closer, and unseen eyes were upon them, and tense intelligence awaited their reply. Mr. Crawford hastened to respond. "For the honor of the House of Crawford I claim the right to be first," and rose to his feet. But Agnes, with her voice steady enough now, and with mirth so vital that it was infectious, claimed the right to go first "for the honor of the House of Burley, in default of a male repre- sentative." But the guests all protested that no lady should go out into the night so far alone; and finally it was decided that if there be any of the gentler sex stout-hearted enough to venture, they should have escort. As a result of the discussion, it was further enjoined that the lady should be left in the last little pool of silvery moonlight in plain sight of the group of watchers on the veranda, while the gentleman escort must really go to the well and procure son- e trophy to show that he had been to the designated spot— for it was not the business of women to uphold the honor of their respective houses for bravery. When, in spite of Agnes' protests, it had been unanimously decided that "the honor of the House of Burley" must be satis- fied with that, and Agnes had given her word to obey the rule of the majority, the assembled guests watched the stately gentleman, with the white-robed figure on his arm, as they descended the DUDLEY BAIN. 985 shallow marble steps and proceeded silently, as spirits might pass, out across the wide expanse of lawn, losing sight of them occa- sionally, when some mass of shrubbery intervened. There was a tragic hush in the air, though the gipsy heart of night seemed full to overflowing with an inarticulate whispering. Scarcely breathing, they watched the two figures, still per- fectly distinct, pause at the last pool of liquid, silvery moonlight, just on the edge of the line of dark forest. The girl turned and waved her hand at the breathless group on the veranda, and the Colonel's broad shoulders were swallowed up by the black shadows of the trees. As the moments passed, those who strained their eyes to see the form of Colonel Crawford reappear, saw a dun-colored shadow separate itself from the blackness of trees and moss to the right of where the path led to the Gipsy's Well. A beast with its tail dragging the earth, the legs spread to support the body, the head carried low and turning mechanically from side to side, snapping in a vicious though uncertain way at moving twigs and shadows. The great beast staggered and wallowed, rather than walked, across the little lake of light to where the girl stood, unconscious of its approach. There was an inarticulate voice of warning from the horri- fied watchers on the veranda; and at the sound Miss Burley turned slowly and faced death in its most terrible form— death from the fangs and claws of a mad dog! She stood quite still, after that first involuntary turning, knowing that her one slender hope of life was that the brute sh mid mistake her for an inanimate object. Not many feet from the girl, the mad beast paused and seemed to be gathering strength for a spring, his red eyes upon her, for a breeze had fanned the light folds of her white dress and betrayed her. At this critical moment, a rifle shot rang out; and the living horror, with snarls and spasmodic bounds, turned and bit and gnawed at its own flesh, with the bullet intended for the heart of Colonel Crawford in its side. At the same moment two figures appeared from the forest shades that had just given up such a monster — Dudley Bain, who, 986 IMPROVEMENT ERA. knife in hand, threw himself on the wounded mad dog, and Colonel Crawford, who bore his fainting kinswoman to their horror-stricken guests, who came swiftly down the lawn to meet them. Long before the foremost had reached the scene of battle, all was still- The huge dog lay stark, a knife-wound deep in his heart, and Dudley Bain in a pool of blood, not many feet away, torn and bitten in a ghastly manner. He was perfectly conscious, and when kind hands would have moved him he begged them to desist, as he knew he had but a few minutes to live, and would rather die where he had fallen. His eyes, gentle now and quiet as when he had been secretary to Colonel Crawford, looked on this circle of weeping women and respectful men, and sighed a faint sigh of satisfaction; but though there was that unappeased craving to hear Colonel Crawford acknowledge him as his son, the hate and passion of revenge were quite gone. In answer to their repeated inquiries as to what they could do for him, he said, "I want to talk to Colonel Crawford; and, par- don me, I want to talk to him alone; tell him I am dying." A messenger sped on swift feet; and as the Colonel came in haste, the guests withdrew to a distance and left them together, even as the dying slave had requested. For a moment the slave did not speak, but his great black eyes searched the face of his master, the majesty and dignity of honorable death upon him. The Colonel choked, as, kneeling beside the boy, he tried to speak, and offered to take his hand. But Dudley drew back his hand, and with his eyes burning with desire to know, and his parting soul almost upon his lips, he whispered, "Are you my father?" There was a pause of exquisitely painful silence, and then the Colonel removed his hat, and lifting his hand up to the pure, peaceful stars he said, ' 'Dudley, my poor boy, before God I am not." And the Colonel went on to express his sorrow and regret for that other time— his love for him, his depth of obligation and gratitude, and how gladly he would confer liberty and money, and anything he might desire, if only, by any miracle, his life might be spared. But it all fell on unheeding ears. DUDLEY BAIN. .987 A gray shadow was creeping up over the face now, and the eyes that had burned into the Colonel's were looking into space. Bain was trying to adjust himself to the new thought, for at last he believed his master's word. His hatred, his despair, his desire for revenge, the plans worked out by day and the dark visions of the night were gone, and only one thing was left of all the shat- tered ruins of his life — his love for Agnes Burley. He had given his life for her, had saved her from a terrible death, and his spirit sang a hymn of triumph, even while still in its ignoble prison. "Thank you," he said to the Colonel's generous and heart- felt flood of praise and thanks and promises. "Will you permit me to speak to Miss Agnes just a few moments alone," he gasped. What passed between them during the five minutes that he lived after she came to him, no one ever knew, for he was quite dead when she called her uncle, and they had to unclasp his stiffen- ing fingers from the hem of her white dress; and where he had pressed it to his lips, it was soaked with blood and venomous foam. And while we sat in shocked silence, the old anti-Bellum doc- tor got up and sauntered off, without waiting to hear either our opinion of the story, cr the point he had made. (the end.) Naturally. A Washington man, says the Delineator, while visiting a friend's place in Virginia, became much interested in his experiments in fruit culture. One day the visitor was making the rounds of the place, being in charge of the friend's young daughter of ten, who acted as a guide. "This tree seems to be loaded with apples," observed the Washing- tonian, indicating a particularly fine specimen. "Yes, sir," assented the child. "Father says this is a good year for apples." "I am glad to hear that," said the visitor. "Are all your trees as full of apples as this one?" "No, sir," explained the girl, "only the apple trees."